#and repetition of ''dark and silent'' calls back as well

[camcorderrevival]

something "only remotely connected with knights in armour" changing natalie's perspective of the trees behind the house, that same site becoming the place where she's assaulted by her father's colleague or friend, and mr waite's letter to natalie referring to himself as a knight in armour.

[yndrgrl]

your boyfriend, katsuki bakugo, loves you dearly, but you're scared you'll never be deserving of him

cute lil dabble. lowkey songfic. fem! reader. angst to comfort. fluff. established relationship. any au. overthinking! reader.

warnings: there are none :D

a/n: picture a "too sweet" by hozier girl x "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys boy relationship !

-

katsuki is always characterized as hostile yet calculating, a man who knows exactly what he wants. he's destined to be the top of the food chain, everyone knows it. he's powerful man with a deadly gorgeous face, his fangirls would describe.

& in comes you. plain old you.

you honestly have no idea what katsuki sees in you. like, if you're digging deep in yourself, maybe he likes your for your dark, crude sense of humor that always seems to make him belly laugh.

it's said that he's an early bird. he's awake before you every single day, asleep & sound by 8:30-- on the weekends, he'll push it to 10:00. before you've said your first words of the day, he's already made his side of the bed, made & ate breakfast, put away the laundry, & is off to his morning run after his morning workout. his good habits he's developed early in life has benefited him in every way.

he never procrastinated on chores, his paper work is flawless, & you could learn a thing or two from his time management skills. he's always making time for spontaneous dates you wanna go on, festivals you wanna visit, & he makes sure that the pantry is stacked with your favorite snacks. any of your interests are his interests, even if he doesn't fully understand it.

when it comes to katsuki, you ought to wonder if he ever wants to experience something different from his strict, repetitive lifestyle. you sometimes feel stupid for wanting more out; you want to travel somewhere far away, you want to go out clubbing with a bunch of strangers, you want to move to the country side & live in a cottage. katsuki always reels in your dreams, encouraging you but also reminding you that you need to stay consistent to achieve them. you're jealous with how fast he can accept reality.

"babe? you listening?" katsuki questioned, snapping you out of your thoughts. you blinked a couple of times then nodded almost-too enthusiastically. he let out a little chuckle & stroked your cheek with his thumb. "what're you thinking about?"

"nothing, i'm sorry," you sighed with your hands in your lap. you both were on the couch, doing your own thing. he was on his phone, & you were supposed to be doing some work on your laptop, but you found yourself spacing out again.

"don't apologize. i'm just curious about what's going on in that pretty, little head of yours," he told you before he took your hand & pressed his lips against your knuckles. you thought to yourself, i'm not good enough for this man.

you debated whether or not to tell the truth. on one side, he has been your devoted boyfriend for years now, but on the other, he could just be asking out of curtesy. like, what if he actually does not care at all- "(y/n)? talk to me. i know you have something you wanna say," katsuki commented, scooting closer to you. he set the pillow that you placed your laptop on the coffee table so he could get your undivided attention. he caressed your thigh to help ground you.

you stayed silent for a moment, & he waited patiently. you swallowed, your eyes darted from his piercing red ones to the floor to his hands. finally, you said, "you're too sweet for me." he laughed & laughed, & you couldn't help but crack a smile. "what? what's so funny?" you pouted.

"sorry for laughing, princess. it's just no one ever calls me sweet. like, ever," admitted katsuki as he settled down from his fit of laughter. what he said was true though, he didn't have a problem with it. he was not sweet at all, he was rough around the edges & egotistical with the skills to back him up. he only ever thinks about himself & you. "but what makes you say that, hm?"

"well, for one, you always treat me out & take me anywhere i want. we never go where you wanna go," you pointed out, jabbing your finger in his toned chest playfully.

"that doesn't make me sweet. i have the money, & i don't fuckin' care about where we go to eat."

you chose to ignore him, rolling your eyes at him because that was his excuse every time. "two, you're literally in the prime of your life, & you choose to go to sleep at 8:30? how do you sleep so well?"

"(y/n), what is this really about?" he questioned. katsuki brushed your hair away from your face, tucking the silky strands behind your ear. "& don't lie to me, i know you."

"ugh, fineee," you groaned as you threw your head back. maybe it was for comedic effect, or to gather your thoughts & regulate the tears that started to well in your eyes. "do you think i'm like, worthy of you?"

"worthy of me?"

"yeah, do you think i'm good enough for you?" you rephrased, pulling your hands away from him to rub your upper arm. it's embarrassing to admit something, it's scary too. what if, once you point it out, he'll agree & leave you?

"'course i do! i'm the best around & i got the best fuckin' girl, why are you thinking this shit?" katsuki exclaimed, his passion that you wish you had seeping through to his tone. a moment of thick silence followed, you took a deep breath. you suck at emotions.

"you're too good for me, okay! you're so much stronger than everyone, & if that wasn't enough, you're insanely smart! i'm just... here. average at best. people praise you like the morning after an eternity of darkness. you're the rain after a heatwave. everything works out for you, & i'm just the one holding you back from even better things-"

"babe, you're not holding me back or whatever. you've never held me back," he stated like it was a fact, but you felt as though he was just saying that to calm you down. it angered you, & you were ashamed that you were angry because it wasn't even directed at him, it was directed at the fact you felt unworthy.

"no, you don't get it! i aim low because it's realistic for me, i can't afford to aim for anything else because i'm destined to fail. you, on the other hand... you have so much potential. don't you get embarrassed about having a girlfriend like me?"

"no." he answered so quickly, like it was rehearsed, like he knew what you were going to say. "i've never felt embarrassed of you ever. you're so fuckin' dense, you know that?"

you paused just to stare at him. katsuki sure had a way with comforting people. even after years of being a hero, he never learned how to traditionally comfort people. tough love, everyone would call it. but with you, he forced himself to be tender because you deserve treatment no one else gets from him.

there were so many things he wanted to say to you. don't you realize what you do for him? god, katsuki would go mad living without you now that he knows what life is like with you, his missing rib. the two of you are meant to be, you're two sides of the same coin. so what if he's as bright as the morning? you were his darling night, the very universe was visible through your eyes.

"you must be dense if you really thing you're just average. would i go for an average girl?"

"i mean-"

"no, the answer is no. you're deserving of love, my love. everything you've accomplished, everything you've overcome, you're just diminishing it because what? you think you're dumb or something? you- you..." you're the reason my world goes round, you are so talented, he was so desperate to shout these praises at you.

he was never one for romantic gestures through words. if he did, he would've been the best damn poet in the game. "i am yours."

it was such a simple sentence, yet it shook you to the core. you stared into his lively, crimson eyes. the look he gave you in return made your breath hitch; he was so deeply devoted to you, as deep as the pacific ocean.

you leaned in, capturing him in a kiss. tears rolled down your cheeks, your despair melting away. you felt like the two of you were kids again, sharing your first kiss. how could you doubt a man who so clearly, who so desperately, loves every bit of you.

[uzurakis]

I’m not sure if this is the place to request, but I’ll leave it here. 🥹💪🏻 I hope you’re doing well! I really enjoy your work. Do you think the JJK men will ever be in a romantic relationship with someone? I sometimes feel they won’t find someone because of the dangers they face. Could you write a scenario where they love you so much but don’t want to get you in their life because you can get hurt being in love with them🥺🙏 (Please include Inumaki and Goji; I love the way you write him so much. Thanks!!! ♥️♥️♥️)

I DON’T WANT U GETTING HURT CUZ OF ME!

featuring: nanami kento. fushiguro toji. fushiguro megumi. gojo satoru

n. i’m doing well, i hope u’re too, nonnie. i don’t write for toge as i’ve stated in my rules, but i surely do write for gojo; so here it is ^^

NANAMI KENTO was meticulously grading papers late at night, the soft rustle of pages the only sound in his otherwise silent apartment. his mind, usually focused and disciplined, kept drifting back to you. he clenched his fist, pushing the thought away as he forced himself to concentrate on the assignments in front of him. “i can’t let them become a target,” he told himself repeatedly, jaw tightening with each repetition.

the pile of papers slowly diminished, yet the nagging worry in his heart did not. he knew the dangers of his occupation as a jujutsu sorcerer all too well. allowing you deeper into his life meant exposing you to those same dangers, and that was something he could not bear.

later that evening, he dropped you off at your home. his demeanor was more reserved than usual, his words carefully measured. “always be aware of your surroundings,” he said, his voice steady but lacking its usual warmth.

you looked at him, sensing something was off. “kento are you okay? you seem . . distant.”

he forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “i’m fine. just tired from work.” he glanced around, scanning the area out of habit. “remember to lock your doors and windows. and if you ever feel unsafe, call me immediately.”

though, you nodded, feeling a pang of concern. “i will. but, kento, you can talk to me, you know? if something’s bothering you . .”

the man looked at you. if the situation, if the life he chose had let him, he wanted to tell you everything, to let you in on the turmoil he felt. but then, the reality of his world crashed back in. “i know. thank you.” he reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “just . . take care of yourself, alright?”

you squeezed his hand back, feeling the tension in his grip. “i will. you too, kento.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI loved you more than he could ever express, but his world was dark and filled with danger. knowing this, he made the hardest decision of his life and left you in the dust. watching you from the shadows, his usual smirk was replaced by a look of concern and gloom. he kept his distance, observing you from afar, ensuring you were safe without revealing his presence.

fast forward, as you walked home from work, you sensed someone following you. your heart raced, but you continued walking, pretending not to notice. then, you heard his voice, low and rough, but unmistakable. “stay away from people like me.”

you froze, turning around to find the guy standing a few feet away, partially hidden in the shadows. “toji?” you whispered, heart aching at the sight of him.

he stepped closer, but not close enough to touch. “don’t search for me. my world . . it’s too dangerous for you.”

tears welled up in your eyes as you took a step forward. “why did you leave? you didn’t even give me a chance to understand.”

toji clenched his fists, the pain evident on his face. “i left because i love you, for heaven’s sake! because i know what happens to people who get close to me. they get hurt, or worse.”

“. . i can’t let that happen to you.”

he sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping whilst you were left with zero words. “it’s not that simple. every day i’m in your life, you’re at risk. the best thing i can do for you is to stay away.” he looked back at you, “just promise me you’ll be safe. stay away from people like me.”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI often debated whether he should distance himself to keep you safe or savor every precious moment he had with you. this internal conflict left him feeling frustrated, and he struggled to reconcile his feelings with the reality of his dangerous life.

to protect you, megumi kept your interactions brief and guarded. he feared that his enemies might use you against him, and the thought of you being dragged into his world was unbearable. he knew you deserved a peaceful life, free from the horrors he faced daily.

later that evening, you approached him, sensing his uneasiness. “megumi . . is everything alright?” you asked gently, concern shown in your eyes.

he looked at you, his expression conflicted. “i, i’m fine,” he replied, though his sentence lacked conviction.

you stepped closer, refusing to be deterred. “fushiguro megumi, how many times i’ve said that you don’t have to hide from me? i can see something’s bothering you. now please, talk to me.”

megumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “it’s not that simple. being with me . . it’s dangerous. the enemies could use you to get to me. i don’t want to see you get hurt.”

touching his arm, you reached out. “baby, i understand the risks. but i also know that i love you, and i want to be with you, no matter what.”

“but you shouldn’t be dragged into this. you deserve a normal life, without all this danger.”

“i don’t care about a normal life,” you said with all your will. “i care about you. and i want to be by your side, even if it’s not easy.”

“i just . . i don’t want to lose you.”

GOJO SATORU seldom joked and flirted like he used to, his demeanor growing more serious whenever he was around you. he often caught himself staring at you, lost in thoughts of a life where he could protect you without the constant fear of danger.

he was the strongest, after all, wasn't he? sometimes, he felt confident that he could keep you safe, that he could shield you from any harm. but a part of him couldn't ignore the nagging doubt; the countless enemies he had made, the unpredictable nature of the future. he could protect himself, but what about you? could he always make it in time when the clock struck?

currently, you both sat on the balcony, the city lights twinkling below. gojo's gaze was distant, his mind clearly preoccupied. you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "satoru, what's wrong? you've been so detached lately."

he looked at you, those usually playful blue eyes now seemed duskier. "i've been thinking about us, about your safety."

you frowned, concern etching your features. "my safety? satoru, i know your job is dangerous, but we've talked about this. i want to be with you, no matter what."

"it's never that simple. i have enemies, powerful ones. i can protect myself, but . . what if something happens to you? what if i'm not there in time?"

trying to offer reassurance, you brushed his shoulders. "you're the strongest sorcerer, satoru. if anyone can protect me, it's you. but i also know the risks, and i'm willing to take them because i love you."

his expression softened, but the worry didn't leave his eyes. "i love you too, more than anything. but i can't help but think about the future, about the dangers. i don't want you to get hurt because of me."

"we'll face whatever comes together. i trust you, satoru. and i know you won't let anything happen to me."

he pulled you into an embrace, holding you tightly as if trying to shield you from the world. "i promise i'll do everything i can to keep you safe. but you need to promise me you'll be careful, too."

@uzurakis

[satoruhour]

geto and reader sneaking out from jujutsu high school

have good day/night ! :)

a/n: apparently geto doesn’t have a least fav food bc he consumes curses so often that he’s content to eat anything. sigh. / 1.7k ☆ / @crysugu @lvlybee @na-t0

“nah, you’re lying.” it wasn’t peculiar for geto to hang out in your room after classes (if you could even call them that with gojo usually interrupting them or him getting called out of class to complete a mission). it’d be left with the two of you, and while shoko is not opposed to participating in the (vastly different) insanity you two would usually bring, she prefers to watch from the sidelines with a burning, shortening cigarette and an amused smile.

“like i— for one, love pineapples on pizza and, cherry tomatoes, but i just hate it when they don’t choose the right ones, you know?” geto leaves you to ramble until you realise your voice is simply countered by low hums and nods, “you don’t have any food you hate, do you?” you sit up on your bed after a long time of quelling the loud beats of your heart, looking incredulously at him still lying down, long legs going past the footboard, long hair and all. it grows faster in the summer, you realise — jet black hair that flows like a blackened river right down to his nape — and you find you’ve noted it down in your head a bit too often.

the repetitive memory is paired with reminders to give him the silly star clip you found at a corner side store and plain black hair ties (you steal them sometimes, he doesn’t ask for you to return it). it all but muddles your focus, these thoughts, all because you find it terribly difficult to look away from geto suguru’s unprecedented beauty. the graceful slant of his eyebrows to his hair, right down to the stubborn strands of feelers on the left side of his face that won’t stay in his bun—

“i’m not lying; i really don’t,” the dark-haired sorcerer laughs breathlessly, and he doesn’t notice your daze or the way you jerk at his chortle. his eyes come to rest on you, looking soft and gentle, a gaze even he doesn’t give gojo, and you think he looks the prettiest when his spread out locks converge as he sits up to rest on his elbows.

but besides the warmth of these domestic scenes through rose-coloured glasses, you can make out the underlying sorrow that pools beneath the light-hearted laugh. sometimes you can feel its heaviness, weighing suguru down more than it could ever do to you, and though he’s never lets you in, you had an inkling on what exactly tears at his mind.

it’s how every curse geto exorcises ends up in him, tainting his system with the harrowing taste similar to a rag that’s used to wipe up vomit and feces. it’s how he stifles gags each time a mission is completed, swallowing the curse with scrunched up eyes and a permanent frown. it’s how he’s ingested curses so much that he would be content with any type of food.

“then… let’s go out and find what food you hate then. process of elimination,” you offer softly with a giggle, pushing his legs off your bed before getting up yourself and stretching your limbs. it was late afternoon after all, causing the room to bathe in a general laziness and orange hues to prepare for sunset. you pull on his pants, leaning over him that teases the line between love and friendship.

geto mumbles, “like… right now? don’t we have a meeting with yaga-sensei soon?” and you’re prepared to get rejected with that reason (“oh shit, i forgot—”) until he takes your hand in his and surprising you with the idea that he’d disobey authority for a stupid idea of yours. he thumbs the back of your palm like he’s done it a million times before — c’mon, he says, and then the walk out is silent, hand loosely clasped in his as he skillfully manoeuvres through the traditional architecture of jujutsu high so well you’re convinced he skips classes.

it’s like you undo the tiring climb up the foothills of mount mushiro when you’ve finished an early morning mission, feeling the tug of geto’s hand on yours. it feels like it goes on forever too, but you bask in his occasional turns to look at you to check if you were still there: as if your hand in his isn’t enough, as if you were a reverie in his eyes, as if he didn’t have the sun in palm of his hand, in all her glory in this late, blinding glow. there’s a familiar manifestation of a stingray about three quarters through, the little creature floating beneath suguru’s hand.

“won’t you get caught by the school?” you laugh, but you climb onto it anyway — there’s a small humming sound that emerges from the curse and your stroking, ghosting hand only draws more pleased exclamations from the stingray.

it’s here where he sees how his akaei reacts to your touch and voice that geto thinks maybe collecting curses isn’t so bad. it’s on days like this where he think it might be worth it if little moments like this could clear the tainted, blurry cataract that mixes up who he should be protecting in this fucked up world.

the akaei jerks you forward and you let out a little yelp, face resting just inches from suguru as you clutch onto a fin of the creature — geto swears he hears a cackle from the curse and simply clears his throat, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the way he could smell cherry lip gloss on you. he wouldn’t put it past you to get cherry tomato flavoured lip gloss, but he imagines no matter how much you liked the vegetable (fruit?), you probably wouldn’t be putting that on your lips.

“shall we go?” 

beyond the school, he realises he’s not sure where you want to take him and he dispels the curse, already thinking of the lecture he’d get but instead he’s allowing you to drag him out of the heavy foliage and into the humble shops lining the bustling town. with this, geto is able to see your person without feeling like his heart is going to burst out of his chest, pushing down words that he wasn’t sure you’d reciprocate whenever you turned around to point out the stores you would frequent.

and geto certainly is able to get that little piece of heaven and normalcy that he craves, letting someone he cherishes pull him through throngs of people to find his least favourite item, just because. he lets you sift through convenience stores and family businesses, eating with the unforgivable rays of the setting sun dancing through your features and his bowl of wanton noodles at the chinese shophouse that it convinces him any type of food could be his favourite as long as you’re stuffing your face with waffles or initiating a brain freeze with a 7-eleven slurpee.

and years later, geto somehow still has a bit of trouble categorising foods into ‘favourites’ and ‘non-favourites’, a sorting system that’s black and white, years later. he much rather place (almost) all of them in the grey simply because experiencing dessert and starters and main courses now with your mere presence was enough to make everything delicious against his repulsive palate.

“still thinking?” geto’s thoughts are interrupted by you as you call from across the table, a hand reaching out to hold his. 

he only nods with a languid smile, reminiscent of the mornings when that’s all he has energy for — and except maybe your teasing and lovesick voice. he’d have all the energy for that. “i’ll have what you’re having.”

you giggle, “again? okay… don’t blame me if you spit out the escargots like you did on our last date.”

geto stifles a laugh and only sends the confused waiter off with both of your menus and soon he’s pulling lightly on your hand and he makes you burst out laughing like he usually does, “what did you order again?”

the food turned out… mediocre to say the least. for such a renowned restaurant, you’d expect phenomenal tastes and combinations, except they were overrated too much by critics with only the plating to praise — but still, the night doesn’t end when the bill is hastily paid and geto buries you in his embrace.

“coat’s warm,” you smile. it’s the winter, he’s got you engulfed in his large coat as your nose crinkles at the snow brushing upon your cheek — unbeknownst to you, you wouldn’t have this reality in another universe where christmas was so near — but you would die before you let geto slip from your grasp again. you hoped it would be like this for every other time someone such a yourself crosses path with a certain dark-haired, lovely and kind person like geto suguru: in love, holding his heart in your hands, like sending out a message (“i’ve got him — have you?”) to all the you’s in every other realm.

“what do you say we finish the leftover pizza in the fridge?” his grin is blinding, something you never thought you’d see past high-school, but slowly, you’ve picked up the pieces and cleaned off its rough edges. you’ve polished them and melded them back together bit by bit. in the 55 by 63 refrigerator at your small shared dorm in your alma mater, all of geto’s pineapples were littered messily over your side of the dough, ingraining that dramaticized display of how, to geto, pineapple on pizza tasted worse than swallowing curses.

though, it was one of the favourite foods he’s developed a taste for after eating it with you a few times. sure, he at first hated the sweetness that contrasted with the saltiness of the dough, although seeing the fullness of your cheeks and how well you ate; it was simply that, that made him love it — but he’d never tell you that, not while you also loved it, because if anything meant more than his rediscovered love for food, it was your love for the same exact things that would make him order all the hawaiians in the world.

as geto’s lips meet with yours (smelling like cherry tomato lip gloss, he stands corrected!), he thinks that lecture and temporary suspension from his old teacher was worth all the days spent with you — pineapples and (right) cherry tomatoes and all.

[itsphoenix0724]

Hi!! Could you possibly do Jasmine with Rhys for the bouquet event?

Hope you are doing well💜💜

Jasmine (Rhysand x Reader)

Warnings: none, very short I'm sorry

Word Count: 698

❀° Event Masterlist ❀°

A/N: This has taken me so long to write and I'm sorry it's short, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I may come back to it and add more at a later date, but for now, I'm calling it done

“Something bothering you Darling?” Your mate's voice purrs from the doorway, you look up from your mixing bowl, the repetitive motion of the whisk calming your frayed nerves. You hum, looking back to your work as Rhys makes his way into the kitchen. He wraps his arms around your waist, nosing at your hairline as he watches you bake. He knows you probably won’t talk about what’s got you so anxious, at least not until you’ve finished your dessert and had a slice of whatever cake you're making. 

Chocolate raspberry Rhys thinks, judging by splatters on your apron and the color of the batter that raptly holds your attention. 

He reaches a finger toward the bowl, spooning a taste into his mouth, his eyes close as the sweetness hits his tongue. Rhysand misses the playful roll of your eyes as he enjoys your creation. You catch his wrist as he tries for the batter again, and he uses the opportunity to maneuver you against his chest. You try to swat at him but he deflects it, and you let out a yelp as he lands a small tap against your backside. Neither of you knows exactly who started it but you end up softly swaying in the kitchen, the candlelight bouncing off the wall as the rain pattering the windows becomes your orchestra. He kisses you, holding your jaw like it’s the most precious thing in the world. 

Rhysand tastes like the cake you’ve briefly forgotten, sugar-sweet and irresistible as you’re lifted onto the counter. He takes care to move your bowl out of the way, not wanting your hard work to tumble onto the ground. The stress that hovered over you like storm clouds start to fade, the sun breaking through your mind as your mate peppers kisses on your neck and jawline. Violet eyes stare up at you, a feline grin stretching across his full lips. A laugh bubbles out of you as his smile tickles your throat. “Feeling better Love?” He mumbles as he takes another taste out of the bowl. You hum in contemplation, running a hand through his night-dark hair. A streak of flour lingers behind as you huff a laugh quietly, letting that be your retribution for the batter he’s been stealing. 

“Much, thank you.” You press a kiss to his forehead, sea salt and citrus flood your senses as you rest your chin on the crown of his head. You stay like that for a long moment, letting the rare moment of quiet linger and fall over you like a blanket. Rhys rubs soothing circles on the tops of your thighs as you simply enjoy the warmth of your mate. After a while, he releases you, content with watching you bake from the other side of the counter. You resume your baking, pouring the batter into a greased pan, and finally sliding it into the oven. Rhysand slides you a glass of wine across the counter, and you reward him with a peck on the lips as you start the frosting. 

Rhys loves watching you bake, he could stare at you for hours as you slip into the deep rhythmic concentration of your work. He thinks everything about you is beautiful always, but this version of you might be his favorite. The flour and sugar dusted on your apron, your hair mussed as your brow wrinkles in thought. This version of you is only for him, and he holds it as close to his heart as he can, keeping it locked away from the darkness in the world. You slide back up to him as soon as you finish with the icing, bumping his hip with yours. You tug at the collar of his shirt, and he obliges your silent request as he lowers his mouth to yours again, kissing with a heavier hand than before. You lick your way into his mouth as he grabs for your waist, hauling you onto your tiptoes against his chest. You taste like sugar, sweet and melting against him. If Rhys had the option he would do only this, be only this, for the rest of his life.

Your mate and nothing more. 

[woodenplank-gt]

A Not So Average Night

CW: Minor character death

Next: Definitely Not A Mouse

————-

Tiny feet padded quietly through the dark tunnels. Particles of dust swirled through the paths as the sudden movement disturbed them. The air was stale and musty after being blocked from the outside world for so long, but that never bothered its resident.

The almost silent sound of tiny footsteps stopped and a minuscule brown hand pushed a kitchen tile out of the way. The 3.7-inch borrower poked his head out of the walls and surveyed his surroundings before cautiously stepping onto the open counter. The resident humans had called it a night, giving Tucker plenty of time to scavenge what he can.

He walked across the counter as his eyes scanned the area for any packages of food left out. His food stores have depleted immensely over the last few weeks. For some reason, the humans have been out of the house more often which meant less food in the home. Tucker had been forced to eat the tiniest amounts so he at least had a little bit of energy. His stomach rumbled loudly at the reminder.

Frowning, he squinted through the darkness towards the table in the middle of the kitchen. His brown eyes lit up at the most incredible sight in the world: an open bag full of chips left on the table.

Without missing a beat, the borrower unlatched his fishhook from his satchel and jammed it into the edge of the counter. He let the clear fishing line fall from his fingers all the way to the floor before scaling down himself. Leather boots landed silently on the tiled floor, and with a flick of his wrist, the hook detached from the counter high above him. Tucker caught the hook in midair with practiced ease after so many years of the same repetitive motions.

The small man wasted no time running across the open floor to the table as fast as his legs would carry him. The instincts ingrained in Tucker's mind screamed at him to find cover and stick by the walls, but he stubbornly continued through the quicker route through the middle of the room. There was no point in wasting valuable time when there were no signs of the human couple.

Tucker reached the looming table and hurriedly started swinging his hook to latch onto the table. With a quick tug to ensure the hook wouldn't pop out on him, Tucker confidently scaled the cliff-like height with expert speed.

The yellow bag sat nearby and Tucker's mouth watered. It was like finding an oasis in the middle of the desert. He crouched down to peer inside the bag which was completely full of the greasy chips. Very carefully, Tucker crawled into the bag. Each movement slow and precise as he entered the aluminum cave and made his way to the chips. He shifted ever so slightly to his knees and cautiously pulled a chip closer to him. Tucker grimaced as the bag crinkled loudly around him. To Tucker, It might as well had been an alarm announcing the borrower's presence.

His heart rate spiked and he froze like a deer in headlights. His little hands clutching the chip to his chest like it was a life raft as Tucker anxiously listened for any human noises coming from the bedroom.

Tucker waited with bated breath for what felt like an eternity before deeming himself safe. He hung his head and willed his body to stop shaking for a moment. Glaring at the chip that nearly got him caught, he dragged the chip into the open air using more care than ever before.

The borrower eventually made it out with his prize in hand and backed a good couple inches away from the crinkly bag. There, he began breaking the yellow chip into smaller pieces and stuffed them into his satchel. Grease coated his hands and clothes, but the satchel heavy with food was more than worth it.

Tucker uncoiled his string from around his shoulder as he jogged towards the edge of the table. He smiled to himself as he neared the edge. This was going to be his most efficient borrowing trip yet.

Until he heard a loud squeak of a door across the small home.

Frantic brown eyes shot towards the door to the bedroom as the woman quietly tiptoed out of the room. She quickly, but carefully, made her way to the kitchen, the occasional floorboard creaking under her weight.

Tucker wasted no time breaking into a mad dash towards the closest cover and all but dove into the bag of chips. The plastic crinkled loudly around him and he grimaced. He desperately hoped her mind was tired enough to drown out whatever noise he made. Tucker inched further into the bag with ragged breaths, curling into a small ball. His eyes watered and his throat stung from the greasy salt coating him and his surroundings.

The overhead light flicked on and the ground shook slightly from her footsteps. The sound of her rummaging through the fridge was drowned out by the blood roaring in Tucker's ears. His heart couldn't keep up with the panic coursing through his entire body. He was in the absolute worst hiding spot ever! All she had to do was peer inside and she'll spot him, then he would either end up dead or a pet. Tucker couldn't decide which fate was worse.

Just calm down. She hasn't found you yet. You've gotten out of tough situations before. He reminded himself. Tucker focused on his frantic breaths and managed to slow them down to a more manageable level. His watery eyes watched the bag's opening with trepidation. His fingers curled around the nail strapped to his satchel as he mentally prepared himself to use the weapon against the giant. Of course, he knew it wouldn't really do much against her but he'd rather go down swinging than begging.

He remained crouched and silently listened as she continued searching for something. The seconds seemed to tick by excruciatingly slow when she finally whispered "a-ha!" And something clunked onto the counter. It took a few minutes for her to finish whatever she was doing before turning back to tiptoe to her room.

Tucker let his head hang down in relief as he waited for the click of the bedroom door signaling she was gone. He needed to go back into the walls as soon as possible. It was a miracle he made it out of this situation unscathed and Tucker was in no hurry to test his luck. He heard a click in the distance and began creeping out of the bag.

"Huh? What are y-" The shock was clear in the human woman's voice.

Tucker froze, half of his body out of the bag. His muscles tensed and his heart slammed against his rib cage. His eyes frantically searched for the human that undoubtedly found him while he mentally prepared for death.

"What are you doing?" She demanded.

Her voice came from a different room and Tucker sighed in relief. He held a hand over his heart. At this rate he'll die from a heart attack rather than a human or rat. It was tempting to try and run to one of his many entrances in the walls, but he knew the risk was too high. As his parents explained to him time and time again; one wrong move could be the end of every single borrower. Tucker begrudgingly ducked back into the greasy, crinkly bag to wait out whatever was happening. Hopefully it will be quick.

"Go away!" The human yelled, her voice becoming louder and louder. Floorboards creaked as she hurriedly moved around the house.

"You know why I'm here." Said a new voice. It was a man's, but it was too deep to belong to the resident male.

Tucker's hand tightened on his weapon at the realization there was an unknown human in the house. His breaths became shorter and shorter as the ever-present fear seeped into his body. He backed further into the bag as the ground beneath him shook violently. The woman appeared in front of the table, her lower half being the only thing visible from Tucker's limited line of sight. Her hands were curled into fists and her chest heaved with panicked breaths.

"J, Don't do this!" She pleaded.

The shaking ground signaled the arrival of the stranger. "I love you," he stated quietly.

Shivers ran down Tucker's spine from the way the stranger said it. The words weren't filled with love and warmth and adoration, they were cold and desperate. And from the way the woman shook, she recognized the stranger's alarming behavior as well. Tucker found himself feeling bad for the resident human. Fear was an everyday thing for a borrower, it's what kept them alive, but she didn't deserve to feel the same way. The stranger was obviously dangerous and Tucker could only hope the resident male will wake up and help before it was too late.

She quickly raised her fist in preparation to punch him, but the stranger's hand closed around her wrist before she could do anything. Tucker winced as the hand squeezed harder and harder to the point where the woman's tan skin was turning white. She struggled against the grip but he never let up.

"Stev-" she began to desperately scream for her mate. The stranger swiftly grabbed her hair with his other hand and slammed her head onto the table. Then again. And again.

Tucker gasped and toppled over from the force. He heard a crunch, but he wasn't sure if it was the chips around him or the woman's head. A shadow covered the opening of the bag and he fearfully glanced up. Instead of a hand coming for him, he met the eyes of the woman whose head laid on the table not even a foot away from Tucker. Blood pooled around her and her cheeks were stained with tears as a gloved hand held her in place. Her hazel eyes were pleading as she weakly stared at the tiny man inside the bag.

The borrower didn't know what to do. He was just spotted by a human, an extremely powerful being compared to him. But she was hurt. Her large eyes were losing focus as more and more blood settled around her head. There was a strange temptation inside Tucker to help her. He had to stop the bleeding or get help or something! But that would be impossible. He was just a borrower living a life unnoticed.

All he could do was stare into her teary eyes and hope the sympathetic look on his face told her he was sorry.

Her lips parted, and if Tucker didn't have excellent hearing, he would have never heard her last words: "Josh," she said weakly as her eyes closed.

A door slammed in the distance followed by rapid footsteps. "Kirstie!" The resident human male shouted.

The stranger let go of her head and she collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud. As the man's frantic footsteps grew closer the stranger fled the scene, leaving just as quietly as he came in. The only sign of him ever being there was the bloody scene the husband walked in on.

—————

Time passed slowly. Red and blue lights flashed through the window blinds as humans wearing identical uniforms searched the kitchen. There were loud clicks followed by bright white flashes that occasionally blinded him.

Tucker remained curled up in the bag of chips. He had managed to move a large chip in front of him for cover if anyone decided to check the bag. He also tugged the hood of his black poncho over his short afro to hopefully blend in better with the shadows. Tucker's muscles were tense and primed to run at any moments notice.

This was supposed to be a quick and easy borrowing trip, he groused to himself. His stomach rumbled and he held a hand over it as if it could muffle the noise. Even though he was surrounded by food, he hadn't eaten anything yet. With all the excitement and humans hustling around he couldn't risk making more noise than necessary. Tucker was used to being hungry anyways, a few more hours couldn't hurt.

A deep voice knocked Tucker out of his thoughts. The room growing quiet as the human spoke, "What do we got?" The man demanded, his voice was confident and authoritative.

He crouched in front of the table where the body presumably laid, putting him in Tucker's line of sight. Tucker noticed he wore different clothes and less gear than the others. His skin was pale and his black hair was cut short. And his eyes made Tucker forget how to breathe. They were icy blue, their intense stare seemed to pierce through everything they looked at.

A woman cleared her throat, "Her name is Kirstin Blum, 32 years old."

The scary man scanned the crime scene, his icy gaze briefly passing over Tucker's hiding place. The borrower curled into a smaller ball behind the chip. He could have sworn he felt a chill go up his spine as the eyes passed over him. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, the salt and grease covering him definitely wasn't doing him any favors.

"Alright," the man rumbled after a few moments. He rose back up to a stand, putting his face high above Tucker and out of sight. The small man's shoulders slumped slightly when those eyes disappeared. "We got any suspects?" He asked.

"Yes detective Lassiter, the husband. His name is Steven Blum, he was the one who called 911. He's in the backyard." The woman replied.

"Perfect," Lassiter murmured quietly to himself as he walked away. The woman followed behind him, leaving the borrower alone in the kitchen.

Tucker desperately wished no one else would come in. He was tired and scared and hungry and he just wanted to be back in his home in the walls. He could practically hear his comfortable nest calling his name and couldn't wait to curl up inside and sleep for days. Tucker rolled his shoulders and stretched out his legs. They were becoming stiff from staying in the same place for so damn long. He wondered if he'd be able to stand after this ordeal.

Tucker couldn't help a quiet groan when a new human voice cut through the empty room. He reluctantly curled up behind the chip again to wait out the newcomer.

"I could really use some coffee right about now." The voice of a man complained.

"I tried to pick some up! You told me to keep goin'." Another man retorted.

They both walked into Tucker's view, although he could only see two pairs of pants. He could immediately tell they weren't like everyone else who'd come by. They didn't wear any belts full of tools or hold any equipment. He curiously peered through a crack in the chip in front of him to watch the new humans.

The man wearing jeans crouched down, his green eyes carefully scanning the body. "We couldn't just stop, I need to see everything before the cops start moving things around." It was the voice of the first human. He ran a hand through the spike in his short brown hair, "Hey Gus, check the cabinets for coffee pods or something." He whispered up to his friend.

The second human -Gus- hit the man in the shoulder,"There's a dead person here Shawn!" He snapped back.

"I think she'll want me to be awake if I'm gonna solve her murder." Shawn retorted without missing a beat.

Gus stepped away from the body and leaned on the counter further back. He crossed his arms as he looked around the kitchen for clues, but not as intently as Shawn. The man had dark skin that contrasted with his bright blue button up. He seemed slightly shorter than the other human, but that didn't make a difference to Tucker.

"You're just trying to get this girl's ghost to haunt me," he accused. "If you wanna steal coffee from a dead person then be my guest."

Shawn simply huffed and shook his head in resignation. He stopped looking at the body and began examining the pool of blood nearby on the table much to Tucker's dismay. Hopefully the bag of chips he was hiding in didn't spark any interest. Tucker watched with bated breath as the green eyes squinted at all the little details, then finally widening.

He gestured wildly with his hand, "Dude! Get over here!" Shawn exclaimed excitedly.

Gus hurried over and Shawn pointed to a spot on the table. Both humans leaned in, their faces right in front of Tucker's hiding place. All they had to do was look up and they could make the discovery of a lifetime. He hunkered down lower to remain out of sight. The borrower put his hand on his nail and squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to the loud breaths coming from the humans so close by.

Gus' brows furrowed. "What am I looking at?" He asked.

Shawn's large finger came into view as he pointed at more spots, "Right here and here and here. Don't these look like little-"

"What the hell are you two doing here?" A deep voice demanded. Tucker recognized it as the scary man's voice from earlier: Detective Lassiter.

Both humans stood straight up, giving Tucker the confidence to breathe again without alerting the giants.

"Hey Lassie," Shawn drawled with a smile in his voice. "We didn't know you were here too. What a coincidence." He said innocently.

Gus smiled beside him, "If we had known I would have picked you up something to eat." He added.

The ground shook as the scary man stepped into the kitchen. "This is my crime scene. I don't need two idiot consultants contaminating everything." He growled.

"Since when have we ever done such a thing?" Shawn sounded absolutely offended. If he was scared of the icy blue eyes piercing through him, he definitely didn't show it. He then leaned over to peer behind the taller detective, "Is Juliet here?" He asked eagerly.

"Out." Lassiter stated with no room to argue. He grabbed Shawn's arm and tugged at the flannel shirt he was wearing to usher him out the room.

Shawn loudly complained and resisted being dragged away. "But you need our help!" He protested as he dug his feet into the floor.

"No I don't. We already caught the killer."

Tucker perked up at that. The bag crinkled softly around him and he winced. Luckily no one seemed to notice over the commotion Shawn was causing. He knew this meant the humans will leave and Tucker will soon be the only one in the house.

"Really? Who was it?" Gus asked from the side as he casually watched Lassiter and Shawn struggle. It was clear he also wanted to leave, probably because of the corpse still in the room.

Lassiter finally gave up and let Shawn free his wrist from his grip. He pointedly straightened his black suit jacket before answering, "Steven, the husband. I'm going to take him back to the station and get a confession."

The borrower balked at that conclusion. How in the world did they think the husband did it? Wasn't it their whole job to find the right person? Humans were dumber than he initially thought.

Something in the back of his mind urged him to come out and tell them the truth. How else are they supposed to figure it out if their best hope is in cuffs. But it was a human issue that had nothing to do with him. It's not Tucker's fault humans are destructive beings that hurt everyone and everything they come across. With that in mind, the last thing he was about to do was reveal the existence of borrowers to the world just to get justice for one human.

Shawn briefly seemed to consider what the detective said before his hands suddenly shot up to the sides of his head. He rested his pointer fingers against his temple and closed his eyes. "I'm having a vision!" He declared.

Lassiter started shaking his head and resumed his efforts to drag Shawn out of the room. "No! No psychic bullshit in my crime scene!" He protested angrily.

The man promptly ignored the detective. His left hand hovering over the victim lying on the ground. Tucker leaned slightly forwards and watched in complete bewilderment as the man waved his hand in circular motions in the air.

"I sense..... ow!" He suddenly held his left hand to the side of his head, stumbling out of the detective’s grip. "I sense the killer hit her head against the table over and over again, until she was dead." Shawn slowly walked closer to the table, his eyes scanning the surface once more. Once he seemed to find what he was looking for, he closed his eyes again with his hand still on his temple. "I'm getting something else.... Steven is not the killer." Shawn concluded confidently, opening his eyes.

Tucker was left speechless. How did the human do that? He just waved his hand around and knew the correct answer. A pit of worry grew inside of him. What if the strange human found him by doing the same thing. Tucker swallowed nervously and resisted the urge to make more noise by adding more chips in front of him for cover.

Gus glanced at Shawn with a quirked brow. At this point he knew better than to question his friend, but it's always the husband in the shows. He was definitely looking forward to hearing what Shawn found. It had to be something good.

However, the detective was less than pleased with that theory. "Really?" Lassiter's lips formed a tight smile. "Do you have any evidence someone else was in the house? 'Cause I can tell you right now there was no forced entry and nothing was stolen."

Shawn didn't flinch under the man's menacing tone, instead he gave him a cocky grin. "Not right now, but I will prove it wasn't Steven. The spirits never lie." He turned towards his friend still standing near the counter. "Right Gus!" He said and gave Gus a hard pat on the back.

Gus, who was completely unprepared for the force of the action, stumbled forward and ran right into the detective. While Lassiter was busying keeping both him and Gus from falling to the floor, Shawn snatched the bag of chips off the table. He hid it behind his back as he strode out the door before Lassiter can give him a piece of his mind.

Gus hurriedly apologized and ran after him, barely avoiding the string of curses coming from the detective's mouth.

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: Set in an alternate universe where Silas accepted his NRC letter, another student recounts his time observing this strange first year (repost bc I didn't like the original but I'm still not too happy with it so idk anymore lol)

Warnings: Violence, blood, ableism, self-harm (mentioned), probably full of mistakes. Word count: 2408

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Silas

During my three years at NRC, never has a student caught my interest the way Silas did.

The kid didn't have any last name. He was called up to the mirror dead last, after most students had lost interest in the repetitive ceremony and began talking amongst themselves.

You didn't get a good look at him from your seat, but even you could tell he was small. Tiny, even.

He was dwarfed in size by even average height first years, and he was incredibly skinny. He stood with his hands at his sides, long black claws catching the light of the candles.

He was placed in Diasomnia, the same dorm as I. He didn't have any reaction to

his placement that I could see.

I kept my eye on him as we all filed out the mirror chamber and made our way to our respective dorms. He kept away from the others, glancing at his surroundings and flexing his fingers.

I got a better look at him then. He was pale as death, the only darker shades being the scars and dark purple scales covering his face. His hood was pulled down, revealing the tangled rats nest that was his hair. He was a merfolk, large purple earfins rugged, damaged, and torn. His cheeks, well, they were skeletal. Hollowed out, giving his cheekbones more definition than what was comfortable. He wore large black sunglasses, and that fascinated me because it meant we finally had a deep sea merfolk student.

Our dorm leader gave his little welcome speech, and it was hard to tell if Silas was even listening.

Silas was fascinating to me. Silent as a grave and very anti-social, even for a member of Diasomnia, he was a mystery waiting to be solved.

He had an intense, threatening aura that made other students steer clear.

I thought I just felt a passing curiosity at first. But I soon found myself listening in whenever Silas' name was mentioned, taking note of any detail, or silently observing him... I didn't follow him! I wasn't stalking, of course not, but sometimes I just had to know where he was doing or what he was doing. It was simple curiosity.

Silas turned out to be a troublemaker. He rarely obeyed his professors and never came to the many detentions he was given. He ignored curfew and wandered around at night, even leaving the premises entirely. Nobody knew where he went, but he was always oddly... wet when he got back.

He never wore the uniform properly, either. When he first put on our dorm uniform, it truly showed how small he was. It hung off him, loose and baggy despite being such a small size, showing off his all too frail and bony body.

He spent his nights working, too. I once found him in Diasomnia's lounge at about 3am, doing homework.

He was holding his pen so tightly I feared it would snap, writing at a painstakingly slow pace. Every letter was drawn one careful line at a time, and for once, his expression changed, brows furrowing in a mix of frustration and intense concentration.

I watched him work for a long time. He worked in utter darkness without any lamps or even candles, and he didn't stop until his he was finished, though his earfins would flick every now and then, and I feared he'd noticed me, but... he didn't turn around. So I relaxed.

Silas was hot gossip often. Every week or so, there was some new shocking thing he had done that had everyone's tongues flapping as they whispered amongst themselves and tried to understand the utter mystery that was this odd student.

It was funny how quickly every incident escalated.

At first, it was when he was cleared to take off the sunglasses. His light amethyst eyes were soul-piercing, but also so... dead. It was almost disturbing to look at, even for me. Although his gaze was intense and frightening, his eyes were dull and lifeless, accentuated by his heavy eyebags.

He would silently stare at his professors throughout his entire lesson, every lesson. He rarely wrote things down. It was creepy, and even our esteemed teachers were uncomfortable with him and dreaded having class with him.

Then, it was his obedience. Silas never responded to his professors when they spoke, apart from maybe some vague gestures. I've seen him interact with them before. He looked wary whenever they spoke directly to him, his hands twitching at his sides whenever they moved suddenly or raised their voice at him. After some time, they'd give up and give him detention if he had gotten in trouble, even if it was in vain since he never came to detention at all.

After that, it was his cane, an unexpected development. I supposed it was because he was a merfolk, but it seemed to be for another medical reason. Of course, that isn't the shocking part. The shocking part is how quick he was to raise it against another student when they tried to kick it out from under him. Deserved, if you ask me.

Then, there was the incident that seemed to send shock waves through the entire school, after the first vears began doing duels.

"He stabbed himself," said one of Silas' classmates, looking pale and disturbed. "H-He slashed his palm open and used to the blood to... to cast some fucked up spell. He tried to kill his opponent a-and didn't stop casting until the professors stopped him by force."

"What the hell kind of magic was that?" Said another. "The professor didn't even know what it was!"

"He stained his fingertips with blood and used it to draw something in the air and..."

"His opponent nearly died from whatever the hell that was... how do you even describe something like that?"

Silas wielded some unknown, foreign form of magic that he would not explain no matter how much he was prodded and pushed. He would simply stare back at whoever was talking to him, his fingers flexing and claws tapping against his sides.

"It's abyssal magic," was the quiet whisper against the uproar of theories, from a prince of the Sunset Savanna. "You need blood or animal remains to use it. It sounds just like abyssal magic."

How fascinating.

I tried researching it. Nothing came up. Whenever I asked professors or fellow students, they would look at me in confusion or ask if I meant cosmic magic. Even now, I know almost nothing about it.

This just made me infinitely more curious about Silas and my... well, not stalking, my observations extended to mealtimes.

Silas was very rarely seen in the cafeteria. Apart from the few times he went there, nobody has seen him eat anything at all.

When he did go to the cafeteria, it was always the same procedure. Show up, get whatever seafood was there, then sit in the furthest corner of the cafeteria, where the crowd was sparse and the lighting was dim.

He'd pick at his food, eating tiny pieces one at a time and acting like he was afraid it would suddenly disappear.

I always made sure to be discreet in my observations, even if I felt confident that I would go unnoticed.

I wasn't careful enough, though. One night, when I once again found myself watching Silas do homework, he stopped his mind-numbingly slow writing and turned to stare right at me.

The full weight of his gaze was terrifying.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" He rasped, and my stomach churned, and my skin crawled. Those dull dead eyes bore into me with no visible emotion, and his voice was deep and strained, but so very soft.

I remember being shocked as well. That was the first time I had ever heard or seen Silas speak. My mind was a mess, scrambling to wrap itself around the idea of Silas not being deaf or mute like I had thought.

"You can talk?!"I squeaked out before I could stop myself.

"Yeah."Said Silas. "And I can see, too. Ya think I don't notice ya standing in the corner n' starin' at me all the time?"

He spoke slowly, putting careful effort into pronouncing each word.

"Stop."

I stared at him, slack-jawed.

"Leave me alone," Silas continued, his voice just as soft as it was before. He didn't say anything further, but he did start flexing his fingers like he always did when talking to people, and I suddenly realised that I was very alone with Silas in the middle of night, and no-one knew I had left my room.

A sudden sense of dread that filled me, and every alarm bell went off in my brain at once. I left, walking so that my back was never to him, slowly edging towards the door to the hallway. Those awful eyes, shrouded in shadows, followed me the entire way. I still felt watched even as I closed the door.

I cannot fully explain the fear I felt that night. It was almost primal, like my brain was telling me I was prey being stalked by a predator. I never felt afraid of him before, not even with the stories.

Was it because it was so late and dark? Was it because of those claws, long and sharp and startlingly similar to Cleacoves'? Was it those eyes, those eyes that looked so haunted?

I don't know. I just don't know.

I ceased my observations after that. "Curiosity killed the cat" is a phrase I never cared for, but it felt very much applicable here considering Silas' unpredictable nature.

It was odd, though. This sense that something would happen to me if I ignored him. Apart from one or two incidents that were really not that serious, he's never attacked anyone out of nowhere before. At least, aside from the whole duel situation.

Anyways, my days of playing detective were done, and I only spared Silas a passing glance from then on.

Everything seemed to calm down. Stories about Silas got lesser as his odd behaviour became boring and repetitive, and the gossip was replaced with something new. Everything was normal again.

Then, something happened.

It happened in the cafeteria. A group of older students had decided to make it their business to harass Silas, taking glee in messing with this small, quiet first year.

Students trying to bully and pick on Silas wasn't anything new, and I knew better than trying to observe, but... I couldn't help it. The moment I heard their loud, obnoxious voices, my attention was fully on them.

"Hey, speak up, pipsqueak!" The laughs and jeers of the crowd of third years gathered around where Silas was sitting could be heard even from where I sat, raising above the din of the cafeteria.

Silas ignored them.

"Come on, you're meant to look your seniors in the eye when they talk to you!" Said one.

Silas didn't respond. He simply stared at his lap, visibly tense, with his hands pressed flat against the table top.

"C'mon, answer! You aren't deaf, are you?" Said another, who then turned to the rest and asked, "Is he a mute or something?"

"No, he talks." Someone answered. "Barely. Not much worth listening to, though. He ain't all that clever. Sounds like he's never been to school in his life."

"That so?" The group's de facto leader, whose name I think was Cade Stobek, leaned down and jabbed Silas in the shoulder. "Come on, then, talk. You won't last long here if you don't learn to respect your seniors."

I wondered if I should intervene... and maybe check Silas' pulse. His deceivingly pale face and lifeless eyes made him look like he'd died right there.

"Maybe he's one of those prudes who don't talk till they're done eating." Someone else said. "Eric's family is like that. Silence at the table until everyone's finished."

"Eh? Is that it, then?" Stobek asked Silas. "Your fish is more important than your seniors?"

He made a grab at the plate of sushi in front of Silas and held it above his head, and suddenly, the sound of glass breaking pierced through the noise of the cafeteria, closely followed by a muffled scream.

Absolutely silence befell the room as students turned from where they were standing or sitting or walking to find Silas gripping Stobek by the hair and holding him in place.

Choked gasps and muffled gurgles filled the silence as blood slowly dribbled from the now broken bottom end of the table's small flower vase being being forced into his throat and onto his pristine uniform, staining it red.

Silas took the plate out of Stobek's trembling hands and released him, letting him fall unceremoniously to the floor.

Stobek's buddies exploded into a series of screams and shouts of alarm, gathering around him and waving their pens.

There was a brief pause, a moment of stillness, and then the rest of the student body followed, a wailing upoar of shock and confusion bouncing off the walls and reaching a crescendo of panicked chaos.

Silas drew his lips back and stared at them all in a silent hiss, earfins pinned back and monstrously sharp teeth glinting in the light. Then, he popped a piece of sushi into his mouth and walked away.

I never saw Silas after that. I don't know what happened, but I'm pretty sure he was expelled or at least suspended as the school desperately tried to scrub the stain a student's murder left on their image.

School was suspended for a few days as the mess with dealt with, but eventually, life carried on. At least, for the rest of us, it did. I'm sure it was a horrible time for Mr Stobek's family and friends. Eventually, I graduated, and my NRC days and the ever lingering memories of Silas' presence were left behind.

I still think about him, though. It's been years, and still, I cannot forget those eyes. That night. I think....I think if I haven't left, I probably would have ended up like Stobek. In a casket, my family demanding justice from someone who... doesn't exist. Silas has no ID, nor does the Coral Sea have any records of his birth.

I can't help but wonder if I went to school with a ghost, or maybe it was all a bad dream that I'm confusing with real life.

Hah... I really hope it's the latter

...........................................

A/N: I hope you guys like this ons better though I didn't change much

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

@skibidibabygirl @paperclvps

[bingbongsupremacy]

How To Kiss Pt. 3

Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader

Warnings: Smoking, idk anything about cars. All the car stuff is from my dad and google so it might be wrong. yuh.

Summary: Ellie gives you a ride after your car breaks down in the rain.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

*Not Proof Read* TLOU Masterlist

*****

" Fucking piece of shit! " I huff while banging my hands against my steering wheel. I fucking new it wouldn't make it to the city.

I made it to South Park when my dealer decided to call me and let me know he sold my ounces to some random girl he hooked up with at a party. Thank god it's not too far away.

On my way back my car decided to break down. Who knows what the fuck happened. It's about twenty years old and barely clinging onto life.

I peer out of my window into the dark road. Droplets of rain splash against my car. A dim streetlight pours down onto the hood of my trunk. Unlocking the car, I push open my door and step outside.

Rain pounds against my skin, soaking through my hood.

I'm immediately greeted with a burst of hot steam as I open the hood of my old Toyota. I scan the engine, attempting to figure out what's wrong. I don't fucking know what any of this is.

Holding up the hood of the car, I try to touch pull something. Horrible mistake. I let out a pained hiss and yank my hand back. Fuck that was hot.

The sound of tires pulling to a stop drags me away from the car. I glance over the hood at the owner.

An older truck parks besides my car. The window rolls down to reveal Ellie. Her mechanic jumpsuit is partially covered by an olive green jacket. " Hey, you good? "

" Just peachy. " I glance down at my red fingers.

Without another word, Ellie jumps out of the truck. She shields her eyes from the rain with her left hand, her right hand holding a half finished cigarette.

" Hold this for me, will ya? " She hands me the cigarette.

With a stiff nod, I carefully accept it.

Ellie lifts up the hood of my care. She peers down into the dark engine. " Well you definitely blew a gasket. "

Fuck, it's cold as shit out here. A shiver runs down my spine. I'm not sure if it's from my now fully drenched clothes or the fact that Ellie seems to somehow look hotter when wet.

Wait, fuck. No. I shouldn't be thinking about her this way. There's no fucking way I'd have a shot with her. Besides, who knows if she's gay. She also might end up leaving again. I can't get my hopes up. I don't have time for a stupid fucking crush.

Ellie's voice drags me back to reality. " When's the last time you had your oil checked? " Ellie pushes some hair out of her face.

I shrug. " I-I don't know. It's been a while I guess. "

Ellie pulls out a long stick. " Yeah, I can tell. Shit's empty. " Ellie puts the stick down with a small head shake. " You need to check your oil once a month. "

I don't say anything.

Ellie closes the hood of the car, turning her attention back to me. " The shop's closed for the night but I can come back first thing in the morning with the tow. "

Ellie opens up the passenger side door, waiting for me to get in.

" I can open my own door, Ellie. " I mutter in embarrassment after grabbing my stuff. Did I take too long?

" I know you can. " Ellie rolls her eyes while taking back the now burnt out cigarette. " I'm just not an asshole. "

Ellie shuts the door before running around the drivers side. " Depending on how bad it is we should be able to have your car back to you in a couple days. "

I shake my head. Beads of rain fly off my head and onto the truck's tan dashboard. " There's no way I can afford to pay to fix my car right now. Fuck, I can barely pay my rent. Can you just drop the car off at my house? " I let out a frustrated sigh. " I can probably pay for the tow but that's about it. "

Ellie's silent for a moment.

Rain gently smacks against the car. The wipers squeak in unison, creating a repetitive song.

" I live up here. " I point towards a small, unkempt brick building.

Ellie pulls to a stop in the parking lot.

" Thanks. " I shoot her a small smile while getting out. I close the door, eager to get inside and out of my cold clothes.

The truck's window rolls down. " I'll take care of it. "

I turn to her in confusion. " What? No. Ellie, I can't let you do that. "

Ellie shakes her head. " Y/N. I'm doing it. You can't fucking stop me. " Ellie puts the truck in reverse and slowly begins pulling out.

" But it's my car! " I yell after her. " Ellie! "

" I'm the one with the tow! " Ellie yells back. " Don't worry, Y/N. I'll get your car back in no time. "

Soon all I can see are the backlights of Ellie's truck driving away.

She's so fucking frustrating.

Lmk if you want to be tagged

idk if anyone wanted to be tagged for this one. Sorry if I missed u.

[themculibrary]

Kidnapped!Peter Masterlist

a foul player dealing for me (ao3) - sandyk M, 2k

Summary: Peter gets kidnapped with a bunch of other interns, but honestly, it'll be fine.

Becoming a Hero (ao3) - Dorthea mj/peter T, 40k

Summary: His brain tells him to get back up. To run. To get away. That the next attack will happen in just a second. That someone will come, and they’ll shoot a bullet through his head. That’s it. End of Peter Parker. But his body doesn’t respond to anything. He can barely lift his arms, because it feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest.

Peter knows this is the end. Knows nobody will get to him in time… he’ll bleed out, in the desert sand. Alone.

His eyes feel heavy and slowly he closes them. Tries to breathe, knowing he can’t. Tries to forget the pain, but he can’t do that either. It digs through his chest, not like a bullet, no… It’s sharp and hard. There’s not one, there are a million. A million little things in his chest. But he can’t see them.

And soon, he can’t see anything, but darkness…

-

In an alternate universe Peter Parker wins a competition to meet Tony Stark, only things goes horribly wrong when Peter is kidnapped in Tony's place. His life on the line, Peter only has one option... he has to become a Hero.

Blood and Bone (ao3) - deadvinesandfanfics pepper/tony M, 40k

Summary: Peter… wasn’t exactly sure how he’d gotten here.

The room was dark, and silent, except for the repetitive thump-thump of a heartbeat from somewhere beside him. It sounded like Mr Stark’s arc reactor, with a soft tick accompanying every second beat: that, and the smell of motor oil and fancy cologne.

His head throbs, and his muscles ache. He feels like he’s just lost a fight with a brick wall, or several. There’s crusted blood on his upper lip as well as his temple. He can feel it matted in his hair, and he wants nothing more than to take a shower right now.

Looking around a little more, Peter realises that he doesn’t even know where they are. The room is nearly pitch black which makes it impossible to make anything out. He thinks he’s tied to some sort of cheap plastic chair; his hands are bound behind his back with a mess of rope and some thin metal handcuffs - so he assumes his identity is safe. No way whoever this was would leave him in just metal handcuffs if they knew he had his powers.

Then, a huff of noise off to his side.

“Mr Stark,” he blurts, panicked. “I think we might’ve been kidnapped.”

captivity (ao3) - killerqueenwriters T, 6k

Summary: To say Tony is hysterical would be an understatement.

It’s been twelve hours without so much as a peep from either of his sons: no texts, no calls, no readings from either of their suits, either of their watches.

Copyright Infringement (ao3) - Anarchyduck T, 4k

Summary: Peter’s arms snap to his side as his heels click together. He struggles to get out of it, whatever this is, as the Big Guy laughs again.

“Spider-Man say hello to Blood Bender.” he nods to the shorter guy standing beside him.

“B-Blood Bender? Like, from Avatar the Last Airbender?” Peter lets out a strained laugh. “Seriously? Isn’t that like copyrighted? Better not let Nickelodeon hear you. Don’t think they’d like to be associated with a dru-“

His throat constricts close.

OR: Peter gets in over his head, kidnapped, and is rescued by the most unlikely (or likely?) person.

Friday's Child (ao3) - Dimity Blue (Arnie) pepper/tony, mj/peter G, 58k

Summary: "Mr. Stark's son was kidnapped in 2007 when he was five, and, despite everyone's best efforts, no trace of him was found. Until today. When your fingerprints were put into the system, they came up as a match for Peter Stark's."

He's My Kid (ao3) - jennylarner pepper/tony G, 10k

Summary: ��Rhodey.” Tony’s voice breaks. “Rhodey they took my kid.”

There are tears on Rhodey’s cheeks. “I know Tony, I know.” He whispers, his own voice trembling with the effort of staying calm. He had to stay calm, for Tony. “But we’re going to get him back.” He placed a hand over the phone. Tony stares down at it. “Do you want me to do it?”

Tony shakes his head. “No.” He murmurs. “No. I need to do it.”

...

When Peter goes missing and Tony can't find him, he knows who he needs to call. Post-Civil War. Eventual reunion of Tony and the Rogues.

He Promises (ao3) - justpeterparkerthings peter/harley G, 2k

Summary: Harley fell hard, the boy- Peter, the infamous intern- quickly became a constant in his everyday schedule. He didn't mind, infact the younger lifted his mood on most days, sometimes just offering to listen to Harley rant or watch a movie with a cup of hot chocolate.

Everything seemed to be going wonderfully well, all until Peter was kidnapped.

home (ao3) - Hailfire_73 T, 9k

Summary: “You were pretty certain he’d be here by now.”

The truth was, he’d like to know. He needed to know. What was keeping Mr. Stark from coming and getting him? Maybe, he thought, he didn’t think Peter was worth being saved. Maybe he just didn’t care.

“Clearly,” he said, as he moved a piece across the board. “You were wrong about your Tony Stark. That’s check, by the way.”

Peter studied the board but shifted his eyes back to him. “I give up.”

“Smart boy,” he told him. “A good man knows he’s beat.”

OR

Peter has been kidnapped and is forced to survive in a universe different, a universe ruled by Superior Iron Man, but surviving may mean there's nothing left of him once rescue finally does come.

i didn't finish my chem homework yet (ao3) - MyDestinyIsWritten T, 5k

Summary: Peter and MJ get kidnapped after school and Tony is a worried and protective dad™

I Did Not See That Coming (ao3) - TheDumbestAvenger T, 5k

Summary: When the mission goes south, and Peter is kidnapped right under Tony’s nose, the only thing he has left is hope to someday be reunited.

I Hope You're Happy (I Won't Be) (ao3) - Phoenix_Inferno N/R, 22k

Summary: "If Peter wasn't already wrung through the wringer, sliced up and beaten within every inch of himself maybe he could have put together that this was a trap.

He wished he had realized it sooner.

He wished to all the gods in existence that he had realized it sooner."

_

Peter should have known his incessant need to save everyone was going to eventually shatter his whole world. Maybe then, he could have done something.

In A Different Light (ao3) - kingdomfaraway T, 3k

Summary: Sometime around 3:00 am New York time, Steve’s phone went off. He didn’t think Tony would even call if it wasn’t the end of the world, all hands on deck situation. A jolt of fear ran through him as he answered, mentally preparing himself for any battle he’d have to take on.

But then, in a small broken voice, one that seemed to belittle the man Steve couldn’t imagine ever being so small, Tony said four words.

“I lost the kid.”

Love's Gonna Get You Killed (ao3) - peterparkersbff T, 1k

Summary: There’s a gun pressed to Peter’s temple and a man breathing down his neck. As depressing as it is, this is slowly starting to become a constant occurrence in his life. Not even the same people, everyone just… wants to kill him, Peter supposes.

But this time is different. They're not here for him.

My Guy (ao3) - JulieJewels mj/peter T, 7k

Summary: Michelle Jones has never really thought about it - Peter's always just been there. But now he's disappeared and Tony Stark isn't getting anywhere with his so-called investigation. So much for him being a genius. MJ has never been good at twiddling thumbs, but now it seems like she might have to learn it, and fast. Right?

Wrong, of course.

Paint it Black (ao3) - crystallopianqueen T, 44k

Summary: The Avengers are broken and scattered across the globe after the events of Civil War. But when Peter Parker is taken by the very worst of humanity, Tony Stark will do whatever it takes to get him back, even if it means hunting down former friends and enemies to do it.

Strike Three (ao3) - opal_earrings G, 4k

Summary: “With a groan, Peter lifted his aching head off his chest and craned his neck upwards. He was handcuffed, suspended from a chain that reached the ceiling. When he kicked his feet, his toes only just scuffed at the floor.

He’d been kidnapped.

Peter’s stomach sank at the realization. Oh, God, he was definitely going to miss his curfew. Mr. Stark would be furious.”

Or: Peter’s already missed his curfew twice in the past week, and he doesn’t want to find out what will happen if he misses it a third time. Which is inconvenient for him when he finds himself chained up in a warehouse with his curfew fast approaching.

Tag, You're It (ao3) - SpaceCowboysFromMars T, 3k

Summary: They’re just rounding the corner of the canteen, hand-in-hand, when Peter is slammed with a feeling that makes everything within him stop working. He freezes, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as his senses scream at him, warn him, plead with him to get away from the unseen danger-

Something cold is pressed into the center of Peter’s spine. There’s a click and a deep voice, “Make a sound and I’ll shoot the kid.”

Peter turns his head ever-so-slightly, just enough to see Mac Gargan’s face staring back at him as he presses the muzzle of a gun to the teenager’s back.

The Redundant Rescue Mission (ao3) - for_the_night G, 4k

Summary: “Oh, hey guys! What are you doing here?” Peter asked, appearing from behind a tree.

Bucky blinked. “We’re here to rescue you.”

“Oh… I mean, I can go back if you want? I'm sure I can crawl back through the window and I won’t tell anyone.”

Steve bawked at him. “Excuse me?”

“I can even tie myself back up if it makes it better?”

“Are you seriously suggesting un-rescuing yourself?”

Or: Peter gets kidnapped, but Steve and Bucky are a little late in getting the mystery kid back to his dad

weapons never weep (ao3) - McSquishee pepper/tony T, 36k

Summary: “Let me make something clear, insect. You are a freak of nature that serves no purpose outside of science and war, and you do not have nor deserve the luxury of human rights. I gave you the opportunity to make this easy on yourself, but if you must be difficult, I will have no qualms over forcing you into submission by any means necessary.”

The man looked over to him, his expression unwavering and offering no guilt or remorse.

“You are naught but a weapon, and I will treat you as such. Don’t forget that.”

-or-

On a mission gone haywire, Peter is abducted by HYDRA, and they will do whatever it takes to harness his biology for their benefit.

[letsquestjess]

Protective Measures - Part 1 (Howzer x GN!Reader)

Summary: During diplomatic talks on Ryloth, Howzer is assigned as your security. In the weeks you spend together, unfortunate feelings begin to bloom.

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: None. Future parts will be 18+.

Part 2

-- -- -- -- --

“If Ryloth had any sense of propriety, they would have arranged for separate shuttles and a grand procession,” Senator Kel proclaimed, gesturing with dark, well-groomed nails at the cramped confines of the craft. 

“It is rather stuffy,” Senator Evana granted. With a graceful flick, she brushed her sleek, golden hair away from her face and stuffed her nose in the air. “I suppose their resources are not as ambitious as we may have assumed.”

Many of the others fell into synchronised agreement like simpering dominoes, and you resisted the urge to shake your head at their finicky behaviour. You said nothing. As a representative from an inconsequential planet, your voice was constantly disregarded and dismissed unless it was to offer something deemed valuable. However, you were not going to sit in silence during the negotiations. You had plenty of experience fighting back, and you weren’t about to let them intimidate you. Your people depended on you, and you approached your job with a deep sense of responsibility. 

“Anyone would think we were being taken prisoner,” Senator Evana retorted, earning herself a round of pretentious laughs. 

Wriggling in your seat, your eyes drew across the magnificent display of clouds unfurling in the boundless expanse below as the ship broke through Ryloth airspace and smoothly landed on the private docking platform on the outskirts of Lessu. Beside the landing pad, a large cluster of clones and a neat line of stone-faced officers stood in formation.

You let the rest of the senators file out before you got to your feet and ventured into the blazing sunlight, defending your eyes with your arm. While your colleagues voiced their demands and complaints, you waited. 

A uniformed Twi’lek officer approached at a purposeful speed and scrolled through his datapad. The accompanying clone halted a few steps behind. “Welcome to Ryloth, senator,” the officer huffed, his words carrying the weight of practised repetition. He gestured to the helmeted man with him. “This is Captain Howzer. He will be your security for the duration of your stay. If you need anything, let him know.” 

Without so much as a pause for a response, the official departed to attend to the others, leaving you alone with your protector. Your outstretched hand was met with a hesitant shake from the captain, and you introduced yourself. 

“Is it always so busy during a visit?” you asked as he guided you through the crowded mass of clones and politicians and officers and towards the translucent plasma bridge. 

“It’s not been this lively for a while,” Howzer replied, his low tones modulated by the helmet’s speakers. “But you don’t need to worry. Everything has been taken care of.” 

“I can see that,” you said. Glancing around, the griping senators seemed to have been pacified for the time being, promised all that tumbled from their lips and satisfied with their provisions. 

“Is there anything in particular you need while you’re here? Food requirements, wake-up calls, that sort of thing?” Howzer questioned. 

“Just a quiet room nowhere near the other senators,” you answered with a light-hearted chuckle. 

“In that case, you’ll be glad to know your apartment is in a quieter part of the complex.”

You silently thanked your lucky stars. The last few trips with them had been a taxing ordeal, and you dreaded a repeat of the squabbles that ran over into the night and the disagreements that hounded you at the dining table. You were determined that this time would be different, and the idea of a suite secluded enough to shield you from uncompromising politicians seemed like a promising start. 

* * *

As the surrounding arguments escalated into a near screaming match, you sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose. Amidst the fury, fingers were jabbed accusingly, and insults flew in a storm of spit and indignation. 

“How dare you question my integrity when your barbarous planet cannot go a rotation without threatening each other,” Senator Evana fumed. Her chair squeaked as it was unceremoniously shoved backwards and she rose to her feet. The man that she argued with scoffed a derisive snort, and his response only provoked her further. 

“With all due respect, Senator Evana, what you’re suggesting would divert vital resources from many of our planets,” you interjected, tired of the arrogance accumulating by the second. “What are we to tell our people when they ask why taxes have increased to cover your costs, and how they are supposed to access necessities when you have taken so much? I refuse to put the citizens of my world in such a position for nothing more than pure greed.”

Several senators in your vicinity aired their agreements with your sentiment and added their outright refusal into the mix. 

“Ever the compassionate soul,” Kel scorned. “I think Senator Evana has a point.”

“Only because you benefit from whatever she gains,” you snapped. Kel’s intense gaze pierced through you, but you stood firm, refusing to falter at his weak attempts to daunt you. 

Following another bout of viciously worded disagreements and scathing remarks, the advocate of the meeting called for a temporary suspension and a continuation was set for the next morning. Seething, the senators piled out of the room, clenching their fists and spitting their displeasure. 

“After what I’ve just witnessed, I think it’s safe to say that war and politics have at least one thing in common,” Howzer said, as he accompanied you from the hall. 

“And what would that be?” you asked. 

“They’re both cutthroat.” 

You let out a small laugh at that. “Perhaps, but the chances of me getting shot are considerably lower than yours,” you pointed out. 

“I don’t know,” the clone captain confessed jokingly. “Senator Kel definitely looked like he’d happily take a swipe.” 

“He’s all bark and no bite.”

Throughout the weeks you had spent on Ryloth, you discovered a surprising ally in Howzer, someone you could trust and confide in. Meeting after meeting, he attentively listened to your grievances and showed a genuine concern for your troubles, soothing them with reassurances and the occasional quip to cheer you up.

“But I don’t want to talk about that atrocious session,” you decided, “and I’d rather not return to the apartment yet.” 

“Is there anywhere you’d like to go?” he asked. 

“Somewhere peaceful where there isn’t any bustle.”

For a moment he dithered, and you wondered what was going through his mind. His gloved hand absentmindedly grazed over the rough, clawed scar on his cheek. 

“There must be some place for a bit of quiet,” you said. 

“Many,” the captain replied. “That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is it?” 

“You’ll be searching for some time if you want somewhere quiet in Lessu, and I’m not allowed to take you outside the city while negotiations are ongoing, unless for an emergency.”

“Ah, I see.” Hands clasped behind your hips, you surveyed the towering architecture and ornate dark-wood patterns that adorned the walls of the political centre. “I suppose we had better head to the apartment, then.” 

“I didn’t say that,” Howzer said. His chestnut eyes sparkled with a knowing glimmer, and a grin curled at the corner of his lips. “Come on. This way.” 

The captain steered you in the opposite direction of the capital, guiding you through hidden pathways and taking careful steps to remain concealed. You descended into the lower reaches and ascended again up a smooth slope just outside the city limits. 

As soon as you reached flat land, a sprawling garden unfolded, bursting with vibrant colours and inviting you into the pruned greenery. Floral designs dispersed along grainy routes, adding a touch of elegance to the marble-tiled edge of the rectangular pool. 

“This was part of a palace retreat,” Howzer explained as you marvelled at the network of flowery tracks. “When the war broke out, construction stopped. The bricks were taken and used for new military buildings, but they left the garden. Most don’t even know it’s here, but Senator Taa likes to keep it looking presentable.”

“This is… I…” You struggled to find the right words and ended up gaping, savouring the serene stillness, a complete departure from the opulent chambers and heated outbursts of your peers. 

Hours passed as you walked the crunching paths, the sun casting long shadows as you swapped stories and competed to make each other laugh. For a meagre fraction in time, the seconds seemed to fade into insignificance, but with the pool beginning to turn from a deep orange to a striking red, you were forced to return to the city. To the cacophony of responsibilities and the duty that awaited, and away from that treasured tranquillity. 

* * *

The dining hall buzzed with lively conversation and the rhythmic clatter of silverware. Any discussion that veered too close to a disagreement was squashed for the sake of decency at the banquet table, but the occasional gibe managed to slip through. There was no way to predict how the negotiations would end, given the constant flurry of self-interest and avarice. Somehow, it would have to happen, yet as the weeks passed with no resolution in sight, you couldn’t help but ponder the sacrifices that would need to be made for the talks to conclude. Despite the situation, your resolve endured unshaken. If it meant aiding your people and ensuring a secure future for them, you would willingly stay on Ryloth for the next cycle. 

And when you thought about it, maybe extending your visit wouldn’t be such a terrible idea. 

From the orderly row of assigned clones by the glass doors, Howzer’s gaze locked onto yours. Ever since your walk together in the hidden gardens, your mind had drifted to him. His steadfast yet gentle nature drew you to him in a way you hadn’t expected, but it wasn’t an unwelcome emotion. Just an unfortunate one. Your duties left you wandering down diverging paths, and regardless of how you both might feel, neither of you could do anything about it. 

Discreetly slipping a handful of chocolate discs from your dessert bowl into a napkin, you tucked them into your pocket and excused yourself from the table, heading into the vacant lobby. As always, Howzer trailed faithfully behind. 

You reached the courtyard fountain outside and a cool mist poured over the rim to smoother the pebbles. 

“You shouldn’t stay out here for too long,” the captain advised, holding his distance. Deep within his heart, he longed to be by your side, offering his warmth as a shield against Ryloth’s nighttime chill, but he withheld his desires for your sake more than his own. For now, he was happy just to be in your company. 

“It gets much colder than this back home,” you said, drawing the concealed napkin from your pocket and placing it directly into his warm, battle-scarred hands. “Here. For you.” You watched as he peeled open the embroidered fabric, revealing the flat rounds of chocolate. 

“Senator, I can’t accept-”

“Please. You work incredibly hard and get very little recognition for it. I know it’s only chocolate, but you deserve something nice. Consider it a small thank you for protecting me. And for keeping me sane.”

Howzer chuckled, a rough, captivating sound that had a blissful heat expanding from your cheeks to the tips of your ears. 

He snapped a piece between his teeth and held the bundle out to you, shaking the sweet treats temptingly until you agreed to at least take one. ‘I shall miss you when you go,’ he hopelessly craved to say as you slipped the sweet into your mouth and beamed at him in such a radiant way that he could feel the jealousy of every sun in the galaxy. 

He swallowed the words with the rich, velvety chocolate and sealed them away. Such confessions would only make your inevitable parting that much more difficult, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. 

TAGLIST (Message if you’d like to be added for future reader fics, 18+ only)

@skellymom @freesia-writes @the-hexfiles @theeyesofasoldier @multi-fan-dom-madness @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @tech-aficionado @techsriduur @dangraccoon @starrylothcat @jediknightjana

[moonflvver]

character: Diluc Ragvindr x reader

warnings: spoilers for Diluc's backstory, angst, one mild allusion to suicidal thoughts but nothing explicit.

synopsis: Reader goes after Diluc after he runs off to snezhnaya and goes after the fatui following Crepus' death and Kaeya's betrayal.

a/n: I stayed up last night thinking about this.

w/c: 479

Suffering feels religious if you do it right. That much feels true for Diluc as he swings his sword down on yet another fatui soldier. The skin on his palms has been worn down and he feels blood trickling from his wounds. But this is it, this is all he knows now. He is no longer human, he’s a machine. He swings his sword without respite, the repetitive movement heating up his limbs mildly. The faint ache in his arms feels distant to him. He has detached himself from his pain. Now all that he feels is the kind of rage that only accompanies betrayal bubbling up inside of him and he is done trying to quell it. The raging inferno within him cannot be calmed. He does not want to calm it. He has teeth and he has learned how to use them. He will bite back. Covered in red, a stark contrast to the snowy landscape, he continues to cut down enemy after enemy. His hunger for revenge knows no end. He is a bottomless pit, and there aren’t enough bodies that can fill the void that the loss of his father and brother have created. It doesn’t matter, he keeps going. He keeps pushing on, until there’s no one left. Blood is splattered all around him, and he sinks down. Practically collapsing under the sheer weight of his own emotions. It’s at this moment that he tastes salt and realizes that his tears have made their way down to his lips. He hadn’t even realized that he had been crying. He thinks his tears might freeze soon, the cold has made its way into his bones as well. It’s not like it matters anyways, there’s nothing left for him anymore. There’s no one left for him. He can feel the snow numbing his skin, and he really has given up. That is until he hears you call his name. “Diluc!” You’re practically screaming it out as you run towards him. All you can see is the deep maroon pool that surrounds him, and you’re not sure whose blood it is but you pray to the Archons that it’s not his. You pray that the cold of Snezhnaya hasn’t frozen his heart over. There has to be something left of him, something left of the same boy who would mumble hello to you silently everytime that you would come over to the Dawn Winery just to see him. The same boy who would tuck strands of hair behind your ear and compare your beauty to the constellations that shone brightly above Monstadt. He had to still be there. But as you kneel down next to him and look into his eyes all you see is darkness. They’re no longer shining as bright as they used to, that familiar spark is gone. Replaced only by a chilling dullness. 

[kisisbie]

No Strings Attached | 2

Chapter index: chap 1 , chap 2

✰ authors note: I know there hasn’t been a whole lot of geto at all but I promise he’s coming within the next few chapters 🙏

Word count: 3.6k

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Starting the weekend off by throwing my phone across the room wasn't the best, but what made it worse was that I forgot to actually turn off the alarm.

So here I am, laying in bed, with cold feet, staring at the ceiling, and that stupid alarm still going off.

I whined, sitting up and aggressively tearing the sheets to the side. Throwing my feet off before I stood, in my scrunched up sweatpants and tank top that was now shifted in a very unflattering way. The chilled air hit me like a train as I walked over to my phone, still buzzing on the floor.

Bending down slowly, I grasped the phone, flipping it over to stop the repetitive noise. Before pressing stop, I noticed a note I had added to the alarm the night before.

Squinting my eyes I read, “Don’t forget to feed dog.” I racked my brain, trying to understand what it meant in my sleepy state.

_________________________________________

Last night.

Gojo let me pick my favourite local coffee shop to grab hot chocolate, with the three boys that left with us.

It wasn’t anything special but the customer service was great, and the drinks were even better. Haibara picked a booth near a corner window, sitting in it as he and Nanami chatted.

Gojo, and I waited in line, along with the boy who had long dark hair. As we waited, Gojo scrolled on his phone, leaning on the counter. I however was much more interested in the more reserved boy who stood with us.

He stared off at the menu, as I admired his unique appearance. A thick black line ran across his nose, I figured it was a tattoo, it suited him though. He had a bad case of insomnia too, or maybe it was just eye shadow?

I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. His hair was done up in two buns, pieces fell out around his face, framing it nicely.

Not to mention his jaw line, he had such a pretty side profile. I was too deep in thought to notice the line had moved, though Satoru calling my name took me out of my trance.

“Whatcha want?” He asked, looking over his shoulder as he nudged me with his elbow.

I looked at him confused for a moment, “Oh, sorry. I’ll just get a regular hot chocolate with whipped cream and tiny marshmallows.” It wasn’t anything special but it didn’t need to be, the hot chocolate here was so good.

He nodded, looking back to the girl at the register. While I looked back to the boy I was admiring earlier, though this time he was already looking at me.

Trying not to make myself seem like some antisocial freak I smiled at him, but he looked away, leaving me slightly butt hurt.

Gojo, having already ordered for everyone, started asking more personal questions to the girl working there, “Where do you go to school?” He asked with a flirtatious smile.

I rolled my eyes, looking back to Haibara and Nanami, deciding to wait with them instead. As I got closer to the table, Haibara smiled, moving further into the booth, making room for me.

Sitting down, I made eye contact with the blonde boy sitting across from me, greeting him with a smile.

The table went silent for an awkward amount of time, before I started looking around the caffe. The warm interior was so nice, the wood lining the walls, and all the little brown accents and patterns.

My attention was brought back to the table once Nanami started speaking with Haibara again. I felt it was rude for me not to add to the conversation as well, “Are you guys on the same hockey team as Satoru?” I asked, looking between the boys.

Nanami nodded, “Unfortunately, he’s our team captain.” He stated in a tone that seemed disappointed.

Haibara interrupted, “He is our best player though! Very talented.” He added looking over at Nanami. He didn’t want to offend me, knowing I was close with Gojo.

I giggled at Nanami’s wording, “Unfortunately? Is he as arrogant with you guys as he is usually?” Looking at Nanami as I asked.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, the cushion on the booth dipped beside me. Along with Gojo scooting in beside Nanami, sliding different drinks to everyone seated at the table.

Though, he slid the boy with the nose tattoo his drink a little too hard, causing some of it to spill over his black hoodie.

“Shoot! Sorry bout’ that Choso.” Satoru apologised, looking for napkins, to no avail. “Crap, I didn’t grab any when I got the drinks.” He groaned, bringing his palm to his forehead.

Holding onto my warm paper cup of hot chocolate, pleasantly warming up my finger tips, “I know where some dispensers are, I could go get some.” I offered, knowing this place like the back of my hand.

Choso sat silently, looking around. He seemed a little out of it. That all changed when I tried to squeeze my way out of the booth, climbing over his lap.

Choso looked down, putting his hands up, not sure what to do. Now stuck, I looked up at him, feeling extremely embarrassed, “Sorry, could you maybe shift over that way a little?” I asked reluctantly, pointing out of the booth.

One of his arms moved up, grabbing the top of the seat, to help push himself out of the booth. He stood off to the side letting me get out, as I quickly ran to get the napkins.

As I pulled some out of the dispenser, I internally smacked myself for being stupid. I could’ve just asked him to get out in the first place? I thought ,walking back to the table.

I was thankful that everyone had already resumed their conversations, handing Choso the napkins I collected, “I’m sorry about that, I wasn’t thinking.” I laughed it off awkwardly.

For the first time since I met him, he smiled, “ Don’t worry about it.” He said as he got up to let me in the booth.

About an hour had passed when everyone had finished their drinks, and were just talking about random events. Throughout the night I learned a lot about two of the three boys, Haibara and Nanami had been friends since childhood because their families were close.

Choso didn’t say much, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. I looked over at him a few times while we sat and talked, he was looking around the caffe, but he seemed happy.

It was all going relatively well until Gojo started talking about his friendship with me. By no means was my history with him bad, but I was a peculiar child, with lots of embarrassing stories.

“This one time in fourth grade, Geto convinced her that the guy she had a crush on liked her back.” He started mischievously, leaning over the table with one elbow propped up.

I stared at him, letting him continue for the sake of the conversation, knowing exactly where this story was going. To make matters worse however, the three boys at the table had their eyes glued to me as Gojo spoke.

It was getting dark outside so I planned on leaving after this story, “So at lunch one day, she planned to ask him out while he was playing four square, while Geto and I sat and watched.” He could barely hold in his laughter at this point, needing to take pauses in between words.

I fidgeted in my seat, avoiding eye contact as I crossed my arms over my chest. Satoru couldn’t hold in his laughter, bursting out cackling before he started again, “And when she finally went over to him, just as she was about to ask him-” He wasn’t even able to finish his sentence before he was gasping for air, wheezing.

Through gasps he spoke, “SHE GOT HIT WITH THE BALL AND FACE PLANTED!” He practically howled, his eyes tearing up.

Placing my hand over my face, I shook my head. “Gojo it’s not that funny, I’m sure something like that has happened to everyone-” Nanami spoke before gojo interrupted him with yet another loud wheeze.

“OH BUT IT GETS WORSE!” He paused trying to compose himself so he could tell the story properly, because up until now it’s been 85% laughing and not being able to breathe.

Haibara was leaning in, trying to keep himself from smiling as he listened, “When she got up…” Gojo paused again, keeping himself from laughing, “She continued asking him out with a bloody nose in front of everyone.” For the fifth time that night, he started losing it, flailing his arms in the air laughing like a mad man.

Apparently it was so bad even Nanami scoffed, before Choso spoke up, “Did he reject her?” He asked Gojo. I looked up at him as he asked and he too was smirking.

Satoru could only nod in response as he tried to catch his breath. While I, looking for a way out of this situation, tapped Choso on the shoulder, asking him to step out.

He looked down, nodding as he stepped out giving me room, still smiling though. I grabbed everyone’s empty cups before making my way to the garbage.

Just as I arrived, throwing the cups in, a barista with short brown hair tried catching my attention, “Hey, you.” She called, waving me over.

I looked up from the bin to find her leaning over the counter, she smiled once she had my attention, “Could you tell your friend with white hair to quit talking so loud?” She lifted her chin towards Gojo.

He was bound to get us kicked out at some point, “Yes, sorry he tends to work himself up sometimes.” I apologised by rubbing the back of my head.

She nodded, still smiling. When all of a sudden she started staring at me with her eyebrows furrowed. I tilted my head to the side, not sure what she was doing when her facial expression changed once again with her eyes blown wide as she smiled.

“Oh I know you!” She said smiling, shifting her weight back onto her other leg crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re my friend's new roommate.”

I cocked a brow, I don’t have a roommate though? Why wasn’t I told I’d be getting one?, “I didn’t know I had one? Is she new?” I asked, looking for answers.

“Yea she’s new, took a year off before applying, which she did a little late.” The girl explained, “She’s really smart though.” She added before finally introducing herself, “I’m Nobara.”

A little shocked with how quickly the conversation was moving on her part, I just smiled and nodded before looking back to the table, “Well, I hope to see you around campus, but I better get going.” I waved back to her as I walked away.

Approaching the cozy booth the group was sitting at, I took my phone out of my back pocket to check the time. Turning it on, the screen read 6:20pm. “I’ll get satoru to drive me home in a bit.” I thought, as I groaned remembering all the school work I put off doing. Sliding my phone back, now standing over the table.

I didn’t bother going through the hassle of climbing back into my spot, instead deciding to lean against the booth with my arms crossed.

Choso was talking to Satoru, explaining how he had an early morning lecture he had to attend. Satoru responded with an exaggerated “That sucks.”

I couldn’t quite hear what Haibara and Nanami were talking about, so I continued eavesdropping on Choso and Satoru’s conversation.

Rolling his eyes at Gojos half assed response, Choso continued, “The thing is, I won’t be able to feed Panda.”

Looking up from the empty packet of sugar he was fiddling with, Gojo cocked his brow at Choso, “Who’s Panda, and why can’t they just feed themselves?” He asked discarding the packet, propping his chin up on his palm.

Choso shook his head, scoffing, “My dog, Gojo, you've met him before.” Immediately Satoru sat up, “OHH, I MISS PANDA.” He shouted, before I smacked him on the back of the head.

“The barista is going to kick us out because of you.” I scolded him, as he looked up at me rubbing his head, mouthing the words, “I’m sorry.”

“Anyway,” Choso started again. Both Satoru and I looked back towards him. “I need someone to feed him at 6 tomorrow morning, I’ll pay you too.”

“I would love to, but I’ve got training at five.” Gojo slumped in his seat, seemingly disappointed.

I cleared my throat, I’m not much of a morning person. But I love dogs, plus this would give me a chance to get to know people on campus better, I thought.

“I don’t mind waking up a bit earlier, and all my lectures are in the afternoon.” I spoke up.

Choso looked in my direction before smiling, “Great, could I get your number so I can text you the details.”

“Oh- yea, for sure.” I stood up straight as I watched choso search through his jacket for his phone, handing it over to me.

I grabbed the phone from his hand, quietly typing in my number as the others put their jackets back on, getting ready to leave.

Looking up from the phone, Choso was also putting his jacket on, effortlessly pulling it over his baggy shirt he was wearing underneath. Waiting, I looked around, my attention drawn to the barista from before, now wiping down the counters.

“You’re getting a ride with me right? Hurry up, Suguru is waiting for me.” Gojo called. I looked over at him, now waiting at the door with the rest of the guys. “Yea sorry.” I mumbled, awkwardly scurrying my way over.

Choso had seemingly forgotten that I still had his phone, I tapped him on the shoulder, holding it out so he could grab it.

He turned around, noticing what he left behind, “Sorry about that.” He chuckled quietly, “I completely forgot you had it.” He apologised, taking his phone back.

I nodded, smiling as I turned to the door, following Satoru out after he stood holding it open. The warm smell of coffee was replaced with the crisp winter breeze, tucking my face into my jacket, following Satoru to his car as he waved to his friends.

_________________________________________

My eyes widened as I realised what it meant, “PANDA!” I shouted in realisation, finally shutting off the alarm.

I set my phone face down on my bed, now only covered by the plain white under sheet because the duvet was now crumpled on the floor. I walked over to the bathroom, switching on the lights and immediately squinting my eyes as they adjusted to the light.

After brushing my teeth and washing my face I walked back over to my bed, sitting down as I picked up my phone, noticing a notification from my messages.

Clicking on the notification, the number was unknown. I figured it was just Choso from the context of the message though.

I quickly changed the contact name to Choso (Satoru’s friend), before reading the text more thoroughly.

___

Choso (Satoru’s friend)

: don’t mean to wake you up too early

: Panda is pretty behaved so you shouldn’t have too much to worry about

: when you walk in his food bowls should be to the left of my desk near the back, his bag of food is in the small closet looking thing

: he only needs 2 cups in the morning

: oh and dorm room is 406, left the door unlocked

5:30am

___

I wrote down the instructions in my notes app, looking at the time, 6:04, “Crap-” I hissed throwing my phone to the side as I ran over to my closet, throwing on a random sweater, before shoving my phone in my pocket and sliding on my crocs.

After locking my door, I pulled out my phone again looking for the text with his dorm number.

I stood in the dark empty hallway, bringing the phone to my face before I realised, “His dorm is right next to mine.” I mumbled to myself looking over at the door next to me, the numbers reading “406”.

Shaking my head, I walked over to the door. Just as I grasped the door handle, I heard aggressive sniffing coming from the small crack under the door.

I took a step back, kneeling down with my head parallel to the floor as I peered under the door. I was met with what looked to be a big brown nose, still smelling around from the other side.

“You must be Panda.” I giggled, pushing myself off the ground. Slowly turning the door knob, hearing scurrying on the other side, as I pushed the door open.

With the door now fully open I was met with a very excited golden retriever, sitting as he wagged his tail aggressively, he whined as I closed the door quietly.

I started walking over to him, kneeling in front of the dog. The second my knees hit the ground he bounced up with a wiggle, jumping over to me, and attacking me with kisses.

Once I finally got him to calm down, I stood up, noticing the glint of two metal dishes next to a desk. It was hard to see in the dark room but I figured those were the bowls Choso was talking about.

Sliding my crocs off at the front, I walked further inside the dorm. It was nice, there were vinyls covering one wall entirely, along with posters, all of which I couldn’t make out with the lack of lighting.

Looking over to my right I noticed a closet, this is the one he said the food was in right? I thought, opening it, only to find clothes. I shut the door, looking around for something else resembling a closet.

On the other side of the room, a smaller dark brown closet sat. Tip toeing over to the brown closet, I opened one side and was met with the familiar smell of dog food. My nose scrunched slightly as I opened the bag.

I turned around to get Panda’s food dish when something poked my lower thigh. I jumped, unsure what it was, until I looked down to see a very happy pup with a bowl in his mouth.

“Such a smart little man.” I cooed in a baby voice, crouching in front of Panda as I rubbed his ears. He responded by another one of his little wiggles.

I gently took the bowl from his mouth, placing it on the elevated surface in the closet, reaching my hand into the bag and grabbing the cup buried under the kibble.

Scooping two cups of food into the bowl, I closed the bag, along with the closet and carried the bowl to the stool it was previously sitting on.

Placing the food down I backed up, watching Panda waiting for him to immediately go for the food, instead he sat, looking up at me expectantly.

I tilted my head, looking around. What was he waiting for? “Go on.” I whispered quietly urging him to eat. To no avail.

I thought back to how my aunt gets her dogs to eat, “Yes, go eat?” I said unsure about what words to use.

I sighed, pulling out my phone to text Choso.

__

Me

: how does your dog work?

6:08

__

After sending the text I looked back up, Panda still sitting with his tail going a million miles an hour. My phone buzzed, picking it back up to check my texts.

__

Choso (Satoru’s friend)

: what?

6:08

Shaking my head, I rephrased the question.

Me

: he won’t eat his food, he’s just sitting there

: watching me

6:08

Choso (Satoru’s friend)

: lol my brother conditioned him to eat by saying “Yum yums” in a baby voice

6:08

: I know it’s stupid, but I haven’t been able to change it.

6:09

Me

: I would have never guessed if I hadn’t texted you

6:09

__

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I looked back to Panda, now laying on the floor, still staring up at me.

“Yum yums!” I said in a high pitched voice hoping he would finally eat his breakfast. And that he did, he immediately ran up to his food dish, eating like he’s never been fed before.

Leaning against the chair at Choso’s desk, I hummed to myself waiting for Panda to finish his food, when I heard rustling in one of the two beds in the dorm.

Startled, I stood upright, walking closer to the bed making the noise. Once I got closer I noticed a human shaped lump under the navy blue covers.

If Choso had a roommate why couldn’t they have just fed Panda? I thought backing up to leave seeing Panda wasn’t completely alone.

As I quietly made my way to the door, walking around the bed, a figure sat up frantically, breathing heavily.

I stopped in my tracks, looking from the figure to Panda who didn’t have a care in the world as he gobbled up his food.

“Who’s there?!” The person spoke up, their voice was shaky. When I didn’t answer, they turned over, pulling a chain on the lamp sitting on the bed side table, turning it on, revealing me frozen in place.

I couldn’t focus my vision with all the adrenaline pumping through my body, but as I studied the figure I noticed they had pinkish untamed hair.

There’s only one person I know with pink hair, “Yuji!?”

[pandoradoesotherstuff]

Regrets: Past and Present

-----------------------------------------

A/N: Gods help me, the Baldur's Gate 3 brain rot is real. 😅😅 this is my first time writing anything for Astarion and it's kinda angsty. Tav "accidentally" snoops through a stack of papers and finds out more about the vampire spawn than they bargained for.

**VERY MILD SPOILERS FOR ASTARION'S BACKSTORY**

Enjoy! 🖤

------------------------------------------

Tav hadn't meant to snoop, not really, but when a particularly strong wind blew a stack of ageing parchment papers out from Astarion's tent...what were they meant to do? The vampire spawn had very recently left in search of some kind of furry prey, Tav preferred not to know exactly what, so they knew they had plenty of time to gather them up and replace them before he returned. And, if their eyes happened to glance over some of the words, then so be it. It truly was an "accident" after all.

Tav gathered up the papers as silently as they could, not wanting to awaken any of the others currently at camp. Scratch raised his head for a brief second, but upon seeing that it was his friend, gave a yawn and happily laid back down. Head full of pleasant thoughts of chasing after his ball.

They light a candle in Astarion's tent to give a little more illumination than the dying fire was currently providing. Quietly sitting down on an ornate stool, they begin to look through the sheets and sheets of ageing parchment. Some were older than others, some torn, some crumbled and then smoothed out again, some even had dark stains at the corners. (Tav could take a good guess at what that was). But each and every one was a letter, written in the same extravagant looping script and addressed to the same unknown person.

~~~~~~~~~~

VL,

How long has it been since I saw you last? Far too long, as always, is the answer. I can't begin to explain how much my life has changed, my dear, since then. I fear you wouldn't recognise me now. But I must beg of you, my sweet, DO NOT COME LOOKING FOR ME. Cazador is not someone to be underestimated!

My "brother" Petras says that this is pointless, that there is no way this will ever make it into your hands. He's right of course, not that I'll ever tell him that. That's all the fool needs. Still, if I'm to "survive" this new life (if you can even call it that)...Gods, what am I doing??

AA.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tav gazed over the words, a million questions running through their mind. Who was this VL, and just how did they know Astarion? Were they still alive or were they long gone like so many others before them? They pick up the next letter, careful not to tear the already fragile parchment, noting that this one seemed to be from later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

VL,

Once again I brought someone back for my "benevolent master". I've been doing it so long now it ceased to mean anything. The right word at the right time with the right touch and...well...it's all so boring and repetitive.

I know you would not wish to know about that. I wouldn't wish for you to know either.

I wish you to never know what's become of me

AA

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Letter after letter of heartbreak follows, each one filled with rage and hatred at his fate, remorse for all he'd lost and vows for revenge. Tav knew part of Astarion's "origin story", so to speak but the letters, although filled with details, raised more questions than answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

VL,

At last I am free. By illithid parasite no less and yet...I am still not truly free. Cazador will do anything to get me back but the part that vexes me most is...I no longer remember who you are. I cannot remember your name nor your voice, I cannot remember my eye colour or yours. Were we lovers, siblings, long lost acquaintances? I no longer know. It's just another thing that's been robbed of me.

Maybe it's time to stop writing at last...

AA

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just as Tav reads the last words the hair on the back of their neck stands up, they're being watched. There's no one immediately noticeable but just along the tree line at the edge of camp Tav notices the bright ruby eyes of a vampire spawn staring back.

Shit.

They quickly sit the stack down and blow out the candle. There was no way Astarion didn't know what Tav had been doing. They think about hastily going over and apologising but the tadpole squirms behind their eye almost like a warning. No words are spoken between them only the feeling that this was not a over but instead a conversation for a more appropriate, private, time.

"Fuck".

[o5-the-daughter]

Warnings: child death, death, sickness, description of cramps/spasms, implied domestic abuse, grief, repetition, hallucinations, implied place of scene: mental hospital

Word count: 2.464

Only visible to Experimenter (@o5-blackbird).

•

Two pairs of soundless steps wander down the cracked, dusty street, watching on as the warm afternoon sun shines her light over the wrecked buildings left and right, over the chunks of stone that had once belonged to beautiful facades, and over their intertwined hands, which seem to melt together in an almost comforting manner amongst the breaking of the world around them. Dark mist dances around their feet as Lauri takes a few steps up to balance on a large boulder, one that was part of a skyscraper's mighty upper floor just a few hours ago; Noel raises his hand gently to follow the motion, supporting his balance despite there being no genuine weight to hold his partner up.

Amongst the rubble, a woman's labored breathing slowly begins to break the silence, a noise that the two shades approach as the minutes pass; the woman appears to be the only survivor of the catastrophe nearby, the only one that they can find, at least, kneeling between the splinters of her broken home, digging her hands bloody on the smaller rocks surrounding a heavy stones that looks to be almost twice her size. Noel pulls his hand away now, though the smoke between their fingers lingers for a second longer, and Lauri's pure, white eyes follow him as he quietly wanders up to the woman. In a gesture meant to comfort, his hand comes down to rest on the survivor's shoulder, though he flinches back as the woman's grief-stricken scream breaks the silence loud as thunder just a second later.

She breaks down sobbing, sorrow shaking her shoulders as she cradles the bloody, broken hand of her child still buried under the stones.

••

Another dry cough shakes the young adult's malnourished body, and their hand curls tighter around their husband's fingers as bitter blood colors their pale lips scarlet. Nine months, the doctors had said, but it hadn't come that far, the sun was only now setting on the third and the sickness had already taken their voice alongside their laugh, with the only thing left to take being the very breath in their lungs; their husband whispers a soft, almost silent prayer as another coughing fit shakes their fragile ribcage, causing them to squeeze his hand so hard that it might have broken had their strength not left them many weeks ago as well.

Between the quiet whisper of Hebrew words, neither of them quite notices the shadow that had been clinging to them for so long now, draining hope and life from them much like a black hole seems to manifest into a form matching that metaphor quite well, a black hole with boney fingers and exhaustion living in his every movement as if he were the one losing a fight with humanity's worst disease instead of them.

Differently from the first two, Tomasz appears capable of noise, humming an old-timey tune that appears to go unnoticed by the couple as he drags himself out of the corner of the hospital room. With each step of his, their spasms become more and more aggressive, the monitors to their right singing a panicked song much in sync with the one he directs, the color draining from their already ashen face beyond what should have been possible as they struggle for air. Their husband's words have reached speaking volume now, his hands holding theirs tightly as his tears wet their fingers that grasp on too tightly before, too suddenly, falling limp.

The white-eyed creature of shadow and smoke stands over their bedside still, his head tilted in vague curiosity over his own doing.

•••

Eyes are often called the windows to the soul, and for good enough reasons too, as a young woman's eyes glittering brightly with life as she sings of her lover's proposal can tell just as long a story as the empty eyes of a teenage boy tending to his bruises, staring straight ahead at the bedroom door forced shut with a drawer pushed infront as a hand made of little more than dark smoke presses an ice pack to his shoulder. Her movements are harsh, rougher than they had ever been in life, but the effort to be kind to the boy is still there, in the manner in which her cold fingertips wrap up smaller cuts and in that of which her blank eyes wander back to the door to make sure it is closed safely still.

Somewhere in the house, a bright shriek of anger sounds over the already loud arguing, and something fragile breaks; the manner in which the boys expression darkens, twists with a bitterness usually only worn by men twice his age or more, tells Dio all there is to know, even interrupted by the slamming of another door downstairs. Brushing straight the last little plaster, she pulls away, though she lingers a moment longer in the echo of a fight waiting to return.

She has become a known guest in the boy's room by now, one whose presence is barely ever known or acknowledged, but which slowly darkens the child's heart nonetheless. She can't bring herself to pity him for falling for her gift, either - it had been an easier solution for her as well.

••••

The Foundation has always been a place to take more than they were willing to give, a hundred years ago the same as today; take a family's strange child, offer them 20 bucks for their troubles; claim a spring their own despite its owners' protest, offer them compliance or death as their possible options; and so on, and so forth, always the same game of taking and taking and giving so little to the civilian world beyond protection of what had been taken. It's an ancient practice, by the standards of their history, and one that will always cling to the faceless heads of the organization, haunting and chasing them into a future where there is no more to take, no more to desire, no more to wish for.

But wouldn't that be nice? To have it all, and wish for nothing more? To be satisfied after so long?

But there is always more to take, at least for now.

Willow's ash dark fingers brush lightly over the shoulders of those they pass, leaving behind a thin trail of what almost appears to be coal where they touch, though the mark disappears quick enough with each step they take away from the bearer. Five times they had rounded the meeting table by now, with its familiar voices and not quite so nonexistent faces, listening in to their topic of discussion despite it being past their role and past their time to do so still; they have little work to do here besides listening, hearing of the forest containing fae and spirits and others alike that the Foundation wishes to name and number and hold onto.

There is little to do for a white-eyed shadow in a place where greed has already settled deep into people's hearts.

•••••

Leaving a beautiful, red rose behind, the old woman rises to her unstable knees and off the ground, off the grave below her where another darling once she knew many years ago lies resting still. She leans heavily on her cane, even as it sinks a little into the ground that is still wet and muddy from the past day's rain, though she cares little for the ground or the trail of steps she leaves, moreso being focused on the path of roses that drags on and on and on over more graves than she wants to think of; too many lie here buried, too many she had known for too long as to not lose a piece of herself as each of them disappeared from her life, one by one by one. A light shudder shakes her fragile body, urges her to pull the scarf closer around her shoulders and pushes the eye-corner glimpse of Iva's shapeless figure out of her thoughts before the sight can even be registered there.

Dark mist spreads behind her with each step, drags on like a wedding dress's train and sweeps over the carefully placed flowers as she stalks after the woman, the petals wilting and withering as they are touched before just as quickly regaining their life once the smoke lets them free once more. It's an almost fascinating play to watch, though one that becomes threatening all too quickly when the old woman sinks to her knees infront of another grave once more, the shadow following close behind her as the bouquet of the remaining flowers finds its place infront of yet another stone.

She lurks over the woman's shoulder in complete silence, blank, white eyes staring down at the engraving reading beloved wife and mother in a beautiful cursive.

••••••

He had been declared a hopeless case in his youth already, when he was little more than a child that didn't understand why his own mind seemed to work against him; it didn't get better with age, either, as they had first promised, then hoped it would, and even then, he could hardly recall when anyone had last bothered to try and give him hope. Even now, with these terrible creatures pouring from the corners of the bleak, white room they were keeping him in these days, locked up like an animal, no one bothered to speak a comforting word or offer any sort of relief to his fear; the knowledge that it was 'just' his mind 'playing tricks on him' had never made it better, never made it any less real.

With a soft sob, he presses himself further into the corner of his room, against the white tiles and into the arms of the shadow woman cradling his head like a wounded animal. Her fingers brush through his sweaty hair, push a few strands out of his face in a manner so gentle that it has become almost foreign to him by now. He leans in further, further, lets her darkness wrap him up all the way until she finally pulls him closer, too, and rests her arm over his eyes.

Raisa, in life, had known the cruelty of the human mind just as well as he knew it now.

•••••••

Slender fingers wrap themselves around Experimenter's throat from behind, with sharp nails digging deep enough into his flesh to draw blood as his chin is pushed up, forcibly correcting and straightening his posture beyond comfort; there is something painfully familiar about this touch, despite how much colder and rougher it is than it had ever been in life, despite that little protest of he wouldn't that never makes it beyond a thought cut short; wouldn't is too untrustworthy a word these days, one that is betrayed far more often than it is proven right. A wouldn't proven false is how they had ended up here in the first place, after all, in an almost-known hallway with too-well-known faces coming across another for the first time in a while.

Another ice cold hand runs over his flesh, comes to a rest on his wrist and pulls it upward, too, taking aim more precisely than he would have been capable of any other time, taking aim at a tired face with lifeless eyes, ones that might as well belong to one long dead as well. He doesn't flinch back, not this time, barely even seems startled at all, but much rather.. quietly expectant. Relieved. He tilts his head ever so slightly at the sight of the gun's barrel, and dark hair streaked with grey falls over his eyes, just a little, not quite enough to cover his sight entirely. He simply waits.

The mist-made hand at Experimenter's wrist loosens its grip, instead moving to cover his hand, lending itself to him and replacing the missing fingers that would have made the next step difficult; the thing moves closer to him this way as well, another uncomfortably familiar sensation of this slim, cold body pressed against his, with the weight of the creature's head coming down to rest on his shoulder in an almost gentle manner. Glancing down, he sees the outline of the face before him doubled, though with blank, white eyes wide open and staring up at him, meeting him together with a sharp-toothed grin too wide and too wolfish to be human.

Almost there, it whispers with his voice, warm and rough and just another reminder that there are worse things that could happen to Eight than death.

No one will know who of them pulled the trigger, in the end, but the result is much the same either way - a deafening gunshot, and the sound of a limp body hitting the floor.

••••••••

Ten's office is much the same still as it had always been, a rustic design consisting mostly of leather and dark wood, with a comfortably crackling fire somewhere in the background. The old bear of a man hums contently, a warm melody of old shared with him by the tongues of Death and Plague. He leans back in his seat as he watches his whiskey flow into the nine-sided glass with its pale engravings reading the names of those having died for his glory; his eyes, nowadays, are the same, stark white as theirs, a resemblance he knows - with amusement - they would hate, if they still had the choice to.

He turns slightly in his chair, picking up his glass as he does, and watches the shadowy figure of the young woman seated at the locked window, her fingers resting against the glass in silent longing and mourning. He smiles, ever so slightly just, at the irony in the repetition of this ancient story, with Hope trapped back inside as her eight counterparts of humanity's troubles and woes left to roam the outside world.

A soundless sigh escapes Kierra Thier's lips as she rests her head against the cold glass.

•••••••••

[murphymakestherules]

Waiting

Rhi's office was always a soothing place- the smell of the medicines and reagents blending with the leather, vellum, and ink of books and the green smells of living plants to make it seem as though no harm could befall one inside the walls. Gail sat beside the bed, humming some of the songs Malloy had taught her, as he worked on his book. Not the words, she hadn't learned them that closely, but the bright, repetitive tunes had stuck in her mind and she used them now in an attempt to call her partner ('Your lover,' her mind insisted, 'which is the whole reason he's in this mess.') back from whatever dreams kept him unaware. Held loosely in one hand, the letter from her solicitors served as an odd bridge between the cheerfully off key humming and the woman's dark thoughts.

In due course, the Keeper's humming falls silent, her fingertips just brushing Malloy's to keep from accidentally shifting any of the hair - fine needles set around his wrists. "So the letter came in… remember we were talking about needing our own place out on Vylbrand, with how often we're there? We got one. It sounds like it's going to need a bit of work- I guess it's been abandoned for a while, and it looked like it wasn't well cared for before that but…. It's right beside the sea. They sent some pictures, when the paperwork was all finalized…I hope you like it. But you need to wake up, so we can go see it… A new den…"

Her forced cheer fades at the continued lack of response- not that she really expects one. "We're still looking for that thing… and Shinsetsu-san agrees with me, what I think it is. I'm so, so, so sorry, koibito." The hand not reaching for him curls in her lap, tight enough for the short nails to carve dents in her palm. "I'm sorry I didn't stay away, I'm sorry you came with me, and I'm sorry I didn't let Windy kill him after the girls were born. I just….I still hoped he'd get better, if we gave him space." A desperate kind of resignation overtakes the quiet voice as she tries to explain the unjustifiable to the one person she really wants to understand- even if he won't remember what she's said. "I hoped that… That maybe if he didn't have it shoved in his face- what he gave up- every minute of every day, he would start to grieve. To heal. And that even if he couldn't forgive me, maybe he could find a way to…I don't know, accept that it wasn't my choice either. But now you're caught in the crossfire, where I never wanted you to be. I'm the one who was supposed to be dead years ago, it doesn't matter what happens to me now, but you….."

She trails off with a sigh, trying to reconcile this latest disaster in her mind. "This wasn't supposed to happen to you. I just seem to attract unintended consequences to the people I care about. It should have been me though…. He- it should have attacked me. And..I understand, if you hate him, when you wake up. Or if you hate me, and don't want me around anymore. I'm more trouble than I'm worth, usually. Or so they keep telling me, but… As long as you're all right, healthy and happy, that's…" A heartbreaking crack in her voice forces her to pause a moment, as she tries to keep the control she feels is needed. Just in case anyone should enter at the wrong moment. "That'll be enough for me. I won't make you keep putting up with all the baggage that comes with letting me stick around if you don't want to. Kami alone know why you'd want to. You keep getting hurt because of me… How is this- any of this- even remotely worth it?" Her voice, already quiet, falls nearly inaudible as she flattens her hand against his chest. Reassuring herself that even though he doesn't wake, he's still at least alive. "I'm not- never have been…. But it's not my choice to make. So you need to -to wake up. And decide for yourself. "

A chime in her ear halts the quiet monologue as she chokes back the long-learned self loathing. A moment later her pleasantly impassive mask settles over her features once more as she prepares to face her family and co-workers. "It sounds like the computers have something for me, so I need to go… if you wake before I get back, I'll return as soon as I can." Hard callused fingers brush whisper soft over his face, tucking an unruly bit of dark bangs behind a rounded ear before she turns to take up her tasks once more. And when the door closes behind her, the soft sound of the sleeping man's breath are all that remain to break the peaceful stillness.

[7r0773r]

The Ten Thousand Things by Maria Dermoût, translated by Hans Koning

Someone sang a love song in the moonlight: "the evening is too long, beloved, and the road too far"—others clapped their hands with it—a single bamboo flute, languishing.

A lullaby for a child, or a story sung to it, battle songs of the wild Alfuras, head-hunters of Ceram. And sometimes, very rarely, the old heathen lament (careful, don't let the schoolteacher hear it) for one who has just died. "The hundred things" was the name of the lament—the hundred things of which the dead one is reminded, which are asked him, told him.

Not only the people in his life: this girl, this woman and that one, that child, your father, your mother, a brother or sister, the grandparents, a grandchild, a friend, a comrade-in-arms; or his possessions: your beautiful house, your china dishes hidden in the attic, the swift proa, your sharp knife, the little inlaid shield from long ago, the two silver rings on your right hand, on index finger and thumb, the tamed pigeon; but also: hear, how the wind blows!—how white-crested the waves come running from the high sea!—the fishes jump out of the water and play with each other—look how the shells gleam on the beach—remember the coral gardens under water, and how they are colored—and the bay!—the bay!— please never forget the bay! And then they said: oh soul of so-and-so, and ended with a long-held melancholy ee-ee-ee! ee-ee-ee! over the water.

Or she listened with the others to the hammering from just across the bay, from the place where formerly the Portuguese wharf had stood (the beautiful galleons with all the woodwork were once calked there, and occasionally a gibbet must have been built there too)—now there were only trees; and the knocking of a wooden hammer on a wooden beam, heard clearly over the water—could that be a bird?

And whenever a proa came or went, the old slave bell in the Small Garden was rung—if someone were there to do it. (pp. 13-14)

***

She thought, she had never before thought that—in the light and the rustle and the small movement of the proa—repetition, repetition, nothing but repetitions linked to one another. Again and again the same, and again and once more. (p. 45)

***

Only days later, at the bay in the evening, the grandmother said musingly, as she had a way of doing, "it is a pity you forgot to say goodbye to the bibi that time, she is offended now; did you like the beads? those beads are dug up from old graves, that is why they are called pearls from the earth, not from the sea—the wrong pearls; they have already been buried with somebody once. It isn't that they necessarily bring ill luck, oh no, some people say the opposite, that they bring good luck, and they like to have them because they think they're beautiful—you too, don't you, granddaughter? But then, they have already been buried once with somebody, perhaps you would not be able to forget that—the pearls from the sea in the sea, the pearls from the earth in the earth, better leave it that way."

Felicia did not know what to answer except yes. (pp. 71-72)

***

The moon threw a path of light over the water, one could have walked on it—the inner bay did murmur now, softly, and the waves of the surf flowed right up to her feet; the large trees stood dark and silent around and behind her. The fishers whom she had seen pass earlier came back, walking in the water: torch in the left hand, spear in the right, to catch the fish when they jumped at the torchlight. They walked carefully in order not to make more noise than the water, they did not talk. But when they saw her sitting in the moonlight, the one whose burned arm she had treated for so long called a greeting to her over the murmur, something like "good luck to you, madam!"

"Quiet!" the others said, because of the fish—and she answered back over the water, as softly as possible, "are you doing well? Yes?" Luck, where is it, that luck?

For the first time that night she came to think of the others, of the murderers—why?

The Mountain Alfura behind the tree.

The four Binongkos of the professor.

The man who had murdered Constance.

The murderer of the sailor, no one knew whether it had been a man or a woman.

The young half-Chinese wife of the commissioner, with her three aunts—or not?

And the Balinese slave girl, the nurse of the three children—who had been so beautiful, who couldn't walk any more afterward—she didn't want to think of her, it was too long ago, and she wasn't allowed to, her grandmother had forbidden her to think of it.

The mass-murderer who had wanted to save her son.

She pressed the tips of the fingers of one hand against her forehead just above the eyebrows—how many murderers there were! It made her dizzy, and at the same time she was astonished about something: while thinking of them she did not feel the anger, the disgust of always, but pity almost; not the large and burning pity that came for those who were murdered, but a small feeling of impatience, of sadness—oh why, why, you fools!—without the desire for revenge, without hatred now. As if they were not the murderers but also among the murdered.

And then there were no more murderers and murdered.

It was so hazy, it all ran together in her head; after all it was one-and-the-other, as her son wanted it.

She took her hand away, shook her head, shifted in her chair: she liked her t's crossed—this or that—and no nonsense. Were the t's ever crossed, was anything ever completed? She looked up and then she saw—did she see?—in the empty path of light over the water of the inner bay, far away and near, moving and wholly motionless ...

The purple Palm of the Sea, and under it her grandmother and Mr. Rumphius and the coral woman in her flowery dress; her grandmother held the poison plate from Ceram and put the sentinels of Good Fortune in it which she picked from the Palm; between its roots sat the Crab which controls the tides, and up in the branches the holy Bird had its nest.

The stranger from the hotel whom she had loved—and loved now, and always held the stolen Snake with the Carbuncle Stone in his hand, she would have given it to him if he had asked for it, free as a gift for nothing to keep—the bitter water from the bitter spring flowed over his feet.

The bibi of whom she had been afraid showed her basket to the three pink girls; all the pearls of the commissioner were in it, pearls of the sea, and the other string of beads, fading orange and yellow, pearls from the earth, and strings and strings of gleaming white porcelana shells of Mountain Alfuras in war dress—they couldn't do any harm now.

Her sweet son was standing beside a woman, Toinette, and a daughter Nettie, they had their backs turned toward her (that was her own fault), they were watching a fleet sail up the inner bay, a fleet of a thousand sails all together, crystal mizzens with edges of purple and violet—they weren't large, nor small, they reached to the sky, where was the professor now?

Her father and mother with the five Pekingese on leashes.

The four visitors of that evening: the professor—there he was—Constance and her sailor, the commissioner, she now saw all four faces clearly—she would have liked to wave at the professor but she wasn't supposed to, she could only look.

All the murderers, because they had to be there too.

The most beautiful shells: in the middle two enormous crenated shells against each other, the Leviathan from her youth who is too terrible lived in them again, and the smallest of the smallest shells in the world next to him, the gleaming little "white lice" of which the professor had told Marregie that evening; also the double Venus-heart which is very rare, also the Amoret Harp which her son had held to his ear to listen to.

The white stone from the "special drawer" with its child—three young men, Bear, Domingoes and Martin the Portuguese seaman who had drowned long ago—the child Sophy with the tame cockatoo she had given her, Sophy's nurse who was herself a child—a young Javanese was drawing a proa on the waves and his name was Radèn Mas Suprapto; a very slender Javanese lady in a coachman's cape watched him, "you've forgotten the ballast again," she said—who was she? the lady of the Small Garden didn't know her, what did she mean by that? The Binongko girl of the flowers sucked on her bleeding lip and listened; from the Portuguese wharf on the other side came the sound of hammering—and the three little girls, the real ones, were standing side by side, they held the snakestone, the knife of the sailor, and Marregie blew on the post horn—coral, fishes, crabs, the three young turtles—the Dancer with the Shell—birds, butterflies.

The stork, the bird Lakh-lakh with his long bill and fiery red legs, and the roaring lions, in between them the boy Himpies was sitting on his mat and looking around with large enraptured eyes, and everywhere the small silver waves; and slowly, with long pauses, a voice said from far away, the bay, the inner bay—will you ever forget the inner bay, oh soul of—?

What was happening to her, was she dying, were those her "hundred things"?

She sat quietly in her chair, they weren't a hundred things but much more than a hundred, and not only hers; a hundred times "a hundred things," next to each other, separate from each other, touching, here and there flowing into each other, without any link anywhere, and at the same time linked forever...

A link which she did not quite understand; understanding it was not needed, wasn't possible, she had seen it—for one moment over the moonlit water.

She hadn't noticed Sjeba and her husband Henry the cowherd who had come around the house and were now standing to the left and right of her chair.

"Why don't you come to bed?" Sjeba asked, grumbling and at the same time worried, and they both shook their heads, "why are you sitting here? The moon is shining, but what good does that do, it only makes one sick! There's fresh coffee in the kitchen, and you'd better come inside now."

Then the lady of the Small Garden whose name was Felicia stood up from her chair obediently and without looking around at the inner bay in the moonlight—it would remain there, always—she went with them, under the trees and indoors, to drink her cup of coffee and try again to go on living.