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silverechosandblankmasks · 5 months

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Secret Life, in the After of Winning.

(Spoilers for Secret life's winner and finale)

Scar closes the book with a snap, and a slight hum as he leans back on the Secret Keeper's button pedestals after pressing the succeed button.

He thought there'd be a direction, some sort of understanding on what to do next, but it was only a reroll of today's earlier task.

Of which he had won, by the way.

It was a... odd feeling. To have won. He was confused and elated but now he was, well, he was a bit bored as he waited for something to happen. Underwhelmed maybe? But-

Oh.

Scar could suddenly understand what Grian had meant the one, and only, time he ever went into what it felt like in the After of that very first game. Grian was even more averse to talking about that period of time than he was the Games themselves usually, but that night had been a surprise to both of them when he quietly began to talk about it.

He had described it as an incessant whisper that was a mummer that quickly rolled into a chattering roar as they chanted for you to die. At the same time, you could feel it, feel the Ghosts all around and the red start to pool and spread upwards through your blood, making it warm but not burn, not yet. Kinda like fighting back the boogeyman curse.

You understand what the Ghosts want and what is needed to be done instinctually, he whispered. Scar didn't bother to push for an explanation, he had seen what happened next as one of said Ghosts chanting for the winner to die, an instinctual knowing just like the Winner knowing what needed to be done.

And in the moment, Scar understands finally what it's like, he feels it, hears it, and he has to take a second to wonder if something is wrong with his hearing until he realizes the Ghosts shouting different things, out of sorts and unable to decide on something he can't quite catch, but just as quick as he notices, they suddenly unify in their voices and get louder, clearer. The blood is warm under his skin, and the Ghosts agree.

One more left. Push the button, they chant.

Over and over, they repeat, and he understands now, feels it and feels what Grian and Scott and Pearl and Martyn must have felt. Some of them fought it, but either way it had happened.

To end the game, everyone must die.

Scar turns and stumbles over to the fail button, pressing it quick, not in desperation but still wanting to comply, but realizes quickly he chose wrong as the Ghosts hiss and snarl around him. Scar shudders as he feels a phantom swipe of a blade, or maybe claws, pass through his torso.

He thought, failing doesn't take hearts, but succeeding gives him them and that's the opposite of dying, but clearly they wanted something specific. Why-

His task rerolls and he opens the book again, "win secret life" mockingly staring back at him before he abruptly understands.

Scar instead shuffles to the left, and stands in front of the middle column. This time, he doesn't even pause to think as he clicks the "Reroll for Hard Task" button.

The statue lights as words dance before his eyes, but the words are different now.

The Reward is yours The Game was great Time to close the door Accept your fate

The Ghosts wail in victory and satisfaction as the new task forms in his hands. He opens the book, and it simply reads "Die."

The Ghosts are a tsunami of sound as he can feel them whip around him like a hurricane, he can feel the phantom feeling of blood staining his skin in how it pools beneath the surface of his body, and every scar, which is an impressive amount, burns.

Scar smiles.

He pushes the succeed button once more.

And watches his hearts tick away in seconds.

Scar wins.

Scar dies.

Nobody wins if anyone is left alive after all.

Then Scar opens his eyes to the ghostly visages of his friends, the winners of the past before him, and Grian wastes no time throwing himself at Scar.

Scar laughs, true and free and finally feeling not alone as they spin around.

And as they slow and Scar pulls his friend closer, he swears he can smell poppy flowers and lavender, and feel the warmth of the sun in a desert from so long ago.

It's over now. He won. And Scar is going home.

Please, if you did enjoy, reblog and just not like. Likes do nothing and it's kinda disheartening to see like 50 likes and 4 reblogs only for it to die because nobody else sees it after the first 3 days. I'd appreciate it greatly! <3

#mine #secret life #secret life spoilers #trafficblr #life series smp #life series #goodtimeswithscar #grian #wrote this hastily last night #after watching who won #before bed #and cleaned it up this morning lol #doenst flow as smooth as id like #but hope its still nice to read #my take on how he died #becuase if we arnt shown how #ill make it up for myself

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shannaraisles · 2 months

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Still Yours - for @50sjello

For @50sjello, who has been incredibly patient - this has been sitting in my finished folder for almost a month, due to various of my own issues, but finally, here it is! Thank you so much, lovely!

Still Yours

The mood in the camp was ... awkward this morning, to say the least. It isn’t every night you wake up flooded with physical ecstasy, only to discover it isn’t actually yours, and you’re feeling it secondhand from the nominal leader of your group as they couple with a mindflayer in their shared dreamscape. Sylvana was fairly sure none of the party was ever going to look at them the same way again.

“Well, that was quite the wet dream we all shared last night, wasn’t it?” Astarion declared in a surprisingly innocent display of avuncular good humour. “I do hope it doesn’t become a regular thing. I prefer my intimacies ... intimate.”

The look that flickered in the direction of a certain purple tent spoke volumes of both judgement and unexpected concern, underscored by the faintest hint of a smirking smile as Karlach took up the theme.

“Gods, I never want to look at another octopus ever again,” she said, shuddering as her flames intensified for a moment. “That was ... no. Nope, I am not thinking about it.”

“It was a very stimulating evening,” Shadowheart interjected, straightening from her morning stretch. “Who would have thought the Emperor would have such creativity when it came to such an unconventional coupling?”

Face flaming red, Sylvana focused on fastening their bedroll, trying to ignore the spirited debate now being undertaken by three members of their party, all of whom were dying in equally creative ways in the secret, hidden pathways of their mind. A prickle of fur brushed their calf, drawing their attention to the sharp eyes of a tressym standing entirely too close for comfort. Nothing can judge you for decisions made in the heat of the moment quite like a feline with a bone to pick.

“Good night, was it?” Tara asked, and Sylvana only just suppressed the flinch at the ice in the tressym’s tone.

The young rogue steeled themselves, setting down the bedroll to turn and face the closest thing to a mother Gale of Waterdeep had handy. Tara’s yellow eyes were hard in the morning stillness, more than a little resentment stirring within the magical feline for the harm done to her young Mr Dekarios in the night. Sylvana swallowed, taking a moment to clear their thoughts and their throat before addressing the acid remark.

“I know I have made a terrible mistake,” they informed Tara. “I know it’s worse because everyone is aware of it. But the shockwaves of that mistake are between myself and Gale, and while I appreciate that you love him and want only to protect him, he is a grown man and we should be able to discuss this like adults, without others inserting themselves into our dynamic.”

The tressym considered them for an excruciating moment, that sharpness in that gaze almost enough to draw blood. Then she ruffled her feathers, her tail rippling from straight to just slightly curved.

“Then I suggest you begin this adult discussion of yours,” she said primly. “Mr Dekarios is a great man, but when it comes to matters of the heart, he is a teenaged nightmare with all the social skills of an erotically charged goblin. Good luck to you.”

Even as Sylvana raised their brows at this rather brutal description of the man they loved, the two of them heard a choked objection abruptly cut off from within the tent. Ah. Well, that made sense of Tara’s comment on his emotional maturity in this matter. Apparently hiding in his tent and listening to everyone else was Gale’s idea of dealing with this. Sylvana could not entirely blame him. He must have decided he was being set aside yet again by the beloved of his heart, something he had still not truly come to terms with when it came to Mystra.

With Tara flicking her tail and heading toward the campfire to ply her wiles on Wyll for breakfast, Sylvana straightened their shoulders and ducked through the thick purple fabric. Their eyes found Gale near instantly, stumbling back from the curtain they had just stepped through as though he had not expected them to make their entrance so soon after speaking with Tara. His eyes were red, betraying tears he would no doubt be horrified to know were so easily discerned in his weary face; his gaze pinned to Sylvana’s face with wide-eyed trepidation.

Yet before Sylvana could so much as open their mouth, he held up a hand to still any words that might be said.

“If this is to be the end of us, then land the blade sharply, I beg you,” he said, each word ringing with a certainty that could only have come from practice since he had woken. “No excuses, no softening of the blow. Tell me, once and for all, if this truly is the end of the love I have come to trust so wholly since we met.”

Sylvana narrowed their eyes slightly at these last words, not particularly liking the attempt at emotional manipulation but understanding that, as Tara said, he was emotionally an angsty teenager still.

“It’s the last thing I want, Gale,” they said, voice trembling just a little now they were faced with the consequences of their curious interlude the night before. “But if we are to continue, we need to talk about what happened last night.”

“You chose to betray my trust with a mindflayer,” he snapped. “In a way that broadcast my humiliation to the entire camp, to these people who have become our - my - friends. People who know my history have seen me cast aside a second time, for what? For sport?” His gaze hardened as he stared at her, brows furrowing in pain. “Tell me it meant nothing.”

“I can’t do that.”

The answer was honest. And in all honesty, they could not blame him for the faint cry of misery that left his lips, the way his knees seemed to buckle and toss him down upon the makeshift bed he had not yet packed away. Sylvana forced themselves to step closer, to crouch, to kneel at his side, not daring to offer a touch in consolation. They only had words, but it was a language that this man certainly understood.

“Let me tell you why,” they said, each word soft but firm in the pain-filled silence of the tent. “And when I am done, if you still wish nothing more to do with me, then I will accept that. I have wronged you, but not with malicious intent.”

Knees drawn to his chest, hands clasped and twisting anxiously together, Gale drew in a staggered breath, seeming to force away fresh tears as he nodded. Whatever else happened now, he needed to know. Taking the invitation, Sylvana twisted themselves to sit beside him on the padded bedroll, staring at the star-filled constellation of Mystra they had never once asked him to remove from his sleeping place.

“I don’t know everything about you,” they began, careful to keep their tone light, conversational. No blame or implication of guilt; nothing to provoke an emotional reaction from him. “I don’t know every fleeting thought that pulses through your mind; every impulse you restrain, every judgement you make on those we pass by or interact with. I only see what you choose to show me, and I love every part of that man, even the parts you are perhaps ashamed of.”

They felt him shudder beside them, felt the unspoken acknowledgement that no mortal truly knew another in the way they were describing. Felt the realisation of where this was going even before they continued to explain.

“The Emperor knows everything about me,” they told him. “All of it. Not just what I choose to show, but everything I intentionally hide. Every unkind thought, every urge toward pain and destruction, everything that I know would sour the affection of the people I love toward me ... it knows all of it. Can you truly blame me for doing as I did, at a moment when I felt seen in a way no one has ever seen me before? For just those few moments, I could finally understand why you remain so devoted, so loyal, so tender toward Mystra. She knows you, the way he knows me. And yes, perhaps I wanted to even the score in that regard. Perhaps I knew it would hurt you, the way it hurts me each time you say her name with such fondness. The way it hurts to have to see her celestial face each time I come to you in privacy. But am I so unforgivable?”

There was a long silence, still wracked with pain but now peppered with understanding, the words he loved and needed so much guiding him down the path to truly understanding the why of what had gone before.

“It felt ... clinical, to me,” he said finally, his tone calm, almost detached. “I could feel your curiosity, your physical pleasure. Where was your heart, Sylvana?”

“In your hands. Always.”

They felt him suck in a breath, a sudden change in the turmoil radiating from him softening to their words as this commitment was made. A moment later, his fingers found theirs, hesitant but warm, daring to cross the divide between them.

“Had it been me in your place,” he said, each word tremulous but firm, “I do not think I could have gone through with it. Not that the temptation would not have been great, but ... I have been set aside by those I adore too often to willingly do it to another. To you.”

For the first time since waking, Sylvana felt the shard of pain they had been holding at bay slice deep. They knew this, of course they did. Some things could not be retracted or forgotten. But perhaps they could be forgiven?

Gale’s fingers tightened about theirs, drawing their palm to rest over his heart.

“My heart is yours,” he said, whispering painfully into the stillness. “Still yours. Always yours.”

Sylvana tilted their head toward him, finally finding his eyes on them with the by now familiar adoration back where it had always been. An adoration that was now just a touch guarded, but still there.

“Can we come back from this?” they asked, eyes burning with the urge for tears they did not feel they had earned the right to shed. “Can you forgive me my weakness?”

His brow pressed to theirs, and they shuddered together, each one fighting back those tears, knowing that such a display here and now would do neither of them any good. Hands gripped hands, breath mingled in staggering gusts, both wizard and rogue breathing together to eradicate the harsh reality of their painful morning.

“If you can forgive me for mine,” Gale said finally, lifting his eyes to theirs. “I have held onto the memory of her affection when I should have given you all of my focus. I swear this to you, my beloved heart, I will let her go. And when the time comes that the Emperor has no further need of us, I will stand by your side as you let him go.”

The relief was palpable - audible, even, as they heard Astarion suddenly declare that the fun he had been expecting wasn’t even going to start now. Sylvana let out a rueful laugh, joined by a wry chuckle from Gale as they wrapped themselves in each other’s arms, squeezing close to chase away the last of the uncertainty the morning had wrought.

“As long as you are mine, I could face anything at your side,” Gale murmured, at last pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

“I’m yours,” was their answer, heartfelt and unshakeable. “I’m still yours.”

#50sjello #fanfiction #niamh does commissions #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #oc - sylvana #gale x sylvana #angst #hurt/comfort #sfw #emotions #tara the tressym #astarion #karlach #shadowheart #group dynamics #the morning after the night before

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