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[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

#Repost @monsoongamestudio
——
Merry Crisis is featured in @twohalfstudios's Storyteller's Festival!

The showcase highlights narrative-focused games and interactive stories—so if that sounds like your cup of tea, do try the free demo for Merry Crisis on Steam while the festival is live!

Now's also a great time to check out the other wonderful games in the showcase. Stay tuned for more content creators streaming the game this month!

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

[URL unfurl="true"]https://store.steampowered.com/curator/42395212/sale/storytellersfestival2026?fbclid=PAdGRzdgRwPn1leHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZA81NjcwNjczNDMzNTI0MjcAAafrsV70rkE15nOpQF4x1YQ6zTnU_RmlgO5pSr7b8_S7tYNknZlezkupNV6ohA_aem_72POKyVcLvy9OUHXBZS7ag[/URL]

 

[Badasswithabigheart]

https://www.patreon.com/posts/158116884?utm_campaign=postshare_fan&utm_content=android_share

 

[Badasswithabigheart]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

Otome After-party: Merry Crisis - vectorplied on Twitch

vectorplied went live on Twitch. Catch up on their Merry Crisis VOD now.

m.twitch.tv

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

 

[Eren by personality]

Part 2:
The Gump mansion sits at the end of Coal Street and you've seen it a hundred times from a distance. It's hard to miss with its pristine white columns, its manicured lawn, and looking so perfect that you sometimes want to throw a rock through one of the windows just to see it crack. But you've never been this close. Never walked up the stone path, especially not not with a six-year-old's hand in yours, her tiny fingers still sticky from the peppermint.
Morgan chatters the whole way. She talks about her rabbit, which is named Captain Buttons, he lost the eye in a "tragic accident" involving her mother stepping on the poor rabbit, she talks about the juice boxes, apparently grape is superior to apple, and anyone who disagrees is wrong, and lastly she rambles about the sandwich she saved for later.
"Do you like peanut butter?" she ask, swinging your hands between you.
"Everyone like peanut butter."
"Not my mom. She says it's for children."
You shake your head. Of course Eveline Gump would say something like that, to her own daughter no less.
You finally reaches the mansion, and your steps slow as you walk up to the porch. Every instinct tells you to drop Morgan's hand, point her toward the door, and bolt before anyone sees you. This is Gump territory, and you don't belong here. You're the "Town Trash" as Eveline calls you, the priest's bastard child, the living reminder of a scandal this town will never let die.
But Morgan tugs you forward. "Come on. The steps are slippery sometimes."
"I can walk you to the door, but..."
"You have to come inside." She says, insisting. "Noah's probably home. He'd want to say hi."
You hesitate. Noah. God. You've been avoiding him for weeks. Especially since that argument you witnessed between him and Father Gray, and even though you have no proof it was about you, you just have a feeling that the only reason he would say "Stay away," would had to do with some protective instinct of his. Protective instinct about you.
"I really should—"
Morgan rings the doorbell. The sound echoes through the house like a gong, and you're trapped.
It barely takes a few seconds for the door opens. A maid in a gray uniform looks down at Morgan with an expression that cycles thhrough shock, relief, and exhaustion in about three seconds flat.
"Miss Morgan!" She clutches her chest. "Where on earth have you been? Your mother's been beside herself."
"I ran away," Morgan announces cheerfully, like she's reporting on a successful field trip. "But Ella found me and brought me back. We're friends now."
The maid's gaze lifts to you. You brace for the judgment, the narrowed eyes, the subtle shift in posture that screams you don't belong here. But instead, she just looks… grateful.
"Thank you," she says, giving you a fain smile. "Thank you for bringing her home. Mrs. Gump was about to call the sheriff—"
"It's fine." You take a step back, ready to flee. "She was just… it's no big deal. I should go."
"No!" Morgan grabs your wrist with both hands. For a six-year-old, she's got a surprisingly strong grip. "You have to come in. Just for a minute. Please?"
"Morgan, I should go, really."
"Noah's in his room. He always wants to see you. He told me." She looks up at you with those big Gump eyes, the same green as her brother's, same friendly expression that makes you feel like the worst person alive for even considering saying no. "Just for a minute. Please please please?"
You should say no. You should say no and walk away and go back to your side of town where you belong. But the maid is holding the door open, and Morgan is pulling your arm, and somehow you're already crossing the threshold into the Gump's mansion.
The inside is exactly what you expected. Hardwood floors so polished you can see your reflection. Artwork on the walls from some renown artists, maybe. A chandelier in the entryway that sparkles like diamonds. Everything is pristine and perfect and cold. But you know better. Sometime perfect houses hides ugly truths.
You've barely taken three steps when you hear it. The loud click of heels on hardwood, approaching fast.
"Morgan Elizabeth Gump!"
You feel a chill run down your spine and the temperature drops about ten degrees.
You turn, and there she is. Eveline Gump in the flesh. Tall, angular, her fake blonde hair perfectly styled even at—you glance at a clock on the wall—nearly nine at night. Her green eyes are cold as they stare at Morgan, and her mouth is pressed into a line so thin it might disappear entirely.
She doesn't look at you. Her entire focus is on Morgan, who has shrunk about two inches since her mother appeared.
"Where have you been?" Eveline almost barks. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I was about to send your your brother out for you. I was about to call the Sherriff."
"I ran away," Morgan says, smaller now. "But I came back."
"Ran away." Eveline's eyes go wide. "You ran away. Like some, some—" She presses her hand to her forehead, as if Morgan has given her a migraine. "Where did you go? What were you thinking?"
"I just wanted—"
"You wanted. Of course you did. You never think about anyone but yourself, do you? Do you know what people would say if they knew my daughter was wandering around town like some—"
"Ella found me," Morgan interrupts, her voice wavering. "She was nice. She gave me candy and told me stories and—"
And that's when Eveline finally look at you.
You've felt a lot of things in your twenty-something years of existence. Shame, plenty of it. Anger, more than your fair share. But the way Eveline Gump looks at you, like you're trash on her pristine hardwood floor, it makes something cold lodge in your chest.
"You." Her voice is different now. Colder. "What are you doing in my house?"
"I brought Morgan back," you say, and you're proud that your voice ins't cracking. "She was out by the train tracks. I walked her home."
"The train tracks." Eveline's gaze flicks to Morgan, then back to you. "And you just happened to be there. Wandering around in the dark. Near my daughter."
"Mom—" Morgan starts.
"Be quiet, Morgan." Eveline doesn't even look at her. She's focused entirely on you now, and you can feel the maid shrinking into the wallpaper, probably wishing she'd never opened the door. "I know who you are. I know exactly what kind of person you are."
"I was just trying to help."
"Help." She scoffs. "That's rich. Town trash, trying to help. What did you want? Money? A favor from my son?"
Hearing the way she calla you "Town Trash" hurts more than the insult itself. You knew it was coming, Morgan already told you what her mother calls you, but hearing it from Eveline's mouth, almost like she's disgusted, is different.
"I didn't want anything," you say. Your hands are shaking. You shove them in your pockets so she won't see. "I found your daughter alone in the dark and I brought her home. That's it."
"That's it." Eveline steps closer. She's taller than you, and she uses every inch of taht height to look down at you like you're something she scraped off her designer shoe. "Let me tell you something. You don't belong here. You don't belong anywhere near my family. My daughter, my son—you stay away from them. Do you understand?"
"She helped me!" Morgan's voice cracks. Tears are streaming down her freckled cheeks now. "She was nice! She's not trash, she's my friend—"
"Morgan, go to your room."
"But Mom—"
"Now."
Morgan looks between you and her mother, her small face crumpling. You want to tell her it's okay, that you're fine, that her mother's words can't hurt you. But that would be a lie, and Morgan deserves better than lies.
"Go on," you say softly. "It's okay. Go find your brother."
Morgan sniffles, clutches Captain Buttons to her chest, and runs for the stairs. You hear her calling Noah's name, all the while she's sobbing.
And then it's just you and Eveline. The maid has vanished. Smart woman. You wish you could vanish too.
"Now." Eveline crosses her arms, her manicured nails tapping against her silk sleeve. "Let's be clear about something. I don't know what you think you're doing, worming your way into my family, but it ends here. Tonight."
"I'm not worming my way into anything." You make yourself meet her eyes. It's hard. Everything in you wants to look away, to shrink, to apologize and flee. But you've spent your whole life apologizing for existing. You're so ****ing tired of it. "I found a six-year-old wandering alone in the dark and I brought her home. That's what normal people do."
"Normal people." Eveline's lip curls. "You're not normal. You're the illegitimate daughter of a dead priest who had the gall to name you in his will. You're the reason this town has been gossiping for months. You're trash, and everyone knows it."
"That's not my fault."
"Fault?" She laughs again. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is. It matters what you are. And what you are is not welcome here. Not in my home. Not near my children. Not near my son."
She glares at you when she says my son, and you can't help but wonder what she would do if she knew that you and Noah have a secret spot by the train tracks where you always meet and talk. What would she do if she knew that your friendship with her son has been going on for years?
You take a breath and try to steady yourself. "I don't know what you think is happening—"
"I think you've got ideas above your station." Eveline steps closer. "I think you've looked at my son and seen an opportunity. A way out of your pathetic little life. Maybe you've convinced yourself he actually cares about you. Maybe you think if you smile enough, if you play the wounded bird, he'll sweep you off your feet and save you from yourself."
"That's not—"
"It won't happen." Her voice is ice. "Noah is a Gump. He has a future. A real future. And you? You're a scandal waiting to happen. You're everything this family has worked to rise above. So let me be very clear: stay away from him. Stay away from all of us. Or I will make your life in this town even more unbearable than it already is."
Your hands are shaking so hard you can feel it in your shoulders. Every word she's said is a knife, and she knows exactly where to aim. But you don't move. You don't apologize. You don't run.
"I didn't do anything wrong," you say, and your voice only shakes a liitle. "I brought your daughter home. That's all I did. You can call me trash, you can call me whatever you want, but I know who I am. And I know that your daugther was wandering around in the dark because she felt like her family didn't care about her. Maybe instead of yelling at me, you should ask yourself why a six-year-old thought running away was better than staying here."
Eveline's face goes white. For a moment, you think she might actually hit you. Her hand twitches at her side, her jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscles working beneath her skin. And just as she takes another step, you hear Noah's voice.
"What's going on?"
Noah stands on the stairs, Morgan tucked against his side, her face buried in his shirt. He's wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, his hair is a little messy like he was lying down when Morgan found him. His eyes go from his mother's rigid fury to your defensive stance, and he sighs.
"El?" His voice is soft. Like you're something fragile that might break if he speaks too loud. "Are you okay?"
Eveline makes a sound of disgust. "Noah, this doesn't concern you. Go back upstairs."
But Noah ignores his mother and climbs down the stairs. His eyes stays on you the whole time as if you're the only person in the room, as if his mother isn't standing three feet away radiating fury.
"Morgan said you brought her home," he says. "From the train tracks."
You nod.
Noah finally looks at his mother, then back at you. His hand rubs circles on Morgan's back, who is still clinging to him.
"Thank you for doing that, El," he say. "I appreciate it."
You nod again, look down at Morgan, and smile before turning on your heels and making your way out.
Just as you reach the door, you hear Noah say, "Morgan, go to your room. I'll be right back. I need to talk to El."
The next thing you hear is Evelyn yelling at Noah not to follow you, but of course, he ignores her.
#ccmisery#N snippet part 2/3

You barely make it to the gazebo by the main gate when you hear Noah calling after you. "El, please—can we talk?"

But instead of slowing down, you pick up the pace. Noah does the same, catching up to you and grabbing your wrist, forcing you to stop in your tracks.

"Just wait, please," he pleads. "I just want to talk."

You finally turn to face him, and Noah's hand slides away from your wrist but he doesn't step back. He looks at you, then away, then back again, unable to decide where his eyes are supposed to land. You don't say anything. You're not sure what you'd say even if you could get your mouth to cooperate.

Your hands are still shaking from what his mother said, and your throat still feels tight, and all you can think is that you're standing on Gump property in the dark like some kind of trespasser, which is exactly what Eveline would call you if she looked out the window right now.

"I'm sorry," he finally says. "Sorry about my mother. She was—"

"Being herself?"

He winces, then nods. "Yeah. That."

The insults flood back, and you can hear Eveline calling you trash in her pristine entryway, and threatening to make your life worse, as if that's even possible. You swallow and push the thoughts away. At least you stood up to her.

Noah runs a hand through his hair, while the other hand flexes at his side. You're pretty sure he wants to reach for you again but doesn't know if he's allowed. "You did the right thing," he says. "Bringing Morgan home."

"I know," you say, crossing your arms. It's supposed to create distance, supposed to be armor, but somehow your feet stay planted, and you don't step back.

"If something had happened to her—" His voice cracks a little. "If she'd been hurt, or—"

"She wasn't," you cut him off.

"I know, and it's because of you," he says, and takes a step closer, shrinking the gap between you.

This is dangerous, you think to yourself. It's dangerous to be standing in the shadow of his family's gazebo with the lights from the mansion framing his face and making him look even more cute than he already is. Cute and guilty. Guilty because the last time you and Noah talked… you fought.

The fight was about Father Gray. Noah had cornered you after church and said something about the priest taking too much of a liking to you. Instead of listening to what he had to say, you went on the offensive and accused him of treating you like some kind of charity case. Because why else would Father Gray care about you? You're a total mess, after all. The whole town hates you. Why would Noah think Father Gray's kindness was suspicious instead of seeing it as the only decent thing anyone in this town has shown you in months?

The two of you went at it for a couple of minutes, and then you said the words that broke him. "At least someone in this godforsaken town cares about me." You said the words because you wanted to hurt him, and you did.

You'd watched Noah stiffen, saw the sadness take over his eyes. "I care," he'd said. His voice had gone quiet, way too quiet. "I care about you, too. I cared way before that priest came to town, and now all I see is the two of you together and—"

But you'd walked away. Cut him off mid-sentence because you couldn't hear the rest. Couldn't let him finish whatever he was about to say, because if he said it out loud then it would be real. And if it was real, then you'd have to deal with it, and you were not ready for that.

And now here you stand in front of him again, in the dark with the night breeze picking up, turning the air cold. You shiver, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself.

Noah notices you trembling, and he reaches up, his hand halfway to your shoulder before he stops himself. His fingers curl into a fist and drop.

"It's cold," he says. "You want us to go talk in the pool house? It's heated."

You hesitate. You should say no. Every sensible part of your brain is screaming that going anywhere private with Noah Gump is a terrible idea, especially after what his mother just said, especially with the way he's looking at you right now. But your teeth are starting to chatter, and the pool house is warm, and maybe you're tired of always doing what you should.

"Okay," you hear yourself say.

Idiot.

The walk to the pool house takes less than a minute. It's tucked behind a row of hedges, far enough from the main house that you can't see the windows anymore. Noah unlocks the door, holds it open for you, and you step inside.

It smells like chlorine and clean towels. There's a small sitting area with leather couches, a kitchenette, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the covered pool. The more you look around, the more you're afraid you'll leave a stain if you sit down, but then the door clicks shut behind you.

You turn to say something, but Noah is already moving. His hands come up to frame your face and he's backing you against the wall, and then his mouth is on yours. Your back hits the smooth surface and you gasp against his lips. He's a little rough, the golden boy. His tongue slides into your mouth, and he groans in frustration, hips grinding against you, trapping you between his body and the wall.

How long has he wanted this? Weeks? Months? Years? The moans alone are proof it's been forever, and the rational part of your brain screams at you to push him away. Instead, you kiss him back, whimpering as you thread your fingers through his red hair and suck on his tongue.

"El…" his whole body shakes as he kisses you harder.

Your mouth opens wider for him, and his tongue slides against yours once again and your knees go weak. Noah's breathing turns ragged. His hips press forward and you can feel him getting hard against your thigh, and that's when you panic.

You can hear Eveline's voice in your head calling you trash, and you plant both hands on Noah's chest and shove. He stumbles back, lips swollen, and eyes still dark with want.

"No, no, no—" You move to the other side of the room, putting the expensive coffee table between you, and shake your head. "What the **** are you doing, Noah?"

He stares at you like it wasn't obvious. "I wanted to kiss you," he says, simple as that. "So I kissed you."

"No." You shake your head again. "We can't. You're my friend, and we shouldn't—and I'm not—" Your voice cracks. "I'm not right for you."

"Says who?"

You glare at him. "Your mother, for starters," you say. "Did you miss the part where she called me trash? Where she told me to stay away from you? From all of you?"

Noah sighs, and it's an exhausted and frustrated sound. He closes the distance between you again, and you back up until your shoulders hit the opposite wall. Still, he keeps coming, until he's standing right in front of you, close enough to touch.

His hand reaches up. His fingers gently brush your cheek, and you hate how good it feels. How much you want to lean into it.

"Ella," he says slowly. "I don't care about what my mother says."

"You should."

"I don't."

His thumb traces along your cheekbone. You can't breathe. You can't think. All you can do is look up at him, look at those green eyes that are so much warmer than his mother's, at the soft curve of his mouth—and feel yourself crumbling.

He leans in.

"Noah—" You put a hand on his chest, but this time, you don't push. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because." You swallow hard. "I like you, but… Father Gray…"

The effect is immediate. Noah goes rigid, and his hand drops from your face. He takes a step back, then another, and when he looks at you, all the warmth from earlier is gone. "Father Gray?" he repeats. "Right. Of course. Father Gray."

"Noah—"

"No, I get it." He laughs, but it sounds fake. "Every time. Every single time I try to get close to you, it's Father Gray this, Father Gray that. What is it with you two?"

"Nothing." Your voice rises a little. "There's nothing with us. He's a priest, Noah."

"A priest who can't seem to keep his eyes off you." Noah's hands clench. "A priest who finds every excuse to be alone with you. A priest who—"

"Who what?" You push off the wall, anger rising in your chest. "Who treats me like a human being? Who doesn't look at me like I'm some kind of scandal? God, Noah, I'm sorry if someone being nice to me makes you jealous, but that's your problem, not mine."

"I'm not jealous."

"Bullshit."

His eyes flash. "Fine. Maybe I am jealous. Maybe I'm ****ing tired of watching you run to him every time something goes wrong. Maybe I'm tired of being your secret friend who has to hide in train yards while he gets to walk beside you in broad daylight."

"It's not my fault that we can't be friends in daylight," you retort. "Your family hates me."

"And I keep telling you that I don't care about what my family wants."

"That's not fair."

"None of this is fair!" His voice rises, bouncing off the glass walls. "I've been here, Ella. For years. I've been here. And every time I think we're getting somewhere, every time I think maybe you finally see me as more than just—just some emotional support friend—you shut me out and run to him."

Your hands are shaking. "That's not what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're using him to keep me at arm's length."

You hate that part of you immediately agrees, even if you don't want to admit it.

"You don't know what you're talking about," you say, but your voice shakes. "Father Gray is… he's complicated. He understands things about my life that you couldn't possibly—"

"Because I haven't tried?" Noah steps closer again, and now there's anger in every line of his body. "Because I haven't spent years trying to understand you? Trying to be there for you? Christ, Ella, what do I have to do? What does he have that I don't?"

"He's not asking me to be something I'm not!"

The words explode out of you before you can stop them.

Noah freezes.

You're breathing hard now, hands still shaking, and you can feel the sting of tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. But you will not cry. You will not ****ing cry.

"Father Gray doesn't want anything from me," you say, shrugging. "He doesn't want me to be different, or better, or worthy of his family's approval. He just… he sees me. That's it. That's all."

"And I don't?" Noah's voice cracks. "You think I don't see you?"

"I think you see what you want to see." You wrap your arms around yourself. "I think you've built up this idea of me in your head, this version of me that fits into your life, and the second you realize I don't—the second your mother reminds you what I am—you'll wake up. And I can't—" Your voice breaks again. "I can't survive that, Noah. I can't be your mistake."

He stares at you for a beat, and you watch as the anger drain from his face. "You're not a mistake," he says quietly.

"Your mother would disagree."

"My mother doesn't get to decide who I—" He stops, and runs both hands through his hair. "**** it. Go to him. Go to your priest. I don't care."

With that, he violently opens the door and walks out of the pool house, leaving you alone in the dark.

You're still shaking. Your heart won't slow down, your lips still swollen from a kiss that barely lasted a second, and somehow, your brain keeps circling the same unfinished sentence.

"My mother doesn't get to decide who I—"

Who what? Who he loves? Who he hates? Who he wants?

Maybe it's best if you never find out.

#ccmisery#n snippet part 3
53 notes
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shadowkisschy
I want this so bad lol

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mitkitty
Waugh i love him

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nervousnephilim
I am desperately waiting for more of this story. Totally hooked.

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theinecksplicable
You have done it again CC

 

[Eren by personality]

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