#I'm trying to draw again now but in the meantime I hope anyone enjoys these silly doodles as much as I did

[shamic]

Today, I am offering you all the NiGHTS art I intended to line and color in 2017 and never did

[sevrai]

Sorry for not having anything special drawn up for New Year's Eve/Day but I just wanna say thanks to the folks still hanging around and reading through the new WOE!

Things have felt really quiet this year despite how excited I was to finally have a site to post to, but that's okay. For now I just want to focus on getting pages done and catching back up to where WOE was.

Moreso than wanting new readers I always feel a bit sad wondering if any old fans haven't been able to keep up with WOE and my updates since jumping around different sites and dealing with social media nonsense like Twitter crashing and burning and my account going private. I hope anyone that used to enjoy WOE can someday find it again and enjoy it's rebirth, and I deeply thank y'all who are still sticking around and reading!

I'm gonna take one more break tonight and relax before getting right back into writing and drawing tomorrow. Here's to trying harder to get more done in 2024, but in the meantime I love you all and hope everyone has a good night!

[muutosarchive]

it sucks . . . because unfortunately no matter how many horrible memories attach themselves to freddy's, she still loves to speak of it as if it were an old friend in itself. the atmosphere makes her feel a kind of comfort that she just couldn't shake. &. even those kids . . . well, it was hard not to feel a connection with them. the eerie, haunted feeling slowly morphing into relative calmness, in the best of times. though she was able to tell when they were restless. luckily, that time was not now. though typically the phantom children enjoyed vanessa's company, as she has learned to morbidly enjoy theirs.

her lips purse upward, quirking into a bit of a brighter smile at that. almost as though she was trying to subdue it. however she soon lets her teeth show as she leans back in her booth. her hands on the table with the fingers on one hand playing with one another, twisting idly upon the surface in the meantime. her mouth opens in an inhale, hand raising in a vague gesture as kelsey approaches. "well, you know dad." she cringes, eyebrows brought in. however, just for a moment. "he couldn't trust just anyone to look after the place while he was gone." she shrugs. her tone just a little playfully sarcastic. "besides, the turnover is killer with these security guys."

her features draw in again, but more in a natural expression. though she nods her head, looking down at the booth as she allows another smile to overtake her. of course, she's not surprised that her father hadn't told her that kelsey was working for him. but it would make sense, either way. he was getting worried about telling her too much, &. perhaps for good reason. though that doesn't mean it doesn't sting. a reaction of which is conditioned from long years of manipulation. "me neither. but, how could we?" she looks up, giving kelsey a questioning look. "i mean, i certainly didn't think i'd become a cop, that's for sure. but . . . i guess it was a way to keep giving back, after --" she pauses, looking around before shrugging heavily. eyes falling back upon her old friend. "well, freddy's." the cop thing hadn't been william's idea, though he's taken advantage of the opportunity more than she'd hoped.

she purses her lips with another nod. "hah -- well, again, you know my dad." her smile is a bit wider &. more humorous, but it feels more like dark humor. her ponytail shaking with her head. "he had wanted everything in mostly working order. he's uh, sentimental, as he would say." she pauses. "i guess it's less weird for me. i mean, it's almost like i never left." her eyes peer over to the stage, a vacancy there as lips part. "i always came back to see them." she nods once in their direction. her gaze returning. though the warmth in her eyes is palpable.

"well, good. i'm glad you like it." she reaches to clasp kelsey's wrist with a nod before withdrawing. "i'm sure dad is happy to have someone else he can trust. he never forgets a name, so i'm not surprised he recognized you." her brows crease in the middle at that, trying to keep her smile light. "but uh, yeah . . . " she swallows. "i guess he quit last night. that's why i'm here, to pick up the slack. luckily this is a relatively quiet town, with not a lot of crime. at least these days.." he takes a deep breath, looking away.

It was surreal to say the least seeing Vanessa all grown up, an officer of the law. "Ah, that's right," Kelsey quickly corrected, "Your dad told me that. Didn't think you'd be paroling here though, but if you weren't I'd be stuck in there, so thank you, my hero. I would've had to sleep in that closet. That notion is truly horrifying."

A brief confused look crossed her face, crossing her arms before she started walking towards one of the booths, "Really? Huh, he said he'd say hi to you. Ah well, he's a busy guy so..." Her frown turned into a slight smile at her compliment "Thanks, you do too. Y'know, when we were kids, I never imagined that we'd be where we are now."

Her bright red vest was covered in buttons and enamel pins displaying the animatronics besides her own name tag. As Kelsey sat across from her childhood friend, she folded her hands at the table. "Well," she started, looking out into space a bit, "It's weird. I mean I love it, but at the same time, it's a time capsule. Nothing has changed, just repaired. I'm surprised most of the place is still functional."

The animatronics stood dormant on stage, Kelsey's side of the booth facing away from them, "The job itself is great though. Off the bat I was hired as assistant manager. Other jobs I'd be panicking every five seconds, but...I know this place, and it knows me. I enjoy making the kids happy, as much as this place did when we were little. It's funny, the nightguard who patrols at night is quick to get us all outta here at night, I'm typically the last one out. Strange, I didn't hear him come in tonight though. That's probably why nobody showed up to get me outta the closet. If you hadn't shown up I'd have to sleep on the musty dank floor of the broom closet."

If all went well, Kelsey would never know the true nature of Freddy's, the souls of Vanessa and Kelsey's friends as children possessing the animatronics. That was why William assigned her to the day shift and dayshift only.

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch. 6

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5

It becomes a sort of evening ritual between the two of you, waking Cassandra up at sunset.

You're always cautious with your movements and how much light you allow in from the hallway as you enter her lavish bedroom, but the cold fear that used to grip at your chest is no longer there.

Measured steps take you to the edge of her bed.

Cassandra usually sleeps on her side, yet today she's on her front, firm back and creamy thigh tantalizingly on display against satin crimson sheets. Her pretty face is turned halfway into her pillow, a river of rich brown waves falling behind her ear and over one shoulder.

The sight makes you stop and stare for a moment. A strange feeling ��accomplishment?— swells within your chest at the thought you know just how smooth and sensitive that skin is.

Then you shake your head at yourself. Pull it together. It's one thing to accept you're in a mutually beneficial arrangement with a killer —you remain intact, she scratches an itch, both of you share the pleasure as a means of escape or passing the time— but it is entirely another to be proud of it.

She's nothing of yours. Not your lover, certainly not your girl. That would imply you stand on equal ground which you most certainly do not. You're exactly what she calls you;

A plaything.

The question is, inside your head, what do you call her?

"My lady." you say, keeping your voice low. She doesn't stir but somehow you know she's awake.

"Either wake me up nicely or don't wake me at all." the words come semi-muffled against her pillow. "If I wanted to hear 'my lady' I'd have another maid come."

Well. She does seem to enjoy when you take some creative liberties. So you lean forward and press your lips just over her knee, then move a tad higher on her thigh, then kiss the veins visible on her hand.

Cassandra's mouth slowly pulls into a pleased smile as she turns onto her side. Her fingers then curl on the neckline of your shirt and tug you forward, into a quick little kiss that ends with a nibble on your tongue.

You always get anxious when she does that —it's probably why she does it in the first place— that you'll end up with a piece missing, but so far you haven't even been cut. And if you're honest with yourself, which you're not, but if you were... the thrill is a turn on.

Cassandra licks her lips and scoots back, patting the spot she just vacated on the queen-sized mattress. You look at her, confused. Surely she isn't suggesting...

"Come, now. I don't bite." A devilish smirk curls her mouth while she tells probably the biggest lie of the year. "Keep me company until dinner."

You climb onto her bed like it's a freaking minefield. As carefully as you lower yourself onto the crimson sheets, however, the bruises across your sides still protest. You subtly suck in air through your teeth.

Cassandra's fingers slide over to you, to the exposed part of your waist from where your shirt has risen up. There's a visible patch of purple there that she traces —the coolness of her skin is so soothing— until she presses into it. The brief flare of pain makes you gasp. She giggles.

"You make such nice expressions to pain." she says, as though tempted to draw more from you.

"I've been told my pleasured ones are better." you reply quickly.

Cassandra chuckles. "Is that so?" Her yellowish eyes are gleaming with amusement as she pushes you onto your back and straddles you.

The sight is enough to steal your breath away. The sinful black of her underwear peeks through the royal red of the sheets tangled around her waist, all a wonderful antithesis with her incredibly pale skin.

You want to touch. But then you may lose your hands, so you lock your muscles down and wait for her move.

Cassandra slowly trails a slender finger up your neck, all the way to the underside of your bottom lip. "...yeah, they're good too." she breathes, although you've almost forgotten what you were talking about.

"Can't hold a candle to yours." you whisper back. At this point, you're not really capable of rational thought.

You loathe the effect she has on you. How everything she's done can just be bypassed in your head whenever she gets like this with you.

Cassandra's mouth twists into a near coy little smile. "I'll take your word for it." she says. "There hasn't been anyone else to see them, so."

Wait. Your mind stutters to a halt. Wait. What?

According to rumor, the Dimitrescus have been around for over one hundred years. From what you've seen in the castle, probably longer. And you... you're her first?

"Cat got your tongue?" she giggles again, taking your chin between two long fingers. "I think I may like surprise on you best."

You want to ask if nobody's ever interested her before, but you're afraid to overstep. Cassandra seems to know, though and has no problems answering your unasked question;

"The first few dozen years after the mutations were... very bad. The hunger and thirst were enough to drive one mad. Didn't leave much room for anything else." she explains. "And humans in general are only attractive to me chained up and bled out."

Something inside you recoils at how casually she says it. Like she's simply commenting on the weather.

"But you... you have a little spark that I like." She smirks down at you.

"What about before?" you ask.

"Hm?"

"You said after the mutations. What about before?"

Cassandra's smile gets swallowed up by the abyss so quickly you wonder if you imagined it there. Tension builds at her temples and her eyes take on an icy quality that feels like it extinguishes all warmth in the room.

"There is no before."

You've never heard her voice like that. You hope you never will again, either.

The conversation drifts to lighter subjects, then. She asks you about the world beyond the village and you share what you remember from your childhood, until it is time to escort her to dinner.

But even as she eats and talks with her family, even when she leaves with her mother and sisters and you're left alone, to clean after bloody plates with the other maids, you can't shake off that look in her eyes when you dared ask about her life pre-mutations.

The more you linger on it... there's only one word that comes to mind as an accurate description.

Haunted.

-

-

Deep in your slumber, you hear the telltale buzzing of flies.

Something winged flutters against your cheek, but you merely stir. It prods at your jaw and you grunt. Leave me alone, you want to protest, brain muddled with sleep still.

Until.

A nip that cuts a thin line on your jaw has you springing upright in bed. "Agh!" Your hand flies to the wound, eyes wide.

A familiar form materializes out of an insect swarm, right in front of you. Cassandra grabs at your hand before you can start flailing and panicking any harder than you already are. Your lungs empty of hair in the milliseconds it takes you to realize she's not here to kill you.

Probably.

"Calm down." she says it like you're overreacting.

You try to take a deep, relaxing breath, but she leans forward in the meantime, running the tip of her tongue over the fresh cut on you. So much for oxygen. She even hums against your neck. Despite the sting, your stomach flutters.

Cassandra pulls back, licking her lip. "There. All better now?"

No. Your heart is trying to jump out of your chest. Has she never heard of knocking? For the love of everything Holy out there, it's the middle of the night.

"W-what are you doing here?" you ask.

A dramatic huff escapes her. "I'm bored."

Ah, yes, that makes a lot of sense. You spare a moment to wonder what your life has come to, then accept lack of proper rest and sit back against your pillows. Cassandra takes it as an invitation to push off her hood and plant herself next to you.

"Do you... want to go for a walk outside?" you suggest, uncertain.

Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree for a moment. Then she seems to remember something that dims the glow. "Ugh. Can't. It's way too cold tonight."

That... shouldn't be and issue for her, should it? It makes you wonder.

"Well, if I stay here I'm going to fall asleep." you sheepishly admit.

Cassandra's gaze darkens as she runs her fingertips down the taut skin of your bare middle, leaning over you like a lioness cornering her prey.

"I don't mind biting you awake if you do."

You want to say that you mind, yet her lips are on top if yours, smooth, tasting of strawberry lipbalm and that's the end of that conversation.

"But I am willing to cut you a deal." A manicured nail presses a bit at the middle of your chest. "Put that smart tongue of yours to good use and I'll let you get your sleep."

So spoiled and so demanding, you think. But then, looking at her face this close up... So beautiful.

You forget all about sleep for the next half hour or so as you focus solely on Cassandra, your bedroom filling with her quiet sighs and moans.

True to her word, she does ease back when she's satisfied and you're so tired your eyes start drooping before you've even lowered your head to your pillow.

She doesn't move to leave though... and you find that you don't mind.

When you drift off to sleep this time, your last thought is that the gentle chill of her body beside yours is almost...

Comforting.

[acciocriativity]

The bet || Harry Potter

Pairing: Fred Weasley and George Weasley x Platonic/Reader (Tiny not so tiny George Weasley x Reader)

Summary: You had a normal life at Hogwarts, until the Weasley twins decided they weren't going to leave you alone anymore, and what was the reason? You would give five galleons to anyone who knew the answer.

Word Count: 4,0k

It was still early, I was walking through the corridors towards the Great Hall when two red-haired figures appeared in my sight.

"Hey Y/N!", one of them waved cheerfully at me, I still had no idea which one. "Why do you suddenly look tall today?", the other said with a smile, which made me want to punch him.

"Why are you suddenly more annoying today? It sounds like a serious illness, so excuse me, I don't want to catch this", I walked as fast as I could so they couldn't keep up with me.

I could hear their laughter behind me and the whispering but decided not to pay attention to what was said, that would bring me more calmness.

And why do I basically run away from them? It is very simple.

One day I was just another Ravenclaw student, and the next day I had the attention of the most popular twins at Hogwarts.

They liked to tease me about absolutely everything, no matter if I was just sitting down reading or trying to concentrate in a class, one of them would find a way to annoy me.

I never tried to differentiate which was Fred and which was George, it made no difference, they both seemed equally annoying to me and knowing who is who was not going to guarantee me anything.

"Hey, wait. We have a deal for you", the tallest of them spoke with a grin plastered on his face as he walked up to me in stride.

"And why should I agree? Anything coming from you guys is pretty suspicious", I replied with my eyes screwed tight and crossed my arms.

"Because you can have your quiet time again, we won't tease you anymore as far as possible", the other said with a small smile and I stopped to think for a few seconds.

"Well, that sounds good enough, and what do I have to do? You're going to have to get something out of this, obviously", I still remained in the same position analyzing the two, who seemed to be enjoying themselves more every second.

"You'll have to guess who is who at the end of the day", one of them started and my face dropped at the same moment."Since we're nice, we'll just say it once", the other added.

"What if I don't succeed then? If there's a prank, I'm out."

"There won't be anything out of the ordinary, just an extra dose of us", I took a deep breath just imagining what my life would be like with these two following me around the castle. "So are you going to accept or not?", he raised an eyebrow.

I took a deep breath and looked away, a good opportunity had fallen into my hands but I would have the rest of my peace lost if I didn't win, which would be no small thing but a part of me was just screaming to accept it at once, the competitive part, the part that was going to win this little challenge.

"I accept, it won't be that hard", I replied with a smile, a wave of confidence built up inside me and I really thought it wouldn't be a problem at all.

"Okay then", they just walked past me and kept walking and if I could see my forehead, a big question mark would be hanging there, "Hey? You still have to tell me which is which, it was part of the deal", I said, taking a few steps behind them but they soon stopped and looked at me.

"Oh, you're so confident, do you really need us to tell you who's who?", I clenched my hands tightly to hold back the urge to kill him.

"Of course I don't need to but... HEY!It's not polite to leave a person talking alone", they had the audacity to walk off and wave at me on top of that.

7:30 a.m.

I wasn't going to get any help from them, why did I expect to get any? Obviously they don't want me to win but I will and they will have to swallow that. That's my new goal today, screw the herbology paper.

But now it would be more difficult, few people would know the difference, I would have to ask one of his friends or one of the other Weasleys who studied at Hogwarts.

I wasn't intimate with any of them but I had classes with some, we never spoke but I will change that today.

I just hope they actually tell me something useful, one of the twins could have easily told no one to help me and made everything even more difficult.

8:25 a.m

"Hey Kate, what's up?", I said with a smile just as she was about to pass me down the hall, it was really worth it to eat fast or I wouldn't have made it in time.

The expression on her face already told me everything, the same gleam in her eye that twins have when they are disturbing me, why do I get the impression that it won't be so easy?

"Good morning Y/N, do you need anything?", she said leaning against the wall with a mischievous smile that I chose to ignore. "Actually yes, you should already know, the Weasleys challenged me to set them apart and you as a friend should know how, anything is useful, anything really", I liked that she was direct because I could be too. I don't like wasting time with small talk, especially when I don’t have too much time.

"They actually told me it would happen, but they didn't tell me more details, what happens if you lose? Some kind of prank I bet.

"They will annoy me twice as much as they already do, I don't know how you manage to be friends with them, she stared at me for a few seconds and then grinned. "What?"

"I'll help you since you're asking me but maybe you'll soon see that it wouldn't be so bad to lose", I just nodded without really believing it would happen. "Fred is louder and generally more annoying, George is quieter and more careful. You can find out more by noticing for yourself, I'm going to get going, I want to practice a little before class begins", she pointed to the castle entrance.

"Thank you so much Kate, I'll owe you this one. See you later", I smiled and waved as she walked away from me after waving as well.

Now I know the basics but they might try to trick me, switch places or pretend to be the other one. I have to be prepared and there is only one way.

9:00 a.m

The bell rang and the halls filled with heads hurrying not to be late, especially the poor first year students heading for the dungeon. I could see some shaking on the way out of the Great Hall but my destination was completely different, I headed up the stairs along with the other forty years to Minerva's class.

There was no sign of any of the twins, if they had decided to skip this class my plan was destined to fail.

The class was about to start when the two of them entered without any hurry and I smiled internally for having kept an empty chair next to me, just in case.

"Are you gentlemen having a problem with your audition? The bell rang five minutes ago. This kind of behavior is not tolerated, Mr. Weasleys. Minus ten points for Gryffindor", her angry voice boomed, and no one seated dared to breathe.

"It won't happen again, professor", I was surprised not to hear any funny remarks as a comment and I'm sure she was too but didn't show it.

"Sit down and open your books, let's move one more step forward from yesterday's lesson...", she continued talking but I barely paid attention after one of them sat down next to me.

"So, you're George, you can tell me now that I already know", he looked a little surprised for a few seconds but soon regained his posture.

"How did you guess it? I didn't even say anything", he said looking at me intently and I just shrugged, I wasn't about to say since this is clearly a plus for me.

"That's a secret that will stay with me, it wasn't that hard", I commented, dipping my quill into the ink to start writing what Minerva was going over on the blackboard.

Behind us it was possible to hear Fred's excited whispers that I had learned to ignore after all these years. Now it seemed so much easier, it's not as if I hadn't noticed them both all this time, it's a bit impossible since they make themselves present everywhere.

We remained silent, since this is the only way I can concentrate. I even mentally thanked him for that, but it didn't seem to do any good today. My attention kept being drawn to the red-headed boy next to me, I couldn't help it.

Internally I blamed it on my will to win, because to do so I would have to pay more attention to him, that's all my body wanted to do, focus on George Weasley.

I only realized that I was crossing the line when I noticed that his cheeks started to take on a reddish tint and a shy little smile appeared. To make matters worse, there was Fred's giggles, who was watching everything with the best view; there was no way I could get away with this.

After this awkward moment, I forced myself to pay attention even though my desire was to get out of there, since he now decided to start watching me not as discreetly as he thought he was being. I was much better at that.

"Is there a problem?", I mustered up the courage to ask when it was already 15 minutes before the bell rang again.

I noticed him bite his lips and crack a small smile before looking forward again, "why would there be a problem?"

"You were looking at me", I answered quietly so as not to draw attention from the other students and especially from Minerva who was passing between the desks checking to see if everyone was practicing the spells correctly.

"You were looking at me before that, discretion is not your specialty, you know?", I was a few seconds without knowing how to answer that and in the meantime, I could see him savoring the fact that he had left me speechless.

"Yes, I was watching you to differentiate you better from your brother, and why were you looking at me?", I spoke in a direct tone looking him straight in the eyes and the other redhead's laughter sounded behind us and George gave him a nonchalant look, as did the woman, who had just passed us.

"Is something wrong Mr. Weasley?", she asked and of course, everyone around us had to pay attention too, because they had nothing else interesting to do.

"No, I just remembered a joke I heard, I could tell you if you want. I assure you it is very funny", he assured holding back the urge to laugh even harder.

"Your little jokes stay outside the room Mr. Weasley, and you all, if you haven't perfected today's transfiguration can get back to work", she caught everyone's attention and continued walking peacefully.

We ended up getting distracted from the main subject, he obviously took the chance of not answering me and just kept on training as I did.

12:00 a.m

We had the next 3 classes together and I stayed close to them and their friends as well. As I imagined everyone was very nice to me, we could have become friends much sooner if we weren't stuck in a fixed group of friends.

Some things had become much clearer in my head and others even more blurred. They didn't seem to be picking on anyone but me, although it hadn't happened all day. Then why? I was going to find out.

"Will you come sit with us today?", Katie said with an arm around Angelina's shoulders, both looking at me with a smile that wouldn't let me deny them anything.

"Sure, I'd love to. It's kind of funny that we have more things in common than I expected", I remarked as we walked slowly, with the hasty crowd in front of us. I would usually be with them but it's much better this way, time is not as important as catching up with everyone.

"I had no idea you liked quidditch, have you thought about joining the Ravenclaw team?", Angel, as she asked to be called, inquired and at that moment, I should but I didn't notice her gaze leave me and go to the twins, several times.

"I'm not as good at playing as I am at watching, so I prefer to stay in the stands", I replied with a small smile until I noticed everyone in that small group communicating with their eyes, which I chose to ignore.

"So Angeli, since when did you start playing?", I started the subject that was going to last throughout the entire lunch hour and it couldn't be better.

Everyone had some story to tell, I must admit that Fred's and George's were the funniest. At no time was there any kind of awkward silence, or a moment when I was not included in the conversation. I did notice that some of my classmates were surprised that I sat there, but in general they were looking at us because of the noise. Their special talent was talking, which I found refreshing since I could hear more and talk occasionally.

The worst part of it was that I ended up not paying as much attention to either George or Fred as I had planned, although now I know a little more about both of them and my new friends.

3:00 p.m.

After two classes of Aritmancia, I had a free period and many homework assignments to do and as I walked to the library, a familiar voice called out to me.

"Y/N!", I turned around and was faced with George and his broom near the stairs, not so far from me, "We are going to practice a little, do you want to come too?", I was about to say no, as I was already busy but then I remembered, I still had to guess who was who at the end of the day.

I had really forgotten and started to enjoy their company, I had to remind myself that I wanted to win and that it made perfect sense to spend some more time with him, if it meant that I could guarantee it. Or at least, I tried to convince myself of that.

"Sure, who else will be training?", I asked as I walked over to him and then we walked together to the castle entrance and towards the field. "Just Angelina and Fred, the others have classes or something to do," and I just nodded in agreement.

We hadn't spent any time alone since Transfiguration class and I didn't know what to say, as did he but I didn't feel uncomfortable, just lost in my own thoughts.

"You came to watch half the best quadribol team play today. You won't regret it," Fred was the first to speak up as soon as we arrived and I could only laugh, how could one person be so confident? I needed some tips.

"My expectations are higher than you Weasley, you better not let me down after that speech," I wasn't trying to be funny but I heard a chuckle come from the redhead next to me. "You're not out of it George, none of you. But remember, no pressure. I'm only going to judge a little bit," I said smirking, not really taking any of the words I said seriously.

"Go sit down and prepare to be impressed," the black haired girl gave the last words, grabbed her own broom and flew to the three right hoops as I hurried to the stands.

Luckily, I didn't miss much and less than 5 minutes later, I could tell with certainty how good the three were. They took turns as goalkeepers for Angelina, even though it wasn't really their position in the game.And after 15 minutes, the dynamic changed for the two of them to try to hit her, one at a time, for them to practice as beaters.

But honestly, I paid much less attention than I normally do. I couldn't tell them apart from so far away, and this realization made me face the shameless excuse I had created for myself. I just wanted to be there, and the reason for that I wouldn't say out loud.

More than 30 minutes later, the three of them instead of landing on the ground, came flying towards me and stopped by my side.

"So you can talk about how impressed you are now", I pretended to think for a few seconds and the indignation on his face was so funny I almost didn't say it but after such an arduous training like that, they deserved it.

"You guys were amazing, if someone from another house could watch the official training sessions I would really come to see more", I smiled and it was extremely adorable to see George's already red face redden even more after my compliment.

"You already know you can't watch the official practices, we are finally starting to understand each other", Fred said and took a step to hug me and I immediately took one back. "You're soaking wet Fred Weasley, don't even think about it. This is not the time for hugs".

"But I think it's a good idea sweetie, you can't hide from a Weasley, so just accept it", he said with an evil grin on his face and I was ready to run, I hated sweat especially when it wasn't mine but his long legs came into action once again.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever experienced, so you have something to be proud of after all", I complained, pulling away seconds after he had cornered me in the hug, which wouldn't have been so bad if it had been any other time.

"If that's the grossest one, you really don't know what's waiting for you honey. This is just the beginning," Angel said with a satisfied smile on his face. "But we better go now, I need a shower and we still have one last class today," she added and flew out of there after waving to us.

"Yeah, I need to take a shower too, I'll see you guys later," Fred said before getting out of there as quickly as possible, leaving me alone with George again.

"Well, do you want a ride? It's much quicker to get down that way," he smiled slightly at me and I agreed without a second thought.

I held his bare arm, because I thought it was better than hugging him and regret appeared immediately because I always had some issues with flying. It wasn't the worst thing in the world but it was far from being one of my favorites.

All I could do was close my eyes as we crossed the field, my hands automatically closed around his arm, the weather was windy and I could feel the shivers that went through his now red skin as well as mine.

It was a few seconds if I'm really honest but it didn't feel like it to me, I've never picked up a broom other than for classes and it's been a long time since I stopped having fun in those classes.

I was brought out of my thoughts when I felt my feet on the ground again.

"I'll see you later then, I haven't forgotten about the bet. You better be prepared," he gave me a beautiful smile and the consequences of that is the only thing I wasn't prepared for.

5:00 p.m.

There are those moments when you have to stop and ask yourself, what the hell is happening to me? For countless reasons obviously, and it was my turn. I didn't come up with any answers that made me blind to reality, which was really frustrating because that way it would be easier for me to just ignore.

But nobody told me it was going to be easy, which is a shame because I would have someone to blame.

All this played out in my head before I received an owl from them, telling me that I could go to the Gryffindor common room to finish our bet, along with the password for the day. I was prepared after being warned by basically all their friends, all I could think of on the way there were some spells, mainly revenge because I wouldn't let it go if there really was a prank.

But what happened was quite different, the place was quieter than I imagined, although they had many people sitting and talking normally including Fred and George.

"Oh hello stranger, you have finally decided to give us the honor of your presence, I can say for everyone, we are all grateful," I had barely stepped into the room when Fred spoke up with the most sarcastic smile I have ever seen, should I be confused?

"If I get all this reception every time I come here, I will definitely come back more often. Thank you, I feel very welcome," I said with an equally big smile, causing him to roll his eyes.

"Okay smartass, it's time for your answer," he continued speaking, the same voice but now that I was close, in front of them, I noticed that there was something very wrong there.

"Why are you talking like that George?", was my only thought, they were imitating each other, the voice was extremely similar, I could never tell the difference just by that, but looking at him, it is impossible to be mistaken.

Their expression dropped on the spot and I realized that there were more people watching me and maybe they knew the plan, because everyone was a little shocked too, was it that simple?

"That's impossible, who was the snitch that told you? Whoever it was, you're going to have a tough future," Fred even stood up and didn't bother to do another voice, he spoke and I was sure I won.

"Nobody told me, I didn't need much to realize that you guys were faking it. He spent the whole conversation scratching his arm, it's been like that all day," I pointed to George who had not taken his eyes off my person so far.

At that moment they looked at each other for a few seconds and then back at me. I should be happy but I wasn't. Even if I wasn't going to admit it out loud, they just proved to me how amazing they are and I wasn't going to lose that.

"Now that I've won, I want to change my reward. It's very simple, I want to reverse the reward and the punishment. I want an extra dose of Weasleys," I had to get a certain amount of shyness out of the way to say this but it was worth it.

It was worth it because I could see a sparkle in both of their eyes that went beyond a successful prank, it was worth it because I had the best years at Hogwarts with the best friends I could ever want. It was worth it because I found the best boyfriend in the world that day. I never thought I would be so grateful for a silly bet.

Harry Potter Masterlist

[brasskier]

@badthingshappenbingo trope #3 (and this one was actually requested!)

Thank you to the incredible @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde for reading this one over for me!

Trope: Suicide attempt

Summary:  Yennefer's just running a few errands, and doesn't expect to end up talking Geralt's bard down from a rooftop. Jaskier is ready to leap, and doesn't expect a certain mage to interrupt his grand finale. Both of them might just walk away with a better understanding of one another. (Or, a character study in borderline personality disorder.)

TW for suicidal ideation/threats/gestures and reference to self-harm. The descriptions aren’t graphic and he doesn’t actually jump, but this whole fic deals with suicide and mental illness. Be safe y’all <3

Read it on my ao3 or below the cut:

The trip to Tretogor wasn’t supposed to last long. Replenish her stock after the utter disaster that was the dragon hunt, some odds and ends as she came upon them, maybe get absolutely shitfaced and forget the whole thing happened. That was all. And it looked like, for a pleasant change of pace, there weren’t going to be any complications. Errands finished, Yennefer was enjoying a hearty roast at one of the better taverns in the city when she noticed the early warnings of a brewing commotion. First murmurs, then the voices grew louder and more persistent, and then people were pushing outside. She ignored them; a petty barfight was not something she particularly wanted or needed to get involved with. The bar was still stirring, and eventually when she finally shifted her focus off her roast, the tavern was near-empty, only the drunkest of patrons remaining. Even the barkeep was shuffling outside. Clearly, something was happening. Something big. With a beleaguered sigh, she pushed up from her chair and headed out the door.

A surprisingly large crowd greeted her outside, more expansive than the usual clamor around a simple drunken brawl. She approached the barkeep, standing on the outskirts of the mob, and she didn’t even have to speak before the barkeep jerked his head skyward. She traced his gaze to the roof of a towering building casting its shadow over them.

“Poor sod’s gonna jump, I reckon,” the barkeep ruminated, eyes still fixed upwards. In place of the massive beast she fully expected to be perched atop the building stood the figure of a man, trembling at the very edge of the roof. She squinted, an uncanny familiarity settling into her gut.

She mumbled her half-hearted thanks, already pushing through a portal to the rooftop. The man, still frozen in place on the opposite edge, didn’t seem to notice the sudden company, and her uneasiness grew into a sinking dread.

“Jaskier?” she called, tentatively, afraid to startle him. Any last shred of hope that she was mistaken (though the intricately embroidered doublet was hard to mistake) was gone when he jerked his head back to face her. His mouth was agape, an uncomfortable mixture of surprise and disappointment drawn across his features. “What are you doing?”

“The fuck does it look like?” He snapped back. There was more than his usual sarcasm or mock-incredulity in his voice, real and deep-felt anger coloring his tone.

“Don’t do it,” she urged, surprising herself with the tenderness in her own words. “Come on now. Just come down.” Why did she care? The question gnawed in the back of her mind, and she did her damndest to push it aside. She’s a good person, after all, right? She’d do it for anyone, surely. None of Geralt’s not-getting-involved nonsense.

“Fuck off, Yennefer.” He let out a barking laugh, thin and breathy, pitching forward ever so slightly with the force of it. She felt her whole body tense, hands reaching out reflexively.

“Where’s Geralt? What happened?” This was, apparently, the single worst line of conversation she could’ve settled on, because he dropped abruptly to a squat and for a split second she was certain she was about to witness the man’s death. 

“I’m not his fucking keeper.” He was nearly at a roar now, a fever-pitch that sent a shiver down Yennefer’s spine. “Haven’t seen him in a week. Not since— not since—” Though she couldn’t see his face, his eyes fixed resolvedly on the ground below, she could hear the tears cut through his words, his breath hiccuping.

“Shh,” she hushed him. Clearly, something had happened after she stormed off. What, precisely, could wait until later, when he was back on solid ground. “I know. It’s not fair.”

“The fuck do you know about fair?” he scoffed, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around his abdomen against the biting wind. 

“He fucked me over, too.” She should’ve been offended, and she would’ve been if she wasn’t far more concerned with making sure the bard didn’t fling himself into an early demise, which would be decidedly unfair. That sentiment did little to ease him, and withdrew no response. “Fuck Geralt,” she declared, trying again. “Damn brute thinks he can just take as he pleases.”

“And— and then discard you once he’s had his fill,” he mumbled, offering her the slightest glance back, tears glistening against the pink of his cheeks. 

“You’re better than that,” she set forth like a thesis. “You’re — loathe as I am to admit it — talented, bard. People like you. You’ll find plenty of material to write about.” Perhaps an appeal to both logos and pathos would be sufficient, at least enough to get him off the ledge. 

“It won’t be the same.” He frowned tragically over his shoulder at her. “I've lost it all, Yen. Look at me— I'm just a silhouette.”

“That's nonsense. He… you're more than him. He's not everything.” It felt ridiculous to her, throwing yourself off a roof over an argument with a friend. After all, Jaskier had always managed to exist in the spaces between Geralt before; teaching, or penning his next obnoxious ballad, or bedding married women, or whatever it is overgrown manchild bards do. But, then, she'd almost killed herself to restore something she knew she could never get back. So perhaps they were even.

“Look, this is awfully sweet of you, but—” he swept his arm, gesturing vaguely at nothing in particular. “Just let me go. I’m doing everyone a favor.” He turned his attention back to the ground, wind rippling through his hair. “Should’ve done this a long time ago.” She felt her heart skip — a long time ago? This wasn’t just a histrionic reaction to whatever might’ve occurred between him and Geralt; gods knew how long he’d felt like this.

“You know I can’t do that,” she retorted, drawing tentatively closer. “Don’t make me portal you down.” He huffed, waving her off with a trembling hand. 

“Please, Yen.” Realistically, she knew it would be easy to oblige his request. Walk away, pretend not to hear the sickening thud, and carry on. He was only her ex-witcher’s ex-bard, after all. “I always knew it'd end like this. I’m just… I’m glad I even made it past thirty, really.” 

“That’s— I’m not— no, Jaskier. I’m not letting you throw yourself off a roof, for the love of the gods. That’s insane.” She wasn’t sure what was more insane, letting him go, or standing here arguing with him. “You’re going to be real glad when you make it to forty, bard.”

“Am I though, really? This isn’t my first time, believe it or not. And every time I live, or I back out, or I let someone talk me out of it. And I always regret it in the end.” Her mind reeled again — every time? How many had there been? She pushed the thought back.

“You won’t find out unless you get down,” she argued, drawing closer still. He tensed, sensing her presence, hands balling and unfurling repetitively. “Come on. Go to the tavern with me, get something to eat, have a—” she was close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath now “—more drink. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning, and if you still regret it, well…” 

“Fine,” he finally agreed on the tail end of a sigh, turning to fully face her. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” She didn’t like the resolve with which he said those words, but he was agreeing to come down, which at least was a small victory. She’d handle tomorrow when it came around. In the meantime she needed to get them both down. “Or eventually,” he tacked on as she held her hands out, forming a portal back to solid ground. “Inevitably.” The word rang in her mind as she looped an arm around him and led him through the portal. As an afterthought, she summoned a blanket with a flick of her fingers; it was one of those cheap, thin blankets they kept at the inn, but it would do. She tossed it over his shoulders and he dug his fingers into the fabric, drawing it closer around himself.

Once they were back in the tavern, that thin blanket still draped over Jaskier's shoulders and mug of ale held in shaking hands, it was time to talk.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, dragging his thumb up and down the cool tankard, avoiding meeting her eyes at all costs. “I’ve caused such a fuss. You must be anxious to get out of here.” He finally glanced in her direction when he felt a hand land on his forearm.

“It’s fine, really,” she insisted, and he couldn’t bear the pity in her eyes. “Now are you going to tell me what that was all about?” He huffed a laugh, looked away again.

“It’s just, you know. Me and my theatrics.” He shrugged, running a hand along his jaw.

“Bullshit.” When, exactly, Yennefer had gotten so good at seeing right through him, he wasn’t sure. But he did know he definitely didn’t like it.

“I’m sorry. I just, I… I get like that, I guess,” he muttered finally, dragging his thumb along the rim of his glass.

“Suicidal, you mean? You just get… suicidal?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, moving her hand up to his shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess.” He reached blindly, dropped a hand over hers. “When something goes wrong. Someone leaves me again. I just, I fuck up a lot, and I’m no good at dealing with the concequences.” 

“That’s— gods, I know you’re an idiot, but that’s really worth killing yourself over?” She tried to keep her tone light, clipped, maybe a little detached. He was uneasy with the attention, it was obvious, and she was also certainly not ready to admit that maybe, just a tiny bit, she sort of cared about him.

“Geralt, he ran me off,” he mumbled, sinking further into the blanket. “After the hunt, after your fight, he blamed me. For everything, the entire two decades of our, well. I guess it wasn’t friendship.” He chewed at his lip, a nervous habit, anger bubbling below the surface at the thought of that day. “Told me the greatest gift life could give him would be to take me off his hands.” Yennefer balked at him, finally hearing the context of his despair, and she was just about ready to portal right over to wherever Geralt had fucked off to and give him a piece of her mind.

“That’s terrible,” she told him, the best she could really offer. Nothing she could say would undo what’d happened, and nothing could change how much it hurt him. “He really is a bastard.” Jaskier nodded slowly, raised his tankard up in toast. “When’s the last time you ate? You must be starving.”

“Stew would be nice,” he replied quietly, meekly. She haled one of the barkeeps, ordered him a stew, and requested another round of drinks. “It’s not just the fight, though,” he added once the server was gone. “I don’t know how to explain it, Yen. Why I do the things I do, or feel the way I feel. It’s just, it’s all too much sometimes, you know?” She knew. All too well, she knew. She was only just beginning to understand herself, just beginning to feel some semblance of control. He was so young — perhaps not by human standards, but comparatively. 

“I know. It’s hard.” They felt like empty platitudes, like she had no idea how to truly connect with him, and it was frustrating. She wanted to help him, but she wasn’t sure how, wasn’t sure he wanted it. 

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head, picked at the wood of the table. They drifted into silence, neither sure how to fill it, neither sure this was a conversation either wanted to have. The stew arrived, and he picked at it rather than devouring it like he usually did his rations. 

“You know I’m sterile, right?” she finally broke the silence once he’d finished his food and pushed the bowl aside, leaning closer, her voice pitched in a conspiratorial whisper. He nodded solemnly, averting his gaze, watching the light catch in his amber ale. “And you know I’ve gone to great lengths to rectify that, correct?” Another slow nod.

“I know, Yen. I’m sorry, I know you have far more right to be miserable than I do. And here I am, wallowing like a toddler—” She waved a hand to cut him off.

“No, listen, stupid bard. It’s really not about being able to have kids. It’s about the fact that I don’t have a choice, that I’ve never had a choice,” she elaborated, hiking the blanket further up his shoulders as it started to slip.

“I know. And here I am, I’ve gotten everything I wanted. I got to choose; running away, going to Oxenfurt, becoming a bard, traveling. Gods, I followed Geralt to the ends of the bloody Continent for two decades of my life I’ll never get back — but that was my choice.” 

“Would you please let me finish my point, instead of interrupting me to wallow in guilt?” He gnawed at his lip, finally turning to face her. “It wasn’t about being a mother, it was about choice. So this—” she waved her arm dramatically, wondering for a moment when exactly she’d started picking up his mannerisms. “This isn’t about Geralt at all, is it?” After a moment of contemplation, he carefully shook his head. “Then what is it about?” 

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he muttered at the tail end of a swig from his tankard. “I’ve just always been like this,” he said with a sweep of his hand, palm upturned, string-callused fingers twitching aimlessly. Her violet eyes bore into him expectantly, and he felt angry for a flicker of a moment — she was a witch, right? He should be able to just sit back while she delves into the darkest crevices of his psyche, let her root around and not have to struggle to put his life into context and language. “Can’t you just, y’know…” He tugged at his fingers, tilted his head.

“Read your mind?” she finished the question, scooting closer to him, and he felt the hair on his arms rise. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” He nodded, and she pressed her forehead against his, pulling him in close, enveloping him in the lilac and gooseberries he knew Geralt loved so much. He understood why; he felt inexplicably safe, even as the logical half of his brain urged him to pull back. This was all for show, and he knew that— she didn’t need to touch him to read him. Either way, he was grateful to not have to give language to the nameless, that she could just see.

See Jaskier at seventeen, screaming at Valdo from across the courtyard, "if you leave me I swear the fuck to melitile I'll kill myself," knowing he's made this exact threat verbatim so many times Valdo can't believe him, unable to recall what they were even arguing about anymore. When they break up, his mother tells him the first heartbreak always hurts the worst; it hurts all the same every time thereafter.

Jaskier at twenty, slicing thin lines into his thigh for what had to be the millionth time, running out of unmarred skin, witcher/tentative friend asleep somewhere beside him in the darkness. If asked, he’s not sure he’d have an excuse. Sometimes to feel something, sometimes to feel nothing. Either way, this uncertainty is what keeps his wrists clean.

Jaskier at twenty-three, wailing great, hiccuping sobs, shoulders rattling, blind beyond teary eyes. Geralt, gods bless him, doesn’t know what to do, stands arm’s-length away, regards him with uncertainty and pity. They’d fought about something that didn’t matter and he couldn’t remember, and that rage washed over him, red-hot, balled fists trembling at his side. “Get out! Gods, are you thick? Leave, Geralt; I fucking hate you.” But then Geralt listened, because Geralt didn’t play Jaskier’s games, and now there he was, sobbing, babbling, “don’t leave me, I’m sorry, I’ll be better, I can’t lose you, it’ll kill me, don’t go.” Geralt stays; they pretend nothing ever happened.

Jaskier at twenty-seven, at the ashes of his latest burnt bridge, just another failed relationship that feels altogether more like death than separation. Grieving it more like death, too; sobbing until he could do little more than stare at the ceiling and try to breathe, mourning a cemetery of mistakes and a lifetime of failure.

Jaskier at thirty-two, depression blanketing him with the fresh snow, the man he'd tangled up his entire identity in fucked off to the mountains for the winter while he sludged through classes, distracting himself from having to confront the fact that he doesn't recognize his own face in the mirror. Jaskier does exist in the spaces between Geralt, but, sometimes, that Jaskier is a husk.

Jaskier a few days ago, marching back to Oxenfurt because that's all he knows, doubtful Jaskier even exists anymore, the emptiness in his mind unbearable and somehow terminal, altogether certain he's been incompatible with life from the very moment he entered it and resolved to rectify nature's mistake himself. 

Jaskier who, his entire life, has felt everything, too much, all at once. Who's always been led by his heart — and not in the beautiful, Romantic way, but messy, tragic, and uniquely Jaskier. A man so utterly at the mercy of his own mind, drowning in feelings he doesn't have the language to name, his entire being defined not by who he is but what he does and who he loves. 

Jaskier, on a rooftop in Tretogor, itchy feet ready to fling him off the ledge. He'd told Valdo once, in the in-between hours not quite night or morning when everything seems strange and far away, that he knew how he was destined to die. Pressed on, even as Valdo chuckled and called him presumptive, “I'm going to kill myself.” Not today, or tomorrow, but inevitably. He said it not with the certainty of someone who's seen into the future but the cynical resignation of a man who knows no other escape. And Valdo punched his arm, told him not to talk like that, promised it would get easier one day. He hates Valdo now, not that he remembers why, and that day has yet to come.

She pulled back eventually— finally — and swept a shaky thumb over his cheek. He chewed on his lip, staring expectantly with hauntingly wide eyes. 

“Jaskier.” It was barely a whisper, uttered at the end of a sharp exhale, and when violet eyes met his they shone with an uncanny recognition. He wasn't sure what, precisely, she'd seen, but he knew whatever it was had been enough. He'd invited her to the bleakest corners of his mind, and now she regarded him like a lame horse. He ducked his head, but she caught him with a hand on his chin. “You know that's not how destiny works.”

“Hmm?” He wracked his brain to figure what she might be referring to, coming up empty-handed. He didn't have a big, grand destiny like she or Geralt did. He was just Jaskier the bard, Jaskier the one-night stand, Jaskier the disappointment. 

“It doesn't have to end like that. You have a choice,” she elaborated, still painfully vague, but he understood. 

“This isn't the first time, Yen, I—” 

“I know. I saw.” Right, she saw, probably everything, and he had the wherewithal to feel humiliated for it. 

“I've cheated it enough times. I can't outrun it forever.” It felt nice, at least, to let his walls down a little, stop playing the perpetual naive optimist. Almost a relief, even, a weight off his shoulders. 

“I know. But you're strong, Jask.” She moved her hand from his chin to the back of his head, guiding it to rest against her shoulder. “We have more in common than I thought, you know.” He laughed, thin and heady, but with a little more conviction this time, and pressed his face against her neck. 

“Is that your way of telling me you're fucked up, too?” He asked, and, despite the levity in his tone, he truly was curious. 

“Yes, bard,” she hummed, reaching out to sip at her tankard.

“You're not going to give me any more than that?” He fought off a yawn, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. “I just told you everything.” 

“Maybe someday,” she replied, setting the mug back on the table. “But right now I think you could use some rest. We both could.” She slipped out of the booth and he let his head tilt back against the wall, mourning the absence of her warmth. 

She returned a few minutes later, room procured, and hiked the blanket back over his shoulders as he reached for his lute and followed after her. It was a nice enough room, two beds on opposite sides, a bath he had no intention of utilizing. Exhausted, he kicked off his boots, shrugged off his doublet, and dropped onto the bed. He let his mind wander, dozing as Yennefer readied herself for bed, eyelids heavy by the time she blew out the candles.

“You won't try again?” Yen asked from across the room after a while, barely a silhouette in the faint moonlight. Jaskier rolled over to face her, finding her staring distantly out the window.

“You, uh, you have to be more specific,” he muttered, tugging the blanket closer to his chin. It smelled of lilac and ale. 

“How am I supposed to make that more specific?” It came out sharp, like her usual tone with him, but he could still feel an uneasy twinge to her words. 

“I mean, I don't know.” He felt stupid for reasons beyond his grasp. “Not today, or tomorrow. But I can't promise never.” There was a long pause, and Jaskier barely breathed, wondering if he'd managed to upset her as sleep crept up on him. 

“Not today is enough,” she said finally, sounding almost far away, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, voice thick with impending sleep. “When are you leaving?” The me he omitted at the tail end rang in his mind, unspoken but understood, heavy in the nighttime silence. She was supposed to leave in the morning, so he could either move on or finish what he’d set out to do; he wasn’t sure he wanted her to uphold that promise anymore.

“Not today.” He exhaled slowly. Not today is enough. And maybe, just maybe, enough not today's would add up to never. 

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ A NIGHTMARE ❜

with Michael ‘Riz’ Ariza and the Reyes brothers.

Request #1: Please tell me mine makes the count for the first 10 lmao But if you can. Can you please do a Riz request where the girl is a sister, possibly a Reyes sister and the two of them are secretly together. And they spend the night together until her two brothers open the door and see them?

BY @firebenderwolf

Request #2: helloooooo i would to request an imagine with riz ariza in which the reader is angel and ez sister. the plot about something fluff like cuddling or having a cute whatever is better for you. Thank you so much🤍

BY ANON

Warnings: none.

Word count: anout 1.8k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @fromthesixteenthfloor

Masterlist.

Suddenly waking up, covered by sweat and your heart racing, you grab the baseball bat next to your bed. You're pretty sure that you heard a strange noise coming from the living room, but EZ and Angel are out of town. So you just hope that it was part of your nightmare. Slowly walking through your brother's flat, barefoot and trying to be silent, you turn on the lights. Everything seems under normality. The windows are closed and the main door is locked. Nothing is thrown over the floor and the TV is off. Coming back to your room with the same defensive position and the bat raised up in front of your eyes, ready to beat whoever's ass, you run like never before as soon as you reach your dorm. Putting the latch that Angel installed for you, for these days, you crawl to your bed to grab your phone starting to cry for no reason. Typing Riz's number by heart, you wait impatiently for hearing his voice.

“Mi amor, what's up?” He was sleeping, noticing it in the low tone he uses to speak.

“Can yo—you come to my house, pl—please?” You can't help but sob, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles.

“Shit, yes, of course, baby. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Feeling awake, he sounds like he's getting up from his bed, looking for some clothes to wear.

“I just… have a nigh—nightmare, and I'm freak—freaking scared”.

“I'll be there in ten, okay?”

“Ok—Okay…”

You can't stop checking the hour on your phone every single second, biting superficially your nails without breaking them, trying to calm yourself somehow. You're not used to having nightmares, and usually when it happens, you don't remember what happened. But when your screen turns on again with a text message from Riz, you start to cry again unconsolable, leaving it away and getting up from your bed to run towards the entrance. And, as soon as you open the main door, you jump into him. Your boyfriend doesn't hesitate to hold you tightly, surrounding his waist with your legs, clinged to him with all your strength.

“It's okay, mi amor… It's okay, I'm here”. He whispers caressing your back, coming into the house and closing the door behind his back.

Sinking your face into his neck, you try to get a little more relaxed, less shaked and breathing somewhat better. He knows he doesn't need to say anything, being enough with his presence and his lovely touch. It's the first time he hears you cry and it's really breaking his heart. Leading his steps towards the nearest sofa, Riz sits there holding you yet, before cupping your cheek in his hands. Cleaning your tears without any word uttered, he leans to peck your lips softly.

“I'm here, mi amor, don't cry”. He mutters, leaving now some clingy kisses in your cheeks to make you laugh. At least, a little.

“Can you… please stay tonight?” You almost beg him, sniffing but not crying anymore.

“You don't have to ask for it, mi reina”. He just says, showing you that smile you love more than anything.

Riz has that power on you that anyone else has. He husks your demons, your insecurities, your fears. Anything bad that runs through your mind, he puts it down. And he does it so easily that sometimes surprises you. Resting your head over one of his shoulders, you surround him with your arms, closing your eyes just for some seconds in the meantime you recover your peaceful breathing.

“Do you want me to prepare you a tea or something?”

You shake your head softly.

“Okay, I'm gonna take you to bed, alrai'?”

Standing up from the sofa, he walks towards your room with a slow pace, until reaching it. Placing your feet on the white fluffy carpet, Riz starts to undress himself leaving only his boxers, to lie down by your side drawing you into his arms, after turning off the lights. One of his hands falls on your neck, while the other caress your skin under the short sleeve, tangling your legs with his. Placing gently kisses on your forehead, you rest your head over his shoulder, closing your eyelids. Now you feel more safe than ever, even if there's any danger close.

“I love you”. You whisper into his ear, leaning some inches to kiss his cheek.

You're not used to saying these three simple words, but instead using a lot of pet-names. So every time you utter them, your boyfriend smiles like an idiot, just like you do. You don't know how it happened, exactly. Since you two met, you couldn't avoid flirting unconsciously, until you found out that you were in love with each other to the gills. And one night at the clubhouse, he couldn't wait much more to kiss you. Sometimes it's difficult to hide it from your brothers, but it's been eight months since you started and they don't suspect anything, even if you know that one day you will have to tell them about your relationship. But for the moment, you don't want to think about it, getting more comfy under his arms.

“I was thinking of asking Bishop for some days off, so we can go somewhere”. Riz comments with feigned causality, making you laugh low.

“Sounds good”. You nod, raising your eyes towards the black ones. “Where do you wanna go?”

“I don't know… Tijuana, Los Angeles, San Diego. Depends on if you prefer more heat desert or beach”.

“Anywhere is perfect without having to hide”.

“Fuck, yes”. The mexican can't help but break into laughter. “Do you feel better?”

Turning over his side, he caresses the line of your jaw softly. You just nod in silence, before pressing your lips on his. Getting perfectly molded, you tangle your fingers in his hair, not wanting to let him go.

“I love you, mi amor”. He says between some kisses.

You wake up rested and feeling better than other nights, sticking your back to his chest and tangling your fingers with the ones around your neck and waist, shortening the distance. Feeling how Riz holds you tightly and leaves some kisses on your head, you purr softly drawing a smile on your lips. You would like to spend the whole morning like that, just enjoying his pampers in silence. But he has to work and you have to study for an exam. So that calm doesn't last long.

“Talk with your brothers about the nightmare, when they come ba—”.

“We're already here, old ass!”

Angel's voice freezes your blood. Suddenly opening your eyes and sitting up over the bed with a terrified look on your faces.

“Shit…” Your boyfriend snorts, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Maybe they didn't hear you”. You try to whisper.

“What the fuck, girl? I'm answering him”.

“Angel…” EZ's just says.

“What? He's fucking our little sister, man!”

“And you're fucking the whole Santo Padre”. Your brother responds, making you chuckle, seeing Riz getting up to get dressed.

“We're not talking about my cock”.

“Not even about Riz's”. You add then, stepping out from your dorm, walking towards them in the living room. “Jeez… You look like shit”.

Angel raises an eyebrow with his eyes on yours, before rolling them.

“Thank you, that's very kind”. Ezekiel smirks, having a sip from his coffee. “Having fun in our absence?”

“I had a nightmare. I thought someone came to… steal or something, and I was fucking scared”.

“So you call him”.

“Who else, idiot?”

“Pops?” EZ says as if it wasn't obvious.

“Guys”.

“Dirty old ass”.

“Angel, I'm gonna fucking punch you el pinche hocico”. (Into the fucking mouth).

“Fight me, gnome”.

Lifting up both eyebrows looking at him, twisting your neck, you can't believe how immature he's sometimes.

“I will call you when I'm done later, okay?”

“No, you better don't call h—”.

“Ezekiel, can you hit Angel, please?”

Your brother obeys delighted, punching his shoulder, as he used to so when you were children. And the older gives him back another, distracting them so you can say goodbye to Riz, accompanying him to the main door.

“Thank you for coming last night”. You whisper, hearing your brothers complaining about the punches, while he kisses your forehead chuckling.

“Anytime, gnome”.

“Oh, c'mon!” You laugh palming his chest. “I love you…”

“I love you too”.

Coming back to the living room, after closing the door, you continue to the kitchen to have some coffee in a mug and sit at the table with your brothers. They stop fighting, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“He runs Vicki's house”.

“And you run the whole Santo Padre”. Ezekiel is drinking when he hears you, almost drowning between some coughs and cleaning his mouth with a hand.

“Anyone know?” He asks then.

“Yeah, Taza and Bishop”.

“Girl, what the fuck? How do they know before us?”

“I went to Taza's ranch to have dinner. Like… a lot of times”.

“You went to a house in the middle of nowhere with three men older than you?” Angel can't believe you, leaning towards the table.

“Yeah, and we did an orgy. Are you fucking idiot?” You growl hitting his forehead with your palm.

“Pops knows?” Turning to your other brother, you nod shrugging as if it wasn't obvious.

Suddenly, Angel throws himself to the floor, sobbing and tangling his hands over his own chest. You two look at him over the table, watching him feigning a heart attack or being possessed. Any theory is valid for whatever he's doing.

“You fucking drama queen…” Rolling your eyes, you sit up again.

“How much time do y—”.

“Eight months”.

“AY! AY, AY!” You can't help but break into laughs, hearing your big brother pretending to be crying.

“Fucking idiot”. Shaking your head, you get up from your chair to turn the table and fall onto Angel's abdomen like a plank.

“Don' touch me, you traitor, breaking my poor heart”.

“Anything that a Reyes sandwich doesn't fix”. The other says, falling onto you smashing both.

“FUCK, EZEKIEL”. The oldest and you complain laughing, barely breathing. “FUCKING MOVE”.

Squirming in the middle, you free yourself, lying on the floor between both. Looking at them, you place your arms under their necks pulling them closer.

“(Y/N) Ariza. How does it sound?”

“If you fuckin' change the ‘Reyes’ one day, I'm gonna run over him with pops' car”. Angel grunts palming your forehead.

“I'm more into tying his feet to it, and driving through the desert”. Ezekiel opines pursing his lips in a petty smile.

“You wouldn't if I poison you first”.

“Yeah, whatever. What happened last night?”

“I think it was just my subconscious missing my two favorite boys”.

“Do you see how fake that sounds, mi dulcecito?”

“Cierra el pinche hocico”. (Shut the fuck up). You chuckle with your eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I really missed you those four days, idiots…”

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[ooohyou]

Submitted to r/nosleep by u/NemesisLuce

Please support the original author.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. Cute little bookstore in a quaint little town. I love helping customers find the right book for their mood. I love showing cute children’s books to curious kids. I love talking with sales reps and figuring out exactly which new releases to order from them.

I also fucking hate my job.

It was ten minutes past closing time, and I had my brightest, fakest smile on while trying to get the last customer out of my store. No sir, I cannot look up a book on the computer if all you know is the cover was red when you saw a poster for it 5 years ago. No sir, “I think it was about the cold war and a detective who drank too much but maybe it was something else” does not help me at all. Look sir, all my historical thrillers are on this shelf. Does anything ring a bell? No? Was it made into a movie? You don’t know? Oooookaaaay then, I’m sorry to inform you that we are already past closing time, here’s the store number, if you remember the title give us a call and we’ll order it for you if it’s still available. Thank you, good evening to you too sir, goodbye. Yes you have your umbrella, it’s right here in your hand sir. Okay bye bye.

I sighed and gave my cashier the biggest eyeroll I could manage before locking the door and turning over the sign that previously said ‘come in, we’re open!’. I heard the coins clanking in the coin counting machine (do these have a name? I don’t know. Coin counting machine is pretty self-explanatory and I’ve never bothered to check if they were actually called that), signifying that Alice had started to sort her cash drawer. I would only need to take out the profits of the day, make sure she had enough cash for tomorrow, and send her home. I went through the motions mechanically, only thinking about the nap I was about to have in the breakroom. It was going to be glorious. I really needed it if I wanted to be alert for the night shift.

Oh, yeah. We’ve got a night shift here. It’s my store’s most… peculiar aspect. We close at 6pm, but we open again at 11, up until 5am. Then we open again at 10am. So when I said ‘nap’ earlier, I actually meant the first half of my night, since I am working both shifts. Yes, I live in my store. Please buy books instead of reading stuff on the Internet, I would really love to be able to afford another employee.

So there I was, counting money fully on autopilot, daydreaming about drinking a nice cup of herbal tea and hugging my pillow, when Alice said something that ruined my plans.

“I forgot to tell you, something weird happened when you were on break.”

I snapped out of my daydream instantly and shot her a questioning glare.

“Yeah, this old lady came in, looking for something about fairy tales. I showed her the section but she didn’t want to have a look there apparently, and she asked me about something from the back. And I was like ‘do you think we’re hiding books from our customers or something’ so I just told her everything we had was on display in the store but we could order any book we didn’t have if she wanted. And she just shook her head and mumbled something and then she handed me this pamphlet and I was like ‘okay feel free to look around’ and didn’t even look at the pamphlet before shoving it in my pocket because a kid entered the store holding an open juice box and that was a disaster waiting to happen so yeah but that was weird right?”

She had actually run out of breath by the end of her sentence, and I wasn’t surprised. I was pissed though.

“Alice for FUCKS sake. Give me the pamphlet, don’t look at it. I’ll write that you were fired because of the store’s financial situation and give you a glowing recommendation.”

All color drained from the young girl’s face. I wasn’t mad at her, but I was still mad. She was supposed to know the rules. Hell, I even had her train the temps we hired to help around Christmas time. In retrospect, it was a miracle nothing bad had happened.

Okay, I was slightly mad at her. But I really didn’t want to be.

I saw in her eyes that it had finally clicked. She understood the gravity of what she had done, and handed me a crumpled pamphlet from her pocket, making sure to avert her gaze. God damn it. She had one momentary lapse, and it cost me a good cashier. Fucking hell.

“I’m sorry…” she started.

“It’s okay Alice, you didn’t mean to. You were alone on the floor, she was an old bat, it could’ve happened to anyone. You’ll be missed around here, but please don’t visit.”

She nodded. She finally remembered the rules, and she understood that there was no other way.

I put the cash drawer in the safe while she gathered the stuff she had left in the break room. I opened the back door to light a cigarette. She had tears in her eyes as she exited the store. I gave her a smile and clasped her hands in mine.

“You were a good employee, Alice. You’ll do great in a regular bookstore. Don’t doubt yourself and avoid this street for a few weeks. Call me if you run into any trouble, okay?”

“Thank you for the opportunity, boss. I really loved working here.”

“I know you did. Now hurry home. Don’t answer to anyone knocking on your door. Be safe.”

She nodded and scurried away, her backpack bouncing with her steps. I crammed my half-finished cigarette into the already-full-but-I-keep-forgetting-to-empty-it ashtray and went back inside.

The pamphlet was sitting on top of the safe, and as I grabbed it I felt the urge to read it. Nope. In the bin you go. I was accustomed to those old tricks. First rule of working with my clientele is to know when you can’t trust your instincts because something’s fucking with them. Second rule is to trust your instincts. Confusing? Welcome to my life.

So I ended up sitting at my desk typing furiously on my computer instead of napping. I still had a few hours until night shift, but I absolutely had to start interviewing prospective employees in the next couple days – in the meantime I just had to hope one of my part-time employees would like to work a few extra hours. I just have too much work to spend all my time manning the register and keeping the tables neat. While the store isn’t that big, it still is a lot for one person.

I obviously had to update the employee rulebook as well. Just emphasize that you can’t take chances with crazy old people. You never know if they’re truly crazy or something else.

“Never accept anything a customer hands you directly if it’s not (real) money. If they’re promoting something, make them leave any cards, pamphlets, posters at the register. If you end up accepting whatever they gave you, don’t look at it, and come to me immediately.”

Yes, it’s weird. I know it’s weird. Look, I pay my employees a fair enough wage that they make sure to follow the rules. I don’t care if they think I’m crazy. I probably am. It doesn’t matter.

I pressed enter and added:

“If a customer asks if they can see what we have in the back, politely decline and offer them to order whatever book they need. If they persist, come get me.”

God damn it, Alice actually handled this part well. But she grabbed the pamphlet, and I had to protect her.

I don’t write the rules to make my employees better workers. I write them to make sure they survive. The main reason any infraction is cause for termination is that, well, it could be the cause for the actual termination of their existence on Earth. Getting fired from a job is a way better alternative.

Alice accepted the old lady’s pamphlet. It could’ve been anything else. A tissue, a cigarette, a glass of water. She unknowingly made a bargain with whatever the woman was. ‘I gave you something, now I’m free to take something’. Entities like the old lady abide by archaic rules. In a store, this is what applies. I lost a regular day customer that way. The poor lady was watching over her kid, who was merrily making a mess looking through the 3-5 years old section, when a young girl came up to her. “Look miss, look I made a drawing”, she said. My customer grabbed the piece of paper and the girl ran off. A couple days later, posters popped up everywhere in town for a missing toddler.

I was obviously pissed. I’d been waiting to see that little girl again and tell her that business rules applied only between merchant and customers and she had no right to force an innocent, unaware person into a contract. My night clientele is well aware of that, and treasure having a place to find literature enough to not risk jeopardizing the fragile balance between both worlds. Nonhumans can be facetious little shits though, and I’ve never seen that girl again. Some entities enjoy chaos just for the sake of it. This one just danced around the rules, grabbed what she wanted, and ruined two lives. My customer sank into a deep depression and ended up gouging her eyes out during a manic episode. Her toddler was never found, but I don’t think he will grow up to be a respectable, human adult.

I checked the time and decided I could get 2 hours of sleep before having to get the store ready for night shift. So obviously I went to check out who – or what – was knocking on the glass window near the entrance because who needs sleep anyway.

It was an old lady, her wrinkled bloated nose pressed against the glass, her skeletal fingers tapping against it in a rhythmical fashion that was getting on my nerves. She had piercing, blood-injected eyes that were fixed on me and a grin so large it couldn’t possibly be natural.

I didn’t have time to be scared, but I still felt the fear creeping up on my stomach, slowly making its way through my body. No matter how hard I tried to reject it, I couldn’t. Stupid human nature. I adorned my best customer service smile and walked up to the old lady.

“My apologies, you seem to be a bit early. We will be open for business at eleven.”

I didn’t need to yell. I knew she could hear me clearly in spite of the glass separating us.

One… two… three taps on the window. Her already impossibly wide grin grew even wider, revealing rotten teeth sticking out of black, putrid gums. Thick, yellowish saliva was dripping down in strands from her non-existent lips. By the time the corners of her mouth reached her temples, I was sure I would lose my fake confidence and run in the opposite direction. No matter how many times you deal with unnatural entities, being mere centimeters away from a nightmarish mouth full of rot and decay will shake you to your core. I tried to breathe calmly, being secretly thankful for the glass that separated me from what was probably the foulest smell I’d ever submitted my nose to, hoping the old lady would see me standing my ground and respect the rules of business. I could deal with her inside my bookstore, where she would be a customer. I just needed to stay brave and meet her transfixed, unwavering gaze. Her eyes were more blood vessels than pupils, and I found myself focusing on those instead of whatever was moving in her mouth. I did not want to see her tongue, not after seeing the state of her teeth. And I sure as hell did not want to see whatever I clearly caught moving around her mouth if it wasn’t her tongue. No, her eyes were scary but I could deal with them, no matter how unsettling it was to see them bulge in and out of her head in a slow motion, almost as if they were breathing. The glass became foggier and foggier on her side due to her heavy, animalistic panting, but I kept my gaze straight, only catching glimpses of fog and movement in my peripheral visions. If I were to treat her like an animal, I needed to assert myself as the alpha. I don’t yield to rude, entitled customers, and I wouldn’t yield to rude, entitled nonhumans breaching the unspoken contract that allowed them to enjoy my store.

After what felt like forever, she stopped tapping on the window. Her grin reverted back to a normal, almost friendly smile. She blinked, soggy wrinkled eyelids covering those eyes I had stared at for far too long.

“I guess I’ll see you when you’re open, then”. In spite of the glass panel separating us, I felt her putrid breath against my ear as she whispered her parting words.

Just like that, she turned and left.

Understandably, I was not looking forward to seeing her during the night shift. My regular customers were unsettling enough, I did not want to add the batshit-insane-nightmarish-grandma to the list.

I’m a business owner. The customer may not be always right, but they are always my priority. I will have to open tonight, because while some may not consider books to be a necessity, I guarantee you that it is vital not only for my business, but for some of my night customers that I open every night. I complain about my life a lot, but some of them face issues they can’t simply look up on the internet nor ask a friend or even a therapist. They may urgently need something from the night inventory, and I will do my best to provide it for them. I’ve always loved being a bookseller, but helping nonhumans find whatever fits their very specific needs has given me a sense of purpose I’m not ready to give up just yet.

I will open tonight. And I will protect my business and its rules, to ensure that I can open tomorrow night.

(Note: edited some words to fit in with the location LOL)

[upstartpoodle]

Hi! I don’t know if this really applies to the AU ask meme, but how about George and Dwight in either of these AU scenarios...a) George's presence at Nampara is noticed, after his escape from Trenwith, and he's taken in and given medical attention, or b) Dwight visits George at an institution after Cary reluctantly has him committed - Dwight, of course, will rescue George from this awful fate. I'm not very good at these ask memes, but your writing is so good and I'm a big fan. Thank you! : D

Hi! Thank you for these! First of all, I’m really glad that you enjoy my writing! I just wanted to let you know that I am working on the request that you sent me a while back, but unfortunately it’s got quite long and I don’t have a huge amount time for writing atm because of work. Hopefully I’ll be able to get on with it properly once the Christmas craziness is over, if not beforehand.

In the meantime, I hope both of these are alright. Since they’re both over a thousand words apiece, I think it’s safe to say that I was fairly liberal with the three sentence rule, but eh, they’re there to be broken ha :P. Since, they’re both a) long, b) angsty and c) have references to suicide and canon levels of mistreatment of a character suffering from a mental illness I’m going to bung them under the cut so as not to take over anyone’s dash.

1)

The first thing Dwight thought upon seeing him there, pale and wan, dressed in nought but a thin, white nightshirt, was that he looked like a ghost. Later, when reflecting back upon the incident, the good doctor could only be grateful that he had reacted not as most men would upon seeing such an apparition, and freeze in their chair, shocked, and instead leapt from his comfortable place beside the hearth and rushed out into the gloaming that the source of his concern was rapidly retreating into. A call of the man’s name made his quarry falter in his progress, just enough for Dwight to catch up with him, and take him firmly but gently by the shoulders, turning him about to face him.

George startled under his touch, drawing back as much as the hands holding him in place would allow. Even in the low light of dusk, Dwight could see that he seemed very unwell. His skin bloodless, dark shadows pooling beneath his eyes, his curls dishevelled by the wind, he was a far cry from the neat, fastidious George Warleggan whom he was accustomed to seeing in public. Frowning, he glanced down at the man’s elegant, long-fingered hands, the tips of which had come to rest lightly upon his biceps upon being grabbed. His wrists, he noticed, had been rubbed red and raw, the skin having broken and bled in places.

“Might I ask…what it is that has happened?,” Dwight spoke, trying to keep his tone as low and as soothing as possible. If it had been Ross who had noticed him, he might have been inclined to demand answers of his long-time rival with no regard to the roughness of his manner, but there was a wildness in George’s eyes—born of pain and horror and an utter desperation which he would never have expected to see on the face of such a man—that told the doctor that what he needed was kindness and patience, not an interrogation. “Your uncle said at Killewarren that you had gone north on business.”

“He didn’t want anybody to know” George replied faintly—so faintly that, for a moment, Dwight thought he had imagined it. He frowned at the words, trying to discern their meaning. What was it that Cary hadn’t wanted anybody to know? Whatever it was, the words suggested that the man had attempted to keep it a secret—perhaps by informing any who enquired after his nephew that he was away on a matter of business, far enough away that they might accept the explanation without complaint? But why would he be so concerned that nobody question George’s absence? Whatever had happened, it was clearly something that the man had felt would harm the Warleggans’ reputation among their peers. A sudden memory came forth, unbidden, of overhearing Dr Penrose sneering at his proposed methods for the treatment of lunacy at Killewarren, of Cary’s response of “proven, you say?” in that odd, indecipherable tone, and the pair of them skulking away from the gathering afterwards. Then he thought of the state George had been reduced to in the wake of Elizabeth’s death, of the injuries on his wrists that looked all too much like the marks left from having been restrained. The pieces were beginning to come together in his mind, and he swallowed convulsively at the disturbing picture they painted.

“Know what?,” he asked, trying to keep his tone as gentle as possible. “What did he not want anybody to know?”

George’s right hand moved cautiously, timidly, to grasp at the lapel of his coat, but even as he held onto him, Dwight could feel him trying to shy away from the touch on his shoulders. There was something of a wounded creature about him—not unlike an injured bird that he had once stumbled across in the woods as a child—that was caught between clinging to some faint hope of further salvation and cringing away from the possibility of further pain. He made no attempt to answer the question, simply lowering his eyes to the ground, despair and exhaustion beginning to dampen the panic in his gaze. Dwight’s frown deepened as he took the sight of him. Whatever it was that had happened to him that day—whether his suspicions were correct or not—it was clear that the man was in severe need of both rest and the attention of a physician. Getting to the truth of the matter, that could wait a while longer.

“Will you come inside?,” he asked instead. “It is cold out here, and I should like to examine your injuries.”

That caught George’s attention. He shook his head, but his misery and tiredness somewhat dulled the vehemence of the action.

“No, I shan’t— I— Not with him—”

His speech was disordered at best, but Dwight knew well enough to whom he was referring.

“Ross shall not bother you if you wish to be let alone,” he assured. “I shall not allow it. But please, at least come inside to the warmth if nothing else. You shall catch your death out here.”

At this, George raised his gaze to stare up at him, a look of such hopelessness in his eyes that Dwight could hardly bear to meet them. A moment passed before he spoke again, faint and dull and deadened.

“Would it matter?”

It took all of Dwight’s willpower to repress the instinct to draw in a sharp breath at those words. Surely, he could not have heard correctly, or must have misunderstood the meaning behind them? And yet the look in the man’s eyes, haunted and despairing and lost, told him that he had made no mistake in that regard. It was this that worried him more than anything he had seen so far—George was as resilient and as stubborn a man as Ross in his own way, after all, and to think that he had been beaten down and broken into this – this shell… But he could not afford to dwell on that now, not when the man—so very fragile, so vulnerable in comparison to the haughty, aloof figure he usually struck in society—held carefully in his grasp was so clearly in need of help, of care. He was even more convinced of his course of action now—whatever Ross might say in protest, he could not let him out of his sight, could not risk leaving that little boy inside and his poor baby sister fatherless.

“It would matter to Valentine,” he replied softly, desperately hoping that the reminder would be enough to persuade him. “To Ursula. It would matter to your children.”

George stared up at him.

“My children” he murmured, and for just a brief moment, a little light found its way back into his eyes. Dwight tried his best to smile, nodding in encouragement.

“Yes, your children,” he said. “If not for your own sake, will you not come inside for theirs? Nobody shall do you any harm here. I only wish to help you—that, I promise you.”

“Help?” The word was spoken as if the concept were a foreign one, something he could barely ever imagine being extended to the likes of him. Dwight nodded again, slow and deliberate.

“Yes,” he replied. “Will you allow it?”

George lowered his gaze again, words having seemingly escaped him. Dwight thought that he felt a slight lessening of the tension in his shoulders, however, a lessening in resistance, and so, one arm held about his back and the other moving to take one of his limp hands in his grip, he started leading him gently back towards Nampara.

“Come,” Dwight said again as they headed back towards the threshold of the house; George made no move to stop him, head bowed in resignation. “Come and sit beside the fire. I shall tend to your injuries, and then perhaps you might tell me to me what has happened.”

  2)

He had given up on counting the days shortly after he had arrived at this awful place—days, weeks, months; he knew not how long he had been trapped here, when he had barely any measure of time to cling to, each moment blurred together in a haze of misery, of isolation, and restraints, and what the loathsome Dr Penrose had once cited as “the necessary application of discipline to lessen the grip of animal spirits upon the afflicted”. He had given up on resisting too, as much as it stung what little of his pride remained—such attempts achieved nothing but to earn himself rougher treatment, and it was hardly as if there were anywhere he could have escaped to even if they had been successful. Instead, he had allowed himself to be taken over by a kind of quiet, almost docile despair, of which he faintly supposed that his former self would have been ashamed, but that his current self could not find a way to claw himself out of.

He received no visitors, save for the men whom that thin sliver of pride did not quite allow him to think of as his keepers. His uncle did not come, no matter how much he prayed for release from this terrible prison, for him to step through the door and tell him that he could go home at long last. Nor did he see the children—his Valentine, his Ursula, who were now alone in the world without him—but that was only to be expected. He did not wish them to see this place—this place where no innocent should belong.

He didn’t see Elizabeth anymore, either.

His muddled thoughts told him that that was only natural—Elizabeth had no place here; she belonged where there was light and happiness, not darkness and misery. He had been told by others, however, that she had died. Though he did not wish to believe it—could not, when she had spoken to him, had been there and alive, he was sure, before these four walls and— But he had begun to suspect that something terrible truly must have happened to her, for if she were alive and well, then why had she stood by and allowed this fate to befall him? Surely she would have intervened, would have protested the decision had she been able? Surely, she would not have allowed Dr Penrose to even pass through the doors of Trenwith had she any inkling of what he would do to him, and what he would set in motion with is wicked treatments.

But Elizabeth had not come to his aid. Nobody had, least of all Uncle Cary, who had stood by and permitted ever ounce of pain, fear and humiliation that the man had beaten into him. His vague recollections dredged up memories of begging him, more and more desperately with each day that passed, to send the doctor away, but all of his pleas had fallen upon deaf ears. In the end, it had been the unwitting actions of one of the maids, who, in undoing his shackles just enough to allow him to escape their harsh grip, had given him some small semblance of freedom to do what must be done. With the door to his bedchamber locked fast, his only recourse had been the laudanum which he had found at Elizabeth’s dressing table, enough, he had hoped, to send him into permanent sleep from which Dr Penrose and his wretched methods would not be sufficient to revive him. In the end, it had not been enough, and he had woken to snatches of conversation (“what am I to do? I cannot—”, “I fear that your nephew remaining here only…”, “what…nobody must know of this”, “fear not…discreet places which…know of such an institution at which…committed…”) that his overwrought mind had not been able to latch onto the significance of as he drifted restlessly in and out of consciousness. Then, before he could fully understand what was happening to him, he had been taken away from Trenwith, away from his home, his family, and into this…hell.

Sometimes he wondered if that were precisely what the confines of this room was, that he truly had died before the doctor could intervene, and that this were his very own place in Hell. There were times—in dark moments where he thought he might drown in despair—where he believed it with such conviction that he thought it could be the only possible explanation for why he had been left to rot here, for then at least he had not been abandoned to this place whilst living, if not well. It was of great surprise to him, therefore, when, some undefined time into his confinement, he was graced with his first and only visitor, and was forced, rather abruptly, to re-evaluate the likeliness of his theory. He could not think of a single thing, after all, which Dr Dwight Enys could have done to be deserving of damnation.

“George” the doctor said, his tone soft, his movements slow as he stepped through the door to his room and came to crouch before the chair in which he had been placed, wrists shackled to its arms, earlier that day, akin to the way one might attempt to approach an injured animal, likely to startle and panic at any moment. George stared at him, not daring to believe the evidence of his own eyes. Perhaps this was just a phantom of his strained mind, longing to find some sort of relief from his imprisonment. It was hardly as if the man had ever cared very much for him—how could he, when he was such a close friend to Ross? And it that case, why on earth should he be here now?

“D-Dr Enys?” he stammered, his voice hoarse and faint from screaming and crying and the long silences in-between. He half-wished that he hadn’t sounded so uncertain, so hesitant, but the rest of him, caught between a tentative hope that this might just be real, that the kindly doctor might really be here, might really be of a mind to help him, and the urge to quash that hope, unable to deal with the crushing misery that would undoubtedly come if it proved false, could not bring himself to care, as he once might have done, about how he appeared to this possible figment of his imagination.

“Yes,” the apparition said. One hand reached out towards the strap which held down his left wrist. George started at the action, trying, instinctively, fruitlessly, to jerk away from the unexpected touch. Dr Enys retreated carefully upon seeing his alarm, palms raised upwards in an attempt to calm him. “It’s alright. I shan’t hurt you.”

He moved forward again, slowly and cautiously; the way one might try to free a fox caught in a snare. George froze at his approach this time, watching his movements with wide, wary eyes. He fought the urge to flinch as fingers—real, solid fingers—brushed briefly against his skin as the man took hold of the strap. Then, with careful—real, real—deliberation, he eased the restraint from its fastening—real, really happening—and undid it entirely.

“Wh—?” George stared down at his freed wrist, not quite able to comprehend what was happening. He lifted his gaze to meet Dwight’s, the look in his eyes raw and bewildered and, despite everything his experience of this place was telling him, ever so slightly hopeful. “Wha—? Why are—?”

But Dr Enys’ attention had already turned to his other wrist. George focused on the sensation of the unyielding leather’s cruel bite lessening as the strap was loosened and pulled away—that, at least, felt genuine, tangible, not some cruel trick which his mind was playing on him. Both his wrists freed from his shackles, the doctor turned back to him, one hand held out for him to take.

“Come,” he said. “I am here to take you home.”

There was an earnestness in his voice that made George think that, if he truly were a figment of his imagination, then his imagination must be a very evil thing indeed. The hope which he had been trying so hard to suppress suddenly soared into his chest, so that he could not speak, could barely breathe. There were vague memories in his head of a time before all this, of a little Valentine tugging him along by the hand as he chased dragonflies by the pond, of his baby daughter, so tiny in his arms, as he asked what they would call her, and of her—Elizabeth, oh, Elizabeth—

“Home?” he asked, his voice cracked, barely audible, the word so bizarre on his tongue, as if it had lost all meaning to him. Dwight nodded and, when George made no move to take the hand offered to him, reached out and grasped his left very gently in his own, a determination in his eyes that almost made him believe that this really was real, that he really would soon be free.

“Yes, home. And I promise you, once we have left here, I shall ensure that you never need lay eyes on this place ever again.”

Send me a character and an AU and I’ll write you a fic