#nocturnal acquaintances

[edgy-fluffball]

Nocturnal Acquaintances

Chapter 94/?

Grantaire tried to fight off a giggle that was lodged in his throat, caused by the brush ghosting over his skin.

‘Keep still, this is as much of an artwork as your paintings,’ Jehan scolded him and swatted at his fingers that had been attempting to soothe the itch, unfazed by the sticky substance spread out over his face, ‘no respect for brushwork, really. I expected more of you.’

They applied another slather of their homemade face mask to Grantaire’s cheek and spread it out across the already moistened skin. Any questions concerning the ingredients to the slimy substance had been answered with a cryptic ‘It’s all good for your skin,’ and a wink that let him know not to ask again.

He had been equipped with Bahorel’s seemingly freshly washed bathrobe and made to sit on the sofa in his boxers whilst Jehan lit some candles for aesthetic and ambience, as he had been told. They had also started to play a playlist of soft instrumentals interspersed with nature sounds, rain and bird song via the Bluetooth box they and Bahorel kept on the sideboard. Grantaire noted the absence of real emotion in the piano sounds filling the living room as his face became a canvas for Jehan and their mask. It made him wish for something he could not name, something he did not know how to phrase and voice it to his own satisfaction.

read more on ao3

Happy 5th anniversary to this story! It's been 5 years already since I uploaded the first chapter - crazy! And here I am, once again thanking the people that are still patient, who are still reading what I put out there, even though it is cliffhanger after cliffhanger!

I could not do it without all the lovely people who comment and let me know their honest thoughts on what started as a funny little thought that was supposed to be a oneshot.... yeah, how did that turn out?

Now we are so close to 400,000 wo

#les miserables #enjoltaire #exr #les mis #enjolras x grantaire #nocturnal acquaintances #enjolras #grantaire #fluffball writes #les mis fanfic

[ghostzzy]

Look At My Serpents

#they're both g1s that i bought for 6 gems #and they both cost less than 1mil to gene #and i'm think they're gorgeous. #the girl is a reclusive demigod who lives in a hot spring oasis in the middle of the desert #the boy lived in the ocean but he got kicked out and now he is a nocturnal sand serpent who Wanders the aforementioned desert #and they are . acquaintances. #izzy.txt #dragons

[natalieironside]

In my day-to-day life offline, I experience almost no transphobia.

I'm also a nocturnal agoraphobe who sleeps all day, only goes out at night, and rarely socializes beyond a small group of friends and acquaintances.

So if I tried to universalize my experience and use this to say it isn't a "real" problem, I would sound like a big jackass, right? Yeah. I'm glad we can all agree.

#the dead hand of god

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!aphrodite with muichiro!fem!reader headcanons

Warning(s): aged up!reader [late twenties], anime spoilers, canon divergence from manga, references to mythology, obsessive behavior, violence, strong language, sexual references, established relationship, slight nsfw content.

MINORS DNI!

The intention of this story is for entertainment purposes only. The behavior exhibited here is inappropriate and unhealthy, hence it should not be encouraged. There are also triggers, so please take caution. You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Collab work with @deathmetalunicorn1. Special thanks to @enryegotrip for providing feedback in the early drafting phase!

With that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy the chaos that will unfold :)

You met Aphrodite through work. 

As a Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps, your main objective is to eliminate the nocturnal beings before they could set a single inch inside Valhalla and devour innocent humans. Thanks to the human named Nostradamus, they could slither their way through the Bifrost’s fractured ley lines rather than just taking a gamble to walk through the swirling miasma that lied beyond the stone double doors and come out on the other side still in one piece. Including information gathering and training soldiers in the organization, there was an occasional bodyguard job. 

That was the night you had crossed paths with the Greek goddess of beauty; the function had been a banquet hosted in the palace of a floating island, belonging to a god whose name you couldn’t recall except he was known for firing a silver bow and arrow from a chariot in the sky.  But that really wasn’t important. Your job had been to keep an eye out for troublemakers and give them the ol’ greet and toss when they were causing too much of a disturbance. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Aphrodite seem to be talking about things of great interest with Lady Persephone; they were too enraptured in the conversation to notice anything happening outside of their little circle of interest, including the incubus was shamelessly ogling the women of the Greek pantheon. 

And of course this buffoon would try to sneak behind your lady’s friend to grab her ass. You sighed in mild annoyance in having to intervene in such a lovely atmosphere, stepping away from your position behind a column.

You quickly glided across the crowded floor, pushing past through the guests and getting behind the incubus. You grabbed one arm and twisted it behind his back, then the other one before starting to pull him away from the goddesses. “What the fuck?!” He snarled, wiggling in your grasp. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I beg to differ,” You said. “Lewd misconduct in a gathering that is hosted in a god’s temple is strictly forbidden. Especially if the perpetrator is someone who has not been invited to said gathering. Now, stop being so stubborn and come along quietly -” You were cut off in mid-sentence when you felt something warm and sticky land on your cheek.  

You blinked owlishly, unimpressed at the incubus’ false bravado and the stupid sneer on his face. Really? This asshole just spat on you? Fine, two can play this game. 

You slammed your knee into the pervert’s  solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him long enough to secure your grip on him, earning surprised gasps from the guests. You looked up and saw Lady Persephone and Lady Aphrodite staring at you with wide, doe-like eyes. You bowed your head to the lord’s wife.

“Forgive me for bothering you and your…acquaintance, Lady Persephone. Please enjoy the rest of the night.”  Having properly given your apologies to them, you proceeded to drag the piece of shit across the floor, walking in the back of the temple meant for security and the kitchen staff to slip through without being noticed. 

Himejima met you halfway and took the squirming incubus out of your hands, promising to deal with him. In the meantime, it was time for shift rotation; you’d be moving towards the outer perimeter of the island with two other Demon Slayers. 

Tanjiro greeted you inside, asking if you were okay with a worried look in his dark red eyes. Smiling at your old friend, you politely declined and reminded him to get a snack or drink water. This banquet is just getting started, it wouldn’t do him any good to keep working on an empty stomach. 

He nodded enthusiastically, racing back inside to the kitchens and shouting that he’d bring back something for you too. Your heart twinged at his words. Even after all of these years…how could he have forgiven you for surviving the war against Muzan when it should have been him and Nezuko? That the two of you, including Giyuu and Sanaemi, stayed with Master Urokodaki until it was time to go your separate ways? How the guilt gnawed away at you for years, knowing Nezuko would be all alone in her village despite keeping regular contact with you through letters and visits? How can he not hate you?

You shook your head. No…there was no point in dwelling on the past right now. You need to focus on the job. After you scrubbed off the area where the incubus’ saliva had landed, you washed your hands and left the restroom to join the others. 

In retrospect, you truly thought that was the last time you would ever meet the Greek pantheon’s goddess of love and beauty….not the beginning. 

Persephone was bragging about her new bodyguard with the pride of a mother fawning over her child for the third time this evening. 

Aphrodite knew the queen of the underworld well enough that she utterly despised being treated like a child or an asset that is to be protected from even the smallest of threats. That was why it had been difficult for Hades to find someone qualified and met his wife’s expectations to protect his beloved. Personally, Aphrodite found the overprotective part of Hades to be…romantic. Dazzling even, the idea that such a stoic and cold-hearted man melted in front of the only woman he loves. 

Admittedly, Aphrodite was curious about this strong and useful mortal soul entrusted to protect her on-off friend, especially their appearance. Did they possess a rugged appearance, or dressed neatly for the job? Were they big or small? Experienced in bed or a virgin? These questions tossed around her mind right until she heard yelling right behind her. That was when she saw the incubus and a young lady dressed in black, the latter holding him down even though she was half of his size. She gasped in disgust when he spat at the mortal, and then felt her heart flutter when she retaliated with a swift kick to the stomach. Blank [Eye Color] orbs blinked owlishly at them before she murmured an apology, wishing them a good-night before dragging the incubus across the floor without another care in the world. 

Aphrodite gawked in shock, turning her attention back to the equally shell-shocked Persephone. “Is…Is that your bodyguard?” The brown-haired goddess merely nodded, her golden eyes watching the pair disappear into the crowd.

“Indeed…but how could she have sensed that rascal before we did?” It was true. As members of the Oympian pantheon, they were blessed with powers far beyond the others, and not just immortality and incredible strength. Persephone frowned. “Perhaps I underestimated the power of a Hashira?”

“A Hashira?” Aphrodite repeated. “You mean to tell me that Hades assigned the strongest members of the Demon Slayer Corps as your bodyguard and you didn’t mention any of this to me sooner?”

Persephone shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think it was that important to you, in fairness. And they are supposed to be a secret, not public knowledge to spread across Valhalla.” She took a sip of her wine. “Fret not, if that  little pissant is in her hands, she’ll deal with him promptly.”

Aphrodite slowly nodded, taking another gulp of wine before her mind wandered back to the stoic mortal who possessed such a mesmerizing beauty she had not seen since Helen of Troy had been alive. 

In contrast to the innocence of the Argos queen, the Hashira’s eyes did not sparkle with neither joy nor love; nothing reflected in her gaze except exhaustion and irritation when she dealt with the incubus. Why does she seem so tired when she is a trusted soldier under the command of Hades?

That had been the initial spark of curiosity which struck Aphrodite’s mind, even after the banquet. By interacting with Persephone, she was able to persuade her dear friend to come out for an outing in Valhalla’s most popular shopping district with her precious bodyguard in tow. It is through this trip that the goddess of beauty turned her gaze upon the Hashira, and felt her heart pounding in her chest once more.

Yes…those eyes are mesmerizing. But other secrets could she be hiding? One question led to another, and then another until Aphrodite could not stop herself from sinking into the madness of morbid fascination. 

Why does she wear only the standard Demon Slayer uniform? What are her favorite foods? Her hobbies when she isn’t protecting the Bifrost alongside her comrades?

Aphrodite began using her doves to spy and receive daily reports on the Hashira whenever she went in Valhalla, relishing in what information they’ve brought back to the temple; they were almost seen by the overprotective and vain crow that is always by the mortal’s side, however, so her precious familiars needed to be a bit more discreet with their actions. Of course, Aphrodite would not be so cruel nor stupid as to send the doves to the gates of Helheim. 

That would draw too much attention, and she did not want to reveal herself to the lovely [First Name] just yet. 

Soon, she thought with a wistful sigh, lounging in the inner sanctum of her temple surrounded by the stone men Hephaestus created for her as a wedding gift. Soon, we shall be together my love, and nothing will stand in the way of our happiness. 

By pursuing the Mist Hashira, she neglected her longtime lover Adonis. He grew jealous when he heard that another mortal slithered their way into his goddess’ heart, and when he confronted Aphrodite about the rumors, an argument ensued. Adonis left the temple that same evening while she fumed quietly, alone in her twisted thoughts. 

Oh…she wanted to hold [First Name] in her arms. But she needed to be patient for just a little longer. She blinked, baby blue eyes narrowing with a contemplative frown. Now that she thought about it, it has been a while since she called upon Ares to her bedchambers. 

Perhaps until the Demon Slayer is officially hers…she should play around with the war god to satisfy her needs. Yes. That's a perfect plan. Oh, she is so beautiful and smart, no one can tear their gaze away from her when she enters the room. 

Moments later, however, she crushed her cell phone in half. Four times. She called him four times and not once did Ares pick up. HOW DARE HE IGNORE THE BELOVED GODDESS OF ALL THE PANTHEONS IN VALHALLA?!? WHAT COULD BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN HER WELL-BEING?!

As the human author William Congreve had penned in his book The Mourning Bride, “Heaven has no rage like love turned to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.”

It wasn’t hard for the Greek goddess to find him…but why in the world would he come to a floating island that belonged to Apollo, let alone the exclusive hot springs that the sun god owns and ran as a business for only the wealthiest and most beautiful clients? Why would that hulking brute disappear all of a sudden as soon as he walked through the forested area…oh! Aphrodite gasped.

There.

Standing at the marbled archway leading to the hot springs was her Hashira, gazing up at the clouds overhead without a care in the world, sword sheathed at the side and a teal-colored cloth strapped to her back. It seemed to bulge from where the goddess hid behind a stone pillar…is that how Demon Slayers carried their belongings? Wrapping them up in a cloth and tying it securely to their body? Hm, perhaps a purse would make a good gift….but that isn’t important at this moment!

She wanted to see the Mist Hashira’s body. Oh, there is no doubt in her mind that it was a work of art beneath those shabby clothes! Aphrodite giggled, her voluptuous body wiggling in excitement. She watched as [First Name] blinked owlishly, then looked down at…her neck? There was a snake coiled around her neck! 

Aphrodite narrowed her gaze upon the creature, fury pumping through her veins as [First Name] smiled affectionately at it, pressing a soft kiss on the top of its head before turning around to walk inside the facility. Yes…there is no mistaking the pattern on the snake’s back. That filthy abomination was Ares. 

The Greek gods had the ability to transform into the animals that were sacred to them, though Zeus could become almost anything he wanted to be if it meant conquering another woman that his lustful heart desired. In Ares’ case, the vulture, the dog, and the snake were sacred animals enshrined in his temple. He preferred to be the latter when he wanted to pout or hide from others so that his reputation as a fearsome, powerful god wasn’t besmirched. 

He changed into a snake more than a handful of times when they broke up. But why was he with the Mist Hashira? Did he have some private Demon Slayer business with her that needed to be discussed where no one would dare to think they’d converse? Aphrodite wasn’t sure yet she was determined to find out. 

So, she took a page out of the war god’s book and transformed into a beautiful white dove, flying over to the building where an open window allowed her to enter the hot springs with no one none the wiser. 

It did not take the goddess very long to find the object of her affections standing in front of the hot springs, and looking quite annoyed, at least from her hiding behind a marbled column and still in her animal form.

“Ares, are you sure there isn’t another solution? I know Apollo said these waters will help accelerate the healing process….but this is your brother we’re talking about. A preening peacock who thinks only with his dick and bragged about how he had multiple relations in this…place.”  [First Name] asked, tilting her head to look down at the snake. Ares hissed, forked tongue poking out as his tiny head bobbed up and down. 

[First Name] sighed, then released a small hiss of her own as her small frame hunched over ever so slightly. 

Ares’ small form began quivering, no doubt panicking or trying to ask in snake language if the Mist Hashira was all right. Aphrodite watched worriedly as her love slowly walked inside, her soft voice bouncing off the walls as she spoke to the war god.

“I’m…okay. I guess my injuries were worse than I thought even with Shinobu’s treatment. There’s only so much wisteria solution that the body can handle at a time to flush the demon’s poison out. I think…I might have to rely on you a bit longer. I’m sorry.”

As soon as she sat down on a large obsidian rock and began taking off her sandals, Ares reverted back to his true form, kneeling by her side. He helped finish removing them before carrying her over to the smallest spring in the room where light filtered in from a nearby window, placing her on another heated rock. Aphrodite followed quietly, becoming herself again as well and ducking behind another pillar that allowed her to see them without the sun’s rays getting in her eyes. 

She had to clamp a hand over her mouth as she watched her old lover remove the Hashira’s uniform. The goddess’ fantasy of seeing her darling’s lovely, unblemished skin shattered upon seeing bluish-purple bruises and scabs, even a few open wounds. Who would do this to [First Name]? 

Furthermore, why is it that Ares can touch her body and not get kicked below the belt? And yet…seeing her so shy around him, arms trying to conceal her chest from his eyes as he carefully removed her lower garments, left completely bare…the expression was so arousing. Aphrodite wanted to see more. 

Ares slowly removed the bandages that were wrapped around her body in various places, carefully inspecting the wounds before he nodded. “Okay, let’s get your hair washed first.” He then leaned down, untying the clothed satchel and pulling out a circular shaped container. Aphrodite watched with a gaping mouth as he doted on her so gently, lathering up [Hair Color] tresses until there were soapy suds and used a cloth to wash her body too. 

When has he ever been this loving towards someone else besides the goddess of love? Sure, he’s had many lovers over the years…but he didn’t stare at them as if they hung the moon or stars in the sky as he gazed at the Mist Hashira. And that pissed Aphrodite off. A lot. 

Once her hair and body were rinsed off, Ares kneeled down and carefully cradled [First Name] in his arms by the edge of the spring, maneuvering her so that she could slip into the water without too much trouble. 

He laughed slightly as a long, dragged out sigh left the Hashira’s lips before he removed his armor and tunic. He cleaned himself up as well, washing his hair and body, before joining her in the water as well. 

Aphrodite considered showing up ‘coincidentally’ crashing the relaxing moment but she stayed back, choosing to watch them instead. She wanted…no, she needed to know what was going on between these two. Ares helping [First Name] undress and wash herself seemed innocent enough as she was heavily injured….she supposed she could forgive him if he was truly helping her darling out of courtesy for a fellow warrior.  

A comfortable silence fell between them. Time seemed to stand still before the Grecian deity said it would be best to get out now lest there is the risk of overheating. [First Name] looked up at him with a pout, but relented with a nod. 

Ares got out first. He kneeled down as his wet, steaming arms glistened in the sun, carefully lifting the Hashira out of the water. Perfectly innocent…until [First Name] released a soft squeak, face flushed when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the nape of her neck, coiling an arm around her waist to pull her towards him, but being gentle so that he did not irritate the wounds. He then began to nibble her neck, mouth opening and moving downwards as he began to suckle the tender flesh.

[First Name] pressed her thighs together, raising a hand to stifle the noises she was making but Ares would not allow such a small mercy to happen. Instead, he stepped backwards until he sat on the larger heated rock, pulling her into his lap and smiling as she gasped out his name, [Eye Color] orbs blown wide with embarrassment and excitement.  

His calloused fingers caressed the bumps of her spine, maneuvering around the bruises that were still healing until his large hand stopped right above her rear. Ares used his other palm to tilt the Hashira’s face upwards, tucking a stray strand of wet hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek, sealing their mouths together in a kiss. 

Aphrodite’s nails broke against the pillar as her hand trailed downwards. This single moment defined the relationship between her darling and that bastard Ares: lovers, just as she had been his ‘nymph’ all of those years ago, now nothing more than a fleeting memory. Her eyes widened when she heard a mewl of pleasure leave her darling’s mouth as Ares squeezed [First Name]’s rear, alternating between the cheeks, kneading the flesh or lightly spanking it.

The goddess’ body was growing warm with arousal again. Oh, she wanted…no, she needed her to make those noises again, those delicious sounds which grew louder and more wanton through Ares’ touch, [First Name]’s body arching back -

“Ah.”

That was when she heard it…she and Ares. A pained groan from the Hashira, who now quivered in the war god’s arms, the romantic tension between [First Name] and Ares evaporating in an instant. He immediately pulled his hand away. “Are you all right?” He asked. 

[First Name] pouted, trying to pull him back down to her height. “I-I’m fine!” 

But Ares was not convinced. He pressed his index finger to her lips, staring down at her with a soft smile till he turned away to grab a fluffy towel, wrapping it around her shoulders. “We can continue once you’re all healed. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He kissed her softly, silencing any arguments before she slumped against his frame, sweaty forehead resting against his chest with a pout. He chuckled at her childish attitude, gently stroking the crown of her head. She looked up at him and smiled. 

“This trip is certainly one way to celebrate your return from another war, isn’t it?” She said, “I had heard your opponent was someone not to be taken lightly.” Ares grinned, lifting up one of his arms in the air and flexing it. 

“Yes, but he was no match for me! He might have had an impressive army, but he lacked a Lady of Fortune to grant him a victory!”

“Ares, you promised not to dedicate your battle to me last time and you did it again!” [First Name] whined, smacking his chest with her palm, cheeks red with embarrassment. “I didn’t do anything to contribute to the war! You were the one who put the time and effort into improving yourself and your men!”

“Yet you were the one who criticized my footwork and didn’t stop swinging that practice sword until you were satisfied with the results.” Ares chimed in, wiggling his brow. “If I had been any lesser god, I would have not continued to come to your residence year after year to spare with you when Heracles wasn’t around, let alone bring gifts nor beg Uncle Hades for a chance to court you on the condition that it must never become public knowledge.”

“Well, you did make the practice arena collapse in on itself when my other students couldn’t.” [First Name] argued. “You proved to me that you weren’t just a clueless musclehead. You adapted to the battles much faster than I had anticipated, you did everything that I taught you. Your victory in that war…that was by your hand and your army, not mine.”

Ares tutted. “I’m afraid we will have to agree to disagree in this argument, my dearest.”

“Hm.”

Silence fell between them for a short time until the war god stood up, placing the Hashira on the rock. Grabbing the satchel, he took out two opal-colored jars, a roll of bandages, and one labeled with the single word ‘cream’, setting them down on the cloth before he began patting her skin dry. Aprhodrite watched in envy as he cleaned and applied medicine to the wounds, being as gentle as possible before wrapping them up. 

In all the centuries she’d known him, Ares had always been gentle and kind….yet never to this extent, around the goddess of love and beauty. The one who listened to his victories in war, and had once been his Lady of Fortune. So why should an egotistical, self-centered man who only knew about strategy deserve to be around her Hashira? 

Aphrodite would give anything to be loved by [First Name], from the finest jewels and fabrics to experiencing the true joys of the flesh, not what he had done. Mediocre, Ares. She thought with a sneer. Mediocre. 

A little while later, once they were both dried off, a nymph came into the room and delivered a box into the Hashira’s hands, Ares grinning like a child who had a secret that no one else knew about. He urged her to open it. She did, and inside was a teal kimono embroidered with a wisteria pattern, a pale yellow obi, and a hairpin. 

Aphrodite hated it…and yet when Ares helped [First Name] put it in, she could not deny that her darling looked dazzling in it. The color of the kimono was a perfect match to the teal ends of those lovely [Hair Color] locks.

But if it were up to her…she would be in something….well, perhaps that would be best left to the imagination, shouldn’t it? 

Because one way or another, the Mist Hashira will belong to the most beautiful goddess in the universe, and her alone, even if Aphrodite would have to take a page of Zeus’ book to get what she wanted. And she always got what she wanted in the end. 

Taglist:

@myrisan-melodies

@praisethesuuun

@justamegafan

@puffy-bangs

@screechingfatdragon

@nunezs-stuff

@zodiacs-web

@seii-fantasy

@friedchickenlover01

@thatstrangesheep

@themoonisrising

@onecantsimply

@mortemorii

@diamondzoey

@dance-till-the-death

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #x reader #snv x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie #yandere #ror x reader #ns.fw #record of ragnarok x reader #yandere aphrodite #snv aphrodite #ror aphrodite #snv ares #ror ares #ror x you #muichiro!reader

[starrierknight]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞

For you to like him, he doesn't need to be perfect—but he's pretty damn close to it.

MASTERLIST | AO3

wc— 3k

pairing— gn!reader x gojo satoru

cws/tags— acquaintances/flatmates to lovers, fluff, suggestive themes, satoru being obnoxious, ft. satoru’s happy trail, is it still counted as “body worship” if this is sfw

The silent hold of the wee hours left you with far too much to think about, if you do say so yourself. In this nocturnal solitude, you found yourself compelled to confront not only your thoughts, but the echoes of loneliness that reverberated through your cavernous chest, leaving your heart to tremble in the corner. The unrelenting grip of weariness rendered you captive in the cocoon of your bedsheets, their tendrils entwined with the threads of your restless musings.

Despite being a steadfast denizen of these late-night hours, tonight was different—an occasion when the relentless routine of surrendering to the purgatory of your bedroom had worn away at your resolve. The solace offered by the quietude was undeniable, and the shroud of darkness, a gentle balm for tired eyes—though not for weary heartstrings.

As you rose, the floor beneath your feet felt cool, sending a shiver through your body, and the door swung open soundlessly. The corridor awaited, a narrow passageway obscured by conspiring shadows so that you had to place a hand on the wall, trailing your fingertips over the plaster to find your way. The darkness here was thicker, pressing against the walls, and the only companion was the soft exhale of your breath. 

A faint light spilt from the slightly ajar door, a beacon that prompted you to squint as you approached. It became evident that Satoru must have left the lights on, a small yet comforting revelation. Upon opening the door, the kitchen burst into luminosity, momentarily dazzling you as your eyes adjusted.

Satoru had his back turned to you, doing the washing up, shirtless. His back was broad, as if carved out of marble, and toned to perfection. Though his face was obscured, he carried himself with a distinct air of confidence that only those of a certain beautiful visage have—all movements were deliberate, executed as gracefully as could be. He didn’t respond to your presence, nor did he turn around, continuing to wash the dishes as the gentle slosh of water and clatter of plates filled the room.

Your gaze swept across the kitchen, a subtle amusement dancing in your eyes as you took in the scattered evidence of Satoru's attempts to corral the week's accumulation of clutter. The peculiar surge of productivity in the late hours hinted at a shared restlessness, a tacit acknowledgement that sleep eluded him just as it did you.

Returning your attention to Satoru, a quiet fascination seized you as you observed the rhythmic dance of his shoulders. They gently sloped, guiding your eyes down to the graceful curvature that traced the arc of his spine. The muscles, flexing and contracting in harmony with his movements, held a hypnotic allure that further captivated your already-addled mind. 

The subtle rasp of your cleared throat echoed in the kitchen, a deliberate attempt to compose yourself and redirect your attention. The sound elicited a flinch from Satoru, his head tilting in acknowledgement without turning around. Your gaze wandered, initially fixating on his hands immersed in soapy washing-up water, then traversing the sinuous lines of his arms, the broad expanse of his shoulders, and back again to the rhythmic play of muscles along his spine. A fleeting imagination tempted you, picturing the sensation of placing your palm between his shoulder blades, curious about the palpable strength concealed beneath his skin.

Shaking your head to dispel the reverie, you took tentative steps forward, crossing the quiet expanse of the kitchen. Leaning against the cool granite countertop, your elbows found a resting place, and you propped your chin up on your fist. Your eyes remained fixed on Satoru, lingering on the meticulous yet effortless movements of his hands. A small, tentative smile graced your lips as you observed his actions, wondering if he could sense the unspoken sentiment in your expression.

Breaking the lingering silence, you mustered a simple "Hi," but it was met with a stony quietude. 

You wondered if speaking up was the wrong choice, but delirium and the ache to be close to another person had brought you this far. Satoru glanced over his shoulder, his gaze meeting yours with a slow blink. A subtle raise of his brow conveyed a hint of amusement, seemingly deriving pleasure from your visible unease.

His response finally fractured the silence, a sly smirk accompanying his words, "Enjoying the view, are you?" 

The low, husky timbre of his voice carried a weariness, likely a residue of a day spent teaching. It forced a certain softness to his tone, you thought.

You shrugged off his inquiry. "Sue me."

Satoru's response wasn't a hearty chuckle or a deep guffaw, but a light, breathy laugh that filled the quiet kitchen. There was a quiet amusement in the sound, and a trace of a smirk lingered on his face as he looked you over. Your heart responded with a subtle clench beneath your ribs, particularly at the sight of a faint shadow of a dimple on his cheek, carved there just to taunt. The moment, though fleeting, etched itself into the quietude of the night as he returned his attention to the dishes.

"What d'you rate it? A ten out of ten?"

Your response, offered with a playful quirk of your eyebrow, "You want me to rate you?"

Satoru's smirk morphed into a pleased expression as your gaze trailed over him. The contours of his skin, smooth and unblemished, seemed to glow like moonlight in the spill of light from the windows. Intrigued and sufficiently drawn into the distraction your company provided, he turned to face you, leaning against the kitchen cupboard. As he dried his hands on a towel, his arms folded across his broad, rippling chest, the subtle flexing of his pecs synchronised with each breath drew your attention.

"Come on, give me a score anyway. Out of ten."

After a moment's consideration, you offered a teasing response, "A nine." 

Satoru's amused countenance swiftly transformed into a scowl the moment your rating escaped your lips. His eyes locked onto yours, and he spoke with feigned indignation, "Only nine?"

The palpable teasing in his voice was accompanied by a puffing out of his chest, a subtle rise onto his toes, and a slight shift in his weight—an adjustment that added a touch of theatricality to his stance. His gaze fixed on you with an impatient yet expectant intensity, resembling a playful, albeit puzzled, puppy.

Your chuckle, a note of satisfaction in provoking a reaction, accompanied a dismissive wave of your hand. "Ah, I don't know. You're missing a certain je ne sais quoi."

The scowl on Satoru's face evolved into a lopsided frown, confusion and amusement vying for dominance on his expressive features.

"Je ne sais quoi?" he echoed, his head tilting in curiosity, a teasing glint in his eye. The amused twinkle hinted at his attempt, albeit futile, to resist giving you attention.

"Well... You're just a little too perfect, aren't you? Like a sculpture."

Satoru's lips curled into a cocky grin at your explanation. "And what's wrong with being a sculpture? People look at sculptures all day, right?" His smirk widened as he leaned in ever so slightly, a challenge lingering in the air. "Maybe you should do that, then."

Suppressing a grin, you bit the inside of your cheek, allowing your eyes to trail along the line of his left shoulder, up the side of his neck, and to his jawline. "I might," you mused.

The rhythmic rise and fall of Satoru's chest betrayed the subtle restlessness within him, his breaths a steady cadence of inhales and exhales. The heat radiating from his body made the glistening sweat on his skin all the more apparent. His lips, licked in a moment of contemplation, added an unintentional allure as his eyes momentarily darted away from yours. Every inch of him exuded an undeniable appeal, and your gaze couldn't help but be drawn repeatedly to the contours of his chiselled body, a clear testament to where your attention lingered.

As he shifted his weight onto his right foot, a cock of his hip added an extra layer of invitation. "I might let you," he declared.

"Who says it's a question of 'letting' me?"

"I do," Satoru shot back, his eyes taking on a steely glint as he jutted his chin in a clear challenge. The air crackled with tension as he asserted, "I'm not a pushover, and I don't take orders from anyone. If you think you're gonna boss me around, you're sorely mistaken."

The shift in his expression, from cocky to cold and steely, echoed through the space. Your heart quickened its pace as his gaze, those vivid blue eyes glinting like precious stones, locked onto yours. The challenge hung in the air, a silent dare.

Satoru's face transformed, breaking into a wide grin, and a warm laugh escaped him, lighting up the atmosphere once again. It was evident he had been playfully messing with you, and the realisation prompted a quiet laugh of relief from you, your cheeks flushing warm. 

"You got me.”

"You know me. I wouldn't say no if you were offering." 

His words, delivered in a hushed whisper, lingered in the air, barely audible above the rhythmic cadence of your breathing. Your gaze involuntarily drifted to Satoru's lips as his grin faded into a more contemplative expression. There was a subtle hint of shyness in his features, his cheeks now adorned with a magnificent shade of red as he shifted his weight to the other leg.

“Offering?” you queried.

Satoru's laugh, more relaxed this time, accompanied his response. 

"I'm not completely clueless, you know." His gaze finally returned to yours. "You were eyeing me up, weren't you? I didn't mind, though," he drawled, glancing down at his own body. "Well, I don't blame you." With a wink, he added a touch of assurance.

Suppressing a snort, you reciprocated with a wink of your own, much to his bemusement. Satoru's gaze descended from your face, lingering on your body for a moment that felt like an eternity before swiftly returning to meet your eyes.

"The attraction's definitely mutual, so maybe you should just c’mere and kiss me," he suggested, his words teasing, yet there was a genuine note beneath the surface.

"Who says I want to?" you countered.

"My ego, mostly—I'm the prettiest guy you've ever seen. Why wouldn't you wanna kiss me?" 

The familiar arrogant half-grin adorned his face as he tilted his head to the side, shifting his weight onto one leg and cocking his hip once again. When your reaction amounted to little more than a gawp, he theatrically fluttered his long, white eyelashes at you.

"C'mon, you know you want to..."

A stunningly triumphant expression illuminated Satoru's face as you walked around to his side of the kitchen island, leaning against it as you beckoned him closer. For a moment, he observed you, searching for any sign that your actions were merely a tease. Upon finding none, a cheeky grin spread across his features, and he took a step toward you.

Closing the distance, he stood in front of you, leaning in until your bodies were almost touching. "What are you waiting for? Kiss me already.”

Rather than yielding to the demand, you countered with a smirk, meeting his gaze through your lashes. Simultaneously, your hands rested on his bare, narrow waist, and your thumbs brushed against his skin. From such proximity, you could discern the faint marbling of bluish veins beneath his pale skin. 

Tracing the pad of your thumb along one of these delicate lines, just underneath his ribcage, you elicited a sharp intake of breath from Satoru. His chest rose and fell, hands clenched into fists at his sides. You could almost hear his heartbeat quicken—although, your own heart rebelled against your ribs to try and tunnel its way out of your chest and to him.

Undeterred, Satoru met your gaze without a hint of hesitation or shyness, a defiant smirk still playing on his lips. His eyes, those endless blues, were sharp as they studied your face—though his judgement was tentative. The heat from his skin warmed your palms, and you could see goose bumps forming on his flesh as it reacted to your touch.

"Is this okay?" you murmured in a sweeter voice.

Satoru, still captivated by the proximity, was brought back to the moment by the sound of your voice. Slowly, he opened his hands, relaxing a little. "It's more than okay..." he admitted, a smitten look adorning his features.

The exchange continued as he let out a quiet laugh, shifting his weight and allowing his free hand to caress your cheek, tracing along the line of your jaw. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead against yours, his gaze soft, and his touch gentle. Wisps of Satoru’s downy, white hair tickled your temples, tempting your fingers to comb through its softness.

"You're adorable," he complimented, a genuine smile gracing his lips, before leaning his head back slightly to get another look at your face.

Your fingertips, gently brushing against the white trail of hair just below his navel, drew a soft gasp from Satoru. His abs tensed at the touch, his cheeks blushing a deeper shade as a slight shiver coursed through him. In the ensuing silence, the only audible sound was the subtle intake of breath, a shared moment suspended in the quiet kitchen.

Satoru glanced down at your fingers, his body language a blend of tension and receptivity. Swallowing thickly, his eyes flicked downward momentarily before meeting your gaze again.

"What gives?"

"I take it back. You're a ten," you admitted, a playful twist to your tone.

Satoru laughed, his breath hitching before he composed himself. His response was light-hearted and teasing, "Why the change of heart?" 

His cocky grin returned as his gaze dipped down to your hands once more.

The soft brush of your fingers against the hair of his happy trail prompted a soft groan to escape Satoru's lips. His eyes shut, exhaling slowly, and his jaw flexed in response to the sensation.

"I found the one you needed," you declared smugly.

Satoru couldn't contain another soft groan at your touch. He licked his lips, swallowing, his gaze shifting between you and your hands as you continued to explore. His weight shifting onto his other foot, he adopted his best flirtatious expression. Leaning down toward you, his smile widened as he lowered himself to your eye level.

"You're lucky the feeling's mutual, then. So, about that kiss?"

His right hand cupped your cheek, and you instinctively leaned into his touch. The warmth of his palm, surprisingly soft, conveyed a sense of comfort, even as the faint scent of dish soap lingered. Time seemed to slow as your faces inched closer. Something citrussy, you noted vaguely.

“What about it?” you whispered.

"I'm sick of waiting for it..." 

The kiss ignited a cascade of sensations, a marvel that transcended the mere meeting of lips. His hands, so gentle, cupped your cheeks, their journey extending down to cradle the vulnerable expanse of your neck. Fingertips, like feathers, grazed the back of your hairline, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in their wake.

Soft, syrupy lips, vessels of unspoken words, melded seamlessly with your own. As the kiss deepened, your hand remained a steadfast companion on his waist. The caress, a silent declaration, pulled him incrementally closer, drawing him into your orbit. His hands, still cradling your face, mirrored the tenderness. Satoru, in response, leaned in, his lips maintaining their pillowy softness against yours, his entire body communicating a tranquil surrender to the moment—to you, if only briefly.

Your fingers, entwined in his whispery, silver hair, brushed away the few locks that always seemed to fall just right. As you both pulled away, the affection shared in that fleeting gaze lingered, plain for all to see on Satoru's face.

"And what would you rate that?" Satoru said breathlessly.

You hummed and wrinkled your nose, making a show of thinking it over. "A nine."

“Not a ten?" his voice was low and intimate. He brought his hands down to your waist to hold you, and you could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.

"Well, I'm kind of banking on you to keep kissing me until I give you a ten," you murmured.

He huffed out a laugh as he shook his head, followed by a soft, ironic, “Of course.”

A mischievous grin adorned Satoru's face as he leaned in for another kiss, this time more intense, more hungry. Tilting his head, he skillfully avoided a direct alignment of his lips with yours, adding a delicious edge to the kiss. His tongue ventured, a slow exploration that gradually deepened, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

Your fingers dug slightly into his waist, a feeble attempt to keep your mind tethered before you lost it to him completely. Satoru's tongue pressed deep into your mouth, his grip on the back of your neck tightening slightly, intensifying the kiss. The softness of your lips pressed against his body allowed you to feel every sculpted muscle. The passion of the kiss remained gentle, not rough, yet the sensation left you craving more.

As you both eventually pulled away, a quiet panting filled the space. Your nose brushed against his jawline, a content smile playing on your lips.

"Still a nine?" he inquired, a teasing note in his voice, his voice quiet but carrying an undeniable edge of confidence.

Satoru shifted his hands to your shoulder, fingers lingering for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest. His warm breath caressed your face as he looked down at you. Pressing his forehead lightly against yours, he closed his eyes, savouring the touch.

“Still a nine.”

"Just you wait," he added, a promise whispered. "I won't stop until it's a perfect ten."

a/n: alternative title, “Gojo Satoru is so pretty he makes me stupid” haha. I wrote this to get out of my writing slump lolol. and ooooo first sfw fic on this blog!! how exciting :3 -> based on this ask!

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

#꒰ ✎ ꒱ — tongues in trees #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gn!reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #gojo satoru x reader fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #satoru gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo drabbles

[xwitchaestheticx]

CHAPTER ONE

The Lost Heir • Dev Update! Greetings, Esteemed Heroes! I come bearing thrilling tidings and momentous updates! Firstly, I'm elated to announce the triumphant completion of Chapter One! Hooray! Additionally, brace yourselves for the unveiling of our official character/cover art! 🤭🦋✨ Before delving into the heart of it, I extend my heartfelt gratitude to each of you for embarking on the enthralling journey chronicled within the inaugural chapter of "The Lost Heir"! Within this initial chapter, my aim was to offer a tantalizing peek into the lives of the other intriguing characters. These individuals, newly acquainted with your MC, serve as a window into their diverse personalities and abilities. As you step into this chapter anew, the power rests in your hands—you wield the choice to traverse the path of a character you resonate with. Should you choose to replay the chapter and explore an alternative character, a fresh perspective shall unfold, delving deeper into their essence and unveiling more about their life in this captivating realm! Rest assured, frequent shifts in perspective won't become customary. This narrative choice was made deliberately to provide exposition sans the cliché character introductions. Moreover, it resonates with the personas of Sarosh and Kali, individuals who wouldn't readily unveil the intricacies of their lives to a stranger. The subsequent chapter will return to the familiar format, empowering you to make choices and chart the journey of your own personal MC. This odyssey shall persist, freely accessible with the release of new chapters. However, any support via donations is immeasurably cherished. Should your experience bring you joy, kindly consider sharing it with friends and fellow enthusiasts of Interactive Fiction. Spreading the word shall nurture the vibrant growth of our community.

Play Chapter One Here

If perchance you stumble upon any errors, I humbly beseech you to bring them to my attention. My nocturnal scribblings might occasionally overlook details, and I'd be delighted to rectify them.

#interactive fiction #twine interactive fiction #interactive game #twine game #twine wip #choices #dating sim #interactive play #itch.io #the lost heir #supernatural #original character #romance options #art

[yourfavoritebookclub]

WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 6

Imogen and I walk along the Iakobos River, our steps near silent as we snake our way through the reedy grass to the cluster of large oaks at the bank.

We stop at the roots of one of the larger trees and Imogen pulls off her hood to give me a long look.

She leans in towards me, voice quiet. “Can you please stop giving me the silent treatment?”

When I don't respond, she turns her head to look me in the eyes, “Xaden, seriously. You weren’t there, she was talking about my parents being murdered. Am I supposed to just let trash like her get away with that? It’s dis—” I lift my hand to silence her. “Don’t finish that sentence, Imogen.” I ground out, my anger rising at the insult.

Hurt and confusion flash across her face and I feel a twinge of guilt. She doesn’t know that with every look, every confrontation, every day that goes by where Violet is in my presence, my self control slips a little more.

“The rest are close.” Sgaeyl says from her position in the sky. 

My eyes lift, “We can discuss this in front of everyone. It’s a message for all of you.”

The two of us turn towards the line of trees as the rest of the group converge beneath the giant oak.

My shadows are comfortable here, they feel cool against my skin. As they unravel, my senses extend along every tendril. I can hear every small nocturne creature and subtle wind.

I can also hear the soft, quick breathing above me. What Violet Sorrengail is doing out here, is a question I’d love to know the answer to. But it can wait. This moment feels like another opportunity to push her and see which way she falls.

There are small introductions between everyone, most of them are known, but some of the first-years are from smaller families who haven’t been properly acquainted with everyone.

There’s a palpable anxiety coursing through the younger cadets. I get it, but it’s time to push it to the side, step up, and do their jobs. We protect each other. Panic isn't an option. 

Garrick is angsty about the losses this week. We all are. Our numbers are small enough as is. 

Garrick addresses the group, his eyes hard, “We’ve already lost Sutherland and Luperco, that’s just how it is your first year, but we can’t afford to lose a single one of us. Division amongst ourselves will be your greatest weakness.”

There’s soft rustling in the branches above as Violet moves from branch to branch.

Imogen turns to the first years, “Like it or not, we’re going to have to stick together if you want to survive until graduation.”

“And if they find out we’re meeting?” One of the younger girls, Gwyn, asks the group.

The fear is clear on all of their faces. They’ve all been scared for too long. But that’s what we’re here to change.

I need to inspire courage, but also remind them that we’re confident in the system we’ve created.

And remind them who they’ll be answering to if things get out of hand.

I cross my arms and lean against the tree, keenly aware of Violet, now directly above me.

“We’ve done this for two years and they’ve never found out.” My eyes scan the group, “they’re not going to unless one of you tells. And if you tell,” I say, raising a brow, “I’ll know. Like Garrick said, we’ve already lost two first-years to their own negligence. There are only forty-one of us in the Riders Quadrant, and we don’t want to lose any of you, but we will if you don’t help yourselves. The odds are always stacked against us, and trust me, every other Navarrian in the quadrant will look for reasons to call you a traitor or force you to fail.”

There’s no use in feeding them bullshit if their lives are on the line.

“How many of you are getting your asses handed to you in hand-to-hand?”

Four first-years raise their hands.

Four.

“Shit.” I exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose. This is not good. After the bargain was made a few of us older kids made sure there were systems in place. Training regimens were created. Academic Curriculums, and tests that mimicked what they’ll face upon entering the quadrant. Tools to ensure every serpartist’s kid was well equipped before they put a single toe on the parapet.

The headache is back.

Garrick, always a step ahead, says, “I’ll teach them.”

After the amount of training, and natural skill he’s had, Garrick’s fighting is instinctual. Good for winning fights, not great for trying to teach someone.

I look at Garrick and shake my head, “You’re our best fighter–” 

I’m interrupted by Bodhi, “ You’re our best fighter.”

“Dirtiest fighter, maybe,” Imogen corrects him with a laugh.

There’s some laughter, and even a couple smiles from the younger ones.

“Fucking ruthless is more like it,” Garrick says, grinning at me.

I keep my mouth shut and let everyone get it out of their system before moving on.

“Garrick is our best fighter, but Imogen is right up there with him, and she’s a hell of a lot more patient,” If the two of them want to be mouthy then they can do it together. “So the four of you split yourselves up between the two of them for training. A group of three won’t draw any unwanted attention. What else is giving you trouble?” One of the first years, Kieran begins speaking before anyone else, his voice full of anguish,“I can’t do this.” My stomach lurches.

I can’t deal with this right now

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice going cold.

“I can’t do this! The death. The fighting. Any of it. A guy had his neck snapped right in front of me on assessment day!” The boy's voice is growing more frantic, and every word out of his mouth is filling me with guilt.

“I want to go home!” Kieran continues, “Can you help me with that ?”

Everyone turns to look at me.

I did this to them.

Bile rises to the back of my throat.

No, this was the only way I could save every person in front of me right now.

I didn’t have a choice.

And neither does he.

I swallow, frustration bubbling up to the surface.

We don’t have time to comfort and coddle. Our goal is to survive. Everything else is an afterthought.

“No,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, feigning indifference.“You’re not going to make it. Best accept it now and not take up more of my time.”

My words come out harsher than intended, but I mean them nonetheless 

The color drains from Kieran’s face, and his thin frame begins shaking as my words hit him.

Bodhi turns to look at me, incredulity written on his face. “That was a little harsh, cousin.”

“What do you want me to say, Bodhi? I can’t save everyone, especially not someone who isn’t willing to work to save themselves.” I keep my voice calm, even as the guilt tries to press itself in on me.

“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick says, that same disbelief lacing his voice. “Way to give a pep talk.”

Did none of them hear me after the parapet? We are not special. We will face blood and horror, and the likely possibility of death. Giving me problems that I can’t solve doesn’t help anyone, it holds us all back. This is just a fact of our reality. 

“If they need a fucking pep talk, then we both know they’re not flying out of the quadrant on graduation day. Let’s get real. I can hold their hands and make them a bunch of bullshit empty promises about everyone making it through if that helps them sleep, but in my experience, the truth is far more valuable.” I turn to look at Kieran, “In war, people die. It’s not glorious like the bards sing about, either. It’s snapped necks and two-hundred-foot falls. There’s nothing romantic about scorched earth or the scent of sulfur.” 

I point to the citadel off in the distance, “This isn’t some fable where everyone makes it out alive. It’s hard, cold, uncaring reality. Not everyone here is going to make it home…to whatever’s left of our homes. And make no mistake, we are at war every time we step foot in the quadrant.” I lean closer to him, and the other first-years in front of me. They need to drill this into their fucking skulls, “So if you won’t get your shit together and fight to live, then no. You’re not going to make it.”

I assess each of them, making sure they’ve heard me loud and clear.

Good. Time to move on.

“Now, someone give me a problem I can actually solve,” I say, this time addressing the whole group.

Aria, one of the first years, speaks up, “Battle Brief.” 

That, I can handle.

She continues, “It’s not that I can’t keep up, but the information…”

Imogen steps in to soften the obvious conflict in Aria’s voice. She leans in, voice gentle “That’s a tough one.”

Some of my irritation with her softens. Imogen’s fearless, and has a nasty temper, but she’s always been a buffer between me and everyone else.

And she’s right, It’s hard to know what we know, and still placate the professors.

I’d speak a bit more freely if I didn’t have a certain someone perched on the branch above me. I'm already sticking my neck out by letting her stay. 

“You learn what they teach you.” I say giving her a pointed look. “Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you to.” There are several nods, and I feel satisfied that everyone understands what’s at stake if they fuck up.

“Anyone else?” I say, looking up at the moon. It’s shifted considerably since we got here, which means we’re cutting it close. “You’d better ask now. We don’t have all night.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence before someone in the back says, “When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?”

My whole body tenses, my heartrate climbing, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from snapping. In the span of a few seconds I’ve become completely possessed. Just a handful of days around her and I’m already losing my mind at the thought of anyone touching her. She’s mine . 

“Yeah, Xaden, When do we get to finally have our revenge?” Imogen says, her voice turning mockingly sweet. 

I am now acutely aware of every fast breath coming from Violet. 

I throw a threatening look at Imogen, “I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right.” 

I don’t think I even know what that means right now. There are a lot of ways I’d like to handle– 

No.

That’s not even a thought worth entertaining.

Bodhi decides to be Bodhi and stir the pot, “Didn’t you already learn that lesson, Imogen? What I hear, Aetos has you scrubbing dinner dishes for the next month for using your powers on the mat.”

“Her mother is responsible for the execution of my mom and sister. I should have done more than just snap her shoulder.” Imogen argues, her cheeks flushing in anger.

“Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents. Not her daughter.” Garrick looks Imogen in the eyes, “Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not Tyrrish.”

This is getting exhausting.

“So we get conscripted because of what our parents did years ago and shoved into this death sentence of a college–”

“In case you didn’t notice, she’s in this same death sentence of a college. Seems like she’s already suffering the same fate.” Garrick says, shutting down Imogen’s argument.

Apparently everyone here needs a reminder of who Violet is in all of this.

“Don’t forget her brother was Brennan Sorrengail. She has just as much reason to hate us as we do her.” I say to Imogen before turning to the first-year, “And I’m not going to tell you again. She’s mine to handle. Anyone feel like arguing?”

No one speaks.

The moon has shifted even closer to the horizon. Time to get these walking headaches out of here and deal with the one above me.“Good. Then get back to bed. And go in threes.”  

The group clears out and I walk towards the citadel, slowly cloaking myself in shadows until I’m invisible in the dark. I can’t help but smirk as I backtrack to the oak tree and slip behind where Violet is currently positioned.

She’s patient. It takes her a good ten minutes before she finally climbs down from her perch and drops to the ground. 

Still cloaked in shadows, I lunge, pulling her tight against my chest. Every place where our bodies connect is buzzing like a live wire, and I resist the impulse to drop her. 

It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and dammit if I don’t love every second.

“Scream and you die,” I whisper in her ear. I don’t want to let go of her, but I force myself to remove my arm from around her neck.

Before she can even think about retaliating, I’ve replaced my arm with the edge of a dagger. “Fucking Sorrengail.” I snap, pulling back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face.

Fuck. 

I can’t help the way my cheeks heat as she leans her head back to look me in the eyes.

I push my chest against her, forcing her eyes forward before she gets a chance to read the undeniable need on my face.

“How did you know?” She says, her lip curling. For someone who’s convinced I’m going to kill her, she has some bite. “Let me guess,” she continues, “You could smell my perfume. Isn’t that what always gives the heroine away in books?”

Perfume?  

I bend my head toward hers, my lips brushing against her ear.

She’s irritating as hell. And yet here I am, excited that I have her all to myself.

“I command shadows, but sure, it was your perfume that gave you away.” I say sarcastically, my voice barely above a whisper.

A thrill goes up my spine as she gasps. “Your signet is a shadow wielder?”

My lips are still at her ear , “What, Aetos hasn’t warned you not to get caught alone in the dark with me yet?”

My voice sounds rough, even to me, and I resist the urge to put my mouth on her, to bite her ear, kiss her neck. I’m in a fog, consumed by being near her.

My grip loosens a fraction as my concentration slips, and she spins towards me, dagger raised, “Is this how you plan to handle me?”

“Eavesdropping are we?” I ask, brow lifting. 

Seeing her like this, like she was before the parapet, angry and wild, is doing something to me, and I can’t get enough.

I sheath my dagger. “Now I might actually have to kill you.” The cold look in my eyes is in stark contrast to the way my mind is pleading with her.

Please, don’t say anything. 

Because for all my bravado, I don’t know if I have it in me to kill her. I’m worried about what it might do to me. 

It would wreck me.

She backs away, reaching into her cloak to pull out another dagger. 

Despite her uneven footing and awkward defensive stance, Violet with her daggers out, ready for a fight is…

Fuck, It’s hot.

“That stance is really the best you can muster? No wonder Imogen nearly ripped your arm off.” I say, heaving a sigh. I don’t have it in me to kill her but there are several people who do, and will succeed with her defensive position so…lacking.

“I’m more dangerous than I look,” she says, but her cheeks are flushed and her ears have turned pink at the tips, contradicting the anger in her voice.

She’s being cute, and I can’t help but smirk. I like playing with her, “So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.”

Quicker than I would’ve expected she flings both daggers towards me.

And completely misses.

I look at her dully, if not a little disappointed, “You missed.”

“Did I?” She says, reaching for the two other daggers she has tucked into her cloak, “Why don’t you back up a couple steps and test that theory?”

What?

I smooth my face into a mask of irritated boredom, but from the way she’s looking at me, I know she saw the question in my eyes.

My shadows swirl around her ankles, pulling to touch her. I yank them back, hard, smothering my own desire.

My eyes don’t leave Violet’s as I take three steps back until my back hits the tree.

Where the  hilt of each dagger sits perfectly between both sides of my head.

Oh.

Good girl, Violet.

“Tell me again that I missed.” She threatens, flipping the dagger in her hand to hold it by the tip.

I still can’t take my eyes off of her. 

I smile, “Fascinating, you look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?”

I will my shadows into something more concrete, forming them into hands, the slender fingers moving to pluck the daggers from the bark, and drop them into both of my palms.

I’m still smiling at her like a fool. I think I’m going into shock.

My body has completely abandoned my mind, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m moving towards her, steps slow, “You should show that little trick to Jack Barlowe.”

Violet blinks in surprise, “What?”

She clocks how close we are to each other and raises her dagger.

I’ve done my job a little too well if she thinks my only motivation is to kill her. “The neck-snapping first year who’s very publicly vowed to slaughter you.” I tease, lifting an eyebrow. 

One more step and the tip of her blade is pressed against my middle. I’m still smirking as I reach under her cloak and sheath one of the daggers. 

I lift the other side of her cloak, and the smirk slips off of my face, every ounce of playful banter gone.

Underneath her cloak, her hair is twisted into a loose braid that falls over one shoulder and down past her breast. The silver strands, now exposed to the moonlight, glint as she shifts her head to look up at me.

I can barely breathe for wanting her so badly.

I want to wrap that braid around my wrist and yank her towards me.

For a single heartbeat I’m dumbstruck before I pull myself together and sheath her other dagger. “He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.”

Violet’s face looks half irritated, half confused, “Because the honor of my murder belongs to you?” My words from earlier play through my head. Mine . “You wanted me dead long before your little club chose my tree to meet under, so I imagine you’ve all but buried me in your mind by now.”

I look at the dagger pressed between us. She looks closer to burying me than the other way around. 

A small shiver of fear courses through me. I’ve made a dangerous gamble in letting her hear all that was said tonight. “Do you plan on telling anyone about my little club ?” 

“No,” She says bluntly.

I can feel my eyebrows knit together. The answer I was hoping for, but not necessarily the one I was expecting. “Why not?” I ask. My head tilts to the side as I examine this girl in front of me, so different than I had assumed. “It’s illegal for the children of separatists officers to assemble in—”

“Groups larger than three,” Smart little thing.

She continues, “I’m well aware. I’ve lived at Basgiath longer than you.” Arrogant little thing too.

“And you’re not going to run off to Mommy, or your precious little Dain, and tell them we’ve been assembling? ” I can’t help the contempt that drips off my tongue at the thought of Dain. Of his hands on her face, searching through her memories.

“You were helping them. I don’t see why that should be punished.” 

I give her an assessing glare.

She looks thoughtful, her mind turned inward for a beat before her eyes refocus on mine, “I’m not going to tell.”

I can’t get my hopes up, but they’re soaring anyways.

Her defenses are slipping away, rotating back to a familiar look of fear.

I don’t want her to be scared of me.

She needs to be scared of me. She should want nothing to do with me. 

If I can just manage enough self restraint to put some distance between the two of us.

“Interesting. We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.” I say, my thoughts of staying away are already completely abandoned.

I turn to go and she calls after me, “You’re not going to handle me?”

“Not tonight!” I yell over my shoulder, a smirk on my face.

She makes an indignant sound, “What are you waiting for?”

Gods I can’t help but play with her, “It’s no fun if you expect it. Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.”

“What?” She almost shrieks, voice full of confusion.

 I start to pull my shadows around me, cloaking me from view, but not before I hear her shout, “ You’re my wingleader!”

Yes the hell I am. 

In the shadows my smirk has bloomed into a fierce grin.

#fourth wing #fanfiction #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #xadenviolet #violet and xaden #fourth wing fanfic #tairn and sgaeyl #sgaeyl #liam mairi #mira sorrengail #basgiath

[metalhoops]

Steve had always thought his house was haunted. It wasn’t until the bodies started showing up on the front porch that he suspected it was something more sinister. 

The Harrington house had an air about it, with its elongated, hollow halls resembling gaping maws come sundown and all the familiar clicks and ticks that came with living in an enormous house alone. The pipes rattled like cuffed hands clapping when Steve stood beneath the shower spray. The wooden walls warped with the seasons, making all sorts of odd creeks. Then, of course, there was the wildlife, the shrieking of nightbirds and nocturnal creatures in the woods around the house. 

He used to think the haunting was the extrapolation of an overactive imagination. It was the reanimated corpse of a broken home. Sometimes an open window would blow shut a downstairs door, letting Steve think for a moment his parents had returned, only to find a silent house at his feet. 

After his first run-in with The Upside Down, he got paranoid. He slept with his bat by his bed, bolted the windows and checked the locks twice before going to sleep. Nothing ever happened. Each time the paranoia waned, another apocalypse would rear its ugly head, and he’d be back to the old routine. 

March 1986 sent him over the edge with Vecna's disappearance, Max’s coma, and Eddie’s death. He made new sets of keys, figuring with Hawkins being the way it was, his parents would avoid the place like the plague. He borrowed one of Nancy’s guns and kept it in his bedside drawer. However, unlike in other years, the house was anything but empty. 

He’d wake to the sound of slamming doors in the middle of the night and walk downstairs to find all the kitchen cupboards open and the front door ajar. Things escalated quickly. By mid-May, he was finding dead animals on his doorstep. 

He’d held back vomit one morning when he’d stepped out onto the welcome mat to find his once pristine white Rebooks wedged between the ribs of a coyote. The creature was pallid to the point of purpling. The front yard was a crime scene, the neatly cut grass streaked with blood. It seemed like the blood was everywhere but within the animal. It’d gone cold and stiff in the night. 

The next week it was a fox, the week after, a possum. Steve became more well-acquainted with death. He’d thrown house parties every week back in high school, and knew about deep cleaning, burying any trace of what a state the place had once been in.  

At first, he’d tried to think rationally. He tried to make some excuse about the change in weather, bringing the creatures to his doorstep. He’d even mentioned it to Robin, who’d been appropriately disgusted but level-headed. After all, the town had almost been cracked into a hundred little pieces months before, and nature acting strangely was expected. Every other day a bird would take a nosedive into the video store window. 

Steve became good at explaining these instances away until he found the final body on the floor of the living room. It wasn’t dead, but it should be. 

The familiar sound of a slamming door roused Steve from his sleep. He grabbed the gun and headed downstairs only to find himself looking down at the familiar body of a boy, sprawled out on the living room carpet. His form was covered in fading scars, his pale skin ashen with the transparent sheen of death. It was Eddie. The boy Steve had watched die. 

Steve saw the man’s chest rise and fall in languid gasps. He was dying at his feet all over again, and Steve was too used to strange things to question the authenticity of the sight before his eyes. 

“Eddie?” Steve choked, disbelievingly watching as Eddie’s eyes sprung open. He’d known them as warm brown coco, but now they were gaping black pits, open yet unseeing.  

“Stevie?” He echoed, sounding disorientated. 

“It’s so freaking cold,” the boy huffed, attempting to sit. It was an echo of a conversation they’d had while Eddie was dying. Maybe Steve was dreaming.

He dropped the gun and helped pull Eddie into a sitting position, one hand on the back of the boy’s knee, the other on his shoulder blade. His hands were covered in blood, but Steve couldn’t see an injury. 

“I was looking for you... thought you’d know what to do. Jesus Christ, you’re warm,” Eddie hissed through chattering teeth, his whole body leaning into Steve. They were on the cusp of summer and Steve was sweating, while Eddie was as cold as death. 

Steve felt like he was standing on the edge of a steep cliff, being asked to jump. Something primal in the base of his brain was screaming for him to turn tail and run. 

“You died, Eddie. I saw you, you shouldn’t be here,” Steve let out a string of incoherent ramblings. The boy couldn’t be alive. 

Eddie curled further into himself, into Steve, a quiet groan escaping his lips. 

“Can we save the crisis for later? I’m so damn hungry, man.” Steve nodded and pulled Eddie to his feet, leading him by the wrist to the kitchen. 

He switched on the lights and watched Eddie wilt beneath them, using his hair to shield his face from the brightness. Steve, oh too familiar with migraines, flipped the lights back off, letting darkness swallow them. 

He poured Eddie water from the sink and watched him inhale greedy gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing while a vein in his neck throbbed. Steve scraped together food from the fridge and watched as the man ate with the same frenzied fervour, before spinning on his heels and throwing up in the sink. Steve cringed but rubbed circles across the man’s back.

“I feel like I’m dying,” the boy groaned.

Steve couldn’t tell him he wasn’t. He didn’t know what was happening to Eddie, but he knew he didn’t want to watch the guy die again.

Steve felt Eddie’s body trembling beneath his fingertips. He rubbed his hand down the length of Eddie’s arm, trying to warm him. 

“I’m going to get you a blanket,” Steve spoke, backing away from Eddie, keeping his eyes on the boy until his back slammed into the doorframe. 

By the time he gathered the sheets from the upstairs closet and returned to the kitchen, Eddie was gone. The only trace left of his visit was the open front door and the bloody handprint on the sink. 

After that night, Steve stopped locking his doors. He didn’t tell anyone he’d seen Eddie. They’d think he was crazy. He thought he was crazy. 

It would be weeks before Eddie woke him again. This time, Steve was startled by another body sliding into bed beside him. The room smelled of rotting fruit and iron. Sickly sweet and coppery. Steve rolled over, finding himself looking into the vacuous black eyes he’d come to know as Eddie’s. 

“Are you real?” Steve murmured, almost certain he was dreaming.

“Last time I checked,” Eddie grumbled, still shivering.  

“Are you the one leaving the animals on the porch?” Steve asked. He’d been doing a lot of thinking, and contrary to popular belief, if pushed, he could put two and two together. 

Eddie didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His face spoke volumes. 

“It works in horror movies,” Eddie grumbled.

“Did it work?” It surprised the both of them how non-judgemental Steve’s tone was, as though they were discussing the weather. 

“No,” Eddie confessed. 

Steve felt the same sinking sensation he had when Eddie first appeared, but he never was one for running from danger. 

“Do you think something else might?” He tried to remain cool, but his heart was a kick drum in his chest. Steve was good at playing the martyr. That didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified each time he did it. 

“Satanic Cult Leader Lays with Hawkins High King and Local Golden Boy, Luring Him into his Ranks Through Blood Sacrifice. That headline has a nice ring to it, huh?” Eddie teased, putting on his most dramatic news anchor voice, shattering the illusion as he stuttered the final words out through chattering teeth. 

“It’s a little wordy, and ‘lay with’ are we five?” Steve grumbled, trying to help Eddie by moving closer to the boy. 

“I didn’t mean to imply...” Eddie grumbled. Despite his decrepit state, he still managed to look like a deer caught in headlights. 

Steve shook his head and sighed. “I didn’t care that you did. Do you still feel like you’re dying?”

Once more, Eddie’s silence spoke volumes. Steve knew he was about to do something stupid, but chose to do it anyway. 

“I want you to try it,” Steve insisted. Instead of moving closer, Eddie shuffled further away, going to stand when Steve reached out, catching him before he could recreate his disappearing act. 

“I know what happens to you in horror movies, Stevie,” Eddie whispered, shaking himself from the boy’s grip.

“Only the predictable ones,” Steve argued, sitting up in bed. 

“I don’t want to kill you.” 

“And I don’t want to watch you die again, so just hurry up and get it over with,” Steve hissed. 

“Christ, you have a death wish,” Eddie grumbled but returned to the bed, sitting cross-legged opposite Steve. 

The two boys sat, looking each other over for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Steve watched as Eddie’s eyes became darker. The moonlight from the window turned his skin the same silver, blue as the night. His lips purple. His cheeks hollow. The veins across his face appeared like a million little highway lines cutting across the map that was his skin. 

“Can you hurry up?” Steve spoke, feeling his nerves stretched thin.

“Sorry, Harrington. S’not like they give you a manual on this shit,” Eddie complained, leaning over and gathering the gun from Steve’s bedside drawer, switching off the safety and placing it in Steve’s right hand. He took Steve’s free hand with a beat of hesitation. 

“Here’s something I thought I’d never say. Harrington, I give you consent to shoot me if shit goes sideways.” Steve’s eyes swelled wide, but he nodded to show he understood. 

The idea of something was always worse than the real thing. He shut his eyes and tried not to squeeze his finger on the trigger as a sharp spasm of pain shocked up his left arm. The sound was worse than the pain. He could block out the sensation as time went on. It was hard to ignore the intermittent slurps or smacking of lips. Just when the world started to blur around the edges, Steve felt Eddie pull back. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Eddie apologised as he grabbed a shirt from Steve’s things, trying to wrap it around the wound. 

Eddie’s face was a sight to behold. Blood painted it from nose to jaw, a pool coagulating at the corner of his lips. That was the thing that tipped him over the edge. Steve felt the world go dark. 

He woke hours later. The curtains were drawn, and he felt a body by his side. A warm body. Steve rolled over, surprised to find Eddie’s face pressed into his side. The boy was deep in sleep. Steve glanced at his mangled wrist, finding it wrapped in gauze, unsure where Eddie had found it. 

Steve supposed his life was never going to be normal anyway. He might as well let it happen. At least he wasn’t going to be alone in the house anymore. If Eddie was alive, Steve couldn’t be haunted. 

#steddie #steddie au #ficlet #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #kas eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st 4 #tw violence #tw blood #tw gore #horror fiction #I haven't gotten much into #Kas Eddie #but I wanted to throw #my hat in the ring #because I love horror #and will write it any chance I get #also thanks to everyone #who comment on my posts #or leave stuff in the tags #I do read them so ty #Metalhoops writes

[darlingdeer21]

YOUR LOVELY BLOOD

THE MAIN LORE

This world is ruled by two races - Humanity and Vampires. People are divided by gender and race, just like in our world. Vampires have the following division:

Daytime. Daytime vampires are similar to the sun, which children often draw. Their heads are always gracefully decorated with large, wide rays that can convey the mood of the vampire. In a calm state they keep a certain shape, in tension/anger the rays noticeably tense up, seem to sharpen, tremble in a threat, and in a relaxed/sad mood the rays noticeably droop. The back of the head is covered with small rays that can even look like short-cropped hair. Daytime vampires always have light white eyes, and their body coloring can range from red to yellow and shades thereof. As a rule, daytime vampires are more graceful, sensitive to any smell, and very perceptive.

Nighttime. The palette of nighttime vampires is changing from dark blue tones to light pink and shades, and the white of their eyes is always dark, almost black. Nighttime vampires are predators, so they prefer a more modest lifestyle. Unlike the daytime ones, they are ardent hunters and their bodies are built quite strongly and the nocturnal ones look much larger. Nighttime vampires don't have such large rays as day ones, but their heads can also be decorated with short rays. In female representatives, such rays are slightly larger. Most often, nighttime vampires wear cloaks with a hood or some kind of headdress.

Adaptive. Half-blood vampires whose parents entered into an interspecies marriage. Depending on the dominant genes, such a vampire will have the abilities and external characteristics of the dominant gene. Unfortunately, such vampires have health problems and most often require special Exceptional Blood to maintain health.

o Adaptive o Fully adaptive This subspecies is distinguished by a complete combination of parental genes and, with maintained health, will be one of the most dangerous vampires, since in addition to hypnosis and charm they have hunting skills. There are very few representatives of this subspecies, since such vampires are born extremely rarely.

There is no war in the world, but there is plenty of disagreement. In the past, vampires attacked humans openly, used and played with their lives, since their blood was their only source of food. Back then, vampires didn't treat humans as equals. Then a war broke out for the permission to life, humans were able to defend their place in this world, and then a special international law was invented, which included rules of conduct.

Vampires have no right to attack humans; force them to give their blood; drink human blood without the person's permission. Humans have no right to attack vampires. Vampires and humans can't form families or make friendly acquaintances.

And there are various methods of punishment for violations - from a fine to the death penalty.

But the law did not always save the situation, vampires still often attacked people in order to get enough and humans were desperately looking for a solution to the problem, and then a plan was developed to organize a special community - Donors. Such people donate their blood completely voluntarily to the vampires. The idea of creation was proposed to the government and they discussed it with the vampire royal family. The council approved this project.

Over the years, some problems disappeared. The vampires were divided into two sides: one that changed its attitude towards humans and now treats them neutrally, in some places even friendly, and the other, which didn't appreciate the donor’s work and adheres to the same practices.

New problems arose: vampires stopped attacking people, but began to use donors, depleting their body, sometimes leading to death. Then the Queen herself put forward the idea of an organization to protect donors. Such guards were vampires who were personally chosen by the Queen herself from the vampire army (the insight of a day vampire allowed her to easily find the most faithful and honest).

More about DONORS

More about VAMPIRES

Main Story Pt 1, Pt 2

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #fnaf daycare attendant #daycare attendant #security breach #dca fandom #fnaf au #dca au #vampire au #your lovely blood au #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf sundrop #fnaf moodrop #fnaf eclipse #eclipse #solstice #full moon #moon eclipse #fnaf oc #oc #stella #skylight #dca x oc #sun x oc #sundrop x oc #moon x oc #moondrop x oc

[edgy-fluffball]

Share 3 things you love about your current WIP! (optional: send to 3 other authors who need some positivity!)

Oh hello :)

What I like about my current giant writing project...

I love that I get to listen to loads of new classical music for inspiration, even if the pieces don't end up mentioned in the text or on the playlist.

I love that it feels like I'm writing about friends when I write out my characters.

I honestly love that I don't know yet how the final Enjoltaire-couple moment will happen (Imagine that: almost 400k words and I still don't know how the endgame couple comes to be :D)

Thank you for the ask!

Also: new chapter on Friday, 14th July ;)

#fluffball answers #les miserables #enjoltaire #nocturnal acquaintances #exr #fluffball writes

[leavingautumn13]

some ralts line ocs because i have a problem

[i have commissions open now]

text under the cut with bonus info added

Aglæcwif [she/they] // @askteamsupernova continuity

former rescue team member

now works as a therapist for current rescue/exploration teams

first appeared in this issue

Olympia ("Olly") [she/her] // Sinnoh

adventurer/trainer

has one pokemon--a shiny umbreon named Nocturne

explores and studies ruins in Sinnoh, Johto, and Paldea

acquaintances with Champion Cynthia

Audrey's twin

Sonata [they/them] // Paldea

thinks they're a knight sent from the future

(they're not)

Tenacity ("Ten") [he/they] // Hoenn

Team Aqua member

interviews new team members

counselor

named Tenacity because of an incident in his childhood where he nearly died; his family didn't expect him to pull through

Audrey [he/him] // Sinnoh

bassist in a garage rock band

contest star

Olympia's twin

he and his sister were raised by humans in Solaceon

#gardevoir #gallade #iron valiant #pokemon #pokemon oc #autumn.oc #autumn.art #oc: aglæcwif #oc: olympia #oc: sonata #oc: tenacity #oc: audrey

[linka-from-captain-planet]

The L Word: Faerûn, Part 3: The Chart, Pre-Canon

Previous part.

Having explained the overall premise and basically who "Alekto" is, it's time for the real meat of The L Word: Faerûn which is who's fucking who and when and why.

Thus, in more or less chronolgoical order, the pre-canon (pink lines) relationships/hookups/drama is as follows...

(over 100 years ago) Isobel and Aylin meet, piss off Isobels' dad, and lose each other, exactly as occurs in canon. Similarly, Jaheira lost Khalid as in canon.

(? years ago because these are just for seasoning and timing doesn't really matter) Helsik and her #1 rival/frenemy/LOHL Korilla have been on and off forever. They don't know they're desperately in love. Helsik has definitely also ~encountered~ Harleep and Mizora is too nosy and obnoxious to have never crossed paths with Harleep, and crossing paths with Harleep seems to mainly mean one (1) thing.

(c. ~30 years ago to ongoing) The long, rocky relationship between Alekto and Florrick was laid out already in the previous segment, since it explains much of the backstory for the entire TLW:F concept.

Alekto, Florrick, and Naoise Nallinto are also connected as part of a polycule. Alekto is more or less monogamous, but flexible enough for a well-definied poly relationship if desired by her partner. Florrick is definitively poly, and she and Naoise have been involved consistently for quite some time, including during Florrick and Alekto's relationship. Driven by their connection as city-dwelling wood elves, they find each other grounding and enjoy spending time together, but aren't compatible enough to be very serious. Florrick and Naoise remain involved with one another, even though Alekto split away some 10 years pre-canon. Alekto and Naoise had little in common, so they rarely spent time together without Florrick, but consider each other acquaintances up to the present day.

(c. ~30years ago to just before canon). Shadowheart and Nocturne were long-term sweethearts, each other's rock in the harrowing environment of the cloister, although if asked, either would downplay their feelings for each other in accordance with their lady's teachings. They never really broke up, but rather were on-and-off due to Shadowheart's sessions with the Mirror of Loss and having to often rebuild their not-a-relationship from scratch. Due to this, the eternal denial of their true feelings for each other, and the overall culture of sexuality in the cloister, they both often were involved with other members of the cloister (represented as Mirie on the chart but could be really anyone/multiple people) both individually and also there were definitely orgies.

(~20 years-5 years ago) Florrick and Nine-Fingers Keene also had a rivals-and-lovers situationship going, as a gung-ho younger Florrick hoped to make a name for herself in the Flaming Fist by taking down the rising star of the criminal guild, but things got sexy and dramatic fast. It has been several years since they last slept together, but the sexual tension endures. (For what it's worth, I think Nine-Fingers is in her mid-forties as of 1492.)

(~13 or so years ago). Teenage Hoodlums Karlach and Skoona were a casual, infrequent thing before Karlach went under Gortash's wing.

(~10 to 1ish years ago) After Gortash betrayed Karlach, she found some kind of fun, comfort, companionship (against her better judgement) in Flo the Garotter. Karlach would never admit they were ~together~ at all let alone for that long, but if you look at the facts, they don't lie.

Now look at Allandra Grey and tell me that woman is not running some kind of racket out of that temple!! Obviously Nine-Fingers would have a finger in that pie, and a finger in other things if you know what I mean. The city could NOT handle them together, it's like how the horses in Macbeth start eating each other to signify a rift in the natural order. Umberlee probably drowned a lot of people over it. Of course (not pictured) the Polycule From Hell that is Nine-Fingers' Ladies and the Umberlee cultists is alive and (not) well.

Now in the peri-canon realm (within the 1 year prior to), we got a lot going on in the Harper Corner:

Jaheira and Nine-Fingers have had a little casual thing going on for several years, nothing serious; Jaheira doesn't want a new one and only because she already had her one and only. They have some fun, they share information, they pick this thing back up in a couple months.

Now with the Harpers, Jaheira isn't out looking for anything, but you know when you're working so closely with people, and the stakes are so high, and the nights are so cold... shit just kinda starts happening. So Talli and Jaheira developed a bit of a thing while working together to mobilize the Harpers to go to the shadow-cursed land and take on Ketheric. Talli's a good gal, salt of the earth, humble, hard-working; she's ready to settle down but Jaheira is so far beyond settling down that it's just... not a good situation for either of them. Feelings hurt, Talli rebounds with Lassandra and that's really fine, but they just didn't have enough in common to build the kind of relationship either of them want, but they made for good bedfellows while it lasted.

Meanwhile, at one point Jaheira and Isobel get drunk, start reminiscing about their lost loves, and have sex. It WOULD be a secret they both take to their grave if literally everyone didn't know about it.

In the tiefling region, sorry but Lakrissa has bag-fumbler written all over her!! Of course she and Alfira flirt, but Lakrissa fails repeatedly to seal the deal and you know Alfira doesn't make the first move (hence why they have no pre-canon connection). (Also Alfira was desperately in love with Lihala in the most hopeless, idol worship crush way, but this was 100% one-sided so not on the chart). It also doesn't help that Lakrissa's ex-teenage-sweetheart from Elturel, Xeph, is also in their caravan. Xeph dumped Lakrissa because Lakrissa wouldn't get serious about her, a mistake Lakrissa claims she will never make again, but... bag-fumbler. Lakrissa also has some bouts of low self-esteem and since her post in the grove overlooks Aradin's crew camp, I imagine she got into a little something with Remira even though Remira, like Aradin, is a piece of shit (but she is also hot, so).

Lastly, we of course have the Minthara-Orin thing which is honestly not my cup of tea whatsoever, but exists and is thus on the chart. Just because I wanted her on the chart, I feel like Minthara and Roah Moonglow have banged at least once in the goblin camp since Minthra would need to blow off some steam with someone hot and also clean.

And of course Z'rell needed to be on the chart, so the question was, who could handle her? The answer was obviously Araj, whose unflinching craziness yet delusional serenity would be a fun and equal match to Z'rell's intensity. They smashed like 2-3 times in Moonrise.

Next: The Chart, Act 1

#as usual disclaimer that almost everyone on the Chart is bi/pan even if basically only F/F relationships are mentioned #the l word: faerun

[yeolsaintlaurent]

Nocturnal Reverie ch.10 [PCY]

pairing - chanyeol x fem reader

genre - mature, smut, angst

themes - power imbalance, romance, crime, justice, class divide, politics, sex

synopsis - In the sprawling, dystopian city of Emberhaven, where power and corruption reign supreme, the lives of two unlikely individuals collide in a tale of passion, intrigue, and moral reckoning. Chanyeol, an enigmatic and wealthy scion of the city's elite, finds himself captivated by the elusive Y/N, a cunning and resourceful thief who navigates the treacherous underworld of Emberhaven. Their first encounter, sparked by a chance meeting in a luxurious club called The Velvet Lounge, sets the stage for a whirlwind romance amidst a backdrop of crime, politics, and danger.

warnings - none for this chapter

A/N - Might be the longest chapter yet. But I had so much fun writing this chapter. I wanted it to seem like you were in the room, witnessing it irl. It took a lot of brain power, but I would like to believe that this chapter basically wrote itself. As always, let me know what you thought. Is this the beginning of the end? Are all the characters finally going to converge, making the following chapters a compelling read? Read on to find out, my lovelies ~~

Chapter 10: Glimmers of recognition

The grand ballroom exuded opulence, lit by the soft glow of chandeliers resembling crystalline constellations. Gilded mirrors reflected the elegance of the elite attendees, their gowns and tailored suits creating a tapestry of wealth and influence. Fragrances of exotic perfumes wafted through the air, mingling with the rustle of silk and the hum of quiet conversations.

Live music cascaded through the ballroom, the quartet weaving classical melodies with a modern twist. The haunting strains of a cello and the ethereal notes of a piano created an atmosphere of refined indulgence, a backdrop to the intricate dance of intrigue and ambition.

Chanyeol, dressed in a sharp suit that complemented his towering figure, moved through the crowd with a calculated ease. His eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the room for any signs of the elusive figures that often lurked in the city's shadows.

As he neared the center of the grand ballroom, a sudden hush fell over the crowd. Intrigued whispers passed through the guests, and Chanyeol felt the shift in the atmosphere. Turning toward the source of the disturbance, he was met with a sight he hadn't anticipated.

There, amidst the sea of elegantly dressed attendees, stood Kai, or Jongin, as he knew him to be. Dressed in a tailored suit that accentuated his lean frame, Kai's presence commanded attention. His eyes, dark and enigmatic, scanned the room with a mixture of confidence and detachment.

Chanyeol's heart quickened. The tension in the air was palpable as their eyes locked from across the room. The unspoken history between them crackled like electricity, and the weight of unresolved questions hung in the balance.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The distant hum of conversation faded into the background, leaving only the echo of their shared past. Chanyeol's mind raced with conflicting emotions – duty, suspicion, and an undercurrent of a connection that refused to be severed.

Chanyeol engaged in polite banter with fellow attendees, all while keeping a watchful eye on Kai. The atmosphere buzzed with a sense of exclusivity, each conversation veiled in layers of hidden motives and social intricacies. Amid the sophisticated gala, Chanyeol approached a well-dressed acquaintance, subtly inquiring about Kai.

"Excuse me," Chanyeol said, turning to the gentleman, "Do you know who that is?" He discreetly gestured towards Kai, who held court in a small gathering.

The man glanced over, his eyes narrowing in recognition. "That's Kai. A respected dealer in vintage cars, collectibles, and regal jewelry. The crème de la crème seek him out for his expertise. A man of impeccable taste and discretion. Created a name for himself about six years ago. No one knows where he came from, but he sure did manage to have them wrapped around his finger. Always kept it as a rule to never be explicitly involved with the illegal activities his customers deal with. Maintained an untainted business ever since."

Chanyeol absorbed the information, a thoughtful expression on his face. Armed with this knowledge, he returned to the unfolding drama of the gala, where his past and present were converging in unexpected ways.

Amidst the glittering assembly, Kai moved with a quiet confidence. He effortlessly commanded attention. The crowd swarmed around him, a sea of faces swooning over the man of refined tastes. His charm was palpable as he engaged in conversations, each word a carefully chosen note in the symphony of the gala.

As Kai effortlessly mingled, Chanyeol observed from afar, his sharp gaze tracking the ebb and flow of the crowd around Kai. The social elite gravitated toward him, their conversations a harmonious blend of admiration and curiosity. Kai  navigated the sea of faces with an ease that hinted at a familiarity with the intricacies of this world.

Kai observed Chanyeol inconspicuously. He knew Chanyeol would be here, his presence a deliberate move. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension as their eyes met across the ballroom. Ever so perceptive, he locked eyes with Chanyeol, reading him like an open book.

The quartet's music became a subtle backdrop to this silent exchange, the tension escalating with each passing note. Conversations swirled around them, the elite attendees oblivious to the intricate dance of shadows playing out in their midst.

Kai, aware of Chanyeol's gaze, maintained a composed exterior, yet his eyes betrayed a watchful awareness. There was an unspoken acknowledgment between them, a recognition of the shared history that bound them, and the secrets that lingered beneath the surface.

Chanyeol continued his discrete observations. Kai's interactions were layered with intrigue, his conversations veiled in mystery. It was a game they had played before, but tonight, the stakes were higher, the dance more intricate.

As the quartet's music reached a crescendo, the tension between Chanyeol and Kai lingered in the air. The ballroom, a stage for the unfolding drama, held its breath as the two figures moved in a delicate dance of shadows. The night wore on, each passing moment a step closer to the revelation of hidden truths.

Chanyeol, torn between the allure of the gala and the need for answers, couldn't help but be drawn into the gravitational pull of Kai's orbit. The tension between them simmered beneath the surface. Feeling the weight of the past, he decided to approach the epicenter of the gala where Kai held court. He weaved through the elegant throng, his eyes never leaving Kai's figure. The air buzzed with anticipation as he neared, the orchestra now transitioning to a vibrant waltz that infused the atmosphere with renewed energy.

Kai, sensing Chanyeol's approach, turned to face him with an air of nonchalance. The exchange was subtle, a nod of acknowledgment that spoke volumes. The symphony of the waltz played on, casting a spell over the ballroom, encapsulating the drama unfolding between the two old friends.

As Chanyeol finally stood before Kai, the two locked eyes in a silent dialogue. Conversations around them blurred into a distant hum, the world narrowing down to the charged space they occupied. The unspoken tension between them demanded resolution.

"You certainly know how to make an entrance," Chanyeol quipped, a wry smile playing on his lips. The banter emerged effortlessly.

Kai replied with a smirk, "Old habits die hard, Loey. I've always enjoyed a bit of theatrics."

The atmosphere around them crackled with the intensity of their exchange, the weight of untold stories hanging in the air. The gala continued its elegant rhythm, but in their bubble, time seemed to stand still.

Chanyeol, probing yet cautious, ventured, "It's been a while, Jongin. High school feels like a lifetime ago. I hear you go by Kai now."

Kai's eyes bore into Chanyeol's, a glint of mystery behind the veneer of sophistication. "Indeed. Life takes unexpected turns, doesn't it?"

"What brings you to an event like this, Jongin" Chanyeol inquired, his voice carrying a subtle edge.

Kai flashed a sly smile. "The same thing that brings everyone – connections," he replied, his tone light and banter-filled.

"Connections? Or business?" Chanyeol pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"A bit of both. You should try it sometime," Kai teased, his words hanging in the air like a veiled challenge.

Shifting gears, Chanyeol delved into more direct territory. "What's your trade these days?" he inquired, genuinely curious.

Kai, the picture of nonchalance, responded, "Vintage cars, collectibles, and regal jewelry. The finer things."

Chanyeol, having heard whispers about Kai's prowess, couldn't help but acknowledge, "Heard you're the best in the game."

Kai's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. "Rumors. But I do like to maintain a certain reputation."

"A clean reputation?" Chanyeol probed, skepticism etching his expression.

Kai leaned in slightly, his words a playful whisper. "As clean as the driven snow. Drama doesn't suit my business style."

Their exchange held a subtext, a subtle dance of veiled truths and guarded confessions. Chanyeol couldn't shake the feeling that Kai held more cards in this intricate game than he did. The mystery of Kai's disappearance and reappearance gnawed at the edges of his curiosity.

With a nod toward the crowd, Chanyeol inquired, "What brings you back into the limelight, Jongin? And with such flair, might I add."

Kai leaned in, his voice a low murmur, "You, my old friend, might find the answer in the shadows you're so adept at navigating."

Before Chanyeol could press further, a ripple of applause signaled the end of the waltz. The moment, pregnant with unspoken revelations, dissolved into the rhythm of the gala. Kai, maintaining his enigmatic aura, excused himself with a polite nod.

As Chanyeol watched Kai disappear into the glittering crowd, he couldn't shake the feeling that the shadows of their shared history concealed more than they revealed. The ballroom, now ablaze with conversations and music, held the echoes of a reunion that had only scratched the surface of the enigma that was Kai.

Kai seamlessly merged into the crowd, a figure of intrigue that drew the attention of the elite attendees. The whispers of admiration followed him like a wake as he navigated through the sea of opulence.

The socialites, adorned in their most exquisite attire, subtly jockeyed for Kai's attention. His magnetic presence, combined with an air of mystery, turned him into a coveted jewel in the ballroom's glittering crown.

A group of elegantly dressed women approached Kai, their eyes shimmering with admiration. They engaged him in animated conversation, laughter and flirtation blending into the rich tapestry of the gala. Kai, the consummate charmer, effortlessly reciprocated, his smiles holding a hint of mischief.

Chanyeol, observing from a distance, felt a twinge of nostalgia. This was the 'Jongin' he remembered, the charismatic friend who effortlessly navigated social circles. Yet, there was an undeniable transformation – an evolution from the carefree high school days to a man who now held court in the circles of power.

Kai's eyes, scanning the room, found Chanyeol's gaze. Their eyes locked momentarily, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Chanyeol wondered how much of their shared history Kai carried with him, and if he, too, felt the weight of unresolved questions.

As the night unfolded, Kai effortlessly glided from one conversation to another, leaving an indelible impression on everyone he encountered. Whispers of admiration and curiosity followed in his wake, painting him as an elusive figure draped in an aura of mystique.

The orchestra shifted its tune, signaling the commencement of another dance. Kai, ever the master of ceremonies, gracefully invited a distinguished lady to join him on the floor. The duo swirled in a choreographed dance, captivating the onlookers with their effortless elegance.

Chanyeol, leaning against a pillar, observed Kai with a mix of admiration and wariness. The dance seemed like a metaphor for their complex relationship – a series of graceful moves on the surface, concealing the intricacies of their uncharted history.

Unable to shake off the lingering tension from his encounter with Kai at the gala, he decided to step out of the opulent ballroom. The air outside was crisp, a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere within. He made his way through the grand entrance, casting a final glance over his shoulder as the rhythmic melodies faded into the night.

As he traversed the moonlit courtyard, Chanyeol couldn't shake the feeling that Kai's presence lingered, a ghostly echo in the corridors of his memory. He quickened his pace, determined to unravel the enigma that had resurfaced from his past.

The distant echo of the gala began to fade, replaced by the rhythmic hum of the urban night. Retrieving his car from the valet, Chanyeol drove through the empty streets, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The city skyline sprawled before him, a glittering tapestry of lights that mirrored the myriad thoughts racing through Chanyeol's mind.The city lights painted fleeting glimpses of clarity on his face, revealing the furrowed brow of a man grappling with the shadows of his past. The city's nocturnal pulse throbbed around him as the cab weaved through labyrinthine streets.

As he neared his home, the anticipation in the air grew palpable. Every step felt like an echo, each passing moment a prelude to the imminent confrontation with Kai. The car slowed to a halt, and Chanyeol, drawing a steadying breath, stepped into the night.

In the quietude of his home, Chanyeol's thoughts were a tempest of uncertainty. The revelation of Kai's presence had cast a web of doubt, intertwining the threads of past and present. He pondered the significance of Kai's connection to Y/N, a connection veiled in secrecy and half-truths.

The door creaked open, a portal to the unknown, and Chanyeol stepped into the dimly lit interior. A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the soft glow of light. It was Kai, his expression a mask that betrayed little of the tumult within. Chanyeol` was taken aback, as he wondered how in the heck did Kai manage to get in his home. He thought he was still at the gala where he last saw him. 

Chanyeol's gaze bore into Kai's, searching for answers in the depths of those familiar eyes. The silence between them held the weight of unspoken history, a narrative that begged to be unraveled. Kai, breaking the quietude, spoke with a voice that carried the weight of shared memories.

"Loey," Kai began, his words measured, "there are truths that demand reckoning, and i guess the time has come."

As the night unfolded, the conversation between the two men traversed the labyrinth of their shared history. The revelations, like shards of glass, reflected the complexities of a past intertwined with secrets, loyalties, and the presence of Y/N. Chanyeol, haunted by the ghosts of choices made and paths diverged, confronted the reality that awaited him at the crossroads of destiny.

In the tranquil expanse of Chanyeol's apartment, the air buzzed with a silent storm of unresolved history. The soft glow of muted lights cast a flickering dance on the walls, creating an ambiance that mirrored the tension between two figures locked in a confrontation.

Chanyeol, standing at a distance, started with a genuine concern that seeped into his voice, "Jongin, where the hell have you been all these years? You disappeared without a trace, not a word. We were friends, and I... I needed someone back then."

Kai, leaning against a table, his gaze steady, replied with a cryptic smile, "People change, bro. Sometimes they need to disappear to find themselves." His words, a veiled commentary on the passage of time, lingered in the air.

The genuine worry that initially etched Chanyeol's features slowly morphed into a mask of frustration. "You think you can just waltz back into my life and pretend like nothing happened? Like you didn't leave me  when I needed you the most?" His words, tinged with betrayal, hung heavy in the room.

Kai, cool as ever, countered with a quirked eyebrow, "Well, I'm here now, aren't I? Things change, people change. Get over it, man." His dismissive tone cut through the lingering emotions, leaving a bitter aftertaste.

“I had literally received word from my mother that my dad died due to a heart attack. I was so lost. I was grieving. Didn’t you think I would need you to be there for me?” Chanyeol said, his voice betraying him by cracking a bit. Kai doesn’t utter a word at this. He knew this, but he chose to stay silent.

The exchange took a sharper turn as Chanyeol, unable to suppress the growing anger, took a step forward. "How do you know Y/N?" The question, edged with a hint of aggression, demanded answers. He felt Kai didn’t give a shit about the past, so he at least wanted to get answers regarding the present. 

Kai, unfazed, leaned back with a nonchalant demeanor. "We've known each other since we were young," he answered vaguely, a deliberate choice to keep the details shrouded in mystery.

Chanyeol, frustration bubbling to the surface, fired back with a pointed remark, "People might have believed in your vanishing act, but I sure as hell didn't. You left without a word, without any explanation. Some friend you turned out to be."

Kai, a sly grin playing on his lips, chose to deflect rather than engage. "My turn," he declared, shifting the focus. "How does it feel to still be living in your father's shadows?" The question, a calculated jab at Chanyeol's past, lingered in the charged air.

Chanyeol, his temper rising, retorted with a sharp tone, "I left that life behind. I've got nothing to do with my father or his empire." The words, a declaration of independence, resonated with the weight of Chanyeol's choices.

Kai, undeterred, continued to peel back the layers. "Then why has taking it down been your life's mission for the past eight years?" His inquiry, a challenge to the sincerity of Chanyeol's motives, was met with a brooding silence.

In the midst of the verbal sparring, Chanyeol's patience wore thin, and he snapped back with a pointed question, "Have you and Y/N ever been together romantically?" The words, laced with accusation, sought to unravel any hidden connections. Why do I need to answer his questions about my past when he obviously doesn’t give a flying fuck?!?

Kai, seizing the opportunity to maintain the upper hand, chuckled and replied vaguely, "We've always been platonic friends, except for that one time we almost kissed each other way back when." His playful evasion added another layer of mystery to the already complex dynamic.

As the verbal jousting continued, Chanyeol, now fueled by frustration and confusion, pressed on with a revelation. "We confessed our love to each other not too long ago. We're together, Jongin." The admission, intended to assert his present happiness, instead intensified the brewing storm.

Kai, eyes betraying a hint of emotion, couldn't resist taking a dig. "Some gall you have to be in a relationship with her. You are obviously toying her around. I wouldn’t believe it for a second that you ..hah…actually ‘love’ her," he remarked, the words dripping with resentment.

Chanyeol, no stranger to the art of verbal combat, shot back with defiant pride, "What the hell do you mean by that shit?"

The atmosphere grew dense with unspoken grievances as Kai, choosing to remain enigmatic, delivered a cryptic warning. "If you have the slightest bit of shame and guilt for what your father has done to this city, or even the people who were under his employ for that matter, you'd stay away from Y/N."

Chanyeol, anger boiling over, demanded an explanation. "What the fuck are you on about?"

Kai, unwilling to reveal more, decided it was time to end the conversation. As he made his way toward the exit, Chanyeol's frustration reached its peak, and he shouted after him, "Who do YOU think you are, telling me what I must do or who I must love? Get the hell out of my home Jongin or Kai or whatever the fuck you call yourself now You are a fucking traitor, and have proven without a shadow of a doubt that we were never friends and now never will be!"

Kai stopped, turned around, and with a parting shot, said, "You sure about that, Loey?" The words lingered in the air as Kai exited, leaving Chanyeol seething with unanswered questions and a lingering sense of unrest.

#--yeolsaintlaurent #nocturnal reverie #exo #exo imagines #exo scenarios #exo x reader #exo x you #exo smut #chanyeol x you #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol smut #chanyeol #chanyeol x reader #exo chanyeol #park chanyeol #chanyeol fic #kai fic #kai #kim jongin #kai x reader #kim kai #kai scenario #kai imagine #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #kai fanfic #chanyeol fanfic #kyungsoo

[bubblegumbeech]

We Interrupt Your Scheduled Programming.

Nocturn and Clockworks friendship stands on a sturdy foundation built on gray morals and dark secrets, trust formed through mischief and misdirections—as well as frequently helping each other out of situations of various kinds. Unfortunately for both of them, Clockworks latest problem has become a rescue mission scenario

For @ravenatural (Enjoy my beloved.)

AO3

“You’re joking.”

“If I am, it’s in poor taste.”

Nocturne was leaning back in his chair—a comfortable amalgamation of pillowy soft aspirations for the cushions with a sturdy frame of hope holding it together underneath. His chin was balanced on the palm of his hand, one sharp nail tapping impatiently on the wood of his mask.

“How long do I have?” he asked, giving up on any attempt at gauging the urgency in his brother's demeanor.

Clockwork was aloof as ever, despite the circumstance he had just described. “Not long. But I cannot stay—”

“Naturally.”

“As the result is fundamentally up to your decisions.” Clockwork tipped his head slightly, the mischief in his eyes no more hidden than the bitter twist of his lips.

Yes, the result would be up to Nocturne, but he had no doubt at all that it would also be to Clockwork’s taste. And while the thought of playing into the bastard's hands went against every fiber of his being, dating back to when they were more concept in their mother’s shadow than full entities themselves… the thought of missing out on such an interesting opportunity left a sour taste in his mouth.

Oh well.

He’d have to be one step ahead next time. Pride was such a killjoy in situations such as these. Perhaps if great and powerful ghosts, such as the likes of Pariah Dark or Erinyes, had a looser grip on their pride, they too might have found themselves less acquainted with repeated defeat.

“So you’ll do it?” Clockwork asked, knowing full well what Nocturne’s answer would be.

What a bother this whole thing was bound to be. “Of course, as annoying as you are, I hardly want to lose my favorite brother.” Nocturne leaned to the side, balancing his chin in the back of a loosely curled fist. “Well, at least of the ones left.”

There wasn’t even an exasperated eyeroll. Things must truly be dire.

“It’s… dangerous,” Clockwork warned, quite uncharacteristically.

Nocturne barked out a laugh. “Oh you know me, I won’t be getting involved directly.”

“Of course.” If Nocturne hadn’t known better he’d say Clockwork sounded relieved.

What a worrying thought. Perhaps his new young charge had made him overly cautious, in a way Clockwork never had been in his youth.

“You do know you will owe me quite the favor?”

“...Of course.”

Nocturne sighed and stood from his chair as Clockwork disappeared into nothingness. It truly was going to be a tedious task. Well, it didn’t necessarily have to be as tedious as Nocturne was going to make it, but he was not nearly as fond of consequences as his brother and would at least try and prevent them wherever possible.

Especially given his strange reticence.

It would have been easier, of course, if Clockwork had given him any kind of deadline. Nocturne was half tempted to take his time, leave his brother waiting and suffering both before swooping in just to prove a point.

But if anyone was well versed in petty retribution for petty transgressions it was the Master of Time.

He readied himself to leave his Lair, sealing his mask properly over his features and styling his hair so that it blended seamlessly with the rest of the endless night sky he garbed himself in.

Once he was presentable, he started to think about what exactly it was he was going to do. If he wanted to keep true to his word, that he would be careful (and hopefully unseen) there would need to be a not insignificant amount of planning.

The Clockwork that had visited him just now was from four rotations past—and had seen the possibility of the future Nocturne currently occupied.

It was the current Clockwork that needed his help.

Well, at the very least he needed something resembling help. Though it was more in the line of holding up a painting as Clockwork nailed it into the wall. Nocturne would hardly be necessary, but he’d help keep everything straight.

First… was a trip to Clockwork’s Lair. If his visitor was to be believed, Long Now would be abandoned, but Nocturne should still be able to gather at least a few clues.

His brother may be a cryptic bastard, but even he would let down his guard in his own home.

Nocturne stepped over the threshold—the lair accepted his presence easily with the bond between them as strong and often reaffirmed as it was.

There was something though, leading him away from one of the wings of the tower. Nocturne mostly ignored it. He wasn’t here for his brother’s secrets, or to break his trust. And if his Lair had something it did not want Nocturne to see, he would simply not see it.

Besides, he was here for a reason.

He mostly needed to know how long Clockwork had been gone. The time, frozen on the main screen in Clockwork’s viewing room, hinted that it had been only a moment since he’d been taken. Almost a breath between his captors dragging him away and Nocturne stepping foot inside.

It was a wonder he missed them.

Nocturne kicked away some of the mess that had been left in the struggle. Leave it to his brother to time things so perfectly.

Did it not occur to the bastard that Nocturne’s presence might have prevented this outcome entirely!?

He tapped at the edge of his mask, taking another look around before leaving to explore some of the other rooms.

Clockwork’s Lair was… strangely organized, outside of the viewing room where the recent struggle had destroyed almost everything short of the screens themselves.

He had never known Clockwork to be organized. It was…

Well, Nocturne was hardly going to start digging. His goal this time was his brother’s favor—not his displeasure. It would be just his luck if Clockwork decided whatever secrets he might uncover would count to even their score.

Next stop was setting the scene.

As powerful as Nocturne was, he didn’t particularly like his chances against the mass of Eyes That Minded Everyone’s Business But Their Own. But he did have a few tricks he could use to thin their ranks.

Perhaps he could use this as an opportunity. After all, Clockwork wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a good scheme. And he had learned many of his tricks from Nocturne himself.

He stopped by Clockwork’s kitchen, grabbing some of the supplies he had left behind on one of his previous visits. There was a surprising amount of Coraleander Tea left, but Nocturne did not dare attempt to partake.

It was Clockwork’s favorite and he had been lamenting for the past few centuries that there were too few gardeners left patient enough to cultivate it.

Instead, he made a simple glass of Sweet Dreams and allowed it to try and evoke some modicum of creativity.

There were very few ways to create a distraction catastrophic enough that it would actually get Those Who Watch But Rarely Act to… well, act.

He could start a rebellion in some of their territories, but it would take time. And upon reaching out his tendrils to read the underlying thoughts and desires of the District of Jurisdiction or the Dictator’s Ship, he found them amidst rebellion already—and planning revolt.

Observants and Sympathizers were already stalking the streets (and the passageways) to keep their disobedient subjects in line and under Control.

It certainly made Nocturne’s job easier. He sent a silent ‘thank you’ to whomever paved the way and nearly severed the Collective in half.

Even if it was… conveniently timed.

With such a large-scale operation already clearly underway and under someone’s control, Nocturne could make some more pointed attacks to start spreading what was left even thinner.

Yes, rather than trying for the tedious task of collecting the masses, he’d grab a few powerful ghosts that could get the Watching Eyes moving. It was more his style besides, and significantly less effort.

Convincing one or two… or three ghosts to do something was as simple as reading their nature and granting them a genie’s wish. Convincing an entire Realm… well, that took something far more dangerous than simple power.

Nocturne slipped away, his first target already in mind.

Of course, thoughts of powerful, dangerous ghosts and slow rising revolutions and revolts—only one ghost truly came to mind.

Pariah’s right hand. He certainly had no love lost for the bastards that had attacked Nocturne’s brother. Not since Pariah had turned against them during his first reign, and especially not in the eons after as they chased after him only to seal him away over and over again.

It was a simple matter to seek out Fright Knight’s specific flavor of fear and where it left its trails in the greater subconscious. Even simpler still, to use it to find where exactly the spirit was last seen.

It didn’t take long.

Fright Knight was spending his time, as he often did since his unfortunate curse, in a pumpkin. If Nocturne read it correctly, the pumpkin he was currently sealed inside had been left floating—lost in the thinner regions of the drowned quarter, just outside one of the smaller civilizations.

Nocturne was not personally a fan of visiting that particular region. Call it a character flaw, but he preferred the soft sweetness of happy dreams over the heavy cloying taste of fear and nightmares.

And if the deep inspired anything at all, it was fear of the unknown.

Either way, it was easier to travel in a different form through the thick ectoplasmic mimicry of ocean water. It was only mildly annoying to keep his mask fixed in place, but his hair ran completely wild and out of his control.

He wrapped his coat around him, twisting it into the vague shape of a selkie’s tail before relaxing and letting himself merge back into it. The entire visage was rather romantic, an ink colored night sky in the shape of an ocean dweller.

This particular trip would have to be quick—there was no way of knowing which of his siblings might catch him like this, and it was not something he wanted to risk for long.

They had disgustingly long memories, after all.

The search would be tedious, and Nocturne found himself fighting with an unfamiliar bitterness—oh how convenient it would be to have an ability like Sojourn’s in moments like this? Even Clockwork would know where the exact thing he was looking for awaited him.

This was exactly why Nocturne was very rarely one to get out and ‘join the fun.’

Oh well. They say to play to your strengths.

Nocturne let himself sink, just slightly, into the subconscious thread of thought all around him. Plucking at the different strings, until he found one so saturated in fear it was positively dripping with it.

Ah… he opened his eyes and swam towards the feeling—pulling at the string to guide him as if it were Ariadne’s and the open ocean around him a twisted labyrinth. It led him, successfully, to a young mermaid-like ghost that had found the floating pumpkin accidentally.

They did not dare get close to it, their subconscious thick with stories of the Spirit of Halloween and his Dimension of Fear. They had made at least three or four laps around some internalized perimeter, curious but wary. Unwilling to take their eyes off of it but even more unwilling to swim closer.

Nocturne paid the spirit no mind and simply collected the pumpkin, sword and all.

He began to swim away, thoughts clouded by future plans and possibilities.

The mermaid reached out, claws just barely missing the edges of Nocturne’s cloak. He did not know if they were trying to stop him—it did not matter. He had what he came for.

He kept Fright Knight sealed as they traveled towards Verification City, the Observants’ controlled little pet metropolis where their rules were law and weak orderly-obsessed ghosts collected like hive insects.

It was important as a display of their authority, and Nocturne had no doubt they would deploy a number of their slimy little congregants to try and ‘protect’ it. Especially when, as far as Nocturne had managed to observe, it was one of the few Realms left to them not showing open Revolt.

So Nocturne set the pumpkin down, the delicately carved swan facing the lights of the city, and drew the sword. Then, as the storm raged, summoning its captive in a blaze of terrifying glory, Nocturne took the sword and threw it into the middle of the Market Square. It pierced into the ground and buried itself—even the power of Pariah’s Knight would struggle a moment to dig it from the ground.

A moment enough to sow the chaos Nocturne desired.

He felt the gaze of the Watchers turn towards them the next moment and hid quickly in the shadows of the curious and confused residents. It was easy to hide amongst the sudden commotion, but Nocturne was careful nonetheless. Fright Knight was truly, as his name implied, a ghost to be feared.

Nocturne, like any other spirit, had dreams he did not wish to visit, even if it would be but a brief struggle. (Nocturne’s own Realm was so very similar to the power of Fright Knight’s sword after all. And Nocturne was much, much older.) So he kept his distance and slipped away, the buzzing hive-like thoughts of the Observants growing closer as they deployed yet another battalion to keep their precious Order.

Tedious.

He’d only gotten one done so far, and it had been a terrible amount of work.

Nocturne let himself take a proper breath once he was away from it all. His hair was still wet, dripping onto his neck and shoulders. The feeling was uncomfortable at best, and even as he combed his claws through his hair to untangle it—wetness clung stubbornly.

Well. He shook his head. There was someone he could visit that might help.

The trick was finding out where Vortex had last rampaged.

That should be easier than finding Fright Knight, as Vortex’s rampages were often calamities of their own—leaving destruction and victims in equal measure.

But theory was often simple until reality introduced itself.

He followed the muted screams to the nearest disaster but found it a wasted trip. This one, despite Nocturne’s hopes, had been entirely natural. (As natural as something in the Infinite Realms could possibly be.)

The Voidcano had erupted recently, leaving many ghosts damaged, disfigured, or trapped. But there was no sign of meddling from Vortex.

If his wayward little brother had ever been here at all, it was long enough ago to be useless. And certainly had nothing to do with the thick frosting of tragedy that coated the entire Realm.

Nocturne tapped his nail rhythmically against the wooden edge of his mask, trying to think. It had been mostly quiet in the Realms recently…other than some passing rumors Nocturne didn’t really bother to pay attention to.

Ghosts would always be fond of ghost stories after all.

It would be easy, he lamented once again, if Sojourn had not disappeared. He was by far the most friendly and easygoing of their siblings. Nocturne wouldn’t need to bend over backwards or sell his soul to get help doing things like finding where Vortex decided to hide or hunting down a single pumpkin.

He cast another glance out, only to find the repercussions of the Voidcano’s recent eruption acting as a blanket to smother all similar thoughts. Nocturne would have to leave the vicinity if he wanted to seek out another disaster of this magnitude.

Quiet was what he needed now. So naturally, his next stop was outside of Ghost Writer’s library. If only to get a moment of peace before trying to dive once more into the collective unconscious.

“I don’t suppose you’re looking for a book?” Another young ghost broke his concentration. This one was slightly more familiar to Nocturne, if only because she had the clear mark of his Sister stitched delicately around her core. A niece of his then.

“No, just a moment of respite, Spiderling.”

Her expression twisted slightly at the nickname, and Nocturne could taste a small, mostly suppressed, wave of bitterness before she smiled and said, “Then if you don’t mind…?”

Nocturne raised an eyebrow.

“You’re blocking the door.”

Ah. He turned behind him—the door had shifted from just beside him to immediately behind him. Either acting to try and invite him in, or simply attracted to Nocturne’s own connection to creativity and thought.

He turned back to the girl and stepped aside. “So I am.”

Waiting until she stepped through the doorway, Nocturne turned to ask, “What is someone like you doing at a library?”

Misery’s children were hardly known for being studious, and this girl’s obsession was hardly scholarly either. Books, in the Infinite Realms, often came at quite the price, and few were willing to risk paying for little to no reason.

There was a moment Nocturne thought he might be ignored. Misery’s children often had spines of steel, even among ghosts stronger than them. But it was still irritating—

“I need the history…” the girl said. “I need to know why—”

Nocturne felt a wave of grief hit then. Something had happened to this child—no, to someone this child cared for. He almost reached out, if only to offer sweet dreams. But that wouldn’t help, not when she had already given herself a task in her grief and when Nocturne was busy with a task of his own.

Instead he read her obsession, cultivating flowers (How sweet. How soft.) and created a Blinking Bloom to gift her. It would do nothing for her loss, but when—if— she decided to sleep, it would bring her dreams of the softest and kindest caliber.

She took it, suspicious but obedient, and turned away to continue walking into the library.

Nocturne did not watch her form disappear behind the haphazard stacks and poorly managed shelves of books. He had his own task, so that he might avoid feeling grief of his own. It was truly so terribly sour, one of the worst flavors he’d ever had to suffer.

And one he’d not like to suffer again.

The respite had been helpful though, as he was able to quickly find exactly what it was he was looking for. The grief he felt from the young Spiderling was a clue: many of the tragedies he felt in the collective unconscious held tenuous connections to it (were either grieving the same loss, or losses indistinguishable from hers), and once he filtered it out, there was only really one massive trail of disaster left.

Vortex was outside of the Acropolis of Athens and Nocturne was just in time to stop him before he decided to get into a fight with Pandora.

All this travel was really starting to catch up to him. He took a moment, upon finding his little brother, before trying to say anything. But the ticking clock in the back of his mind reminded him there was a time limit. Even if he was not personally savvy to it.

He floated closer and reached out a hand.

“Not that I would begrudge you picking fights normally—” Nocturne sidestepped a flash of lightning as Vortex turned around, instincts striking when his senses failed to pick up a possible threat.

The attack was vicious, instinctual, and cruel. Something that had become a recent hallmark of Vortex’s travels. It left Nocturne discontent, still, to see their youngest so taken apart.

“Nocturne?” His little brother looked surprised, even through his half-madness. He stopped his attack, but the ambient ectoplasm around them was still charged with static. “Why are you—?”

It was a calculated risk, what was he willing to give Vortex versus what he might be able to collect from Clockwork. Though, even without the reward of having his most troublesome sibling owe him a favor, he would not like to see this particular fate played out.

Not again.

“There’s some trouble with the Observants.”

Vortex stiffened, his form fizzling into a chaotic mess, already fuzzy edges growing fuzzier and undefined. When was the last time Nocturne had seen Vortex as he was meant to be seen? Instead of the indistinct and haywired lines of plasma and lightning that he had managed to shape himself into?

“I…” Frustration bled into the ambient ectoplasm around them, curdled and spoiled by fear.

Nocturne picked through it, searching for a reason, a balance he could strike… Ah. There it was.

“I will protect you,” he said, using his power to sooth his little brother’s fears, “and you can take out some of your anger, your frustration.” Perhaps it would be cathartic.

Red eyes turned to him, interested but not convinced.

“I am laying other traps, of course. I wouldn’t ask you to fight against the mass of the Collective on your own.” He took off his mask, shaving a sliver of the wood from it and folding it into a ring. He placed it on what was left of Vortex’s left ear and watched as it burrowed deeper, growing small roots to take hold. “It’s risk free brother. Go crazy.”

Vortex reached up to the gift he had been given, unwilling to dislodge it. “Did you lose a bet?”

Nocturne laughed. “Yes. You could say that.”

His smile was vicious as he explained the circumstances that had led them here, and before long Vortex had one to match.

There wasn’t even a moment to blink before Vortex had sped off towards the Observants’ Center for Detention and Confinement. It was in the opposite direction from their precious Metropolis at Verification City and would do well to split their forces.

Once more, Nocturne had spent far too much time and energy on what would only amount to a simple distraction. He was beginning to think this endeavor would not be worth the favor owed.

At least his hair had dried.

Now… to split the Observants’ attention once more.

There were only so many things they could keep watch over (despite their name), and Nocturne knew one little thing in particular that would make an excellent distraction.

Along with a small, harmless, bit of payback towards Clockwork for dragging him into this.

Well, if he didn’t want the child involved, he should have said so directly, right?

Nocturne replaced his mask and began his journey back. One more stop before the finale, and then he could leave all of this traveling to Sojourn. Wherever he was.

He made his way to the outskirts, where the Barrens had settled.

The permanent portal the child’s mortal parents had created was still there—a garish and painful looking wound torn into the fabric of the Infinite Realms.

Nocturne wasn’t here for the portal itself though; he needed what lay sleeping on the other side.

The boy was indeed asleep in his bed, thankfully. (Nocturne hadn’t been sure that he would be—he was often kept awake beyond what was reasonable. Whether it be due to his obsession or teenage whims was a matter for Clockwork and not of any particular interest to Nocturne.)

He used a touch of sand to weave—not a dream, per se—but a suggestion. He needed the boy to do this unsuspiciously if he was going to do this. Daniel had already met and been in conflict with him. He knew at least the bare breadth of Nocturne’s power and if he showed his hand in any way in this dream, the boy would seek out him rather than those Nocturne needed him to distract.

Besides, the last thing Nocturne wanted was the Observants’ interest reaching toward him just because he was a little lazy . Clockwork pushed his luck with his mischief and hands-on interventions. Nocturne preferred a position behind the curtain so to say. Pushing things along in the shadows to enjoy the performance and the audience while being party to neither.

Idea implanted, Nocturne slipped away—only to be stopped at the portal by a mortal girl.

It was the Halfa’s sister, long red hair unmanaged as if she had crawled straight from bed to place herself annoyingly in his path. She was holding a weapon. One of the ones that actually worked, and that Nocturne was certain the two adults had not managed to complete before it had been hidden away and out of their reach.

“What did you do to Danny?”

Quite the protective older sister she was. It reminded him of his own sister—though he doubted Misery Vex would resort to threats over implementation. She was always a ghost of action like that.

Nocturne was in a hurry though, and as fun as it might have been to play a little longer with the foolishly brave little mortal… he had his own brother to save. So he sent her into a dream with a wave of his hand. In less than the time it took to blink, he watched as she fell into a pile of tangled limbs on the ground. It was easy enough after that to step over her and through the portal to get back into the Infinite Realms.

Now, he could have washed his hands of it here, gone back to his own Lair to relax and watch what happened next…

But he had promised to help, and so that was what he was going to do.

The journey to the Observants’ Main Observatory was just as tedious as the rest of the errands he’d had to run since his brother’s unwelcome visit. Keeping out of sight, and in the shadows (and occasionally hiding entirely in the subconscious of another ghost) so that he himself did not attract attention and become another distraction for the Ever Watching, was a miserable way to travel.

And one he would not have chosen had he been given much of a choice in the matter at all. As it was, the Observatory was quite well situated in one of the more popular Realms, and Nocturne was not as unknown as he would have desired since Pariah’s fall.

There was only so much of himself he could scrape from another ghost’s thoughts and memories after all. He existed half in and half outside of a collective subconscious—everyone knew some piece of him in some way. It was only when they could match that piece to a face that it became troublesome.

He fiddled with the fit of his mask, making sure it settled properly and hid his features.

His arrival at the Observatory was quiet, thank Chaos, and there were none who noticed. Though, as he looked around, it also seemed there were quite close to none left to notice anyways.

Normally, Nocturne would have started his search in the bowels of the Observants’ shared Lair—Digging through a twisting labyrinth of under tunnels and cellars and working his way up to the highest tower—but it turned out there was no need.

Someone had already made short work of large swaths of the Observatory: the under tunnels and the dungeons were ripped apart and filled with shattered cores and spatters of ectoplasm along with the occasional unconscious (and badly damaged) spirit.

Nocturne was reminded, rather bitterly, of a certain familiar someone’s handiwork and forced himself to continue to ignore it. He was here for exactly one reason and one reason alone.

That reason was trouble enough without adding an investigation.

His brother would be where he felt the buzzing collective of the Observants’ minds, as disgusting as they were.

In their hubris, the pathetic things—at least the ones left behind—had crowded into the central hall where they had Clockwork paralyzed and on display on top of an altar in the middle of the room. He was surrounded on all sides, Observants packed like sardines in a tin can with the bloodlust of piranhas.

How absolutely disgusting. Nocturne didn’t step fully into the room, not yet.

The shadows hid him easily, though there was little point to it. Those Who Watched and Rarely Acted were quite focused on their macabre task. Voyeurs, the lot of them.

Clockwork’s chest had been carved open. Some form of magic keeping it parted as the edges bubbled, the gaping wound fighting back against reaching hands and sharp scalpels as if it were attempting to close—to heal—and failing. His core, a vibrant shining light that even Nocturne had difficulty looking directly at, thrummed at a slower beat than what was generally considered healthy (though Nocturne wasn’t sure if things like thrum-rates were nearly as important to the time-keeper’s functions.)

One of the Observants held something in its hand, a small scalpel-like device, and was using it to slowly chip away at the exposed core; but every severed sliver fell like drops of rain through its hands. Nocturne felt something akin to nausea at the sight—how long would it take to heal a wound like that? Was it… was that how they had damaged Vortex that time long ago?

Would the Clockwork he saved be the same one that asked for his help? Was this enough to damage him permanently, or was Nocturne in time to prevent the worst of it?

Newly anxious, Nocturne studied the room. He hadn’t run into anyone in the halls or corridors when he first snuck in—though he did watch entire battalions worth leave the Observatory before he had made his move to enter. It was like watching bees flee a Queenless hive once word had reached them of the different little gifts Nocturne had gone out of his way to prepare.

Apparently the Fright Knight had destroyed the the entire Market Square and started rampaging around some of the Communal Plots once he manage to dig his sword back out from where Nocturne had planted it. Vortex was wreaking havoc the likes of which he was generally known to wreak, and the young Halfa was ‘asking questions’ those who Watched would never answer… and was getting increasingly, dangerously, irritated as well.

All in all it was all going very well to plan, and Nocturne had nothing to worry about so long as he wasn’t too late. And knowing Clockwork, that was unlikely to be the case.

Clockwork, when he was awake, would probably be angry Nocturne had involved his young charge. He had been very overprotective since the adoption, and Nocturne remembered just what had happened to Undergrowth when he admitted to trying to jumpstart the boy’s juvenile core-formation.

It wasn’t pleasant for anyone.

Nocturne stepped back, deeper into the shadows when he noticed one of the younger Observants cast its gaze about the room. It then raised a hand and volunteered itself for some macabre task or another, one of the others handing it pliers and a clamp.

Disgusting.

Tedious.

Annoying.

It felt stuffy, in his chest, some ugly foul-tasting emotion building in the void he called his core. He did not like seeing his brother like this, trapped-frozen-taken apart by those weaker than him for the sake of their curiosity–no.

This wasn’t about curiosity at all. Nocturne could taste it, saturated in the ambient ectoplasm around them. There was a thin thread of curiosity, sure, from the younger, more newly formed Observants mostly. But what the atmosphere was heavy and suffocating with, was the Watchers’ desire for complete, uncontested control .

It was a pipe-dream. One they had long since attempted to wage war over.

They did not like that power reigned supreme in the Infinite Realms. They did not like that their collective was so pathetically weak, that any attempt to control those Ancient Enough To Have Come Before was merely laughed off as the paltry inconvenience it was.

Nocturne felt his scar itch.

They had long been a tedious thorn—painful and irritating but unable to truly hinder.

Maybe that was why the sight before him, of his kin—Ancient and Powerful—torn apart as if on an operating table, left his chest smoldering.

It didn’t really matter…

No, it shouldn’t really matter.

Nocturne had already long decided on his next course of action. He stepped forward, and let loose the writhing dark hidden in his Core to surround him. A growing, thriving mass of night-dark tendrils slithered into the auditorium, slinking between green transparent tails and trailing capes.

The exclamations started quickly after.

Like a song, building to crescendo.

It began with startled confusion. Questions like, “What?” and “Where did these come from?”

Then it was indignation. “Who dares?!”

That was when Nocturne smiled behind his mask. He was in the middle of it all now, having walked towards the center stage where his brother laid while his tendrils covered the rest of the chamber.

The Observants who had just been elbow deep in Clockwork’s chest were stumbling back, tripping over tendrils. Some even tried to fly away. He did not let them.

“You—?!”

Nocturne ripped the last Observant away from his brother’s body and turned to address the class.

“There’s a lesson to be learned here,” he said smoothly, stealing his sister’s favorite words. “Allow me to teach you.”

It took less than a thought for every single entity inside the chamber to be absorbed entirely. They would not stay long—it was a struggle even for Nocturne to keep such a large collective contained in this way, and he was grateful he had thinned it as thoroughly as he had.

Once the room was quiet, he turned to the frozen fool laid out like a sacrifice before him.

There was nothing obvious holding him there, and Nocturne pinched the wooden bridge between the carved eyes of his mask. Tedious. This entire thing was dreadfully tedious.

Would it truly have been such a disservice to have given Nocturne some infinitesimal clue beyond: “The Watchers have grown beyond themselves and I fear I shall be the first they seek to reap.”

He reached down, careful not to brush against his brother’s exposed core. He was uncharacteristically cold to the touch—and Nocturne drew his hand back quickly.

Had the Observants truly been capable… It seemed so unrealistic. A possibility that even Clockwork would have written off as a fraying thread in the tapestry of timelines he weaved.

But the proof was before him.

What could have had their sister so distracted? That these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm could get their hands on one of her heartstrings?

He sighed.

There was little that could be done in this exact moment other than freeing Clockwork from the constraints and allowing his time to tick once more. The utter freeze of his features was likely more due to his own abilities backfiring against him than the restraint itself.

Nocturne just needed to find where these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm had sewn the thread. He followed the chill of it with the edge of his nail, unwilling to touch it properly until he found where it stitched into the back of his brother’s left retina.

He held back a flinch. His brother had sown this for himself, and was reaping the rewards of his rebellious nature.

Still. Nocturne’s hands remained gentle and steady as he began to unweave some of the knots tied into the Heartstring.

His mind wandered as his hands went about their work, thinking back to what actions his brother had taken to end up here, vulnerable in a way he had very rarely allowed.

There had been secrets, beyond the hints and clues scattered around Long Now and the Infinite Realms that led to a correspondence Nocturne had no desire to know anything about.

But there had always been secrets. Clockwork did not think it necessary to tell anyone the in depth details of the possible futures and long forgotten pasts that stretched out around him.

Not anymore than Nocturne found it necessary to share the thoughts of those around him when they themselves did not dare.

Thoughts meant nothing against actions—and possible futures meant nothing against the choices of the present.

That said…

There was little Nocturne could think of that would have set the Observants into such a desperate fervor. Such that they would storm the Realm of an Ancient and steal him away to dissect in an attempt to collect his power for their own.

The simple fact they had even achieved this much was frankly ridiculous.

And those rebellions—did this have something to do with that?

It was hardly Clockwork’s Modus operandi—he preferred cryptic one on one intervention. Dominoes lined up perfectly to fall into the picture he desired.

But he knew one ghost that was very very good at building a following. Especially a violent one.

And if he was the one pulling the strings, it made sense that Clockwork would be the one to take the fall.

Nocturne shook his head, shaking the thought clear before it blinded him. It would do no good to assume, and more rumination on the thought would only blind him with fury.

He focused once more on the task at hand.

The work was long and tedious—even before he was interrupted.

The whine of an ecto-gun alerted him to her presence, well before he tuned in to the familiar waft of her dreams, muted by her conscious mind. He stopped, but did not turn around. Not yet.

“And what are you going to do with that little thing?” He asked, feigning a disinterested and absolutely not at all irritated countenance.

“I just wanted to get your attention.” The girl’s voice was casual, but with a sharp, thin edge to it that had Nocturne looking up from his work.

She was standing a few feet away—far enough that a human would have to lunge to attack and she would have time to pull the trigger.

A sign she had been well trained, but that her training was limited to fighting humans. Or at least, the training she focused on was against humans.

He turned back to his brother, sure that she would not shoot him until he was finished.

The gun was a bluff. There was no internal struggle between the options nor a pre-made decision to fire at a given moment. Only a loud, static-like anxiety that he might not take kindly to her threat and retaliate against her instead.

Luckily for her, he had more important things to do.

“You chose a bad time,” Nocturne said with a forced casualness that did not betray the strain he felt with his brother’s sight in his very hands. “My attention is rather split at the moment.”

“I can tell.” Her voice wavered for a moment before hardening again. “You missed a few of those creepy little green guys watching the main entryway. I got them, though. You're welcome.”

“...Thank you.” He returned to his task. The gun she was holding was unlikely to damage him permanently, even if she fired at him now distracted as he was. But even if it were to do so… Well, it was certainly going to be something to hold over his brother’s head once they got out of this mess.

Ignoring her didn’t get him shot at, thankfully. But it did invite her to continue her line of questioning. “What did you do to Danny last night?”

There was a knot, tangled just beneath what would have been a major artery had Clockwork been human. It made Nocturne wonder just what methods the spineless green blobs were using to restrain him.

Ghosts usually went with non-traditional bondage—almost all of them could manipulate their form at will after all—but as with all magics, there was strength in grounding tools and tasks to reality. Though Nocturne would have expected them to use pressure points or even acupuncture or Qi points to restrain a ghost.

Instead they threaded it through major arteries… that did not exist. Were they trying to give him a weakness to exploit later on? It was worrisome, but they had not gotten far enough to bury the thread properly.

Luckily Clockwork had asked for Nocturne’s help. He would have awoken on his own—a thread this thin would not be able to keep his power contained, especially not when it was cannibalizing him like this—but the Observants would have also long accomplished their task and…

It gave Nocturne an idea. He thread an additional suggestion into the nightmare he had weaved for the Collective he currently had contained.

The mortal girl growled in frustration.

She was in front of him, close enough to touch—no—she was touching. Clockwork. Her hand had phased partially underneath his skin and she slowly and carefully began removing the Heartstring that had been threaded and tied so thoroughly through his body.

Nocturne watched closely, an analytical eye on her movements just in case she decided she wasn’t actually going to help. He was frustrated enough that the Observants had taken his brother as some kind of experiment. He would not stand for some mortal taking him as a hostage.

His vigilance was wasted though. She simply and perfunctorily slipped the entire thread out and set it aside in a matter of seconds before turning back to Nocturne.

“Is your attention still split?” she asked with a sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Nocturne gathered his sister’s Heartstring from where the girl had set it. With his luck, he’d get distracted and forget it, or something else could happen and leave it once again in the hands of those who would seek to abuse power that was not their own.

#Danny Phantom #Nocturne DP #Nocturn DP #Clockwork DP #Jazz Fenton #Vortex DP #Gore #Ghost Gore #mild body Horror #phic phight 2023 #phic phight #Bee’s writing

[house-of-mirrors]

Before City in Silver, I had decided the third act of Orsinio's character arc would involve the Great Game, and the Scheme of the Phoenix was a nice surprise and fitting opportunity to explore his morally grey facets. The liberation ending once again has me thinking about his relationship with the nocturnal powers, as well as the parallels between his character arc and the Halved.

The King Who Wars

Orsinio is temperamental and quick to react. He can be short-sighted and make choices to benefit his immediate loved ones or goals above a greater good. His revolutionary tendencies come from not only a desire for a better world, but wanting to see punishment for the wrongdoings of the kings. Direct action.

The King Who Speaks

Horatio was levelheaded and cool, never revealing his hand. In great game negotiations, he was a pragmatic and expert diplomat. Patient and calculating, meticulously compiling paper trails, able to diffuse situations with words alone. Setting up schemes and watching a gradual yet inexorable result.

The Halved

Only one is still here to carry on the work. Orsinio used to wonder what his brother would have done, but he's long made peace with the fact he's on his own. Stepping out of Horatio's shadow. Calling the shots. Orsinio is all raw emotions. The knife is in his hand, not an agent's. Horatio never got his hands dirty.

The Tower

Now Orsinio is confronted with a choice that places the weight of the world in his hands. Knowledge is a heavy burden. He can walk away and let the intrigues play out of their own accord, or he can take an active role.

The White

Still he hesitates. Beating the high powers at their own game will have disastrous consequences, but wouldn't it be cathartic? The tension in the world is going to reach a boiling point with or without his intervention on the board, and here's an opportunity to show the Old Man in Vienna he's a rival to be reckoned with.

The liberationist nemesis player's philosophy. "I draw the line at assassinating someone's loved one for personal gain, but inciting global chaos is fine."

The Black

Nor is Orsinio alone. He is not acquainted with the Anchoress. The Black has No avatar in Parabola, unlike the Beleaguered King or Red-Handed Queen. Orsinio steps up to the role on the chessboard. He's acting on behalf of not only himself. (And who's to say his interests are always completely his own?) No knight for no king.

Cry 'havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war

The wrench in the system. The well placed bomb. The world turned on its head by a storyteller. Liberation.

Sequestered in his office, papers scattered on his desk. His briefcase may as well contain a ticking time bomb. Orsinio senses No One behind him, placing a firm grasp on his shoulder, covering his eyes, whispering in his mind, Do it.

Alea iacta est.

Orsinio doesn't move his hand to tip the scales.

#my ocs #city in silver #city in silver spoilers #I spent over a week agonizing over the scheme of the Phoenix end choice lmao pour one out lads #feels like ripping off a bandaid to have finally finished it tho #my writing #fl spoilers #lore spoilers

[frogmanfae]

Quill Kipps X GN! Reader- coffee date

Summary: Quill Kipps asks you on a date, George hates him, and Lockwood is oblivious. You go anyway and talk about pretty much nothing, which is nice when you have the whole world on your shoulders at any given moment

A/n- this feels rushed to me but I still think it's cute

*Reader pov*

"What did he want?"

"Jeez, George let me come in before you start bombarding me with questions." I pushed past him and set my bag on the floor.

"Well? Did he offer you a job at Fittes? He wants to take you, I knew it!"

"I'm not going to Fittes. Calm down. He just wanted to chat. As acquaintances. Normal people. He didn't offer me a job."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. You can't get rid of me so easily. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go out again. I just came back for my wallet."

I grabbed my wallet and ignored George's glare as I walked back out the door. Letting out a sigh, I went to the local shopping center.

The truth is, I had actually been returning home to just stay there, but Kipps stopped me across the street and asked me out for coffee. I'll be honest, I know my friends hate him, but I think he's a nice guy. He seems genuine enough, especially since his gift faded almost completely and he became a supervisor as opposed to a group leader. He's less stuck up anymore.

However, after I had accepted, I realized I had no clothes to wear to a casual date. My wardrobe was almost exclusively athletic clothes for work and about two very fancy outfits for formal events.

I went through a few stores before I eventually just decided to wear a nice long sleeve v-neck and some nice jeans. Nothing fancy, but better than basketball shorts and a stained hoodie.

Once I got back home, George still seemed upset but didn't say anything as I made my way up to my room I shared with Lucy, but she was on a trip to see her ghost locked friend this weekend, so it was just me. I changed into comfier clothes and got into bed.

It was still early morning, but the sleep schedule of an agent is all over the place. We're mostly nocturnal because we work all our cases during the night. George and Lockwood are likely to be getting to sleep pretty soon too.

We didn't work a case last night so it's a bit of a struggle to fall asleep. I usually get so exhausted I'm barely able to make it to bed at all.

I listen to my surroundings. Lockwood and George are arguing about something I can't make out. There's young children laughing outside. There are some birds singing in the trees by my window. And now it doesn't take long for me to fall asleep.

*time skip*

I get up at eight o'clock pm. A bit of an early day for any of us, but honestly I'd rather not be seen leaving anyway. It's to my benefit George and Lockwood are asleep.

I get dressed in the outfit I bought yesterday. Suddenly, it doesn't seem as nice as it did in the shop. I frown and try to fix it but to no avail. I just sigh and go downstairs, writing a note telling the others I've gone to the library. I grab my bag and begin heading out the door when I hear a voice.

"Where are you off to at such an hour?"

I whip around. "Lockwood! You scared me!" I huff. "Just the library."

"Are those jeans?"

"Yes? What about them?"

"I didn't even know you owned a pair. Why so dapper for the library?"

"I just felt like it. Now can I please leave? They close in an hour and I've still got to walk there."

He motions toward the door. "Have at it. I'll see you later." I turn the knob again. "Oh! One more thing! I don't know who it is you're meeting with, but tell them I said hello." He smiled and ducked back into the library, leaving me there with my mouth agape.

I looked at my watch; 8:30. "Shit!" I run out and get a cab to take me to the cafe Kipps agreed to meet me at. I tip the driver before rushing into the building to see Kipps sitting at a booth alone.

"I'm so sorry I'm late! I got a bit held up at the agency." I sit across from him.

"Oh! It's no matter! I was actually running a bit late myself." He smiled. "One of our new recruits is a bit nervous and I had to calm him down so he didn't quit."

"Goodness that's stressful."

"All in a day's work. What's your drink, I'll go get it for you."

"Oh no I couldn't possibly-"

"I asked you to accompany me, so I'll be the one paying, okay? Now, what would you like?"

I smile. "A (f/d) please."

"Coming right up." He goes to the counter to order both of our drinks.

He returns a few minutes later and slides mine in front of me. "One (f/d) just for you."

"Thank you very much, Sir Kipps."

"Oh please, call me Quill." He waves his hand. "I'm not your rival anymore. Well, not directly."

I nod. "Right, you just train our rivals now." I laugh a bit. "It's alright, I can't imagine I've got much longer with my gift."

"It's not that bad after a while. Sure, at first you think your entire world is collapsing, but you get used to it." He shrugs as he takes a sip of his drink. "But let's talk about something else. I want to get to know you outside of work."

I nod. "I'd like that."

"So... What do you like to do? For fun?"

"Hm... I like going to the movies. And the library. And there's this place in my hometown where you can go to just break stuff, lots of fun."

"That sounds awesome!"

"Right? I'll have to take you sometime, it's brilliant!"

"Does that mean you're interested in this being a regular occurrence?"

"I'm not opposed to the idea." I take a drink. "Though, I didn't tell anyone I was meeting with you."

"Ooh, risky~" he flexed his eyebrows.

I scoffed. "As if. I could take you down if need be."

"Honestly, I don't doubt that." He looks at me.

We both just start laughing. It's nice to finally have some new company that I don't live with.

We stay there for about an hour before he has to go to work. Before he leaves, he hesitantly kisses my cheek. "Give me a ring, will you?"

"Uh- Yeah! Yeah, of- of course." I bumble out.

He chuckles. "I'll see you around."

"Be careful tonight!"

"I always am! But I'll be extra careful! Just for you!" He smiles and waves as he walks out the door. I start my way back home, keeping an eye out for any early visitors.

I get back rather quickly, only to find George standing by the stairs. "Where've you been?"

"Out. Didn't you read my note?"

"I don't believe it. You were out with Kipps weren't you?"

"No. Whats it matter anyway?"

"Because I am essentially your brother, I worry about you."

"There's no need. I was alone and back before the curfew bells rang. It's all fine. Now, if you'll excuse me-" I push past him. "I need to get out of these clothes and into some sweatpants."

I go up to my room and change into my athletic clothes. We don't have a case to work tonight, so it's going to just be a chill night in. I go to the library and sit next to Lockwood.

"How was your date?" He asks, not looking up from his magazine.

"It wasn't a date!"

"If you say so..." He turns the page.

"... It went well."

"Well how splendid." He looks at me. "Mind telling me who it is if you're going on a second?"

"You know, I think I'll wait to disclose such details for a while longer."

I smile. It's refreshing to have something to myself. Nobody demanding for me to share. It's just something for me.

Me and Quill is just my little bit of information. Splendid.

#quick read #quill kipps #quill kipps x reader #gender neutral reader #lockwood and co #protective george karim #fluff #first date #essentially no plot just rambling