#we're on ao3 now !
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How You Turn My World; Chapter 4
You finally find your way into the labyrinth, coming across some new and old faces; both friendly and malicious.
Character; Lilia Vanrouge
Content; Gender-neutral reader, reader is getting tired of being stuck here and smelling like a bog
Content Warnings; Swearing, some talk of death, reader passes out
Word Count; 2.2 K
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |
As per usual, don't put my work into AI.
You were finally making some decent progress, what, with not being stuck in some bog and knowing somewhat of where you were going. A vast improvement really! Well, it would be, but unfortunately, you still reeked of rotten eggs and skunk — apparently the bog stench only got worse the longer it stayed on.
“Why did it have to dump me into the swamp,” you huffed, rounding yet another corner. “Like, it could have dumped me beside the water, but, no, no, let’s dump the magicless human right into the putrid bog water! A good guffaw, don’t you think? Ha ha ha HA!”
At least your au de Bog of Eternal Stench kept any would-be assailants away since you hadn’t run into anything (besides a rose bush, ouch) since you started making your way through the labyrinth. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad… damn, maybe your sense of smell was just used to it… hey, if stink helps you not die, then you would gladly stay stinky! Well, bitterly stay stinky is more like it.
“Assholes,” you muttered, rounding another corner.
But it wasn’t a corner; it was a crossroad. Three paths merged off of the one you were on.
… aren’t labyrinths just one long line? THIS IS A FUCKING MAZE?! You groaned, looking at your possible options which all looked exactly the same.
Decisions, decisions, decisions. Of course nothing is easy here, no no no! Gotta make things difficult now.
The hedge behind you rustled, and you whipped around, getting into a stance where you could either land a pretty good sucker punch to the hedge-stalker or make a mad dash away. But out of the hedge crawled out a small, fuzzy, caterpillar. And back at home you would have thought it was cute, but you learned your lesson from the doors; don’t trust it, or anyone for that matter.
You looked down at the caterpillar, and the caterpillar looked up at you, blinking slowly.
What are the chances…
“Do you know a way out,” you asked the caterpillar, crouching down so that you didn’t tower over it.
The caterpillar blinked at you again (apparently caterpillars in the Underground have eyelids, which isn’t the weirdest thing considering everything). “No,” it chirped and continued crawling on its merry way, wherever that may be. “But you’ll find the way.” And it disappeared into the growth of the maze, humming a little tune to itself.
You sighed, and pushed yourself back up, straightening out your shoulders and looking up to the sky. “I’ll find a way,” you breathed, looking up at the cloudless sky which was starting to turn a brilliant amber with the setting sun. “I might want to find a way is more like it.”
You looked back down to the ground, looking at the three paths in front of you. They all look the same, save for the ground making up paths themselves, with the middle and right paths looking well worn with travel. And while they may be well worn, there was a voice at the back of your head that was whispering caution. The left-most path was not as well travelled, with dead vines covering parts of it.
“Hopefully you’re right, little buddy since I could use all the luck I can get.” And you made your way down the path, hoping that it was the correct one and didn’t lead you to your death or some other unpleasant thing.
…
…
Lilia was at the entrance of the labyrinth, in front of the two doors.
“Have you seen a human, about this tall, a bit of a temper, and smelling foul,” he asked the doors.
The doors looked at each other before looking at Lilia. “And what’s it to you,” they said in unison.
Lilia smiled, but it was one of mild annoyance, not joy or amusement. “Royal orders I fear. You wouldn’t want the mistress finding out about you both tampering with a royal matter, would you?” The smile turned cat-like since Lilia had backed them into a corner.
The doors paled, with the blue door speaking up. “No no, sir! We would never dream of such a thing!!! Yes, there was a human, a wretched one at that, horribly rude!”
Lilia hummed, cocking a brow at the door. “I do think wretched is a bit of an overstatement now,” he whispered to himself. “Well, tell me where about they are then. The sooner I can collect them, the better for you lot.”
The red door sighed, “Near the heart of it, they took the left path.”
Left path? Why the left path leads to… Shit. Lilia mentally groaned, knowing that regardless of the path you took, you would end up having to deal with them eventually. “Your cooperation has been noted,” is what he said though, giving the doors both a nod before turning into a bat and flying over the labyrinth, trying to find you before you ran into whoever them was.
“Please be clever enough not to die,” he whispered to no one, hoping that he didn’t have to deliver your body to the Queen.
…
…
The left path brought you to what looked like a forest; with old-growth trees, ferns and moss covering the ground, and a list mist hanging in the air. It was peaceful and beautiful, with the setting sun illuminating the mist without burning it away.
But that would not last, night was fast approaching and you had nothing to protect you this time; no rowan tree to haul your ass up, and no sort of weapon to protect yourself besides the oh-so-lovely smell of the bog to deter something from eating you. You were pretty sure it would also keep away anything that wanted to otherwise snatch you up.
“AH!” Something jumped out from a tree, and you couldn’t fully register what it was since you were also screeching, much like the creature was at you; you with fright, the creature with amusement and joy.
Two other creatures jumped out from behind the trees and startled cackling, jumping, and clapping. Together, they surrounded you, with no way to really escape them without fighting through.
… you really should have read about fae species, since you didn’t know what they exactly were, or how dangerous they were either.
One pulled you near a pit and lit a fire, cackling in glee and dancing, trying to get you to join them. “Ah come on, human, have some fun! DANCE BABEY!!!!”
But you stayed still as more creatures came out of the shadows, dancing around the fire, giggling, cackling, and pulling a bit at your clothes to prompt you to join them. You didn’t know, cementing your feet down, your eyes watching their movements with caution.
‘Should you dance with the fae, you shall not stop dancing until you exhaust yourself. And once you wake up, you will continue dancing. This cycle will repeat itself until you dance to death.’
At least that was what the book said, and so you stayed still, regardless of how much the creatures pulled at you. While it looked like a grand old time, you remained where you were.
“I don’t have time for dancing,” you answered coldly, flinching from pinching fingers. You were also a bit shocked that Eau de Bog of Eternal Stench wasn’t keeping them away. Either, they couldn’t smell, or, they didn’t care that you smelled downright awful. “So this ‘baby’ won’t dance.”
And should I be offended by you calling me ‘baby’ or am I reading too much into it?
The main creature just shrugged and spun its dancing partner around. “Your loss human! More fun for us then! YIPPEE!!!” And it threw something in the fire to where you could feel the heat on your face.
What now? You were just standing there awkwardly as the creatures danced about, singing something that you couldn’t really make out. All you knew was that the heat, noise, and the dizzying dance of them was making your head pound, and throat scream in thirst. You hadn’t drank anything for over a day(?) — no, bog water did not count — and the heat from the fire made the thirst only worse. Shit.
“Ah, you don’t look too… hot there human,” one of the creatures snickered at its own joke at your expense. “Maybe if you dance with us, loosen up and have a bit of fun, then you can have a drink? Hmm? Dancing won’t kill you!” But its failed attempts at covering up its own malicious giggles were more than enough to stand your ground… which was coming at you quite fast since you practically collapsed.
Was it the thirst? The pounding migraine that wanted nothing more than to crawl into some dark hole and hide? Or your exhaustion from making that tiring trek, crawling yourself out of the bog and making the trek again, or the hours you had spent wandering around the maze with no real idea of where you were going? All you really knew was that you were now on the ground with the creatures poking at you to see if you were still alive.
“Aw, man! Are they already dead? That’s no fun!” One of the creatures pouted, raising up your arm, and you let it plop back to the ground. “Come on human! Get up! You’re not a party pooper are you?”
Scre you buddy! Can’t you read the situation?!
You were trying your best to stay quiet, which wasn’t all that hard, since all of your energy was gone.
“They best not be,” a familiar voice called out.
From your position, you couldn’t see who it was, but you could make out the creatures jumping away from you like you were the hot fire instead of the fire pit. But someone else was approaching until you could make out a pair of shoes in front of your face.
They crouched down beside you, placing their fingers gently at the base of your throat; taking your pulse. “Hmph, playing dead, are we, Beastie?”
That irritating chuckle. The annoying nickname. Those mischievous magenta eyes that now looked at you with curiosity and amusement.
It was him — Mr. Sparkles.
And he had just blown your act of playing possum (well, not really, since you had actually collapsed).
But you didn’t say anything, instead favouring to give him a dirty look. Yet he just shook his head in jest, and proceeded to pick you up and wrap you around his shoulders and neck like some sort of bizarre ermine pelt; better than being carried like a sack of potatoes or the bridal carry you supposed.
“Her majesty sends her regards for not turning or killing her guest,” Lilia offered the creatures. It would be such a waste and pity to see such an entertaining Beastie leave us too soon now. “But do know she won’t take to their condition lightly.”
My condition? I’m not some Victorian child with some unknown illness wreaking havoc on their body you know?! But all that you did was groan and cough. You couldn’t even cough in Mr. Sparkles’ (Lilia’s) face, since you had a lovely view of the moss-covered ground and the fae’s shoes.
He patted the back of your calves, and you would have kicked him if you had more energy, but you didn’t. “Now, we really should be off, since Beastie has… an hour to get out of this maze before they turn into some sort of worm, or a hedge; never know what this old labyrinth will decide on really.” Lilia chuckled at the thought (was it merriment, or was he happy that you weren’t joining the caterpillar you met earlier?).
“No,” you wheezed. “WoRm!”
“See! They said it themself! No worm! How lovely that we are on a similar wavelength, Beastie! Marvellous even!” Lilia exclaimed, and the both of you started levitating off of the ground. “Now, do enjoy your party, Fireys!”
The creatures (Fireys apparently) groaned but got back to their party, dancing around the fire like they didn’t just try to lure you to your death mere minutes before.
“Tsk tsk, Beastie,” Lilia’s tutting brought your attention back to him and you grumbled. “You owe me two favours now, you know. Lucky that I found you… although that part wasn’t hard. I thought you learned your lesson the first time you decided to take a dip into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”
You lightly kicked him, letting your irritation be known, but Lilia just hummed. “Now now, no need to be like that! Do you want to smell like a bog when you meet the mistress? She wouldn’t take kindly to your… unique aroma.”
You hissed out a breath since he decided to pinch at your ear rather harshly — prompting for you to answer. “No,” you whispered hoarsely.
“Also, do read up on that book, since you will want to know about the government and fae species etiquette!”
From a smelly bog and fumbling around a maze for hours on end, to finding yourself being taken to fae high society… was it too late to become some worm in the maze? I think being a worm actually has a better chance of me living.
But sadly, you were saved from an eternity of being a worm. Hopefully, Mr. Sparkles (Lilia) would cover for your blunders a little for when you found yourself in front of ‘the mistress’.
...
...
...
...
To be continued!
~~~~~~~
Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @cheezy-moon @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii
Link to Masterlist
#twst#twst x reader#twst x gn reader#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland x gn reader#lilia vanrouge#lilia vanrouge x reader#lilia vanrouge x gn reader#yup! we're moving away from the labyrinth but fret not! the shenanigans shall continue and relationships will be built!#i forgot how fucking terrifying the fireys are and i now remember way labyrinth gave me nightmares as a kid#twst labyrinth au#also i shit you not i went to go eat at a burger joint last week and 'magic dance' was playing and i lost my fricking mind#like HELLO?! WHAT THE HELL?!#apparently the radio was telling me to fricking work on this fic...#i should really start posting this on ao3 as well... but idk where this is going to go#also posting a standalone fic (oneshot?) tomorrow; you guys will be eating good for a bit. here some crumbs for you and for you and for you
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Health and Hybrids (VI)👽👻💚
[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]
PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here and this is part six💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts
Where we last left off... Danny and Bart are bros now. The Speedsters chat about the horribly injured entity their kid has decided is like a...pet? Theydk?
Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.
💚👻👽👻💚
Danny wakes up to an unbridled wave of nostopdon’t.
…He rouses. His lungs flutter.
Danny flinches.
There’s something— it’s large and it’s green in a way that humans are not and it’s taller and wider than Danny’s human and the space it makes in Danny’s senses—
The red human Danny is too attached to now buzzes to his bedside, spilling worrywor/rynerv/ous all over Danny’s section of this abandoned hospital. His muscles tighten up to compensate; and when the green not-human adult gets closer, Danny pushes himself forward on his elbows— closer to his vibrating human, closer to a defensive formation.
The green thing moves and Danny can’t see the gesture. He bristles.
And then
Danny’s skull spl
its
down the middle.
Everything hurts and everything is on fire.
Danny screams.
And he screams.
And he screams.
And—
Danny isn’t moving— everything else moves when Danny screams but he isn’t moving— the fast human has gotten even faster and they’re zooming through the building, through rooms and past adult humans that Danny has never seen, and all Danny can do is sink his claws into the human and hope that it stays. That Danny stays. In its arms, and not next to— that.
The fast-buzzing human finds a dark room.
It shoves Danny and itself inside. Good.
They hide.
Even better.
Someone comes to the door, and Danny can feel the frigid heat of a blast forming in his fingers. But it’s only two of the humans Danny has already met. And another young human.
This one has light hair, he thinks. It shines in the light spreading out from the cracked doorway.
They talk and they don’t crowd his space but to be honest Danny would rather they did. There’s something horrible out there, and he knows these humans aren’t that bad and whatever green thing out there certainly is. They should all be safe in this nice dark room.
He makes a grabby hand. Come here. Get closer.
…One of them does. Great! Danny gently bats at it with his knuckles until it joins them underneath the table. Danny puts the buzzing human in front of him and his new human behind him, so that he’s in the middle. There’s layers now. They can’t all get wiped out at once.
Danny makes grabby hands at the other. It makes a huffy sort of vibration. Probably a laugh. Stupid. Doesn’t it notice that they’re in danger??
Danny whips a very sharp comehererightnowbetween them— not lashing, but not gentle. They are in danger. Come here.
Thankfully, the last two obey—Danny’s pretty sure he’s being humored, but that doesn’t matter. Not as long as they’re all under the table. And safe.
The buzzing human’s anxious vibrations slowly move out into a slower, calmer boredom, and that’s fine, because boredom means that it doesn’t think they’re in danger. No one has found them yet and the humans are twitchy and nervous.
One of the darker-dressed humans says something. Danny can’t tell what it says, exactly, but he can turn his head to listen. The words flow around him like water. Someone else murmurs something else.
A human hand bats at Danny’s. Danny flinches. It—is it fighting?? Are they fighting??
They don’t start…hitting. But they keep batting at Danny’s hands, very carefully avoiding his claws, and—oh. They want to play. And they probably want to play quietly, so they’re being smart about not getting caught. Ugh. If Danny had his toys, they wouldn’t be so bored. This is almost worse than boredom.
…Fine. Danny’s claws don’t exactly retract like an animal’s, but they’re not so essential to his being that they’re formed and present all the time. The sharp shapes of his claws shift in the darkness, until they’re only blunt nails: suitable for playing.
All the humans make very excited noises under their breath. It’s all very interesting or something. It can’t be that special. Danny sees other ghosts reshape little bits of themselves all the time.
The quiet human in red gently lifts up Danny’s hands with its own. It gently tosses Danny’s hands in the air, so that they clap together very quietly once they fall down onto its own. Danny lets it happen. They’re this close to him anyway. They’re probably not a threat.
(The real threat is outside, anyway.)
Then his hands get flipped over. The human gently bats its hands against Danny’s, extremely careful not to anger him enough to claw. They do this a couple times before Danny figures the game out.
Oh. It’s a hand game—Danny even knows this one. It’s Ms. Mary Mack. The quiet one whispers the right tune under its breath.
Once Danny knows it, it’s easy to gently follow the motions. He surprises them when he knows the motions as well as they do; his wrists hurt when he goes too fast, or when the human kids do—when they push too hard, Danny makes himself intangible, to their delight—but he can be gentle, and eventually everyone else is gentle, and they carefully plot out Mrs. Mary Mack and a veeeery slow version of Concentration.
It’s all very fun, right up until the Large Green Not-Human pushes itself through the floor.
Danny pulls his hands back, unsheathes his claws, and shrieks.
Everyone yells and everyone gets closer—it’s a defensive formation and that’s good but it’s not enough if he needs space to help defend them—and everything is loud and upsetting and Danny’s already hurt but he can fight and he will—
—Apology, Apology— something whispers, infinitely quieter than the attack Danny had suffered.
He bolts upright. What? Oh, oh no. It wants to talk to him. Danny does not want to talk back. NonononoGoAWAY.
The giant green thing backs off. Danny gets a distinct sensation of —Questions, Answers— sent to him. The feeling is accompanied by a procession of Danny’s own memories: the stars from the base, the container he’d woken up in, his bed nest and all the waste in it.
Danny winces further back under the table. Just because he likes his cot and feels safe in it doesn't mean it isn't gross. It is gross. But everything is going to be gross until all of his insides are actually inside of him again, and not squished up in his more liquid form.
The quickfasthuman darts in front of Danny, as if it is going to be any defense against whatever this creature is, and starts yelling in its little human voice. Danny keens.
—Care, Concern— flows towards him. With it comes Danny’s memories of the buzzing human bandaging him, a flesh-tone bandage stretching across the hole where more of his nose ought to be.
…Danny stills. It’s. That’s.
It’s a very gentle emotion. Maybe the thing is…lying…? But if it was, Danny would be able to feel it. Right?
There are more thoughts and feelings that come by, first very quietly and softly, and then a little too fast to track as the being get ahead of itself. When Danny pulls away, it slows down, and the flow becomes manageable again.
The Earth. Green and peaceful.
Space. —Home. Home—
This base that Danny is on. On it are faces that the green being can see, that Danny can’t— but in its memory it shares, all of them are welcoming and friendly with…their coworker. This being.
(Is this an alien?!)
(The being pauses in its recollection. It feels distinctly —Amused, Amused—. And then Danny gets space memories!! Of Mars!!!)
He carefully eases his claws out of the carpet. Okay. This is pretty cool. Danny’s getting the hang of this.
He (thinks? Successfully?) bounces back a memory of his first room, his first shuttle model of the Atlantis, the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling.
The alien (Alien!!!) treats him to a memory of his own offsprings’ resting places in his home. On Mars.
Danny doesn’t even argue when his buzzing human tries to pick him up. They can break formation. It’s fine. Danny purrs and purrs with his core. For the first time in months and months, someone can speak to him properly. Someone wants to speak to him.
What Danny thinks matters.
The stranger invites Danny into a mutual conversation, and Danny accepts.
Danny sinks himself into a memory of the earth, as seen from the upper atmosphere. The stars were all-encompassing there. He misses flying.
The Martian sends him a memory of a crashed…
…Oh. Danny squeezes further under the table. That’s the Specter Speeder. From the stranger's eyes, his crash into the dirt looks so bad. That’s…that crash hurt him. He’s still hurt. Still so bad.
Even the alien’s —Concern, Fear, Worry— isn’t a comfort.
The Martian replays the memory of the bandaids again. And then a new memory: the laboratory where Danny woke up.
The room was full of nervous humans in scrubs and lab coats, all of whom were nervous, nervous, fussing over problems like safe food and adequate oxygen and sanitary environment and please, please be okay. Danny’s empathy is limited to other empathetic beings, but the humans' thoughts and worried faces are bare and transparently clear to the alien.
…Oh.
Danny thinks of the young humans crowded around him, trying to keep him comfortable and safe, even when the alien knows that the humans know that he isn’t a threat. But that they worry for Danny anyway, because he’s scared and unhappy and in pain.
Oh, Danny thinks. …Oh.
#shoutout to pndu56 on ao3 who rewired my brain with their patty-cake based comment on ch2#and shoutout to Tim for picking a game that was Way more complicated in the end.#YJ team: I guess we're going under the table now#Batman in their comms: no you literally do not have to#YJ: too bad so sad we're under the table with our bestie now. tragic 😢#dp x dc#dpxdc#dcxdp#danny phantom#yeah I know we're not supposed to use the dp tag IT'S HIS NAME I NEED HIS CHARACTER TAG FOR INTERNAL FILING#health and hybrids#dcu crossover#tw medical#tw gore#tw body horror#kinda#they're all implied#faer fic#cryptid!au#spooky boy on a spooky space station what will he haunt ooo
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Ngl I really love fanfics ability to have the most random and inexplicable stuff happen and just go 'right? Yes, moving on' and not ever have to explain or address it ever again.
Everywhere else? Lazy writing, plot hole, etc. Fanfic? Yea boi that's why we're here!!
#This is because of the time travel fics yeah#Also the de-aging fics#So little explanation required we all know why we're reading them and it's not for the realistic world building#This goes all the way from 'this grown man is a child now' to 'medieval canon has chat fic' and 'villain got struck by lightning'#It's just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and I love it.#fanfic#fanfiction#fandom#ao3 fanfic#ao3 memes#ao3#ao3 funny#ao3 stuff#ao3 writer#fanfics
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Red Knight - Chapter 3
DP x DC | Dead on Main
Jason Todd encounters one Danny Fenton in the streets of Gotham and suddenly he's thrown into a world of ghosts and monsters. Will he embrace this life? Or will it just end up with him dead again?
Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
--
Jason didn’t go home. Instead, he melted into the shadows across the street from the diner and waited. A few minutes later Danny emerged and got on his motorbike. He revved the engine and began to speed away.
Jason would find out who the hell this guy was. (And if he was totally full of shit). He waited a moment before shooting a grapple line and pursuing.
Fifteen minutes later he found himself on a rooftop across the street from a simple apartment on the fourth floor of an old building. Using the binocular zoom on his helmet he watched Danny inside. He looked tired and utterly human as he went though the motions of getting ready for bed. As he took off his shirt Jason winced at the scars all across his body— most noticeably the Lichtenberg figure that cascaded up his arm and over his shoulder. The amount of electricity needed to leave that kind of mark— something like that should have killed him.
Maybe it had.
Minutes later Danny turned out the light and went to sleep. Jason didn’t leave. The pit was quiet. It stayed quiet all night.
In the morning Jason followed as Danny took the train across the city to Gotham University. Jason blended with the other students as he tailed him through the halls until Danny entered what appeared to be an upper level mechanical engineering lecture. Instead of following him in He headed back to Danny’s apartment.
He opted to pick the lock— better not to leave a trace. Inside he found a fairly typical college apartment. Sparse furnishings, a couple faded band posters tacked to the walls, game controllers strewn about. It was homey. Nice.
Jason found nothing out of the ordinary in the kitchen, nor the closets. No laptop or phone— must have taken them with him. Jason rifled through papers on the messy desk- lecture notes, sketched diagrams, grocery lists- and started to think that he really wan’t going to get anything good on this guy. Then he touched something that jolted him with an electric shock.
Jason pulled his hand away with a whispered curse while shuffling off the remaining papers, revealing some kind of metal belt. It had wires sticking out, chips exposed, clearly an unfinished project. What gave Jason pause was the faint strange glow about it, green with the same energy he saw in Danny’s palm and in his eyes.
He reached a hand toward it again. As soon as his fingers got close he felt the buzz of energy start to sharpen. The pit under his heart snarled. He pulled his hand back.
Mysterious gadgetry certainly was a little suspect, but by itself didn’t point to any nefarious intention. He thought about taking the belt to study it further, but doing proper diagnostics would require help from Tim, or worse, Bruce. No, thanks. Too many questions he didn’t want to answer.
He glanced at the papers again. He saw a full name there. Danny Fenton.
Danny Fenton. A powerful not-meta meta. Also, by the looks of it, just some average guy. That didn’t mean Jason would take his guard down. He knew that metas and monsters often hid in plain sight. And the ones that did it well were the most dangerous.
//
Jason went back to his apartment and slept through the rest of the day.
He woke up that night with a gun in his face.
A shadowed smile leered down at him. “So you are the new ghost boy. You’ll make a fine addition to my collection.”
A green blast split his bed down the middle as he leapt out of the way just in time. Who the fuck?
Jason grabbed the bat he kept next to his nightstand and took a wild swing at his assailant. As the sleep cleared from his eyes a seven foot tall robotic guy with a flaming green mohawk came into focus. His attacker stopped the bat in his hand with surprising strength.
“Ah good, you do have some fight in you.”
The robot guy punched Jason in the gut, launching him across the room. That hurt, way more than a hit from a common goon. What the hell was this guy made of?
Jason pulled himself up and grabbed a gun off the kitchen counter. He leveled it with easy precision. He planted one shot in the robot guy’s chest, the other between his eyes.
His aim was perfect.
Neither shot connected.
The bullets passed right through him. Jason’s mouth went dry.
“Hah, those puny weapons won’t work on me. Now this-“ what could only be described as a rocket launcher emerged from the robotics on the robot guy’s shoulder- “this is a real gun.”
The rockets fired, fueled again by that green energy. Jason bolted for the window and crashed out onto the fire escape, taking a hit to the side as he did. The blast burned but thankfully didn’t break the skin. Still hurt like a bitch though. The pit screamed, but the rage felt more focused now than it had before. Methodically he swung his way down to the street, landing bare-footed and in his sweats, unmasked and unarmed except for the useless gun in his hand. His attacker pursued, emerging through the wall and flying after him.
Jason gritted his teeth. The green energy, the familiar powers— it was too much to be just a coincidence. Ghost, he named his attacker in his head. Like Danny.
He ran.
The ghost caught up with him before he’d made it two buildings down. “Is that all you can do? Scurry around down there like a scared little mouse?”
More blasts assailed him from more varieties of guns. Jason dodged, but just barely. If he could just make it to his safehouse then— then what? He could shoot this guy with more guns that didn’t work? Hide behind walls that the ghost could walk right through?
He heard the next shot too late. A glowing rope wrapped itself around his ankles, sending him stumbling to the asphalt face first. Weak, he thought as he spit out gravel. He’d never felt so weak, not since coming back. For the first time since he emerged from the pit he no longer felt invincible.
His attacker landed with a metallic clank. Jason glowered as the ghost cracked a jagged smile. “That’s it? Your combat is weak. Your banter is lacking. Your head is hardly worth mounting above my mantle.”
Anger smoldered beneath Jason’s heart, pulling in on itself versus the usual explosion. His legs were bound but his hands were still free. He tightened his grip on his pistol.
With a roaring yell he heaved himself half up and swung the gun on the ghost again. He focused his anger, focused that pointed energy, and pulled the trigger.
A bullet shrouded in green flame exploded from the barrel. It connected with the ghost’s stomach, sending a shower of sparks spraying as it tore through the robotics.
The ghost looked down in shock.
Jason smiled in triumph. “How’s that for a real gun.”
Then Jason unloaded, pulling the trigger as fast as he could make it go. He kept shooting even when he should have run out of ammo, each shot a flaming green spark that took a chunk out of the robot ghost with every hit.
“What is this? Impossible!” The ghost took off yelling, retreating back down the street. Jason ripped the rope from his ankles and got on his feet to chase.
Ghost or not, this part Jason knew. Bad guy on the run, him in pursuit. He let his shaken nerves melt into a familiar resolve. The ghost shot back at him but Jason’s focus was unshakeable. His phantom bullets took the guns clean off the robot suit till it was covered in shredded metal.
Finally the ghost flew up, desperate to get out of range, defeated. “I underestimated you whelp. Until next time.”
With that the ghost activated his jet pack and flew away into the night. Jason kept shooting till he vanished over the rooftops.
//
That was not the last attack. They came nightly after that, some new kind of ghost would appear and stir up trouble. He’d notice them on patrol now- glowing vultures on the roofs or a green lion stalking in the park or translucent octopi floating down the streets. Had they always been there and he just hadn’t noticed? Or had they just showed up? The more he watched the more it seemed that other people didn’t see them.
Or maybe they just didn’t care. Just another one of those Gotham things.
Most ignored him entirely but caused trouble in different ways— lurking in sewers and tugging at people’s hems or floating through stores causing electronics to malfunction. Harmless mostly. But ever present. Those ones eventually noticed Jason watching and they’d always look back at him with surprise or curiosity or a sick kind of delight.
Sometimes Jason would pick the fight. He punched a ghost creep following a lady too closely as she walked down the street. Chased off a demonic possum that was oozing some kind of goo into the river. Other times the fight would pick him. He stared too long at a vulture and it swooped down on him, brandishing impossible teeth. A headless guy jumped him outside his safe house. He looked awfully similar to one of Gothams former gang bosses.
He was getting bette at harnessing that green energy and he could reliably shoot energy bullets from any of his guns. He also found that an old fashioned punch would also do the trick.
Once he saw an oily black creature at the edges of his vision, larger and more sinister than any of the other ghosts he’d encountered. A brawl in the street broke out a moment later so he didn’t get to investigate but somehow that one made him feel more unnerved than all the rest.
He didn’t understand where they were coming from or why they were here. He knew someone who probably would.
During daylight hours he gathered intel on Danny Fenton- or at least he attempted to. It was like the kid didn’t exist before he showed up as a student at Gotham University. The internet was shockingly clean of any records or photos.
Jason was beginning to think Danny Fenton was just a pseudonym until finally he got a relevant hit. He found an article published in a now-discredited scientific journal by Dr.s Jack and Madeline Fenton, detailing their paranormal research. The paper theorized about a separate dimension of post-concious beings. Suggested ways to make a portal there. It was too similar to what Danny described to be coincidence. Those were his parents, that was the portal that killed him. Maybe it was all true.
But Jason didn’t find any evidence that they had successfully created the portal. The paper talked about it in theory, not practice. The only evidence of them making it real was Danny himself. If he even believed Danny’s story.
Using a trick he stole from Tim he searched the housing records database and found a property under their names in Amity Park, Illinois. Satellite imaging showed a house that looked like a ufo had crashed landed on top of it. He chuckled to himself. That must be the place.
He was out grabbing a bite of dinner and considering a little field trip to Illinois to investigate further when the next ghost attack happened.
One second he was biting into his sandwich, the next three giant glowing green rats, just like the nasty ones that roamed Gotham’s sewers except 10 times bigger, burst out of the kitchen of the restaurant and out into the street.
Jason abandoned the sandwich and chased them out the door, pulling out his gun as they ran down an alley.
“Quit causing trouble on my turf,” Jason growled as he loosed a few blasts in their direction.
The rats stopped and turned back toward him halfway down the alley. The biggest one sat up and looked at him with sharp eyes. “Your turf? You got it twisted buddy. This here is our turf.”
Out of nowhere a fourth rat tackled him from behind. It’s boxy teeth clamped down on his shoulder with a sickening crunch. Jason yelled as he was thrown to the ground and suddenly all of them were on him, clawing and biting.
Jason clawed and bit back. He carried a gun even in his civvies (obviously) but couldn’t reach it in the thick of it.
He was truly starting to get pissed when suddenly the temperature dropped ten degrees. A voice came from down the alley.
“Hey.”
The rats froze. As a group they all looked toward the voice. At the mouth of the alley, plastic bodega bag in hand, face stern, stood Danny.
“What the hell is this?”
The head rat spoke up. “This is our turf. Tell the new guy he needs to buzz off before we make him.”
Danny folded his arms. His face was stoic but his voice had an icy edge. “I think you should be a bit more friendly to your neighbor.”
The rats reacted immediately, untangling themselves from Jason. “Jeez your majesty we were only joking. Mi casa es su casa and all that.”
“Good. Now scram.”
They scrambled away down the alley with a skittering of claws, running like they had hellfire under their asses.
Jason let out a long breath. Danny looked at him with complete recognition even though he was bare faced and in street clothes. Of course he could clock him out of costume. Why didn’t that surprise him?
Jason propped himself up on one arm. “Your majesty?”
“They don’t mean it as a compliment.” Danny huffed as he knelt down next to Jason, reaching out a gentle hand to inspect his wounds.
Danny’s jaw tightened as he ran a thumb over a gash in Jason’s arm. Jason pulled back.
“I’m fine.”
Danny reluctantly sat back. “There has been more ghost activity lately. Sorry I didn’t catch these guys quicker.”
“It’s okay. I dealt with the rest just fine.”
Danny tensed. “The rest?”
“I’ve been dealing with them since we got coffee. Nearly every night.“
Real anger flashed in Danny’s eyes for just a moment. It surprised Jason, and reminded him how much Danny wasn’t telling him.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Danny looked at Jason with such bare concern it made his heart feel sticky.
Jason grumbled. “I had it handled.”
“How??” Danny whined.
Jason pulled out his gun, pointed upward. Danny frowned, skeptical, until Jason pulled the trigger. A green blast shot into the sky. He shouldn’t have gotten so much satisfaction from surprise on Danny’s face.
“Oh,” Danny said. “Neat trick. That’s new?”
Jason nodded.
Danny sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Despite that, there’s no way I’m letting you deal with these ghosts on your own.”
“Let me?” Jason scoffed. “I don’t need your help.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “So you were planning on being rat food just now?”
“I almost had them.”
Danny chuckled. Jason didn’t waver. Then Danny got that glint in his eye.
“Okay. Then prove it.”
“What?”
“Show me you can actually handle a ghost attack and I’ll leave you alone.”
Jason wanted that, right? To not have to think about Danny Fenton popping up randomly in his life again? He ignored the twist of confusion in his gut.
“How? There’s no ghosts.”
Danny stood up and gestured to himself with a smirk.
“You’re joking.” Jason deadpanned.
“Try me.”
Guess that was always how this was gonna shake out. Sure, why not. Stone-faced and without hesitation Jason pulled a second pistol out of his belt and shot a green blast directly at Danny with a sizzling crack. Danny took the hit on the shoulder with barely a flinch. He glanced down at the burn hole on his shirt. The skin beneath was unbroken.
Danny’s smile widened, and there were those fangs again. “That it?”
Jason clenched his teeth and sprang into action. He launched to his feet as he brandished both guns in front of himself, shooting rapid fire.
Danny moved like a practiced fighter, ducking and weaving around the shots. A handful hit him but they didn’t break his focus or his stride. Jason stepped back to keep distance but Danny was quicker. Suddenly he was close enough that Jason felt the coolness of his breath.
His fist came quick. Jason threw up his arm to block. He barely managed to keep his feet under him. The next punch connected with his gut and sent him shuffling backwards, but still upright. He used the space to pull up his guns again and fired.
Danny jumped and suddenly he was lighter than air, floating and flipping over Jason’s head. Jason tracked him with the guns and spun as Danny landed, again too close.
Jason holstered the guns and opted to grab Danny by the front of his shirt with both hands. He turned and slammed Danny into the alley wall.
“You are strong I’ll give you that,” Danny said, the amused grin on his lips mere inches from Jason’s, “But ghosts have tricks.”
Suddenly Jason was holding nothing but air. His fingers clenched into fists.
Barely a breath later Jason felt a cheek next to his, behind him.
“Boo.” Danny said directly in Jason’s ear. Jason elbowed backward reflexively, connecting with Danny’s gut. Danny let out a satisfying oof before slipping out of reach.
It fell into the rhythm of a brawl then as they traded blows. But even with the bits of ghostly flair Danny threw in, it felt off. Danny wasn’t fighting like the other ghosts he’d faced. He was fighting like a human. He was holding back.
Jason ground his teeth together as his anger bubbled to a boil. Stepping back to steal enough distance, he pulled out his pistols. He let the anger swirl and coalesce under his heart. He focused and pulled both triggers at once.
A massive green fireball exploded from the combined gun barrels, hurtling toward Danny.
There was no time for Danny to dodge. Jason relished the surprise on his face. But right before the fireball collided, Danny extended a palm and a translucent green shield appeared, covering him. The fireball dissipated on impact.
Jason groaned in frustration. Another power he didn’t know about? How was that fair?
“Why are you holding back?” he demanded.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Danny’s shield disappeared. “But I could ask you the same question.”
“What?” Jason was barely keeping up as is.
“I think you can do better than this.” Danny challenged.
Jason tightened his grip on his guns. Danny relaxed his fighting stance. “Can’t you go toe to toe with Batman? Even my sister would at least be making me sweat.”
Again that roiling focused anger under his heart, swirling like a supernova. Danny just looked at him with that shit-eating grin. He let the fire of anger burn hotter to cover the rising of something else underneath.
“Be serious.” Jason growled.
“Make me.”
With a roar Jason blasted another huge fireball and the fight was back on.
Jason actually wanted to hurt Danny now. He wanted to prove to himself that he could. He moved faster, punched harder, let out more of that fire with each shot.
The next time Danny got up close and Jason swapped to his fists, Jason noticed a green fiery glow had formed around his hands. Danny did too, when he winced for the first time after a punch connected. The pit under his heart hummed in triumph.
After that it was less easy for Danny to slip away into intangibility, more easy for Jason to press the offensive. Finally Jason swept Danny’s legs from under him and pinned him to the ground, a mirror of the first night they met.
Jason’s breath came in pants. He gripped Danny’s shirt tight in his fist.
“Not bad.” Danny flashed his fangs.
Jason lifted a fist to punch that stupid smile off his jaw but Danny threw up a hand and caught his fist, inches before it hit, stopping it with unshakeable strength.
“Believe me now when I say I’ve got it handled myself?” Jason kept his tone even.
Danny eyed Jason’s still-glowing fist. “More now than before, yeah. But-“ Danny pushed Jason’s fist aside with infuriating ease. He pulled his legs out from underneath Jason with intangibility and floated smoothly to his feet.
“I’m still going to help you.”
“That wasn’t the deal. You said if I-“
A blast of green energy to his stomach cut him off, stronger and faster than any of the punches they’d traded. Danny grabbed Jason by the jacket and they flew, up to the top of the twelve story building. Danny looked at him with empty eyes. And dropped him.
Jason didn’t scream. He scrambled for his grapple gun. He was falling too fast. He got a hand on it, too late- but it didn’t matter. Danny swooped down and pushed him intangibly through the ground at the moment of impact. He felt himself being dragged up through darkness until-
He was stuck in the alley pavement up to his waist. Danny crouched next to him.
“I promise this is a warning not a threat. I didn’t realize that patching up your core would put you over the threshold to get ghostly attention. They won’t stop bothering you. And they won’t all be small fry. If you won’t let me take care of them for you, at least let me give you a fighting chance.”
Jason glowered up at him. “You’re not going to let me out of here unless I say yes.”
Danny smiled, the most brilliant thing in the dark street. “Bingo.”
#dpxdc#dcxdp#danny phantom#jason todd#dead on main#dead on main ship#dp x dc fanfic#fanfic#danny x jason#dp#dp x dc#red knight fic#now we're caught up with ao3#maybe I'll post the next chapter tomorrow
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man i know it's all in jest and/or affectionate but actually when i open my notes and it's all random strangers responding to my posts (mostly homerstuck) with shit like "op i want to flay you alive" "this is disgusting and cursed" etc it simply does not encourage me to post any more of it as people have been demanding i do, as i simply do not enjoy being engaged with in this way. playful rudeness from strangers just isn't pleasant to me. no hate genuinely i know y'all mean well and i appreciate that but damn people really do just say shit to total strangers on the internet
#rookposting#im very familiar with this kind of idk online lingo ive been on tumblr etc for over ten years so i get it yknow#but i get a ton of extremely rude and over familiar people on twitter and sometimes here and on ao3 too#after what is now many many years of having this kind of playful directed at me by everyone as though we're friends#well it just gets a little tiring after a while.#i just dont like it anymore. i want to be nice and i want people to be nice to me#i also dont expect it to stop like this is the internet but i did just want to express one (1) grievance#highkey im anticipating people to get mad at me for this one too but it be ljke that i guess#anyway no im not posting any more of it sorry. dont want to deal with it
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Chapters: 1/2
Fandom: Splatoon
Relationships: Marina/Pearl (Splatoon)
Series: Part 4 of Climbing(Endlessly)_Tetralogy.Floor
Summary:
“—and I thought to myself where would Marina want to stay? Because you know me and if I booked where I wanted we’d be at some all-inclusive resort on the beach somewhere—and don’t get me wrong, I love seeing you in your swimsuit and I know you love listening to the ocean, but that just didn’t seem right after everything we went through. Too bright, I guess. And we’ve been on tour for so long and— I don’t know. I figured… We met in the forest—and— You like trees, I guess. I know we’re both city girls but also it’s supposed to rain all weekend and I just thought about you all snuggled up next to a fireplace in a treehouse and I kinda lost my mind a little. So. Stop grinning at me like that, Rina!”
“You’re cute, Pearlie.”
“I know! So are you! Look, let’s just— We’re almost there. Let’s check it out and if you hate it, we’ll go somewhere else, okay?”
Marina can’t help the smile splits her face in half, and Pearl sulks next to the window, arms crossed, watching the trees of Calamari County sail by. In the reflection of the window, Marina can see her smiling too.
[Pearl and Marina finally get that us time.]
#i'm feeling like total ass so we're using ao3's built in sharing feature for this one#pearlina#i'm going to lay down now bye#ashe writes#ashe talks
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"You wanna go for the title?"
911 | 3x09
#buddie#buck x eddie#evan buckley#911 fox#911 tv show#buddie gifs#eddie diaz#evan x eddie#evan buck buckley#eddie x buck#buck and eddie#yes this is my first post#glad we're starting out this way#do yall write smut in here or#should i stick to ao3?#i guess this is what im doing with my life now#did u guys know im basically a lawyer#im still a fangirl
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normal ways to start a fanfic that will upset absolutely no one
#YES I'M STARTING ANOTHER PROJECT#i'm itchy#i've been editing for too long#i need to be writing nineteen new things at once just to deal with the editing boredom#we're making excellent progress on the red thread but it isn't tickling the creative bones#so now we have this#of which i currently have about 2k#ao3 author#stray kids fic#minchanjin#hyunjin gets resurrected don't you worry
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hey so because im unemployed and bored and hate goodreads because i almost exclusively read fics, i created a pretty easy to use reading tracker/database to get all the juicy reading stats.
safe to say this year is going well?
#the things unemployment drives me to do LOL#hannibal lecter#will graham#murder husbands#hannigram#hannibal#reading#reading tracker#ao3#fanfiction#im bored okay#at this point i should just move everything over to an actual database but we're here now#goodreads#reading stats
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Concept: after the events of the manga, Mob, now seeking to accept all of himself, becomes looser with the usage of his powers. His vast strength, once so tightly kept to himself, dense and suffocating, expands. As a result, things start happening that he doesn't exactly mean to happen. Little things, little accidents - tying his shoes without thinking, flickering the lights when he's upset, the plants around him standing taller when he's happy. And they pile up, little things becoming big things, until the whole of seasoning city is pretty much coated in his aura. A gentle presence now that it isn't so concentrated in one place.
The espers in the area can obviously feel it, but the non-espers come to notice it too in other, subtler ways - the plums beggining to bloom earlier in spring. The weather forecasts becoming more unreliable, as sunny days come when it was meant to be cloudy, or wind sometimes picks up out of nowhere, or rain arrives sooner than expected. A lot of car accidents get saved from a lethal end just from seemingly sheer luck. The creepy sounds that one and another have been haunted by dissapear suddenly. And at times, out of nowhere, more than before, people stop to think, just how lucky they are.
From this, new urban legends arise, and the common consensus that believers arrive at in the end, is that a benelovent spirit has entered town to bless it with small miracles. But at the center of it remains, in truth, an unintentional protector - just one small boy, named Kageyama Shigeo.
#mob psycho 100#mp100#kageyama shigeo#headcanons#late night rambles#i've been reading 'the trolley problem' on ao3 recently...#REALLY recommend esp to those who love mobs character. it explores the after effects of the final arc so intrestingly#and i love how it approaches those changes as just another chapter in mob's life - he still has challenges. they're just different ones now#I LOVE that <3#we're never done growing#and i appreciate the strange existentialist elements in it too... its neat :)#anyways this is just something i thought of while reading that so not exactly related. but i wanted to ramble about the fic series anyways#jfjdkfjgh#my own post
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Clean Slated Slate by @justkeeptrekkin
remember when ed won the dinosaur plush in clean slated slate? yeah me too.. all the time...
#ofmd#gentlebeard#AND I MET THE AUTHOR#RANDOMLY LIKE WE JUST BUMPED INTO EACHOTHER#IT WAS SO NICE WE'RE FRIENDS NOW#edward teach#stede bonnet#modern au#clean slated slate#fic fanart#ed ofmd#stede ofmd#ofmd ao3#our flag means death#our flag means fanart
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗
So. Uh. Part of the reason I didn't want to answer this is because I don't know if I have?? Five favorite works?? But. Uhm. I might as well...try?
In a somewhat arbitrary order,
Tides and Tribulation🌊⚱ is the most recent of my Trickery AU, which is Faer's excuse for rewriting the entire Percy Jackson series, Except I Think Sally Should Take Over The World, Actually. I like this one the most since I give the characters the most autonomy. It doesn't quite beat out the baby Percy chapters in the first fic though.
Quiet! Respite! Quiet! Respite!🕷🦇 Spiderman (MCU) x DC! It's romance and it's mushy and it's tense and also so many people are dead! So many. Once I update it soon, we're about to have a little bonkers turnaround in the plot lol. Just a widdle one 🥺
The Firstborn Son. I wanted to write a traditionalish dp x dc fairy tale, and then I did. It's mostly from the POV of Batman, so if you don't know anything about Danny Phantom, great! More Woe Be Upon Ye. Features a baby Dick!Robin and a literal Baby!Damian.
Yes, Yes, Blister Pack💉👻, we've all heard of her. DCU x DP crossover. I will say that I get headaches trying to reread this though. If I reread key points I get up and walk around from how mad the plot makes me lol.
Listen. I love Drake Manor. But spot #5 goes to goo boy and the gang, and The Health and Wellbeing of Hybrid Entities👻🖤. All this boy's organs are falling out. He Needs Some Milk. He is Going Through it. Dp x Dc.
There are some other things I'm really proud of, like my Percy Jackson reworking of the Kids on Brooms tabletop roleplaying game, Kids on Pegasi, but that's technically not fic, so. I likewise couldn't find space for The Shrimp Fic. But I can only squeeze so much in one of these.
And, uh, hoo, hoo boy...writing this post only took a few hours outta me! 😅
#faer fic#ao3#pjo#danny phantom#dp x dc#dpxdc#no marvel only spider man#dcu crossover#Okay I think we're all in#WAIT NO#ask games#okay NOW
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Little WIP Wednesday for the You Will Still Haunt Me Saturday chapter drop 👀
“And you can control dreams,” Steve says. It’s not a question.
Eddie smiles, fangs on full display. “And that.”
“How does it work?”
“I—uh, don’t really know. It’s, uhm. Pretty weird. I can sort of project my—my consciousness, I guess?”
“Just with me?” He has to ignore the way that makes his heartbeat harder.
Eddie laughs, gives him a look that says he knows exactly what Steve’s thinking. “Mostly just with you. I’ve practiced with other people before. To see what I could do. Not to scare people, or anything, just passing time.”
“Why is it different with me?”
“Fishing for compliments, Stevie?”
“No!” Steve laughs. “I’m curious.”
“You think about me a lot, you know?”
Steve flushes, watches it spread on his naked chest and up his neck. “I—you—it’s—”
“Don’t be embarrassed, big boy,” Eddie purrs. “My theory is that it made it easier for me to visit you. Like, you were calling me, or something. It took a while for me to get strong enough to do this.” He gestures to where their legs touch on the mattress. “Buckley thinks of me. Those kids of yours, too. But I probably couldn’t do more than make an impression on their subconscious.”
“So, you’re saying I invited you to stalk my dreams.”
“I wasn’t going to use those words, but yeah, basically.”
Steve covers his face with his hands, trapped between being grateful that his obsession gave him Eddie back, and ashamed for how far gone he is, how he could’ve died chasing the boy he lost half a decade ago.
“Do you want to get out?” Steve asks
“What?”
“You heard me. Do you want to get out? If we can—”
“There is not a single thing you can do.”
“Of course there is. We almost brought you back once, opened the portal and everything, we can do it again.”
Eddie rears back at Steve’s words, horror written in shadow across his face. “Absolutely not, Harrington. No.”
#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#wip wednesday#you will still haunt me#snippet#ao3 fic#dream sharing#we're getting into it now#in all their attempts to save him i guess no one considered eddie might not want to leave the upside down
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the thing that makes me insane about rexakin as a ship (maría’s version) is that anakin knows he’s being managedtm and thinks he doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t know how to interact with rex without that in the way and might not be able to handle it, and that rex doesn’t know how to love anakin if it’s not within the very safe, familiar roles of captain and general, because that way he can keep his distance (from anakin, from his own feelings, from the reality of the situation, from its consequences and ramifications) and keep himself safe
also, the murders.
#rexakin#rexwalker#maríadont#i'm hghghghghghgh#captain rex#anakin skywalker#had to reread one of the latest fics i wrote to post it to ao3 and oh boy we're really in it now!!!
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Trigger warnings for drug and alcohol use, temporary character death, slight mental health spiralling
chapter one
ao3
I warned you about stairs bro
--
“What the fuck?”
Nico is back in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror.
He was just hit by a car. Right? That definitely just happened. He should be dead, not standing in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection.
Not a mark on him, either. Not a drop of blood, or a bruise, or even a scuff of dirt. Exactly the same.
“What the fuck.” He repeats, quieter. Did he hallucinate the last, what, three hours?
There's a knock on the door.
Ignoring the glare from the girl outside - who he still doesn't know - as she slams the door shut behind her, he makes a beeline for the kitchen. Again Nico passes by people all wishing him happy birthday. He shrugs off their touches and ignores the shot thrust out before him.
Piper is still in the kitchen, behind the counter. She grins when she sees him, holding the lit joint up and singing; “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday-”
He cuts her off again. “Piper, what was in that joint?”
She blinks at him, looking from the joint in her hand and back to Nico, more than a little confused. “This one? It's just weed, dude. And you've not had any yet.”
“Are you absolutely sure there's nothing else in it?”
“Yes? I mean, it's from my regular dealer. You know, the one that Percy Jackson Himself recommended.” she frowns, clearly concerned. “What's wrong?”
“I got hit by a car and died.”
“That's not funny, what the fuck Nico.”
“No, I'm serious. I’ve already been through this party. I went to the shop and got hit by a car while crossing the road.”
Piper looks ready to book him into the next available therapy session with the first of her colleagues who is free and also happens to specialise in ‘losing touch with reality’, which is understandable. Nico tries a different approach. “Leo and Jason are going to show up in the next like, minute.”
There's a loud cheer just as he finishes speaking, and Leo’s voice booms over the music.
“Chef Leo is back in business!”
Nico raises his eyebrows at Piper and spreads his hands. She's still frowning at him.
“Okay that's… a little weird, but they did say they were on their way. Have you had anything else to drink? Taken anything?”
“Before? Yeah, your joint and like half a bottle of moonshine. About an hour after this conversation.”
Before Piper can respond, Leo and Jason appear beside them, taco trays at the ready.
“Yikes, whatever conversation is happening here is way too serious.” Leo says, moving to place down his platter once Piper clears the counter for them. “You're welcome, by the way.”
Nico hardly waits for the tray to hit the countertop before he's grabbing a taco and wolfing it down, deciding that he needs to sober up immediately and figure out what the fuck is going on.
Leo retracts his hands like Nico is a feral dog. “Jesucristo. Piper, do you feed the boy?”
“Nico is a twenty-five-year-old Adult, with an Adult Job and Adult Bills. He feeds himself.”
Jason, meanwhile, is watching him with a concerned expression, moving to his opposite side. “You good?” he asks softly as Nico starts in on his second taco.
Nico covers his mouth to reply around the mouthful of food, because of course they’re talking to him while he’s eating. “Bad trip.”
“He says he's already been at the party.” Piper fills them in, giving Nico a chance to finish his taco in peace. “Like, lived the whole thing already.”
“Like deja-vu?” Jason asks, and Nico shrugs.
“I guess.”
“Deja-vu?” Leo repeats, inserting himself into the conversation. “The fuck have you been smoking?”
“Piper’s joint, or nothing, I don’t fucking know.”
Leo takes the joint from Piper and studies it carefully, like he can tell the chemical components through sight and touch alone. She rolls her eyes. “At least smoke it, asshole.”
He inhales deeply. Breathes back out slowly. A moment's pause, and he hands the joint back to Piper with a shrug. “Yeah. that’s definitely just weed, dude.”
“Whatever it is, it has majorly fucked me up.”
“Again, you haven’t had any.”
She holds it out to him, but Nico waves her off.
“I need to figure out what’s going on.” He starts, and blinks when he realises that Piper’s expression has shifted, nor is her attention on his face. “What?”
She’s glaring at something over his shoulder, and Nico turns to find Octavian standing in the doorway. He gives Nico an imporing look.
“Nico, can we-”
“Absolutely not.” His roommate speaks before Nico can, and Octavian scowls at her.
“This doesn’t concern you, Piper.”
She raises her chin, giving Octavian a look that is ice cold. “This is my house, and you weren’t invited. Get out.”
Octavian looks back at Nico, as if he’d somehow be on his side. He shrugs innocently. “It’s true, I just pay rent. Better do as she says.”
Jason and Leo are on either side of Octavian now (which, admittedly, is a little funny. Jason is both taller and broader than his ex, but Leo is about five-foot-three on a good day.) “Private party, dude.” Leo says, his smile threatening.
Jason doesn’t have to say anything. Octavian takes one look at him and seems to reconsider whatever retort was going through his head.
Octavian meets his eyes through the wall of his friend’s shoulders. “Just… Call me? Please?” He pleads as Jason and Leo guide him out. Nico flips him off.
Piper is still scowling past him when he turns back to her. “Dickbag.” She says finally, earning a snort of laughter from Nico.
“Want a shot?” She asks, a little too enthusiastically, and Nico grins.
-
“Happy birthday Nico! I’m so sorry we’re late.” Hazel pulls him into a tight hug and kisses both his cheeks in greeting. Frank is a little more reserved than his sister, but still gives Nico a hug that is only slightly bone crushing.
“You’ve not missed much.” He tells Hazel when Frank releases him, a little breathless.
Leo appears with a couple paper plates loaded with tacos, which he hands to Hazel and Frank. Nico tries to steal one from Hazel, but she smacks his hand away with a sisterly glare. He sticks his tongue out at her and she laughs.
Leo gives his sister and brother-in-law a wide grin. “We had to kick out Octavian.”
Hazel grimaces, not finding this news nearly as amusing as Leo. “Why was he here? Surely you didn’t invite him.” She pauses, then turns to Nico with a disapproving frown. “You didn’t get back with him, did you?”
“What- Hazel, no.” He’s almost offended that she would come to such a conclusion. Mainly because it’s not exactly outside of his wheelhouse, in terms of bad romantic decisions, and they all know it.
“Good. You deserve better.”
He rolls his eyes, but gives her a small smile. “Keep saying that and I’ll start believing it.”
–
They manage to procure the couches to sit as a group, Perks of being host-slash-birthday-boy, Nico figures.
His social battery is quickly wearing out. He loves his friends and he loves his sister and her fiance but he hates parties and he hates crowds and really, Leo, why did you think this was the best way to celebrate my birthday?
It’s Nico, Piper, and Jason on one and Hazel and Frank on the other. Leo sits on the floor between Jason’s legs. He's playing with a Rubik’s Cube, because of course he is. Nico isn’t even sure where he found it, or if he brought it with him for some inexplicable Leo reason.
They’re talking amongst themselves with voices raised above the general clamor and thumping music, trying to catch up with each other, while Nico stares ahead at nothing.
They, being the six of them, could have rigged up Nico’s Switch to the projector and played Mario Kart until 4am while getting high, and honestly, that sounds like a much better night than being surrounded by people he doesn’t know, during one of the weirdest nights of his life.
“I’m going outside.” He says suddenly, knocking Piper’s legs off his lap as he jumps to his feet. She stretches them out in his absence, leaning back into Jason, and looks up at him.
“If you go to the shop can you grab me a box of Marlboros? Please and thank you.”
Nico nods, though he has no intention of heading that far again, lest he get hit by another car.
–
He takes the stairwell two steps at a time. Hopefully the fresh air will clear his head a little. His vision is starting to get hazy, but he doesn’t feel that drunk.
He misses a step.
He can’t catch himself.
Nico tumbles down the rest of the stairs and lands on his neck with a crunch.
–
Someone is knocking on the bathroom door.
Nico is staring at his reflection in the mirror.
“For fuck’s sake.”
He broke his neck. He fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck and fucking died. Again. He pulls back his hair with shaking hands and checks himself in the mirror, turning his head left and right, for any sign of a broken neck.
Nothing.
He lets his hair fall back into his face with a frustrated sigh.
He backs up and holds his shirt up. He was hit by a car and then fell down a concrete stairwell, he should be covered in bruises.
Again. Not a scratch.
Someone’s knocking on the door.
“Give me a fucking minute.” He hisses, pulling his shirt back down. He leans over the sink. Splashes water onto his face and rubs briskly. Get it together, Niccoló.
He doesn’t even glance at the girl waiting to get in, striding past her and directly towards Piper, who is still in the fucking kitchen.
“Piper, I think I’m losing my mind.” He announces, somewhat desperately, before she can start singing Happy Birthday.
“That’s your frontal lobe finishing it’s development.” She answers with a grin. It drops, when she sees how shaken he is. “Oh no, what’s wrong?”
He leans his elbows on the counter and hides his face in his hands, breathing slowly and deeply to try and settle his heart rate. “I keep. I don’t know. I think I’m dead and I’m stuck in limbo which is my twenty-fifth birthday party, for some fucking reason.” He looks back up to gauge her reaction, raking his hair back with one hand.
It doesn’t look good, not that he was expecting anything else.
“Okay. In good conscience, I can’t let you drink or smoke anymore.” She starts, stubbing the joint out in an ashtray and tucking it behind her ear. “I’ll kick everyone else out, it can just be the six of us and we can figure out what’s going on.”
Honestly, it’s tempting, but he knows that, for Piper,‘figuring out what’s going on’ is code for ‘are you in danger and need medical assistance’ not ‘the universe is out to kill me and succeeding.'
He deliberates for a little longer, before shaking his head. “No. No, it’s fine. I think I’m just having a bad trip. I might just… Go to bed. Sorry for being a killjoy.”
Piper rounds the counter to give him a quick hug. “You’re not, you’re being smart. I’ll let folk stay for now, but text me if things get too loud and they’re gone. It’s still your birthday.”
“Right. Enjoy your night.”
She gives him another hug, one arm around his shoulders, pressing her cheek to his hair affectionately before letting him go. Nico can see her pulling her phone out as he leaves the kitchen.
A few people wish him happy birthday when he passes them in the hallway, and he gives them half-hearted ‘thank you’s’ before retreating into the dark of his bedroom. He kicks off his boots and falls face-first onto his bed, not bothering to change out of the rest of his clothes.
“Happy fuckin’ birthday.” He mutters to himself, sending a quick prayer to whatever God happens to be listening so that he doesn’t suffocate in his sleep and wake up in the fucking bathroom.
#solangelo#nico di angelo#will solace#piper mclean#jason grace#leo valdez#hazel levesque#frank zhang#russian doll au#pjo#hoo#percy jackson and the olympians#we're on ao3 now too baybee
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Aruna hadn’t been described as dangerous before, but Nettie was right to use the word.
summary: aruna's foolishness leads to her finally getting a glimpse into the chasm that resides inside her chest. what she discovers should change something, if not everything.
wc: 4.2k+
warnings: further descriptions of being poisoned, game-adjacent violence (rip nettie), recovery of some memories, mentions of vampiric behavior (careful, he bites), vague mentions/allusions of a parental death, physical description of aruna (her eyes, ears, and hair specifically)
a/n: how much lore can i fit into one chapter? yes.
ao3 | masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
Aruna is a godsdamned idiot. A fool, just as Astarion had called her. She had been too trusting, and finally, it had gotten her into trouble.
Real trouble. Life-or-death trouble.
She should react, should move, should follow Astarion’s lead of the defense. She’s clearly been poisoned, for gods’ sakes. But her feet stay planted and her hand stays clutched as her eyes only stare at the scene before her, not even daring to blink for so long that she can feel the burn of reactive tears beginning to gather. She knows she looks pathetic, can feel the shame creeping up right along with the panic, a contract of chills and heat that trace right up her spine. That’s the only explanation for the way Astarion looks at her.
The furrow of his brows is out of disgust. There’s not a single chance that it’s because he’s sharing her fear, that he’s shouldering any of the terrified waves crashing down over her. Even the tadpole connection has finally retreated from her brain.
“You poisoned me,” she breathes out, voice trembling. She finally blinks – once, twice for good measure – as her eyes divert to the healer caught in Astarion’s hold, “You poisoned me.”
“I’m sorry, but-” Nettie’s voice is lost as Astarion digs his blade in deeper. Not yet breaking skin, but an unspoken threat.
He was right. She’s a fucking fool.
It’s the only possible explanation as she snaps her gaze to him, and with all the breath she can manage to gather, she sternly says, “Let her go.”
“I- What?” he hisses, face twisting, “Why in the sweet Hells would I let her go? She poisoned you-”
“I’m well aware, now let her go.”
There’s an internal battle that rages like no other in Astarion as he contemplates her demand. She can see his initial reaction clear as day; he wants to defy her, to deliver a killing blow instead of releasing Nettie. Aruna doesn’t need a tadpole connection to know that’s what his hands twitch to do.
But, then, the look of defiance does the unthinkable – it passes.
With the same speed in which he’d locked his arms around Nettie, Astarion lets them fall away, staying poised with his weapons as he takes a few steps back. Aruna’s hope is for Nettie to come to her senses, for her to have a reasonable conversation and for there to somehow be a cure to whatever she’s just stabbed the confused girl with. Her heart is still racing, pushing that poison through her system, and her palm feels as though she’s holding it right above an open flame. Searing, blistering, shooting pains. It’s getting harder for Aruna to keep an impassive expression, to hide away all that pain in hopes of maintaining some sort of respectable front.
Aruna realizes that maybe, just maybe, she needs to come to her senses regarding all her hopes and dreams of kindness.
“I am truly sorry,” the woman says slowly, one hand still holding the branch as her other begins a slow crawl to her hip, “But you must understand, you are dangerous. I don’t have a cure. All I can do is stop you, before you hurt anyone.”
Dangerous. It’s the first time Aruna has ever been described as such, as of recently of course. She’s been described as a fool, as clumsy, as heroic – but never dangerous.
The girl who cannot even properly wield her blades certainly cannot be dangerous, can she?
Nettie’s words betray her as she doesn’t focus on Aruna, though. She’s quick to spin around as she unsheathes the blade that neither Aruna nor Astarion had noticed, lunging straight for the only dangerous one in the room. Astarion.
He can handle his own. He’s proven that he can; he’s capable of defending himself by easily outmaneuvering Nettie. But there are words seared into Aruna’s every waking breath, and they are all she can hear as the healer attempts to catch Aruna’s companion off guard.
NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, ABOVE ALL ELSE, SAVE ASTARION.
Aruna hadn’t been described as dangerous before, but Nettie was right to use the word.
Nettie’s blade never makes it near Astarion. Not because of his own quick blades or steady footing, but because of Aruna. The air of the room crackles immediately, a thunder rumbling somewhere deep inside of Aruna’s chest as she lifts a hand and simply channels all the rage she feels sparking awake at the prospect of Astarion’s life being in danger.
A chain of lighting. Beginning at Aruna’s palms, and ending at Nettie’s back.
No matter what I do.
Save Astarion.
Something frenzied within Aruna, the animal that recognizes the elf that has been more of a nuisance towards her than something of importance, fuels the magic. Her magic.
The magic of a sorcerer with one singular goal in mind. To save a life – a life that is certainly not Nettie’s anymore.
The blast sends Nettie flying into her stone desk of equipment, a painful snap sounding as she attempts to break the crash with her arm. And the resulting waves of magic show no mercy as their pulsating send Astarion stumbling on his feet, pushing him back and farther out of reach of Nettie.
The only thing left behind in the room is the smell of burning flesh, the ragged and pained breaths of a miraculously still-alive Nettie, and Aruna’s voice.
No longer trembling, she speaks words that feel as though they don’t even belong to her. At least, not this version of her. They come from deep within, echoing out of that lonely chasm within her that she can’t uncloak from the darkness, “You will know just see how dangerous I truly am if you so much as look at him once more.”
Astarion, tadpole connection and all, stays silent.
Aruna doesn’t know how she conjured the strength for the spell she’s used. She doesn’t even know which spell she’s just used. She hadn’t uttered a single cantation as the lighting had escaped her uninjured palm, hadn’t even thought of one. It had come to her as naturally as breathing; even more naturally than breathing, really, given her current state.
And all that strength is quickly draining from her. Her legs are growing weaker, just as Nettie had predicted, and there’s a twist in her gut that nearly forces her to keel over. But she can’t. Nettie is still alive, and very much a threat. If not to Aruna, then to Astarion.
Even with a back burnt to a crisp, charred skin peeking through her ravaged clothing, Nettie finds a way to stand up once again. Aruna’s hands fly to her daggers, not even bothering to glance and see if Astarion is in any shape to provide backup. The spell shouldn’t have hit nor affected him. And somewhere in that chasm in Aruna’s chest, she simply knows that he’s unharmed.
If he were, she would feel it in an instant. She has no doubt about it. And that has nothing to do with their current tadpole affliction.
Move, don’t think.
It’s Astarion’s voice, but not through the tadpole connection. It’s too muted, too faraway. Like a distant memory that Aruna can’t grasp her fist around.
She listens to it. Whether she’s only imagining it to be his command out of need for comfort as the poison spreads or not, it’s good advice.
Her daggers let out a ring from how ferociously she releases them from her scabbards at her hips, a heavy hilt marked with a moon in her left hand, and one marked with a star in her right hand.
Steady your feet. Keep one arm close to you at all times to protect your torso. Use gravity to your advantage.
Each set of instructions rings out as if traveling through water, back to back, as Aruna’s feet follow. Her stature is similar to that of Astarion’s, barely bent at the waist as she prowls up to Nettie, a look of determination set on her face.
One arm poised to strike, one arm defensively staying close to her waist. She swears she can feel the ghost of palms steadying her along the way, correcting her form, as she goes in for a brutal swinging of her left arm.
Her palm screams out against the leather of the dagger as her blade hits its mark. No hesitation, the metal has dug into Nettie’s chest just as the woman had been prepared for a second attack. Not a mere surface scratch – a proper slashing, one that begins to bleed profusely immediately.
Do not let your guard down after your first attack. Remember self-preservation; if you’ve managed to weaken them, go in for the kill, Aruna.
Go in for the kill, she does.
What’s left of her strength, of her self-preservation, is exhausted entirely on the killing strike. Astarion hasn’t had to move a muscle as Nettie’s body drops to the ground with a thud, Aruna being the one holding a bloodied blade with further evidence splattered across her cheeks.
Her stomach churns. Her knees finally give out, screaming out in pain as they connect with the rough ground. She swears it’s the weight of her actions and not the poison that has forced her down, but her rattling chest says otherwise.
She’s just killed someone.
It’s no longer just her palm that burns ferociously. Her entire body is alight, agonizingly blazing as she curls into herself. Her vision blackens at the edges, her hearing completely fades from her.
Nettie’s blood is on her hands, and if she were in better shape, she’d have more devastation to spare.
She doesn’t hear her own scream of agony, nor Astarion’s yell of her name. The last thing she can see, can remember, is the lifeless eyes of Nettie as she succumbs to darkness.
—
Flashes of memories.
A shadow creeping his way along the edge of the camp, retreating into the forest, unaware of a restless Aruna still awake in the dead of night.
A drained boar along a dirt path, left carelessly in the center. An irritated pale elf, insisting that investigating the carrion is a waste of time.
A whisper of fangs against Aruna’s neck in the dead of a night in which sleep would not come easily to her. Wide, red eyes and a mouth slack to fully expose dangerous fangs.
“Shit.”
A groveling of ‘just a taste’, a promise of strength, a gesture of trust. The piercing, numbing, cold stab of fangs piercing skin. The slow drain, the weightlessness, the gentle coax of ‘that’s enough’.
His mania. His saunter. His revitalization.
Her gift he won’t forget.
As the flashes slow, Aruna makes out a clear image of the night sky that she’s gazing up at. Dazzling freckles of starlight across a stark onyx sheet, a full moon glowing as if brushed with specks of sterling silver.
It’s captivating, comforting, homely.
For a moment, she doesn’t understand the familiarity. The sheer importance of the moon hangs on her consciousness, regarding it as a guiding light as she relaxes, but she doesn’t understand. Not until she turns her head ever so slightly, and she catches sight of the familiar tufts of white hair at her side.
It all clicks into place.
All the dark holes in her psyche that haunt her during her waking hours have been filled in for just a moment within this dream – within this memory. She isn’t recalling them in vivid flashes as she was before, but there is a simple knowing, a simple fullness where vacancy once resided. She knows exactly where she is, exactly who she is, and she knows the man who rests at her side. She hadn’t even noticed the cold body at first, his thigh perfectly flushed with hers without an ounce of uncertainty in sight; it was natural for them. Here, in this memory, this was the normal.
She’s sitting on the boulder with a clear outlook of camp, with Astarion at her side, whispering into the late night just as they always do.
“You know,” he starts, as if she’s entered this consciousness in the middle of a simple conversation between friends, “I swear I’ve heard more horror stories about drow than I have vampires.”
There are no choices for Aruna to make here. This script has already been written, already played out. She can only experience it.
“Really?” she snorts, shaking her head. Her dark hair is pushed into the edges of her vision by the breeze, underhues of ashen purple visible in the moonlight, “Pulling that card, are we?”
He’s wearing a sly yet easy smile. None of the tension Aruna had witnessed from him in her own journey so far is visible. This is the Astarion that that animal knows. That piece of her that resides so restlessly – it’s in control now, because it is the one that has lived this moment before. Soft, trusting eyes. Somehow, she’s aware that his guard has been let down since the night she allowed him to feed on her.
Somehow, she knows that there was a night in which she allowed him to feed on her.
He’s a vampire. New information, but for some reason, it doesn’t startle her in the slightest. She simply knows.
“Are you denying that drows aren’t a part of the shadows that go bump in the night?” he teases. He’s close enough that with every one of Aruna’s breaths, their shoulders are brushing. She doesn’t recoil from it; it’s something to lean into.
She knows him, she trusts him.
She shrugs and leans forward, and he follows. The camp is a bit different from that of Aruna’s waking hours. There’s a tent at the edge of her small cliff she’s come to love, the top clearly in sight. Deep, deep burgundy. It’s Astarion’s tent. He’d set it up there, acting almost as a guard for her small sanctuary she’s acquired in their homey camp. There’s another tent, too, that Aruna shouldn’t recognize. One off to the left, close to the campfire that’s been doused for the night. The occupant is just out of sight, but whoever resides inside, she knows she cares for.
A friend. One she hasn’t met yet. Only in this dream, in this memory, does she know whatever force of nature that claims both that physical space and one within her heart.
“Oh, no, they certainly are,” her voice is so sure, Aruna almost mourns that this version of her is not the one always in control, “You know me. Quarter drow, far more ferocious than you and those toothpicks you call fangs.”
“Darling, I’m hurt. Must we pit ourselves against each other? Would our enemies not cower more if we joined our horrific forces?”
Quarter drow.
Aruna hasn’t even seen her reflection. Not the version of her riddled with holes and lacking in memories. She had no idea – she really shouldn’t even know what a drow is, but the knowledge comes easily to her.
A dark elf. Images of red eyes far more vicious than Astarion’s glare at her judgmentally, cut through by a different pair. Vivid purple. Caring, loving, motherly. And oh so familiar, because she’s aware that when she does finally glance into a reflective surface, she is going to see a carbon copy of those eyes staring right back at her. Generational jewels, a ghost of a reminder of the woman who has long since taken her last breath.
Aruna mourns her. But the memory she’s experiencing now has its restrictions, and as much as she chases after those motherly eyes, she’s not quite able to place them. Only know that she shares them. She knows that she will never see them again before her, only in mirrors and rivers.
“I think my mother would have quite liked you, you know?” she breathes out carelessly, looking at Astarion with impossible warmth. She knows him – she trusts him, “She may have had quite a bit to say about me befriending a vampire, but you’d still grow on her.”
He throws his head back in a bark of laughter that has Aruna shushing him instinctively, “Would she? I never have been the type that most would introduce to their mothers.”
“Well, most are fools. I’ll have to introduce you to mine once we’ve returned to the city.”
Astarion is completely unaware that the only thing that waits in the city is a crumbling stone, grown over with vines, nearly forgotten in the corner of a small graveyard. He will only be meeting the carvings of a mournful child left behind, determined to keep the memory of her mother alive. He has no idea – they aren’t quite there yet.
“It would be an honor,” he nods surely, looking at her with unwavering eyes. They are alight with the same joy that consumes him every time Aruna indulges his antics. It’s beautiful – he’s beautiful.
Something hauntingly, devastatingly gorgeous. Something broken, but Aruna has never shied away from a kindred soul.
After all, how could one broken soul not call to another in the dead of night?
His hand reaches up, and something inside of Aruna prepares to flinch, but she resists. It’s with a gentle touch that he’s tucking her wild hair behind her ear, fingers lingering as they coyly trace the shape of her ears. She swears, they outline a point. Not as obvious as his own, still a bit rounded and subtle, but it’s there.
They’re quiet for a few seconds. Snores from across the camp can be heard, albeit a bit muted, and there’s a distant buzz of insects from the forest at their backs. This moment is only theirs. Come morning, their time belongs to others. There are people to help (even begrudgingly), there are other companions to entertain, there are adventures to be had. But for now, it doesn’t really matter. A bubble of safety, an escape of friendship.
It’s more than Aruna knowing and trusting Astarion. He knows her, too. He’s beginning to trust her.
He has to, because he lets her relax into him, her head falling slowly so that her temple rests against his shoulder. He tenses still, but he doesn’t push her away. If anything, he only leans into her.
“Speaking of Baldur’s Gate,” Aruna murmurs, eyes still looking up at the moon as she speaks, “What awaits you back in the city, Astarion?”
His voice is cool, even more so than his skin against hers, as he replies, “Nothing good.”
For a second, Aruna accepts the answer. She knows better than to push him, and she knows now that he means it when he says as much. But then– the memory taints.
It’s painful.
It’s not a part of the original script. This is not how the moment is meant to go. Something stains it, something makes that animalistic piece of her howl.
Aruna sees it clearly, now, that her soul has been cleaved in half. It’s not an animal clawing at her insides; it is the half of her soul that knows him and knows their story. And it had gotten lost in the memory, recalling simple and sweet times before devastation had struck. Because the taint spreads, the poison consumes, and his words are nothing more than a bitter reminder. This Aruna, this Astarion – they do not know. But the half of Aruna’s soul that held this memory near and dear does, and the words ‘nothing good’ seems to function as knives that drive into it. It knows, it knows, it knows.
Nothing good is an understatement as pain sears through Aruna. Wholly, fully.
Not just an ache. Not just a chasm. Something inside of her has been torn apart and bloodied by the reminder of what’s to come. Aruna can’t remember. The split inside of her is not even, not a 50/50 division. It’s why she can’t remember, and all she can hear is the sobs from the part of her that is forever cursed to.
Save Astarion, save Astarion, save Astarion.
The memory is gone. All that remains is the dark, and the sobs. The dreadful, defeated sobs.
—
When Aruna wakes back up, she’s covered in a cold sweat. With a gasp, she starts to sit up. Those sobs still echo, threatening to spill out of her throat now as a hand is suddenly on her shoulder, urging her to lay back down on an unfamiliar bed roll.
“No!” a frenzied voice scolds, “No, do not get up. If you undo all my healing, I swear-”
“She has been poisoned. Show her some grace.”
Astarion. She should be more focused on Shadowheart’s voice and instruction, but she can only cling to his voice defending her.
Why is he defending her? Why isn’t she dead?
“She doesn’t need grace,” Shadowheart spits back as Aruna’s eyes flutter about her surroundings, refusing to lay back down as she ignores Shadowheart’s hand, “She needs rest.”
She’s inside a tent. The afternoon sunlight casted upon it from above turns the ceiling nearly transparent, the shades of purple and delicate lacing visible.
Shadowheart’s tent.
“Since when are those two things exclusive?” Astarion stands in the doorway of the tent, taking no steps towards the two women, eyes trained on Aruna.
She flinches when the pressure of his tadpole caresses her, and he’s in her mind, breaking through far too easily.
I would lay back down if I were you, his voice begins to coo within her head. The cleric has been feeling rather feisty-
His words cut off as all of Aruna’s racing thoughts pour down the connection. She has no control of it, still reeling from her dream, still remembering the Astarion from her slumber rather than the one in front of her. Still remembering those wretched damn sobs. They aren’t new ones from the part of her that remembers. They’re a memory in themselves. Ones that had poured out of Aruna at some point, ones that were born of pure heartbreak. She can’t place why, she can’t place when – she only knows the broken tone of her own misery.
For a fleeting second, they flash to him before the connection slam shuts. Neither of them had even been aware that it was possible, but it clearly is, even if Aruna has no idea how she’s done it. It feels as though that cleaved half of her soul has taken full control. Instinctually taking the reins and effectively shoving Astarion back to an arm’s length away as she remembers.
He mustn't know.
She almost tries to pry the connection back open in order to spare an apology his way, but Aruna has no choice but to trust herself. If it says that Astarion can’t know, then he can’t. Simple as that.
It still aches when he staggers from the force of the connection being cut, finding his footing farther from her than he originally was. The distance is torture. But it is necessary.
“A mirror,” she croaks out, softer than she’d tried to force the request. Her chest is rising and falling at an unmanageable rate, hysteria threatening to take over, “I need a mirror.”
It was just a dream. It had to be.
But something about the urgency in Aruna’s tone has Shadowheart scrambling to obey her command, reaching about her belongings until she produces a small mirror. It’s passed into Aruna’s quivering palms with care before her knuckles turn white from how harshly she grabs onto the reflective surface, not yet bringing it up to eye level.
She can still see it, clear as day. Her mind feels as though it’s being ripped apart by the images. They feel real. Astarion at her side, her head on his shoulder, the moon smiling down on them. The quiet exchange of histories, that flame of kinship she had felt from the moment she’d even entered his vicinity. The sense of deja vu that had ignited before she’d ever even started to exchange proper words with him.
“I really do need you to lay back down. You still need rest yet, and-”
Shadowheart’s fussing is cut off as Aruna whispers, “It wasn’t a dream.”
For the first time since this all began at the Nautiloid crash, Aruna sees her own reflection. She looks worse for wear, lips cracking pitifully and heavy bags beneath her eyes, but those are the least of her problems.
Vivid violet stares back at her.
When her shaking hand lifts to brush her unruly hair back, she finds the not-quite-pointed ears hidden beneath.
Part drow.
It wasn’t a dream.
The only issue, of course, is that when Aruna looks up to Astarion, she is faced with a terrible truth. If the dream had truly been a memory, if it had been true that drow blood runs through her veins, then it means that someone else’s true identity was also true.
His mouth is agape still, the stun of her pushing him out of her mind lingering, and she can see the shine of his canines from behind his lips.
Not canines. Fangs.
Astarion is a vampire.
“Aruna, please-” Shadowheart tries to say.
Astarion is a vampire.
“I need to speak to Astarion,” her eyes lock on his. Amethysts meet rubies. Precious gems belonging to the night. “Alone.”
taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @writinginthetwilight @moonmunson
if you'd like to join the taglist, simply let me know either by anon or under this post! <3
#ghost's stories#astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion x tav#astarion x oc#astarion fanfic#bg3#bg3 fanfiction#sorry i posted this on ao3 first haha#i hadn't made the chapter divider whoops#added the ao3 link in tho for anyone who prefers that format!#also i don't have a fancy option for astarion/bg3 fics right now with my taglist thing so we're going old fashioned haha
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