#Based of the fic Of Blood and Bones on AO3

[wilbur-the-therian]

M o n k e e

I'm not sure I would consider this fanart due to a few aspects of my drawing,but he is heavily *based* off of MK from the fic Of Blood and Bones on AO3 by @emerialyncodevenice

Also,to any of the folk waiting on the character board,it's being done dw. I get distracted oh so easy-

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Two

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, blood and injury, nurse!reader, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, feelings of fear, anxiety. Panic attack. Implied past abuse. Implied stalking. Deep breath.

There is blood in Johnny's eyes.

He comes to with a start, Price’s voice barking out an order, pressure and flame and blood all washing over him, pain erupting across every receptor in his brain like he’s being shredded alive. 

“Bloody hell, hold him steady.” 

It’s still Price, roaring over the chop-chop-chop of the helicopter blades, bloodied hands trying to keep pressure on the hole in his stomach, his side. 

It burns. Everything burns, his body feels like it’s on fire, bones turning to ash inside his skin, chest being torn apart by some invisible force. He can’t get enough air. There is something shoved inside his ribs, something heavy that’s weighing his lungs down, keeping him underwater, cinderblocks tied to his feet.

He tries to move, but he can’t. 

Gaz is strapping him down to a stretcher, he thinks, and when he ratchets a strap across his legs, Johnny screams in agony. 

“’m sorry mate, I’m sorry.” 

Where is Simon? There are faces here, but none of them are the one he needs. His LT. “W-where is Si?” He slurs, and Price frowns, leaning back over his face, calling his name. 

“Johnny, Johnny. Hold still. You’re on a medevac. We’re lifting you to base.” 

“Si-“ 

“Simon isn’t here, remember? Johnny, oi. Keep your eyes open, Sergeant.” Remember? Does he remember? He tries. Tries to place his partner’s face amongst the rubble, the blast, the screaming. 

Where is Simon?

Your coffee maker sputters to life in the silence of your apartment, churning out the dark, thick, life-giving liquid, and you can’t beat back the glare that fixes your face upwards towards your neighbors, the ones who are running a marathon in their apartment at three in the afternoon.

Seriously. Is there a herd of elephants up there? 

You can’t be too disappointed in them, you know. It is normal working hours. Normal daytime hours. You don’t expect your neighbors to accommodate or understand your schedule. Still, it would be nice if they were just a bit more considerate. 

It’s not the end of the world, regardless. You're up now, already started your day, crawled out of bed and opened the blackout curtains to stand in the afternoon sunlight that streams through your studio apartment. You flick open your laptop as sip your morning coffee, logging into your banking app with quick efficiency, eyes roving over lists of numbers, figures adding and subtracting in your head. You’re so close to being able to move forward with the plan, the light at the end of the tunnel growing stronger and stronger, glowing bright with hope, something that once felt so impossible, so far away. You're going to make it. 

It’s a hike to the train.

You’re fortunate that you only have to take one, no longer having to change once, or twice, in the middle of your commute like you used to, but now you’re walking at least twelve blocks to get there, each way.

It makes you feel very exposed.

You keep your headphones in, hood of your jacket over your head, and move within throngs of people during the trek, keeping your eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead, posture tilted just enough that you can watch the ground but still see in your peripheral. You don’t relax until you make it onto the platform, and even then, your head is on a swivel as you wait for the train to arrive, and you can melt into the mix of others. Seen, but not noticed. 

Old habits die hard. 

You swipe your card to proceed through the turnstile, cool metal sliding against your hands when you push forward onto the platform, settling against a pylon as you wait, flicking through the news with half interest.

The hair on the back of your neck rises.

Someone is watching you. 

Your skin goes cold, ice beneath your jacket, and your lungs stutter with short breaths. Logically, you know you’re wrong. The faces that wait alongside you are not focused on anything but themselves, too busy staring at their own devices, tablets, readers, phones. A woman fidgets with a stroller, a man wearing headphones spits some corporate nonsense out loud, obnoxiously. You’ve already looked them over, too many times. He’s not here.

You lean against the tile, rocking your back into the grimy wall, fingers clutching against the edge of your phone. He’s not here. You’re safe. The dark of the tunnel mocks you, laughs with his voice, its circular opening growing teeth like his, ready to devour you, drag you back to hell, swallow you whole and keep you there.

He's not here. You’re safe. He doesn’t know where you are. Deep breath. 

You breathe the words deep, counting the time of your inhales and exhales until the brakes of the train are squeaking and squealing to a stop, doors opening with a hiss. Everyone moves in tandem, an amoeba inching towards the same goal, get off, get on, and you go with it, pressing inside and shuffling towards the back, angling your body outwards, molded into a corner so tight your shoulders touch the walls of the train.

Deep breath. 

“Hey, you’re early!” The nurse you’re relieving smiles brightly at you, blonde hair pulled high in a scrunchie, stickers all over her badge and ID.

“Yeah, wanted to get caught up on some admin stuff but I’ve got it, if you want to…” you motion with your head, the universal signal of ‘if you want to leave’ without saying it out loud, lest you jinx it, and the place goes to chaos in the next five minutes. She nods eagerly, launching into a run-down of your beds, who’s stable, who’s sedated, who’s still on a vent. “-and two sixty-eight is about to come down from the PACU.” Your stomach clenches with anxiety, and you check your watch.

“They took him when I left this morning…”

“Yeah, I guess there was a complication. Had to re-open his chest, put in a new tube. Poor guy, he’s battered all to shit. Did you see the scans of his femur? It’s literally in pieces.” She sighs. “His partner is in the surgical waiting room, told him the next shift nurse would come find him when he could come back to the room.” Your anxiety heightens, and an alarm bell goes off in the back of your mind as you think about Simon, pacing back and forth upstairs, and Johnny, alone in the PACU, probably coming out sedation, terrified. What is wrong with you? 

“I hear those guys are like black ops or something.” Nia, the nurse who’s worked the last three rotations with you, comments over your shoulder as she drops her bag in the pit. You raise an eyebrow skeptically. Black ops? You shiver. “They air-lifted him from a military base that’s doesn’t even exist on a map. Cass and I checked.”

“Really?” The dayshifter perks up, interested, and you hold your hands out in caution.

“Okay, okay. Let’s not speculate.” You tap your number into the tablet, reading through charts and noting updates. A little green circle with an arrow through it blinks next to Johnny’s, signifying that he’s about to be moved. “Besides, he’s been through hell. Clearly. Let’s have a little, ya know. Respect?” They all cluck, rolling their eyes and groaning, but they shut up, and Nia gives you a little grin. You might not be the charge nurse, but you were the perma-night shifter on this floor, and the one with the most seniority in this moment. 

“Alright, well. You got this?” Dayshift asks, and you wave her off.

“Goodnight.”

“You’re the best. Bye ladies!”

Simon is easy to find. He’s wearing the exact same clothes from yesterday, black cloth mask still covering half his face, hoodie pulled up over his head. He looks less exhausted, but no less anxious, dark circles still present under his eyes, body language tense. He looks… scared.

He spots you just as easily, shooting to his feet when he sees you coming, hands clenched together in anticipation, and you motion to the chair, placing yourself next to him, turning slightly to ensure you’re giving him your undivided attention.

He shifts in the seat, legs spreading out against the stiff frame, and his knee bumps yours, warmth radiating beneath denim bleeding into your scrubs. If he notices or cares about the contact, he doesn't say anything, only blinks at you in anticipation. His head tilts before you start speaking, and your skin heats when you realize he’s looking you over, eyes tracing you from head to toe before pinning you in place with a focused scrutiny.

“Has anyone come to speak with you?” You ask, silently hoping that the surgeon actually did the last part of his job, and didn’t neglect the family member in waiting room, the one who’s holding their breath as every second ticks by.

Simon nods. “They said there was a complication with his lungs?”

“They had to plate his ribs. It will give the bleed in his chest a better chance at healing, help keep him stable. They also replaced his chest tube.” His brow furrows, and you pause. Maybe visualization will help. “Do you want to see?” You tap on the tablet, bringing up Johnny’s last imaging, scrolling through the pictures to show Simon what it looks like, pointing out the before and after CT of his chest, explaining the white vs grey spaces on the image. Simon studies it, taking the tablet in his hand, fingers tracing over the screen reverently, carefully, like he's touching Johnny himself. An ocean’s worth of emotions reflects in his gaze, despair, sadness, grief- all sitting just on the edge, nearly ready to spill over. Your heart skips a beat.

“Can I see him?”

“He’s coming down from the post-surgery unit now. I’ll have to get him resettled in his room, but I promise as soon as I can, I’ll come get you.” He twitches in the chair, rubbing the back of his neck before he huffs out something that sounds like ‘okay’, and you give him one more small smile with your ‘see you soon’.

Johnny is conscious when he comes up from the PACU, barely. His vitals look good, temperature, blood pressure, heart rate all in target ranges, and he’s due for another round of pain medication.

"Hey, Johnny." You smile down at him, sliding the lock on his bed in place and reattaching his leads carefully, gentle enough so you don't jostle him too much. 

"Hi, pretty girl." He slurs, and you chuckle, instinctively rolling your eyes before patting his good hand. 

“Came out of sedation fine, but he’s been a bit emotional.” The PACU nurse warns you, eyes soft with sympathy when she glances at him in the bed. “He’s asking for his partner, I think. Simon?”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.” You scan the post op notes, hitting all the important things, logging his last vitals check so you can administer his meds. The incision in his chest has been reopened, and then closed, and his lower body is completely immobilized in the bed, his hip pinned, femur delicately pieced back together with a plethora of plates and screws, so many you think it’s probably more metal than bone now. “How are you feeling?" You ask, heart tugging a bit at the hopelessness in his eyes. “Ready to get some more sleep?” He groans a response, words jumbled together and cracking into a sob that has tears trickling down his cheeks.

“Si..”

“He’s not back yet.” You try to explain gently, grabbing an extra blanket to put over the scaffolding around his leg. “Once I get you settled, we’ll bring him up, okay?”

“H-hurts.” He cries, vibrant blue eyes finding yours, scared, and desperate. “It h-hurts.” He’s openly crying now, shoulders starting to shake, and the monitor chimes at you, registering an increase in heart rate and blood pressure.

“I know. I know it does.” You clean his port, tracking the uptick in numbers on the screen. “Hey, hey. Shhh, it’s okay.” You try to calm him as you flush the line, pushing the saline from the side of the bed. “You’re alright. We’re almost,” You administer the medication easily, counting in your head, replacing it with another saline before reattaching his fluids line, all of the motions so second nature that it allows you keep your focus on him. “there.”

You expect him to calm down. Most patients do, but his heart rate continues to tick upwards, and his respirations don’t decrease, lungs heaving against the fresh sutures in his chest. His hand, the good one, skates across your elbow and down your forearm to grab a hold of you, fingers gripped onto yours tightly, like he’s afraid you might let go.

“It’s alright, Johnny. You’re okay.” His eyes don’t leave your face, his own jaw slack, pain meds coursing through his system. He's frightened, big blue eyes wide and anxious, and you squeeze his hand, stroking your thumb across his knuckles. “Deep breath.” You see patients upset, in pain, all the time. It’s an everyday part of your job. Even the hand holding is a necessary, frequent part of your profession.

But with Johnny, something feels different.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, just try to relax. Take some long breaths- good. That’s good.” You soothe him, rubbing soft touches into his skin. His head is turned to where you’re standing next to the bed, chest still heaving, and he winces with each exhale. “It’s just the last of the sedation, it can make you a little out of sorts. The pain meds are going to kick in real soon.” You reach over, and press the call button, twice. You can feel the pressure, the burn of his attention, his unwillingness to look away from you, and you hum out the softest words you can find, encouraging him to take calm, deep breaths. 

When Nia appears, she frowns. “Everything alright?”

“Hey, yes. Could you do us a favor and go up to the surgical waiting room? Johnny’s partner Simon, is waiting to be told he can come down.” She looks from you to him, reading the situation just as you would if the roles were reversed.

“Got it.” She makes her exit, fast, and Johnny gulps, still staring up at you with bright, wet, blue eyes.

“See? She’s going to get him. Everything’s alright.” He nods, barely, starting to succumb to the medication, and you exhale, letting out some of the tension from the last few minutes.

Simon comes through the door in a whirlwind, and you immediately raise your free hand, palm out, to slow his hurried panic.

“He’s okay.” You point to where Johnny is still clutching onto you. “He was still in a fair amount of pain when he came down, and coming out of sedation can be disorientating. I think he panicked a little when he realized you weren’t here.” He nods silently, taking his place bedside, towering over both you and Johnny, leaning past you to brush his lips against Johnny's forehead in a sweet, smooth kiss. 

"I'm here, sweet boy." He murmurs, voice so low you barely catch it. You step back, pulling your grasp from Johnny's, but he tightens his fingers, grip stronger than you anticipated, and you stop mid step, glancing to his partner. “I got him.” Simon reaches for where the two of you are connected, sliding his own hand overtop yours, replacing the contact before holding Johnny's hand whole. He’s so careful, lowering himself into the chair, carefully holding onto Johnny until he’s seated, bringing his palm to his mask covered lips. “I’ve got you.”

“Si.”

“I’m here Johnny. Rest.”

“Ye weren’t there.” He croaks, and Simon’s eyes shutter with a long inhale.

“I know.”

“Ah needed-“ He loses the words, dazed in a swirl of semi-consciousness. “was scared.” Simon strokes some of the hair that’s in disarray away from his forehead, smoothing his thumb back and forth above his eyebrow.

“Shhh, everything’s alright now. I’m here.”

The chair in supply closet 2b knows you well. It’s an old thing, something pulled from a patient room once it was deemed too squeaky, and too uncomfortable, shoved in here to be discarded at some point in the future.

That was months ago.

Now, it sits in a dark little corner, plastic packages of disposable PPE and gowns littered on top of it in a heap, excess supply with no place to live. Everyone takes turns in it, shifting whatever it happens to be holding that day onto the ground and settling in for what some could call a break, brief moments that could last seconds or minutes, quick opportunities to get off your feet and most importantly, not have to speak or be spoken to, for an indeterminate amount of time.

This is usually where you hide when you need a second. When there’s a lull, and the pit is full of nurses, techs, students or whoever else may have downtime, talking and laughing together, building relationships, getting to know one another. Making friends. It's a small luxury at work, to have that time, those friendships. 

Luxuries someone who wants to be seen, but not noticed, not known, does not have.

You close your eyes, head tipped back against the chair.

It’s okay to be alone. You can do this. Deep breath. 

Your mind floats to two sixty-eight, to Simon and Johnny. What is it like, to be loved like that? To be so fiercely cared for? Johnny’s teary, blue eyes and Simon’s soft, loving regard for him makes your stomach flip. You didn’t even know love like that was real. The only taste of love you’ve ever had left ash in your mouth, poison in your veins, and deep, deep scars across your body and soul that you’ll never be free of.

Deep breath. 

Your work phone and the tablet both start to beep, a shrill noise that makes you wince, muscle memory of what it indicates making you leap from the chair.

The screen shows a red flashing symbol next to room two sixty-eight.

Johnny.

“He’s tachycardic.” You tell the tech who’s fumbling with the phone, firing off a rapid text message to the on-call for this floor. You hold Johnny’s forehead still with the heel of your hand, using a finger to flick open his eyelids one by one, flashing the pen light across his pupils. “Pupils are dilated, BP is elevated- no call him- call him right now. Do what I said, I don’t care what he told you.” You bark, glancing up at where Simon is frozen across the bed from you, grip so tight against the rail that you think it might break.

“Simon-“ He cuts you off, but you’re half paying attention to him, too busy checking the site of Johnny’s chest tube, and then moving onto the dressing on his lower abdomen, ensuring it doesn’t feel scalding to the touch.

“He was fine. He was just… sleepin' and then-“ You move around the bed, pulling the oxygen tube longer, replacing the cannula with a mask.  

“Simon, I need you to step out.” You press two buttons on the machine, ensuring it’s on high flow, door sliding open with Nia’s arrival.

“No.” His refusal is steadfast.

“Simon, hey.” He lurches closer to Johnny, and on instinct, you reach out and grab his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. His eyes are wild, bleak with anguish, and his chest heaves heavily, panic radiating from his massive form. “Listen to me, listen. I’m here. I’ve got him, alright? But there are about to be five other people in this room, and we can’t work if you’re in the way.” You speak firmly, clearly, trying to get your point across as the door opens again, and the on-call attending is standing on the other side. Simon glances from him, back to you, and you nod reassuringly, swallowing the lump in your throat that forms when he latches onto your own arm, squeezing it tight. “He’s in good hands.” You tell him, nodding to the tech that’s waiting to usher him towards the hallway. 

He keeps his eyes trained on Johnny, before they flick over to where you’re lowering the bed completely flat, free hand on his bicep, thumb rubbing a small semi-circle into his skin, just like you watched Simon do last night, and earlier today. He swallows, endless depths of desperation welling in his eyes, and you take a deep breath, imbuing your voice with all the strength you have.

“I’ve got him. I promise.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SHARPEN YOUR TEETH (AND BITE AS HARD AS YOU WANT) | WYLL RAVENGARD

☾ tags ; SPOILERS FOR ACT ONE AND TWO OF BG3, gn + afab!reader, werewolf!reader, selunite cleric!reader developing relationship, canon typical violence, mild gore / blood, mutual pining, heat cycles, scent kink, oral (f + m!recieving), unprotected sex, praise kink, petnames (starlight, my love, my heart), lots of referring to reader as a dog / mutt / puppy, messy sex, reader has body hair / pubic hair, soft top wyll, a single pregnancy joke, 18+ MDNI

☾ wc ; 21.8k (????)

☾ a/n ; h...hello wyll nation. local deranged man here to offer this politely and run away. i dont really know what happened here. this was really just meant to be porn about a scent kink and uhm. well

i dont know if i wrote this fic as much as it used my physical vessel as a way to escape. it just sort of occured. im rarely nervous to post fic for a character but this is my first time doing a real wyll fic and bg3 fandom as many people i respect. so please be kind.

anyways. the embracing of monstrosity vs the rejection of it. so on and so forth. hope u enjoy. also banner is from slime isekai anime.

☾ synopsis ; there's a werewolf at camp. nothing new. wyll is growing increasingly fond of them. very new.

ao3 link for reading | spotify playlist.

The violent tearing sounds of teeth ripping through the flesh pulse and echo through the night air. 

Blood sprays onto the furred creature responsible for it. All else grinds to a halt, the gnats and fireflies silent in awe as sharp claws crush through bone. Wyll can hear the sound of his own blood pumping as his eyes watch the massacre, hand drawn on his rapier. He looks over through the rest of his party 

They remain just as awestruck. Astarion stands breathlessly. Shadowheart slinks into her namesake, eyes closed and trembling in the dark. 

But Wyll watches, eyes fixed on the bloodshed. On the violence. The realization dawns on him too late that one of his party members is missing. You’re missing. He stares back at the creature, underneath the moon - silently slaughtering every last of their opposition until the battle field is left in a field of crimson. Death plagues every inch of dirt to the naked eye. 

A whimper sounds. Followed by the sound of skin and bones retracting and moving back into place. 

Where a werewolf once was is your naked form. Sat on your knees and bent over your body with tears at the corners of your eyes. Just your ears and tail remain, your mouth and hands covered in a thick layer of blood. You sniffle, the only light left to illuminate you ritual candles and moon as you turn your head back to your party. 

“Uhm,” Your voice is coarse, thick with exhaustion and tears. Wyll stares at you in awestruck silence “We should probably talk.” 

_ 

“So,” Gale’s voice and the obvious exasperation in it is enough to make Wyll feel sorry for you. You’re sitting at the campfire, finally clothed - with a blanket around your shoulder and Astarion tending to your wounds. “We have a Sharran, a vampire spawn, a werewolf, and a githyanki. Anything else we need to check off before we apply for a tent at the circus?” 

Karlach takes the empty seat next to you, wanting to wrap her hand around the fluffy base of your tail and frowning when she realizes she can’t. Your ears are folded down, the corners of your eyes still wet with tears. You lean into Karlach’s heat, just enough to feel it. 

 The air is cool, thick with the scent of dirt and smoke. The campfire licks with light flames, surrounded by half cut logs for extra seating. You, Astarion, and Karlach crowd on a single half - draped with an extra bedroll for cushion. 

“Don’t be so harsh on them, Gale,” Karlach says, glancing over at you “It’s hardly like they’re a threat to us. I mean.. look at them.” 

Your frown deepens as you hang your head in shame. 

“I thought we were past this, no? I mean we’ve all already been honest with each other so far. It’s a little late to be keeping something like this a secret is it not?” 

“That’s true,” Wyll interjects, standing next to Gale across from the three of you - staring at your curled up form with sympathy. “I really don’t understand why you hid it for this long. Surely, you could’ve told us earlier?” 

Your voice is weak and unusually frail. “The opportunity never presented itself.” 

“You could have mentioned it when Astarion told us he was a vampire?” Wyll suggests. 

“I didn’t want to steal his thunder, you know? Felt a bit rude, really.” 

Astarion laughs, clearly wanting to laugh himself into hysterics but having enough tact not to do so. “Not a thing in that head of yours aside from our parasite, is there darling? But you know, I’m quite delighted by this revelation.

“Really?” 

“Now we’ve got two monsters at our camp as opposed to just one! Evens out the playing field, in case things go south.” 

“I’m not a monster,” You murmur, pouting. “And I don’t think you are either, for the record. I’m just a shifter. And my goddess is kind.”

“Oh? And who would that be?” Gale asks somewhat bitterly.

“Selune,” Shadowheart pipes up this time, for the first time since your arrival back to camp. Emerges from her own tent in the corner like a ghost. Her arms are crossed, brows pinched into a tight face of displeasure “She has a network of werewolves in her ranks. You’re one of them, aren’t you?” 

You look up at her saddened, like a kicked puppy for lack of a better word, casting your gaze away from hers. Shadowheart looks ferocious, her appearance locked onto your pitiful form with a familiar angry smolder. Wyll can’t decide if you’ve done anything so grand as to earn her ire, even if you’re a Selunite werewolf. Though, given all that Wyll knows about her, that may as well be the greatest sin of all.

Your voice is tiny and high-pitched as you play with your hands in your lap “I didn’t intend to hide it from you but y-yes. I don’t bear any hatred towards you or other Shar followers, but uhm, well, I didn’t think you’d be very happy about it. A-and then, well you know, back in the grove you mentioned you hated wolves so, I just… planned on never shifting.” 

“You have control over something like that?” Wyll inquires. You nod, not looking up at him. 

“I was born as a werewolf, not turned. So the moon doesn’t affect me in the same way it would someone who was turned and I have more control over when it happens. I can shift in and out. Usually no problem but when I’m caught off guard like that,” You lift your tail and swing it from side to side as if to emphasize the point “Sometimes I mess it up.” 

“Chk. What a waste of ability. Think of how many we would’ve slaughtered had we known from the start.”

Wyll looks around. Everyone has gathered now, standing around the fire. 

“A werewolf… I know little of them. Wild shape magic is vastly different. I hope your condition does not cause you too much trouble. Or us, for that matter.” Halsin adds apologetically. 

“I didn’t intend for it to come out this way,,” You mumble pitifully. Shit, he really can’t help but feel bad. “I really did fully plan on keeping it to myself until the end. But, well, we were desperate. And I didn’t want to see anyone die,” 

“Given our circumstances, I think it would be amiss to scold you for your bravery,” Wyll supplements, trying to ease your worries. He does mean it. Regardless of what happened, you did save everyone. “Plus, we’ve all kept secrets here.” 

“Exactly right, soldier. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” 

“Wow, what sort of double standard is this? When I came out as a vampire, you people couldn’t stop talking about how afraid you were I was going to bite you!” Astarion says with an exaggerated frown. You smile at him weakly. 

Wyll gives him a disbelieving look. “Well you’re not exactly subtle about wanting to suck our blood, are you Astarion?” 

Astarion huffs. “Everyone here is so unfair.” 

Wyll laughs goodnaturedly, his eyes turning back onto you. He examines you in silent thought, his mind sifting over your last few months together. 

After Gale gets over his initial frustration, his curiosity gets the better of him. He rejoins everyone—across from you on an empty log and Wyll joins along with them. Shadowheart and Lae-zel come too, as does Halsin. 

Around the campfire, Gale pulls a book and quill from his tent before making himself comfortable. 

“Well since we’ve all made up, I am a little curious about your condition.” He admits. A very Gale thing to do, Wyll thinks. 

“I don’t mind any questions.” You reply gently. “It’s the least I can do.” 

The whole camp softens at your display. Surprisingly, Shadowheart is the first to ask a question.

“Is it more comfortable for you…in your wolf form?” 

You seem taken aback.. Though it dawns on you quickly why she would be asking that specifically. 

“Ah, kind of? My humanoid form is also me but it feels… limiting at times.” 

“Limiting?” 

“Eating meat without my  canines is a pain in my ass. Same with not being able to express myself with my ears or tail. I like traveling on my paws depending on the terrain.” You say, shaking your head. “It doesn’t bother me though mostly,” 

Gale’s quill hitting the paper makes a loud scratching sound. Astarion has a snarky comment about it that Wyll misses. He’s too preoccupied with other things. 

Hoping that you don't feel too badly about all this, for example. 

“Does it affect your daily life in any way?”  

“I don’t think so? I don’t know. It’s always been like this, so there’s nothing that different to me. I do notice how different I am around humans maybe,” You say, before perking up. You’ve just remembered something important. “Oh, but there is one thing.” 

“What is it?” Wyll asks. 

“My senses are much much sharper than other peoples. My sense of smell, especially.”

___ 

You remain together. Despite the mess.  Somehow. 

With this parasite in mind, and nothing left to lose - it’s better to stay together. Now that there are no important secrets kept hidden, the vibe is much more relaxed. The impending doom adds a layer of familiarity too. Wyll has often traveled with bands of strangers, but never for so long and with so many. 

It gives him a sense of familiarity. Home. What a foreign word. 

He thinks a lot of it is your contribution. They’re your pack, as you say so often. A special one with lots of different sorts of people. And you - you’re loyal to a fault. It helps. You and Karlach are a lot alike, but Wyll would venture to call you a little more tender. It helps fill in the gaps. 

Wyll knows you’re a werewolf but it’s hard not to think of you as a dog in that sense. A different dog to Scratch, maybe. But a dog all the same - with folded ears and a softail and propensity for drooling depending on the way you sleep. 

He’s only really reminded of the fact that you’re part wolf when you use your abilities in battles. It’s your failsafe. You only do it when you think it’s dire, and before that you air on the side of diplomacy. You’re a hunter should the need arise though. Sometimes you don’t transform completely. Where your usual canines are meant to linger in your mouth are a set of teeth too big for it. Instead of hands, sometimes there are soft paws with sharpened nails. 

There are three ways you can transform for that matter. Human, werewolf, or just wolf. Wyll finds these little distinctions fascinating, and more fascinating that you tend to opt for one end of the spectrum or the other. 

Wyll quickly learns some of your physical attributes are the same irregardless of what you look like. The fact you are agile and quick and strong, or the fact you can travel fast on all fours. The fact you like meat, and the fact you whine rather loudly when you’re upset. 

When you’re using your abilities, many would think you a ruthless killer. 

But after everyones cleared from harm, you’ll transform back into your usual human self - naked and covered in blood and frowning. You spit up meat that tastes bad and whine loudly if no one tells you good job.

(That job often falls on Wyll or Shadowheart. Gale or Karlach if they’re traveling with you. Astarion is only kind enough to do it in a semi-mocking way, but Wyll is keenly aware of how sincere his praise can be.) 

In moments like that, you’re just a dog again. A puppy, sometimes. Loyal. And novel, and interesting for many reasons. 

Wyll should expect your loyalty by now. He sees it so often, how unyielding and faithful you always are. To your goddess and to your pack and to whatever else you’ve deemed important to you. 

He should’ve known that you’d probably try to seek him out tonight, after everything that’s happened among all of you. 

He did watch you for a bit at the start. You worked clockwise through all of your companions, stopped in between for stories and gossip. Some of the tiefling kids wanted to see your tail and you’re too good a spirit to tell them no.

Wyll wouldn’t dare hope for you finding him, but he is a little relieved when you do. 

“Wyll! There you are,” 

 Wyll’s eyes snap up.

“Ah, Hells. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone,” He says regretfully. 

“Of course I noticed! How could I not notice our very own warlock disappear? It was no party without you.” 

Wyll wonders if you’re being sincere. He hopes you are. The night air is cool as the two of you share space. Away from the party, only sand and rubble between your feet. And a body of water that looks like it could go on forever. 

It’s a full moon tonight. 

“Really? I’m honored,” He peers out into the lake. Suddenly aware of his body, Wyll recoils into himself. The movement is subtle enough to be overlooked. The horns on the top of his head feel especially heavy. The skin pulled around the base of them throbs. It’s not painful, but it is unpleasant. “In truth, I don’t feel a festive mood and I didn’t want to cast a gray cloud over the night.” 

“Is it too intrusive for me to ask?” 

“Not at all,” Wyll assures. Your words are comfortable and soft, concerned without being pitiful. “I’m a devil. I love the people of the grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays.” 

Wyll can hear his own somber. He doesn’t wince, but it's impossible to ignore. Even explaining himself only adds to his melancholy. He’s quiet for a while, his voice touched with a destitution and irony. And bitterness, maybe. 

You remain still and steady beside him. He can’t tear his gaze away from the endless water, comforted by its vastness. How it generally disregards him and distorts his reflection.

“You don’t want a devil at your party. Horns this sharp will pop the balloons you see. And the guests won’t take kindly to scars quite so monstrous.” He jokes, trying to keep his voice light. 

He doesn’t think he succeeds at it. 

Silence once more. Wyll can see you, but your expression is unchanged. Your eyes are clear underneath the ever changing moon. 

“You don’t unsettle me. You never have.” There’s conviction behind your words. They comfort him.

“If only half the world had half the heart you do.” Wyll tells you, and means every word. He tries to brighten up, waving you off. “Don’t let my introspection spoil your night. Off with you. This is your day! Have a dance. Enjoy the music.” 

He hopes it’s enough to get you to forget about him for tonight. 

When you walk off, Wyll is expecting you to disappear. It’s enough that you’ve checked on him. He would’ve been content with it, left to reflect on his troubles alone. You’ve done something significant with your reassurance. He isn’t so tactless to keep you from celebrating. even when he would maybe want more time with you. 

You return to him though. With a bottle of wine, and a bedroll you spread in the empty sand next to him. You give him an unreadable look followed by a cheeky smile, making yourself comfortable on the ground. 

“Come on. Sit.”

Confused, Wyll sits. You open the bottle of wine with your teeth as a cork and drink from the top before passing it over to him. He takes it from you and stares at the place you’ve just drank from. You start to talk while he debates mimicking you.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s less difficult than it is,” You say almost thoughtlessly. Almost. “You’ve lost your body. Yourself. That must be hard.” 

Wyll looks at you, then back at the colored glass of the bottle. He clears his throat. “It is. More than I imagined it to be.” 

“You know, I was born a werewolf. And I had just about the best circumstances a person could have with that in mind. Selune accepts me and my clergy was mostly kind. Still, I heard the word monster a lot from people outside my circle. I could feel the distrust that I incited in outsiders. So, I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through,” You say, your legs stretched out far into the sand, past the confinement of a tiny square bedroll “But I do know what it’s like to feel accused when you’ve done nothing wrong. You especially, Blade of Frontiers. I think you’re allowed to grieve the trust it feels like you’ve lost, or might lose. If it’s worth anything, though, I know you’re not a monster.” 

Wyll barely gets a chance to process the words as they come. He wonders if this is what people mean by feeling seen by someone else. “You know?” 

“Damn right I know,” Your response comes without hesitation. The night air blows along his skin, a soft and tender caress. Wyll frowns when you don't elaborate.

“How could you know something like that?” He asks.

“Lotsa reasons. You’re still nice and thoughtful and caring and charming. But, hm, well the most obvious reason is a little more primitive.” You take a deep inhale. “Your scent,” 

“...I’m sorry?” 

Your laugh is bright, and bubbly. 

“Your scent,” You repeat calmly, taking a deep sigh after saying it. “Everyone at camp has a scent. It’s a little abstract, but they change when people change. Shadowheart smells the leaves of black currant and uh, Halsin smells like sequoia wood. Lae’zel smells like black tea and metal. Gale smells like licorice. Astarion smells a lot like applemint. Karlach smells like smoke and star anise,” 

Wyll finds himself both awestruck and amused.

“These are all rather specific,” 

“I’ve always been a bit of a bloodhound so I’ve developed a talent at identifying specifics. It was shitty when I was a runt. Even a trip outside could give me the worst fuckin’ headache, but it got better the more I got used to it.” You give Wyll a glance “Anyways. Scent changes. When someone changes, their scent does too. Moods and days and everything affect it too.” 

“And mine hasn’t changed, is what you’re saying?” 

“No. Not in the way that’d make you different. It’s stronger, but it hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed.” You say quietly, and take a deep breath. “Not to me at least.” 

“You’ve conveniently left out my scent from your description.” Wyll says with fond amusement. He feels reassured. It’s absurd, yet Wyll is so inclined to believe you. “Is it something so awful?” 

You flush, suddenly becoming timid. 

“Yours is… good,” You say simply, and softly. You seem embarrassed to continue. He can’t help but find it so incredibly endearing. “It’s just harder for me to describe. But it’s good. It’s personally my favorite. “ 

You add the last part a little quieter. 

“And it hasn’t changed,” Wyll says more than asks this time. 

“No. Stronger, but the same.” You curl in on yourself, crossing your legs as you turn your head to face him, head tilted towards one side with a smile. “You’re not a devil to me. Just Wyll. And I like just Wyll.”

Wyll feels his chest tight as you lean your head on your shoulder contentedly. He tries not to read it into, hoping you can’t hear how loudly his heart is pounding. He takes a drink from the wine bottle straight, the same place your lips touched moments ago. 

He likes you, too. The words don’t come out right. 

“Yes…I’m,” He’s speechless, hands folded in his lap as he stares at you. “Me too. Our journey together has proved important to me. Thank you.” 

You smile but don’t say anything more.

___

With the goblin camp clear, the journey towards the Shadowfell lands becomes increasingly pervasive. You’ve done more traveling and less resting in the last few weeks than you have thus far in your journey. 

Smoke clouds in the horizon are what draw you to Waukeens rest. 

On your way to the mountain pass, for easy access to the city, lay a massacre of bodies and fire. The distress has far from subsided. The thick smog continues to build, folds into itself like massive heaps of wool - suffocating everything on every path in its surroundings. The smell of ash is invasive, even from a fair distance away. 

Blood trails from one end of the path towards the main entrance. As your party’s distance begins to close in, Wyll feels his lungs fill up with a familiar tightness. The burning air makes his eyes and lungs sting.

“Shit, the fire is still burning. There must still be people in need of aid. We should,” You cough hard as you look at what's in front of you. Eyes squinted trying to make out the horizon. “We should get there and see if we can aid them,” 

Astarion groans “For just one day, could we rest? Leave this nonsense up to the other wandering travelers desperate for recognition? Is that asking so much?” 

“As long as I’m pinning down bodies for you to feed off, you’ve got to listen to me, you know? You laugh warmly at his sarcasm. “Now, If you don’t stop complaining you’ll fall behind, pretty boy, and there’ll be not a thing left for you to suck dry.” 

“I should report you for that, you know. Threats of starvation against the imprisoned violate the law,” 

You laugh a little as you start to make your way forward. The four of you jog towards the entrance of Waukeens rest with urgency, more yours and Wyll’s than Astarion’s and Shadowheart’s.

Among the scenery at the front entrance of Waukeens rest - what concerns Wyll most is not the death. Not the bodies ashen among flame or the flames themselves that continue to widen and encompass. It is that, among those bodies, are members of the Flaming Fist. Past the sour memory of his life comes the worry, the fear. 

What in the Hells are the Flaming Fist doing around this area?

Away from the woman praying over a body, are a small number of Fist’s pushing on the doorway of a locked and burning building. You’re quick to run to it. Wyll barely keeps up. 

Before you can ask about the situation at hand, a Flaming Fist member addresses you and your party. 

“Grand Duke Ravengard could be inside, don’t just stand there - push!” 

Wyll’s voice betrays him, speaking before he has a minute to think. “Ravengard? He’s here?” 

“Yes, now make yourself useful- push, damn it, push!”

Wordlessly from next to him, you gear yourself up and push kick the door in. Strong enough that the wood crumbles to nothing, Wyll watches the doors open wide and the flames that lick at the inside of the building. A cloud of smoke billows out as the Flaming Fist pour in, your party quick to follow in alongside them. 

Through the thickets of smoke and up stairs half-broken, sounds Counselor Florrick's voice from behind the broken door. Maneuvering through ember and broken floorboard, you proceed the same as you did before. Pushing through the crowd of people surrounding the door - you use your foot and kick the door in again, causing it to break nearly instantly. 

Counselor Florrick coughs as she makes her way outside.

“Come. I’m afraid proper thanks must wait,” She says with a heaved breath. It’s too clouded with smoke for Wyll to make anything of her face and Wyll can only assume that is the case both ways. 

Back down through the way you came, you take a deep inhale of smoke and cough. The scent must be nauseating, far too much for you - but you don’t let it show through your face. 

Once everyone has been accounted for outside, Counselor Florrick approaches your party in the broad daylight of the courtyard. It’s there she recognizes Wyll. 

“Hold on,” Wyll says, reaching into his pack. He hands you a sachet of herbs he’d purchased alongside you from a merchant in the goblin camp. “For your nose,” 

You give him a look of surprise, your ears perking up and tails swishing as you take it from him gratefully, holding it up to your nose for a deep breath. 

“Fuck, thank you.” You reply gratefully. Wyll nods in reply.

“Counsellor Florrick - are you alright?” Wyll says first, concern pouring through. Regardless of all else. 

It’s clear right away, the horror in his face once she’s seen what’s become of him. Wyll lets it roll off of his back, the momentary sting not enough to make him flinch. It’s a reminder to start adjusting to what will be one of many. 

Her sympathy is tangible, though it doesn’t make Wyll feel better. 

“Wyll - by the Maimed God, what’s become of you?” 

He shakes his head to dismiss the thought.  “A story best left for calmer days. Now breathe deeply, are you in pain?”

“A scorched throat, a few hairs singed off. Nothing a bit of time and fresh air can’t cure.” 

Wyll’s shoulder sag with relief.  She turns to address the Flaming Fist accompanying her. 

“Gauntlet, a new duty calls. Drow have taken Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard - westward if my eyes and ears can be believed.” She pauses, thinking before giving further instruction “Report to the manip and send for reinforcements. We must find the Grand Duke.” 

“On your command, Counsellor.” The head of the Gauntlet affirms, bowing their head before taking off. 

It’s there that Wyll feels panic. Uncertainty like nothing he’s felt in the last seven years. Maybe longer. No longer a passing thought or a sour memory, concern for his father washes out what might’ve been grief.

“No. It can’t be. You mean, they’ve taken -” 

Counselor Florrick's expression darkens. “Yes, Wyll. The drow have your father.” 

“Shit, what? Wyll, you’re a noble?” You interject for the first time in the conversation. When Wyll turns to you, above all else is concern. He shakes his head.

“The circumstances of my birth are no matter of pride for neither me nor my father. But pride is no reason to refuse help to my own flesh and blood. How can we help?.” 

“Rescue Ravengard from his drow captors. Baldur's Gate needs him, now more than ever,” She says, addressing you primarily and Wyll after. She pauses to examine Wyll a second time, like now that she’s out of the smoke she is really looking. 

A passing glance of her brings back memories of a childhood long forgotten. Days spent in courtyards training the sword and waiting for father to finish his duties. An ache starts to form in the cavity of his chest, but Wyll swallows it. 

Where duty calls, it is only common sense the Blade will answer. He holds a fist over his heart and bows. 

“Trust us to see it through, Counsellor.” 

“Who is this Duke Ravengard?” You ask, finally - though it’s not to him. Rather it’s to the Counselor. Wyll wonders if that’s a choice you’ve made on purpose. 

“The invisible force holding Baldur’s Gate together. Without him, the city’s collapse is certain.” She pauses, looking troubled “I fear that may have been the intention of those who abducted him.” 

“Shit. Then, not to be rude, but why entrust this to me? You have others at your command. More well equipped, I’d imagine,” You ask, bearing no hostility. A fair enough question for you, head of pack, with concerns for everyone else. 

“Isn’t it clear? You travel with the Blade of Frontiers. Who might I trust, if not a legend? Who might rise to the moment, if not Ravengard’s own son?”

You pause to mull over her reply. Your brow is furrowed in concentration, before your focus returns to the Counselor.

“I don’t think the drow have taken him back to Menzoberranzan. More likely they’ve taken the Duke to Moonrise Towers.”  You say tentatively. “Though Hells, I can’t be sure. Goblin’s bein’ here is weird and their affairs are tied together somehow. Plus, the drow we’ve met in this area so far have relations to other cultist bullshit,” 

“I was thinking the same,” Wyll adds. 

“Moonrise Towers? Along the old road? That place is cursed, few could survive there…unless darker forces are at work,” She pauses, taking a moment to assess the situation “This was no random attack, then. The Grand Duke was their target.” 

After more deliberating, you look firmly at the Counselor and nod - a serious promise. 

“Moonmaiden guide us - we’ll head to Moonrise towers and find Duke Ravengard. Though for now, I won’t promise  anything.” 

“Thank you. When the Grand Duke returns to the city, he’ll hail his only son a hero.” She says with a deep breath “Approach the towers with care. The land itself has been swallowed in shadow.”

She turns to address him this time “Remember Wyll. ‘Courage is found in the battle against fear, not in the defeat of it.’”

“So father said. I won’t soon forget it.”

“We’ll be heading off now, towards the towers. Take care of yourself.” 

“You too, Counselor Florrick.” 

With that, the Florrick disappears back out into the smoke and open road. Left in the aftermath is the rest of the party, not barring you - and Wyll with nothing but worry. 

Your eyes find Wyll’s with ease, filled to the brim with concern. Wyll casts his gaze away instinctively. 

“Shit,” Wyll swears, unsure of what the reaction from you will be.

“Wyll,” Your voice calls and soothes. Before his response forms in his mouth, he feels a hand on the nape of his neck. In a sudden movement, you lean into him. Even amongst the swallowing heat of fire and ember - Wyll is conscious of your skin. The scrapes and cuts on your fingers raised press against his own. You inhale a long breath and Wyll realizes what you’re doing. It’s confirmation when you pull away and glance at him seriously. “Can I trust you to tell me what’s going on?” 

The question itself is exposing. It’s a raw nerve, split open, tender and unhealed. There’s no shame in it. Or maybe there is, always has been - and Wyll has spent nearly seven years outrunning it. This much he knows - he never intended to show you this part of himself.

And he knows that this is not the first time he’s betrayed your trust. You ask Wyll to trust you, and Wyll wants to explain he always has. 

There is no betrayal in your face, no disappointment.

You come to him ready to receive anything. Crystal clear eyes and a sincerity in your heart - there is so much said in so little. 

“I’m sorry. It was never,” He’s struck by grief in a sudden moment. You’re kind, but it goes well beyond just that. “I had no intent to hide it.” 

“But you had no intent to share it either,” You say, your voice soft-spoken and tender. Forgiving, though you don’t make Wyll feel like there’s something he needs forgiveness for. “It’s okay. We’re damn similar sometimes aren't we?” 

When you let go of Wyll, he stares at you. Wide-mouthed and unsure of himself. For a brief moment, his surroundings become blurry. There’s no one else in the party. There’s no smoke. There’s no fire. No ash. For a brief moment, there’s just you - and you’re smiling.  You feel like forgiveness. 

“Florrick spoke true,” Wyll affirms, unsure of what to do with himself. “I am a Grand Duke’s son.” 

“Not just a grand duke - Ravengard has more power and influence than anyone.” Astarion adds. 

“My father and I were close. Once upon a time. Until he disowned me and cast me out of Baldur’s Gate,” Wyll says with a hardened heart. He’s forgiven his father. He’s spent years rationalizing the choice he made. But he’s reminded in an instant that the wound is still tender. “I can’t tell you more - the pact forbids it. My lips are quite literally sealed.” 

“Okay,” You give Wyll a look, clear and bright. “Then, Wyll - do you want to save your father?” 

He wasn’t expecting that to be your only question. It must show that he’s taken aback, but you remain where you are unflinching. 

“Yes, I—yes. Regardless of our relationship, he remains my flesh and blood.” You press your lips together, an encouraging half smile, prompting him. “And I don’t want him to fall into the hands of Absolutists for any reason. He made me an exile, but I’m not about to let him suffer at the hands of his captors.”

“Alright. Then we’ll save him,” You brush over the weight of that sentence, addressing your other companions. “The only lead we’ve got so far is Moonrise towers, so we’ll stick to our original plans. Visiting the creche and then traveling through the Underdark.” 

Wyll stares at you as you continue to talk, the words feeling like little more than noise. Lost in thought, you let him remain undisturbed. When your eyes meet, you don’t do anything more than grin - fang poking out form underneath your lip. 

And it’s the second time in his life, Wyll feels like you’re seeing something he can’t. Himself, maybe.

__ 

A confrontation with the githyanki and a red dragon later, you return to camp the night of visiting Waukeen’s rest.

When night falls, you join Wyll in his tent. The gesture is innocent. You ask about having a sleepover. Wyll tries to remember there’s nothing but friendship between you. Eventually helets you into the cramped space of his tent. There’s barely enough space for you both, but you manage.

Before bed, you ask Wyll to tell you about himself. Anything he can afford to tell you. For a long while, he talks about being the Blade of Frontiers. But then, when it’s late enough and the gap between you continues to shrink - he talks about his life in the city. It doesn’t happen on purpose. Wyll is hardly so ungentlemanly. It’s unlike him to cluelessly go on and on about himself. 

You just happen to know exactly the right questions. Before Wyll knows it, he’s telling you about all of his escapades. His life as a nobleman's son and escaping to fraternize with lower city youth.

Wyll can’t disclose his pact to you, but he can tell you about the kiss he had at fifteen. He can tell you about the first time he lost a tooth, or describe the well-worn picture of his late mother in his fathers wallet. For a while, Wyll recounts tales of a life he’d thought he’d abandoned. When the words come out, they don’t feel like violence. Don’t coat his mouth with the bitter taste of iron. Instead they taste light like memories, and come out just as soft. 

He doesn’t remember when either of you drift off to sleep. 

When morning comes and Wyll finds you still in his tent, he feels the ability to claim plausible deniability drift away from him. 

You mean more to him than he thought. The moment passes to tell you. 

___ 

The journey to the Underdark is never an easy one. 

Underneath the desecrated Selune temple was the beaten path. A long ladder down through a broken Selunite outpost. Not only have you all fought a spectator, a bullete, several hook horrors and an entire beach of duegars - you’ve just slaughtered an Absolutist leader with your bare hands. 

The remaining duegar have fled the scene after a night to recover, leaving Nere’s body for the lot of you to loot. The gnomes have gone too. Wyll tries to hold confidence all of them will make it in one piece. 

The Sovereign had made his request clear, slaughter Nere and bring his head. Wyll has watched you kill and devour several bodies in your time together, but there’s something novel about watching you do it now. A knife, pulled out from your sheath - sharp as it cuts and saws through the flesh. It’s a clean, precise slice. Nothing like you, Wyll thinks fondly. 

He can surmise that it’s because you’re rather fond of the myconid colony. They’re kind to you and you are always fond of those who are kind. In that way you’re easy to appease. But he didn’t know you were capable of this level of care. You tend to be matted and ruddy. Generally messy. 

Wyll likes you that way. 

The head comes off the body unceremoniously. You wrap a cloth underneath the bottom, and tuck it in your pack along some cubes of ice you had Gale make you with magic that morning. 

Wyll only sees the outline of your back. He watches as you stretch your palms out and examine them for blood. When you find none, you turn around with a little tired sigh.

Promptly, you prop yourself onto Shadowheart. Your ear and tails have made a reappearance, your chin resting on her shoulder. 

“I'm tiiiiiiiiired,” You whine, long and drawn out. Your teeth stick out from your lips when you pout, Wyll notices. The heat of the forge and all of the surrounding lava have your skin sticky with sweat. The deep purple of the destroyed Sharran enclave feels out of place among the fires “I don’t want to go to the Shadowfell lands. I won’t. You can’t make me,” 

You’ve picked up a habit of being touchy. You tend to cling to Shadowheart, which Wyll finds ironic. Even with her cold exterior, the half-elf doesn’t push you off when you hug or pester her. You make promises to Karlach you’ll join her for it once her engines all fixed. Lae’zel finds it pointless. Halsin doesn’t mind, and likes to turn into a bear so all the furry creatures at camp can turn into big pile. 

Gale also doesn’t mind, but the wizard usually airs on the side of embarrassment - a faint blush crawling over him whenever you wrap yourself thoughtlessly about him. Astarion pretends to reject it, but willingly pets and scratches you when he feels less combative. Something you happily recieve.

And Wyll… well, it doesn’t bother him. You approach him often enough, and he’d be hard-pressed on a reason to reject you. 

(He ignores the way your touch seems to linger, unsure if he’s seeing things that don’t belong. Wyll is fond of you. Your heart is good - he thinks of you often  but he isn’t so sure that means something. Well it means plenty to him, but what of you? 

You like the sensation of physical affection, he reminds himself Nevermind the times you’ve fallen asleep as a wolf in his lap. Nevermind the occasional naps in his tent, or whines when he’s too busy to pay you mind.)

“You’re not ferocious at all, do you know? More like a drooling mutt than a werewolf,” Shadowheart huffs sarcastically. 

“What I lack in ferocity I make up for in vigor.” You reply with a hum, rubbing your cheek against Shadowheart’s shoulder. “And the situation doesn’t spark any vigor in me. We’ve already been underground this long and next we’re going somewhere even darker.” 

Astarion pipes up, sitting criss-cross onto the marbled floor in one of the few spots free of blood, sorting through his varied belongings and trinkets. “I would figure werewolves and vampires share their love for the darkness, no?” 

“We can’t see the moon well from either place. I need to see the moon to track some things related to my form. I count the phases in my head but if I don’t see it for too long - I start getting homesick like a man at sea.” You whine and huff again, this time peeling yourself off of Shadowheart and throwing yourself onto Wyll. 

He steadies himself enough not to topple over by your strength and weight as you drape yourself across his back. You nuzzle your cheek against him tenderly. It’s different to how you do it to Shadowheart or Astarion (when he’s not adamantly pushing you away.) It’s more tender, closer. Your nose brushes against the nape of his neck. Wyll doesn’t flinch, even at the warmth of your breath. You inhale again and Wyll can hear the swish of your tail.

He pretends to be ignorant of it and doesn’t push you away - instead laughing lightly. 

“Oh, Moonmaiden - let your moon be my light, and I shall let my sword be your shining symbol.” You  recite with a sigh. The words reverberate along his skin.  “Moon my love, you are terribly missed.” 

“Keep your Selunite prayer out of my ears, would you?” 

“Don’t be so moody, my cold blooded Sharran. Our Lady of SIlver is a kind and accepting goddess, so her blessing will extend even to you.” 

Shadowheart crinkles her nose. You laugh noisily next to Wyll’s ear. He smiles softly.

“After we’ve delivered the head to the Sovereign, we can travel back overhead before going into the Shadowfell. That way, you’ve had some time with the moon and we’re able to get in more rest before taking it on,” 

You pull away from him now, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around with a laugh. Wyll looks at you wide-eyed as you grin at him, knocking your foreheads together innocently.

“Ah, what a great idea! If everyone else is on board, then let’s make our way to the Sovereign now and recoup on the surface. We’ll return to Grymforge come mornin’ and head off that way. Is everyone on board with that?” 

You look around for affirmation before resting your gaze on Wyll with a smile. 

Wyll feels his heart tug slightly, returning your smile before averting his eyes. You scamper off to Astarion, attention easily pulled in every which way. Shadowheart saunters towards him. 

“You’re rather obvious, Blade of Frontiers. I thought a folk hero would have a little more suave about these matters.”

Wyll clears his throat. 

“...I don’t know what you’re referring too.” 

Shadowheart laughs good-naturedly. 

“Sure you don’t.” 

___

There are few times you take your proper werewolf form. 

It’s an accommodation thing from Wyll’s understanding. People are frightened less of full wolves or your humanoid forms. The hybridized version of yourself is what people find the most monstrous, and so - you’ve gotten used to putting on the shelf. 

The only time you take that form is when you hunt for meat. It’s easy enough to get ahold of other camp supplies - like liquor or vegetables if they’re lucky. But meat is hard to find, especially hard to find where it hasn’t got spoiled. Astarion hunts only out of necessity, so he’s not really any help. 

You hunt because it’s natural to you. A life of pilgrimage and spent in a Selunite enclave has gifted you the knowledge of preserving meats, too. When you’re camped out near enough forest - you’ll hunt. Most often before a long stretch of travel, you’ll go into the woods alone and disappear - returning with a feast. No one goes with you. In the forest, among fallen trees and soil - you’ll gut and skin the prey. You’ll bring back the final products, clean hides and things to turn to leather and meat ready for curing. It’s to prevent any more unusual bloodshed from occurring at camp. More sanitary, you always say. 

Wyll has no intention of following you tonight while he knows you’re hunting. His interest in the woods is to scope them out one last time before you leave this place for good, keep it in his memory and prepare for the road ahead. 

When he hears the sound of a faint growling, he thinks for a minute you’ve been injured or are in some kind of danger. 

The moon is shining just enough to cast light on your form. He figures out quickly you’re safe.

There’s nothing new to see. Thick, crimson blood makes a mess of your appearance - dripping down your fangs. It sticks and matts in your fur, covering your face in messy splatters. Your werewolf form is your most monstrous. Unnatural limbs and features - a form like a human but the face and ferocity of a wolf. 

In front of you are corpses of animals, bled out and laid in a pile. The scent of blood is so strong Wyll can smell it from a distance away. It’s a distance you’d usually be able to smell Wyll from, but it must be masked by the smell of copper and flesh. 

The moon has waned, nearly to its fullest. You turn yourself towards the black sky of midnight, towards the moon - and you howl. It is a loud, tremendous sound. 

Wyll has never heard you howl before. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life. An elongated melody, deep from your chest - high and throaty. You howl to the sky. You howl to the moon. To your goddess, most certainly. You howl in the version of yourself everyone finds most disgusting. The monster in you is alive and bare-chested to the world. Stood on your two feet, all matted fur and eyes like beams of light - you howl towards the sky.

And Wyll watches. Listens. Commits the sound to memory. 

In the version of yourself that is so embraced by monstrosity, you howl like a song to the moon you so adore.

He’s never found you so beautiful. 

___

Time moves differently in the Shadowfell lands. 

Slower. In every other part of Fae’run, the nights and days don’t blur into each other. But here, in the abandoned and unyielding darkness - everything feels thick. Muddy. The soil that does not dampen, the trees that do not grow leaves. Instead of preserved amber, there is only shadow. It swallows everything, every place in the land. 

The upward battle of survival persists. The Harpers have (barely) welcomed you into the Last Light Inn. Flaming Fist Marcus is dead, and the Moon Maiden has given her her blessing. You’ve even been able to give Karlach her first upgrade. 

The air speaks for itself though, that you’re nearing something important. The beginning of something. Or the end, though Wyll sways towards hope and optimism. 

In the presence of darkness and solace, -Wyll finds that you remain yourself. Bright and clear and comforting, even in the face of impending doom. 

Your camp in the Shadowfell lands is brightened by artificial lights. It spans over more land now. The main area which hosts all of your companions lies at the foot of an abandoned building. An abandoned house, torn by vines of shadowfell and roots. The base of camp is spread over dusty ashen floors, everything colored gray. 

When it’s time to rest, most lights remain on. He finds it’s easier to sleep with Selune’s blessing. 

Tonight, Wyll can't get any rest at all. He’s still awake while his companions have fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to the skies. They lack the deep shades of purple of a normal night sky, unmistakably dark.

His eyes remain lidded as he takes a look at his surroundings. Shadowheart is asleep, and Astarion is deep enough in meditation that Wyll doubts he’d noticed if he walked off. Among his companions, you’re missing from your bedroll. 

Wyll sits up as quietly as he can. He looks towards your tent, to see if you’ve woken up to sleep inside - but doesn’t find you there either. His brow tightens, shoulders tense as he blinks rapidly trying to wake himself up. 

There aren’t many places in this camp to go, despite the terrain being wider. The other tent occupants remain in place. From where Wyll stands you’re not with anyone else like Karlach or Halsin. 

There’s only one more place that would leave you.

Through a curve and another straight path are wood stairs. At the top is a skeleton of an old house. One that stood long before the curse, and remains long after. 

Wyll has never gone there on his own. He only saw it once while they’d settled in for the first time. There’s nothing inside of it. A fireplace, a broken cupboard and cabinet. A table and chair, and two old beds that have gone rickety overtime. 

He ducks his head as he enters through what must’ve once been a door. 

It occurs to him he’s never really seen you pray. Not fully at least. Though you utter it on occasion, the words of your goddess - you tend to speak them lightly. Wyll gathers its out of respect for Shadowheart. 

He finds you on the edge of a large bed in the center of the room. You’re in your humanoid form, with only your ears and tail and teeth - your hands are clasped tightly around a necklace. The fireplace is burning, but it’s not what illuminates you.

All around you though is a pale blue glow, like the moon itself has surrounded you with all of its might. You’re quiet in incantation  - the warmth of a smile lighting up your features. You’re not in your usual nightwear of a loose shirt and pants. Instead you wear the silk of a slip and something like a Selunite robe, open. Wyll has seen so much of your skin before, everything past your knees barren. But its a new feeling. Your neck and shoulders are just the same, your hand on your chest ducking from view.

You breathe deeply, before your eyes flutter open and see him at the door. You smile at him.

“You’re awake,” You say first, letting go of the necklace chain. “Hope everything’s alright?” 

“Sorry. And yes, everything is fine - I had just woken up and couldn’t find you,” Wyll feels flush as he adds the rest to the conversation “And I uhm. Well I was worried something might have happened.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I figured everyone would be asleep so I didn’t bother telling anyone,” You say apologetically “Our Silver Lady called to me so I felt I ought to answer.”

You pause before laughing. “Wait, sit first. Unless you’re going back to sleep right away.” 

Wyll shakes his head as your grin widens making his heart feel rather funny. 

He sits next to you, fond as you bring your leg up and face him. Your back rests on the broken wood at the foot of the bed. You’ve tidied the room a bit, and these sheets don’t have as much dust as they did when you first got here. 

Wyll mirrors your actions, sitting with a leg up - bent at the knee as he stares at you. 

“You said your goddess called to you?”

“Ah, yes,” Your voice is uncharacteristically shy. Wyll can’t help but stare at the bare crook of your knees. “Shadowheart had mentioned it. There’s something in these lands. And well,   wherever Shar goes, Selune will follow and all. Don’t really know what it means, though. Bit of mystery.” 

“You’re a cleric, right?” Wyll asks, taking a brief moment to assess and remember all the little details about yourself you’ve told him. 

When he thinks of it, there’s so much about you he doesn’t know. Though he feels you know everything there is to know about him. It’s not that you’re secretive, but it’s rare to get a moment alone. Harder to find a moment appropriate to air out your past. 

Alone with you in this shadowy, dimly lit room - Wyll hopes time will slow. Long enough to know something more about you, at least.  

“Right. I try not to crutch too much on my magic so I tend to stick to fighting,” You say with a laugh “I also had to learn physical combat and martial arts. It feels like a waste not to use.” 

“I see,” Wyll says with a thoughtful hum “But you are a cleric, all the same. Quite an impressive title to bestow on someone, I’d imagine.” 

“Ah, truthfully - I find it a bit difficult,” You reply sheepishly, surprising Wyll.“I’m sort of simple, all things considered. I thought I’d be my Lady’s sword or just part of her clergy, but I never imagined I’d do anything so important. Or have powers so great.” 

The sound of your voice feels especially pleasant to Wyll like this, murmurs just between you with no threat of doom. Like between these broken wooden planks, is a peace impenetrable. He likes being with you.

“Before your capture, were you? Set out to do something important, I mean,” 

“Importance is relative. But, it was a mission I was proud taking,” You reply thoughtfully. A confirmation of the sanctity in your character for you to make such a distinction. “I had been sent by my clergy to wander Faerun - to aid other lycanthropes and those touched by madness or ailment. 

“You alone had been sent?

You nod, staring down at your hands folded in your lap. 

“Aye, me alone. I’d wandered around for several years when I was sent away before the ship had captured me. I was on my way to Baldur’s Gate as part of it,” 

“Where do you hail from?” 

“Amn. There’s a few small Selunite enclaves there. Mama was a Silverstar, which is mostly a pretty word for a very powerful priestess. My fate was divined when I was seventeen and the rest is history.” 

“Seventeen is young. What was your final destination then? Or was it more of a wandering practice.” 

“After some years, I was hoping to get to Waterdeep actually. Big church for Selune over there, very beautiful.” Your voice teeters on wistful, blooming with longing and nostalgia. You peek at Wyll through your lashes. “In that way, we have a lot in common.” 

“A lot in common. Do you really think so?” 

“Mm, I do. Banished at seventeen, a monster inside us, some sort of tragic background. We make a fun pair.”

“I didn’t know there was a tragic story in yours. To the extent you could call it one,” Wyll says quietly. You give Wyll a look. Though he doesn’t pressure you to expand on it, you seem relaxed enough to talk about it. 

You close your eyes briefly, letting them flutter open. 

“It was a year into my pilgrimage, I think,” You explore, a soft sadness tender in your expression. Wyll sits up a little straighter, readying himself to receive whatever you wish to tell him. “A small village in the Dalelands. Young girl, about seven. Her village had ostracized her. By the time I arrived, she was emaciated. Clever little thing had survived on her own but barely,” 

Wyll waits patiently for you to continue, not wanting to interrupt you even briefly. He softens his gaze.  

“Anyway. When I go anywhere new, the basic practice is meeting locals. Depending on the circumstances, I won’t always disclose my wolven ways. Some people - they need guidance, others they need protection. In her case, she needed both,” You look far away somehow. Wyll feels empathy as much as he feels warmth. Your care for the human condition, he always finds, touches him. “She was much smarter than me, you know. Her lycanthropy was inherited like mine, but because she was so young - she had a difficult time controlling it.” 

You pause to take a long, deep, steadying breath. “She was my little genius. I cared for her  an awful lot. Still do. She beat me at lanceboard all the time, despite being seven and I wasn’t even letting her win you know.” 

“She must’ve been even more brilliant than I could imagine.” Wyll offers. You nod. 

“Despite my efforts, the relationship between her and her village wasn’t getting better. One day, I’d left her in my chambers for a while - to bring something back from a market nearby. Less than a few hours, and she’d been uhm,” Your voice starts to close. Wyll follows his instinct, squeezing your hand where it rests on your knee. It’s shaking when he reaches for it. He thinks briefly about kissing it. “She’d been killed,” 

Wyll pauses, lets you collect yourself. But he wants to know as much as you’ll tell him. 

“It was easy enough to figure out who’d done it. And in small villages like that, the hivemind bullshit and paranoia really gets to people,” Your voice intones on bitterness. Angry and heartbroken, you continue “Grown men raising an ax to kill a little girl. I almost lost my mind. I should’ve.” 

“But you didnt…? Or did you? In a situation like that, well,” Wyll looks at you sympathetically. “Any choice you made I wouldn’t hold it against you.” 

“I only punished the one who killed her. I didn’t kill him no matter how much I wanted to. I don’t think she would’ve wanted that. Not her or my goddess,” You say with a deep sigh. “I used my magic and blinded him. Made an example out of him and reprimanded the rest of those fucking idiots.” 

“And after?” 

You clear your throat, but smile at him. Like you’re grateful he hasn’t recoiled from it.

“After, I buried her body in the soft earth, in the place where the moon shone most brightly - and mourned. Her death was so severe I couldn’t revive or heal her, I just buried…her. I thought about doing plenty of other shit. To kill, to chase, to defend - but ultimately, it felt more…meaningful just to… bury her.” 

Wyll frowns, pausing. He squeezes your hand, eyes closed. Brows furrowed as he looks down. 

“I’m sorry,” 

You smile at him. Noticing the hand in yours finally, you even flush - though the moment passes quickly. Wyll stares at you in quiet, wondering if his eyes alone could tell you all he’s thinking. With you, his silver tongue is absent. His mouth is weighed too heavily with feelings sincere, with words meaningful. 

Wyll cannot offer you cleverness or comfort where he wishes to offer you honesty. 

“That night, the Moonmaiden had called to me. Just like today. It’s hard to explain what it feels like?  Like a cool hand on feverish skin. It was a revelation for me. I had suddenly felt so empty. And, after some sobbing, I’d realized something,” You say whimsically, drawing circles into the back of Wyll’s hand. 

“What did you realize?” He prompts. 

“Our Lady of Silver believes in the carving and following of our own path. But, what had I done but what was told of me? All my life I’d spent in the temple, in the monastery - among people of my own faith and beliefs. In the moment in which I felt so much anger, I didn’t know what to do. I was lost. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Not on purpose, but that was the truth. I swore myself too soon to duty rather than the convictions of my heart—I’d lacked real purpose.”

Wyll smiles at you, brightened by the gusto in which you speak. He’s endeared by you all too easily. 

“And the convictions of your heart? Have you found them?” He asks, head tilted. 

“Not all of them. But you know I figured out one thing. I want to make the world a less lonely place. Her death will never not bear weight on my mind, but her tiny hand thanking me for staying with her. That was something, I’m damn sure. Maybe all of it,” 

He stares at you, speaking in quiet murmurs. You’re glowing, he thinks. You must be. 

“It’s a noble thing to want. At least to me.” 

“I’m glad you think so. My goddess has given me these divine powers, so my duty will always be to help people. But more than that - I want to guide the sick and afraid like the Moonmaiden guides me. I want to make it less difficult for people.” 

“You’re awfully wise at times like this.” 

“Wise?” You laugh lightly. “I’ve never heard that for me before. More used to hearing stuff like hard-headed, pack runt, cry baby. So on and so forth. But I’ll cherish it before you change your mind.” 

“Do you feel fulfilled here? Becoming a hero of a city, saving so many people - surely that too aligns with your convictions” 

“Asking an awful lot about me,” You tease finally. Wyll is hard-pressed to deny it. It’s so obvious. “But I do. I’d say managing to become Astarion’s friend is a high enough accomplishment with regards to you know, my convictions and all. It’s honestly like my life’s work. He even pets me now. Willingly!”

Wyll laughs loudly at the sudden excitement in your voice. You haven’t let go of his hand, he notices. 

He hopes you don’t.

“Quite an impressive feat, certainly. But I am a little hurt. Does our bond not incite a similar sense of accomplishments and vigor in you?” He teases.

You pretend to consider it. 

“The Blade of Frontiers, my most important companion.” You respond, with just as much cheekiness. “Calling it an accomplishment might be too egotistical.” 

“What else do you suppose you’d call it?” 

“Fate, maybe,” You say, though your voice is hardly above a murmur now.  “Somehow, the fact we’ve met feels more like a very lucky chance, I reckon.” 

“You feel so strongly about it?” Wyll says, more than asks. Because somehow it feels too much like a dream. 

“Of course. I feel strongly about you in general,” You respond, and still don’t let go of his hand. You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I feel strongly about us. And all we’ve seen, together. I feel strongly that regardless of all the darkness, the moon waits for me and that I’m very lucky to have met you.”

Wyll feels his heart jump into his throat. Hardly a confession, yet his heart pounds. The longing is ceaseless. 

In all the time you’ve spent together, Wyll has had all the time in the world to witness you. In your bravery and in your cowardice. At the best of yourself, and at the worst. Wyll has seen you lie when you’d rather be honest. He’s seen you cry countlessly for the deaths of people you’ve never known. He’s seen you tear through flesh and bone. He’s seen you as a furred creature laid on your back so Halsin would rub your stomach. He’s seen you as tenderly, achingly human. 

Wyll has seen so much of you. And perhaps more than that - you have seen so much of him. Parts of himself even he has no access to. A passing comment of how dashing his horns look, a pat on the shoulder when you pass a father and son. You see Wyll even when he forgets to see himself. 

Between you, there is no question that he is lucky. The luckiest man on Toril. 

“You know, when everything is through. Not if, but when,” Wyll says slowly and carefully. “I want to remain by your side. Wherever that road leads. I want us to be together or travel together. Though I don’t know what that would look like,” 

You give him a look of surprise, then a teasing smile - titling your head to one side. 

“I might go somewhere you don’t want to follow, Ravengard. I’m a wanderer at heart.” 

“Impossible. I’ve already followed you here, remember?” Wyll says with a smile, eyes meeting yours “As long as we’re together, no place is too dark nor too treacherous.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

“There’d be no greater honor.” 

__ 

When Myrkul falls, the world is silent. 

For a first time, in a long time - the Shadowfell lands do not whisper the regrets of the dead. Instead, the remaining shadow swallowing the world begins to finally clear. In gradual steps, life returns to the land at Moonrise. 

And this is in no small part thanks to you. 

Though, Wyll watches you as you insist the glory is split between your party equally.  You’re all heroes, and you couldn’t have done it without them by your side. Wyll knows you mean that.

 It was you who took down the foes at Moonrise towers in slow increments, that planned and slaughtered until there was nothing left of it. It was you who destroyed the Thorms one by one. You who allowed Wyll to break Mizora’s pact. You who completed the gauntlet of Shar, who saved the Nightsong with your own two hands. That helped Astarion with the letters on his back, and that prevented Gale from using his orb - because you were so certain you all could win without it. 

It was your touch and kindness that gave Shadowheart grace enough to throw away her Sharran roots, to throw away her past and embrace her own convictions just like you had promised to embrace yours. 

The world has not been saved. The journey to the end has only become more perilous. But in the palm of your hand is the Netherstone of the fallen general - and an entire allegiance waiting to follow you into battle. The world has not been saved, and it is only bound to get more treacherous. 

But for now, you’ve accomplished something great - and Wyll is proud to be alongside you for all of the rest, as you move onto things even greater. 

For now, all of you remain at camp. A two day extended break before venturing towards the city. Among your camp now is the famed harper Jaehira and more importantly - Dame Aylin, the chosen of your goddess. And the cleric Isobel, her lover, of course.

Dame Aylin’s arrival at your camp has sparked plenty of interesting conversations. Revelations of Shadowheart’s identity aside (something you’ve been helping her through), Dame Aylin is not just a fellow Selunite - but the daughter of your beloved goddess. Not only have you just saved her life, you’ve freed her from thousands of years of torment. 

Wyll doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so utterly awe-struck in your adventure together, even once. You’re a hard person to shake in many ways, and you’re excitable - but nearly never truly awestruck like the way you have been for the last two days. 

Wyll is listening in on the interaction from afar, only taking small peeks at you as you, Shadowheart, Dame Aylin and Isobel crowd around in your tent. Your tail is swishing so helplessly behind you Wyll can’t help but laugh.

“God. You’ve been staring like a dumb puppy for two days now,” Shadowheart teases, rubbing your head with her hand “You’re going to catch flies with your jaw like that.” 

“Ah, I’m sorry,” You say, a little embarrassed. Wyll smiles to himself as he pretends to read, thankful to be in earshot “I’m sorry, I’m just… It was already nice meeting another Selunite but…I could live a thousand lives and not meet you Miss Aylin.” 

“Your formality is misplaced. Aylin is just fine. We are comrades in all regards, both in our faith and in arms. I’m thankful you’ve given us a place to stay for the time being,” 

“Camp welcomes all as policy. It helps to have allies and in lands like these, seems a little cruel to leave people to the wilds. Though soon that won’t be an issue,” 

“You’ve accomplished something incredible,” Isobel praises. Wyll glances at you, a warmth settling in his chest at the surprise you seem to feel. “Lifting the curse from these lands, it was no small task.” 

“It was all of our contribution! I’m just glad we’re a little bit closer to getting rid of these pests.” You lament with a dramatic sigh “And I’m excited to be in a place where I can feel the presence of the moon again.” 

“It must be hard on you,” Isobel says sympathetically. You smile. 

“I can hardly imagine,” Aylin adds, shaking her head. “There is perhaps some small blessing in the fact you’re gifted with control, but the effects that these lands must have on your body. May She ease your burden.” 

Shadowheart gives you a look of confusion. “You know, you’ve mentioned this to me before - but I don’t actually know how it affects your conditions,” Her frown deepens. “A little hypocritical given how much you know about me at this point, I think.” 

You look surprised then flattered. “It was never worth mentioning. My body has certain cycles that are affected by the moon. Similar to the tide. After 6 tendays, I go through something like.. a fever as a result of a full moon. Though I’ve been suppressing it with medication, my body at a certain point needs to expel it.” 

“A fever?”

This catches Wyll’s attention. You’ve mentioned your condition in passing and always left the details vague (something Wyll is extra aware of given your love of being open in most everything) so this is the most he’s ever heard about it. He stops turning pages and tunes in completely. 

“Sort of. The details aren’t important, really. I’ve gone through it for years, so I’m more than used to it. Especially on the road,” You explain, waving your hand. “Silver Lady bless me, I don’t think it’ll begin until we’re in the city at least. Near civilization and all.” 

“Do you need anything from us?” Shadowheart probes with obv. Lately when it comes to you, she doesn’t bother feigning indifference. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to it! I was going to mention it though soon, so I guess it’s a good thing it came up,” You lean back on your palms, legs crossed as you close your eyes. “I’ll be gone for about a tenday. I’ll leave my tent here and just pack some essentials and fuck off to the woods. Like I said, I’ve been doing it for years.” 

Shadowhearts frown deepens, as does Wylls. 

“That was then and this is now. You’re a rather wanted individual, will that be safe? A tenday of solo travel?” 

You give Shadowheart a delighted look before tackling her with a hug. She almost topples over but manages to keep herself upright as you hug and nuzzle her. She doesn’t push you off in any case. You laugh warmly, resting your chin on her shoulder. 

“You’re really worried about me? Little old me? Have you opened your heart to me after all?” You say through a giggle, earning a few laughs from Dame Aylin and Isobel. You finally pull away to look at her. “I promise I will be completely fine. My senses around that time are extremely heightened. I’m feverish but it’s very difficult to catch me off-guard enough for some kind of ambush. Worst case scenario, I shift and run away.” 

Shadowheart does not seem comforted by this. Wyll feels the same, thankful she’s being so adamant about it. 

“I don’t like those odds,” She says with her arms crossed. “Is there no one you can bring with you?” 

When she says that, you  turn to Wyll. Your eyes lock briefly. You look a little startled, but relax once you realize that it’s him. Wyll is a little startled too, embarrassed by his own staring. He can only hope you didn’t notice how obviously he was moments prior. You take a minute to consider him, your gaze raking over him. It’s a split second, barely noticeable - but afterwards you flush. It happens so quickly that Wyll wonders if he’s imagined the entire thing. 

You laugh and Wyll swears it sounds nervous. 

“I get a little…aggressive during that time.” You say dismissively. “It’s best to leave me to my own devices. I promise you I will be perfectly fine.” 

“I don’t know how much I believe that, but I’ll try to put my faith in you. Don’t make me worry while these damn parasites are still in our heads.”

You throw your head back and laugh brilliantly.

“I’ll make it back to you in one piece,” You say, holding your pinky out. Shadowheart hooks her own into yours with a blush. “I promise on the Moonmaiden herself.” 

Shadowheart sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. Your smile grows ten sizes. 

“You better.” 

__

The journey, of course, does not get any easier. 

You’ve barely made it to Rivington. Barely. Not only have you had to fight off a camp of hateful githyanki and earned the ire of an alien goddess - you’ve just found out the person protecting you is a mindflayer. 

After a tremendous amount of difficult information launched at the lot of you, you’ve managed to regain your bearings (some kind of miracle, Wyll thinks). You’ve made it to Rivington. Finally. 

Hells. What a troublesome situation. 

You’ve been in Rivington for a few days now, though you haven’t made it far. After being at the circus and a somewhat harrowing fight with a shapeshifting clown, you decide to put up for the night. Before nightfall, you announced to everyone at camp that you’d be disappearing for your supposed fever. You can feel it coming on, and by the time it starts - traveling will be difficult. 

Everyone has had their own way of fussing over you. Gale has given you some scrolls of his own curation. Astarion silently handed you one of his favorite daggers and a pack of expensive arrows. Lae’zel has given you some potions, testing your reflexes with you before your disappearance. Shadowheart gives you as many healing potions as she can, and her blessing with the help of Dame Aylin. Karlach has little to offer you in terms of things, instead knocking your heads together and telling you to scream as loud as you can if anything happens - and she’ll come running no matter what happens. Halsin has dried some food for you ahead of time, ever the planning kind. 

Wyll only gives you a long look of concern. Most of the conversation between you is had with eyes, a soft glance meeting a concerned one. With Wyll, you hold his hand and assure him that you’ll be fine - and to take care of them in your short absence. You hug him extra tight before you leave.Wyll is forced to let you disappear. 

It’s really not like Wyll to be so invasive on another person's business. He knows he can be a busybody when it comes to helping someone but for the most part - he’ll respect a person's wishes. If someone doesn’t want intervention, it’s not Wyll’s place to force it on them. He's learned from experience that sometimes it makes the situation worse. 

But shit, the worry has been eating Wyll alive. He could hardly sit still in the brief two hours you had disappeared. The rest of the party have regrouped in your absence. Gale, Astarion, Shadowheart and Lae’zel - while Karlach and Wyll planned to stay behind. Wyll had wanted to go but Astarion wouldn’t allow him. Said his pining would get in the way of everything. He’s off his game, and it’s best to wait till you return. 

It’s getting closer to evening, the sun beginning to set. Wyll just can’t sit still. There’s no way a tenday is going to pass like this without Wyll effectively losing his mind. 

Just as the sky begins to be painted orange, Wyll troubles Shadowheart in the middle of her meditations. 

One of her eyes opens as she breaks her concentration, an amused smile showing on her face. 

“That was quick,” She says first, looking up at Wyll from where she’s kneeled. “I thought you’d wait at least a day,” 

“Pardon?” 

Shadowheart laughs. “Oh, to chase them down I mean. I knew it was going to happen eventually, but this is a little fast even for you, Ravengard.” 

Wyll doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

“My apologies for being predictable,” Wyll says with a sigh. “But since you were anticipating it, I have to ask if you know anything. Where they’d be. Anything.” 

“This is exactly why they didn’t tell you, you know? Not that I’m not worried about them too,” Shadowheart says with a sigh. “But they were clear. They need a tenday alone.” 

Wyll looks at her. “I’ve never been like this before, either. I don’t understand it, but I haven’t been able to take my mind off it despite my efforts. Regardless of what you tell me, it seems like I’m going to follow them,” 

“Oh, please,” Shadowheart says, standing up and dusting herself off as she looks at him directly “You don’t know why? Don’t you think it’s time to be a little more honest with yourself, Wyll? I mean really.”

Wyll widens his eyes, a little taken aback by it. He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. He scrunches his brow a bit, unsure of what to say to defend himself. 

“Well, I am aware of why, I suppose. But it’s,” He fumbles in the process of trying to say anything sensible. “It’s new.. I didn’t think I was this sort of person. Something along those lines. It’s not that I don’t have confidence in them, but this isn’t something they need to endure alone.” 

“Not when you’re there for them, I’m guessing,” 

Wyll smiles a little sheepishly. “Yes. I respect their privacy. I’ll turn back if they ask me too,” 

“Oh, don’t worry, that was easy enough to figure out.” Shadowheart teases. Wyll covers his face. Is he a schoolboy, being teased about his crush like this? How ridiculous. “At least you know.” 

He sighs.

“Will you at least tell me what you know?” 

“I’m still thinking about it.” Shadowheart says thoughtfully. She makes an exaggerated gesture of contemplating the situation before shrugging. “Hm. You know, I’ve entered a totally new chapter of my life - so, out of the kindness of my heart I’ll tell you what I know.” 

“Thank you.” Wyll says truly grateful. Shadowheart gives him what Wyll thinks of as a semi-fond smile. He hopes this means she approves of whatever is going on. You two are close as ever, so it does matter to Wyll how she feels about it. 

“They were rather vague about the situation,” Shadowheart says honestly. “But they did tell me the direction they were going to travel. There’ll be marks in the trees so they can make their way back if something happens. If you can find where they started, it should be easy enough to find where they end up. That’s all I know. Good luck.” 

“Thank you, Shadowheart.” 

“Oh and, go pack some things of your own before you go. Just in case you end up staying.” 

“Right. I’ll do that now.” 

“I’ll let everyone know so leave as soon as you can.” 

“It looks like I'll be owing you quite a few favors.” Wyll offers. Shadowheart smiles. 

“Of course. Nothing in life is free. But go, shoo. You should go before it gets too dark.” 

Wyll gives her one last look of gratitude before hurrying to prepare a pack. 

__ 

Wyll barely makes it before the darkness settles in. 

There’s enough moonlight to guide him through the tricky paths of the forest. Let the record show, Wyll has no idea how you’ve navigated through here. Like Shadowheart had promised him - the trees began to be marked once Wyll found your paw prints on the ground. On each tree was a the slashing of a sharp dagger. 

Despite the clear path you laid out, the terrain is utterly unforgiving for the longest time. Had the signs of you not been in front of him, Wyll would’ve given up on the affair. This is saying something, because his time as the Blade of Frontiers was far from a life of luxury. 

It’s difficult but the promise of Wyll’s good eye laying its gaze on you is enough to push him through to the end of the journey. 

Eventually, eventually - the path clears. The trees start to become sparse and the area starts to flatten to something walkable. The dirt hardens underneath his feet and his muscles no longer drag. 

Before Wyll lays eyes on you, he hears you. 

There’s a campfire, and the shelter of a borrowed tent. You’ve laid out plenty of old rags and bedsheets - layers and layers of dusty fabric and old pillows giving you a cushion from where you’re curled up on a tree. 

Before Wyll can see you in the faint glow of fire, the only thing his mind can pay attention to is the sound of your voice. 

A pained whimper, so loud and high pitched - Wyll is shocked he didn’t hear it some distance ago. You’re practically shaking, short snarls and desperate yowls between hard pants.You sound like you’re suffering something grave. It’s nothing he’s ever heard in your time together, despite the horrific injuries you’ve endured. Even at near death, Wyll has never heard more than labored breathing and groans. 

It’s pure distress, so broken it rings in his ears. His concern grows ten sizes. 

He decides then that no matter what you tell him, he won’t be able to go back to camp to leave you alone. 

He fights the urge with his body to run towards you, remembering the state you’re in. Prone to aggression and high-alert, Wyll forces himself to approach you slowly. 

As soon as he’s within range of you, your entire body lurches forward to sit up. Your eyes open, wide and nearly feral - searching erratically. Wyll pauses, no longer in a soft crouch. He stands to full attention. When you finally look at him, your chest shakes with an exhale. You lean back against the tree behind you where you’re curled, shaking. 

“Fuck,” You cover your nose first, pressing your arm against it as you curl away from him instinctively. Wyll feels a mix of guilt and worry. “Fuck, what in the Hells are you doing here? Was it Shadowheart? Even—even though I told her,” 

He moves in just a step closer. “I asked her. But I intended to find you even if you didn’t tell me. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen,” 

“Shit, don’t get any closer. I-I’m already, shit,” You hold up a hand, though your entire body is fragile. Weak, even from this distance. “Don’t move. You,” Another labored breath “Go back.” 

Wyll stills, but doesn’t budge. His frown deepens. “You don’t have to endure this alone,” He steps closer. “I’m here for you,” 

“It’s not about—fuck,” You curl into yourself, turning your face away from him. “It’s n-not about that. Not personal. You need to get out of here, Wyll, please. Please listen to me and, and go.” 

Wyll wants to ask how he could leave you in this condition, but the desperation in your voice stops him. He feels uncertain, but his body - his mind, won’t listen to him.

“Tell me what’s happening to you,” Wyll pleads. He wants to run to you. He hates seeing you in this much pain. He wants to hold you, his heart is practically pounding. “Are you in pain?” 

Your expression strains, but you force your gaze towards him. Your eyes are wide. They shine with water and wetness, your tearstained expression landing on his face. 

“Fuck, Wyll, you - I’m in heat. So d-don’t come any closer. Go, go—please, I’m begging.”

Heat. Wyll knows little about the cycles of werewolves. But he knows about wolves, and other animals at least. Heat. A period of heightened sexual reception during mating season. Wyll pauses, then blinks. His stomach drops, heart quickening. 

Shit. Shit. 

“You’re in…heat.” 

“Y-yes. And it lasts for a tenday, so you need to listen to me and get out of here. Now.” 

Wyll doesn’t move. 

“Would,” Wyll swallows the thick feeling in his throat. “If someone else had come. Would you have,” 

He hardly knows what he’s asking. But it seems you do, because you open your eyes - in utter distress and shake your head. 

“No,” You shake your head and hold your breath, trying to calm yourself as you breathe. You focus on breathing only out of your mouth. “Just you.” You close your eyes again and continue to tremble. “Please. Please go, Wyll.” 

He comes closer. Your voice croaks as you try to shout at him, though the words are too faint to be called that. Nonthreatening and utterly desperate. 

“No, no, no—please,” Your words become a sob, and Wyll feels his heart start to crack a little. “You don’t understand. It h-hurts. If you get too close, if you—” 

“What is it?” He gets close enough to be within real range of you. There’s only a few feet of distance between you. Wyll kneels so he’s not looming over you, looking over you with concern. “What’s wrong?” 

You shake and shake and shake, closing your eyes - tearing your gaze away from him. Your lower lips waver, both hands covering your face as you cry. 

“Your s-scent,” You heave, trying to push back against the tree.  “It’ll make me want to t-touch you. And I can’t. I can’t and—I want too. So badly, you’re so close, please stay away. It’s cruel, so cruel to me,” 

Wyll feels his own voice almost give out. Seeing you like this. So desperate. Needy. The guilt is outweighed by another feeling he chooses not to name.

“You can touch me,” He assures. 

You sob. 

“Not just touch. Wyll, please, go.” 

“Hells,” He comes closer towards you and you flinch. “I’m not so clueless. I know what you meant. It’s alright.” 

Your eyes flicker open in disbelief. 

“You,” You look at him through teary eyes. “I-it’s important to you to... With someone you love. Not like this.” 

“Gods, who else but you? I love you,” Wyll says with his own voice nearly shot. Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Of course I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.” 

“Wyll,” You sob for a different reason this time. “I love you. I w-want you, I want you.” 

“Tell me. Can I touch you?”

“Please,” You’re so tender like this. Wyll has never seen it in his life. It’d be unimaginable, had he not witnessed. 

Strong and capable and brave and rowdy - reduced to a fragile, pleading mess. 

Wyll doesn’t know how to touch you. If he were more honest with himself in the moment - more sensible, he’d admit this to you in a quiet secret. He doesn’t have room for doubt now, so Wyll is gentle when he reaches for you. He pulls your wrists from where they’re glued to you, unfurls your form slowly and looks closely at your face. He guides your hands around his neck and brings you towards him. With slow, careful maneuvering - he sits down with you. 

Holding you in his embrace, he brings you into his lap  - sitting where you once were. Until you’re over his own, resting your full weight against his. Your knees rest on either side of his thighs, straddling him. You look at Wyll from above, your lower lip still quivering. 

“It’s alright,” He says, hands on your waist but not moving “Take what you need,” 

With a wordless whimper, you grab the fabric of Wyll’s clothing, light armor that he changed into before leaving - tight enough he can feel the tension in fabric. You lean in, your eyes shut tightly and press your nose along the side of his neck. Wyll can feel you bump against this jaw. He tilts his head back to give you more access to him. His body is hot with your sudden proximity, your own skin completely feverish from need. You inhale, so deeply and so wantonly Wyll doesn’t know what else to do other than sit and let you. 

The thought passes. Like a mutt. Like a puppy. You breathe Wyll in like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, grinding instinctively on his lap. Something that he overlooks for the sake of being the sane one between you. 

“You,” Your voice has calmed down a fair bit, though it's just as thick as it was before. “Shit, it’s so good.”  

Your grip on his clothes tighten. Wyll rubs a soothing hand on your waist, still over your clothes. You continue it, taking deep breaths of him like a life-line until your grip starts to loosen. You’re no longer shaking at least. You pull away from him with wet pleading eyes, butting your forehead with his. Wyll winces, but bites back a smile at you once he realizes you’re a tad bit more sobered up. 

“What in the hells are you doing here?” You interrogate.

“Are you alright?” Wyll says, ignoring your first question. “Has it gone down?” 

“It comes in waves. The first wave has passed, but the second one will hit soon enough. Five minutes if I had to guess,” You say, shaking your head. You fix your gaze on him. Wyll suddenly becomes aware of your proximity (or lack thereof). “Why are you here, Wyll?” 

“Why? A better question is how could I not be here?” Wyll says carefully, examining your every expression. “An ominous sickness, traveling alone for an entire tenday when we’ve all spent our entire journey together. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but I couldn’t sit back quietly while I was so worried for your safety.” 

“Like I told you and everyone else, I’m fine. I’ve been handling heats alone since I started puberty. It’s not a very pretty sight,” You pout shyly. Wyll finds it utterly adorable. “And well, it’s not like I can announce to everyone I’m in literal heat. Fever is easier.” 

“I’m sorry if I’ve invaded your privacy. If I had known,” He clears his throat, looking away from you “If I had known it was something like this, I would’ve approached it more delicately.” 

“My brain is too heat-addled to be properly embarrassed, which is lucky - because I’m definitely going to be pissed when this is over.” You say, clutching the front of his shirt again. “Everything is all out of order now.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“You’re the one going on about keeping things old school, you know.” 

“Well yes. But it’s not for any reason so rigid,” Wyll reaches his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing underneath your eyes. “These sorts of affairs are more enchanting when the love is there. That’s the part that matters.” 

“You’re not disappointed that the first time we’re touching each other is because I’m this desperate to touch you?” 

“I just like being able to hold you. For any reason at all,” Wyll says honestly, then adds. “And well, if I were to be frank, seeing you in this state is… rousing. In its own right.” 

You flush, and mumble. “Pervert.” 

He forgives the comment just as you’ve forgiven him for his intrusion. He looks at you tenderly, heart swelling so much it’s almost overflowing. 

“Will you allow me to stay by your side?” 

“This goes on for a tenday. And it doesn’t get any easier. Do you really know what you’re asking? Do you have that kind of stamina?” 

Wyll smiles at you. He wants to kiss you. 

“Around something as enticing as you, stamina should pose no issue.” He flirts. 

“Gods, Wyll - where’d you learn to talk like that?” 

He smiles cheekily. “Esoteric erotica novels from my fathers chambers, mostly. Overhearing things at Sharesses Caress helped too.” 

You giggle a little bit. This time you’re the one leaning into him. 

“The waves will get longer and more intense. They peak around the fourth day and begin to mellow out at the start of the fifth,” You give him a look before looking away, profusely embarrassed. “Uhm. The only thing that soothes it is, well, you know. I mean I get really… I cry a lot.” 

Wyll doesn’t communicate to you the fact he knows. He did just see after all, and it’s not like he particularly enjoys seeing you suffer. He’s not that sort of man, but. He likes taking care of you, in all aspects. You’ve had to take care of yourself for so long. It feels good that he’s allowed into something that you’ve kept private all this time. 

It’s fair if he’s a little cocky about it, he thinks. 

“You can show me everything about yourself and I won’t turn my gaze away from you. Nothing could make me look away,” 

You pout again. Wyll notices you do it when you’re feeling especially embarrassed. He opts not to say anything, just smiles. 

You take a deep, shaky breath. “It’s going to start again soon. Everything is fine with me, just—stay close. Close enough that I can tuck into you.”

“Something to do with my scent, I suppose? I am curious to know what.” 

“Well I like you. And it’s comforting. But it turns me on, too. Especially like this.”

“And that’s why you were pushing me away earlier?” 

You nod, taking a deep breath. Your voice regains that sweet, thick quality that Wyll is beginning to recognize as desire.

“Mm. I’m a lot stronger than you a-and my heads not very clear,” You shake your head as you explain this to him. “It would’ve..haah..been painful. Really.” 

“So it has that kind of effect on you,” Wyll concludes. Your eyes are lidded. You’re overwhelmed. It’s an interesting position. As far as Wyll’s concerned, he probably only smells like forest right now. He looks at the way you’re shaking like a leaf, then continues “I have that kind of effect on you,” 

“Yes,” You huff, leaning against him again. Your head on his shoulder, nose brushing against his skin. He’s sweating from the journey up. He can’t really wrap his mind around what it could be that you like so much about him or how he smells. “Fuck, yes - you do.” 

It’s an odd position to be in. Wyll is a righteous man but the thoughts that swarm him now are anything but. There’s nothing foreign about being wanted. His time as the Blade of Frontiers has had him propositioned for such affairs more times than he can remember. 

No ones ever been desperate for him, though. You’ve never been desperate about anything. You’re emotional and light-hearted and wise and kind. Not desperate. Never that. 

Except right now, you’re looking up at him with your pupils blown wide and your lower lip shaking. There’s sweat dripping down the crown of your head. Your ears are perked up, your whole body tense with need. You’re practically intoxicated above him, and Wyll can’t help but feel something less than heroic about it. 

“I’m hardly half the man I claim to be,” Wyll says, a little dazed. “You make me forget myself. My virtue.” 

“What’s virtue to love, Ravengard?” You lean in closer to him, your noses brushing. It must be coming again, the next wave. “You’re just Wyll to me, remember? Not a paragon of decency.” Your face is close. Your lips are close. Tempting. “Touch me. Or make love to me, if you’d prefer to call it that.”

It feels like there’s no air in Wyll’s lungs. Not enough to take a breath. He cups the nape of your neck with his hand, and your skin is so hot it nearly burns. You’re feverish, and sweaty - when Wyll touches you, you react right away. He stares at you. Everything feels distant, far-away. How many times have the two of you been like this? How many times have you nearly crossed this threshold before retreating back into each other? 

Wyll can think of one hundred times he’s thought of kissing you. When you’re covered in blood and gore, when you smile, when the sun through the trees makes your fur look shiny and beautiful, when Astarion pets you, when you hug Karlach for the first time. He can compile every time the urge has come over him. 

It feels unreal to kiss you now, after all that. 

You open your mouth slightly, a choked moan passing through your lips as Wyll presses his own to yours. Yours are soft. The first thing he notices is the shape of your teeth, the sharp edge of your fangs - protruding and clumsy. None of it matters. Nothing matters except you and this. 

You’re huffy and eager when Wyll kisses you. A slow peck at first before he pulls away, delighted by the way you chase his mouth. Then again with your mouth open a little wider, panting hotly as you urge Wyll to give you a little more. Your hands are gripping his armor again, tight enough to rip the material. You’re too drunk on your own need, to notice anything about anything. 

It’s something about you - something about you Wyll has known since forever. You get lost in things, in fights or in books that Gale reads. Sometimes you just give up thinking entirely and let your instinct guide you. And it makes enough sense, you’re a werewolf - part hungry animal by blood. Of course your baser instinct feels more natural. 

It’s not very kind to think, but Wyll isn’t saying it to be unkind. He likes it. He likes that you think with your heart less than your head. He likes when you give into the most animal parts of you. 

Wyll is not in the same place as you. His head is meant to be clear. He’s seemingly sober for this affair. 

But his body betrays his mind so quickly it’s laughable. 

He doesn’t really know what to do with himself. All of the blood in his body is running hot, and all of it floods south more quickly than he can control it. Before he knows what he’s doing, his hands are clasping around your waist and he’s kissing you deeper. He lets his tongue brush yours, lets his teeth sink into the plush of your lower lips. He sucks and bites and licks as you breathe each other in.

You kiss Wyll until your lips are swollen, chest heaving as you pull away from each other. There’s something juvenile about the affair, enough to make you laugh even in the state you’re in. And Wyll laughs too, stares at your expression only illuminated by moonlight. 

“I love you,” Wyll repeats. You’re startled by it this time. “Gods, I love you.” 

Your voice is thick. “I love you too. Touch me, please.” 

“How should I touch you my love?” 

“However you want. As long as you touch me.” 

“However I want,” Wyll says contemplatively. He’s quick to maneuver you both to the ground when he says this. A little closer to the warmth of the fire, on the sheets and pillows you’ve set up underneath you both. You look up at him wide-eyed as your back touches the ground. “You should choose your words carefully. I may take you up on making love.” 

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down to you.

“Do it before I lose my mind anymore,” 

Wyll laughs playfully against your skin.

The act of undressing each other is unceremonious. Wyll peels the padded armor off his body, leaving him in trousers. He helps you out of your own clothes. He’s seen you naked more than once, but never for this. For him. He studies the way your muscles fall, the hair on your skin. Various scars. Everything for him to gaze on. 

Your own hand reaches up to his neck, on his shoulder as your mouth falls open. “You’re so attractive. Do you know?” 

He laughs. “It doesn’t hurt to hear you tell me.” 

You seem eager to admire his body. Wyll doesn’t stop you. Your palms are much smoother than he’d think of them to be, as they plane over the expanse of his muscled chest. You let your fingers drift over raised scars on abdomen, over his nipples and down his abdomen. Wyll feels his cock twitch unhelpfully. You must notice the same because your eyes light up. Your hand reaches even further, even lower - cupping the hard outline of his length. He hisses through his teeth. 

“You’re…” You mumble, squeezing again. “For me,” 

“You’re beautiful,” Wyll says. You flush. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Your voice is almost petulant. 

“And I’ve longed for you since that very moment” 

Your pout deepens before you brush Wyll’s hand with yours. 

“You can do the same for me.”

Wyll stares at you before leaning back down to kiss you. He doesn’t linger at your mouth, chaste pecks that pave the path for Wyll to worship the rest of you. He wants to worship every inch. He lets his lips leave kisses all over your face. He kisses the scars along your skin, the corner of your mouth, your eyelids. 

His tongue laves down your jaw until he’s at your neck. You breathe unsteadily as he continues down to the column of your throat. Wyll is gentle. He doesn’t bite. He steadies his hands at your waist and only kisses. Presses his face to your skin and pricks you with his want. It’s slower than you want, he can tell from how your legs are wrapped helplessly around his waist. 

Your lower-half is grinding against him, against air - anything you can find. Little shameless mewls and so much squirming. Wyll knows you’re needy, and he is too - but this is your first time together. 

He couldn’t do anything but savor it no matter how much you whined. Right now you are his, hidden from the moon. From the camp. 

You are his and he will take you apart as he pleases. 

“Please,” You whine, taking a deep breath of him again. You inhale, nudging the parts of him available to him. “Please.” 

A little mercifully, he gives you a little more. He grabs your hips and positions you better over his cock. He moves his hands from your waist to squeeze the soft flesh of your breasts. He licks the salt of your skin, meeting your movements. 

“I know, I know. Endure it,” He says, pressing a kiss to your sternum. “Indulge me.” 

You bite back your complaint. You’re forgiving as always.

His mouth closes around your nipples, hard under his tongue. Your spine arches, but Wyll pushes you down and steadies you. His other hand squeezes the one he isn’t servicing, thumb drawing over your nipples. He gauges your breathing as he tries different motions until settling on rolling it with his thumb. The right thing to do, if your reaction is anything to go by. 

He feels something against the seam of his pants when he goes between them, pleasuring you. A wetness where his cock meets your clothed sex.  One that soaks underneath two layers of clothes. He looks up at you, wide-eyed. 

You’re unaware of anything. Too busy in the chase of pleasure. 

He wonders if it’s a result of your heat. He doesn’t know anything about them aside from the fact it happens and it makes you like this - but what it does to your body is still foreign to him. His cock is throbbing hard enough to make him light-headed. He tries to approach this with a light hand and patience. 

But shit, the way you’re searching for it is too arousing. You’re seeking an orgasm so desperately, all little rutting twitches and uneven movements. The first of the tears start to form on your lower lashes. Your eyelashes are wet. Fat tears drip down your cheeks, falling down the side of your face. Wyll is less concerned than you would be if you hadn’t told him that you would cry - but gods. 

“You’re a mess,” He says with an absent fondness. You whine and nod in agreement. Wyll is lucky to witness this, he realizes too late. “Is it painful?” 

Your voice is scratchy from crying. “Aches. Aches so much, need more, please. Trying to be patient but it aches.” 

He hums to himself, undoes the death grip your legs have on his waist before starting to kiss a path down to your navel. It’s clear you make an attempt to ask him what he’s doing, but the words cut off when you realize he’s getting closer to where you need. 

You’re holding your breath, your hands curled at your sides like you don’t know what to do with them. You’ve never been so uncertain in front of him. You help slide your bottoms off - everything in one go. Your knees are bent in the air, covering where Wyll is most keen to see you. He kisses your calves. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, remember?” 

You take a deep breath and lay your feet flat on the ground, spreading your legs enough to give Wyll a perfect view. He’s always tried not to look, but now he can’t stop staring. A thick layer of hair covers your cunt. His hands shake as he pulls you forward to look closer, and your own hands go to cover your face. 

“I can feel you breathe,” You whisper, and Wyll laughs. He’s still looking, examining you closely. He uses his fingers to pull you apart, awestruck by you. You’re so wet it’s dripping, pulsing helplessly without Wyll touching you at all. The sheet underneath you darkens with arousal. Your clit is throbbing with need, all fluttery. “Stop looking,” 

Wyll does what any gentleman would do. He pulls away, his hands settling on your thighs - and starts to kiss all the way up from the inside of your knee. He does it on both sides, before finally kissing your clit tucked away underneath everything. Your breath hitches, stomach tensing.

“Tell me where you feel it. Let me learn you.” 

“Hicc,” You nod soft and sweet. “Okay,” 

Wyll smiles against you. 

For as much as Wyll puts on a show, the first time he actually tastes you exceed all expectations. The loss of composure is nearly instant. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he lets the weight of his tongue drag through your folds, arousal collecting on the tip. Your reaction comes just as quick. 

“Fuck,” You cry out. Wyll feels your hands reach for him, a pleasant noise escaping him as you grip onto his horns. He’s never thought to touch them before. A feeling of electricity creeps up his back as your hands hold tight around the base of them.“Wyll, fuck - there,” 

He gets the message quick enough, laying his tongue flat on the hardened bundle of nerves. Your clit pulses for him. You taste heady and sweet, coating his entire mouth as he continues to eat. You guide him here and there - soft whispers of lower and higher until he ends up in the place you need. 

“That,” Your grip on his horns gets tighter as you grind yourself down on his tongue. Wyll feels his cock stiff against his stomach from where he lays. “Like that,”

He gives you more pressure as he licks your clit, sorting out a rhythm as he focuses his attention on one part of you. He wants to make you cum like this. You’re sensitive enough to do it. Your clit thrums as your mind goes muddy. Your body movements change as he continues to push you closer and closer to your high. He’s starting to understand what makes you tick. 

Wyll is a quick learner after all, dexterous and clever. 

Muscles clenching, your mouth falls open - eyes barely open as you moan. “Oh, oh, oh,” 

Wyll laps you up like ambrosia. He pulls away when you start to get close, ignoring your complaints. He wants to savor it now that he knows how to get you to the edge, so he does. He buries himself deeper into you, his nose bumping against your mound with every pass he makes over your slit. Your body is unbelievably sensitive. He dips his tongue into your tight hole and you nearly lurch forward with need. 

He starts a back and forth, going from licking long stripes along your slit determined not to let anything go to waste - back to focusing on where you need him most. He doesn’t mean to put you on edge so many times, no longer thinking clearly. 

You beg Wyll to make you cum by the time he’s back to reality, grabbing his horns hard enough to make him look at you. 

“Make me cum, please - can’t take it anymore, Wyll, please, fuck,” 

He hums against your sex before refocusing his attention. One last time he takes your throbbing clit into his mouth, lets it slide against his tongue and sucks on it. This time he relents to your need, and doesn't stop for any reason. He lets it build and build and build until he hears your voice break. 

Your back starts to arch, body going taut like a bowstring. Wyll hums against you, he wants to praise you but his mouth is busy. 

Then the thought occurs to him. It takes a little focus to reach your mind, and this is by all means - a terrible reason to use your shared connection. 

‘You’re doing so well, starlight,’ Wyll praises. Your eyes widen as you realize just how he’s doing it, a debauched and shocked moan tearing itself from your mouth ‘Beautiful. Sorry for teasing you. Can you cum for me? I want you to feel good,’ 

You hiccup, another loud sob as Wyll keeps steady. 

“C-cumming,” You choke on the words, on your spit. “I’m—fuck!” 

Wyll lets you ride your orgasm out as you cum for the first time in the night. Your body goes arching, gripping on his horns hard trying to pull him away as you push through to the other side. You’re pulsing in his mouth, tightening around nothing as you cum for him. It feels like it goes on forever, long waves and tremors until the feeling dies down. 

He pulls away once you’ve finally laid back down, exhausted and out of breath. You stare at him a little blankly, an arm covering your face. 

“Up here,” You say tiredly, gesturing him up. “I need to kiss you.” 

Wyll laughs good naturedly as you wrap an arm around Wyll’s neck, dragging him down towards you and kissing him hard - drunk off pleasure. You kiss him in chaste pecks,  hugging him. Nudging your nose along his neck, you whisper in his ear. 

“Take your pants off, dammit.” 

Wyll can’t help his laughter.

“I suppose it’s only fair,” 

You hook your fingers into Wyll’s trousers, helping him pull them down until his cock springs free. Your eyes go lidded as soon as you see it, hands cupping the now bare skin. Wyll hisses slightly at the sudden touch, unused to the friction. You look up at him, a hand between your bodies - closing your fist around the base of his cock. 

“Bumps and prongs, huh,” 

Wyll flushes immediately, making you laugh. 

“I hope you’re not making fun of me.” 

“How could I when I’m this turned on?” You offer sincerely. He shudders at the touch. “I like it. Can I blow you?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

Your turn to laugh. “I’m good at it. And I want to. It’s a little sensitive for you to fuck me, anyway.” 

Wyll swallows thickly. “I guess I have no reason to deny you.” 

“No you don’t. Now come on and stand up,” 

He gives you a hesitant look before peeling himself off of you. He stands to his feet, his pants still rolled down just past his thighs. He slides them off so the two of you are naked, and laments a little in his mind about the fact you’re doing this deep in the outdoors. You’re quick to follow Wyll, walking on your knees towards him until you’re eye-level with his cock. 

He’s never gotten this far. He’s a romantic in all the ways it matters, so save for some grinding and kissing - it’s a new experience. You look like you know what you’re doing though. You kiss his hips, hands on his thighs and an expression that he finds remarkably innocent for what you’re about to do. All Wyll can do is watch, and feel increasingly fidgety about the sight in front of him. 

You crane your head down and place pecks from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip. You let his cock rest against your face, taking a sharp inhale of the skin - perverse and desperate.  Wyll groans, deep from his chest as you smile. You’re not unsettled by it at all, as reverent as you always are. 

His body has grown especially sensitive because of Mizora’s interference. He can feel the heat in his blood starting to swell as blood rushes to his cock, making him grow bigger. The way you’re looking at him isn’t helping. 

You poke your tongue out from your mouth and leave long licks along his cock - from base to tip. Like you sense he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, you guide them to hold your head. He feels a weird sense of guilt about it, but the pleasure outweighs the shame - he doesn’t force you down. Just keeps you painfully steady as you do all of the world. 

Fuck, he’s sensitive. Every little wet lick and stroke is enough to make his spine prick with need. The tip of his cock leaks pre-cum. You press it against your lips as your hand wraps around his shaft in full, your tongue dipping into the slit making Wyll hiss. 

“Shit,” He huffs, hands gripping tighter but not moving you “That feels good,” 

You give him a little smile that makes Wyll’s stomach flip. Like you know it’s going to catch him off guard, you finally open your mouth to take the tip of his cock into your mouth. It’s lighter and more sensitive than the rest of his cock. You wrap your tongue around it with expertise and Wyll finds himself nearly bedding on the knee, legs starting to feel weak.

You use one hand to steady yourself on his thigh, the other slipping between your legs. 

He can only watch on in awe, the impressive way you sink around the hot, hard length. Your tongue is soft, the cavern of your mouth wet and inviting. Wyll nearly breaks - almost fucks into your throat by bucking up. He restrains himself as you go lower and lower, eyes going increasingly wide as his cock disappears in the column of your throat. Just when he thinks you can’t get any further, you do. He can feel the tip disappear in the narrowness of your throat, awestruck as drool starts to drip from the sides of your mouth. 

You make a sound, muffled as you hit the base of Wyll’s cock like it’s nothing. You sink in further, nose pressing against his navel as you glance up at him. It’s too lewd, damn near -  seeing you deepthroat him with such ease. You inhale again, and Wyll flushes at the realization of what you’re doing exactly. 

You pull off in one go, saliva dripping down your chin and neck as you open your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks and wrapping a free hand around whatever your mouth can’t easily reach, you start to set a pace. It’s fast and slick and messy, pre-cum mixed with saliva making your face grow sticky - taking deep breaths of Wyll’s scent and musk every time you manage to swallow it all. It’s depraved seeing you suck his cock with such obvious lust and desire, eager to swallow him and show him pleasure. 

Wyll feels the pleasure. His entire body feels like it’s being wrapped in something slick and warm, little sparks of electricity traveling from his fingertips to his spine. His head feels especially light, filled with fluff and devoid of conscious consideration. 

“Your mouth feels incredible,” Wyll groans, shuddering, holding your head as you let his cock bottom out in your mouth again “Hells,”

You sound pleased, a pleasant reverb going through his body as you set a pace - bobbing your head and swallowing every inch of him without flinching. The sound of your throat constricting around him and your own hands fill the surroundings. He’s glad you’re so lost in the movements because his own voice is punched out of him each time you go down. He didn’t know he was capable of making this much noise, such deep groans and heavy breaths every time you so much as move.

You pull him out completely, letting spit and saliva rub against your mouth as you tap against your face. Wyll feels a restless embarrassment at the pit of his stomach as you make eye-contact with him. He feels his cock twitch hard, something starting to come undone in his gut as he pulls you away. 

“Stop,” He wheezes, and you do with a pleased laugh “Shit that’s dangerous. You’re…talented.” 

You pause before breaking out into more giggles, kissing his cock one last time. Wyll covers his face with his hands. 

“Is that a compliment?”

“...It’s meant to be one.” 

“Glad you’re impressed,” You say with a wicked little grin - all sharp teeth and delight. “I wanted to go longer.” 

“We have days together. Another time, my love.” 

Your smile grows a little. You are bad for his heart in more ways than one, Wyll thinks. 

“Mm. Okay. I can’t really wait much longer, anyway. Another wave is gonna hit soon and I feel antsy.” 

“Get comfortable and lay down. And, I hate to ask so late - but should I be worrying…? About protection?” 

You blink at him as you set up on the ground, moving around pillows for you to lay on. You shake your head. “Mm. Should be fine. Getting contraceptives should be easier since we’re closer to the city. Unless you don’t want to take that risk?” 

Your expression is uncharacteristically innocent. Wyll weighs his desire against reason, a feeling of guilt washing over him at the clear winner. His cock is throbbing to the extent it’s near painful.

(He doesn’t hate the thought of giving you a child, either. Though he thinks it’s much too early to say something like that, and he’d prefer to plan something so important. Still, it isn’t the worst outcome. It’d be a precious little thing, half-werewolf and beautiful. 

He brushes over the thought just as quickly as he has it, a little taken aback by his own desires. It’s like everything is being bled from him, no thought too precious to strike his mind. It’s too early to think about, no less mention.

He should marry you before that. The thought of it makes him harder.) 

“As I had suspected, I’m only half the man I consider myself to be.” 

“Are you reflecting on your failings?” You tease. Wyll lets out a breath of air. 

“On my hypocrisy, if I were to put a name to it. I didn’t realize desire could be so debilitating.” Wyll explains, joining you where you lay. You giggle lightly as Wyll positions himself between your legs, leaning in to kiss you shortly. “Seems you’ve uncovered something I wasn’t aware of.” 

“Really?” 

Wyll laughs against your lips as he kisses you again. “You often do.” 

He brushes it aside as he pulls back. You lock eyes with him. Wyll is mesmerized. Your features start to round out again, eyes becoming glassy with need in the same familiar way as before. Wyll knows it now. He reaches over to cup your face with his palm, smile breaking his composure as you instinctively rub your cheek against the rough skin. He lets his thumb press against your lips, indulging your desire for affection. 

“Are you still all there?” 

“Hf. Yes. Not for long,” You say, urging him down towards you. Once again the proximity between you disappears. This time bare skinned, chest to chest. Wyll can feel the erratic thump of your heart, the unsteady quality in your breathing. You sink back into the same heat drunk place, a slow descent. Your pupils open wide enough for him to lose his senses. “Don’t keep me waiting, please.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You fall into a synchronicity this time around. Your legs spread wide, open and wanting. Wyll feels his throat start to close. His stomach flutters restlessly as he pushes his cock through your folds once, then twice - his head thrown back at the feeling of your bare skin. He reminds himself this isn’t something to get used to, but the pleasure is easy to indulge in. 

It’s worsened by the fact you’re beautiful. 

Wyll finds you so beautiful it’s ridiculous, even to him. The plush of your lips, the way your lashes fall along as your cheek, the shape of your eyes. All of you, bathed in moonlight and blessed by the higher powers. You’re a culmination, the very pinnacle of Wyll’s every last mad desire. If everything around him faded to nothing, Wyll would have no clue. No sense, no rational, no righteousness. With nothing but himself to offer you, he’s moonstruck. Hung up on your affection and the feeling of warmth of mutual love. 

The order is all out of sorts, and everything is complicated. But Gods. Gods. You’re more beautiful than every dream he’s ever seen you in. Even the magic of his mind couldn’t form something so perfect. 

“You’re really the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Your eyes widen, blinking rapidly before breaking out into a flush. “What are you saying?” 

“When I was a boy, I often imagined getting married,” Wyll says, drawing little circles along your hip. Your mouth opens, but falls shut as you feel the head of his cock push against you. You shudder as Wyll moves so slowly, with no intent of pushing in. “I had high hopes for love. The magic of fairy tale romance always spoke to me. I was fond of beautiful sights too, to boot.” 

Your breath hitches. Wyll feels you start to stretch around the tip of his cock. He swears under his breath, slowing even more. You let out a soft mewl as Wyll breathes through the sensation. 

“But you know,” He presses deeper, just slightly. A suggestion of a thrust. Your hand shoots out to grab Wyll’s wrist where he’s gripping you at the waist. His vision strains as he moves slowly, another terrible inch. “You’ve, haah,  exceeded my every expectation. There was no need for daydreaming.” 

You make a choked sound as Wyll goes even deeper. Your hands grip tight, that same drunken look returning to you. The parts of you that are still there are teary eyed, sniffling. Your cunt pulses around him, sucking him deeper. You feel good, but Wyll is more focused on you. Imprinting you into his memory, like tonight is the last time he’d ever get to see you. 

“If I could go back, to any time - I think I’d go back to being seventeen,” Wyll says with a smile, dropping himself closer to you. He leans up on his arm, noses brushing tenderly as you hiccup “I would tell Wyll from then to be strong. Become a Blade that can defend for the one who will become your shield.” 

You look up at him teary and frustrated. Your arms wrap around his neck as you cry, and Wyll laughs a little. Everything is so warm. He loves you. 

“If you’re any kinder to me, I don’t know what’ll become of me. Ugh, my eyes sting.” 

Wyll can’t help his smile. “We’ll have to see it through, then.” 

“Stop being so romantic and fuck me.” 

He kisses your hairline. “As you wish.” 

Wyll puts his hands up under your knees, folding you underneath him as he finally bottoms out. You both moan as you feel Wyll fill you up. You kiss him in that position, all desperation - tongue and teeth. Wyll is startled but indulges, a grinding thrust making you mewl into his mouth. He swallows the noise. 

“Fuck me,” You huff, your eyes bleary. “I can—can feel you in my stomach,” 

Wyll groans. 

You feel incredible. Wyll has to stop moving to steady his mind. He wants to last a little longer than a few seconds if he can help it. Your cunt wraps around his cock like silk. Sticky walls clinging to him like a vice, pulsing with need at the slightest movement. Wyll is connected to you in such an intimate way, it makes him feel visceral. Almost possessive. You hold on like you want to milk him for all he’s worth.

He takes another long breath, steadying himself as he pulls out and slams himself back in. You cry out in response to the first thrust, but you don’t ask him to slow down. Wyll focuses on keeping his thrusts weighted and steady, something constant enough that your focus doesn’t break. He wants to make you cum again, and he knows better what you need now. He keeps you pinned underneath the weight of him as he finds a pace to move to. 

Once he finds it, Wyll fucks you without abandon. You hold onto him tight, nose nudged against his neck as you let out the tiniest whimpers he’s ever heard you make. The pleasure debases you completely, makes you all wild. Wyll likes seeing you fall apart with each movement. Every time he pistons the right spot your eyes go wide and flutter back closed as if it’s too much. 

The two of you make a mess. Wyll can hear his cock pull and push the arousal out of you - each thrust wet. It’s messy enough to make your skin stick together. 

“Wyll,” You say his name like it’s a prayer of your goddess. Something to save you. Some kind of sacrilege that Wyll feels no guilt for. “I love you, I love you. Fuck—fuck me,” 

“You’re my whole life,” Wyll grunts. “I’ll give you everything. Everything, my love.” 

“I’m close,” Your voice is hoarse as you say it. “I’m so close, just a little—” 

Wyll knows what you’re asking for. His hand sneaks between your bodies, palm resting on your tummy as his thumb messy circles on your puffy clit. You choke on your words, a broken thank you among the mess as Wyll keeps fucking you. Determined to make you cum one more time, he goes and goes and goes. 

Wyll can feel you cum before you can tell him. You try to announce it, but the words don’t come out. He can feel your hesitance, feeling something in you as your teeth graze his necks. 

“You can bite me. I can withstand it, love”  

A pained whine is followed by the sharp feeling of your teeth in Wyll’s shoulder, as your voice breaks out into a howl. When you cum, you cum hard. Harder than before like you’re trying to latch onto him, your whole body going rigid before the tension breaks. Your orgasm crashes into you. You gasp as Wyll fucks you through it. He keeps fucking you through it until he feels you’ve calmed down. 

“Cum, Wyll. For me, please.” 

It’s enough to drive Wyll to the very edge. His desire reaches an impressive high. His thrusts become shallow, sloppy - the wet sound of him fucking you open finally reaching his ears as he gives into his own needs.  Wyll cums hard. He bottoms out as he does, thick white ropes painting your insides as the two of you lay with each other. 

When Wyll finally catches his breath and starts to go soft, he pulls away to look at you. You’re frowning at him. 

“Is something—” 

“Being sweet to me like that in the middle of that is unfair. I’m going to hold it against you.” 

Wyll pauses before breaking out into a giggle. 

“I was worried for a minute.” 

“I love you.” You add, a little softer time. “Thank you for coming to find me.” 

“Always.” Wyll replies, hugging you to him. “I adore you, you know.” 

__ 

EPILOGUE: 

You return to camp together at the end of your tenday. 

Wyll is covered in all sorts of marks by the time you’ve arrived, and so are you. There’s not really anything to do to hide that. Or to hide the fact he’s utterly exhausted by the whole thing. He’s drained, though he thinks he could do it again if he timed it better. 

It was nice to spend an entire tenday together, though. In between having sex or Wyll meeting your needs - you ate and slept and bathed together. Despite your circumstances the entire situation was domestic - and Wyll enjoyed being with you. 

You are absolutely chipper and uncaring about the situation. Wyll wishes he could be a little more like you in this case. 

The first person to see you at camp is Karlach. 

“Well, look who it is!” Karlach chirps, absolutely delighted. “The lovebirds are back,” 

The whole camp stirs at the announcement. It’s early enough that everyone is still at camp. Wyll feels his skin prick with heat as you leave his side, prancing over to Karlach to chat with her. Back to your usual self, Wyll feels a specific fondness about having seen a new side of you and remaining so unchanged. 

“Oh, you’ve returned?” Astarion says. Wyll looks up, surprised. 

“Ah, uhm, yes.” 

Astarion stands next to Wyll with his arms crossed. 

“Have you finally done it or do I have to endure more of your incessant pining?” 

Wyll chokes on his spit. 

“You’re losing your touch Astarion,” Shadowheart says, shuffling into camp from behind Wyll with a towel that needs to be dried. “That one over there is chipper and this one can barely look at them. Shouldn’t that tell you all you need to know?” 

“Tsk. You’re right. Congratulations are in order, I suppose. Or some celebration. At least I won’t have to see you two eye-fucking each other every day. It was getting dire..” 

“I wouldn’t be so confident,” Shadowheart says. “He’s doing it right now even after they spent a tenday wrapped in each other's arms.” 

Astarion sighs. “Gods. Can’t have anything these days.” 

Wyll opts not to say anything, handling them with usual grace. 

“Thanks for the congratulations,” Wyll says, staring at you idly. “Hope it wasn’t too difficult without us.” 

“Hardly.” 

Wyll smiles at that. He watches you as you talk to Karlach animatedly, smiling a little harder. He can take as much teasing as they dish out. 

He could endure it ten times over, as long as he gets to be with you. 

☾ a/n ; whew… we've made it to the end. i wrote this fic in a whopping 12 days. it was a crazy experience especially since i havent written anything i'd personally consider substantial since like.. idk april 2023. i also mostly write for anime so its a little nervewracking specifically writing for bg3. THAT BEING SAID. i love wyll. i started playing the game for him and he has bewitched me mind body and soul. it is rather disheartening to see how much larian dgaf about him so i guess part of me writing this is also trying to convince people to see what i see in wyll. something something that joan didion quote about writing as a form of violence bc of imposing views something something.

wyll is a really moving character to me. i like characters who are categorically so righteous it drives them to the destruction of themselves.

but the specific dichotomy of wyll - a man who has lost every ounce of agency time and time again with this tav was especially consuming. tav too is considered a monster, but they embrace and love this part of themselves. i think witnessing that, and the reframing monstrosity in wylls case is really helpful for him. tav doesnt know what losing their agency is like, but they're able to restructure wylls belief of what this new body of his is worth. that he is worthy all the same, and that he exists outside of being the blade. these sorts of things haunted me during this. but also… i just wanted to see wyll bang a desperate heat addled werewolf shorty. lol.

ANYWAYS. sorry for this MASSIVE wall of text. i just really love wyll so much and i hope this iteration of him felt in line with who he is. and if you're not a wyll fan and just a fic consume well… i hope i was able to compel you towards him a bit. in any case, thanks for reading! and please do leave a comment if you liked it! all feedback appreciated.

also i dont normally ask but if you could rb this fic if you liked it'd be appreciated </3 im trying to find wyll likers ehdjksjf

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 13: Heartbeat - Vampire!Steddie

Summary: The upside down had changed Steve and Eddie forever but, at least their obsession for you hadn't changed. However, instead of your sweet smiles that they craved to see everyday, it was listening to the thumping of your heartbeat.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, fluff, vampires, obsession, heartbeat kink, slight choking, threesome (f/m/m), oral (f receiving), praise kink, biting (vampire), discussion of blood, double penetration, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fucked until nearly passing out, subspace, aftercare

PSA: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. There will be some unprepared booty hole play, but that's because the characters are vampires with special abilities. This is not educational so please, if you're inclined to booty play... prep safely beforehand! (not that this is an educational fic but just need to cover myself here)

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

You were exhausted. The kind of exhaustion where your bones ached, and eyes burned even to keep them open, concentrating on the long drive home from work. All you wanted was a nice warm bath and some greasy food to fill your empty stomach, climb into your bed, and disappear into the mountain of blankets for the next two days.

Seeing your home at the end of the street brought you as much joy as a child going into a sweet shop. Parking your car and walking to the front door, your eyes were hardly open now, moving with muscle memory as to where the front steps were and fumbling with your keys to find the lock. The door opens, you stumble in, close the door behind you, and release the pent-up sigh you could feel at the very base of your core.

Before you could even step forward, a solid mass collided with you, forcing you back against the front door, an ice-cold collar around your neck as someone whispered into your ear, “Let me feel it”.

“Eddie, let me shower first”, your voice was high pitched and whiney as you slightly leaned into the body now crowding around you.

The hand around your neck tightened, but not enough to hurt; he adjusted his grip so that his thumb rested on the scar on the side of your neck and the tip of his fingers rested on your carotid artery. The lips against the shell of your ear smiled softly, “Just for a couple of minutes, please”.

As he politely asked, the tension running through your body melted into the floor. “Give me some room then, you giant bat”. The nickname earned you a dusky chuckle as he eased his solid body a step back, but his hand remained around your throat. Trying not to sigh, you gripped the bottom of your shirt, lifting it over your head until your upper body only had your bra remaining. Eddie removed his hand for a second to allow the shirt to be discarded, and then, he dropped to his knees, pressing his ear over your heart.

It was your turn to laugh as your arms wrapped around his head, holding him close as his arms settled around your waist to keep you as close as possible. Your fingers ran through his silky black hair, which, despite its softness, still managed to frizz and seem untamable as it tickled your nostrils.

Eddie hummed in contentment as he leaned against your chest, listening to your heartbeat like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Dude, couldn’t you have just let her get through the door first?” came the exacerbated tone of your other boyfriend. Looking up from the top of Eddie’s head, you found the silhouette of Steve at the end of the corridor, and only now, it dawned on you that you’d not even turned on the hallway light yet. The thought of the brightness of the light had you keeping it off, however, as Steve began to move forward, being purposefully slow on his silent feet not to startle you.

Eddie ignored his boyfriend's chastising voice as he only held you tighter, his fingers now stroking up and down the centre of your spine, helping to soothe any tension that remained from your day at work.

“At least he didn’t come out to the car like last time; he nearly gave me a heart attack”. Eddie smiled against your skin as you recounted the memory from last week.

Steve hummed in agreement, now standing in front of you, his feet spread on the side of where Eddie was kneeling. Raising his arm, he stroked the two areas of your neck that Eddie had when you came through the door, your scar and your artery, and then he rested his hand next to your head against the door beside you. It was an action they both had to do any time you had returned from anywhere, even if it was just the bathroom. To check that their mark was still there on your throat from when they’d both bitten you for the first time and feeling the pulse still thumping in your artery.

Once they were satisfied with this, they could continue, and most days, that was feeling for a pulse elsewhere, which was precisely what Eddie was doing against your chest. Even though they could hear it from across the room with their increased hearing, they enjoyed it a lot more when their ice-cold skin pressed directly over your heart.

You’d theorised many reasons as to why they were so obsessed with your heartbeat. For one, they had both changed and morphed into blood-sucking vampires after their recent time in the Upside Down and being attacked by the Demobats, so thirst and hunger were always priorities and hearing the organ that was the sole focus of their meal, they were obsessed. Then, there were the other reasons why they both adored listening to your heart.

Eddie once admitted that he liked listening to it because he didn’t have one anymore, so when he pressed his face against your chest like he was doing now, he could pretend that it was his own and that all the traumatic experiences over the last year hadn’t occurred. Lastly, they both admitted they thoroughly enjoyed listening to your hheartbeatbecause it was the first thing they would notice would change when you were feeling anything. Whether it was a specific emotion such as anger or joy, your heart rate would increase, or their favourite game of listening to your arousal through your heartbeat.

You didn’t mind any of them for many reasons, especially as it meant that it caused them happiness and, after everything, that's all you wanted from them.

“How was work?” Steve asked casually as he kissed your temple and leaned over Eddie, the two crowding around you against the door. You looked up at Steve, noticing how dark his eyes were even in the shadows.

Lifting your hand, you cupped his cheek, verbally confirming your suspicions, “You’ve eaten! What did you have?”

If their eyes were bright, this was the first sign of their hunger, followed swiftly by them latching to your neck like a parasite, and for once, you were too tired to be fed from today. “A deer, Eddie was kind enough to share today”. The man hummed from his position on your chest but, this time, kissed over your heart before nuzzling back into it, which caused you to shiver at the stark coldness of his skin. “You didn’t answer my question. How was work?” Steve reminded you, tilting your chin up from where you had glanced down at the top of Eddie’s head.

You groaned, allowing your head to fall back against the door, not needing to answer him verbally to show just how lousy work was. “That bad, huh?” Steve confirmed. Nodding your head, your eyes closed momentarily, just needing to feel them both.

Ice cold lips caressed your face, slow, delicate kisses, moving from your ear to the tip of your nose, making you smile and move the hand on  Steve’s cheek into his hair, which was just as soft as Eddie’s but at least a bit more tamable.

“Whatever you’re doing, she likes it”, Eddie declares from your chest as he listens to the beating of your heart increase.

“Oh, I know she does”, Steve confidently replies before pecking your lips and causing a moan at the back of your throat. Your cheeks warmed at the conversation they were both having, finding that their being able to read your body so quickly was embarrassing, especially as you couldn’t do the same for them.

“You guys are the worst”, you concluded as your lips moved against Steve’s chin. The man grinned before his hand delved into your hair, gripping it and tilting your face entirely away from his so that your neck was bared for him.

You waited with anticipation as he ever so gently kissed over your scar, which caused your thighs to clench together as arousal bloomed in your core. Eddie chuckled, “She really likes that”.

“You’re both such teases”, you say breathlessly, holding onto them tightly.

“I don’t know what you mean; I want to hear about your day at work, " Eddie says matter-of-factly, turning his head to kiss your bra directly over your nipple. Your back arches with an attempt to feel more of him, but he backs away, pushing Steve back with him until you’re left against the door with no one supporting you and the exhaustion hits you like a tonne of bricks.

You whine pathetically, rubbing your hands over your face, “I’m so fucking tired”, you say, almost wanting to cry. Eddie gives in and is back against you, but this time, he’s lifting you, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees, giving you the space to wrap both arms around his neck and nuzzle into his jaw. Carrying you upstairs, you were more than grateful when he placed you onto the bed, removed your shoes and socks, and then unbuttoned your jeans.

It was only as he began to kiss from your ankle and up your calf that you tried to wiggle away from him, but as you sat up, Steve sat behind you so your back was flush against his chest. “Eddie, I meant what I said; I need a shower”, you explain whilst pushing on his shoulders, but he didn’t move an inch, and no amount of force would move him from his desired path. 

As he reached the inside of your knee, he explained, “Yeah, well, you’ve had a long day at work, and I want to make you feel good, and you know you taste so fucking good no matter what”. You lingered on that word, taste. It could mean many different things to him and Steve; you weren’t sure what you needed more. You were too tired to be fed on, but there were various forms of feeding; there was the kind where it was heated and dangerous from both being hungry with bright eyes. Then there was the type you asked for every day: just a little bite to the scar on your neck, a flick of a tongue against the well of blood from the wound, would send hot sparks between your legs. You weren’t sure what it was; Eddie hypothesised that there was probably some sort of horny venom in their fangs that was only produced when they were aroused, but whatever it was had you feeling more turned on than anything before.

“What did you just think about then? Your hearts racing”, Steve monitors from behind, his eyes peaking over your shoulder to stare at the area of your chest where your heart lives.

“I thought you were too tired”, Eddie mutters as he notices your body relaxing into his touch, legs spreading of their own accord as he begins his mouth journey on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. 

“You’re both insufferable”, you concluded whilst leaning further into Steve, your head resting on his shoulder as his arms circled your waist, both legs on either side of your body as he moved more comfortably behind you, and you were now between him.

“I don’t know what you could mean, Baby; we’re just trying to look after you”. As Steve talks, his fingers ghost up the sides of your ribs, causing a deep shiver to run through your entire body, pebbling your nipples, which were still contained by your bra. Eddie grinned up at Steve as they knew how your body was reacting: breaths becoming more erratic, blood warming your skin, which contrasted with their ice-cold vampire skin and the wetness now gathering in your underwear.

Even in the darkness, you could see the pure joy on his face as he moved closer to your cunt. Obsenly, he pressed his nose into your underwear-covered mound and breathed in deeply, which he liked to do when he wanted the scent to stay in his nose, considering he didn’t need to breathe. Your cheeks were burning at Eddie, a little self-conscious that he’d done this before you could shower, but he always said that he preferred the natural scent of you compared to whatever floral body wash you planned to use.

Eddie groans deeply, his fingers flexing on your thighs as he pushes them back as far as possible, giving him a better angle for your pussy. “Eddie, please don’t destroy-” your words are interrupted by the very noticeable noise of material ripping as his fangs catch the edge of your underwear, tearing them.

“Oops, sorry”, he sounded anything but sorry as he now looked at your cunt, something he could see perfectly with his not human eyesight. Pressing one arm on your abdomen, the other rested over your heart for extra clarity as his tongue licked up the length of your pussy.

You gasped as your head rolled back further against Steve, who in turn was reaching up to hold your throat, dipping his face to follow the journey of his fingers. Each of your hands found a boyfriend’s head, holding Eddie between your legs and nuzzling Steve’s face further against your neck. Your eyes are closed to concentrate on all the sensations going through your body.

They were both rock solid and cold, like two moving statues; even Eddie’s tongue was cold, and only their fangs held any warmth, but this was because of whatever venom dripped from within.

This, right here, is what you needed more than the food, shower and bed. Having the two men who you loved more than anything, despite the difficulties that came with having two monsters in the house, they always knew just what you needed, and right now, you needed to forget about everything from work and relax.

With his tongue, Eddie applied more pressure, parting your folds so he could lather and drink the juices beginning to seep out of your hole. He teased your entrance, circling it before stretching it with the thickness of his tongue, delving it deeper until you were rocking your hips against his face, pushing his nose over your sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. Eddie stayed still, allowing you to fuck yourself on his tongue, getting yourself off as he concentrated on the feeling of your heartbeat from the tip of his tongue inside your cunt, comparing it to the pounding against his hand on your chest.

It beat harder with each passing moment as you exerted yourself with the hip movements and found your arousal getting deeper. Eddie groans roughly, his hips thrusting lazily into the bed to try and find some friction against his raging boner trapped in his jeans. Steve was enjoying it just as much, especially as his cock was rubbing against your back as he, too, counted each beat of your heart.

“Eddie, please don’t stop”, you moaned whilst holding onto his head to the point that it would have been painful to anyone else but him. Eddie smirked but stayed entirely still. He loved seeing this side of you, he’d hardly even touched you, and you were going completely insane on his tongue, fucking yourself as he stayed utterly still like he was your own personal sex toy.

Steve then added to this by licking over the scar on your neck, and it sent a burning jolt of pleasure through your core, causing your cunt to tighten and squeeze Eddie’s tongue as you came with rocking shakes.

“That’s a good girl, just like that, Baby. Keep riding Eddie’s tongue through it; well done,” Steve praised as he remained by your ear, watching and feeling your body tremble through the orgasm. 

After a few seconds, you collapsed further into Steve, trying to catch your breath with desperate sucks of air.

“I want you”, came your desperate plead, still holding a grip in both of their hairs.

“Who are you talking to, Sweetheart?” Eddie asked, kissing the inside of your thighs as you tried to calm yourself, feeling the beating against his palm slowly and reducing in intensity.

“Both of you, I want both of you inside of me right now”, you demanded without thinking of the consequences.

“Honey, we need to make sure you’re prepped, okay? Let’s just take this slowly.” Steve began to talk you through the options, but you could also feel him smirking as he spoke, knowing there was a much easier and quicker way for you to get what you wanted.

Turning your head to look at Steve, you could see with a bit more clarity as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Just bite me. I don’t want to wait; I want to feel you both now”.

“Are you sure? You said last time that we should probably give yourself a break from-”

“Steve, if you don’t fuck me right now,  I’m going to ban you from this house, and Eddie can have all the fun”. Even though your tone was serious, Steve knew you would never do this. Your boyfriends absolutely loved it when you became so aroused that all coherent thoughts disappeared.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Steve agreed, looking down at Eddie, who was beginning to rise onto his knees and undo the belt of his jeans. You and Steve watched as your boyfriend pushed the offending material with his underwear down his hips and off his long, tattooed legs. Just as his shirt was being pulled over his head, did you rush forward, arms around his neck and mouth on his.

The kiss had to be careful; even though you wanted to be heated and passionate, he had to keep his wits about him because of his sharp fangs. Carefully, he rolled the two of you over, so now Eddie was lying on the bed with you straddling his thighs, his impressive cock twitching against his abdomen. Your lips were still pressed against his as your fingers explored his chest, feeling the fine hair that layered over the top of his chest, covering the few tattoos that he had there.

His hands were now on your waist, feeling your flesh and pulling your hips closer until your cunt was flush against the length of his cock. Your hips automatically bucked at the sensation of his cold shaft. It had taken some adjustment to fuck something so cold, but now, you craved it more than anything else, the coolness making you feel more alive than anything else.

You didn’t want to wait, couldn’t waste another second without feeling his cock inside of you, so reaching down, you aligned the tip with your hole and carefully lowered yourself. Your walls fluttered around his length at both the stretch and the temperature. Eddie groaned, his fingers flexing on your hips, like he wanted to squeeze harder but knew that if he did, his increased strength would accidentally hurt you, so he tried to refrain, even though all he wanted to do was hold you as close as possible and fuck you until sunrise.

Once his cock was pushed as deep as it could go, did you finally lie your body flat against his chest, feeling no heartbeat at all, which had been incredibly unnerving at first, but now you were used to it. Looking over your shoulder, you tried to perk your arse up to Steve, who was now standing beside the bed, completely nude and having moved with unnatural quiet.

“Room for one more”, you say whilst subtly shaking your hips with Eddie’s cock still inside you.

Steve smirked, his eyes so dark they appeared black in the darkness, giving him a haunting look. Still, as his fist wrapped around his cock, pumping it a few times, this only caused your arousal to increase, which in turn, caused your heart to beat harder and Eddie to moan so dramatically he might as well have just cum.

“Hey, big boy, if you keep teasing her like this, she’s going to cum before the fun even begins”, Eddie demanded, looking at Steve was exacerbation.

Steve looked between his two lovers before finally crawling onto the bed and settling behind you. He cupped your arse cheek with a single hand, spreading it slightly to give him a better view of his intended goal. “Are you sure you don’t want me to prep you?” Steve asked for confirmation but already knew your answer.

Titling your head, you exposed the scared side of your neck, “Please just take me, I don’t want to wait”.

“Come here then, Baby”. He helps you to sit back up so that your back is flush against his chest and his mouth is next to the column of your throat. His hand appeared before your face as he demanded, “Spit”.

Lewdly, you spat onto his fingertips, which he then used to lube the tip of his cock before moving it to your puckered asshole. He pressed it enough that it began to stretch the slightest bit but then didn’t move any further as his mouth latched to your neck.

Your entire body was buzzing with anticipation, knowing what feeling was coming next, wanting it so bad that you could have cried.

As Eddie rested his hand over your heart, Steve cradled the other side of your face and bit his fangs into your neck as he fucked his cock into you at an agonisingly slow pace. As his sharp fangs pierced your skin, the juice within them entered your bloodstream, and it was one of the most euphoric feelings you could ever experience. It was almost as if every single nerve on your body was being caressed with arousal, burning with passion, and because of this, every area that hurt or was injured was cured of any wound.

It was probably unhealthy and bad practice, but it meant that when Steve fucked his cock into your asshole without prep, the stinging, tears and pain that would usually come without any sort of preparation would disappear and be replaced but unimaginable pleasure.

The three of you groaned in different tones, Eddie’s being the lowest and yours the highest, as you’re so beautifully stretched, tears lined your eyes. It was similar to having a mini orgasm with how much your walls squeezed around both shafts now situated inside you.

Steve’s mouth was still attached to your mouth as he slowly rotated his hips and took a quick suck of blood to coat his tongue. Aroused, your blood was like sweet nectar for him, like he could taste how you were feeling, which made him feel completely unstoppable, his cock so hard it was like a steel pole inside your ass.

Eddie, in turn, couldn’t believe the sight before him; no matter how many times he did this, he felt so privileged to be able to watch you sandwiched between them, taking both of their cocks at the same time, which was never something you could accomplish before their change to becoming vampires.

Only as Steve pulled away from your neck did Eddie begin to hold your hips and fuck up into you, causing your body to nudge forward and your hands to press against his chest so that you didn’t topple forward.

Where Steve had bitten didn’t bleed due to whatever had been injected into your bloodstream. Still, his mouth now was a dark red colour, including his lips as he kissed you, wanting nothing more than to kiss you deeply and stroke his now warm tongue against yours, but that would mean he’d have to bite you again and too much fun would spoil a good time.

You could smell the blood on his lips, your blood. Not that you cared as your hips began to move up and down, trying to fuck yourself on their lengths, but they soon were holding you still and taking over.

They both moved together, thrusting their hips so both of your holes were filled and empty simultaneously. It took no time for you to orgasm again, your thighs clenching just as hard as your cunt. Your eyes were closed as you savoured every euphoric pulse through your body until it passed, where you promptly collapsed against Eddie's chest.

“Do you want us to stop, Sweetheart?” Eddie asked, worried they would hurt you if they continued, but you tilted your face to look up at him.

Shaking your head, you explained, “Keep going. I don’t want you to stop unless I pass out or tell you to stop”.

Eddie’s eyes widen for a fraction of a section before he kisses your forehead. “Your wish is our command, dear lady”, he joked before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and fucking his hips up once more, causing your body to shiver and a gasp to leave your lips.

The one thing about vampires that they don’t tell you is that they can’t cum. They can feel aroused and feel just as good as any human would, but they would never be able to orgasm or fill you with their seed because their technically dead bodies couldn’t produce any sperm anymore. On the one hand, Eddie missed that part of it so bad, watching your cunt filled with his cum, seeing it drip out, but the rest of it he didn’t mind because it meant that he could fuck for hours and hours without stopping, still feeling just as good, just without the messy clean up at the end.

So on the rare occasion where you were feeling pent up and frustrated like you were today, you would beg them to keep fcking you, sandwiched between them both and free to fuck you for as long as possible. There had been one occasion where you’d cum so many times, your holes gaping and drenched from your juices, that you had simply passed out, something they only realised when your heartbeat began to slow to a gentle melody.

So now, they were slightly more cautious but still didn’t necessarily hold back, and they both held you down and fucked your cunt and ass at the same time. You continued to lie on Eddie’s chest, clinging to his shoulders with your mouth wide open and constantly moaning with every thrust and stroke of their cock.

Each orgasm was just as breathtaking as the next, your thighs becoming soaked with your pussy juices and sweat, which only continued to lube them both on. You’d lost count of the number of orgasms they’d fucked out of you, and it was only as you were becoming to be a little sore and swollen did you finally shake your head, too tired to even speak.

Their thrusts stopped instantly, hands rubbing over your naked spine as they gently eased their cocks out of you. You groaned at the loss but relief from having a moment to relax. You felt like you were high with how many orgasms you’d had like you were floating on a cloud far away.

“You ok, Baby? You still with us?” Steve asked whilst stroking the side of your face carefully. You ignored his question and nuzzled into Eddie's chest, which was answer enough that you felt pretty subby after the fucking and consequently tipped into subspace.

“Alright, my sweet girl, I will carry you into the bathroom. I will give you that bath you wanted; how does that sound?” Eddie ever so gently explained, causing his chest to vibrate with his words, so you tried to bury your face deeper into it. Knowing he wouldn't get a coherent answer from you, Eddie scooped you up into his arms. He padded towards the bathroom, being careful to finally turn on the light, which you quickly flinched arm before he set you down into the bathtub before climbing in behind you.

While still holding you in his arms, he turned the bath water on, deciding it was probably easier to have you in here than in the shower, especially as Steve entered the bathroom with a glass of water and some snacks.

“Baby, I need you to drink this for me.” he gently coaxed your face to turn so that he could get you to drink the water before handing you each chip from the packet into your mouth until he was happy that you’d had some food. “What do you want for dinner? I can make you pasta or something with potatoes. What do you fancy?”

“Anything”, you answer, finally feeling stable enough to talk, blinking gently to try and look up at them both. Steve welcomed you with a soft smile as he used a sponge to wash your back.

“I’ll go and find something to make whilst you stay here with Eddie”. Nodding your head in answer, you watched him stand and exit the bathroom.

Eddie held you close, kissing your temple and snuggling you further into the water to try and keep you warm, as he knew his contrasting body temperature sometimes kept you at a frozen body temp. 

“Your heart is beating so loud. Are you ok?” Eddie asks against your head.

Smiling, you answered honestly, “Just happy to be with the two of you”.

[softagenda]

paralysis (mhin)

mhin x reader(f)

aphrodisiac au / short fic (cw: mature, slightly gory)

series: sweet poison (scenario-based collection of character imagines)

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Prologue

You’re an idiot for drinking that. An absolute idiot.

You’re spilled across the floor, head swimming, burning from the inside as though you’d swallowed a star. The velvet rug brushed soft and cloying against your prickling skin as you squirmed, your heart pounding in your ears and beating an insistent rhythm in your groin.

Cooing at you from the table, her cat’s eyes curled in satisfaction, Morgana asked, “Something the matter? You look positively feverish.” She twirled a curly black lock around her finger.

Bitch. 

Paintings of naked people - bathing in springs, dancing around a fire, having an orgy in front of a temple - swirled into one colorful blob as you turned on your side, fisting the rug. You attempted to pull yourself to where you remembered the door but stalled a couple inches in, weak as a newborn kitten and stifling a moan as your body rubbed on the carpet.

“Now, now, where’s the fire? Stay a while.” She rose from her chair and stood over you, her arms crossing under her full chest. “You’re clearly hot under the collar. The thought of you wandering the streets like this concerns me deeply.”

You glared up at her, using every ounce of willpower not to writhe on the floor like a worm on a hook. Your hand felt clumsily around your hip for the dagger. 

“I’ll take that,” she chirped, snatching the weapon from your belt and tossing it behind her. “Can’t have you nicking that lovely skin.” Her heel braced on the other side of you, straddling your back. Her hands tugged the shirt from your waist before dragging warm palms up your back, her nails scratching on the return journey.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan rocketing through your chest, as every nerve in your body vibrated with electric pleasure. Your hips pressed hard into the floor, growing ever desperate for friction even as you struggled to focus.

Morgana sunk her hand into your nape, drawing your hair back from your face. When she leaned down to brush her painted lips against your ear, goosebumps erupted down your neck. “We’ll start with the bandages, shall we?”

______ prologue end _________

“For fucks’ sake,” a voice sighed from the shadows. 

Bone popped as Morgana’s head whipped around toward the noise, then a thunk as something lodged itself in her back, accompanied by the slick, gristly sound of knife cleaving meat. A shriek erupted from her throat. 

She flung herself to the right, hand reaching over her collar. Face pale, sweat beading across her brow, Morgana turned to face the back wall. A dagger lodged in her left shoulder, the fabric around the blade soaking with blood.

A cloaked figure leaned against the window. Though most of their form was cast in darkness, the moonlight caught the edge of silver hair just beneath the hood, swaying with the night’s breeze.

You twisted on the floor, every brush of the luxurious carpet like rubbing and prickling like a cat’s tongue.

“How brazen,” Morgana attempted her usual simpering tone, though her bared teeth somewhat diminished the effect. “Entering through the window, unannounced, uninvited - like a thief.”

“You’ve got nothing I want, Mistress of the Night.” Red pupils glowed in the night. They fixed first on Morgana, then your curled form on the ground. “Seriously? You fell for that?”

Silver hair. Red pupils. A cutting tongue. 

Mhin. 

You closed your eyes. Fuck your life. 

“I spy a familiar face. You skulk around the Senobium gates, yes?” Morgana had crept closer to the wall, where a velvet tassel hung from the drapery. “Begging the mages to let you in like an injured dove.”

Mhin’s eyes narrowed. Then with a flick of their wrist, a silver flash shot through the air. 

Morgana lunged, but the braided rope fell limp into her grasp. She cursed, painted lips finally twisting into an honest snarl. Her gaze then flickered toward the door but returned to Mhin. “It would seem that I do have something you want. What are your intentions here, hunter?”

“Saving a fool from themself.” A dagger danced beneath the moonlight, twisted within Mhin’s nimble fingers. “Whether you get caught in the crossfire is up to you.”

You swallowed around a dry throat. Somehow you doubted Morgana would shrug her shoulders and drop the issue peaceably - especially with a dagger biting into one of said shoulders. Craning your neck, you looked and sure enough liquid flames began to bubble from her hand.

“As they say, in the company of fools…” she sneered, fire twisting and slithering around her skin as magic pooled in her palm. 

“Back off, witch.” Mhin glared coldly. The knife froze, the blade lifted and pointed in her direction. 

Stuck on the floor between them, you fought desperately against the oppressive lethargy in your body. The drug burned through your veins until you felt scorched from the inside out, shaky and delirious with fever. Each attempt to move felt as though you rested on the bottom of the sea, strapped by weights and slowly drowning. Your head felt pressed by cotton on all sides.

You wriggled like a worm toward the table, seeking cover. At least the effects - flushed skin, dazed eyes - could disguise your mortification. You had worked so hard to earn Mhin’s trust. To cross the cavernous distance they placed between themself and others. 

For them to see you in this state… 

“Surely you know there will be consequences to your interference tonight,” said Morgana, her attention focused on the dagger. “Let’s not pretend. This little fool must mean something to you.”

For a moment, the calm malevolence oozing from Mhin’s expression disappeared, replaced by a look of flustered surprise. “Mean something? That wimp?” They scoffed, feet shuffling in agitation. “As if. Who would - for that - “

Mhin’s mouth paused, in the middle of what would undoubtedly be an insult. Their eyes fell on you, sweeping over your shivering body, lingering on the curve of your back as you tried to push yourself onto your elbows. They stopped on your face - and the heat prickling across your skin seemed to thicken even more at the humiliating thought of what you must look like there, writhing like a worm.

To your shock, Mhin blushed. Their body twisted abruptly, face angling away as a hand shot up as though to shield them from the sight of you. “You - the fuck are you looking at like that - “

Light flared in the room, heat exploding into the air. Capitalizing on their distraction, Morgana threw a whip of molten flame across the room, arcing across the distance between them. Mhin dropped below the strike into a crouch before darting forward in a flash of black and silver. 

Morgana jumped back and sliced the whip down once more - this time, not at Mhin but at you. 

Over your shoulder, you watched the whip serpentine through the air, the spiked end twisting toward you like the mouth of a fanged snake. You tried to push yourself over even as your elbows gave out and your arms trembled. Tucking your head, you braced for the pain when a shadow fell over you.

That searing cut of pain never came. Instead, you heard a short grunt and a muffled curse.

Mhin stood between the two of you, shielding your body. Their arm was braced outward, the flaming whip caught and coiled around their leather vambrace. You’d noticed that very first day that, despite their slender frame, Mhin had the strength of a goliath. They held firm against Morgana’s near frantic yanks on the whip, not budging a single inch.

“Guards!” She shouted, abandoning dignity, a flicker of fear in her eyes as Mhin twisted their arm and started pulling her toward them, wrapping the whip around their fist. Unflinching as the fire licked flesh, burning across their skin. “Guards!”

Mhin yanked the whip hard, pulling her forward and off her feet. The dagger swung upward and cut the cord in a shower of ashen sparks, freeing their right fist, which then shot forward with the force of a battering ram into Morgana’s cheek. 

Her body propelled through the air and slammed into the door. Beads and silk curtains ripped from their rods and draped down on top of her. She writhed under the fabric, her movements panicked and clumsy, not unlike a cat trapped beneath a sheet.

“Hey. Pay attention.”

Mhin crouched at your side. One arm wrapped around your waist as the other dragged your arm over their shoulders, heaving you off the ground. You gasped as the world spun in a swirl of melted colors around you, buckling against them as your knees struggled to support your weight. 

“Fuck.” They paused, propping you against their chest, breath puffing into your ear. Shivers raced down your spine. “Can’t even stand? Could you be more of a hindrance right now?”

Shamefaced, you bit your lip and muttered, “Sorry. Thanks for coming.”

Mhin’s body stiffened. They cleared their throat. “...nevermind. Just - grab on tight.”

You stumbled together toward the back of the room. The balcony door remained open to the night, a breeze carrying the noise of the street in from below. When they reached the railing, Mhin glanced over their shoulder and gritted their teeth. “Change of plans.”

“What?” You questioned dazedly, trying to follow their gaze, when Mhin dropped lower and drew you onto their back. Hands curled around your thighs with iron strength and hoisted you up. 

“Incoming. Don’t let go.” 

Don’t let - you choked back a yelp as Mhin stepped lithely onto the railing and jumped. Three yards of dead air sped below you before their boots caught the rooftop with an impact that shook your heart against your rib cage. Hands scrabbling at the front of their shirt, you tucked your face into the thick, navy cloak. 

Mhin darted across the skyline, leaping across a street and onto the bedraggled rooftop of an apartment building nearby. They paused, leaned perilously over the edge, before hiking upward toward the eave of a window. 

“Ah!” You gasped as your body’s tugged roughly off their back and braced on the window sill. “Mhin - “

A finger pressed against your lips. Mhin shot you a warning look before digging into a leather pouch strapped to their belt. They withdrew a small bottle, luminescent blue liquid sloshing inside. “Drink this,” they whispered. 

When you reached for the bottle, Mhin jerked it back and huffed. “Still haven’t learned your lesson?” At your confused look, they grumbled, “not even going to ask what’s inside? How do you know this isn’t poison? Maybe I’m finally getting rid of you, now that an opportunity and a convenient patsy have arrived.” 

You stared back at them, exhausted, feeling as though your brain could be seeping through your ears. “Because it’s you.”

Gray eyes widened in shock before their head jerked to the side, hiding their expression beneath a hasty veil of white hair. But you could see a glimpse of their ear. The pale skin around the top and shell had flushed pink. “That’s… naive. Foolishly so.”

You summoned a wobbly smile and added wryly, “anyway, if you were going to kill me, you would’ve let Morgana finish the job and saved yourself the trouble of coming at all. Why waste the energy?”

“Finally, a sign of intelligence,” they grumbled, before pressing the bottle against your palm and leaving to peer over the side of the roof again.

Hands trembling, you tried to bring the bottle to your mouth without spilling. The tremors seemed to grow worse even as you sagged into the window frame, all the energy and fight leaching from your body. Gods but you felt so hot. 

Footsteps thundered on the cobblestone street. Men shouted orders at each other, their words difficult to parse but easily understood. You were being pursued by Morgana’s private security. 

Hastening, you managed to bring the bottle to chest height, heavily leaning your arm there as the muscles gave out. You had to hurry and drink. You couldn’t slow them down anymore, not after the pathetic scene you’d made that night. Tears of frustration pooled at the corners of your eyes, further blurring your surroundings. 

“They’re sending a group toward the nearby watchtower. We need to get to safer ground.” Mhin returned. Their eyes caught sight of the trembling bottle. Their jaw dropped. “Why haven’t you - “

You gritted your teeth and tried again, managing to get the lip of the potion to tap against your chin. The effort had you closing your eyes, tears spilling down your cheeks. Everything felt like too much. Heat burned out of you, drenching you in sweat. Invisible stones bore down on your limbs. And even as your body burned with lust, your heart ached in fear and regret that Mhin would lose respect for you because of this, that the tentative partnership you’d worked so hard for had been ripped away from one mistake - one stupid blunder - 

A warm hand wrapped around the desperate grip you had on the bottle. Another tugged you into a firm chest - the cold, pleated cotton shirt soothing against your inflamed skin. Their fingers curled under as Mhin brought the potion to your mouth.

Wisps of moonlight hair brushed across your nose and brow. Dove gray eyes looked back - the ever-present caution and threat they had born for so long softening from within the shadows of the cloak. 

You stared up into their face, lost within the fog, all of a sudden feeling strangely content. Three sluggish swallows later, and the bottle emptied. 

Tired to your bones, you sagged against them, cheek pressed to their chest, blinking sleepily. Mhin’s grip on your jaw eased. Their thumb lingered, drifting almost as though to stroke your face. 

“Look at you,” they sighed, holding still for a quiet moment. You focused on breathing, their familiar scent of steel and linen filling your lungs. Their next words whispered against the top of your head. “Next time… call me before you jump into some harebrained scheme alone.”

___________________________________________________

a/n: I hope that I have correctly codified mhin as a tsundere....

[improvapocalyps]

Stale blood caked Cleo's armor as she dragged herself through paradise. Gods below that sucked, she thought, that really sucked. They ignored the colorful birds that swooped overhead, disregarding the cloudless sky and brilliant sun that cast down gentle rays upon her green skin. What was the point of indulging in something that didn't exist?

Dust, Flesh, and Bones, by @pattonscribe

“Death!” she called, a hoarse quality to her voice, clutching tighter onto Etho’s body as their army of the dead went onwards to protect them. “You— this wasn't what I wanted!”

before we lose the sound of our own mouths calling mine, mine, mine., by @kanda-franca

In participation of MCYTblr AU Fest Summer 2024 hosted by @mcytblraufest!

I feel incredibly lucky and honored that two(2) writers decided to pick up my niche af AU pitch! They knocked it out of the park with their fics, please check them out !!

[Some behind-the-scenes ramble and close-ups under cut]

My AU's ao3 equivalent tag is "Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses", specifically drawing inspiration from Khelren's Godsend TTRPG setting (though you do not need any knowledge of the ttrpg to enjoy the fics):

In Godsend��you roam the lands as the avatar of your god, cursing mere mortals and presenting gifts to the chosen ones. Your memories are numerous, made of the lives of your predecessors, your power is almost limitless. Will you use it to fulfil the will of your god? Or, as the end times draw near, will you try to save the world? 　(from the itch.io page)

I had my heart set on making Clethubs AU (to no surprise of anyone's i'm sure) so that's the main characters/ avatars settled- but who shall be the gods?

There are 6 domains in the Godsend setting: Death, Justice, Knowledge, Nature, Trickery, and War.

To me, it was obvious to put Bdouble "moss" O100 under the Nature domain, and Zombie "zombie" Cleo under Death. Then after some comtemplation Etho "free glass" sLab was slotted underneath Trickery.

What remains is to find the Hermist/ Traffic-lifers that are 1) connected to the domains 2) related to the avatars.

(fyi i drew all those feather strokes manually by hand with my lineart brush) (why? well,)

Grian came to mind immediately when I thought of "Trickery" (Though Cub, Scar, and a couple of other Hermits also fit). I wanted to build the god-avatar relationship on the Etho-Grian dynamic specifically.

Scar was chosen based on his S9 theme (wood elf) and his history with Bdubs (S7 mayor race). Baiscally the concept of King maker/ Second-in-command Bdubs was stuck in my brain. (Sorry Stress :[ )

Death was a trickier one. While it would be funny to have Grian-Scar-Mumbo to be (half of) the pantheon, Mumbo fit the Knowledge domain better. (ignoring his Peace, Love, and Plants deal for a sec; even then I think that's more Nature-aligned) so I went with the classic option of Zedeath.

Beyond this point (until "===") is me overanalysing/ blue-curtaining the black & white piece. You have been warned (/silly)

This piece's composition used a circle/three-parter as its base, witih the circle centred on the castle/city in the middle of the map. Etho was fully isolated in Grian/Trickery's third of the space, but Nature crossed over into Death's space easily the two domains are closely related imo. It was natural for things to end (death), and endings fueled the next cycle of nature life.

It seemed that all the gods are looking at the world/map, however since their pupils are obscured (non-existent in Scar's case) it was difficult to say for certain. Though you might be able to tell where their interest lie, if you look at the distance between the deities and the mortal realm and where their hands rest.

Death carefully rested his elbow on the line separating him and Nature, but his left hand was dangerously close to Bdubs. And it looked like it was ready to come down and press direcly onto the corner of the map, tilting or even flipping the chessboard over. In his right hand held the scythe, posed to swing. The edge of his scythe faced Cleo, pointing towards them like he could harvest their life whenever at his whim.

He also looked at the world from directly above (though you could say he was biased towards Cleo's point of view since he's not centered+ he was positioned behind them), meaning that he saw all lives as "equal", or have an especially detached but not uncaring view regarding the world (like a scientist looking microorganisms in his petri dish).

In contrast, Grian/Trickery leaned in close to the world, lowering his head so his eye level was almost at the ground level of the world. Like he was looking through the mortals' point of view, understanding the state of affairs through humans' moralities and values (through Etho, even, since Grian was positioned behind him).

His eyes were wide in anticipation. While he carefully kept his hands close, they were also touching the world directly; which was a thing no other god did in the piece. It was like he was waiting for the right moment to reach out and disrupt whatever that's happening on stage. As we all know, no matter how much Grian tries to restrain himself, he will press the button.

Scar is the most... detached/ distanced from the world as a whole? He reclined backwards, his visible hand resting on his knee. He might be looking at the world, or he might be looking at Grian, or was his attention on bdubs? Even with the signature :J smile on his face, he got this air of indifference. Maybe Nature believed that everything will run their fated courses without his influence.

The flowers on Scar's clothes were sunflowers (sides of his corset), roses (back of corset and forearm), and a very specific lilac brush I had to download. Flowers that were closely related to a certain series :3c

Shoutout to w4r (War for Rayuba) for the chessboard map idea. ily octs It's really funny that Bdubs, Cleo & Etho all start/ were currently standing on black tiles (<- did not count the tiles and only realised that after i started to fill in the black)

Let's talk (more) about body language and outfits and black-white ratio (I am Reaching here) (not that I wasn't in the previous part) (but I am Reaching even further)

Etho has a very clear cut B&W shading with minimal grey/cross-hatch areas. He is the least ink-blocked. He knows what his beliefs are and the lines that he will/won't cross.

He has a semi-relaxed stance, tilting back slightly. He has one hand on his hip but the other by his side remain open-palmed. He isn't not listening to new proposals, but he is considering (and judging) them carefully.

Bdubs' moss cloak and boots has a clear divide in b&w, but not his outfit (pants)/headband. Both the cloak and boots are nature-aligned: cloak is, well, made of moss; and boots to walk the earth, the only thing separating him and the dirt (though at the same time, supporting him).

Nature is clear in what it wants. While there may be bright parts mixed in shadows, and flecks of shade within the "light", Nature holds a firm stance based on layers and layers of understanding.

Bdubs is also reaching out with an open palm. He is open for dialogue, perhaps preaching/ prompting others to communicate as well.

Cleo is the darkest/ most shaded among the three. She has highlights on the edges of her armour, but overall her armour is mainly shades of grey. Unlike Etho/Bdubs whose outfits' base color is largely white/empty, the visible parts underneath her armour (gloves and pants) are solid dark. She is dressed for blood and combat. It also gives the impression that she has this fierce determination/ conviction (darker tones being more "serious").

Her posture- legs wide, slouched/ leaning forward- makes her look aggressive/ stressed. Her hands are balled up into fists, one of them holding onto the flag/banner (of Death). Even then, the way she holds the banner isn't one that says it's for morale. She holds it like a spear, like a weapon.

There's also something about fabric/ extra fabric on the characters.

Etho has the least fabric on him but he has this shawl wrapped around himself. And the shawl itself is very still/ motionless. Bdubs' outfit is very round and gives like a grounded/soft vibe while the ribbon around his head drags behind him. but Cleo has neither of those, the only fabric that waves in the air is her banner which is outside of her body/not connected to her.

=== === ===

The composition of my 2nd piece aimed to imitate the playbook's cover art (illustrated by Vash Taylor), with the slightly faded background and wispy banner. The path of the smoke meant to mimick Cleo's face stitches (as how I usually draw them), where it crawls up her right cheek, crosses her nose bridge and passes through her eye.

Shoutout to "google search: zombie hands" stock photos and silhouette images, they saved my life when I was struggling with the foreground.

If you read through all this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and hope everything will be going splendid for you in the month of August!! Even if you didn't and just swiped past after realising there's too many words behind the read more I wish you the same :D

Once again, please check the fics if you are interested in the AU!! Dust, Flesh, and Bones is a multi-chaptered long fic and before we lose the sound of our own mouths calling mine, mine, mine. is a 9k one-shot! They are both so dear to me I hold them close to me heart,,

[messy-crisantemo]

Since last week, I wanted to make a

🎴 GenTan fic recommendation list Part 2! 🍉

Don’t forget to check out Part 1 too!

As the last time, this list is based on my personal likes and, ofc, on the fics I’ve read. I tried to include all GenTan flavors ❤️💜 They’re not put in any particular order and most of them are completed fics. I’m adding some of the tags, but not all of them since I don’t want to make this post extra long, so please read them again once you go to the Ao3 link. Anime-onlies, beware of spoilers. Please enjoy!

sliding across the clouded sky by mimimimi (reiiiiii), 179k, WIP

(Figure skating AU, Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Aged-Up Character(s), Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining)

The life of a figure skater is short. People expect you to retire at a young age and the moment you have an injury and take a break to recover, you're done for.

Shinazugawa Genya had to deal with it now that he's gotten the biggest injury on his skating career. And the press isn't helping at all, either.

The only light keeping him connected to the figure skating world? Kamado Tanjirou.

Starting with a classic! This beautiful slow burn explores the nature of their relationship as something that makes grow both Genya and Tanjirou. It has lots of funny and tender moments.

Life in plastic, it’s fantastic! by Side_Ponytail, 4k

(Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Getting Together, First Kiss, POV Alternating, Fluff and Humor, Scheming)

Tanjiro takes his siblings to see the Barbie movie, Genya’s siblings drag him along, and Parent Trap levels of shenanigans ensue.

No Barbie Movies were spoiled in the making of this fic.

One of the funniest and most adorable fics I’ve ever read. If you need a boost of sugar, this is it.

June Bridegroom by 125389, 2k

(Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Fluff and Angst, Established Relationship, Kamado Tanjirou-centric, Horror, Manga Spoilers)

Upon concluding an important day, the boundary between dreams and reality blurs as Tanjirou reveals the true nature of his feelings and whom he's really marrying.

A fic for those who love to suffer and don’t fear to embrace the tragic nature of GenTan.

a checkered haori by DragonsAndCryptids, 2k

(Post-Swordsmith Village Arc, Hurt/Comfort, Scents & Smells, Pre-Relationship, Fluff)

After the confrontation with Sanemi, Genya steals Tanjiro's haori because he likes the way it smells and it helps calm him down.

He doesn't want to address why that is, but when Tanjiro finds out, he doesn't give him much of a choice.

Tanjirou being Genya’s weak point, we all love it.

All Bark, No Bite by Rigmaroler, 92k

(Witch Tanjiro, Werewolf Genya, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Worldbuilding, Fluff, Action/Adventure, Sharing a Bed)

When Tanjirou first sees the wolf, he only has one thought in his head. He sees it under the light of the moon, just bright enough for the wet blood in its dark gray pelt to shine. Its teeth are bared, white, sharp and long as each of Tanjirou’s fingers. Its growl is a low bass rumble that Tanjirou can practically feel in his bones, rattling his spine. Its muzzle is stained red with blood, and marred with a jagged scar that cuts through its dense fur.

Or: Tanjirou is a witch's apprentice with a bad habit of bringing home strays. Genya is a young man who's been called a monster so many times, he's started to believe it.

Genya letting himself to be loved, Tanjirou learning that he can also want things for himself. Just beautiful.

The hidden stairs (Red velvet flicker) by Wild_Quetzal, 4k

(Alternate Universe - Vampire, Horror, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, vampire!Shinazugawa Genya, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers)

A couple of minutes later, Tanjirou is left in his chambers. The place is big and empty. Despite the cold temperature, Tanjirou pays it no mind. He presses his ear against the heavy wooden door, then he sniffs it. Nothing seems out of place. He’s truly alone.

What the old lady who gave him instructions told him echoes in his mind: “That man is no Count. He’s a thief.”

Tanjirou arrives at the castle looking for answers. His host will only give him more questions. What is Genya hiding?

Yes, it’s the self-promo part. We had werewolf Genya and now we have vampire Genya in some very gothic and dramatic romance.

[crazedear]

No one asked for this…but I can sense my desperate brothers and sisters through the screen and have decided to quench their thirst through…

.

.

STATICRADIO FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

Ever since I’ve finished watching Hazbin Hotel, I’ve been absolutely obsessed with these two and their dynamic, as a result, I have been researching and stocking up on good (dare I say exquisite) fanfictions about these two psychopaths…so why not share my library with people who want it (ik there are some out there 🫵)

Also some things I need to mention:

Most of the fics recommended are gonna be very Vox and Alastor centered (Ofcourse with background and/or side pairs)

This list is not in any particular order and is also based on what I find good and satisfies my personal preferences when it comes to these two, so some of these may not be to your liking, but I still hope you can find at least one that you can enjoy!

all fanfics mentioned are sourced from Ao3

Most are either incomplete, ongoing, or just haven’t updated in a long time, BUT THEYR ARE STILL SO GOOD AND WORTH READING 🙏

OKAY THATS IT REC TIME!

Static Shock

birdsaretoddlers

Rated M

Chapters 10/?

Alastor, Altruist, Died for his Friends. That was the headline. Vox made sure it was plastered all over Hell the moment he'd seen that demon flee for his life. After he remained missing, Vox accepted that he really was dead. Dead and gone. No rival. He and the Vees were now free to rule Hell as the Overlords they'd always dreamed of being, and the plans were finally in motion.

Then Vox went out for donuts, and everything came crashing down. Because Alastor wasn't dead.

He was barely alive.

That one Tuesday

AllIWantIsPasta

Rated E

Chapters 35/38

A chance encounter leads to new developments between Alastor and Vox, and things escalate far beyond anyone could have predicted.

Remote Access

x-UsoTsuki-x (its_not_reael)

Rated E

Chapters 12/?

In the aftermath of Alastor and Vox's electrifying on-air showdown, Vox finds himself unusually rattled. His usual suave demeanor is slipping, much to his cohorts' amusement – and concern. Velvet can do little more than roll her eyes at his antics. Valentino, on the other hand, is convinced that all Vox needs to do is get fucked and relax.

or, alternatively...

The tech-savvy overlord manages to snag a virus from a porn site and finds himself in the arms of his worst enemy.

5 Times Vox Flirted With Alastor and 1 Time He Did Back

WriterQuil

Rated M

Chapters 5/6

A tiny series of continued one shots dedicated towards Vox's "unrequited" tomfoolery and how he was so horrid at expressing it, only to progressively get better at it over time.

You’re better than "paradise"

BloodSoakedPapers

Rating none

Chapters 7/7

Based on the one shot 'better than paradise!' With permission!

Vox gets redeemed and sent to heaven but he doesn’t want to be there at all. And he will do whatever he can no matter how long it takes to get back to hell.

-

Vox gets redeemed after sacrificing his life to save Alastor in the middle of extermination day.

Pushing Your Buttons

HollowedHearts

Rating T

Chapters 6/19

After his crushing defeat at the hands of Alastor, Vox decides he needs to take a more hands-on approach in order to destroy the Radio Demon.

Of course, his best course of action is to exploit the other’s weaknesses… if he has any.

The only problem is that means Vox might have to get a bit closer to Alastor than he previously thought (in more than just one way).

———

Or; Vox finds out the Radio Demon’s true weakness — affection.

etched into your bones

Irrwisch

Rating M

Chapters 13/14

Vox has never danced much, and certainly never with another male. He’s a little nervous, but Alastor’s here. He looks at the man’s face, and they’re about the same height. He’s still smiling. He smells like rot and decay and blood, but everyone does, at least a little. Vox can hear the static cackle in the air.

He wants to kiss him.

He doesn’t, not yet. But he wants to.

|

Throughout the years, things change with Vox and Alastor, and they stay the same, too.

Meant To Be Yours

Mr_Ghosty

Rating M

Chapters 3/3

He loves him, he loves him, he loves him. Vox has loved Alastor through all the decades they've known each other. And, in a moment of pure, drunken stupidity, he tells Alastor how he feels.

Five Times Vox and Alastor Danced and One Time They Didn't

Drowsy_Salamander

Rating T

Chapters: 2/6

“I say, good fellow, what are you doing on the ground like that?”

The voice was perky, cheerful, and bright. It had a crisp mid-Atlantic accent, the kind Vox remembered being all the rage for stage and film performers back when he first entered the broadcast industry. The diction was crystal clear with every sound enunciated separately to maximise clarity, the consonants clicked and the vowels were broad. It was a performer’s voice.

A voice for radio.

...

Five times Vox and Alastor danced and one time Vox and Alastor didn't.

From their first meeting through their friendship, to their enmity and fighting. From infatuation to yearning to animosity. Dancing is a partnership, is it not?

Oh shit.

Vintage

InvisibleLee

Rating T

Chapters 1/1

Vox decided to make a little gift and drop it off anonymously. But there's always an option to figure it out.

Video missed the Radio Star

Thalliumtea

Rating G

Chapters 1/1

Vox is haunted by his choices years after the fact. Nights when the static in his head got too loud, when he couldn't breathe, however artificial it was, where he grabbed that radio by his bedside and fiddled with the dials, looking for any present shows, any sign of his voice.

Nothing.

This absence was killing him, again.

Untitled

Remain_Nameless_Raven

Rating M

Chapters 1/1

Vox has been absent for two weeks. Alastor comes to the recently abandon Vs Tower to investigate.

To Please You, Deer (5 +1)

Otaku24

Rating M

Chapters 2/7

5 times Vox tries to court Alastor and one time Alastor courts Vox back~

Soul Safe

KP100

Rating T

Chapters: 17/?

Once Alastor’s back made contact with the brick wall and he had nowhere else to go, his smile more of a gruesome snarl with the corners of his mouth still tipped up in a mock smile and eyes radio dials, Vox was able to get close enough to notice a slight shade difference in his red shirt, just below his shoulder. His lower lip looked more swollen than normal too- no, Vox would not be admitting to knowing what shape it usually was to anyone besides himself- causing him to frown.

"Who did this to you?"

One-Sided Date Night

InvisibleLee

Rating T

Chapters 2/2

“You’re a great friend,” Vox said sincerely, placing a hand over the one on his frame, leaning into the touch. “Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome, Vox.”

This would be fine.

It was supposed to be fine.

Why did it feel like heartbreak?

Vox's Reality TV Special!

Bee-nut (wellthizizdeprezzing)

Rating T

Chapters: 9/?

After Sir Pentious fails to spy on the hotel Hazbin staff, Vox decides that in order to get back at Alastor he's going to offer to film the hotel for his new “reality TV show''. Charlie, wanting more sinners to flock to the hotel, accepts his offer. Vox is in for his reality check as the show reveals things about his feelings towards Alastor he didn’t expect.

Chaos abounds.

Eclipse

Purrsly

Rating T

Chapters 1/1

Alastor was a virus. A malware he couldn't erase, and it occupied his every thought.

And yet-

equilibrium

curtailed

Rating M

Chapters 4/?

“Help…”

The image of Alastor trying to crawl on his wounded stomach, those delicate fingers curling helplessly in air, reaching towards Vox — a smile stitched-up and eyes that screamed — the essence of a soul that twisted on the palm. Help, the fragment of Alastor’s soul had pleaded. Please. Help. Help. Help. Pleading with his enemy. Alastor couldn't even recognize him. Vox hadn’t even paused to think as he grabbed Alastor's hand, and the smallest bit of his own soul twined around, deep deep deep, merging fully with that fragment of Alastor, anything to steer him away from the awful finality of nonexistence. Vox's mind rejected the notion. His conscience exorcised the option from reality.

OR

Post-Finale. The Hotel finds Alastor right on the front lawn, unconscious and bleeding, still injured from Adam's blade. While he recovers, all of Hell scrambles to find out who his mysterious rescuer is.

Meanwhile, Vox tries not to freak out that he might have accidentally made a soul bond to save that deer asshole's life. All he had wanted to do was to scope out the ruins of Alastor's radio tower. Fuck him for being curious, he supposed.

You're on the Air

rillo (rillyrillo)

Rating M

Chapters 15/?

A series of short, daily conversations between a radio host and his avid listener, as the two learn more about each other’s lives over the air.

Set in the late 90s/early 2000s.

[HUMAN AU] [There's art included for the human designs]

Alastor, Altruist

Coppercrow

Rating E

Chapters 5/?

When his microphone breaks, Alastor realises far too late that he may have underestimated the danger he was in.

.

.

.

.

.

Alastor's fight with Adam goes horribly wrong, and Charlie and her friends have to deal with the aftermath of a defeating loss. But is everything truly as it seems?

I Just Wanted to See Your Face

KisaTM

Rating none

Chapters 3/?

When you fall, you fall hard. Be that Hell or Love at first sight.

This is a story of how Vox met Alastor, their relationship and their falling out, before Alastor disappears for 7 years without explanation.

Ackamarackus

ZootZeet

Rating none

Chapters 1/1

The idea of romantic affections and love never piqued Alastor's fancy.

In fact, the radio demon was sure he wasn't even capable of such emotions.

So when an unfamiliar ache starts blooming in his chest it catches the man quite off guard.

Especially considering it's directed towards his outspoken business partner.

Knife Through the Heart

Veynn

Rating T

Chapters 13/?

After being grievously injured by an angelic weapon, Alastor unwittingly finds himself teaming up with Vox. Unfortunately, emotions are a bitch, and Vox still has some unfinished business with Alastor nearly fifty years in the making.

Rival Frequencies

ArchangelL0ki

Rating none

Chapters 2/?

Vox really didn't know what he was playing at. Watching the optimistic little idiots rebuild their pathetic hotel was not his idea of a good time, and he definitely wasn't watching for a flash of red and camera distortion, no, not at all.

misery meat

loveronmayday (nariaein)

Rating T

Chapters 1/1

Alastor offers a slice to Vox, who readily tries it. Savory and rich, with an underlayer of cognac.

"Thoughts?"

If Vox didn't like it, he wouldn't lie, but he would never be rude. No, instead, he would propose his own liver to perfect the flavor. Anything Alastor wanted.

or: Alastor and Vox share a meal.

Radio Healed the Video Star

Aspiring_Forest_Witch

Rating M

Chapters 49/?

Alastor comes across an unconscious and battered Vox while out on one of his strolls. He feels compelled to bring him back to the hotel.

Bluest Monday

Bapple

Rating E

Chapters 14/16

The year is 1989; Vox and his closest friend Alastor have maintained a strong allegiance for decades. Thus far, Vox has been the Radio Demon’s biggest admirer and protégé, always more than a few steps behind; always wanting more than friendship.The 80s bring with them a new era for televisual media; TV is finally becoming king, threatening to cause a rift between the two friends. Vox, desperate to keep Alastor in his life, doubles his romantic efforts. Alastor, desperate to maintain control and power, decides to indulge them.

A story in which Vox finally gets the man of his dreams; a flighty wicked demon who loves to push his buttons. A story about true friendship, true love, even; but also about how it eventually has to end in tears. A story about how there may be potential to salvage it, after all. Only time can tell.

Im definitely gonna keep updating whenever I find more, or if I recall any! Please give the authors and writers of these fics much love and support! They did amazing jobs and deserve so much! (Also please feel free to recommend fics to me or ones that you think should be added to the list!)

Love yallll!! 💕💕✨

[leiascully]

Fic: Inosculation (M, MSR)

600 words; M for sexual situations and body horror; monsterfucking but they're both monsters (based on @brenayla's cryptid stories) (ao3)

When Scully fucks him, it’s a supernova.

She comes to him wrapped in layers of flame and he peels them off one by one, drops them to shatter on the floor. Her skin is velvet. Her skin is ice, dripping onto him. She tastes like iron under his lips and she burns him. He presses closer. He always presses closer. She laces her fingers through his ribs and tugs and he grins. She loves him.

Pain and pleasure are the same thing to them. Light and time and wet are the same feeling. Hot and cold are the same and her touch freezes him. He is hard under her. She can pull him into filaments like wire. Her eyes eat the skin off his face and her tongue restores it. She is smooth against him. If he strokes her the wrong way, the razor edges of her overlapping scales draw blood.

He moans into the hollow of her just to hear it echo. The reverberations makes his teeth ache. When he kisses her, he can feel the marrow of his bones and the blood swishing through his veins. The glow of her irradiates him. If he holds her for too long, his teeth fall out one by one. She presses them into her own skin, makes her wrist a serrated knife to hold against his throat. He tips his head back for her.

Mark me, he says without words.

She pushes her hands through his hair and leaves the prints of her fingers on his skull. He licks at her. His tongue drags over her pumice rock skin. Lights dance behind her eyes as she watches him.

She likes to watch him.

Under his mouth, she is the universe. He tastes earth at the center of her. She moans like a bellows. He is burned to ash. He trickles down her body. She cups her hands to catch him and molds him back into shape. He is un/made in her image. He becomes what she needs. When he speaks, it’s a prayer of gratitude. She licks the music out of the air. He feels the inside of her throat.

Her teeth tear at him. Her face is a wolf’s muzzle, a griffon’s beak. She swallows a chunk of his shoulder. He traces its path through her body. Peristalsis pulls him deeper into her, the long muscles of her esophagus contracting. She concentrates for a moment. His meat becomes her cock, sheathed in her skin. He is kneeling for her, spread wide for her. She shoves into him and his heart leaps. She fucks him like a hurricane.

And oh oh oh, in the eye of the storm there is no Scully and there is no Mulder. They are the universe. They are the stars, panting hot in the emptiness. When she moans, it’s celestial music. It shakes the ground. They expand through physical space (bed, walls, road, river). They subsume other bodies, other consciousnesses. In the night, someone cries out in fear and ecstasy and doesn’t know why. They contract again, cleaving in two: Mulder or Scully, unentwined like strands of DNA unzipping, like atoms splitting. Frost flowers over their bodies. They sweat mercury and it balls on the floor.

He is whole. He is empty. Her fluids leak out of him. She drags a lazy tongue over his skin. Heat hisses.

I love you, she says. Every pipe in their building creaks with the sincerity in her voice. He rolls her over, pins her, shows her how he loves her with lips and tongue and teeth. She binds him to her with whip-thin tentacles, an inosculation so complete he cannot tell where he ends and she begins.

Somewhere, in the darkness, a star sparks into being, vicious with light.

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love, part 11 (steddie, steve whump fic, stobin)

Alternate ending S4: Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 12 Part 13

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Steve POV

1978—Lover’s Lake

Steve sinks, pulls upward with all he’s got left. He bursts through the surface, screaming: “Dad! Mom! Dad? I’m… lost… Heeeelp!”

The dark waters close seamlessly above his head.

His panic dies quickly, along with the burning pressure in his chest. He sees a swimmer approaching across the depths, like a light rippling through gloom. Their face is kind and strange—he can’t tell if they’re young or really old, or a guy or girl.

“Not yet,” they say. Their arms fold around him, and he’s calm and he isn’t cold. 

Until he is. 

A thousand icy needles jab at his skin, and he whimpers at the sensation of being dragged, carried. Voices shout in harsh, frightening tones, and then…

Apart from in his dreams, he doesn’t see THEM again for another seven years.

“Who do you work for?” demands that Soviet son-of-a-bitch, for the billionth time. 

Steve is tied up, bloodied, not sure if he’s laughing or crying. He’s sure as heck losing his mind, and… wtf? 

The other Soviet bastard raises his hand.

“Oh, come on! No, no, no, seriously?”

Steve doesn’t see the blow coming. Pain flashes up and darkness slams down—the darkness of blood, a rising, relentless tide. It washes him back into that calm place, and all his panic and pain float away.

He sees THEM again, in the fearless dark. 

“Still not yet,” they whisper.

The echoes hook him back. It’s Robin: “Help, heeeeelp!”

Oh yeah, they’ve been captured by the Soviets.

“My ears are ringing,” he tells her, “I can’t properly breathe, and I feel like my eyes’s about to pop out of my skull. Apart from that, I’m doing pretty good.”

He shouldn’t be, though. If there wasn’t so much else to be shitting himself about, he’d be yelling it loud enough to deafen them both. After that mauling from Hargrove, the doctor’s warning had been brutal. Any more head trauma, and he might have a stroke, a brain bleed, go blind, deaf, lose his memory, go mad. He could even die. He should be dead now, right?

Then it all gets even whackier. 

A blue tide rushes through the Soviet base. He yells for Robin, but everything’s already obliterated. The waters carry him along, limbs flailing free, no longer hurting, not even so scared. He knows it’s THEM, although this tsunami isn’t gentle. It’s Niagara levels of powerful and near as water can get to fire and fury. 

“You’ll know,” they tell him. “You’ll know when it’s time to come home.”

Then he’s back in the present, slowly waking up.  

He figures he’s been dreaming. Yeah, about those evil Soviets, and about… stuff that didn’t happen. Where the hell did that flood and fire crap come from?

“You’ll know when it’s time to come home.”

It’s deeply freaky, and he hates it. And Jesus Christ, why is his shoulder a screaming mess of pain? He opens his eyes.

“Robin?” She’s in her usual spot, sitting on the edge of his bunk. 

“Steve? Oh, thank God!”

“What happened this time? I’m so sick of…” He raises his head, flops it back again. There’s a bone-deep ache through his neck and both his arms. His wrists feel mangled. “Shit! Somebody was coming! Did they… Where’s Eddie?”

She puffs through her nostrils. “It’s okay. It was Hopper and El.”

Yeah, that makes some sorta sense. Hopper and Eleven were on the run too, after all. “Where’s Eddie? Is he all right?”

“Don’t ask me. Not spoken to him since he left you unconscious, hanging by one wrist. What was he even thinking?”

Blood rushes to Steve’s face. “That wasn’t entirely his fault. Honestly, I… uh…”

“I don’t care if you begged him on one knee! It was utterly moronic.”

“Listen, I was a moron too—it was matching moronic-ness. We were fooling around, and… Look, I passed out after he left to warn you. Before that, I basically forced him to go.”

“Forced him while roped up? You get yet another pass, Dingus. It’s gonna take a short-to-medium-length Ice Age for him to earn the same.”

Steve sighs hard. He’ll talk her around when he’s gotten the energy.

“Steve, can I ask you something?” She picks at the last flakes of that nail polish..

“If I said ‘no,’ would it make any difference?”

“Do you know anything about the fantastically random rainstorm last night?”

“About the whut?” 

His mind starts racing, in sync with his pulse. Trouble is, he’s beginning to get it. He knows that they—that thing in Lover’s Lake—saved his life. More than once. He still hasn’t got a clue about the rain. Or has he?

You freaked out last night, and thunder clouds hijacked your brain.

“Steve? You okay?”

“Jesus, I’m…” Nope, still not great. He slowly sits up. Under the blanket, he’s shirtless. He catches his left arm with his right, cradling it.

“Does your shoulder hurt bad?”

“No, Robin. It’s just randomly gone purple. Gonna be pitching for the Hoosiers this weekend for sure.” He notices one of his wrists is bandaged. “Got any of those left? Guess I’ll need a sling or something.”

“Yeah, I tried the lake water trick. Not much happened this time. On the other hand, Hopper said it was a miracle you didn’t dislocate it, so…  I’ll, uh, go get him. He’s got a ton of fresh supplies."

She goes, and Steve painfully eases his way into a clean shirt. It turns out to be another Hellfire Club one, which Eddie brought back from his meet at Skull Rock. Oh genius, Henderson, just brilliant! Get Eddie and me walking around with targets painted on our chests, why don’t you? Worse, I’m gonna look like a nerd. With TERRIBLE HAIR. The effort of getting his sweater on over it all, literally brings tears to his eyes. 

Then he sits up straight, on the edge of the bunk. He supports his bad arm, while forcing his features into his best ‘don’t-give-a-damn’ mask. 

When Hopper stoops under the door of the bunkroom, Steve’s jaw drops anyhow. He barely recognises the guy. Uh… wow? He’s not wearing a police uniform, but he still looks in goddamn charge, with an Indiana-Jones style hat that screams authority. He’s even gotten his hands on what looks like a police-issue firearm, in a halter at his side.

“Hey,” says Hopper. “You got yourself pretty beat up again, huh?”

“My shoulder hurts,” he whispers. It comes out so humiliatingly shakily, that when Hopper takes off his hat and sits down beside him, Steve looks away sharply. Oh, for Christ’s sake! He sniffs, dabs his eyes, pulls himself together. “It’s not so bad,” he mumbles.

“Yeah? You got tough joints, kid.”

Steve bites his lip to the point of pain.

Hopper’s brought a first-aid kit, and he fashions a sling for him. As he does, he fills Steve in on a few more details of how the hell he came back from the dead. Also, about what’s been going on in Hawkins, which is basically under military occupation. He ties the sling behind Steve’s neck, squeezes his good shoulder. “You take it easy. Sun’s up and we’ll be off in a few minutes.”

Hopper heads out. Steve scowls at his back. 

He ought to be relieved Hopper’s here. Admittedly, he’s been a total flop at taking care of himself and the others. Which only makes him more pissed with Hopper. How could somebody go through that in a Soviet gulag, win a wrestling match with demo-gorgons, and still come out alive, swinging, and the toughest dude in the state?

He gets his sneakers on and staggers as far as the door. Robin is loading the remnants of their supplies into an armoured Humvee, painted in military khaki and spattered with mud. Hopper’s fiddling under the hood, and Eleven hovers nearby. She gives Steve a sort-of smile, which he returns, while seething, 

That sick son-of-a-bitch Brenner took her hair again?

 “Where’s Eddie?” he asks, stepping further out, while fighting a wave of dizziness.

“Skulking,” calls Eddie, sloping out from some hiding spot. Robin folds her arms and stomps away. Steve squelches across the sticky ground toward Eddie. He looks so forlorn—hair flattened like a soggy puppy’s—that Steve can’t help grinning. 

“Sorry,” mouths Steve. “Sucky timing, huh?”

Eddie pulls a silly face, which doesn’t reach his pink eyes. Steve edges closer. Eddie shuffles back, looking genuinely spooked, which sends Steve’s mood into free-fall. 

He sits down heavily on Eddie’s empty beer-crate and nods at the Humvee. “You guys stole that baby?”

“Had to get around the roadblocks somehow,” says Hopper. “That rain churned up a ton of mud. It’s gonna slow them down, but it’s gonna slow us down too. We gotta move.”

“We? Why are we all going?” Steve hates this idea. Even more than he hates how he’s defaulting to surly teenager mode. He wonders—not for the first time though not for the billionth—if his actual parents have given him up for dead. “Don’t wanna seem ungrateful, Chief, but I really don’t feel like a road trip.” 

“O’Sullivan has torn Hawkins apart, searching for El. Next, he’s gonna have the army sweep this whole area. You won’t stand a chance.”

“Can’t we go back to those caves?” Steve mumbles toward his mud-flecked sneakers. 

“When they find you,” says Hopper, “best-case scenario���they hand Munson here over the police, or the cronies who count for it these days. Worst case-scenario? O’Sullivan keeps hold of him, as well as you.”

“Why the heck would some army guy be interested in me?”

He senses Hopper close in. “You signed the NDAs, Steve. They know YOU know about Eleven. They’ve interrogated Joyce and Jonathan, but there’s only so much they can do with people they can’t easily ‘disappear.’ If they think you’ve got intel as to her whereabouts… You get where I’m going with this?”

“So what?” Steve can’t look up. Like before, he can’t let Hopper see. “W-won’t be the first time I’ve been tortured.”

“Yeah, and I’m sorry, kid. But tough talk ain’t gonna save you.”

“They kill people,” says Eleven. “I didn’t want to run, to leave Mike. To leave Max.” She sounds so very sad. “We had no choice.”

“I honestly don’t think we have much choice either, Steve,” says Robin, emerging from the cabin behind with the blankets. “Hop’s got more bottled water from Lover’s Lake in the truck. If you get sick or hurt, it could help.”

On being reminded of all that shit, Steve rubs his face, groans.

“We gonna talk about that now?” asks Eddie. “You know, the ginormous, soggy elephant spouting water out of its trunk? The one giving Steve buffed-to-the-max powers?”

“Powers?” Steve’s forced laugh comes out way too loud. “El can throw cars around with her mind, rip holes in dimensions. I can heal stuff. A bit. Then I pass out for half a day. It’s pointless.”

“Neeeewsflash,” sings Eddie. “You brought me back from the dead. Not pointless, I hope.”

Steve laughs again, totally hollow. What Eddie says feels fake, somehow. Was that even really him, or… Ugh, his head is too muddled.

“Using my powers tires me out too,” adds Eleven.

“Uh, hello? Can we please discuss the super-magical weather?” Having flung the bedding in the Humvee, Robin flings her arms toward the skies. “Twice, we were in danger. Twice, Steve rearranged the heavens to cover our sorry asses.”

Steve huffs: “Robin, I have no control over—"

“You have to learn control,” says Eleven.

“We can talk about this on the journey.” Hopper takes Steve by the elbow. He urges him to his feet, finally forcing Steve to slam him with a full-on glare. “C’mon, get in.”

Part 12

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 12 Part 13

[angeart]

AU Masterpost [tags]

I think it's time. So I can keep track, and you guys know what's out there and how to search for it <3 I'll try to order AUs based on how much there is to them. Some AUs will only have a single thought/art underneath their tag, but there might be more added to them in the future, and if you're curious about anything, you can always ask. (I'm very easily convinced to drop rambles, as has been proven in the past—)

*

Help Me To Breathe [hmtb]

my main multi-chapter story, set in s8 boatem. deaths abruptly hurt on hermitcraft, and each respawn makes it worse. scar dies a lot by grian's hands, before grian even learns (the hard way) that things hurt now. welcome to a scarian angst hellhole where 3rd life flashbacks hit like bricks and guilt is mercilessly spilled everywhere <3

this fic is the epitome of it gets worse before it gets better. trust me.

cws: violence, ptsd, anxiety attacks, delusions, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, suicide, temporary character death... please check tags on AO3 which i try very hard to keep updated

tags: #hmtb - an all-encompassing tag for fic updates, rambles, and art. (sometimes #hmtb art is also used in tandem, where relevant.)

fic: Help Me To Breathe on AO3

*

Hunted hybrids [hhau]

hermitcraft s8 got code-attacked and all the hermits got scattered into different worlds, lost and stuck in unfamiliar places, not knowing if their home still exists. the au follows scar and grian who ended up in the same world (although originally unaware)—a world dangerous and hostile to hybrids. grian is an avian, scar is a vex, and they're hunted relentlessly. also, it's permadeath <3

this au is self-indulgently used in RP and co-owned by linkito

cws: violence, blood, dehumanisation of hybrids, self harm (feather plucking), mentions of suicidal ideation... [updated cws in the hhau masterpost]

tags: #hhau

this one got out of hand so >> hhau masterpost <<

*

Boatem circus

scar, a sea-lion hybrid, builds a circus as a safe haven for all the hybrids and misfits that have nowhere to belong and need a place to heal. they all carry their own traumas and wounds, and scar gives them what they never had: gentleness and options and freedom to roam or leave. but it's not easy, navigating a growing community of varying triggers and buried pasts.

au put together with stiffyck

cws: ptsd, panic attacks, fear of fire, loss and grief, mentions of captivity/torture/abuse

tags: #boatem circus au

fics: don't be afraid, little bird (there are no cages around you now); elegy

[AO3 series link]

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Sleep demon Grian

grian is a sleep demon, existing in the dreamscape, able to manipulate dreams and thriving on giving people nightmares. he meets scar in a dream, immediately intrigued and amused by his reactions, and he keeps coming back to him. scar, despite all the nightmares being thrown at him, catches a glimpse of his perpetrator, and grows curious in turn. they start talking, everything eventually culminating into a ritual and a summonning circle. grian, in the waking world, needs to learn how to exist somewhere where he can get actually hurt, and come to terms with the fact that he has locked away memories and trauma.

cws: injuries, fear, panic, nightmares(?), trauma, violence, memory repression

tags: #sleep demon grian au

au rambles: here

fics: the nightmare snippet; even if it hurts (and even if it isn't a dream) you can have a home here

*

Cursed forest

found family boatem, where each of them carry their own heavy past and an attached curse. they thought they'd never find a place to settle that'd accept them and let them heal. but they found each other, deep in a hidden away forest, littered by bones and flowers, death and hope. (honestly, just see the au rambles.)

au put together with stiffyck

cws: animal death, necromancy, grief and guilt, body horror

tags: #cursed forest au

rambles: here

fics: even with death haunting your footsteps, your flowers will bloom again

*

Ari au

grian (he/she) is ariana giande (ari), a famous singer beloved by the crowds. except things start getting a bit too out of hand. there are stalkers and people who think they have the right to ari's personal life, the right to see and dictate everything. the press gets out of hand. maybe the crowds get too rowdy. maybe—

more scared and overwhelmed by the second, grian gets a bodyguard. that bodyguard is scar. things continue to escalate though, and by the time ari calls a break in her career, everything's irreparably breaking down around her.

(If it wasn't clear yet, this is one very dark, very heavy, very human story. There's love and so, so, so much despair. Things go wrong and then worse.)

au with Ben

cws: papparazzi hounding, stalkers, lack of privacy, blurring of self, drugging and [attempted] SA, physical assaults, self harm, overdose, medical trauma, restraints, seizures, ptsd, depression, suicidal stuff (including several attempts)

tags: #ari au

au rambles: [part I] - [part II] - [part III] - [part IV] - [part V] - [TBC]

au art:

downfall in three stages - here lake scene art - here

*

Assassin au [work title]

grian is an assassin, scar is elven nobility. one day, grian is sent to kill scar, but upon meeting, they find out that they know each other. i promise i'll add a better description at some point.

cws: blood and violence, mind control, being generally oblivious about life, survival scenario, murder, possible animal death

tags: #assassin au (subject to change)

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Misguided Heroes

scar is secretly hotguy, a hero meant to protect the people. grian is a shopkeeper at barge, but with self-proclaimed king ren wreaking havoc on economy and making life of ordinary citizens so much harder, he decides to secretly play vigilante, cuteguy, and stage a one-man rebellion.

also, scar and grian are roommates.

au for rp with sima <3

cws: injuries, illusions messing with perception/reality, [to be determined]

tags: #misguided heroes au

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Ghost Scar

grian is a paranormal investigator. scar is a ghost. they meet, they talk, and grian resolves to do his best to make scar feel less lonely.

cws: dead character??? he's a ghost dw he's fine-

tags: #ghost scar au

fics: you exist in silence (i'll help you make a sound)

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Silly vampire Scar

scar is a vampire living in a mansion too big and too lonely for him. grian and mumbo are survivors in a world riddled with monsters, which they learn to hunt and kill. one night, they seek shelter in what seems to be an abandoned mansion—

cws: general vampire stuff, [to be determined]

tags: #vampire scar au

fics: [one day]

*

Cuteguy au

things do be angsty in this one. scar is hotguy, grian is his sidekick cutecuy. one day, things go wrong and a building explodes with scar still inside. the body is never found. hotguy is presumed dead. that is, until cuteguy comes face to face with a new villain that is oddly familiar—

idea loosely bounced off of stiffy's TOGH au

cws: blood, violence, delusions, brainwashing, grief, loss of identity, presumed major character's death (twice. wild. huh.)

tags: #cuteguy au

*

Papers please au

what it says on the tin. scar lives with his cat jellie in a cold, small, state-provided apartment and gets assigned a job as an immigration officer at a border checkpoint. he... isn't great at the job, but doesn't have a choice, and needs the money to keep them fed and healthy. grian is the head of resistance, because of course he is <3

cws: dystopian world, cold, hunger, sickness, potential pet death, injuries

tags: #papers please au

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Spirit au

grian is an avian living freely in a patch of forest. that is, until he gets caught by people who think hybrids are on-par with working animals, and is shackled and hurt and trained, to serve. there is a looming war, and flight-capable carriers are very valued (but not much cared for). scar is a vex hybrid, coming from a settlement that's kinder to hybrids, who also gets captured. they meet in captivity, and things happen.

cws: hybrid slavery, hybrid dehumanisation, loss of freedom, abuse, warzone stuff

tags: #spirit au

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DL rp au

grian and scar in double life, soulbound and with vague memories of previous life games. their soul connection transfers not only all the pain and injuries, but also emotions. and they both feel. a little too much. (they're a mess, but also in love, as they should be)

au for rp with sima <3

cws: they very sad; self destructive tendencies (sorry there's no self in this one, they are linked and there's always collateral-)

tags: #dl rp

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Half sea town au

a town half-submerged into the sea. the upper half is reserved for humans, who are seen as better, richer, the posh and the nobility. the lower half, the submerged part, is slum-like, reserved for seafolk, seen as lesser. many seafolk learn to live on land, to improve their standing (not necessarily living situation; they do need water). mumbo lives amongst the nobility. scar lived his whole life in the sea. grian, even though he belongs to the seafolk, lives on land. mumbo's best friend, forever trying to be something he isn't.

a crackers collective au

cws: er.. class divide?, self worth issues, needs denial in a way?

tags: #half sea town au

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The underwater au that somehow fails to have a name the first thing i ever posted on tumblr woo.

an underwater au set somewhere in the wide, deep sea. merfolks. mumbo is a prince, grian, jimmy, and joel are his guards. scar is a deep-sea fish, and tales say those are scary and horrendous and dangerous. (he's just a silly guy, pls)

stiffy/crackers collective au

cws: injuries, idk

tags: #mer au

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smaller aus/ideas:

last life scar: #post-ll scar's issues with touch

fixing double life scarian: #fixing dl au

puppeteer scar: #puppeteer scar au

cannibal scar/forest (the game) au: #forest au

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others' aus that i have yoinked and might have content for:

#grumbo apocalypse monster au - ben's au that i slinkered my way into <3 - ben's au masterpost here - grian is very much a (horror) creature :3

#space grian au - also belongs to ben. also burrowed my way in to this one. hehe. (ben none of your aus are now safe from me.)

#snifflins au - crackers group au, based on that one time jimmy and scar were piglinmynose, and joel and grian were sniffermyfeet - twisted into snifflers and piglin hybrids (snifflins!) in the aftermath, trying to get used to their new bodies and instincts and needs.

#desert alien scar au - belongs to stiffy

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+ a whole bunch of aus (some collective ones) that i haven't talked about on tumblr yet <3

(for example, the zombie whisperer scar/dancing zombies au - postapo, (mum)scarian, with one redscape-focused fic (written for stiffy): the blooms in a dead world)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

(if i missed any cws for any of the aus, please let me know!)

reinstating that if you're curious about anything, i don't bite! come ask!

[my AO3]

[soft-girl-musings]

An Unexpected Proposition (pt. 1)

based on this prompt from @imaginexhobbit, previously submitted under @jawn-i-made-coffee

cross-posted to ao3

part 2

Kíli x fem!Reader

tags: mentions of blood/injury, Reader is described as tall (by human standards), Y/N is used

wc: 1,615

fic summary: An injured dwarf appears on your doorstep. Do you grant him sanctuary on this stormy night?

A/N: posting this is totally self-indulgent and very out of left field for this blog but idc, we just reached 800 ao3 hits on this bad boy (some days we blog for the younger self anyway). I submitted this from my high school blog and revamped it in 2020, might flesh it out beyond pt 2 if the muse strikes.

Thunder and lightning seem to battle for superiority in the storm, chasing heavy torrents North. The evening is dark and damp, but you don’t mind. Your cottage is as safe a haven as any. You sit before your hearth, fire blazing as you bury yourself beneath several blankets, a mug of tea warming your lap. Nothing could ruin your cozy evening alone.

As if on cue, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminates the windows. A bloodied man’s face is pressed against the glass, his lips moving incoherently. You stifle a scream. In an instant you have your sword in hand and cloak about your shoulders, ready to face your intruder. Throwing the door open, you strike a defensive stance and scan the property. To your right, you see that it is no man at all, but a dwarf bleeding out in your garden. Dark hair clings to his face, bruised and battered. Blood marrs his complexion as rainwater drenches him. Before you can speak, the dwarf doubles over and begins to heave into your prized rose bush. You grimace.

"Please," he rasped, "please, I ask for sanctuary." His knees give way with the last syllable. You manage to catch him before he falls into the mud.

"I’ve got you, sir dwarf." Propping him up, you guide him inside. "Poor thing, you're soaked to the bone."

His small frame would not have been so heavy if not for his copious belongings. The dwarf seemed to have packed for a long journey, which had somehow led him to your door. You stumble over to the kitchen and deposit him in a chair, his head lolling to one side. You pour a cup of water and help him drink.

“Thank you,” he manages to rasp after downing a second glass. Life seemed to be returning to him already. “I do not mean to be a bother.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “If anyone’s bothered, sir dwarf, it’s you. Come, let me help you--” you assist him in his efforts to remove his belongings from his weary shoulders. He shivers fiercely, but does not refuse your help.

You notice how cold and pale he is. “Best not to strain yourself… let me start a bath for you. Your wounds need to be cleaned before they are dressed.”

You hand him a blanket and lead him to a partition in the next room. “Here, you can wrap yourself in this while I start the water.” The dwarf removes his outer layers and complies, his dark eyes never leaving you as you begin the tedious task of hauling numerous pots of hot water to the tub.

“Why are you helping me?” he finally asks, his face growing more puzzled with each trip you make.

You stop in your tracks, offering a shrug. “Because you asked.”

With that, you leave him to his bath.

You gather the dwarf’s wet clothing and lay each article in front of the still-warm stove. On the other side of the table lay his daypack and weapons. You hadn’t taken the time to inspect them before: the dwarf had been carrying archery equipment, numerous knives, and a shortsword. You examine each piece with reverence. The dwarves were renowned for their craftsmanship in the forges, but you had never seen proof of their handiwork until this moment. The blades were smaller than any you were used to, expertly fashioned with intricate detail.

"Like what you see, then?"

You jump at the sudden voice, dropping a knife. The dwarf had come out dressed in the shirt and trousers you had laid out for him. He stands by the fire, drying his hair.

"I was just admiring your weapons, sir-"

"Kíli."

You nod. "(Y/N)." You notice the color has already returned to his skin and his cuts were clean. He had looked much worse before; in the light of the fire, he was almost handsome. "Feeling any better?"

"Oh, loads. I cannot thank you enough for taking me in." He grins, and you can’t help but follow suit.

"What were you doing out there? Facing that storm as you were seemed like a deathwish."

"I had the misfortune of running into some bad company at your tavern." His body fell heavily into a chair by the fireplace.

"I'm afraid the locals do not take kindly to dwarves," you say with an apologetic smile, standing to join him in your earlier seat. "What are you doing so far West? Your people are native to the mountains, I was led to believe."

You realize how young the dwarf was when his face breaks out in another eager grin. "I'm on a quest. I was on my way to Hobbiton."

You lean forward, intrigued. "The Shire? What kind of quest concerns the halflings?"

Kíli tells you of his Uncle's plan to reclaim Erebor for the dwarves. He makes sure to highlight how dangerous the task may prove to be. You try to hide your amusement, but your shaking shoulders and involuntary simper do not escape your companion's eye.

Kíli crosses his arms. "Is something funny?"

You wipe a tear from your cheek. "I'm sorry, but you look like you've seen nary a battle in all your days."

"What, like you have, lass?" he scoffs, nodding toward your sword propped by the door. "I'll bet you've never laid a hand on that weapon of yours until tonight."

Your expression darkens. "Watch your words, sir dwarf. I have seen and spilt more blood than you would care to believe."

Kíli shrinks back in his chair. "Y-yeah? When?" Even under correction, his excitement could not be diminished.

You tell him of your past days as a soldier. Having always been tall for your age, you had cut your hair and enlisted in a male disguise when you were barely sixteen. You regale him with tales of the lands you had seen and battles you fought as a young woman among hardened men. The fading storm is the perfect backdrop for your stories; in truth, it had been a long time since you'd been able to talk about your fighting days, and you revel in the drama of the moment. Kíli clings to your every word, apparent awe and admiration dancing across his features. Many hours and cups of tea pass between you before you conclude your saga, the fire having long since died down.

You yawn. Dawn was but a few hours away. "It's late. You must leave in the morning, I assume?"

"Yes, I have to get back on the road."

You stand and stretch your aching muscles. "We should both get to bed, then. I have an extra room you're welcome to." You hold out your hand. "Goodnight, Kíli."

Kíli rises and takes your hand, but instead of shaking it as you intended, he leans forward and kisses the back of it. Your face grows warm at the surprising softness of his lips. "Goodnight, (Y/N)."

He turns to leave, but stops and looks back at you.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you leave that kind of life? You spoke so fondly of your time in service."

You give a sad smile. "Let’s just say it wasn’t by choice." You begin to walk to your bedroom, but Kíli grabs your hand as you pass.

"If you had the chance, would you go back?"

You squeeze his hand and wink. "In a heartbeat."

__________

"What's all this, then?" You laugh. From the looks of it, Kíli had been cooking a small feast since before dawn.

"Good morning, my lady!" Kíli wipes his hands on a cloth and bows with great bravado. "I hope you don't mind me raiding your larder. I wanted to express my gratitude for your generosity." He takes your hand and leads you to the head of the table, fixing your plate once you sit down.

"You really didn't have to do this."

"Ah, 'course I did! I'd have drowned if it wasn't for you."

You spend the morning laughing and eating your way through the meal with Kíli, realizing how much you will miss his company in the days ahead. He’s been a refreshing change of pace for the simple monotony you’d build for yourself. As you wash the dishes after your meal, you notice he is dressed in his clothes from last night, weapons and bag secured to his back.

"All set, then?" You know your face betrays you, but you don’t care if he knows how sad you are. You had gained a friend last night.

"Not quite." He practically bounds up to your side, that familiar grin plastered onto his features. "I have something to ask of you."

You set down the plate you had been scrubbing. "And what's that?"

"Will you join me? On my quest, I mean?" His face is radiant with expectation and excitement.

You busy yourself with another dish, shaking your head. “Kíli, I’m not quite sure what to say-"

"Say yes! (Y/N), you told me yourself that you missed your old life. This would be the perfect chance for you to reclaim it!"

Despite all logic, you realize how right he is. Some small but powerful part of you had longed to be on the road with him when he spoke to you last night. You knew it was rash, but your heart was already pumping from the mere mention of excitement, aching to get out in the world once more. The quiet life you had been leading was nice, but it paled in comparison to the journey Kíli now offered. You craved adventure. When else would you have the opportunity to taste it?

"I'll have my things packed within the hour."

__________

A/N: you ever feel an old hyperfixation staring you down, threatening to return if you look at it too long? that might be happening again. only time will tell.

tysm for reading!

[bardic-inspo]

Hey, I'm Megh. Currently buried in BG3 bliss. I love my cat, villainous women, men covered in blood and/or dirt, story-based RPGs, D&D 5e, spooky things, and mermaids. My main OC is my beloved cursed drow bard/haunted noise witch, Naomi Tavriel (BG3).

I write fic! You can find me on AO3, or click the links below. I try to tag NSFW content when I post it, but be aware you may find that on this blog.

If you want me to tag you in WIP writing games (like WIP Wednesday, Last Line Memes, Six Sentences Saturday), you can give this post over here a like.

Fallout 4 Writing Masterlist

BG3 Fic Masterlist

Dhampir Dreams

Part 1 of 2

[Read on AO3] [Read on Tumblr]

Post-Game Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Generic/Unnamed) | Rated E for Smut | Part 2 is a WIP

Tav saw beauty in Astarion he couldn’t have seen himself, even if he had a reflection to gawk at. She made love with a man who never thought he could have anything near it. Made all his red dreams come true, and then said: go on, make new ones, in whatever color you like. Astarion never thought about being a father. Not before her. Or: an angsty-turned-horny character study about the pale elf and his thoughts on creating new (un)life.

Blood in the Mortar

[Read on AO3] [Read on Tumblr]

Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav | Rated E for Smut | One-shot

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” In which ascended Astarion is a slightly softer service dom, and Tav is his blood bride. Their bond as bride and sire doesn’t only bind, but blends, creating a link that runs deeper than the one they shared through the tadpole. Tav is a terror of her own renown, and together, they build an empire of bone and blood.

Midnight Chimes

Astarion x Cursed! Tav | Rated E for Ocassional Smut | Chapters 8/??

Full Chapter List (Includes AO3 & Tumblr Links)

[blackoutspoetry]

The Anatomy of starved dogs (snippet)

From the chapter "Thread and Bone"

This is for my fic "the anatomy of starved dogs". The first chapters are on ao3 💜

Background: its February 2021. Ghost and Soap are sent out on a mission to a Cold War era military base in the mountains to find an important person that could give them a lead on who Makarov was communicating with from out of jail. It goes horribly wrong and they are captured and held prisoner by the Russians before escaping. Now left with some major wounds from their rushed escape process, Soap takes care of Ghost's wounds before they get infected.

Warnings: blood, injury, cleaning of wounds

“I have to take this off, Ghost. You’re going to get an infection from these wounds.” 

“It’ll be fine–” 

“Ghost,” Soap says. “If I don’t fix it up right now, you are going to get an infection, you’ve already lost a lot of blood and you’re already getting pale.” 

“M’not.” 

Soap looks him sternly in his eyes. “Yes, you are.” 

Soap studied his reaction, the way his body tensed up and genuine trepidation settled in his eyes, even with the mask, he can see the hint of shell shock sitting there, there is fear. Soap puts a hand on his shoulder and he flinches, but calms after a moment. 

“Ghost, I don’t know what happened to you, but I can promise you, sure as hell, I don't want to hurt you, I just want to help. And if you don't want to do it for yourself, then do it for me, because I'm sure as hell not making it down this bloody mountain alive alone. But I can't do it unless you let me." 

Ghost considered Soap's words a moment before he relented. 

"Alright." 

Soap tried to offer him a bleak smile. He reached over to pull at the hem of Ghost's shirt but he batted Soap's hands away.

"I'll do it myself," he snapped brashly, tugging the tattered material over his head. It snagged on the edge of his mask and he had to adjust it back into place, seeming a lot more rattled than Soap was hoping for.

Soap avoided the searing look Ghost was giving him as he looked over Ghost's exposed chest. He tries to keep his reaction off his face, but some of it clearly must show. 

"Go on, tell me how ugly it looks or ask me how much it hurt. I know that's what you're thinking."

Soap grits his teeth, swallowing as he looks over the litany of scars etched into the man's pale torso. Patches of burn scar, bullet wounds, knife scars decorated his skin, his honey blond body hair grew sparsely and did no work to conceal the long Y shaped scar that cut across from collarbone to collarbone, dropping down the middle to cut a line that bisected his belly button and disappeared under the waistband of his trousers. 

But Soap's immediate concern didn't lie with his old scars. 

He looked up at Ghost, sounding a lot more exasperated than intended. "I just want to fix your wounds." 

Soap took the bowl with the diluted antiseptic and submerged a cotton pad in it, squeezing out a bit of the excess and finding a decently sized gash on Ghost's stomach that had since stopped bleeding. 

He swiped the cotton pad gently over the wound, expecting Ghost to flinch but there's no outward reaction, only the slightest hitch of his breath and tightening of his muscles as the stinging antiseptic seeped into the cut. 

"Sorry, Lt," he still tries to apologise with a grimace, redipping the cotton and using a clean one to wipe down the excess running down from Ghost's wound.  

He's relieved to see that the cut wasn't as deep as he'd initially thought and moves onto the next one that was more awkwardly positioned over his ribs, wiping it down with the same care as the first. 

It's directly over some other old and nasty scar, and he thinks Ghost's reaction was more for the old scar than the new cut that seemed superficial in comparison. But he doesn't ask.

Ghost was always a private man, he'd respect that. 

Soap inspects his arms for cuts. There's nothing on his right but a fair amount on his left, with which he took the brunt of the fall, besides his currently unattended back and neck. 

He can see the tattoo for real now, up close. The design fit his persona perfectly, an amalgamation of everything war and violence related, skulls and bullets. It was an ensemble of violence and hatred pulled together into a sleeve, much against Soap's personal taste and he wondered if it said much about his lieutenant's personality. 

But he can see now, it's old, years old, a decade even. It has faded into his skin enough that Soap can tell. There are new scars, healed and faded over the tattoo and he wipes at the new wound, deeper than the first ones, in hopes that he won't form another scar to add to the rest covering his body. 

As Soap is drying the excess antiseptic, he feels Ghost's muscle flex under his hand and looks down to see Ghost methodically clenching and unclenching his fist as a means of self regulation. 

He’s nervous and for reasons Soap couldn’t quite comprehend, that scares him. 

“You good, Lt?” 

Soap probably shouldn’t have acknowledged it, because Ghost seems even more on edge now, grunting out a clipped “I’m fine,” that gives Soap the clear message he should rather just focus on getting finished as quickly as possible. 

As he finishes up with the last of the cuts on his arm, he turns his attention to Ghost’s back, equally covered in an expanse of old scars, long, deep poorly healed gashes that seemed reminiscent of gashes from being struck with something like leather or chain. 

A strange ache settles in his chest and he cannot stop frowning at the sight of it, even as he cleans up the newer comparatively tamer looking wounds. But if he cannot keep those clean, he’s worried about Ghost picking up an infection or contracting tetanus, if the soil conditions were favourable for the bacteria to be present. 

The cuts closer to his left arm were much deeper than those further away, and there’s blood on the back of his neck. The razor wire seemed to have cut through the mask material and he can only hope it didn’t manage to pierce through the skull patterned face plate. 

He only begins to move the material away from the back of his neck when Ghost’s hand flies up to grip his wrist hard enough for the bones to ache. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Soap sighed, releasing the blood soaked fabric of the mask and Ghost hesitantly retracted his hand. 

“You took a lot of damage to the left side of your body, and there are cuts on your neck, I need to clean them.” 

“I can clean them myself.” 

“You can barely walk, Ghost.” 

“I don’t need to be able to walk to clean cuts.” 

“You can’t see behind your head. I won’t look, I promise.” 

It seems to take an immense amount of effort, and Soap almost begins to worry when Ghost’s fists clench at his sides, but he relents after a minute. 

“Fine, but you stay in your lane, MacTavish. I’m serious now.” 

“You have my word,” he says it now like he’s swearing an oath, hand coming up to his chest to press the combined weight of metal into his sternum. 

With a deep breath from both parties, Soap lightly begins to lift the fabric away from Ghost’s neck, letting the other man take over in removing it from his head entirely. 

He can’t see Ghost’s face, but his hair is lush, dirty blond, neatly trimmed, despite the fact that it was never visible, and from what little he managed to determine from the curve of his jaw alone and the vague rounding of his cheek, was clean shaven. 

The cuts on his neck seemed mostly shallow, which Soap was thankful for, but as he cleans away the blood and dirt, he notices a cut seeping blood into Ghost’s hair near the side of his head. Soap moved aside some of the hair covering the cut to find it had pierced through to the bone and was still bleeding profusely. 

“How much pain are you in?” 

“I’m not going to lie, it fucking hurts.” 

Not that it was anything to measure it by, Soap still tried to offer the man some relief. “There’s some pain meds in the bathroom. Strong stuff, I reckon. Probably prescription. I could get you some, though I’m not so sure you should be taking it on an empty stomach.”

Ghost tensed in a way that Soap didn’t quite want to attribute to the working of his hands, cleaning the blood out of his hair. 

“I don’t take pain meds,” he answered a bit bluntly. 

“You sure, Ghost?" Then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, he jokingly adds, "want me to kiss it better, sir?" 

"Hell no, don't know what kind of bacteria's in that mouth of yours." 

Soap laughed lightly, but turned his attention back to the cut in Ghost's scalp and the other deeper ones on his arm. 

"Some of these are deep and probably need to be stitched.” 

“And how do you plan on doing that without a suture kit?” 

Soap grimaced, holding up the plastic packet with needles pushed into a pincushion and a spool of black heavy duty thread. 

“Fucking hell. Alright. Maybe I’ll bite for the pain killers.” 

Soap looked at the thick sewing needle and grimaced. 

"Alright then, I'll see if I can find you something to eat. You might want to cover your face because I need to look through those cupboards," Soap says, and Ghost reached for his mask, finding it now stuck together with drying blood. 

With a heavy sigh, Ghost discards the dirty mask and tugged his discarded shirt closed, holding it to his face with his hand while Soap investigates. 

The cabinets are hopelessly bare. There's the mouldy remains of half a bread sitting under the sink for months, the entrails of some poor slaughtered animal decorate the lip of the kitchen sink, poorly cleaned up but dry enough that Soap knows whoever was here last is long gone. 

The other cupboards show little promise, though Soap finds a handful of unhelpful things, packet of old, damp salt, half a spice packet. 

The small pantry is a bit more promising. A six pack of boxed long life milk, home preserved vegetables in mason jars and an old sack of potatoes that reeks of rot, half of which have pushed shoots through the peeling paper bag. 

A rat scurries away from a sack of grain it had chewed a hole into as Soap moves into the pantry to retrieve a jar of preserved beans, figuring the protein might do them will with little energy, especially to help Ghost recover better. 

Hesitating a moment, he grabs a milk carton as well. 

The writing along the side of it is all in cyrillic and it registers a strange desertedness, Soap had never felt so utterly abandoned and directionless as he feels now.

And now he's gotten the added responsibility of making sure Ghost doesn't kick the bucket under his care. 

Why is this so damn stressful? 

"I got something," Soap says to cut off the negative thought. 

"Beans…" Ghost said bluntly. 

"Beans and milk." 

Soap got two bowls and divided the small jar equally between the two. He decides to heat the milk on the stove, figuring that the warmth might do them some good. 

Though he's itching to make a fire, the smoke would be a dead giveaway, so he lights the little gas stove and hopes there will be enough for them. 

He takes the warm milk and beans and leaves it for Ghost on the table. Ghost waits for him to fetch the bottle of pain meds and he puts it down on the table harder than necessary, as of to present it all to Ghost who looked up at him wordlessly. 

"There you go, Lt." 

For a moment, Ghost looked at him with an unreadable expression. 

It strikes Soap that this is the first time he's seen this much of the man. All he could ever see of his skin was perhaps a sliver of wrist skin between his sleeve and the edge of his gloves, or how intense his eyes were, but it strikes him as odd now. 

Ghost's body was covered in scars and old marks garnered from years of military service, but it somehow didn't change the image Soap had created of him in his mind, the thing that did throw him off a bit was how soft Ghost's eyes were under the mask. 

He'd always thought his eyes had a dark and piercing gaze that could intimidate most people, but like this, they were not nearly as dark as he thought they were, more a striking warm amber than rich ebony brown. 

In another situation, he might have thought the combination of his soft blond hair and wide, almost nervous eyes should have looked beautiful on a woman. 

That combination had certainly looked pretty on the other boys he’d been with, but he cuts that thought off. That time in his life was over. 

Soap gritted his teeth, purposely averting his gaze to his hands. 

Soap moved behind Ghost so that he could lower the fabric from his face and begin picking at the beans. Its nothing five star, but it was all infinitely better than the hunger they have felt for the past twenty-four hours.

The warm milk is soothing on his still aching throat. 

He sees over Ghost’s shoulder as he uncaps the bottle and knocks two small white tablets into his hand. He hesitates a moment as he checks the instructions and the warnings on the label once more before knocking them back and swallowing it down with the last of the milk. 

“We should probably give it a minute to kick in before we begin,” Soap says grimly, not particularly looking forward to the idea. He checks over the cuts again, relieved to see they’ve stopped bleeding but he’s sure they’ll need to be stitched now, any sort of movement would split them open again. 

 “How long do we wait?” Ghost asks. 

“Dunno.”

“Hopefully this stuff’ll make it better but painkillers, of any calibre, definitely aren't going to replace local anaesthesia.” 

Soap felt his resolve cave a little. He had forgotten about that in the haze of things.

“Fuck. You’re right.” 

“I’m assuming you’ve never done this before?” 

Soap scoffed at Ghost’s tone. “Well, have you ever had to use  grandma’s sewing kit to stitch up your superior officer after he fell into a roll of razor wire, running from Russians with guns?”

“Maybe I have, you wouldn’t know.” 

Ghost was definitely taking the piss. 

“No shot, bet you have tons of cool war stories but this is definitely a new one for the album.” 

“What album?” 

Soap smiled. “The metaphorical one documenting our working together.” 

“You make it sound like we’re married.”

“Hell, Lt. We practically fight like we are.” 

Ghost laughs. “That’s just ‘cause you don’t know how to follow orders.”

“And you don’t know how to take a bit of help when you need it,” Soap shot back. He reached for the sewing kit and pulled out a needle that seemed suitable. 

Soap goes off to the bathroom to wash his hands, sterilising it with the lighter he'd gotten off the Russian's body and set to work threading the menacing black thread onto the needle. 

He'll only stitch the two deepest ones, the ones that will definitely pop open with movement. 

“I’ll do the one on your shoulder first. I know its a lot to ask, but try not to flinch, I don’t want to make it worse.” 

There’s a heaviness that settles over them the second Soap touches the needle to Ghost’s skin. 

[chillychive]

Suppose it's time to mention this AU to finally give me the motivation to start posting it... or at least bits of it.

Star Trek Life Series AU (season 1)

Some general information:

This will (hopefully) be a fic posted on AO3. To make it feel more Star-Treky, it'll be broken up into seasons and episodes. It'll have Trek like nonsense with better planning and character consistency. It'll feature Life Series, Empires, Hermitcraft, Evo and possibly other MCYT characters. NOT RPF. Some of the species mentioned will be real Star Trek species, others will be made up by yours truly to fit the design of the character. It'll be an ensemble style story, like TNG. Knowledge of Star Trek is NOT required in the slightest, but it might enhance your reading- it will have hidden references/have some episodes based on real Trek episodes.

I've been working on this for genuinely a year, and I'm overhauling the original idea as well. At the minute it's 13k words and a whole lot more planning.

PLEASE send asks if you're curious. I have SO MUCH MORE but I didn't want this post to be too long.

With that out of the way, let's get on to the main characters:

Pearl

Species: Human and Risian Department: Tactical Rank: Lieutenant Design Notes: Pearl's Risian tattoo is fading. Otherwise her design is fairly similar to your average human Pearl. Significant Relationships: Grian, adopted brother (same age), Gem, roommate turned best friend turned partner in later seasons Other: Most of the story will follow Pearl. She grew up at Starfleet academy with Grian, her parents taught there, and her dad still does. Her mom is dead... or is she?

Grian

Species: Human... that is until Evo... Department: Tactical, Bridge Crew (until Evo) Rank: Lieutenant Commander (maybe) Design Notes: Fairly standard Grian, is a human (until Evo) Significant Relationships: Pearl, adopted sister (same age) BigB, academy friend Impulse, friend, Joel, roommate Other: Grian is a prankster. He was promoted to bridge crew literally only hours before the ship left starbase for the first time. He grew up on Earth at Starfleet Academy, with his parents, both of whom taught at the Academy. *his parents are not the same as Pearl's- they grew up together at the academy since their parents were friends, and they basically grew up like siblings- they often forget they're not actually related, by blood or legally* He's an accomplished pilot, but actually has tactical station on the bridge. A few months in, he is assigned to lead a mission to a new planet... and a few months later when the ship returns for rendezvous, he's not among the landing party. He's presumed dead and will not return to the story until the finale. The shuttle they take to the planet is called the "evolution"

Gem

Species: 1/2 Bajoran, 1/8 arkarian, 1/8 ktarian, 1/4 an unnamed species Department: Botany, with a LOT of Tactical training too Rank: Lieutenant/Ensign Design Notes: Gem has a very complicated design. She has the bajoran nose ridges, paired with a barely noticeable version of the ktarian spikes plus faint arkarian ridges on her head. She has small antlers-like structures on her head, that have little fungi things on the end that occasionally move around in response to signals from certain mushrooms. Her pupils are massive and look out of proportion with her eyes, and in bright light she can barely see. The reason for this is because the unnamed species' DNA isnt very compatible with the other species- they have vestigial eyes, which makes Gem's eyes very weak and very sensitive to light. To compensate, she wears a shaded visor and takes breaks often. She also has very light bones (thanks to her unnamed species DNA), which leaves her susceptible to breaking bones easily. Let me know if you want more information on that species. Significant Relationships: Fwhip, twin brother Pearl, best friend/roomate/partner later on Other: Her combat skills are top tier because originally she was told she couldn’t do security training because of the fragility of her bones + her eyes, so she basically went “okay bet” and then learned how to avoid getting hit perfectly. She’s fantastic at dodging and was soo good that security training couldn’t say no to her. She made it through the academy with top notch security training, and then decided to instead go into botany, designing better ways to grow plenty of different plants. She also often gets pulled into security forces when needed as her botany isn’t a 24/7 job. This is especially true whenever they go anywhere with a low light level as that doesn’t affect her as much as it does many of the others, since she’s used to dim light.

this isn't a complete list, so lmk if theres anyone else you're curious about and I'll explain!

thank you for reading if you made it this far... this got longer than intended, and i only got through the 3 main characters...

[inkformyblood]

look and learn (Codday fic!)

Also posted on ao3 but currently anon over there &lt;3 Pre-canon, Cody-centric. Cody & Fox, Cody & Alpha-17

“Again.” Cody spits onto the dishevelled floor of the training room, the globule streaked with something dark and it vanishes amongst the cracks in the thick padded mats that the room is lined with. There is a ringing in his ears like he’s stood beneath the heavy pressure of the showers, his mouth open to taste the bite of salt against the soft give of his gums, and let himself break slightly around the edges. No cameras in the showers at least. No valuable data to be gathered there. 

His trainer is one of the older batches, a splash of an already fading tattoo across the base of his throat. His hair is close-cropped to his scalp, a dark prickle of regrowth just beginning to alter his colouration, and he rubs his palm against one side as he studies Cody. He can’t guess at what he sees but he straightens up, the bones of his spine grinding together as he pushes himself back into the mould he had peeled himself free from. Cody rests his hands in the small of his back and thinks about the bite of his nails against his palm, the delicate half-moons that would indent his skin in the spaces between his calluses. They’re all stripped down to their blacks but the same fabric that sits oddly on the scaffolding of Cody’s hips clings to the trainer’s chest, the expanse of his shoulders. He carries himself solidly, every movement tested and sure as he steps forward, looking down at Cody’s opponent.

Cody follows his gaze.

“Try the question again,” the trainer says. The mat hisses as he steps onto it, planting his feet wide, and a trickle of blood runs towards the heavy soles of his boots. He doesn’t move away. It’s a clear redirect, a hand clasped to the nape of Cody’s neck and dragging him along even as he tries to dig his heels into the unyielding metal underfoot, and Cody unlocks his jaw before he answers. Still tastes fucking bitter but he’s used to it. Mostly. 

“A break. Sir?” 

The trainer grins with only one side of his face moving. He rubs his palm over his scalp. Cody is close enough to hear the rasp it makes, the other man’s fingers curled to flip Cody off for his trouble. “Fuck off and get some water, Commander-in-training.”

His boots creak as he crouches down next to the crumpled form of Cody’s opponent. His blood is smeared on Cody’s knuckles, still a brighter red than he expected and he raises his fist to his mouth. Iron and salt. He snaps a salute at the trainer’s bowed head, a twinge in his back tearing open into something close to agony and his jaws snaps shut on a scream, and he walks away. He won’t break like this. Not here. Not yet.

Someone slides into step at his side, their fingers a whisper against his own, and Cody flinches away, nerves scraped raw and the thrum of a fight he doesn’t know the taste of yet burnt across his tongue. They’re a brother; the sleeve of his blacks torn with a fresh set of nail marks dragged over the span of his forearm and he favours his right leg, swaying closer and closer Cody with every focused step. 

“Causing trouble?” Fox murmurs, smearing the back of his hand across the tear in his lip, his tongue prodding at the same spot. His eyes are wild, never settling in one spot as he studies the groups as they pass. 

“You know it.” Cody doesn’t watch the groups, he watches Fox. There’s harsh lines of watchfulness around the corners of his eyes, his mouth already pinched into a snarl with no target, and his little finger, never healed right after getting caught beneath a boot, the snap still lingering at the edges of Cody’s hearing, curls around Cody’s own, steering him sideways. Cody goes where he leads, in step, in time, perfect soldiers, moulded in Prime’s image with a healthy dose of his temperment to go along with it. Fox’s attention catches on something over Cody’s shoulder, the briefest widening of his eyes, his grin sharpening on one side, gone before the expression could be anything more than an idea. He relaxes back into the same sharp posture his bones have been moulded into, his steps never anything but punishingly exact, and Cody raises a brow at him. 

Fox shakes his head, tucking a curl back behind his ear. It is just past regulation length, the line found and walked like it is a training exercise. “Come on. Water.”

The small station is an addition, a collection of pipes drawn out of the metal panelling and bent into a series of curves to try and leech as much of the salt out as possible. It still tastes metallic, leaving a film that lingers over Cody’s tongue as he uncaps the pipe, tipping his head back to drink. Fox waits next to him, relaxed into the curve of his hip making his posture just off centre enough to be noticeable by a brother. He taps his fingers over each other like he is trying to recalibrate his awareness of himself and Cody studies the side of his head out of the corner of his eye. He caps the pipe, swallowing the dregs with a wince, and taps his elbow against Fox’s side. They switch positions, orbiting around each other, and water hisses through the pipes as Fox begins to drink. 

On one side of the room, there are smaller groups, a trainer and a pair of brothers multiplied across countless variations. Cody can just make out the huddled form of his former opponent, slumped against the trainer’s legs. His head is tipped back against the trainer’s thighs, one of the other man’s hands cupped beneath his chin as the other presses against his collarbone. His arms are slack at his side and his legs are splayed, but his feet twitch, indentations spreading across the mat. 

Cody looks away.

Fox swallows, a round clicked into a blaster. “Did you know?”

He tips his head back and the water runs over his chin before he adjusts with a hum, swallowing once more. Cody doesn’t answer him, tucks his hands back into the small of his back and feels his bones ache with the slight pressure. He isn’t likely to grow any taller than he already is, the final accelerated cycle still working it’s way through his system all the same, steam with no outlet, rage with no focus, and everything feels formless like he can stretch himself wide enough to pass as an Alpha class brother. He knows how to fight them all the same. They’ve got the reach, oftentimes the power, but Cody never quite learnt when to lay down and die. 

He swallows, the lingering metallic taste of water blurring with the imprint of blood along his gums. It is a test, everything is a test. That brother with his broken nose and his patchwork of bruises up and down his side would wind up in medbay and from medbay, he would be on the fast track to one of the logistic positions somewhere far away from the front line. Cody is more than a little proud about those bruises, evenly spaced, the same force behind each one so the bruising would be uniform. 

He may slip into the medbay in a few cycles and copy the images over to his datapad, burying them deep in amongst subfolders inside subfolders. 

Fox gasps as he slides the cap back onto the pipe, the dull sound of water impacting the sudden blockage. A droplet works free, dropping onto Fox’s face, and he swipes his fingers against it, his nose wrinkling. There is a certain audacity in the way Fox looks at the universe, an expectation that he would be able to step through the cracks that linger at the edges, flatten his morals into something sharp enough that he can lever them wider and reach back to drag Cody through with him. Cody hadn’t been made like that. He’d emerged from his capsule to find problems and place himself in the middle of it. Where Fox is a whisper in the dark, Cody is a punch to the face. 

It’s no wonder Alpha-17 had picked them both out of a line-up, a class of future Command-slated shinies dragged out of one training pod or another and lined up like picking in a meat-market for the Alpha batch to look over. 

Cody’s never been to a market, never been anywhere but this training facility on Kamino, but he’s seen them in the training sims as examples of warfare, the brightly coloured banners and long line of people, soft at the edges, blurred where the pixelation breaks, to poke and prod at the items laid out for them. 

Alpha-17 isn’t a kind man. He isn’t unkind either, he just is. He exists for a purpose, like they all do, and he’s shoved his hands into its chest just to see if he can. He had his thumbs curled into his belt loops as he had walked down the line, gaze dragged over their heads and not fully looking at them. Every step had been precise, made to shake the world beneath him, and Cody wanted . It tasted like saltwater, infesting his lungs and drowning him. Fox’s hand tight in his own, Cody had curled his nails inwards, tearing at the still-soft patches of skin on his palms, catching Fox’s hand in the crossfire. Alpha-17 had paused, his gaze dropping to weigh on the pair of them before he had turned, unholstering his hands from his hips. Cody’s collar cut into his neck as Alpha-17 grabbed them both by them, lifting them upwards so he could inspect them better. 

Cody had bitten him. 

He’d bled just like anyone else, iron and copper, and he hadn’t dropped Cody. simply hiked him up higher. “These two,” Alpha-17 had said and his voice had tipped closer to pride than expected rage. “I’m taking them.”

Another cheer from the other side of the gym, and Cody turns as if he’s been heading that way all along, shouldering his way past a set of brothers placed in his way. They stagger, a snap of anger in their voices as they call over at him, a tattoo on one’s forearm blurring into the other’s as they catch their balance, but they don’t matter. Shouldn’t be standing in one of the marked walkways and they’d learn that soon enough. Fox, in Cody’s wake, cuts his teeth against a laugh, folds it away and tucks it into his pocket to indulge in later. They don’t stop walking when they reach the edge of the crowd, tucking their shoulders in line and nudging their way through. Most of the crowd are Alpha-batch, taller and broader and solid, so Cody works his way through them like he’s passing through an asteroid field, his breath tight against his ribs and his tongue caught between his molars until spit pools in his cheek and he has to swallow.

One of the Alpha batchers nudges the brother next to him, his eyes bright and an off-shade of grey that must be a strictly colouration mutation. “There’s 17’s lads. Told you they’d be by.”

Blood on the mats, blood on Alpha-17’s knuckles and teeth. 

It’s bright, the sole patches of colour in the overwhelming sea of grey and black, and the air is heavy, warm with salt and copper and rage. Alpha-17 steps back, sure and steady despite the unnatural cant to his ankle, his arms held at his chest. His knuckles, scabbed over and over again, are bright, bleeding, and he raises one fist to his mouth, running the flat of his tongue over the fresh injuries. His nose isn’t broken, not yet, but there’s swelling marks across his cheekbones, his lip swollen and cut open in a pout. He turns his head and spits onto the mat, catching Cody’s gaze.

Alpha-17 tips his head towards his opponent, his mouth curled into something more snarl than grin. Look at what I’ve done , he says without speaking, look and learn . 

Cody does.

He’s made from the same mould as Alpha-17 after all, crafted not in Prime’s image, but in his.

Alpha-17’s opponent, at first glance, looks in better shape than Alpha-17. . His eyes are beginning to blacken at their centre, a dull rust tinge across his cheeks from the effort, and every breath whistles through a fresh gap in his teeth. He’s standing curled forwards, his arms tucked to his chest, but not from readiness. Cody blinks, evaluates. Broken wrist, broken arm held close to his body by necessity rather than choice, eyes unfocused and looking through Alpha-17 as often as at him. He’s going to go down. And it will be glorious . 

Alpha-17 steps forward, doesn’t concern himself with masking the punch that he levels at his opponents face. It smacks dully against bone and flesh and the brother falls in a heap, a tangle of limbs built for combat and yet not enough for this. 

“Who’s next?” Alpha-17 calls and Cody steps forward. He wouldn’t win, not even with Alpha-17 three bouts deep and bloodied, but he’s still going to try until his last breath curdles in his chest. He doesn’t know when to stop and he doesn’t care to learn. He’s a Commander-in-training, some jumped-up little upstart, but he’s going to be glorious. He’s going to be the best. Cody is going to make sure of it.