#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

[kyywritess]

CHAPTER 2: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 5.3k

an: Okay this was a lot longer than it was supposed to be but I seem to have gotten carried away. This chapter introduces the topic of the readers quirk, while also adding some suspense that will begin to make sense in later chapters.

---

BAKUGOS POV

Over the past few years, Bakugo had settled into a strict daily ritual—a routine as unyielding as his resolve.

Wake up early. Eat a proper meal. Go for a run. Train. Fight villains. Repeat.

It was a mantra he lived by, a cycle he had perfected through relentless repetition. But as time marched on, so did he. His body grew stronger, his scars more numerous, and his once volatile personality began to soften around the edges. The brash, hot-headed teenager who couldn’t go a day without picking fights with his classmates had evolved. Now, at twenty-six, he carried himself with a quiet confidence, his temper tempered by experience.

He had learned to tolerate, even enjoy, the raucous personalities of his friends—friends he once might have dismissed as annoyances. Especially now, as he sat at the end of a long dinner table, his arms crossed, a hilariously small birthday hat perched on his head. His friends surrounded him, laughter filling the room as they eagerly chanted for him to blow out the candles on his cake.

“Make a wish!” someone yelled, their voice full of giddy anticipation.

Bakugo sighed, glancing at the cake in front of him. It was nearly 8 PM, well past his preferred bedtime. All he wanted was to crawl into bed and get some rest. But then his gaze shifted, landing on the girl seated across the table. Her laughter was soft but infectious, her smile radiant under the warm glow of the candlelight.

With a quiet huff, he leaned forward and blew out the candles. His usual wish for solitude was replaced by something else entirely. If staying up a little longer meant more time spent basking in that smile, then maybe tomorrow’s run could wait.

“What’d you wish for?” Denki's voice shattered his brief moment of reflection, the hyper energy practically vibrating off him as he leaned in.

Bakugo scowled, turning his head. “Wished for all of you to get out of my house,” he said flatly, earning a chorus of laughter.

But he knew it wasn’t true. The sooner they left, the sooner the silence would creep back in, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

His eyes drifted to the couple on his left, their hands intertwined beneath the table. Most of his friends were paired off these days, lost in their own little worlds. It was something his mother liked to nag him about whenever she called, her voice teasing as she asked when she’d be getting grandchildren. His usual response was a dismissive wave and a grumbled, “Don’t hold your breath.”

He didn’t think about settling down. At least, that’s what he told himself. No kids, no commitments—just him and his quiet, empty house. He convinced himself he preferred it that way, the solitude offering a strange sort of comfort. Cold tamagoyaki in the morning. Silent runs through the park, passing by families he tried not to notice. Evenings spent in a bed that remained untouched and unshared.

But as the room buzzed with conversation and laughter, he felt a presence beside him. The girl from across the table had moved closer, standing just within arm’s reach, her eyes catching his.

"Y'know, you could've taken that hat off hours ago?" she teased, reaching up to play with the small pom-pom perched at the top. Her fingers brushed the fabric lightly, making the hat wobble a bit.

Bakugo’s eyes flicked to her, a scoff escaping his lips. “Wouldn't wanna upset raccoon eyes.” He rolled his eyes, trying to dismiss her with his usual sharp tone.

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You wouldn’t be upsetting her and you know it. I think you secretly like wearing it.”

Bakugo's heart skipped, but he quickly masked it with another irritated huff. "Shut up." He shifted uncomfortably, trying to act unaffected, but he couldn’t shake the feeling gnawing at him. Was it the sheer number of people in the room or the way she was so close, her presence suddenly feeling a little too intense?

YN'S POV 

Standing beside Bakugo, you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. The tiny birthday hat perched on his head was the perfect counterpoint to his usual scowl. His glare shot in your direction, but before he could retort, Mina’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Y/N!”

You turned to see her sauntering over, a mischievous grin plastered on her face and a bottle of champagne in hand. Behind her, the rest of the group crowded around the table, their energy buzzing as if they’d collectively decided to kick things up a notch.

“Yes, Mina?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her. She looked like trouble incarnate.

“Mina and I have a bet going,” Kirishima chimed in, leaning against the table with a grin that matched hers.

“A bet?” you asked, folding your arms. “About what?”

“About your quirk,” Mina said, practically bouncing on her toes. “We’ve been trying to figure it out for years.”

You arched a brow. “Oh? And what are your guesses?”

Mina gestured dramatically, as if presenting her thesis. “Well, obviously, you’ve got insane reflexes. Like, we’ve all seen you dodge things no one else could. So, I think you’ve got some kind of cat-based quirk—agility, reflexes, balance, the whole nine yards.”

“Interesting theory,” you said, nodding thoughtfully. “And Kiri?”

Kirishima straightened up, looking both smug and confident. “I think you’ve got a super powerful quirk you’re hiding. Something crazy strong, like some kind of secret weapon.”

You smiled slyly, letting the suspense linger before you shrugged. “What if I told you… you’re both wrong?”

The collective gasp from the group was immediate, and Mina’s jaw dropped. “No way!” she exclaimed, her voice rising. “What?”

“I’m actually quirkless,” you said, deadpan.

The room went silent for a beat, and then Bakugo, who had just taken a sip of water, choked and spat it out. “Shut the fuck up. No, you’re not.”

You turned to him, trying not to laugh at his incredulous expression. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“Because,” he said, gesturing vaguely in your direction, “you fight like you’ve got a damn quirk. Where the hell did you learn to move like that?”

“Yeah!” Kaminari added, eyes wide. “You’re lying, right? No way you’re quirkless.”

You shrugged again, keeping your expression neutral. “I swear. My dad taught me how to fight. No quirk involved—just a lot of training.”

Mina looked like she was about to explode. “You’re telling me you’ve been keeping up with us this whole time without a quirk?”

“Yup,” you said simply.

Kirishima let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “That’s hardcore.”

“Insane,” Kaminari muttered, still in disbelief.

Bakugo, meanwhile, was staring at you with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Tch. You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Quirkless, my ass.”

You couldn’t help but grin at his reaction. “Believe it or not, it’s the truth.”

Mina, finally recovering from her shock, raised the champagne bottle in a toast. “Well, I don’t care if you’re quirkless, a cat, or secretly an alien. You’re still a badass.”

Smiling at her, you almost felt a pang of guilt. The truth about your quirk was something you'd kept hidden for so long, not because you were ashamed of it, but because of your past. Your history with it was complicated, and you had no interest in sharing it with anyone. Still, the fact that everyone was looking at you with that genuine curiosity—no judgment, just an open question—made you feel like you were walking a fine line between honesty and self-preservation.

You weren't quirkless, but that was the story you'd told, and it had been easier to keep the secret than to explain the truth. After five years of being part of the group, you'd somehow managed to avoid ever being directly asked about your quirk, until now. They had all just assumed your fighting abilities were tied to something special, something hidden. It made sense. You weren't a hero, but your combat skills were sharp, more refined than most people you knew.

“You're really quirkless?” Bakugo's voice cut through the silence, and you met his gaze, your stomach twisting slightly.

“Yeah, is that an issue?” you replied, trying to keep the edge out of your tone.

“No, just never would've guessed,” he said, shrugging, but there was a certain hesitation in his words that made you wonder just how much he was processing.

“Tell me, what made you think I had a quirk if I never spoke about it? And why did you never ask?” you pressed, your arms crossing defensively.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “Thought it had something to do with the way you box in the ring. Never asked because it wasn't my place.”

You nodded, understanding. You had always kept your distance from talking about your abilities. “I grew up boxing. The way I fight is from years of conditioning and training, not because of some special power.”

Bakugo’s eyes sharpened, a new curiosity in them. “Did you learn to make up for the fact you didn’t have a quirk?”

The question landed, casual on the surface but sharp enough to sting. It hung in the air for a second, and you felt the weight of it sink in. There was an unspoken assumption in his words, something that made you feel small. As if your worth had to be defined by something extraordinary, something tangible.

Did you really need to make up for the fact you didn’t have a quirk? Was being quirkless inherently a flaw in his eyes? The more you thought about it, the more it irritated you. And for some reason, it felt like you couldn’t just let it go, like you had to respond.

“No, I didn’t learn to make up for anything,” you said, your voice flat but firm. “I trained because I wanted to be strong, quirk or not. Do I need some kind of special talent to be worth something?”

His face shifted for just a moment, his eyes widening slightly, caught off guard by your bluntness. The look in his eyes softened a bit, and his voice dropped lower. “That’s not what I meant,” he muttered.

“Maybe not,” you replied, your gaze steady, “but that’s how it came across.”

For a moment, there was silence between you two, and the room seemed to fade into the background. The others were still laughing, talking, oblivious to the weight of the conversation unfolding. But you could feel the tension, something unspoken now hanging between you and Bakugo.

You weren’t sure why you were so offended. You had a quirk—he didn’t need to know that—but there was something about his question that had stirred up more than just frustration. The truth was, you hadn't used your quirk in years. You had buried it, hidden it away, because it was something you feared. Something you couldn’t control. Maybe that’s why his question burned you, like hot metal on your skin.

You had spent years refining your quirk, taming it, making it something beautiful, something powerful. But that was long ago. Now, it was nothing more than a forgotten part of you, locked away in the past. The thought of ever having to face it again was terrifying.

Bakugo’s voice brought you back to the present. “M’ sorry.”

You shook your head, the bitter edge still there. “You don’t have to apologize. Sorry I got so defensive.”

“I didn't realize it was a sensitive topic.” Bakugo said, his voice lower, more earnest than usual.

You met his eyes, feeling the tension loosen, just slightly. “It’s not, just drop it please.” 

Bakugo nodded, his expression unreadable but somehow understanding, as if he had silently accepted that this conversation was over for now. But you knew, deep down, you weren't ready to share that part of yourself. Not yet.

---

The first light of morning broke through your bedroom window, its golden rays piercing straight into your eyes. Groaning, you shoved your face deeper into the pillow, cursing yourself for agreeing to meet Mina for brunch.

You loved her, of course you did. But the aftermath of last night’s indulgence—the champagne, the laughter, the conversation about your quirk—was hitting you like a freight train. Your head pounded, and your stomach twisted with every shallow breath.

Rolling over, you flung the covers off, shivering from the cold of the room, and reached for your phone. A handful of messages greeted you: one from an employee confirming that the gym had been opened for you, and another from Mina—short and simple, as always: “Heading out in thirty, see you soon!”

You groaned again. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see her—it was just that, in this moment, all you wanted was to crawl back into bed and forget the world for a few more hours. But duty called.

Slipping into your slippers, you staggered to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower might clear the fog. The warmth of the water would soothe your aching muscles, and perhaps, just perhaps, give you the strength to survive the day ahead.

You stepped into the shower, feeling the steam wrap around you, and let the hot water pour down your back. A sigh of relief escaped your lips, and you instinctively reached for the bottle of shampoo resting on the edge of the tub.

Finishing up your shower, the water droplets still clung to your skin as you stepped out, reaching for a towel to wrap around your body. You glanced at your phone—just enough time to head out without feeling rushed.

You decided to keep it simple—no need for heavy makeup or an extravagant outfit today. You were aiming for comfort with just a touch of light makeup to feel put-together.

Opening the front door to leave, you were greeted by your neighbor, Mr. Ellis, an older man who always seemed to be up early. He was walking toward his mailbox, a friendly smile on his face.

"Late night?" he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity.

Your heart skipped a beat as you processed his words. You hadn’t had a late night—not really. Sure, you'd come home a little tipsy from a few too many glasses of champagne, but you thought you'd been quiet. Surely, you didn’t look hungover?

"I’m sorry?" you asked, genuinely confused.

Mr. Ellis gave a half-apology, his voice growing a little sheepish. "I just figured… I saw someone leaving your house last night. I thought it might’ve been your boyfriend.”

What? You blinked, your stomach tightening.

"I’m not sure I understand?"

"Oh, I’m probably mistaken. I thought I saw a man leaving your porch around midnight."

Your mind raced, trying to piece things together. “No… I was alone last night.”

Mr. Ellis hesitated, his brow furrowing in mild confusion. "Oh. Well, maybe I’m just losing my mind. My apologies, dear." He smiled awkwardly and turned to walk away.

You forced a small smile, though something about the conversation made your skin crawl. "No worries. Have a good day."

Shaking off the unsettling exchange, you slid into your car and drove off. You couldn't help but wonder: Who could he have seen? Maybe it was someone at the wrong house. Or maybe… your thoughts trailed off. I really need to install security cameras.

The quaint little café in downtown was your next stop, its welcoming charm a brief reprieve from the nagging unease. As you entered, your eyes immediately found Mina sitting at a small table outside, her pink hair catching the sunlight as she sipped on her coffee.

"Sorry I'm late," you said, sliding into the seat across from her.

"No worries," she replied, a grin on her face. "I’m just glad you’re here. I’ve been meaning to apologize for bringing up your quirk last night."

You waved off her apology, "It surprised me, but it’s okay. I guess I’ve just never thought to mention it."

Mina bit her lip, looking concerned. “Kiri said he overheard you and Bakugo talking, and Bakugo seemed… off. He looked kinda bummed after you left.”

Your expression softened as you reflected on what had happened. “He probably just felt bad. He asked if I started boxing because I don’t have a quirk. It didn’t feel malicious.”

Mina looked at you, and frowned. “But I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way. Maybe you should talk to him.”

Debating on sending a quick text to Bakugo asking if you could meet later, you leaned back in your chair, trying to relax. "Do you want to hear something weird?"

Mina raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Obviously.”

You told her about the strange conversation with Mr. Ellis, how he’d mentioned seeing someone leave your porch late last night. Mina’s expression shifted, concern flashing across her face.

“You really should get security cameras,” she said, her voice low. "There’s been an increase in home invasions recently, and there’s something... off about them."

"Off how?" you asked, your heart racing slightly.

“They’re targeting women. And… well, it’s worse than you think. There have been deaths.”

Your breath hitched. “Deaths?”

Mina nodded, her eyes serious. “It’s strange. You should definitely get cameras. I can’t stress that enough.” 

“I’ll get them,” you said, voice steady despite the rising anxiety. “But I might need help setting them up.”

“I know the perfect person,” Mina said with a smirk.

---

And that’s how Bakugo found himself in your kitchen a few days later, surrounded by a chaotic mess of wires, gadgets, and tools, working to install security cameras in your home. He’d practically busted down your door this morning after Mina had called him to tell him about the strange encounter with your neighbor—the man who had claimed to see someone on your porch. Bakugo didn’t waste any time rushing over, his usual brash urgency kicking in when it came to protecting his friends. 

You were trying to keep yourself busy, attempting to prepare lunch despite the unease that had settled in your chest. “Do you want rice or noodles?” you asked, glancing back at him as you moved around the kitchen.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bakugo grunted, not even looking up from the tangled mess of wires and blinking lights sprawled out across the table. 

“Bakugo.” You said his name again, this time with a touch more authority in your voice.

He sighed, clearly annoyed by the interruption, but eventually paused. He raised his eyes to meet yours, his usual fiery expression softening just a little, though not enough to fully mask the tension that clung to him.

“What?” His tone was flat, but there was an underlying layer of exhaustion to it.

“Eat something first,” you insisted, your voice gentle but firm. “Nothing’s going to happen in the next ten minutes. Just take a break.”

He huffed, a noncommittal sound escaping him, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he turned his attention back to the mess of wires in front of him, frowning at the chaos. His hands worked methodically, expertly navigating through the knots of cables, fingers pulling and pushing with practiced ease. 

Turning away, you moved to the pantry to grab the noodles. Your fingers brushed over the shelf, reaching for the familiar cardboard box, but before you could touch it, something made you freeze. The air seemed to shift, and your stomach churned with a growing sense of unease.

The box of noodles—your noodles—began to lift off the shelf, as if held by an invisible force. It hovered, suspended in mid-air for a moment, its edges vibrating ever so slightly. You barely had time to process what was happening before the box shot across the pantry with a violent crash, slamming into the wall with a deafening thud.

Your breath hitched, and the air seemed to crackle with the familiar charge of energy running through your fingertips. It was unmistakable. Your quirk. But it felt wrong. It felt... uncontrollable.

A sharp tingling sensation burned through your hands, climbing up your arms, and before you could even process it, your vision blurred, the edges of the world spinning like a dizzying carousel. Your body went slack, and the sudden rush of dizziness made everything tilt sideways. Your knees buckled beneath you, and you felt yourself plummet toward the counter.

The granite met you with an unforgiving crash, a sickening thud ringing through your skull as the world around you dissolved into darkness.

When you woke up, the world felt unsteady. The ringing in your ears made it hard to focus, but you were aware of one thing—the sharp pain in your forehead. Your head throbbed, heavy and painful, as if you had been hit by a truck.

The first thing your eyes focused on was Bakugo. His face was closer to yours than you expected, his usual brash demeanor now softened by a layer of concern. His eyes, typically so intense, were shadowed with anxiety as they scanned your face. There was a rag in his hand, a deep red stain spreading across the cloth, and you immediately recognized it for what it was—your blood.

"Don’t touch it," he ordered firmly, his voice laced with urgency.

You tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness hit you like a freight train, and your hand instinctively reached for your head.

"Am I bleeding?" you whispered, your throat dry, barely able to make the words.

His eyes darkened, but his tone remained blunt, as always. "Yeah, you’re bleeding. Just... don’t touch it."

You tried to move, to get up on your own, but the world around you spun out of control. Your body felt heavy, your legs uncooperative, and the nausea that hit you made everything feel worse. Bakugo didn’t wait for you to fight him. With surprising gentleness for someone so used to fighting, he grabbed your wrists, stopping you from moving, his grip firm but not painful.

"Stop fighting me," he snapped, his voice softer than you were used to hearing, but still tinged with frustration. "You’re not going anywhere."

A part of you wanted to argue, to push him away, but your body didn’t listen. You winced, feeling the pounding in your head get worse with each passing second. Everything felt wrong—the light, the sounds, the overwhelming sense of dizziness that clouded your senses.

“Let me clean you up,” Bakugo muttered, his voice carrying the usual hardness.

You opened your mouth to protest, but it was useless. You didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore. With a defeated sigh, you let your head sink back into the kitchen cabinet, giving in to the discomfort. Bakugo was right. You needed help, and you were too exhausted to care about being stubborn.

Bakugo’s eyes softened as he surveyed the damage. For a moment, he stood there, his hands flexing at his sides as if unsure how to approach you. He was usually all about action, charging in without hesitation, but here, in your kitchen, in the quiet aftermath of your fainting spell, he seemed almost uncertain.

His lips pressed into a tight line before he moved, grabbing antiseptic and gauze from the bag he'd brought in. The movements were mechanical, but there was a quiet, careful precision to them. His eyes never left your forehead as he gently lifted your hand away, his fingers brushing against your skin, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a warmth radiating from him.

“Hold still,” he ordered quietly, his usual bluntness mixed with an undertone of care. His touch was gentle, though, as he dabbed at the cut with the rag, cleaning up the blood that had begun to dry. You flinched when the antiseptic stung, but Bakugo’s face remained impassive, focused solely on his task.

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized how close he was. His breath, soft and steady, brushed against your face as he leaned in, his presence overwhelming in a way that made your chest tighten. The faint scent of his cologne—spicy and comforting—lingered in the air, mixing with the antiseptic smell of the first-aid supplies.

As he worked, his fingers grazed your skin once more, sending an unexpected jolt through you. You tried not to react, but the sensation made your breath hitch, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his hands were so sure, so steady, as they worked to fix you.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle, softer than usual. His eyes flickered over your face, studying you, trying to read any sign of pain.

You winced as the pain in your head flared. "Yeah," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It hurts a lot."

His gaze softened just a fraction, but he said nothing for a moment. Instead, he continued his work, carefully placing a fresh piece of gauze on the wound before securing it with a bandage.

His movements were quick but deliberate, as though he was trying to take control of the situation, to make things right. The focus in his eyes was intense, even more so than when he was fighting.

When he finished, he stood back and examined the bandage, his eyes narrowing slightly as if scrutinizing his own handiwork. “Better?” he asked, though his voice had lost some of its usual edge. It was softer, quieter—like he genuinely cared.

You nodded slowly, unable to fully trust yourself to speak without your voice betraying you. The pain was still there, but it had dulled, and you could think more clearly now. Your gaze met his, and for a brief second, there was a strange quiet between you two, a stillness that wasn’t uncomfortable, but oddly intimate.

Bakugo cleared his throat, pulling away from you like he wasn’t sure what to do next. “C’mon. Let’s get you off the floor,” he said, his voice gruff again.

You tried to stand on your own, but the dizziness came back, and you reached for him without thinking. Before you knew it, Bakugo’s strong arms were around you, lifting you effortlessly. He wrapped one arm under your back and the other beneath your knees, pulling you against his chest without hesitation. You were too tired, too dizzy to argue, so you allowed yourself to melt into his hold.

His body was warm, his muscles solid beneath you, and you could feel the strength in his arms as he effortlessly carried you toward the couch. You couldn’t help but notice the way his movements were so careful, like he didn’t want to hurt you, like he was trying to protect you without saying it. 

As he gently laid you down on the couch, you felt the coolness of the cushions beneath your head, but the warmth of Bakugo’s presence lingered.

“Drink this,” he said, as he grabbed a glass of water from the coffee table. His hand lingered over yours, his fingers brushing yours as he withdrew, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual.

You reached for the water, but the weight of exhaustion was too much. Your eyelids fluttered, and the world around you began to blur again.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your voice small and filled with guilt. "For the other night… I didn’t mean to snap at you. I didn’t want to make you feel bad… and now you’re doing all this for me.”

Bakugo’s gaze softened, and for a moment, his guard seemed to drop. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "Don't gotta apologize.”

Before you could say anything else, your vision started to swim, and the weight of exhaustion pulled you under. The last thing you felt was Bakugo’s steady presence at your side, the quiet comfort of him watching over you as you drifted off to sleep.

While you slept, Bakugo had been working late into the afternoon, finishing the installation of the security cameras around your home. He took short breaks, his sharp gaze flicking over to you each time, making sure you were still there, still breathing. Not that he'd ever admit it—he couldn’t help the way the sound of your soft, steady snoring had a calming effect on him. The rhythm of it was comforting, grounding him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He had just stepped into the kitchen when everything went wrong. His eyes caught you standing in front of the pantry, staring down at the floor with confusion. The box of noodles was scattered across the tiles as if it had fallen from the shelf, but there was no reason for you to be standing there, not like this. Before he could say anything, you crumpled to the floor, your body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. His heart slammed into his chest, and for a split second, he froze, unable to react in time.

He rushed to you in a panic, his hands shaking as he knelt beside you. Blood was dripping from the side of your head, and what terrified him most was the way your body began to convulse. The violent shaking of your frame made it look like you were fighting against something he couldn’t see. It terrified him more than he was willing to admit.

The helplessness he felt in that moment gnawed at him. Why hadn’t he been faster? Why couldn’t he do something to stop this?

But when you finally stirred, when your eyes flickered open and met his, a wave of relief crashed over him. The storm of anxiety that had gripped his chest finally loosened. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his racing pulse, but he didn’t say anything. He knew better than to bring up what had happened while you were unconscious—he didn’t want to scare you more than you probably already were.

Bakugo stayed with you until you seemed steady, though every part of him wanted to keep you close, to make sure you were safe. He couldn’t, though; he had patrol to get to. With a low sigh, he grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, along with some ibuprofen, and placed them beside you on the couch. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he’d like to admit, a flicker of something soft behind his usual hard expression.

Before he left, he scribbled a quick note, the words clipped, but the care in them was unmistakable: Call me the minute you wake up.

He paused, pen hovering above the paper, before adding one more line, his handwriting sharper than before: I’m not always gonna be around, so don't go falling again. 

He folded the note neatly and set it by the ice pack. With a final glance toward you, he slipped out the door, leaving the apartment quietly. His thoughts were clouded with worry as he set off on patrol, the image of you collapsing still haunting his mind. No matter how many times he faced danger, nothing had ever made him feel the way you did.

[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.

[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. 

[strawberrycherriesncream]

Blackmore light character study but not- idk what the fuck this is to be called but it’s Blackmore and he’s in love with a cowboy and a suicidal gunslinger

Soooo

[1,963 words] Nothing bad happens besides a little implied fire damage

Also, ‘I Will Wait’ by Mumford & Sons, is what I’ve been listening to lately and it’s kinda named after it.

——————————————————————————

The days had grown tedious in the passing weeks. Redundant while serving as his employer’s silent hand that danced across the rain like he was a weightless feather amongst the darkened clouds. Each day was counted in their passing. Counted until they were harder to keep track of as months so he kept counting the days even as it stormed hard enough to wash out that old bridge on the other side of town and when the sun gazed down on the Earth with an intensity so bright it felt like it would melt your skin through the sweat.

Blackmore’s loyal. He always is. But that loyalty doesn’t stop his mind from drifting to a cowboy dressed in unique animal hide he could only stand when he wore it and no one else. No one else could ever hope to wear the dead and tanned skin like he does. Then his mind would skip like how he played and toyed with the rain he manipulated to his want and will to the gunslinger he only saw occasionally, if not rarer than the cowboy himself, despite being employed by the same man.

That house waiting in the orchard stared back. Stagnant and unmoving, forever stuck fumbling back through time, even as its owner sat out on the front porch carefully cleaning and oiling a 1874 Colt like a mother wiping the blood clean from her deceased child’s mouth. The handgun was always treated with the respect of a man devoted, a priest tending to the alter, like it would break the fragile sense of self if it became rusty and unusable. No longer able to stand as an unwavering ally in a death match meant to prove a sickly child wrong.

Another call drew Blackmore back to himself. It wasn’t the ringing of a telephone, but of Mike O. staring at him in disappointment all the while uttering where in this world his mind had drifted off to. Another apology slipped from his lips. The tenth of the night and they’ve only been present at this event for two hours and it’s supposed to last well into the night. Each time became more halfhearted than the last despite his utter devotion.

If Mr. Valentine noticed his sullen and distant behavior, he kept it close to his chest and did not comment. Blackmore would have died in embarrassment if he tried.

Instead, the night wore on and his mind never once tired of its repetitive slips. Drifting from one thought to the next. Some idle, and some fast. Never lingering on anything for too long before his head was filled with something else.

The inability to concentrate was driving him crazy but it’s been one hundred and twenty-seven days since he’s seen them, and it aches so much hurts to be so utterly devoted to three men and torn between his loyalty to protecting Mr. Valentine and never straying too far from his side less he need an able gun in a time of need. Comparing the three of them wasn’t fair but he’s long since learned life has never, and will never, be fair to anyone. Only Mr. Valentine can change that and that’s why he chooses to be at his beck and call.

Because why wouldn’t he want a world where misfortune is driven away? Why wouldn’t anyone want that? All the heartache and pain it would save was worth more than gold and silver. There was no greater pain than losing someone you loved.

The fire in Chicago raged day and night for almost forty-eight hours straight until it finally burned itself out in the early morning hours. Devastating families, businesses and livelihoods for thousands of people.

Fire was supposed to be a source of comfort and warmth. A light to guide you through the darkness and to warm your food. But a tamed beast is still a beast, only gentle until it’s given no more reason to be and snaps its jaws to bite you back. It became a raging beast that swallowed the city for everything that it was worth. Killing over three hundred people and scorching the ones that got stuck inside from the intensity of the heat and the awful stench of billowing smoke. It was easy to mistake the sounds of the flesh and bones of a human body popping as the sound of a crackling fire.

The sound and warmth of a fireplace had never felt the same since. Sometimes when he gazed into the flickering abyss that burned his eyes dry if Tim felt the same about his comrades he had no choice but to leave in the Devil’s Palm. The constant shifting sands likely ensured the corpses of both human and animal were buried despite their inability to return home. Hopefully they were at peace and no longer lost wandering a hellscape.

About halfway through the event, it started to downpour. Drenching the land where the earth begged to be quenched. Blackmore would always appreciate the rain for as long as he lived. It doused the Chicago Fire along with his childish nativity his ability to manipulate rain was anything other than to stop it from falling. He would have killed everyone, he did kill everyone, if he had tried, and he did. He tried so hard but nothing was working—

The walk back home was quiet and peaceful as thunder crackled along the sky, illuminating the clouds as thunder rolled ahead of it like an omen. Mr. Valentine hadn’t spoken a word about his performance when he dismissed him for the remainder of the night. With him you could never be too sure if you were in trouble with him or not unless he told you. Mr. Valentine kept his face impassive in a way that was either a natural one from birth or a mask he painted and put up to hide his true thoughts from the rest of the political world.

Either way, only his wife seemed to be able to read him. And she did, like he was a book written by an excitable child that never learned how to properly write.

He tried not to be jealous of her clear devotion and love for her husband. Tried not to imagine someone cared enough about him that they were always thinking of him and knew how he was feeling just from a glance. But they were a married couple, fundamentally different from who he desired. He’d never bring the men he called lovers home to anyone but himself. For there was no one left alive to meet, and even if there was, he’d never dare.

Time always appeared to pass oddly when it rained. Perhaps it was how at ease he felt walking down the street with the gentle pattering of rainwater splattering on the ground and atop his umbrella. The sound of running water rushing through rains reminded him of the river Tim once took them to. He had even picked them wildflowers before dragging them along with a grin that made his eyes crinkle and the age to show in his crows feet.

It’s no later than three in the morning by the time he arrived to his apartment. The metal stairs leading up to his front door were slick with water, a hazard he’s seen both Tim and Ringo slip on and slam their knees into the grating or simply trip face first and smack their chin into the stairs higher above the one they slipped on. Afterwards, it had been funny, but not in the moment.

The lock clicked open easily underneath the stress of a prodding key and he slipped inside without a word and dripped water all over the hardwood floor. The doormat was practically useless as the door was shut and locked once again. He got his outerwear off eventually. The water made his poncho heavy despite letting liquid roll off its surface like a repellent.

Below the floor, he can hear the old, wooden piano playing something he can’t name in the bar he lives above. The notes are perfect if slurred in some places from a night of one too many drinks. He’s ninety-nine percent positive the owners are making whiskey in the basement, but as long as they don’t blow anything up, he really doesn’t care. He’s pretty sure it’s not the son running it anyways like the two old ladies try convincing everyone when they ask why they haven’t seen the young man around and instead excuse his absence with one thing or another.

The two women are sweet regardless. Probably well into their late sixties and just kind people in general, bless their hearts. Interestingly enough, they wear the same shade of red lipstick he’s seen on Mrs. Valentine.

Lightning cracked in the sky, a whip in disguise its lover screamed behind it. Illuminating the vase of flowers he very much didn’t leave out on the table. The tightening in his chest at the realization someone had been inside his home without him present itched something fierce as his hand hovered over his gun. Awaiting for someone lying in the darkness that was only brightened by occasional flashes.

Blackmore waited, a hand on the doorknob, prepared to throw himself out into the mercy of the clouds if necessary. All the urgency drained out of him at the sound of an excited meow calling out for him and scarcely a second later was followed by a weight throwing herself against his calf in all the display of affection she could muster.

Curiously, he named her, Midnight, because her fur was as black as the night sky and her green eyes shown like stars. She was a very timid and shy girl that would hide from everyone but him. She was simply just like that. Her personality just a unique as a humans despite his parents telling them animals have no souls and don’t feel a thing. But he’s seen different, been proven time and time again that animals have feelings of their own.

Midnight meowed again, more persistent and loud and he knew no one was in his home. Scooping her up, she grunted in protest but purred like a steam train nonetheless. He loved this cat.

Gliding over towards the table, he set her down to examine the vase. Her tail curled up against his cheek and over his nose, a constant back and forth as she meowed and bumped her entire weight into his arm with her head. Absently stroking down her back, his fingers brushed along the soft petals of the flowers with the other.

Blackmore smiled despite himself. That jealousy from earlier washing away to be replaced by a warmth that made him feel all warm and floaty. How beautiful was it to be on someone else’s mind? Enough so that they went out of their way when they didn’t have to. Nothing made him feel more special, and made him feel like his utter devotion was shared.

Nestled beside the vase sat a cloth bag. Opening it revealed the pears grown in the orchard blanketing a home away from home he misses. So they were both in here while he was away.

Glancing around, nothing else looked out of place. They must’ve not lingered for long. Naturally as his nature as an assassin, he’s curious what called them into town. What business they have. Tim’s a bounty hunter that is a regular for the sheriffs and popular throughout the nation for it. Ringo could’ve been called in by Mr. Valentine, strange as it may be as he normally lets the gunslinger stay at home waiting for someone to wander into his home.

He’d track them down in the morning. Once the rain calms down.

[thelanternsglow]

Carols, Chaos and pagan roots.

Even Christmas Carols Have Pagan Roots

Think Christmas carols are all about nativity scenes, snowy landscapes, and goodwill to all? Well, here’s a twist for you: those festive tunes you hum every December have their roots firmly planted in pagan traditions. Yes, even your beloved “Deck the Halls” has a history that’s more wild midwinter festival than church choir.

Long before carols were about angels and silent nights, they were part of ancient celebrations to mark the Winter Solstice. People sang to trees, danced to welcome the sun, and made a racket to banish the dark and invite brighter days ahead. Over time, the church stepped in, tidied them up, and gave them a Christian makeover—but the spirit of those older, wilder rituals still lingers.

So, as you sing along this season, remember—you’re keeping alive a tradition of light, laughter, and maybe just a bit of mischief that’s been going strong for centuries. Let’s unravel the pagan magic hiding in the heart of your favourite Christmas songs.

The Pagan Roots of Christmas Carols

When you think about Christmas carols, it’s easy to imagine warm, cozy evenings with family, perhaps a mug of mulled wine in hand, and cheerful songs filling the air. But did you know that many of these familiar tunes and traditions trace their roots back to ancient pagan midwinter festivals? Long before Christmas became the celebration we know today, people were singing and dancing their way through the darkest nights of the year, honouring the cycles of nature and the turning of the seasons.

The word “carol” itself comes from the Old French “caroler,” which means “to dance in a circle.” Originally, carols weren’t tied to any particular religion but were part of midwinter celebrations that brought communities together to feast, make merry, and sing songs of hope and light. These early carols were less about the birth of Christ and more about marking the Winter Solstice, celebrating survival, and calling back the sun. Over time, Christianity absorbed and adapted these traditions, giving us the carols we know today.

Let’s explore a few well-known carols that carry echoes of their pagan past.

Deck the Halls – A Nod to Ancient Evergreens

“Deck the Halls” is one of the most recognisably festive carols, but its origins are unmistakably pagan. The melody comes from the 16th-century Welsh song “Nos Galan,” which wasn’t about Christmas at all but celebrated the New Year. It was a time for feasting, drinking, and preparing for brighter days ahead.

The lyrics, “Deck the halls with boughs of holly,” point directly to pagan Solstice traditions, where evergreens like holly, ivy, and pine were brought indoors as symbols of life and resilience during the harsh winter months. These plants were believed to house protective spirits, and decorating with them invited good fortune while warding off negative energies.

Even the candlelight mentioned in carols like this ties back to the ancient practice of celebrating the return of the sun after the Solstice. The whole song, in its original form, was less about Christmas and more about honouring the turning of the year and finding joy in the heart of winter.

The Holly and the Ivy – Balancing Nature

“The Holly and the Ivy” feels almost mystical with its repetitive, chant-like melody, and there’s good reason for that. In pagan traditions, holly and ivy represented the natural balance of life—holly symbolised masculinity and the Holly King, who ruled the waning half of the year, while ivy represented femininity and the nurturing forces of nature.

This balance of male and female energies, light and dark, was central to pagan beliefs, especially during midwinter, when communities looked forward to the rebirth of the sun. Christianity later reworked these ideas into the carol we know, linking holly’s sharp leaves to Christ’s crown of thorns and its red berries to his blood.

Still, the original reverence for these plants as symbols of survival and hope remains at the heart of the song, reminding us of the sacred connection to the natural world that midwinter has always celebrated.

Good King Wenceslas – Charity with Pagan Undertones

“Good King Wenceslas” might seem like a straightforward Christian carol, celebrating kindness and charity, but it carries echoes of older traditions too. The story, written in the 19th century, tells of Wenceslas, a 10th-century Bohemian king, braving the snow to deliver food and firewood to a poor peasant on St. Stephen’s Day (December 26th).

While the tale promotes Christian values, it reflects pagan midwinter practices of sharing resources to ensure communal survival during the harshest months. In pre-Christian Europe, leaders were often seen as protectors of their people and the land, responsible for everyone’s well-being, just as Wenceslas is portrayed.

The vivid imagery of his footprints warming the snow for his servant to follow also hints at older myths of leaders or deities guiding their people through dark times, much like the return of the sun after Solstice.

Even the timing—St. Stephen’s Day—has pagan roots, as midwinter festivals often included feasts and rituals focused on giving thanks and invoking blessings for the year ahead.

Here We Come A-Wassailing – Singing for the Land

“Here We Come A-Wassailing” ties directly to ancient midwinter traditions. The word “wassail” comes from the Old English “waes hael,” meaning “be well” or “be in good health.” Groups of wassailers would go door-to-door singing and offering good wishes in exchange for food and drink—essentially the original version of carolling.

But wassailing wasn’t just about people. In many regions, it involved singing to apple trees in orchards, pouring cider around their roots, and making noise to ward off evil spirits. These rituals were meant to ensure a good harvest in the coming year, blending human celebration with a reverence for nature’s cycles.

Over time, this tradition evolved into the communal carol-singing we know today, but the echoes of these older, earth-focused practices remain in the spirit of the songs.

O Tannenbaum – Reverence for the Sacred Tree

While more commonly associated with Germany, “O Tannenbaum” reflects a practice that predates Christianity. In pagan traditions, trees were seen as sacred, often believed to house spirits or even gods. Bringing an evergreen tree into the home during midwinter symbolised life, hope, and renewal, as these trees stayed green even in the harshest weather.

Singing to or about trees was part of many midwinter rituals, and as Christianity spread, these customs were adapted into nativity celebrations. “O Tannenbaum” still carries that ancient reverence for the natural world, reminding us of humanity’s enduring connection to nature.

A Blend of Old and New

Even though Christmas carols are now tied to nativity scenes and Christian ideals, their roots tell a richer story. These songs evolved from ancient midwinter celebrations that honoured nature, survival, and the turning of the seasons. Carols like “Deck the Halls,” “The Holly and the Ivy,” “Good King Wenceslas,” and “Here We Come A-Wassailing” remind us that while the lyrics may have changed, the heart of these songs remains the same: a celebration of life, community, and hope in the darkest nights of the year.

So, next time you sing a carol, remember that you’re not just spreading festive cheer—you’re keeping alive ancient traditions that have been sung for centuries, marking the enduring connection between humanity and the cycles of the natural world.

So, there you have it—your beloved Christmas carols aren’t just cheerful tunes for the season; they’re echoes of ancient traditions that celebrated survival, community, and the triumph of light over darkness. Whether you’re singing to a tree, decking the halls with holly, or wassailing your way through the neighbourhood, you’re tapping into rituals that have been reimagined but never truly lost. Next time you hum along to a carol, take a moment to appreciate the wild, untamed history behind the melody—it’s a legacy of joy, resilience, and a little bit of pagan magic wrapped up in a festive bow.

Follow the Lantern’s

Glow

[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.

•••••••••