not sure how popular either book series is in either Allison or Mina's world but i wonder how they would react stumbling across cosplayers lmao
oh, this is a fun thing to think about!
The stories:
'A Rose By Any Other Name' is like... something you'd see on Royal Road or Wattpad. It's certainly got its own following and some Patreon subscribers, but it's not super popular.
'The Lightbearer' is a first draft manuscript that has only been read by maybe five people.
Just realized this could be interpreted in two ways: 1) character A running into cosplay of media B, or 2) character A running into cosplay of media A.
So. We'll cover both.
Case 1:
Allison is good enough at remembering character/clothing descriptions to suspect if she's looking at a cosplayer, but even if her guess is confirmed, she wouldn't react very much. She'd be surprised to see any cosplayers at all, but at most, she'd react with a, "oh, huh, cool!" and then move on with her day.
Mina would be a little weirded out. The idea of any cosplayers at all is odd. Running into one would be unsettling and mildly suspicious, especially if they adhere strongly to the 'character description', aka exactly the image of them she has in her head. It would require investigation. Someone's been spying.
Case 2:
Allison would be freaked out. She'd be seriously freaked out. If she hasn't discovered the manuscript already, she'd probably figure this out now, and she would not jive well with the idea she's fictional. Even if she's already accepted this, it's unsettling for her to see people around dressed up like people she knows.
Mina would find this deeply funny. Like, once she got over the surprise to begin with, she'd be like, "Well this might as well happen" and have a laugh about it.
5. one night stand and falling pregnant au
hi it's been forever. honestly i was kinda surprised to see an ask for these guys lol it also feels like forever since they've shown up. anyway, idk how shippy this is (maybeee a lil fucked up?), buuut happy women's day.
When we were younger, Mother always called Emily my little doll – porcelain and perfect, always following after me.
Emily grew snappier about it as she grew older. True, she would still go along with whatever I wanted, for the most part, but was she ever happy about it? For a long time now, I couldn’t do anything but make her angry.
But ah, it’s important to note: that wasn’t my problem last night, and the proof of it is naked in my bed right now, even if she is starting to pull my covers up over her chin.
“Shut up,” Emily says, hazily cracking an eye open, letting the faintest silver of gray peek through. Such a pale color, almost white, not unlike cracked glass. She used to have blue eyes. I do miss them, sometimes, but either way, she’s lovely, even if she’ll never happily hear such a thing from me. Emily, aren’t you aware that it’s important to know how to gracefully accept a compliment?
“I haven’t said anything, though?” I give her a charming smile that she will also never gracefully accept.
Charming has always made Emily look like she wants to hit me over the head. Today is no different. She absolutely looks like she’s contemplating violence, but instead actually attempting to strangle me with my own sheets, she says, “If you say anything, I’ll kill you.”
Unlikely. I am, by all accounts – not just my own! – exceedingly difficult to kill.
“Whatever you want,” I say generously, taking the liberty to reach around, wrap an arm around her shoulders, pull her in. It makes her grumble a bit, but she doesn’t try moving away. I suppose it might be because I run hotter than she does. Her skin feels so cool against mine. I wouldn’t mind warming her up, if she was in the mood for a little morning exercise with me.
“You’re far too happy about this,” she says, cracking an eye open.
“Why wouldn’t I be happy about this?” I lower my voice and my head to her face. “A beautiful woman in my bed, isn’t that something worth celebrating?”
She snorts. “I didn’t realize you had the leisure to be interested in this sort of thing.”
…Odd. To her, did I seem particularly busy as of late?
“I always have the leisure to be interested in this sort of thing. Don’t you always say I have too much free time?”
Emily never did like how much I did with pretty boys and pretty girls.
For whatever reason, this is what rouses her from half-aware drowsiness. Wide awake now, enough that her frown is truly directed at me instead the general ungodliness of the early morning. “What are you talking about, I’ve never told you that before.”
This is a blatant falsehood. We both know this.
“By any chance, is your memory going? Ask Asher, he’ll tell you you’ve been saying it since we were all children.”
“Since we were.. all…children,” she repeats, slow and suspicious for absolutely no reason at all. Her eyes narrow. “I’ve said this to Wilhelmina. I’ve never said this to Allison.”
I don’t believe I enjoy the implications of that sentence.
“Allison? Who’s that, another pretty lady who’s caught your attention?” The thought of it is irritating. It’s bad enough, dealing with that Joachim. Now Allison as well? “You’ll really make me jealous talking like that. Who wants to hear some other woman’s name in bed, mm?”
Names, names, names. Do I know an Allison? There’s Hannah, but is there some other little nothing that takes up Emily’s attention?
“Ridiculous,” Emily hisses. She pushes me off her and sits up, sheets falling down to her waist. I don’t have much of a chance to appreciate the view before she hits me.
It’s a decent shot, knives scoring deeply through my face, scraping against bone. It’s also entirely unprovoked. I don’t mind a fight – I love a fight – but Emily isn’t Asher. I can’t imagine she’d actually enjoy this sort of thing in the bedroom. Did I already make her angry today?
… Hmm. I’m bleeding quite hard, actually.
Well, that doesn’t matter. What matters more is how I’ve managed to invoke Emily’s displeasure. Even when I’m deliberately annoying her, the most she’s ever done is insult me. She’s never actually hit me like this. Is she just in the mood for a fight? If she wants a fight, I’ll give her one. Just as soon as I get all of this out of my eye.
There’s. There’s so much blood in my eye.
No, that shouldn’t matter. I don’t normally care about that sort of thing. Why do I care right now. Something like this doesn’t mean anything to me. I shouldn’t care. This is fine. Why do I feel like there’s something wrong. Something’s wrong. What’s wrong?
…Hey. Hey.
I’ve been fucking knifed in the face.
Of course there’s something wrong! In any normal world, I’d be calling 911! Fuck it, someone else would have to call 911, I’d be passed out on the ground! Why am I acting like this is normal? This isn’t normal! This – this – !
THIS REALLY FUCKING HURTS ACTUALLY.
“Jesus fuck,” I wheeze, immediately clamping my hand over the bleeding ruin in my face that used to be a working eyeball. Fucking finally Wilhelmina’s healing starts kicking in beneath my fingers. Why is that only happening now? When I’m actually me, injuries start healing immediately, it shouldn’t be different for her. Unless she decided to keep it from healing? Why would she keep it from healing?
“Do you remember who you are now?” Emily says, spinning a knife or two in a fun little trick that I’m sure I’d appreciate more if I, you know, had two eyes.
“This is the shittiest morning-after,” I manage. Isn’t the worst it gets supposed to be a… a… what’s it called. One night stand. A pump-and-dump. What’s the fucking word I’m looking for.
“Your name.”
Right. That. How could I forget.
It takes me a couple tries, but I get there eventually. “Allison Lee,” I say to Emily’s incredibly unimpressed expression.
“Very good, well done,” she says.
“Yeah, thanks, I appreciate it, are you happy.”
“I’m never happy,” Emily says flatly. Then she turns away to rummage around for her clothing, because obviously stabbing someone in the face isn’t something to be concerned about at all. I bet she does this kind of thing everyday, doesn’t she?
“Did you have to use knives,” I grit out. Where did you even get those. You’re naked, there’s zero places for you to hide them. How did you do that. That’s not possible. What the fuck.
“You’re getting increasingly immune to blunt force trauma, so as it happens, yes,” Emilly says, like that’s a reasonable thing to say.
I fucking hate this place.
Emily puts on clothes. I sit on the bed with my hands over my eyes. At some point, she says, “Are you going to lie down there all day.”
“Who’s lying down,” I say.
Me. I’m lying down. I don’t remember doing that. It doesn’t really matter.
Emily sighs. “Sit up.”
“Why.”
“You can go back to sleep if you want, I don’t care,” Emily says briskly. “But you’re just smearing blood all over your face right now. It’s hardly hygienic.”
“So?”
I can feel her carefully, gently place her hands on my shoulders. The faint warmth of her breath brushes against my skin. Unnecessarily close. Uncomfortably intimate.
Then she yanks forward and forces me into a sitting position. I’m almost glad to be in Wilhelmina’s body right now, because if I had actually been me, that would’ve done some terrible things to my shoulder joints.
“Put your hands down,” she says, and wrenches my hands away from my face by the wrists.
I squint at her with one eye. She’s perfectly put together, fully dressed and hair neatly combed back. You wouldn’t think at all that she’d been in bed with me five minutes ago, or… however long ago that was.
“You’re terrible,” I say.
“And you’re filthy,” Emily says. “Don’t move.” She grabs a wet towel from a bowl on the nightstand – I don’t think that was there before? – and starts wiping down my hands with the brusque, irritated efficiency of a woman who has to clean up her mud-covered child for the third time in three hours.
“I’m not a child.”
Emily holds the towel up to the light, frowning at the red smeared across it. She sets it aside, exchanges it for a fresh towel. “If that was the case, you’d be cleaning up all by yourself. But you aren’t doing that, are you?”
No. I’m not.
I don’t want to. I don’t want to do much of anything right now.
“Not the eye,” I say, which is the one overwhelming desire I feel right now.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emily says, like it’s ridiculous that I don’t want her, the person who stabbed me in the eye, to come anywhere close to my eye. “Your eye is likely already healed, there’s no need to make a fuss about it. You can’t walk around with your face like this.”
Can’t I?
It’s like this, day in, day out. Can’t do this, can’t do that. If it’s not Emily reminding me, then it’s my own logic keeping me in line. Here’s a grocery list of guidelines of how to adjust your behavior, your thoughts, your everything. It’s not, after all, like you’re allowed to act like you.
What am I, anyway? Certainly not the original Wilhelmina Sterling, but sometimes, I get so damn close.
I hate this. I hate her. I hate this.
“And why not?” I snap out. “Wilhelmina Sterling picks fights, is it really that weird if she picks the wrong fight and gets stabbed in the eye because of it? Haven’t you always wanted to stab her in the eye anyway? No one’s going to think it’s weird that you finally had enough and did it!”
“What are you even trying to – I haven’t always wanted to stab Wilhelmina in the face–”
“I’m sure Rosie Beckett’s always wanted to give it a shot. But then again, that’s nothing new. Who doesn’t want to stab her in the face? Something like that should be normal by now. Isn’t it normal?”
That’s what this world is like. A step backwards in modern sensibilities, no sympathy required or even wanted. Hard, cruel, completely insane in what it considers status quo.
I want to go home.
Emily tries saying something. I don’t give her the chance.
“I’m sorry I’m making a fuss about this. It might be normal for you, but in my world, you don’t walk off being stabbed in the face!”
“It isn’t as if it’s normal here –”
“Then stop acting like it!”
Silence. Emily is making… an expression. I don’t know what it is. I don’t care what it is. I just…
I don’t want to be here.
“You’re right.”
I look up. Emily has one hand over her eyes, looking a little like she has a headache.
“Am I?” I say. “About what?”
She gestures vaguely at my head. “This would be a debilitating injury in anybody else. A permanent one, in most cases. For Wilhelmina… no. She easily brushes off damage that would be significant and perhaps fatal to other people. It doesn’t faze her. You’re wearing her face. I suppose I expected the same amount of indifference from you. It’s…unreasonable of me to do so.”
…Huh. “Is this an apology?”
“It’s an explanation. You can take it as an apology, if you’d like.” She raises her hand, as if to go for my face again, and then drops it. “Your eye probably is healed by now, but even if it isn’t, it’s good to get the blood off. It can’t be comfortable.”
She offers me the towel. I take it, because in the end, she’s right. It isn’t comfortable.
“...It’s getting worse,” Emily says, as I gingerly dab at my eye. She doesn’t need to clarify what it is.
“You think so?” I say dryly. I couldn’t even recognize my own name. I don’t like that she stabbed me, but if she didn’t, I don’t know how long I would have been stuck like that. If this goes on for much longer…
I can’t let this go on for much longer.
Another sigh. “Was it you, last night? Or….”
Well, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Was that me?
I let my head loll back. “Wouldn’t we both like to know the answer to that.”
I keep seeing "post your oc's! Post your oc's!" I'm tired and my impulse control is shot, so I'm just gonna do it:
He's the Hero sent to save the world, the representative of light and justice. He's a complete cinnamon roll, a golden retriever of a human being. He's still crying over a girl he knew for two minutes dying in his arms (to the point he hasn't noticed she's probably not dead), and he just genuinely believes that everyone could get along if they could just sit down and talk. Also, he had a kill count in the double digits before he got isekai'ed, he was raised in a strip club, and he's polyamorous by default because he doesn't see a reason to force anyone to be monogamous for him.
She's the Demon Queen sent to conquer the world, the representative of darkness and control. She's cold, she's cynical, she recruits bandits who tried to murder her, she conquers a city two minutes after walking through the gates, she's never trusted anyone in her entire life. She also conquers a city purely to make sure no one ruins its poetry scene, she helps invent democracy because being an unquestioned autocrat is a lot of effort, and uses siege magic to control the local weather purely so keep the view outside her window optimal. Approximately 50% spider monster.
Also, the Goddesses who chose them both are shipping them hard.
@hallowsden helped me with this idea but basically...
||=====||=====|| Background ||=====||=====||
Gotham is a piece of Faerun that got warped to Earth decades if not centuries ago. While it's not connected to Faerun as much as it used to be, anyone there is more 'forced human' than 'actual human', at least in a general sense. If anyone happens to find themselves in Faerun though, their truer form or forms unlock, which can certainly be surprising for most. But as long as they're on earth, they seem almost entirely human, although it's best not to stare at a gothamite for too long, especially a stressed child (as those have the easiest time accidentally showing their truths).
Of course, Gotham wasn't the first planar warp, and wouldn't be the last. After all, the LoA were tied intrinsically to this as well, once a long proud line of demons, reduced to immortal humanity. No wonder Ras sought Bruce as a son-in-law, both his skills and his ties to the Before.
Alfred has technically been around since the planar warp, he just happened to decide to explore this 'new' world a few times, and see what it had to offer. Perhaps the closest equivalent to what he would be might be along the lines of an 'arch changeling' (essentially just an arch fey though).
What Thomas and Martha were, no one is really certain of, but after what happened with their first son, they tried for another. Unbeknownst to them, it died shortly after, and Alfred replaced the dead child with one of his own in an attempt to make his partners happy.
Bruce is a changeling. His parents suspected something was different, but didn't care to dig, they were just happy to have him. But when they died, his form glitched out, a partial change, the poor traumatized child being found by Gordon who was quick to wrap him up and out of sight until he calmed. Eventually, Leslie found out as well, but Bruce didn't find out for years.
Slade is a vampire. Not of the DC variety persay, but similar, just dampened by the lack of access to the Before. Due to this, his actions towards Dick caused the boy to be a hidden Dhampir, although his family already had a long line of dampened elven blood.
Jason is a Duegar, sturdy and good at tinkering, but quite used to darkness, although he may even have a little surface dwarf in him. It's not certain, but perhaps this is the true origin of that white streak he has.
Cass is a drow, showcased in her elegant movements and affinity for the darkness.
Tim is a probably a gnome, well known for their inventiveness.
Steph is a kenku, although that can change.
Duke is undecided.
Damien is technically a tiefling, altho the human in him is merely a mimcry due to the nature of his father.
||=====||=====|| Story ||=====||=====||
The exact reason is unknown, but Bruce and his children get scattered around Faerun during the events of BG3, Bruce taking the place as Tav. Due to the isekai plus tadpole alongside the fact that everyone got de-aged roughly a decade (time in the two realms runs differently), he has minor amnesia. As a funny not-funny, the Guardian takes the appearance of Joker, and Bruce is not happy. He's not entirely sure why he hates the figure but he knows he will annoy him as much as possible. He starts as a rogue, adds monk, focuses on monk, and then happens to notice he's apparently a warlock out of the blue? (more on that later) Idea is to have him Monk 5 Rogue 4 Warlock 3 (before any extra levels from mods).
Bruce 31, Dick 13, Jason 9, Cass 9, Steph 8, Tim 7, Duke 5, Damien 1
Jason and Cass are found in the underdark, and, even afterwards, keep (sorta jokingly) playing the twin card. Cass keeps calling Jason 'little brother' and he keeps telling her, and others, that he's older (saying how many weeks or months apart as minutes instead).
Dick and Damien are found at Last Light's Inn, having been kinda taken in by Jaheira. Dick still doesn't realize he's a Dhampir, just that he's been eating a lot more red meat. Meanwhile, Damien is far from happy in such a 'tiny, useless body' and gets into a habit of biting people (if he could speak fully, he would insist he's not teething, he's just defending himself!).
Not sure about the others.
Alfred, meanwhile, has been in a form much closer to his proper fey form recently. He spend a few Earth weeks letting the kids get up to whatever, then popped over and forced a warlock bond. Because of family among other things, it wasn't that hard to do without Bruce's explicit permission, and this way he can keep a better eye on his son. He's rather friendly with Withers, who likes to say that the After has made him soft. At the endgame party though, he shows up, and promptly drops into a more human looking form, although he feels comfortable enough around his family to keep a few otherworldly features.
||=====||=====|| Images ||=====||=====||
Human Alfred is slightly overweight and about 5'9; He has some wrinkles and hair that's peppered with grey; His eyes are a dark hazel; He looks like a standard human elder.
Mildly fey Alfred is a bit skinnier than would be healthy for a human and is roughly 6'5; He has a face of a man several decades younger and his hair has no grey; His eyes are an almost-glowing yellow; With double pointed ears and sharp nails, he looks even less human.
Changeling Bruce (mod) sticking as close to the appearance he knows, with some absurd proficiencies, still not sure how I ended up with such wild profs but it fits him. Starting as a rogue, with noble background of course.
Joker Guardian, Brucie will not be trusting him very much if at all.
