#and then i remembered that he had other injuries

[mandarinmoons]

hi, could you do something where yn has a dog, is like a big dog person, how would spencer react and adapt to it.

I read this request a bit too literally and wrote it as reader having a big dog 😂 I hope it works x

“Daisy!”

The moment Spencer sat down on the couch, your big cuddle bug of a German Shepherd made a point that her spot was in Spencer’s lap. At first she tried to fully sit on the poor man’s lap, but sensing Spencer wiggle under her weight, she stood up and instead rested her head on the appointed resting spot, a much comfortable position for the both of them.

“Are you both comfy?”

Peeking out from the kitchen door, your heart melted at the sight instantly. Spencer rested his hand on Daisy’s head while his other hand petted over her back gently, the gentle actions causing the dog to wag her tail lightly.

“We seem to be now, yeah.”

Seeing your boyfriend and dog bond was a true sight to see. You still remember when Spencer first came over and Daisy nearly toppled him over when doing her duties and sniffing him over. When nothing bad was detected, she nudged his hand, signaling she wanted pets and Spencer hesitatingly scratched Daisy’s head and the dog sat down to enjoy the blissful experience.

It took some time for Spencer to get used to a dog of Daisy’s size. She was big, sure, but she was a true sweetheart, however she tended to forget her size at times, she believed that she was the same size as a Yorkshire Terrier, but that couldn’t be farther from reality.

The first time Spencer gave her a treat, she bit his hand in the process, making Spencer yelp in pain and for the next 2 weeks he had bite marks on his hand. When hearing Spencer wince at the pain, Daisy immediately pulled back and whined and when you were done tending to Spencer’s now marked hand, Daisy carefully licked over the injury, her way of saying she was sorry. Spencer wouldn’t have usually tried to give a dog a treat again after such an experience, but Daisy made sure to be more careful after the experience and Spencer became the main treat provider from then on.

After tending to everything in the kitchen, you made your way to sit down with your loves, trying your best to sit as close to Spencer as you could without having Daisy push you away, as whenever Spencer was over she made sure his attention was solely on her. If given enough tummy rubs however, she let you be as close as you wanted to.

Sitting next to Spencer, your hand went over to Daisy's tummy and softly petted the area, her leg lightly kicking in the process.

“I just rubbed her stomach.”

“I know but you know how dogs are, they can never get enough of them.”

“I’ll say. I only rubbed her stomach for two minutes and it’s like I’m the love of her life.”

Chuckling, you kissed Spencer’s cheek as your hand caressed Daisy’s head, “It’s because you are, hun.”

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[wordsarelife]

—i can fix him (no really i can)

pairing: jess mariano x fem!doose!reader

summary: jess got into another fight and you're about to clean his wounds, but he has other plans, tired of always answering your questions

warnings: kissing, making out, sexual remarks, allusions to sex

note: this was so fun to write and my first jess mariano fic, so please be gentle guys!!

“you never fail to amaze me, jess mariano“ you huffed, arms crossed as your eyes fell on the boy sitting on the curb in front of the supermarket. shadows were casted over his cheeks and he looked less than happy to see you.

"it isn't what it looks like" he muttered, trying to avert his gaze, although that was kind of hard, considering the outfit you were wearing.

your brushed your skirt to the side, before you sat down beside him. "well, it looks like you got beaten up"

"you should see the other guy" jess chuckled.

you sighed, not amused by the joke, as you softly touched his cheek.

"ow!" jess pulled his head back, trying to free it from your hands, but you were relentless, turning his chin in all possible directions to get a good look at his injuries.

"we're gonna have to clean them if you don't want them to get infected"

"i don't care about that" jess shrugged and took out a cigarette from a pocket of his jacket.

"yeah, i know tough guy". you quickly snatched the cigarette from his mouth before he was able to light it. "but i do"

"what the fuck, y/n?" jess exclaimed annoyed.

you left his words unanswered as you stood up from the cold concrete and held a hand in his direction to help him up. "come on, now. we're not dating, because i care so little about you, are we?"

jess rolled his eyes, before he followed you, of course ignoring your helping hand in the process.

you laughed at his tough act as he sent you a dark look, not finding anything about this remotely funny. he knew that this was one of your usual tactics to get him to talk. you would act understanding and worried about his injuries before he would be caught in a room alone with you, with no way to escape, having to explain every little detail about the fight.

well, tonight he decided, you were going to be caught in a room with him.

a smug smile slipped onto jess' features as he followed you up the stairs. you turned around and pushed a finger against your mouth, before you took out your keys and unlocked the door.

"grandpa is sleeping" you muttered, opening the door wide enough for jess to walk through, but not wide enough to reach the creaking sound.

jess and you had met the year before at the supermarket, where you had watched him buy a ridiculous amount of industrial glue, while he was busy watching rory and dean talk.

you had guessed that he had been doing that to bother them and while rory was a friend of yours, you had to admit that it had been a little funny.

unbeknownst to you, jess had forgotten everything about rory, once his eyes fell on you behind the counter.

"are you working on the worlds longest scrapbook or are you just very passionate about glue?"

"huh?" jess had been so stunned by what you said that he lost his usual cool demeanor and found himself at a temporary loss for words. he couldn't remember a situation in which he had not been able to reply with a witty joke.

"want me to repeat that?" you asked amused as you pulled the last bottle of glue over the scanner.

"no-uh" he shook his head "i'm jess, luke's nephew"

"oh" you smiled, a sign of recognition in your eyes "that's you!"

"and you are?" he held the ten dollar note in your direction.

you took the money, taking out his change in the process. "i'm y/n, taylor doose's—"

you were interrupted when the aforementioned man stepped next to you, a frown on his face at the sight of jess. "i'm her grandfather" he finished for you. "and you're gonna stay far away from her, you hear me, mariano?" he pressed.

"grandpa!" you scolded and jess was surprised at the sudden shame that entered taylor doose's face. it seemed like he really gave a damn about your opinion, unlike he did with anyone else in this town.

"well, i'm gonna check on miss patty and her plums" taylor excused quickly and walked away, before you could question him further.

"please don't mind him" you told jess, amusement evident on your lips "i just got back and he's been a little on edge without me here"

"where have you been?" jess asked, intrigued to hear more about the mysterious and pretty girl in front of him.

"my dad's" you replied with an uneasy smile. he recognized the expression on your face, had he always worn it himself when someone had asked him about his parents.

he decided not to stir the pot any more. "well, i'll see you around, doose" jess said, took his glue and left you standing with only a faint goodbye from your lips.

jess' hands went to squeeze your waist, as you closed the door.

you were luckily able to suppress any sound at the sudden touch and you could jess' smirk in your neck.

"very funny, mariano" you whispered, freeing yourself from his grip and turning around to let him see the annoyed expression on your face.

his eyes glistened with happiness in the dark of the hallway, before his hand went behind your back, bringing you closer to him. "why don't we go to your room?" he whispered.

you had to admit that for a short, misguided, second the sweetness of his words was not far away from undermining you.

you shook your head, snapping out of whatever had gone through your head at his tempting suggestion. "nice try" you smiled sarcastically and jess sighed, letting go of you and following behind you to the bathroom.

jess was no stranger to your rejection, especially when your grandfather was home, but he was not finished trying to (respectfully) lead you into temptation.

"there are two options how we can do this" you spoke, your voice in a normal volume as soon as jess had closed the door.

before you could explain his options, he interrupted you, the smirk now basically right in your face when you turned up the light and looked at him. "want me to lock the door?"

"no" you dragged. "you know why? because we are not doing anything forbidden"

"forbidden, huh?" jess smiled "kinda like the sound of that"

"this is not a rom-com"

"oh no" jess shook his head, wearing a faked stoic expression "of course not. just two people doing non-forbidden things in the bathroom" he shrugged.

"it sounds wrong when you say it like that"

"what does it sound like?" he stepped closer to you, ready to touch your lips with his, as his eyes fell close, but you were quicker, swerving around him, before he was able to even touch you.

"nah-ah!" you scolded.

"what?" jess turned around, now crossing his arms like you had done earlier "i'm just trying to kiss my girlfriend"

"not happening" you shrugged. "so, as i was trying to tell you before: you have two options: first, the easy one: let me fix your face and we're done in no time"

"or?" he furrowed his brows, leaning against the wall.

"or" you repeated "the hard one" jess' smile got impossibly bigger and you rolled your eyes "ew, not like you think"

"fine" he sighed. "the easy one i guess, no need to tell me about your torture method"

"it's not a torture method, but thanks for thinking so poorly of me" you muttered, before you opened the drawer under the sink, taking out the first aid kink.

you climbed on top of the counter and motioned for jess to come closer and stand in between your legs.

"well, this is kind of suggestive, don't you think?" he pinched your waist. you just shook your head, taking his hand and laying it on top of your knee instead.

"keep your hands there, mister" you directed, before you grabbed a wet cotton pad and pushed up his chin, so you could gently take the unnecessary blood off his face. "for your own good, i hope that the other started throwing punches"

"of course" jess nodded, overly dutiful, before he hissed in pain as the cotton pad touched one of the scars on his nose.

"you should've thought about that before you got into an unnecessary fight, you know?" you commented, switching out the pad, before you continued cleaning the other side of his face.

"yeah, yeah" he averted his eyes, his gaze falling onto the hem of your skirt, his fingers were laying on top of. he softly raised the fabric, pushing his hands to rest on your bare thigh.

"jess" you sighed in a warning tone.

"what? it's itchy"

"it isn't" you rolled your eyes, but didn't discuss the topic further as you threw away the pad.

you tried reaching behind you to grab one of the plasters from the first aid kit, but jess was quicker, snatching the box away from you and holding it behind his back with one hand.

"wha—"

"give me a kiss first" he prompted, smirking.

"jess" you whined, not amused at his antics.

"just one kiss, come on babe"

you reluctantly nodded. jess stepped closer, taking your chin into his hand and pulling your face closer so your lips could meet his.

his lips were warm and firm against yours, his teasing grin fading as the kiss deepened. what was meant to be a quick peck quickly turned into something more. his hand, which had been holding the first aid kit out of reach, dropped it to the floor as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

you could feel the intensity growing between you two, the playful resistance dissolving into a surge of unexpected desire.

jess' other hand moved to the small of your back, guiding you even closer as the kiss became more urgent, more consuming.

when you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, he looked at you with a glint in his eye. "was that so hard?" he teased, his voice a little huskier than before.

"oh, shut up" you muttered, flustered and lips swollen as a cause of the intensity of the kiss. you gently shoved his face back. "now pick up the first aid kit you dropped"

"yes, ma'am"

you shook your head, laughing to yourself as you watched him reach for the box on the ground behind him. it had clattered open, revealing it's contents to the ground beneath it.

he threw everything back in the box before he picked it up and came back to the counter to stand in front of you.

you took a few plasters, opening them up to stick them to the cuts on his face. "you look cute" you commented as soon as you were finished.

"i'm not cute" jess exclaimed with a stoic expression.

"you're always cute" you shrugged, now being the one to take his chin into your hands. "especially when you tell me who you fought—"

he didn't even let you finish the sentence, before he pushed his lips against yours once more. even tough it was a clear tactic to avoid your questioning, you didn't mind it this time (not that you did before, but you had to at least act like it) pulling him closer by the neck and deepening the kiss.

jess moaned into your mouth, and your lips broke into a smile. his hands were now inching closer up your thighs and a soft laugh broke from your lips when you had to catch your breath.

"let's go to your room" jess muttered, lips skipping over your neck.

"grandpa is home" you reminded.

"grandpa is asleep" he pointed out, brows moving up and down suggestively.

"jess" you giggled, as he grabbed your waist, setting you down on the floor and taking your hand to leave the bathroom, before even waiting for an answer.

well, you weren't open to any more protests then, as he took you up to your room. the only thought in your head was to stay quiet.

opposite to the rest of the night, the next morning was straight hellfire, as neither you or jess had taken the time to set an alarm.

so taylor doose entered your room without the slightest thought and watched in horror as a half-naked jess mariano climbed out of your bedroom window and fell rather awkwardly on the ground in front of it. probably right into your grandpa's rose bushes.

"i think i might be having a heart attack"

[cottonlemonade]

Being MSBY’s Single Dad

word count: 1055 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: Meian x chubby!Reader (feat. Sakusa)

genre: fluff

warnings: spoilers

Sakusa had been in a foul mood for some time now but today it reached its pinnacle.

Two weeks ago he had twisted his ankle during training and since he had quite the history of downplaying any injuries and then suffering their consequences, Meian decided to accompany him on his latest checkup, very much ignoring Sakusa’s protests. The captain leaned against a filing cabinet, arms crossed and a small smile on his face as he watched you bend and knead Sakusa‘s foot with gentle proficiency. The younger man grimaced barely noticeably when you pressed your palm flat against his sole, but upon his wince let up the pressure immediately.

“You‘ll sit this next one out.“, you said firmly, writing something in his chart.

“It‘s not that bad. I can play no problem. I just have to warm up.“

“Ah, you heard what she said. Doctor‘s orders.“

“She isn‘t even a doctor.“, Sakusa mumbled under his breath.

“Rude!“, Meian scolded.

“True though.“, both you and Sakusa replied in unison and the captain grinned when you added pointedly, “However, as your lowly physiotherapist I will give you some more stretches to do. It‘s better than last time but give yourself another week and you‘ll be as good as new.“

You took a seat at your desk, writing down a short list of daily exercises, adding quick sketches for demonstration. As you did, Meian detached himself from the cabinet and walked over to Sakusa to help him back into his shoe, which he reluctantly allowed.

“And while you‘re at it, be nicer to the others.“

“You still haven‘t made up?“, you turned around and looked at Sakusa incredulously.

“If it wasn‘t for these idiots this never would have happened.“, he noted sharply.

“True, but they did apologize.“, Meian reminded him, “Multiple times.“ You hid your chuckle at his tone, very reminiscent of a dad trying to explain to his son the concept of forgiveness.

“They‘re idiots. They deserve to stew.“

“Wait, you had such a colorful way to describe them when you came in last time.“, you tapped your chin with your pen in thought, trying to remember, “I believe you called them “a bunch of orange cats whose brains are powered by a singular, already dim lightbulb“, am I right?“

Meian hid his snort in the palm of his hand, then rolled his shoulders and tied the shoelace as he cleared his throat.

“Please don‘t say that in front of Bokuto. His hair hasn‘t been the same since the accident.“

Sakusa clicked his tongue in annoyance and let Meian help him off the exam table.

“Here.“, you stood up and handed him two notes, “This is for some new painkillers, take them when needed but no more than three a day and these are the new exercises. Do them every morning and every night before bed and if it‘s not better in 3 to 5 days come see me again. Aaaand-“ You opened a desk drawer and took out a bright yellow lollipop.

“What‘s that?“

“All the good kids get one.“, you shrugged and smiled.

Sakusa rolled his eyes, snatched the lollipop nonetheless, and limped over to the door.

“You coming?“, he asked, hand on the handle.

“Wait in the car. I wanna get my shoulder checked out.“

“I‘m not some kid. I‘ll get a taxi.“

“If you wait for me, we can get ice cream on the way back!“, Meian called after him.

“Whatever.“, Sakusa pulled the door closed behind him, leaving you and the captain alone to burst into laughter.

“How do you manage them?“, you sighed and shook your head, then looked at him expectantly, “So, what‘s up with your shoulder?“

“Dunno, can‘t quite get my movement radius like usual.“, he swung his arm back and forth until it wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, “Huh. Seems like I‘m healed.“

He held your chin between index finger and thumb and leaned down to meet your lips. You giggled into the kiss, placing one hand on his cheek while running your fingertips along the back of his neck with the other. He hummed happily and deepened the kiss, playfully tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“When can I tell them?“, he asked softly once you broke from each other, linking your fingers with his.

You nuzzled into his broad chest to hide your smile and he wrapped both arms around your soft round figure, slowly swaying on the spot. Back when you started working with the Jackals it had only taken a few months of stolen glances, not-so-accidental touches, and careful courting until Meian asked you to be his girlfriend right before an important match. You agreed immediately under one condition. And while he was never a fan of keeping your relationship secret, he understood that you were worried about what it could mean for either of you if it didn‘t last or if you were being accused of abusing your power. But at this point, it was well over a year and he would appreciate it immensely if Atsumu stopped trying to set him up on blind dates all the time.

“Nothing bad will happen, I promise. I read my contract over and over. I know that thing by heart. Nowhere does it say that we can‘t be together. Just…“, he pulled away a little to rest his forehead against yours, “let me show you off, hm? You know how Bokuto always sprints to his wife after a match to hug and kiss her?“

You nodded

“Well… I wanna do that, too.“

“Wife, huh?“, you teased.

“Princess, let us be public and I‘ll get you a ring so fast you won‘t know what hit ya. Cause I draw the line at secret wife.“

“Alright alright… next match. You can come and kiss me.“

“Yeah?“ His eyes practically glowed at your reply.

“Yes. But you better be faster than Bokuto.“

“Deal.“

Please imagine Meian overtaking Bokuto on the way to kiss his wife in the next match.

Imagine if these races became a thing after matches.

Imagine, when he does it for the first time, Sakusa is caught in the background of a picture of Meian kissing you with the most wtf face.

There would be fancams of their races after every match. People would keep score.

a/n: thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for the headcanon that Sakusa is photobombing the first fancam xD

[tartagliove]

7:00pm

who knew that being friends with Kaveh meant befriending his friends—including the General Mahamatra?

cyno x reader ✧ 1.2k words fluff, mentions of a minor injury

If someone told you three months ago that you would be a regular guest at Kaveh and Alhaitham’s home, you would not believe them. But after working on a project with Kaveh, you have been slowly introduced to his friends, including the General Mahamatra. 

Cyno was intimidating and stoic at first, eyes of flame piercing through you. You struggled to talk to him, even in a group setting. His stoicism has not left, but you’ve learned to read him and are much more comfortable in his presence now.

Which is why you and Cyno are sitting across from each other at the living room table, stomachs full from dinner with your friends. Kaveh, Alhaitham, and Tighnari have moved into one of the studies to discuss something, but all your focus is on the Genius Invokation TCG cards and dice spread across the table. All the game pieces belong to Cyno. After you had asked him to teach you his favorite card game a week ago, he carefully curated a deck for you to start playing with so you could discover what playstyle you like before buying cards to form a deck of your own.

“I’ll use three Cryo points and have my Kaeya attack your Pyro Fatui agent with his skill.” You push three elemental dice toward the center of the table, then look up at Cyno. “I can do that, right?”

He inclines his head. “That falls within the rules of the game.”

“Oh, good.” You move to withdraw your hand, but Cyno’s eyes narrow and he quickly reaches out, fingers wrapping around your own. He pulls your hand toward himself, making you stretch a bit awkwardly over the table. “C-cyno?”

“You’re hurt,” he says. “What happened?”

You look down at your hand, held in his warm grasp. Dirty bandages wrap haphazardly around your pointer and middle fingers, tied in a messy knot at the end. Under Cyno’s sharp gaze, embarrassment makes your face hot at the sloppiness of your work.

“I scraped my knuckles while working on a project,” you tell him. “It was a bit hard to bandage everything up with only one hand.” 

Cyno lets go of your hand at your explanation. “I see.” 

You sit back in your chair, noticing how your hand suddenly feels colder. Blowing  out a breath, you look at the card game before you. “Anyway, it’s your move.”

Cyno is quick to have his Diluc card attack your Kaeya. But when you start thinking about how to retaliate, he stands up. “I’ll be back,” he says to the wide-eyed look you give him.

“Okay,” is all you manage to respond with before he leaves, walking into the study. You can hear his steady voice interrupting your friends’ conversation, though you can’t quite make out the words.

You try to turn your attention to the cards in front of you. There aren’t enough elemental dice with the right elements for you to use your cards’ special attacks, so…what was it that Cyno said you could do? You don’t remember. Sighing, you gingerly cross your arms on top of your cards and rest your head on them. Your eyes flutter shut.

“If you’re tired, we can end the game here and continue another time.”

Cyno’s reappearance surprises you into jolting upright, messing up your cards. You look down at them with a pout on your lips. “Yeah… I think I might need to head home and rest soon.”

Instead of sitting back down across from you, Cyno settles right next to you. He places a wooden box onto the table and flips open the lid, revealing a collection of bandages, small jars of salve and medicine, and cleaning alcohol.

“Wait, what-”

Cyno doesn’t let you fully express your confusion. “I’m dressing your wounds properly,” he states. He holds your gaze, unwavering stare letting you know that he will not budge on this.

You can’t help but squirm a little, eyes flickering away as you lift your hand and rest it on his outstretched one. His hand is warm and rough, calloused and scarred from all the battles he’s fought. Yet he is gentle as he unwraps your bandages, cleans your cuts, and carefully spreads a healing salve over them. 

The salve stings, but your attention is drawn to his long eyelashes as you study him. They cast a slight shadow onto his cheeks, although his bangs partially obscure one eye from view as he looks down at your hand. From the slight furrow between his brows, you assume that the limited vision bothers him. 

Without fully thinking about it, you brush his bangs back with your free hand, tucking the hair behind his ear. He looks up at the action, warm orange eyes meeting your own.

“I was just- you looked annoyed about your hair being in your eyes,” you explain. Your face burns under the indecipherable look that Cyno gives you.

“It did not bother me,” he says as he unravels a spool of bandages from the box. His fingers are nimble, deftly wrapping the white strips of cloth around your wounds in tidy loops. “I was concerned about your injuries; they’re worse than I thought they would be. You are skilled at your work, but please take care. If this happens again, tell me. I will bandage your wounds for you.”

Butterflies dance in your stomach. “O-okay, Cyno. You did take care of my cuts better than I could.” Looking down at your fingers, neat knots tie the two ends of each bandage together, ensuring that the cloth will not loosen as you work tomorrow. “Thank you,” you tell him softly. Then, because you don’t know if your heart can take any more of this—of being so close to him and tended to like something precious—you stand. “I should head home now.”

Cyno dips his head in acknowledgement and releases your hand. You immediately feel colder. He stands as well, tilting his head toward the door. “It’s late. Let me escort you home.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, you don’t have to do that! It’s only a bit after seven, and others are still here, after all.”

He shakes his head, grabbing his cloak from the back of his chair and sweeping it over his shoulders. “I insist. I will return later for my cards.”

Cyno, abandoning his Genius Invokation cards to walk you home? That is something you never dreamed of. Yet it makes you indescribably happy for reasons you are not quite ready to admit to yourself, so all you do is smile helplessly at his adamance. 

“Alright then,” you say as Cyno opens the front door, falling in beside you as you step out on the lamp-lit streets of Sumeru City. “Thank you for walking me home.”

Cyno acknowledges your thanks with a nod of his head. He stays by your side all the way to your home, where he waits to hear the lock turn behind you in your front door before he returns to Alhaitham’s home. As he walks alone, all he can think of is the feeling of your hand in his own.

He’d like to feel that again.

requested by @auraxins for my camping event. reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

[gojos-version]

A birthday wish

Requested by @iloveelliefanfics- hii! i had an idea, could you write one where it's our birthday and gojo surprises us with something? it can be fluff/smut, you can obviously ignore this but thank you if you write it!<3

Pairings- Y/N x (Husband) Satoru Gojo

Summary- It's your birthday and you forgot, but Satoru made sure it was a birthday you'd remember for a long long time <3

Word count- 318

Proof read- ✅

A/n- Im so happy i got my first request :) Thank you so much for this so so so so so so cute idea!! I hope you enjoy this as much as I loved writing it <3

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧ੈ

It's been a long day at work today. Curse after curse, every single day it's been so tiring all day. You feel exhausted doing mission after mission. As you step foot into Jujutsu Tech making your way to Shoko’s after getting a few scratches, you don't notice the balloons behind the door, or Yuji, Megumi, Nobara crouched around, or your husband and Inumaki wearing skirts standing on chairs waiting for your arrival. You definitely don't notice Panda, Yuta and Maki in party hats with everyone else waiting for you to twist the door handle. You completely forgot it was your birthday today. 

You quietly open the door, your uniform half ripped up and tied around the cuts you got from your missions. As soon as you open the door, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” is what you hear, your eyes widening and you can't hide the huge smile making its way to your face. Satoru runs to you wrapping his arms around you, “Baby what happened?” He whispers to you, his hand thumbing around the pieces of cloth around your arms. “Just a rough few missions” You try to reassure him, kissing his cheek. Your sweet moment was interrupted by Yuji jumping on you and your husband in a bone crushing hug. “Happy birthday Mrs Gojo!!”, you try not to wince with both his and Satorus hugs putting pressure on your injuries. But right now you couldn't care less when they brightened your dull day today. 

You felt yourself tear up slightly as the others came closer to you, gifts in hand. “Thank you all so much”. After visiting Shoko the rest of your day was filled with laughter, your face almost hurt from how much you were smiling today. You wished today would last forever, with Satorus arms wrapped around you playing board games while Nobara and Yuji bickered in the background. Yeah. You don't want anything to change. Ever. 

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧ੈ

Masterlist<3

[rabioa]

First Cut

Alastor x Nurse!Reader - Fluff - Gender Neutral

Alastor has never cared much for the residents of the hotel, but with you, he couldn't help but grow curious. You were so attentive to everyone's health so would you care about him as much? He knows you're scared of him just like everyone else, but maybe your generosity outweighs your logic? Oh, that would be so delightful. You had a bleeding heart so aren't you a helpful little doll! You ought to be rewarded for your boldness, truly

TW: Alastor gets a cut on purpose for your attention, any Hazbin Hotel warnings

My first short fanfic about Alastor!! I love him so much omg :3 i intend to make a part 2 where Alastor returns the favor. I hope you enjoy this and as always, any feedback would be super appreciated!!! Remember to hydrate and remember that you are loved!!!! <333

Imagine you were a nurse while you were alive, and for whatever reason you ended up in Hell. Despite your sins, you still wanted to help others. It's that desire to heal others that led you to the Hazbin Hotel. You had been staying there for a few weeks now, getting used to the new dynamics of everything.

Alastor definitely took notice of you; you weren't quite an employee, yet you somehow became the resident nurse. You fretted over everyone: constantly providing hangover cures for Husk, painkillers for Angel Dust after a filming session, band aids for Niffty, and other medical attention as needed for everyone.

Although you were initially shy around Lucifer, you eventually got comfortable enough to take care of him too. You ensured he got food in his system and some fresh air, even after he locked himself in his room all day.

Much to Alastor's amusement, you wormed yourself into everybody's heart besides his. He noticed how formal and stiff you were around him, growing meek in his presence. You were intimidated by him. It didn't stop you from being polite and sweet though, you just tried your best to slip out of the room whenever he appeared. He was trouble, and you knew that.

Imagine one day though, you're both in the kitchen. He was cooking something for the hotel, a luxury he blessed the hotel with often. You were restocking some ice packs (because a certain spider demon wouldn't return them to their place after each use!). You kept your distance, quiet as a mouse as you placed the melted packs into the freezer. 

Alastor observed you, the way you nervously worked. Your hands would fumble in their rush to be done. He had to give you credit though, you looked composed compared to most other demons.

He continued to chop some vegetables. He was skilled with a knife, moving with lethal efficiency. It was something you noted with apprehension. Still, you focused on your task, not wanting to interact with the terrifying Radio Demon.

Unfortunately for you, he found you amusing. You were bold enough to demand the king of Hell himself eat three square meals a day, yet you were a shivering mouse under his gaze. He briefly wondered though, despite your fear, does your kindness extend to him? 

He decided on an experiment. He was no coward to pain; he had been cut by a blade many times in his life. To become both a skilled chef and killer took trial and error with knives. That was why when he sliced his hand, he didn't even flinch. It was a meager gash on the back of his hand. He let the knife clatter against the counter loud enough to draw your attention. 

“Hmmm,” he let out a disapproving hum at the injury, not so subtly forcing you to see his wound. A performance of sorts. 

“You're injured!” you noted with surprise. Your first reflex was to step closer to him, the ice packs now forgotten. Then you looked at his face staring intently at yours. Oh, this was Alastor. Did you really want to risk angering him by fretting over him? But then again, he was hurt, and you were never one to turn a blind eye to someone in pain. 

Alastor's grin widened when he watched your eyes bouncing back and forth between his hand and his face. He could almost hear the gears in your head turning, trying to figure out if your fear would overcome your morals. He knew human nature well; you might put on a brave front, but just like all the others, you're a meek little ant in the face of his power. 

“It appears so, dear. Would you care to do something about it?” He prompted you, glee in his voice. 

The joy in his voice was undoubtedly a red flag in your book, but you gave in. You let out a huff, a sound you often made when dealing with troublesome patients, before finding the kitchen medical kit. You moved with familiarity, placing the kit on the counter and gently guiding his hand towards you.

Although he expected the kit, he didn't expect you to gently grab his hand and bring it towards you. On instinct, his hand twitched closed around yours for a moment, his claws warning you of how easily he could tear you apart. Your breath had hitched, but your plan remained.

“We need to disinfect the wound first. That knife could've been contaminated,” you muttered. It was mainly to fill up the silence lingering in the air like an insistent plague. His hand relaxed, appeased by your explanation. 

You grabbed an alcoholic wipe and carefully cleaned the wound, the wipe turning red. Your face was still, focused. 

Alastor watched in small surprise, not expecting you to be so attentive towards him. He was so used to other demons being too scared to think straight, yet here you were, touching him so casually. Your touch didn't even feel too incredibly invasive. Instead, it felt professional, but not cold.

You were glad the sting didn't make him react too much, disinfecting the wound going well. You then pulled out a strip of bandage. “The cut isn't too big, so it just needs to be covered as it heals, but I know you wear gloves, so it needs to be extra secured so the glove doesn't mess with it,” you explained. You carefully wrapped it up, and finally finished with your work. You looked up at him, gauging his reaction. 

He tested the treatment, clenching his hand a few times. That seemed to satisfy him. He looked at you and you couldn't help but fidget, averting your eyes. He was still unnerving as fuck, but at least he didn't try to eat you alive?

You began to put your supplies away, but his voice demanded your attention once more. You shifted your gaze over to him when he began to speak.

“Well, aren't you a helpful little doll! You ought to be rewarded for your boldness, truly,” he mused. He picked up the knife with his good hand. You stumbled back a little, bumping into the counter. He twirled the knife as you watched with wide eyes, oh God, maybe he was going to kill you now? Or torture you? You really were bold, oh God. 

He twirled the knife in his hands, the metal glinting menacingly at you. Then he angled it away from the both of you as if holding up a finger. “I'll make you some Gumbo!” He grinned merrily at you. Your paled expression during his teasing had him absolutely delighted. He couldn't help but poke some fun at you, scaring you to your wit's end. 

“O-Oh, thank you… sir,” you let out the breath you were holding, relief flooding your system. 

“Now why don't you go rest up and I'll call you when supper is ready?” He ordered you, waving you off with his bandaged hand.

“Ah, sure, after I finish my-” you trailed off as you looked towards the freezer. Black inky tentacles glowing green were doing your job, placing the ice packs in neatly. “Thank you,” you muttered in surprise. That was one job finished.

“You are quite the diligent little mouse! You should take a break and take care of yourself,” he hummed, leaning against the counter as he watched you. 

Shivers went up your spine, the hairs on your neck prickling. You sighed, forcing the tension in your body to disperse. “Thanks. I suppose I do need to take a break,” you agreed. You didn't have the best sleep schedule, and you could go for a nap after staying up a bit late tending to Husk and then getting the scare of your death. You shuffled out of the kitchen.

Now that Alastor was alone, he began to reflect. You weren't boring, that was for sure. He would definitely have to tease you more. You looked so adorable when focused, why he could just eat you up! He looked back down at his hand, looking at the carefully bound bandages. You remembered he wore gloves. You even took it into consideration. How awfully kind of you. Well, he took it upon himself to reward your kindness with relentless teasing from him.

After all, you were like a shiny new toy for him to bat around. He would see how long it would take to get you around his finger. He clenched his fist, ignoring the pain erupting from the cut. He readied his knife and grabbed his half-cut vegetable to continue his work.

He was getting ahead of himself, getting so excited over his future plans. First, he needed to make some Gumbo.

[wyvchard]

Safe and Sound Simon Says (Part Two)

IEYTD Mind Control AU (Original idea by @blueorchid-95)

Part One (Please Read For Context)

Shortly after reuniting with the agency, Agent Phoenix, injured from the elevator fall, wakes up in one of the agency's wards. They had an unexpected visitor.

Content Warnings: IEYTD 2 spoilers, Canon Typical Violence and Death, aftermath of mind control, traumatic memories, hallucinations, aftermath of betrayal, hospital stay, blood and injuries, the death screens are canon

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

It had been a long few days. I'm too tired, body feeling more exhausted than most other times as every tiny movement seemed to shift an invisible weight around.

I couldn't even lift my limbs as several of the medical staff gently ushered me away. The mumbles felt watery, nothing entering my mind as they seemed rather hurried.

I hadn't escaped the warehouse unscathed, nicks and scrapes littered my body, barely patched up during the flight to reach there.

My legs were more akin to stone, unable to make me stand and causing me to remain seated in that elevator.

How I managed to get to the nearest control point was mainly a blur of adrenaline, kindness, and luck.

I hate the quiet, the buzz of the machinery keeping the pain at bay, yet my hand traveled down, feeling the spot on my right side yet there was no injury there.

"Agent? GOOD GOD! Agent! Hang in there!" The exclaimed voice made the warm liquid pooling at my side freeze. I can't move. It already hurts enough. If I shift my weight even a little bit, I would collapse.

The blood was already travelling up my mouth as I imagined felt a hand steady me as I we both slowly descended. Everything seemed to travel quickly as I tried to fight the pressure on the right side.

"Shhh... Agent. I have to stop the bleeding. I... I don't... I didn't mean to. Just hold on. Please?" I He tried to press into the wound, yet I we both knew it was futile. I wasn't able to see anything because I had already been out of it. "I'm so sorry. I don't think I can ever say anything to tell you how sorry I am."

"Sss...kay." I tried to say as I chased after my breath, the blood on my hands feeling like it's boiling from how cold I am. However, I can only feel one set of hands over my wound. As the warmth vanished, only to be replaced by the cold realization he'd been far away for a few minutes already.

I'm stupid to think he'd actually break free.

A set of footsteps I'd grown to fear interrupted my thoughts as there was a knock on the door. "Agent Phoenix? May I visit you?"

His voice had been unsure, anxiety dripping from his every word.

The hand not connected to anything barely reached out, twisting the doorknob as I lowered my head. I don't want to see him.

"... I can't bear to look at you. So please don't tell me to open my eyes."

"... If you don't want me around, I can leave."

"DON'T!" I heaved as my throat scratched by my yell. "... Don't. Please... stay."

I don't want to remember the times you walked away as I was dying.

Before he can ask, I reached out my hand to beckon him to come closer. I waved it around slightly, pulling something warm as soon as it approached.

"... Agent..." He held my hand and squeezed it. "I'm here... I-I'm here."

I leaned to the warmth as he gently used his other arm to support me. "That was close."

"... Hug." I mumbled, hoping he wouldn't hear but also wishing that he would. Anything to make me remember that we're both out of that nightmare.

He pulled me into a tight embrace, making sure one of my ears can hear his heart. It was beating quickly, like he was chasing the remnants of me as I was dying. He definitely smelled like tea with a hint of sugar, likely from the cupcakes he usually brings.

"You're here. Agent, I... I apologize. I remember... Every time you dodged, you seemed to have this look in your eye. Like you knew you would have died if you were off for even a second. Remembering it was horrible. It kept me up every night until you managed to reestablish contact. Nothing... What you went through..."

"I know. You don't have to apologize. You weren't yourself." I opened my eyes, still refusing to look up. I can't bear it. But... will I still prefer him to be a faceless voice or not? Can I even move past it?

"I'll still apologize. I'm so sorry."

"I know. But... I don't want to think of it right now. Let's just... stay here?" I stared at the way his hand held mine as his other arm made sure to hold me close.

"If that's what you want, Agent Phoenix."

I leaned into him, fully knowing he's here. We're out of it. I know both of us can move on.

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

A bit of hurt/comfort for everyone.

Also, Reginald didn't bring this up but he often had nightmares of killing Phoenix but his body wasn't listening to him before they reunited.

The injury on the right side of the body was inspired by this post by @stellar-collective. Go check out her art! It's amazing. /gen

@phoenix-and-found-family

@the-one-and-only-043

@ghostlystarwanderer

@jellyfishgummy

@pandagobrr

@agentpheoness

@tillywunderwing, since your Phoenix also has the force-rest ability, I was thinking you might wanna check this out.

[keepswingin]

“You did so good. Don’t worry, you-you did so good.” —skz

The hospital is too quiet, you decide.

You don't know how long you've been sitting here, but the longer you sit and stare down at your bandaged hands, the more you grow to hate the silence that sits stagnant around you.

You start to wish for something to happen as time drags alongside the drip you've been hooked to. You don't want to close your eyes and doze off again, far too worried about what might meet you on the other side. Earlier, you had awoken with a scream choking you. Yesterday, you had cried until there were no more tears left.

It nearly makes you laugh. You lost control of your own memories far too long ago, and they've done nothing but haunt you since.

The door across the room slides open and you jump at the sudden sound, wincing as you accidentally tug on what you're pretty sure is your injured rib. Before you can assess the damage, you're pulled into a hug against a chest you know all too well.

Tears prick at your eyes, and it's not from the way your injuries protest, or the stretch of bandages being pulled against skin.

"C-Changbin?" you whisper, your voice breaking halfway through. The arms around you squeeze you tighter in response, a home you've never forgotten, and you nearly break down right then and there. You don't think you've ever missed somebody so much.

"Jagyia," he says softly, the quietest you've ever heard him speak. "I've missed you. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

You scoff, but it's watery, and your nose is running, and you can't stop crying and your chest hurts but it's in a good way because you know you're safe here with him, and you've never been more grateful for anything in your life. You slide closer and tuck your face against his neck, reaching one of your arms around his shoulders so that you can tangle your hand in his hair.

"Bin," you mumble, tugging him closer. "I'm so sorry."

The tears have already started, and you are helpless to stop them like this, so exhausted and hurt and aching for someone who cares. One of his hands is curled under the back of your shirt, rubbing back and forth across the curve of your back, and of course he remembers what you said all that time ago, of course he does. 

He's only ever cared, and you've only ever hid. 

"There is nothing you should be apologizing for," he says, soft and certain and steady. "None of this was your fault, Y/N. Not one damn thing." And for some reason, it's those words that break the damn you've struggled to keep at bay. 

Weeks, months, years, trapped, unable to see a clear path leading out. The worst of it all happening over a span of the last two weeks, worried texts pinging from a cell phone he didn't let you have. Staring at the door like looking at it would release you, would snap the locks and snap his ankles so that you could run and never look back.

The police came. Eventually.

A concerned neighbor or other - you don't really remember. Something you would've never guessed when they never cared enough to call any of the other times before.

When you had cried on the back porch. When he had thrown a glass. When you both had screamed at each other on the sidewalk. Worse, worse, worse. Until he had finally snapped, and you were the very thing he broke.

Changbin tugs you closer and holds you in a way no one else ever has. "You did so good," he murmurs, turning and pressing a kiss to your skin. "Don't worry. You did so good. I'm proud of you, Y/N. So damn proud." 

Your chest hurts, and so does your head.

Your heart aches, and your wrists burn. 

But the man you've done nothing but push away out of fear is here anyway, after everything, refusing to let you go, and you aren't scared. In fact, you would be okay if he held you like this forever, and you never thought forever would be possible again.

"I love you," you all but whisper, heart laid bare. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I love you when I know you probably don't want me. I'm sorry."

Changbin is silent for a long moment, but he doesn't dare move away. You squeeze him tighter, and he exhales softly, the sound trembling through his chest.

"About time you said it," he murmurs, and you think he might be crying, or maybe that's just you, blubbering and shaking and worried he'll push you away, "how could you think I would ever be able to love anyone else?"

And that, you think, is what sews your heart back together.

[saintsbuffy]

You’re an angel, i’m a dog.

Pairing: Lucanis/Rook Lucanis/Rook/Spite

TW: injury detail, heavy sexual references, abuse, grief, suicidal idolisation, implied non con, spite being a freak, possession, substances.

Word count: around 5000

Chapter: 2/?

2 - DEVIL LIKE ME

— Rook is injured, Lucanis tries to help.

Lucanis - Bold

Spite - Italics

We've been waiting for this haven't we.

Spites familiar voice echos in Lucanis's head, the feral creatures nails claw his mind as the shadow figure takes form beside him.

Rook tentatively approaches as Lucanis glances around the room before pulling over a large crate for him to sit on and gesturing for Rook to take the armchair opposite him. Even though the crate is slightly too small for him and a few inches shorter than the chair it manages to hold his weight and leaves him eye level with her.

She's watching him and he moves the equipment to one side, careful to pick up any glass shards as he piles tubes and viles into a corner and stacks the books clearing the space between them. His face remains a mask of ease but she can't help but notice the small bead of sweat that forms at his brow. When was the last time he had hosted a girl in his room? He couldn't remember. Come to think of it, when was the last time Lucanis had hosted anyone in his room?

Lucanis shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his arms. He had always been bad at making small talk but now he felt like he'd forgotten how to speak entirely. After a moment the silence is broken by a low humming noise, some variation of a song his grandmother would sing to him many years ago. The noise fades in and out but Rook dosent react, Lucanis is the only one who can hear it.

Quiet.

The girl is studying he realises. Head cocked to one side she watches how he moves and breathes, her guard his up, her discomfort increasing and yet she dosent make a move to leave.

"So..." Rook rests her arms on the oversized chair, one knee crossed other the other, fingers tapping on the edge. "Are you going to tell me how you did that thing out there." She raises her hand and seems to be trying to project her power but all he sees is empty air.

He had felt her magic approaching of course, the thrum of power had given him plenty of warning. The spell she had encountered had taken almost a decade to perfect, he had spent countless hours working on it with his Cousin. The barrier could be locked to one room and only lasted as long as the creator was present. It was supposed to keep out any magic users that didn't possess the Dellamorte bloodline. Clearly it was faulty if Rook had gotten through. He'd have to ask Illario about that when he next saw him.

"I am not entirely sure." Lucanis takes in the way her eyes waver, she doesn't seem annoyed that the spell had managed to stuff her magic but curious, perhaps slightly hopeful? "I do not use many spells, my specialities lie more in weapons and potions. My cousin helped with this one, you might have seen him around.”

She can see that from the display on his desk to the objects that fill his room and line the shelves, a few swords hanging on rusty nails that stick out of the stone.

"Ah, the handsome one." Rook recalls, as he shoots her an unamused look. "So could you, create a spell or a potion to stop it?"

"Why would you want to stop it?" He queries watching the way her hand goes to a chain around her neck, the small opaque crystal attached to it resting just between her breasts, Lucanis moves his eyes away quickly. His gaze goes back to her face then to the wall behind her as he avoids her eye contact.

He had seen the necklace before but had never gotten a good view of it, in fact he could not recall a time he seen her without it. No bigger than a marble, the edges jagged but dull enough to not cut into her skin. Whatever it was it meant something to her. Another piece of the puzzle.

"I mean, to help control it. Like the way your daggers seem to hold power, I can't have another mission go sideways because of me." A half truth.

He does not have to look her in the eyes to know that's not exactly what she meant.

"Perhaps you should ask Emmrich about that kind of stuff, maybe he could make you some sort of object to hone your energy."

In his time here Lucanis had seen the man do incredible things with his gifts, he had even come to him for help occasionally to identify any objects found whilst out on missions.

"I don't think that would work." Her lips pull into a grimace as she continues to fiddle with the silver chain. "And besides i'm not really sure how to feel about the old man, he frightens me a bit." Rook was both equal parts unsettled and intrigued by the man and his skeletal companion.

Lucanis raises an eyebrow but lets her talk.

"Don't tell him I said that though, you two are friends right?"

She recalls the few times she had watched Lucanis enjoying himself over dinner and drinks, in the library studying whatever it was he was searching for. Out of everyone here the two men seemed to click, both quiet and strange in their own way.

"I do not know him that well." Lucanis does not have friends. He is here to complete his contract and keep his home safe, that’s all.

Misunderstanding his blunt reply as sarcasm, Rook laughs. It's muffled by a hand over her mouth.

His chest tightens, wondering what it would sound like to hear a full true laugh from her. He wanted to find out. There was no question that Rook was attractive. Her elven features mixed the human way she spoke and carried herself made most people find her off putting. She tried to make herself invisible, had spent her first weeks at the Lighthouse brushing off everyone's attempts of inclusion but Lucanis had seen the way she made their companions laugh without even trying, the way her smile lit up a room. She didn't even have to try, he couldn't stand it.

Had the room always felt this small? Of course it had he was sleeping in a dammed storage closet for gods sake.

The desire that coiled low in his stomach was not as easy to ignore now as it was when he'd first laid eyes on her. All it takes is one moment of wanting and a mirror image of Lucanis draped in shadows manifests through the table. The creature contorts and twits its body, limbs cracking into place until it's crouched beside Rook. Lucanis closes his eyes reaching deep inside to sever that tie between man and demon but it's already started to knot. The door a-jar.

Lucanis grits his teeth as Spite inspects her, but the more he tries to shut him out the more the demon takes form. His discomfort and Rook's distraction only seems to make Spite more excited as it moves from side to side head twisting like a starved animal about to feast.

I can see why you're so fascinated by her. Such a pretty little thing.

Spites hand is less than an inch away from caressing Rook's cheek, hand going, lower, lower, until it comes to rest just below where Lucanis can't see under the table. Lucanis lets out a disgruntled cough, clearing his throat then scoots his crate back from table.

Spite's eyes snap up at him, and it lets out a laugh the look of hunger fading into a feline grin.

Leave us. Do. Not. Touch her.

You can't make me.

If you're going to stay, be quiet and behave.

Spite lets out a whine and glares back at him but obeys hands up in surrender as those glowing eyes ablaze. Some days Lucanis could push him out if he really tried. It would take all his strength and then some but each day was different. Recently the active days seemed to be outweighing the quiet ones. It had taken him years to train his mind against the demon, to build up walls and keep the doors locked. But no matter how badly Lucanis wanted him gone he would always let Spite back in.

There was no one without the other, they depended on each-other for survival. He had wasted almost his entire life trying to find a cure for this curse placed upon him and had come to accept the grim fact that if he wanted to live, Spite would be along for the ride.

Fine, fine. She's all yours. I won't touch her...unless she asks us to.

Lucanis stands to his full height kicking back the crate, he moves through the shadow demon purposefully causing the the smoke to separate. As Spite's form reconstructs itself it watches him as he places two china cups onto the table, both different sizes and designs. Rook lets out a small yawn as she waits, utterly unaware of the domestic currently playing out between the demon and the man as she watches Lucanis. There's a clattering of boxes being moved and rearranged then he lights a flame under what appears to be some sort of homemade stove. After a few minutes he returns with a steaming pot and the smell of coffee fills the small room.

Rook holds out her cup for him as he pours out the dark brown liquid until it reaches the top then fills his own. Now that he's closer she can see the black power under his nails, a cluster of tiny white scars standing out in contrast against his tan skin. She wants to ask about the experiment he was doing when she had interrupted him earlier or pry more about her magic but it's late and she's exhausted. Shes beginning to ajust to the dim candle light, the subtle warmth the flames gave off as the occasional gust of cold air moved past her and the presence of the man sitting opposite her.

Sure, it was a bit awkward and she wasn't sure if he was utterly repulsed by her or just had invited her out of civility but Rook had been searching for a distraction from her restless sleep and she had found one. They didn't need to speak, to fill the silence, just being in each others presence was enough. Maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off that had made her feelings intangible but could swear she felt a strange sort of comfort when she was with him.

Instead of voicing the million questions she yearned to have answered Rook leans back in her seat against the worn velvet and lets the cup warm her hands as raises the it in a thanks then takes a sip. It's bitter and warm, not hot enough to burn but the taste leaves an unwelcome flavour on her tongue. The disgusted expression on her face forms because she can stop it. Lucanis is waiting for her reaction.

"What? No milk or sugar?" Rook's voice sounds strained as she gulps down the liquid mid sentence forcing herself to take another sip.

She'd had coffee before, at the training camp it was valued as much as gold. But that had been a watered down version, reheated and shared between large groups, whatever Lucanis had was strong and fresh. Perhaps this was another thing she'd have to adjust to.

The corner of Lucanis's mouth raises, those full lips forming an almost smile as he watches her drink before trying his own.

"I like it black." He states before refilling his cup.

Rook hides another nervous laugh and gives him in a look that says of course you do. She would not make a very good spy he thinks.

She coughs as she reaches the bottom of the cup wiping a hand over her mouth before placing it down and pushing it slightly away from her. A fake smile of gratitude plastered across her face.

"Thanks for the coffee, and the company."

Lucanis's doesn’t seem to register the comment, his gaze entirely focused on the spot just behind where she sits, eyes occasionally flicking to check that she hadn't moved then back again to not so empty space. The humming song starts again.

There an obviously tension between Rook and Lucanis but neither of them quite wants the moment to end. Lucanis had never been very good at making friends, hell, he struggled enough as it was to keep loose acquaintances. But since he would be staying here for the foreseeable future he might as well try to be civil with her. He couldn't leave now, not when he was so close to finding a cure, not when he and his cousin had a chance at freedom, not when this girl was before him could be the key to everything. Regardless of his intentions Rook had played a part in his rescue and he would be indebted to her until the contract was completed.

I think she's starting you like you. Thats a first, should we tell her what we really are?

I thought you were staying quiet.

How can I when I can hear all your thoughts. I wonder what she would say if you told her what you want to do to her-

Spite seems to forget what it was saying as the creature stops mid taunt, turning in a circle sniffing the air its hollow eyes turn from Lucanis to Rook and back again.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

Lucanis's temple is throbbing as he rubs the palm of his hand against it trying to mask the feeling with more questions. If he could keep her talking for long enough maybe he could gain back enough control for Spite to leave them.

"When you have these nightmares, what do you see. Tell me about them."

Straight to the point then. Rook thinks, it would be easy for her to lie about it but she has nothing to lose.

"You want me to help you or not?" Lucanis barks out when Rook doesn't immediately answer. He doesn't mean for his tone to come out like that, cruel and disingenuous. Every step he makes towards Rook feels like another two back into the dark.

"Sorry-" She starts only to be cut off by his raised hand.

"Stop apologising." He shuts her down. "Just start from the beginning, anything you can remember might help us to better understand your...situation. When did they start."

She should be sorry, she was a Mage who had killed tens, if not hundreds of innocent people. Even if she had been following orders, even if it had been an accident, she had killed, no man would ever mourn one less Mage in the world.

You have more blood on your hands than she does.

I take no pleasure in killing, unlike you.

It’s impolite to lie Lucanis. I know you get off on it as much as I do. Oh look you've made her cry…

Spites observation panics him for a moment but when he looks at her there's no tears present. The only evidence of sadness is a fait sheen to her pale eyes, that haunted look he had seen before in the mirror on his own face. Greif.

As Rook recalls her nightmares and the memories that interlinked them she wished, not for the first time that they had left her to die in that rubble. How was it fair that the gods got to pick and choose who gets the power of creation, of life and who gets that of death and destruction. How she longed to be able to bring her friends back from the dead, reach down upon the earth and feel the roots grow.

"I think they must have started when I was a child but I could never remember anything, only waking up to find myself screaming. The night after the first time my magic manifested there was a thunderstorm, I started dreaming about this woman, I can't recall her face but it was like she was glowing in green flame."

Lucanis's focus is wavering as he tries to hang onto each of her words, something about green flames, a wolf, the sound of thunder, demons and the veil. His time is running out. The pain was behind his eyes now, vision blurring as he blinked over and over trying to shut it out.

"Lucanis." Rooks voice brings him back for a moment. "Are you alright?"

Smells like blood.

Get out of my head.

Can't you smell it? Let us taste her, just this once.

I said, GET OUT.

But Spite was right. The metallic tang in the air was undeniable, he could smell it. A shudder of dread snapped him back into reality. He was looking at her how, really looking. Had Rook always looked this pale? Her eyes were hollow, sunken in slightly and ringed with grey. Her lips parted as she paused mid sentence.

"You are bleeding." Lucanis's voice startles her as she has a moment of confusion before the realisation sets in.

She shifts the seat back a few inches looking down at herself before placing her hand to where the black shirt was sticking to her side. When she brings it away her palm is covered with a fresh coating of blood. Her mouth forms a silent 'oh' as she places her hand back against the wet shirt and holds it in place.

Before Lucanis can stop her she stands up swaying slightly using her free hand to steady herself against the table as he rushes to her side, the crate he was sat on lets out a screech against the stone as he flys across the room towards her.

Told you I smelled blood.

"LEAVE US." He doesn't mean for those words to be voiced aloud. Lucanis's voice comes out through gritted teeth, if Rook notices him speaking to the air she doesn't react - too focused on trying not to pass out.

It's not the blood that makes Lucanis feel like he's going to throw up but what comes after. This is how Spite feeds, the demon can't touch her in its usual state but pain, death and bloodshed calls to it the way a holy man might call upon the gods. When in battle the bond between Spite and Lucanis is forged from violence, all it takes is for the first kill to commence and then two become one. Most days the demon can do little more than cause him headaches with taunts and mind games but in battle Spite can take over fully possessing him and using Lucanis's body as a vessel for violence.

He wasn't sure if Rook's injuries would be enough to let Spite in all the way there was no rule book for this kind of thing but he didn't dare send her away. Not when she was in so much pain, not when seeing her in pain caused him so much.

With one arm under hers and the one carefully hooked around her waist so not to touch the wound he guides her to the table and holds up her weight against his own until her legs secure against it, the table is low enough that when he pushes her back slightly she's able to sit on it without much strain.

"Keep pressure on the wound." He leaves her for just a moment hurrying across the room and pouring out something that look like water onto his hands then wiping them clean on his sheets.

Lucanis was not healer but had learnt survival young and patched himself up after many a battle. He had been nine the first time he'd had to fix a dislocated bone, thirteen when he learnt how to stitch his own wounds.

Rook winces as she feels the throbbing pain grow, her skin heating as sweat begins to coat her skin. She has no idea how long it’s been bleeding or when the stitches had ripped. It was as if until she saw the blood there had been no pain and now it felt like she had an arrow in her side all over again.

When Lucanis returns he's holding a pile of clean cloth and a bottle of clear liquid. "I'll need to redress the wound and clean it."

Rook continues to look down at her side fingers now slick with her own blood she acknowledges him with a faint noise that he can’t make out.

"I need you to look at me. I don't think Varric will forgive me if I let you bleed out on my table." That earns a pained laugh. "This is going hurt." He adds.

"Okay." She nods again this time meeting his eye as Lucanis hand holds her chin to look at him. Defiance lives in her eyes but she agrees to let him help her, this is a woman who does not want to be pitied or saved. He knows exactly how that feels.

Lucanis lets her go and pushes his sleeves up further until the material can't go any higher up his biceps. With little effort he rips the cloth into strips and places it onto the table beside her along with the bottle. Slowly, cautiously, he stands infront of her assessing the situation. Rook moves her body slightly so that she's turned half to the side giving him better actress to her and her hand beings to pull up the bottom of her shirt.

"Do you want me to stop, it's not too late. I can wake one of the others-"

"No it's fine." Rook cuts him off. "It really doesn't hurt that much." Her face says otherwise.

It would be easier for him to remove her top completely but the thin material leaves little to imagination, it's clear Rook wears nothing underneath. Instead Lucanis pulls a dagger from his belt and cuts away at the ruined fabric leaving only enough to cover her. The bulk of the bandages are almost completely soaked through. As he unbinds them from her ribs and throws them onto a pile on the floor Rook swears when the wound is exposed to the cold air.

We could have her right now, on this table.

"It's not as bad as I thought, but you're to need to sit still for the next part. Drink this." He holds the bottle up to her lips and lifts it so she can drink, one hand underneath to catch anything that spills.

Rook splutters and coughs as it burns the back of her throat but takes a few gulps as Lucanis lets out a loose a breath.

With the old bandages removed and blood wiped clean he can now see only three out of the eight stitches had torn open, and other than the irritated red skin around the wound there’s no sign of infection.

"That was fucking disgusting. Do me a favour and just keep talking. If I don't pass out from this, I might die if you serve me anymore beverages." Rook states, eyes closed as she lets out a low whimper whilst Lucanis begins to wipe away the blood. “And if I die.” As grits her teeth. “I will come back and fucking haunt you.”

Such dirty words for such a pretty mouth.

Don’t look at her.

Imagine the sweet sounds she would make.

"I'm not very good at talking." Lucanis confesses, undeterred by her empty threats.

He doubts very much that she would want to hear about how he'd spent almost his entire childhood being experimented on in a cage by the only maternal figure he'd never known.

"Oh i've noticed." Her eyes are wide and alert now, pupils dilating. "Seriously say anything, sing a song tell me a story, make something up. Tell me about possessed life, I bet he's here isn't he, the demon, is he here? Is he a he?"

Rook might not have been thinking clearly to start but now she’s racking her brain for everything she learnt about this man so far. Not only was she about to let an almost stranger - at best coworker, operate on her in a storage cupboard she was about to let a man possessed by a demon to do it. Other than overhearing Neve refer to the demon as 'Spite' once she had no idea if that was its name or what it even was.

Did demons even have pronouns?

"It's here, it likes the blood." If Lucanis was trying to comfort her he was failing miserably.

From the corner of his eye Lucanis can see spite crouching beneath the table, its slightly see through finger poking at the small pool of blood on the ground. Despite the finger going through the blood and stone floor Spite puts it into its mouth and pretends to lick the finger clean.

Delicious.

"Great, well there's plenty of that here. Sounds like a charming guy." Rook lets her head fall back and stares up at the ceiling as she waits for Lucanis to fishing threading the needle.

Lucanis bites down on his bottom lip as he finishes threading the needle then sterilises the wound with what smells like alcohol. He dabs at the blood with no warning and she clutches back as it stings sending shivers down her spine that make her want to kick him.

"What does it feel like?" She asks the corners of her eyes glistening but again, no tears fall.

"At first I thought my soul had been split in half. But now, it’s more like having two sets of hands instead of one, eyes in the back of my head. The power is…unimaginable."

He pulls her skin together holding the flesh with a forefinger and thumb as the needle pushes through for the first stitch. Over rooks deep breathing he swears the faint sound of thunder booms overhead.

"I have heard sories of demons that can possess men. The Grey Wardens knew a lot about dark magic. How did you come to be this way? I mean what happened to you. You weren't born like this, were you?" Rook seems to be sitting straighter now, the tonic kicking in and numbing some of the pain.

"That-Is none of your concern."

"Does it hurt?" Rook knows she should probably change subjects from the strain in his voice but when she looks up at him the answer is written all over his face.

"Yes and no." The look of agony is gone in seconds and he's back to concentrating on her wound.

His hair despite being tied back falls over his shoulder as is long enough that she feels it brush against her bare skin. She can feel his warm breath against her torso and the occasional faint tickle of his beard as he gets too close.

"Does it hurt right now?" Rook wonders looking around the room as if she would find a demon spawn hiding in the shadows, but she sees nothing.

"You don't have to worry about me. You are the one bleeding."

The second stitch is though.

"I'm bleeding all over your bedroom and you won't even tell me how you got possessed by a creepy demon, wow." Rook tries to make an exaggerated gasping sound but it's cut short as the third stitch goes though and the wind is knocked out of her. "Fucking ouch."

"You are very dramatic." He was glad she couldn't see his faint smile as he continued to work.

This was good, if she’s was coherent enough to make jokes and swear at him hopefully she wouldn’t pass out anytime soon. Lucanis makes a mental note that Rook often uses humour as cover when she's hurt.

The pain has faded to a dull ache now, Rooks body already starting to feel a bit stronger with each passing moment but her mind is still hazy. She’s trying to stay awake but all she can think about was how wants him to never stop talking. Each word keeps her tethered to this plane. That accent, she could listen to it forever.

“We are almost done.” Lucanis moves closer to her - his large body is almost completely covering hers as he leans so that he can tie the bandages around her back. He stops half way realising he can't quite reach it without the possibility of hurting her. Rook feels his hand lightly touching her shoulder indicating which way she needs to move as she swings her legs back round to give him better access.

Now Rook sits on the other side as he leans over, legs hanging over the table, back facing him. He doesn't mean to stare when he looks down at her exposed back but there's no helping it as his eyes travel from the bottom of her spine to the top of her half ripped shirt and the array of scars that covered almost every inch of skin in between. Some more faded than others, the freshest couldn't have been more than a year old. Each one thin and precise line, this had been no accident, she had either been forced to take a beating or let someone do this to her.

"Arms up." He instructs as she strains lift them with little protest but manages to keep them held in place long enough for him to loop the cloth around.

He begins to tie the fresh bandages around her, one hand laying flat across her ribs to keep them in place. The rough contrast of the tips his fingers brush against the exposed skin above her bandages. Once he's sure the bandages are tight enough he feels himself moving without thinking. Rook doesn't react as a finger traced the outline of a particularly deep bit of scar tissue that falls almost directly in the centre of her spine.

He had seen this kind of torture before, often inflicted on disobedient soldiers or deserters. It was possible to get rid of most scars and wounds with certain kinds of magic, for cosmic or personal reasons he had seen it done more than once. But some were not as easy to remove as others and perhaps she had chosen to keep them as a reminder for what had been done to her. He shouldn’t care, it was none of his business.

He could feel the demonic energy that ran in his veins drumming under his skin as he flexed his hand by his side. He was only human-ish after all.

Who did this to you? He wondered. I will make them beg for my blade. He should have no right to care. He had done that and worse to his own enemies, what made seeing it on her so different? Spite who had had been suspiciously dormant the entire time Rook had her wounds tended to was now flicking in and out of existence behind her. The demon Rook from its crouch by her side and for once the demon had nothing to say.

They were both thinking the same thing.

"These are not from battle." Lucanis states as he pulls the cut up edge of the shirt back down to cover what he can see of her side.

"No, they are not." Rook answers as she moves off the table to stand. Her cheeks have more colour to them now he notices as she refuses his help when she steadies herself. "Thank you, I think i've ruined your night enough. I should get going now."

Lucanis accepts her thanks with a nod not sure what to do now. He wants to ask her to stay. Only so he can keep an eye on her incase the wound gets worse of course. He couldn't exactly offer up his bed, a girl like her deserved to sleep on beds of silks and feathered mattresses.

In his first week at the Lighthouse he had been given a large room in the north wing with a plush four poster bed and a dozen pillows. It had felt like he was suffocating in the comfort of that bed, he had tried removing all the bedding on the second night. Placing the mattress on the floor on the third then welcoming the cool stone against his bare back on the fourth. None of it had worked. He felt like a dog without the comfort of its cage. It had been years since he'd slept on anything more comfortable than a couple of crates pushed together with a blanket over the top. Not that he slept much as it was.

As Lucanis begins to put away his things he can feel eyes on him as Rook stands as if she's waiting for him to say something. "Right, of course." Lucanis clears his throat then grabs something off his bed and passes it to her. "Get some rest if you can, i'm no healer so you should probably get somebody to look at that in the morning if you can."

Rook takes the shirt from him and begins to pull her old ruined one over her head with one hand as Lucanis turns to give her some privacy. He can feel his blood heating as the awareness that she’s half naked in his room sinks in. She places the discarded top on the pile of bloody cloth and bandages and cringes as she takes in the mess around the room. Dried blood on the floor, glass on the table, the door hanging on its hingers. After today she didn't think she would ever be able to face him again.

His cream collared shirt reaches her mid thigh, the size of it looking ridiculous on her. She was shorter than the average elf and even though Lucanis was tall for a human he only had a few inches on her but his build had made the shirt seem least thrice her normal size. When she finishes dressing Lucanis is still facing away from her - arms resting against the table as he tried not to think about what Rook might look like in his shirt. He can hear Spites perverted thoughts begin to pile up in his mind making him want to flip the table and its contents scores the room. Instead he re arranging his work and places the books back onto the table as he finishes cleaning off any trace of blood, any trace of her.

"Goodnight, Rook." Lucanis mumbles.

The way he says it sounds like goodbye. So this was it then.

"Goodnight."

Rook waits a few more seconds to see if he will turn back and then, she’s gone.

end chapter notes -

everyday i learn something new about his family and backstory (thanks twitter)

this chapter was only meant to be 3k long but i ended up writing about 6k and cutting it down a bit, their dynamic is so fun to write. anyone has information, head canons or theories about him pls share id love to hear them!

do we hate grandma or not? (i think we do)

as always @/saintscain on twitter, hope you enjoyed

[beauregardlionett]

so jump and i'm jumping (just a human)

AO3 Link

Beau broke free of the numbing buzz blurring her thoughts to an intense ringing in her ears and a blinding flash of white.

Usually, Beau could break free of mental suggestions with ease, but it had taken her longer than usual to shake this particular spell off. The threads of the unfamiliar magic clung with more stubbornness, more of a ‘fingernails digging into her brain’ kind of way, compared to other spells Beau had experienced.

As she blinked her gaze into focus, her gut swooped in a moment of weightlessness, the air rippling the way transportation magic usually felt, before the sensation and white-out ceased. The world tumbled hazily back into focus as Beau stumbled over her own feet and crumpled gracelessly to the ground. She coughed around the tight breathlessness grabbing at her ribs and attempted to lift a hand to her face.

Something at her wrist rattled, restricting her movement and digging into the base of her thumb. With a wince, Beau peered down at her hands, only to find them stuck behind her back with shackles around her wrists. She distinctly did not remember obtaining them. There was a phantom ache around her ankles that made her think she might have had shackles around her ankles recently, but those were now absent.

Exhaling a sharp huff of frustration, Beau twisted around to quickly inspect the metal, searching for runes and finding none. She managed to slip her lock pick free of her belt with deft fingers and got to work. It was challenging, trying to pick a lock she couldn’t see, but this was far from the first time Beau had done this. Working against a power like the Cerberus Assembly landed one in a variety of situations, after all. Once she got her first wrist free, it was much easier to swing her other wrist around in front of her and keep working. Beau was almost done freeing her second wrist when a heavy shift sounded behind her.

Whirling around as she spun to her feet, Beau ground her back foot into the ashy dirt, ready to kick off into a fight. Instead, she found herself staring down at Caleb a few feet away as he pushed himself off the ground.

“Caleb,” Beau said, relieved, as she finished removing the second shackle. “Shit, man. Are you okay?”

Beau shook out her wrists and strode over to his side, hooking a hand under his arm to hoist him upright. He leaned his weight into her, trusting the familiar strength of her grip to keep him steady. Caleb’s mouth moved, but no words came out. He paused, brow furrowing in confusion, before he tried again.

“What’s wrong?” Beau readjusted her grip, sliding her hand to his elbow and holding fast. Her eyes flicked over his face, throat, chest - scanning for injuries but finding nothing.

Caleb’s hand drifted up to his neck, fingertips knocking against the heavy weight of the mage collar encircling his throat. His eyes went wide, locking onto Beau’s face with poorly concealed panic.

“Shit,” Beau swore with emphasis, running a hand down her face. “Fuck…I need to get that thing off of you. How did we do this last time?”

Caleb pointed a trembling finger at her lock picking tools still gripped in one hand. Beau held them up and raised one eyebrow, surprised.

“No magic involved?” Caleb shook his head at her and gestured to the back of the collar where the clasp sat below the base of his skull. “Okay, hold still.”

Beau stepped up behind Caleb, inspecting the lock for a moment before setting to work on it. It was more intricate than most locks Beau worked on, designed to be untouched and scarcely removed. Determined, Beau kept working at it until one of the picks almost slipped from her grip.

“Fuck, I can’t get it,” Beau sighed, stepping back and pocketing her tools. She twisted her fingers into the sleeve of Caleb’s coat as he turned to her, expression complicated. “Let’s figure out where we are and settle down somewhere, then I’ll try again. I promise.”

Caleb hesitated for a moment, then gave Beau a sharp nod and folded his arms tightly over his chest. Beau chewed on the inside of her cheek as she finally looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time.

Everything around them was shaded unnaturally. They were within a shallow ravine, standing in the middle of a familiar graveyard battlefield they had encountered before. The sky above them was threaded through with multicolored lines, the ley lines made visible by the solstice and whatever had occurred at the Key. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Beau grumbled. “We’re in Blightshore.” Caleb’s lips thinned as he nodded his agreement, peering around them beside her. “At least we’re back on Wildemount, but this isn’t exactly the most helpful place to be.”

Turning to look over her shoulder, Beau pointed to a large rock nearby, sitting just over the cusp of the ravine slope.

“Let’s just…sit over there and regroup, come up with some sort of plan.”

Caleb stuck close to her shoulder as they navigated out of the ravine. He was usually not the most talkative, but they had gotten better at talking to each other at least over the years. Caleb was rarely so quiet with her, and his silence in such a desolate place did nothing for her nerves.

Beau kept up a steady scan around the area as they approached the rock, not wanting to be caught up in anything dangerous while Caleb’s magic was restricted. She bullied Caleb to sit with his back against the stone as she took another scan around them. Seeing nothing that had the intent to kill them, Beau flopped down next to him and pulled her tools out again. 

“Let me try the lock again.” Caleb twisted so she could reach the lock without protest, clearly eager to be divested of his invention. Beau couldn’t blame him.

A couple minutes later, Beau swore, resisting the temptation to chuck her lock picks as far as she could in frustration. Instead, she shoved them back into her belt pouch and tucked her knees toward her chest.

“I’m sorry, man,” Beau muttered. “I can’t get it.”

Caleb slowly leaned back against the rock once more. He reached over and settled a hand against her arm for a moment. Beau couldn’t be sure if he was reassuring her or himself.

“What do you think happened to those other assholes? Bell Hell or whatever?”

Caleb straightened, fumbling with his pocket for a moment before pulling out a Sending stone and thrusting it at Beau.

“Shit, that’s right,” Beau muttered, grabbing it and smoothing her thumb over the rune.

“Hey, it’s Beau. Did your group survive? What happened? We ended up in Wildemount. Where are all of you?”

Beau waited, watching as the soft glow of the stone faded away, indicating her words Sent and the spell drifting off. A moment passed before a faint buzzing began to itch at her ear, pressure swelling rapidly behind her eyes with it. Startled, Beau dropped the stone and pressed a hand to her brow, digging in to try and alleviate the pressure. Caleb’s hand tugged at her elbow as he soundlessly worried.

The buzzing and pressure built and built before abruptly cutting off. Beau blinked, vision fuzzy from the pain as she stared down at the stone.

“That didn’t work,” Beau croaked. “I just heard buzzing and got a killer headache.” She glanced up at the sky, staring at the bright, pulsing ley lines Caleb had often described to her where they sat visible, taut and streaking across the sky.

“Seems like something is fucking with magic,” Beau muttered. “Let’s not try that again anytime soon.”

Caleb glanced up at the sky alongside her, lips thinning with displeasure before he nodded his agreement.

“Sucks that it couldn’t fuck with the magic on the collar and turn it off,” Beau grumbled, glancing at Caleb.

He smirked and reached over to shove gently at her shoulder.

It was a sobering thought, though. To think that if the collars had been affected, it would mean a lot of dangerous mages - including one Trent Ikithon - would have suddenly been free to utilize their magic. Beau didn’t even want to think about the numerous wards in the Soul, hoping against hope that those hadn’t been damaged.

“Well,” Beau sighed after a heavy few minutes of silence, tipping her head back against the rock and pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “We have a few options. If I remember that crusty map right, there isn’t much in the way of civilization out here. There’s that one Cerberus Assembly outpost, New Haxon, not far from where we are. I think another place up north - Ghor Veil? No that’s not it. Fuck, what was it called?”

Beau waited for Caleb to say something before remembering he couldn’t. She grumbled about their luck as she dug out her notebook and shoved it and a writing tool into his hands. He didn’t need to be told what to do with the items, immediately flipping to a blank page and scrawling the name of the town out.

Ghor Veles.

“That’s the fuck,” Beau nodded. “Ghor Veles. I know nothing about that place, but it’s somewhat walkable from here.”

Caleb scribbled out a quick note beneath the prior one and nudged her elbow with the journal.

Both are less than ideal.

“Yeah,” Beau sighed, raking her fingers back through her hair. “We take a huge risk by attempting to find help in New Haxon given its affiliation. Our other other option is we trek through the mountains to get to Rosohna, hope the Bright Queen is home, and willing to help. Third option is Ghor Veles but like I said, we know next to dick about what really goes on there.”

Caleb stared into the middle distance for a long moment before writing in Beau’s journal. He tipped it her way, twiddling the pencil between his fingers.

The risk of going to New Haxon is too great, especially for us. I agree that Ghor Veles is not worth it either. I do not love the idea of hiking through the mountains without my magic, but we have faced worse before. Rosohna is our best bet.

“Yeah, it’s looking that way,” Beau agreed. “I guess we should start hiking, then. It’ll almost be like that time we walked to Xhorhas chasing Yeza.”

Caleb leveled her a flat but faintly amused look. He wrote another note as Beau pushed to her feet and stretched out her limbs, wrists still aching slightly from the cuffs and chains. She paused mid-stretch when Caleb extended the journal up to her.

At least then we were sheltered underground and had Jester reading that porn book to entertain us.

Beau laughed, short and loud, the sound echoing slightly in the open space around them.

“That’s fair,” Beau chuckled. “Unfortunately, I didn’t think to bring entertainment along this time.”

Caleb huffed with a smirk as he pushed to his feet and pocketed Beau’s journal and pencil. He paused long enough to pop his back before looking at her expectantly.

“Alright, let’s get this shit show on the road,” Beau sighed, bouncing on her toes. “Which way is north?”

Caleb pointed and Beau grabbed his wrist to point him slightly off to the left. “Northwest, then. To Rosohna.”

Beau clocked the moment Caleb took to mentally pull up the map they had poured over together a while ago. He blinked and nodded, falling easily in stride beside her as they headed for the mountains in the distance.

There was a pit in Beau’s stomach as they walked, her thoughts wandering to the other side of Wildemount, out to the Lucidian Ocean, and drifting distantly to wherever their wandering companions were. The solstice left a lot of things up in the air, how it might have affected the rest of the world. She wished she could at the very least contact Yasha, to make sure she was okay.

She glanced sidelong at Caleb, reaching over to tap his elbow.

“How’s Essek? When did you last hear from him?”

Caleb furrowed his brow at her in question even as he reached into his pockets to pull out her journal.

I saw him a few days ago, before we left. Why do you ask?

It was infuriating how neat his handwriting was despite the fact they were actively walking. Beau shrugged and tucked her hands into the deep pockets of her pants.

“Just asking. I was thinking about Yasha, and I realized I hadn’t asked you about Essek in a while.”

Caleb turned his face forward as they kept walking before he wrote another note for her.

We will see them again, Beauregard.

“I know,” Beau said, voice gone quiet with the weight of otherwise. “I just…”

She gestured at their dismal surroundings bitterly. “Not great odds, is all.”

Caleb’s hand landed on her shoulder, a familiar, welcome weight. She glanced over out of reflex, expecting him to be holding her journal out with another comment. Instead, he stared back at her with that familiar depth of understanding in his eyes, squeezing her arm. As much as they had gotten better at talking to one another over their years working together, they were even better at communicating like this, with conspiratory glances and silent gestures. They weren’t always afforded the safety of being able to speak on missions, so their silent language had developed as a necessity and stuck around out of comfort and ease of use.

Beau nodded her thanks, the gesture saying everything she didn’t know how to.

It took them the rest of the day to get closer to the mountains, the unnatural shadows around them giving way to complete darkness in a slow crawl. Beau found them a collection of misshapen boulders to hunker down by for the night. Even if Caleb hadn’t been lacking the ability to light a quick magical fire, Beau figured they were better off in the darkness. They didn’t know the extent of what creatures might lurk in these barren plains, so it was better not to provide a target. She bullied Caleb into sleeping first, pulling her goggles over her eyes to keep watch.

The silence pressed in, broken only by the occasional, quiet howl of the wind through the ancient graveyard.

Beau didn’t mind camping out like this - it reminded her of their early adventuring days. But she missed the rest of their friends and the cozy cramp of the dome with a fierce ache.

Caleb’s back was pressed against her thigh, his breathing even and slow. Beau carefully pressed her thigh a little harder against his back and dropped a hand to his slumbering shoulder, grounding herself with his presence.

They would make it home, one way or another.

–

They spent the entire next day trekking through the barren, ashy dirt of Blightshore, drawing steadily closer to the mountains, before hunkering down for the night. It was a repeat of the night before, undisturbed except for the wind. The day after that, it was midmorning, according to Caleb, when they came to a brief halt at the base of the mountains.

They had managed to avoid actually hiking through the mountains to get to Xhorhas when they were chasing Yeza, instead trekking through tunnels beneath the peaks. They didn’t have that option this time around. Beau turned a wry smirk to Caleb and gestured in front of them.

“Ready?”

Caleb shook his head even as he shrugged - a clear, silent commiseration of no, but we have no other choice.

Beau knew that painfully. She had tried to unlock the collar again after waking up this morning, and nearly broke her lock pick for her efforts. So, magic was still out of the question.

The rest of their day was spent hiking up the gradual slopes of the Penumbra Range, Beau chatting aimlessly at Caleb, pausing every now and again to allow him to write a response or give her a look. He seemed relatively unbothered by her stream of consciousness - almost amused by it even.

She had never said it out loud to him, but Beau had a feeling Caleb knew anyway. She never did well with silence unless it had a purpose - like when they were in the library or sneaking around somewhere. Silence when there could be chatter grated on old wounds and frayed childhood nerves. Growing up, it meant someone was mad - usually her father. Beau would never dream of likening Caleb to her father, but the ringing, weighted silence was an easy comparison.

So Beau talked and Caleb listened as they hiked.

She fell silent a few times, ducking behind trees and sparse underbrush when creatures prowled past. The last thing they needed was an encounter with Caleb defenseless.

Soon enough, the shadows were deepening and Caleb signaled to her that sunset was upon them. Beau scouted out another sheltered place for them to hunker down for the night, grateful for the lack of excitement during the day. Her legs and back ached with a low muscle burn after a whole day spent moving. It was familiar and almost comforting as she stretched out once they were settled.

Caleb silently insisted that she sleep first this time, gesturing empathetically for her goggles and all but tucking her into her bedroll.

The space behind Beau’s ribs ached with something hollow and longing as she settled, missing their friends and the dome yet again. She reached out, fumbling the darkness, to snag and twist her fingers in the hem of Caleb’s coat. His warm fingers settled over her wrist in response, squeezing once and resting against her pulse as she drifted off.

–

“I mean, I can’t really speak to neighborly etiquette based on how I grew up, but I think inviting herself over to dinner once a week is a bit much.”

Caleb snorted at her shoulder as they trekked up a slow incline, still heading steadily northwest. He scribbled as they walked, Beau glancing around them as she waited for his reply, staying ever vigilant despite their lack of encounters thus far.

It is not proper, I can assure you. I’m surprised Yasha hasn’t cursed her out of the house yet.

“Me too, actually,” Beau laughed, twirling two ball bearings in circles around each other in her palm. “I think she actually finds Martina’s cooking advice helpful, though, so she’s trying to stay somewhat on good terms. But if she makes one more underhanded comment about our living room decor, I might actually put my foot up her ass.”

Caleb smirked, shoulders twitching with repressed laughter as he shook his head fondly, likely picturing Beau doing exactly that.

Beau opened her mouth to say something else, intent on making him laugh again, before she paused, eyes flicking sideways and steps faltering. Caleb froze beside her, instinct taking over as he shifted closer to Beau’s shoulder, one hand instinctively twitching for useless spell components as the other tucked the journal away.

She thought she had heard something, but a quick scan revealed nothing. Beau knew better than to let her guard down. She reached for Caleb, fingers curling around his wrist, tapping out a coded pattern they were both long familiar with.

Heard something, nothing in sight. Stay alert.

Caleb tapped back an affirmative and shifted so they were back to back, scanning in every direction. Beau kept her hand around his wrist, a point of contact and communication.

A twig snapped off to Beau’s left, her head whipping around at the same time as Caleb’s. She had a moment to clock where the underbrush shivered and push Caleb behind her, before the beast exploded out of hiding. Beau had no idea what creature she was looking at, but it was snarling and had claws extended toward them.

She whipped out her staff just in time to push it up against the claws, taking the gouges to her forearms above where her bracers ended, rather than her torso. Beau grit her teeth through the sting and shoved the beast away from her with a solid kick to its soft underbelly. Before it even landed, she whirled to gain momentum and cracked the staff across the creature’s head, driving it further back.

Her arms throbbed with the new wounds, the edges of them already a sickly looking color, Beau realizing with a sharp shock that the beast’s claws were poisonous. Dancing back a few rapid steps, Beau breathed deep and focused on neutralizing the numbing poison in her veins.

Beau had sacrificed her grip on Caleb to fight back. She took half a second to shoot a look over her shoulder to locate him. He was nearby, back pressed flat against the trunk of a tree and eyes wide. He was unscathed, which was all that mattered in that half second to Beau.

“Don’t let it scratch you,” Beau shouted at Caleb, rushed and breathless. “It’s poisonous.”

The creature snarled as it lunged toward Beau, refocusing her. She ducked sideways under the swipe of claws, shifting her staff to one hand as she rolled to free up her fist as she lashed out, attempting to stun it. Beau narrowed her eyes as the creature groaned and stumbled before shaking off her attempt. She cursed herself for not spending more time trying to find information about the creatures that lived in this area - not that she could have prepared for this situation.

A decent sized rock suddenly struck the creature in the back of the head, jarring it. The beast twisted around with a low growl, stalking toward where Caleb was still pressed against a tree, hand extended.

“Oh no you don’t,” Beau said, voice laced with venom. She lashed out as the creature stepped away, driving the metal of her gauntlet into the joint of its back leg. She was rewarded with a howl of pain and the beast’s attention back on her. 

As it turned, she swung down with her staff, managing to get a good strike on one shoulder before it lashed out, Beau scarcely dodging what would have resulted in a shredded abdomen. Caleb launched another rock at the beast, Beau seeing it happen this time, understanding that he was able to throw it so hard because he was using magic. Baffled, Beau missed the beast slashing at her, claws finally catching her in the side, cutting deep. A second swipe caught her without claws on the shoulder, but sent her sprawling to the ground and knocking her head against something painfully solid.

“Shit,” Beau wheezed, stumbling sideways a step as she dazedly scrambled to her feet, not quite out of its reach. The beast in front of her went fuzzy at the edges, the world tinting gray as her fingers somehow went numb and flared with painful heat simultaneously. Her head throbbed as her ribs ached fiercely and her muscles screamed, the wound stinging in the cold, open air as new poison coursed through her bloodstream. “Shit.”

The beast prowled in a wide arc, clearly still trying to get past her reach to Caleb, likely seeing him as weaker, easier prey. Beau stumbled through a hasty side-step, putting herself firmly between the beast and Caleb. Beau hacked a painful cough as she did, tasting coppery blood on her tongue. She could practically feel his silent glare of protest boring into the back of her head, but Beau didn’t acknowledge his displeasure. This was an old, familiar dance - putting herself between Caleb and the danger. She couldn’t look away from the beast until it was dead or gone. 

It couldn’t be allowed to get to Caleb.

Tightening her grip around her staff, Beau bared her bloody teeth back at the beast and tensed the muscles in her legs, waiting. She exhaled, shaky and painful as the beast’s muscles rippled beneath its hide, coiled to strike again.

After another tense moment of stillness, the beast leapt, claws extended and jaws parted. Beau flipped her staff deftly and swung it like a bat in a desperate surge of strength, catching the beast across the lower jaw and miraculously sending it sprawling off to the side with a yelp. She stumbled sideways, vision spinning, before grinding her heels into the dirt and putting herself back in place in front of Caleb.

The beast got up slowly, glared at Beau, and clearly decided this meal wasn’t worth it. It turned and limped quickly away, tail flicking as it vanished into the underbrush.

Beau heaved as her knees buckled, staff clattering out of her hands. Her vision went mostly gray, entirely unfocused. She struggled to find her mental footing for a moment, anchoring herself to slowly neutralize the poison eating away at her insides.

Warm hands grabbed Beau’s upper arms, a body encompassing her available vision. Beau looked up, the simple action of lifting her head taking nearly all of her remaining energy. She was confused by her fatigue for a moment, knowing the poison was no longer a threat. Then she spotted the amount of blood on her clothes.

Caleb’s frantic face swam into view, unscathed.

“Oh,” Beau wheezed. “Hey.”

Caleb huffed, one hand moving to the side of her face as his eyes flicked over her, his hand coming away heavily stained with the blood in her hair. The skin at the corners of his eyes tightened, saying more than he ever could with words.

“I’m good,” Beau mumbled, earning herself a patented exasperated Caleb stare. He shook his head at her before glancing around. Beau didn’t know what he was looking for and she was too tired to try and talk again. His hand was still on the side of her face, warm and steady, so she leaned more of her weight into his palm. Caleb wasn’t nearly as physically steady as she was, but Beau trusted him to catch her.

Caleb’s bright blue eyes flicked to her as she leaned into him, shining with concern as his free hand moved to brush her hair off her forehead. The motion was so achingly gentle and foreign it almost made Beau cry. He had done it a few times before, usually when Beau was sick or gravely injured, a gesture borne of comfort and a reminder that she wasn’t alone. With Jester, Yasha, and Caduceus all chasing after Beau with healing at their fingertips, her suffering never lasted long. Those few times she had to wait or ride an illness out, Caleb was there.

Beau could almost hear him, his usual comfort phrase of, ‘just breathe, Beauregard. I am here.’

Beau grabbed at his coat, twisting her numb, bloody fingers into the worn fabric.

Caleb tapped his fingers rapidly against Beau’s cheek, prompting her eyes open. Beau hadn’t realized they had fluttered shut as she got lost in thought, alarmed at the realization but unable to find the energy to show it.

He stared back at her, face drawn even as he flashed Beau a tight grin when she focused on his face. Caleb pulled back to point at an opening in the nearby rocky slope of the mountain. His wordless gesture was clear enough, but Beau already ached knowing she would have to move. Usually Caleb could just form the hut around them so they wouldn’t have to bother, but his silence meant that wasn’t an option.

Beau exhaled through her teeth and nodded. She tried to sit up straighter, muscles screaming as pain flared through her wounds.

“Okay,” Beau said, voice shaking. “Okay. I got this…let’s go.”

Caleb slung the arm on her uninjured side over his shoulders, letting her lean heavily against him as she stumbled to her feet. Beau bit down on her lower lip so hard she thought she might bite through it. There was already blood in her mouth from the fight, so she wasn’t sure it would matter if she did.

They limped slowly to the opening, Caleb peering inside before ushering her in. Beau sunk down heavily to the ground, back against the smooth inside of the tiny cave. Caleb sat in front of her, digging through his pockets and producing a few rolls of bandages. He had long ago given up the practice of hiding his scars, but he continued to carry bandages around for moments like this. He didn’t have any background in healing or medicine, but Caduceus and Jester had both insisted on showing everyone how to wrap a wound to keep it covered after one too many close calls due to being separated.

Beau sent the both of them a mental, weighted thanks.

She watched the rhythmic, cyclical motion of Caleb wrapping her forearms through heavy lidded eyes. The furrow between his eyebrows was deep and telling.

With her free hand, Beau reached up and poked the furrow, Caleb staring back at her with a painful expression as he paused his task.

“Don’t look at me like that, man,” Beau sighed. “This is nothing.”

Caleb pursed his lips, staring pointedly at her wounds as if to remind her they had no healers to help them.

“We’ve survived way worse,” Beau mumbled, thinking darkly of their trip to the Astral Sea and Lucien. “I’ll live.”

Caleb huffed and returned his attention to his task. Beau let him finish wrapping her one arm and move on to the second before she spoke again.

“You used magic—in the fight.”

Caleb made no acknowledgment of her statement, finishing his wrapping of her second arm before he wiped his hands clean on his pants, smearing her blood against the dark fabric. He dug out her journal and pencil and wrote something, his handwriting not as neat as usual with the way his hand trembled slightly.

I had forgotten before now that the collar only acts as a Silence spell, not as a complete magical suppressant. Spells that can be cast without speaking still work. Unfortunately, I only have three in my repertoire that fall under that specification.

“And one of those happens to be magically throwing rocks?”

Despite the tension lingering in his shoulders, Caleb snorted. He shrugged as he set the journal aside and dug out another roll of bandages.

He scooted around to sit beside her, gingerly inspecting the claw marks on her side. Beau held back her comment about his terrible bedside manner when he failed to suppress a grimace. She instead held her arms up and out of the way as he wound the bandages around her ribs to cover the wound. He tied the bandages off tightly, making Beau wince and her vision spin.

As she blinked back into focus, Caleb sat in front of her, one hand on the side of her head and the other gently parting her blood matted hair to check for the source of the bleeding. Beau tipped her head forward, giving him a better vantage point. Her eyes slipped shut, fatigue weighing her down with the warm familiarity of his hands.

What felt like a blink later (shit, was she losing time?), Caleb tapped Beau’s knee and held the journal out to her. Beau struggled to focus on the scrawl for a long moment before it made sense.

The wound on your head is not too big. It is doing as head wounds do and bleeding more than most cuts of its size.

Beau grunted a response, too tired to bother with anything else. Caleb’s concerned expression filled her vision as he cupped her face, tilting her chin up so they could make eye contact.

He tapped her cheek in code, their check in system when they couldn’t otherwise speak. It was a simple code, a series of taps to ask are you okay and conscious?

Beau wheezed out a painful exhale and fumbled her hand forward to rest at his elbow, tapping her response that she was with him. Her wounds smarted, she was dizzy and exhausted, but she was mostly conscious.

“Give me like…an hour. Then we should keep walking before it gets dark.”

Caleb frowned at her and shook his head, making Beau frown back at him.

“Caleb, if we don’t keep moving we’ll be stuck in these stupid mountains longer than necessary. We have to get to Rosohna so we can get that thing off you and get to the others. I’ve literally fought monsters in worse shape than this. I can handle some walking.”

Beau watched as Caleb snatched up her notebook and scribbled a furious message beneath the whole page of other ones. He thrust it in front of her, still frowning.

While that may be true, we do not have any healers with us this time. We cannot be reckless.

“If this were literally any other situation, I wouldn’t fight you on this,” Beau said, pressing a careful hand to her tender ribs as she shifted, fingers catching slightly on the fibers of the bandages. “But we don’t know what happened to the rest of Exandria, and I don’t know about you, but I’m a little fucking terrified not knowing what might have happened to our friends - to Yasha. You can’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about Essek and the others the past few days. I wouldn’t believe you even if you did.”

Caleb frowned again, first at her, then down at the notebook in his hands. He tightened his grip, the papers crinkling quietly with the force behind his fingers. Beau spotted the moment she won the argument, his grip loosening as he leveled her with a stubborn lilt to his mouth. Beau flashed him a tight grin and settled in to rest.

For the first ten minutes, she observed Caleb as he took off his jacket and sorted through his components. Most of them were useless to him with the Silence of the collar still in place, but Beau knew he was more looking for something to occupy his mind and hands than anything. He was somewhere between adjusting the fastening tie on a bundle of herbs and counting his pieces of phosphorus when Beau drifted off.

She woke to Caleb’s hand lightly tapping her shoulder, reaching from just outside her striking range. It was a habit he had learned to form the hard way. Beau only felt a little bad about it.

Glancing out the entrance of the cave, Beau could tell by the now familiar dim gray light pouring in that Caleb had kept his promise and not let her rest for too long. She felt a little better, but the second Caleb helped her push to her feet, the lightheaded woozy swoop of her vision returned. Beau grit her teeth and blinked hard to focus.

Caleb raised a pointed brow at her, supporting her weight on her good side when she came back to her senses.

“Shut up,” Beau grumbled. “Let’s get moving.”

They managed to limp along for the rest of the day without drawing more attention from the resident fauna. Beau helped Caleb seek out a place for them to hunker down, going for something more sheltered than previous evenings due to Beau’s wounds. 

“I can take the first watch since I slept earlier,” Beau said once they were settled. Caleb, scarcely visible to her in the encroaching darkness, shook his head and gestured for her to lie down.

“Nope,” Beau said, staying stubbornly upright as she reached for her goggles. “Trust me, man. You aren’t going to want to wake me up in the middle of the night for watch. Get some rest.”

Caleb contemplated this, glaring at her as he did, before finally settling down beside her, a hand on Beau’s knee.

Once his breathing had evened out in slumber, Beau tipped her head back against the rock behind her and exhaled, shaky. Her training thankfully meant the poison from the beast and further infection were not a concern, but Beau was still susceptible to pain and blood loss. Her wounds ached and the lightheaded sensation hadn’t left her alone ever since the attack. She was a paltry shield between Caleb and the mountains outside their sleeping place, but she took comfort in the weight of his hand on her knee.

Beau would rather ache and bleed than have Caleb injured and poisoned, unable to fight off the toxin and without healers.

She stared up at the pieces of the sky she could see, the ley lines gone somewhere between the previous night and now, but magic still strained and strange if the malfunctioning Sending stone was anything to go by. Hopefully it wouldn’t last much longer.

Beau dropped her hand over Caleb’s and controlled her breathing, reassured for the moment by the knowledge of his safety.

–

Leaning against her staff, using it for support so Caleb could focus on hiking himself through the mountains, Beau stood at his shoulder as they examined the river before them. The current didn’t seem too strong as the water flowed sedately around the protruding rocks.

“Stepping stones or wading through the water?” Beau asked, shifting her weight and wincing only slightly. Wounds tended to heal rather quickly on her, but the combined lack of rest from all the hiking and their attempts to ration their food was not lending to feeling better quickly. Her arms felt stiff and her ribs smarted if she breathed too deeply or twisted the wrong way. It was annoying. Beau counted her blessings that her head felt better and less fuzzy, at the very least.

Part of her wanted to stop and wash her bloody, matted hair out in the water, but this high in the mountains, she was more likely to give herself hypothermia instead. Beau was used to traveling and being a little filthy, so she pushed the thought aside.

Their boots, however, were waterproof, so trudging through would be fine - supposing the water wasn’t deceptively deep. Caleb seemed to be pondering the same thought as he glared down at the current. He glanced sideways at her, eyes critically scanning the way she was leaning on her staff before shaking his head.

Beau raised an eyebrow at him in challenge as he pulled out her journal to scribble. Their conversations had bled over to additional pages of Beau’s journal, documenting one side of several discussions. The disjointed comments and questions would likely remain after all this was done, secretly sentimental as Beau was.

We should wade through - carefully. I don’t think you want to be jumping from rock to rock just yet.

Beau sighed with a wry quirk of her lips. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Caleb nodded and tucked her journal away in his pocket, turning back to the river and wading into the shallow bank. He paused to peer back at her, watching dutifully as Beau shuffled her way down the embankment into the water. They shuffled carefully along together, clenching their teeth at the frigid sting of the water when it came up to their knees near the middle. As the riverbed sloped up again, toward the other side, it was almost worse with their wet clothes clinging to their legs in the open air.

Beau was debating the merits of sitting around waiting for their clothes to dry out instead of hiking and drying when Caleb slipped. Her hand darted out to grab the back of his coat on instinct, keeping him from going face first into the current.

Caleb scrambled to get his feet underneath him, hissing out a sharp exhale through his teeth. Beau maintained her steel grip on his coat collar, braced against his momentum and the current.

He took another moment to get his footing before they hobbled the rest of the way out of the river together. Caleb was favoring his right foot, expression drawn tight with pain he was clearly trying to swallow.

“Sit,” Beau ordered gruffly, still clinging to his coat as she hobbled him over to sit against a tree trunk. She flopped down in front of him, carefully pulling his foot into her lap. Beau never claimed to be a healer, but she was intimately familiar with the types of injuries that came with her training.

She carefully persuaded his boot off his foot and wrestled the wet fabric of his pants away from his ankle. There was already a faint bruise on the outside of his ankle, just below the sharp bone. Beau prodded at the area with a light touch, wincing in sympathy at the swelling and the pained hiss she earned.

“I think you sprained it, man,” Beau sighed. She grabbed the bottom of the dusty cloak she had donned specifically for the environment of the Hellcatch Valley, tearing a strip of it off swiftly. The cloaks were luckily heavy enough to be useful in the mountains now, but Beau was content with ripping it up a little. “Lucky for you, I know how to wrap these bad boys.”

Caleb grunted as if to say, lucky me.

Beau shot him a smirk before focusing in on the pattern of her wrapping, pulling the stiff fabric as tight as she could to support his joint. He grunted every now and then, the noise suppressed into the fabric of his scarf, eyes squinting with every wince. Beau tried to wrap his ankle as quickly and painlessly as possible, guilt gnawing at her gut with every pained reaction she drew out of him.

Tucking the fabric in firmly, she secured the wrap and glanced up at Caleb.

“You okay?”

Caleb sighed and stared miserably at his ankle, looking like he was judging it for failing him. Beau snorted and stretched to pat his leg above the wrapping around his ankle.

“We’ll find you a nice stick to walk with.” 

Beau laughed loudly, clutching her aching ribs when Caleb pouted at her and flipped her off in response. Shoving to her feet with the use of her staff, Beau limped over to some nearby underbrush and dug out a fallen branch from the foliage. She held it up to her staff, comparing the heights, and shrugged, figuring it was good enough.

“Here,” Beau said as she set the branch down beside Caleb. “Do you need to rest for a bit, old man, or do you want to keep going?”

Caleb, halfway through tugging his boot back on, paused to look down at the stick beside him appraisingly. He laced his boot up before wobbling to his feet, testing the strength of the branch. With a nod, Caleb looked up at Beau and gestured for them to continue on.

“Alright,” Beau said, adjusting her grip on her staff. “Let me know if you need a break.”

She caught him raising his brow pointedly, as if to turn that request back on her. Beau waved him off, grumbling. He should know better by now that trusting him came easy, but Beau would rather eat glass than be vulnerable. It wasn’t within Beau’s nature to admit weakness. If asked, she would rather stare directly into the sun than tell someone she was hurting.

They limped along together for the rest of the day, pausing only once in the afternoon to rest their feet and eat something. Beau noted with concern that their rations were nearly gone. When they had set out for the Hellcatch, they had only anticipated being gone for three days at most. They certainly hadn’t planned for not having access to a quick escape via Caleb’s magic. Beau would suggest they resort to hunting, but between their injuries and the attention lighting a fire would draw, it was more a risk than anything.

A few days of sparse meals wouldn’t kill them.

As they settled down for the night, Beau noted it was colder than usual. She pulled her cloak around her shoulders firmly, glancing down at where Caleb was curled up beside her. They had brought a blanket along in one of their bags, knowing they would likely be sleeping rough in the Hellcatch Valley. They shared it now, draped more over Caleb than Beau as she adjusted it to encompass him.

Pressing into the rock at her back, Beau tipped her head up to stare at the few stars she could see through the canopy above. Mentally tracing back through their journey, it was both surprising and not how much had happened in the past five days. In fact, compared to their previous adventures, this trek had been going relatively well. Despite being slowed by their injuries, Beau was fairly certain they were only another day or two from the outskirts of Rosohna - barring further complications.

Exhaling slowly, Beau kept staring at the stars, and hoped her family was safe.

–

They were pushing themselves. Beau would readily admit to that fact, and she was almost certain Caleb wouldn’t deny it either. It was stupid, but the Nein had never claimed to make smart choices. They made the choices that were most likely to keep them alive, even if they were a little dumb.

It was getting late, and both of them were leaning heavily on their respective walking sticks, breathing labored. They had paused for a brief respite, debating if they should walk a little longer before settling in for the night.

Caleb was favoring his sprained ankle still - more notable than earlier. Beau wasn’t going to say it, but she was pretty sure the wounds on her side had opened again from the strain of the day. Hidden beneath her traveling cloak, Beau was going to keep it a secret until she couldn’t.

“We should be close,” Beau said, breathless. “If we don’t make it tonight, we’ll get there by tomorrow. The question is, how much longer are we going to keep going now?”

Caleb stared at the ground as he overtly began doing mental math. To most people, he probably looked like he was trying to glare a hole in the dirt, but Beau could see the minute flick of his irises moving back and forth, scanning over numbers, mental maps, and rationale only he could see. She waited him out, familiar with this process.

After a minute, he looked at her and gestured ahead of them. Keep going.

Beau nodded, steeling herself to move through the smarting sting of her reopened wound.

They made it another half hour through the forest, hiking cautiously down the gradual decline, when they encountered a creature as it burst abruptly from the underbrush.

Beau cursed, shoving Caleb behind her and flipping her staff into a defensive position. She swore at herself viciously, knowing she had slacked on her attentiveness because she was tired and in pain. Now, they were paying the price, facing off with this thing.

This beast looked a lot like the one they had encountered the other day, but it was bigger, and there was something sharp at the end of its tail that hadn’t been on the other one. Beau thought it was a safe bet to assume that part was poisonous, too.

Which was just fucking great.

Beau fumbled a hand behind her and pushed at Caleb blindly, frantically. “Go, hide somewhere. I’ll drive it off.”

Caleb’s warm fingers caught her wrist, squeezing fiercely in silent denial, a solidarity that was as brazen as it was stupid. His sentiment to not abandon her wasn’t helpful in this situation.

“Caleb, I’m not fighting with you on this, man. Just hide!”

He lingered at her back for another second before Beau felt him move away, his reluctance loud in the weighted quiet at her back. Beau could deal with his petulance later, for now she had to focus on this beast.

She caught the way its sickly green eyes tracked Caleb’s movements, but it seemed to know better than try to get past Beau at that moment. Beau startled back a step when the creature lunged suddenly, claws splayed and teeth bared. She widened her stance and exhaled forcefully as she swung. 

By some strange stroke of luck, they both missed each other. Beau rolled with her failed strike, pain lancing through her side as the old wound on her ribs protested. She grit her teeth and scanned for Caleb, finding him several paces back, tucked halfway behind a tree. It wasn’t great, but it would have to do.

Breathing heavily and with shaking hands, Beau lunged through the pain and struck with her staff, catching the beast on the side of the head. It growled, low and fierce, before lashing out, Beau dodging nimbly backward. Her head spun, cluing Beau into how much blood she was probably losing from her reopened wound. She planted her feet, intending to strike again, when a new searing pain flared to life in her stomach.

Beau couldn’t help the scream of pain that was punched out of her, knees going weak. Her staff clattered out of her hands as a pulse of numbing heat shot through her. Hands fumbling toward her stomach, Beau’s fingers scrabbled over the pointed tip of the beast’s tail where it sat embedded in her stomach. Fierce and half delirious with pain, Beau wrapped tingling fingers around the slim appendage and yanked it free before twisting to snap it over her shoulder. 

The beast howled. A screeching wail of furious pain that echoed through the trees. Beau dropped the broken tail and stumbled back a few steps as the beast writhed and clawed at the dirt. A rock came sailing through the stretching shadows to nail the creature in the side of its head, drawing another screech from it.

Beau pressed a hand to the newest wound on her torso as she fumbled for her staff. They had to get out of here before the beast recovered or Beau passed out.

“Caleb,” Beau croaked. “Let’s go.”

His hand was suddenly on her shoulder, pulling her away from the furious, distracted beast. They fled between the trees, heedless of direction for a minute before Caleb suddenly turned sharply, bringing Beau along with him. Barely managing to keep her feet under her, Beau followed blindly.

When the screeching faded behind them, Beau gasped and stumbled, the adrenaline abandoning her as she listed heavily into Caleb’s side. He managed to keep her upright long enough to settle between two closely growing trees. Beau all but collapsed, vision graying out as she strained to purge the poison from her system.

Sliding back into clearer consciousness what felt like a lifetime later, Beau winced at the sudden realization that Caleb was pressing heavily against her new wound. His face was mostly obscured in the darkness, but Beau could see enough - and knew him well enough - to spot the frantic, terrified lines of his expression.

“Hey,” Beau wheezed, numbly tugging her goggles over her eyes. It wasn’t entirely dark yet, but she was too tired to focus her eyes enough to work in the dim. “Y’okay?”

Caleb’s disbelief was blatant now that she could see through the shadows. 

“Shut up,” Beau said, instinctive. “‘M gonna be fine. Are you okay?”

Caleb stared at her for a long, frustrated moment before he nodded once, sharp and short.

“Good.” Beau exhaled, pained and shaky. “Ow.”

A frustrated exhale from Caleb was her only answer as he pulled one hand back enough to dig around in his coat pockets despite his bloody hands. He produced a roll of bandages, pausing a moment to stare at it forlornly before rapidly getting to work on wrapping Beau’s stomach.

“What was that look for?” Beau wheezed, blinking hard to stay conscious.

Caleb finished his task by tying off the bandages firmly, again making Beau’s vision white out and ears ring as it tightened over her wound. She came back to Caleb holding her journal out, his scrawl just barely visible thanks to her goggles. His handwriting was cramped and uneven, written almost on top of the previous message since he had written in the encroaching dark.

My last roll of bandages. Do not get injured again.

Beau exhaled a wheeze in place of a laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

Caleb tucked her journal away, movements jerky and annoyed. Beau had the distinct impression that if he had his voice, he would be grumbling under his breath at her. She slumped against the tree at her back, watching him fumble through the darkness. Beau reached out to snag his wrist, making him pause. Tugging off her goggles, Beau pressed them into his hand as she blinked against the sudden weight of darkness.

A minute later, Caleb’s hands against her shoulders tipped her forward into his chest. The heavy material of the blanket they packed settled around her before Caleb nudged her back again. He fussed with the blanket, tucking it firmly around her shoulders and staying mindful of her wound. Beau went where he directed her, far too tired to protest and just tired enough to trust him with this much vulnerability - she grit her teeth and stared into the sun just this once.

He didn’t bother writing a note for Beau to tell her she wasn’t taking watch. Caleb tucked her against his side, one arm slung over her shoulders and keeping her firmly close. Beau puffed a drawn out, put upon sigh - her token protest even as she settled gratefully against him.

They were so close to Rosohna, to getting out of here - Beau figured she could let Caleb have this one.

-

Unfortunately, they didn’t wake peacefully.

The beast from the night before found them minutes after Beau drifted back to consciousness, still feeling fuzzy from blood loss. The slim end of its tail hung limp and broken still, identifying it to Beau.

Caleb, with sleepless bags under his eyes, had just slung their bag over his shoulder, having finished wrestling their blanket back into it when Beau launched to her feet. They were so close to Rosohna and Beau was injured enough that it wasn’t worth staying to fight. She wrapped her shaking hand around Caleb’s wrist and fled, letting Caleb point her in the right direction by tugging on her arm as they went.

The beast gave chase, which was unsurprising.

Beau wheezed, clutching her abdomen weakly, trying to press her hand down over the bandages covering the gaping wound in her stomach. They hadn’t made it terribly far yet, weaving through trees and underbrush as they were, but her vision was starting to blur. Her knees went weak, suddenly stumbling over her uncooperative legs and failing to get her feet under her to keep herself from tripping. Caleb’s bruising grip on her arm was the only reason she didn’t eat dirt.

He pulled her close, dragging them over to a thick tree trunk and dropping to sit, pressing back against the bark. Beau went with him, breathing heavily as he gathered her close, one arm around her shoulders and his free hand bunching up her cloak to press against the wound that was now bleeding through the bandages. Beau’s vision went white as she cursed long and colorful through the pain.

When her vision swam back into focus, she was staring up at Caleb, her upper body in his lap as he held her. He was mouthing something, the same few words over and over again, if Beau wasn’t hallucinating. She squinted, studying the shape of the silent words as he focused on keeping pressure on her wound.

A moment later, she recognized the simple Zemnian he was frantically repeating.

Es tut mir leid.

Beau groaned, reaching up to wrap her hand over the one he had pressed to her stomach. His wide, terrified blue eyes shot to her face, litany faltering.

“Caleb,” Beau wheezed. “It’s not your fucking fault.”

His face screwed up, displeased and upset. Beau shook her head, squeezing his fingers as tight as she could.

“I’m serious,” Beau insisted. “This isn’t your fault. If you keep saying it is, I’m gonna punch you.”

Caleb huffed a wet laugh, more a miserable exhale than anything, and shook his head at her. Before Beau could say something else, a growl ripped through the air. Caleb tensed, pulling her closer and glaring at the creature despite the tremor in his hands. Beau’s face was against his shoulder, but she pushed herself to pick up her head and locate it through her whirling vision and the crowded foliage. 

It was prowling closer with slow, measured steps - confident in the kill. Beau hated to think that this was how and where she was going to die, but she wouldn’t go quietly.

The creature paused, crouching low as it prepared to pounce. Beau shifted in Caleb’s hold, trying to cover him despite her wound and his stubborn insistence on holding her close. She contemplated if she had the strength to push herself and Caleb out of the way once it leapt, allowing it to brain itself on the tree at their backs.

It never got the chance to pounce. A large, dark colored arrow embedded itself in the creature’s neck. The beast howled, garbled and wet as it died quickly writhing against the ground.

Beau blinked, sagging into Caleb’s hold as he wheezed tremulous, rapid breaths above her. He gathered Beau closer again, her head lolling onto his shoulder, thoroughly exhausted.

The sound of hooves and humanoid feet drew closer, coming to a halt nearby among a clamor of surprised voices. One voice, gruffer than the others, spoke up, calling out to them.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Caleb’s hand tightened on her shoulder, Beau knowing she had to speak up for them both now. Twisting her head away from his warmth, she found a small party of armed Drow staring down at them in a mix of caution and surprise.

“Hey there,” Beau mumbled, tasting blood in her mouth. “We’re members of the Mighty Nein. Got a little lost a few days ago…is the Bright Queen home?”

The Drow glanced between each other, clearly baffled. Beau wanted to scream, frustrated at the hesitation. It hadn’t been that long since they checked in with Leylas Kryn.

“Wait,” one of the Drow spoke up, coming up to stand at the shoulder of the one who spoke first. “The Mighty Nein…the Heroes of the Dynasty?”

Beau grinned, knowing her teeth were probably pinkish in the gray light filtering down through the treetops. “The very same. Think we could…get a lift to Rosohna? And some healing?”

“Of course,” the first one said, gesturing to the rest of their group. Beau didn’t stay conscious long enough to see that promise through.

–

Beau woke up in an unfamiliar room, lit with pale light, and Caleb asleep at her bedside. His upper body was folded over to rest on the bed where he sat in a chair, his hand at her wrist with the tip of his fingers trailing over the groove of her wrist where her pulse thrummed.

“Caleb,” Beau rasped, not bothering to try and sit up when her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

He stirred, turning his face into the mattress with a quiet grunt. He went still for a moment before his fingers tightened around her wrist and he raised his head, blinking blearily. Beau stared back at his sleepy expression with amusement, waiting for him to register his surroundings.

Caleb blinked at her. Blinked again. Then his eyes went wide and he sat all the way up, spine straightening so quickly Beau heard it pop. She smirked at him and chuckled, her side aching dully. She glanced down at herself, covered in a blanket but surprised at the lack of pain.

“Beauregard,” Caleb rasped, reinforcing his grip on her hand. Beau’s gaze snapped back to him, her eyes going wide now.

“You got the collar off,” Beau croaked, moving to push herself upright. “Fucking finally. How long was I out?”

Caleb swept forward to support her shaky arms, but again, there was no pain. Beau diverted her attention long enough to brush the blanket aside and expose her torso. There were faint scars on her ribs and just below them where the beast had got her, but she was otherwise fine.

“How’s your ankle?” Beau asked, curiosity of her own wounds now satisfied.

Caleb twisted his fingers through her own and squeezed as he stared at her. 

“It is fine, Beauregard. The healers were able to set it right quickly. We were more worried about you. They said you are lucky you have your ability to handle poisons…most who are struck by the beast we met do not live long enough to make it back for healing.”

It was a sobering thought, but Beau couldn’t really grasp the severity of it until she imagined Caleb in her situation. If he had been the one hit instead of her, Caleb would have been dead long before they made it here and Beau wouldn’t have been able to help at all.

She was doubly glad now that she had the forethought to put herself between the beast and Caleb.

“It has been a full day since we were found. The Bright Queen stopped by yesterday evening to help with the collar removal. She is willing to send us home when you are able. I also tried the Sending stone again - it still does not work. The Bright Queen said it is getting worse as the days pass. It began with divination and communication magic first, and sporadic dispelling of long-standing enchantments. More magic is becoming strained and ineffective, including resurrection magic.”

Beau’s thoughts had started racing when Caleb informed her they could go home soon, diverting momentarily when he mentioned the stone. She had thought maybe it was just the days following the solstice since they hadn’t bothered to try again after a few failed attempts, too concerned about their own journey. But the fact it still wasn’t working meant something was lingering.

Her thoughts ground to a halt when she registered his comment on resurrection magic.

If Caleb had been hit by those poison claws, he would have died quickly. And he wouldn’t have come back.

Beau’s eyes met his slowly, lingering in horrified silence.

“Shit,” Beau croaked. “I’m extra glad it hit me, then.”

Caleb stared at her for a long moment before he leaned back, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Beau stared at him with one eyebrow raised. She had seen this reaction from him before, usually when he was searching for patience.

“What?”

“I cannot say I don’t understand,” Caleb said, slow and measured as he kept his eyes closed and head tipped back. “You are better able to handle this type of damage. But Beauregard.”

Caleb straightened, his intensely blue eyes locking on her face, making Beau feel young and understood in a way she thought she had long grown used to.

“Beauregard…you cannot die for me. Do you understand? I will not allow it. You have to promise me that you won’t go away. Do not leave me behind because you are protecting me in a fight.”

Beau blinked at him, speechless and frozen before she scoffed, unsure how else to react. She thought they were long past this - this skittish, tentative thing from before they truly knew each other. This felt similar to the way Caleb’s hand used to fumble against her shoulder, the uncertain weight of his fingers against her clavicle like he was worried she might shake him off. They were both stronger than before, more certain in their standing with the world and each other. Beau didn’t know where this was coming from - but she supposed she understood.

Caleb had lost his magic under the weight of that collar, rendered near powerless and probably feeling a lot like the version of himself that had first met Beau. Meanwhile, Beau hadn’t faltered, because her abilities had been unaffected, and she had done what she always did - stand between Caleb and danger. Only this time, they had no clerics chasing after them to brush the hurt away, and Caleb had been completely reliant on Beau to keep him safe. He had nothing to protect himself with, save a single spell that let him throw rocks around.

Beau blinked again, nodding slowly.

“Promise me,” Caleb said again, low and fierce. He stuck his pinky out to her, expression far too serious for such a gesture. Beau didn’t laugh at him for it. The last time he made her do this, she had promised not to go poking around the hidden floors of the tower when he entrusted it to her and Yasha for a night.

She refrained from poking holes in his request, because they both knew Beau couldn’t guarantee this. Instead, she reached out and wrapped her pinky firmly around his, purposefully meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, I promise.”

Caleb nodded, firm and resolute. He released Beau’s hand and sighed, long and exhausted.

“I should be able to get us to the Blooming Grove, once you are up for it. We can figure out our next steps once we are with the rest of the Nein.”

Beau’s thoughts snapped immediately to Yasha, her heart skipping in her chest with anticipation and fear in equal parts. It had been a while since they had been apart this long, and they never had no idea where the other one was and a complete lack of communication. As worried as Beau was, she was certain that Yasha was worse off by spades, despite Caduceus’ company.

“I should probably find the Bright Queen and let her know I’m conscious and grateful for her help before we go, huh?”

“Ja, that would be the diplomatic thing to do,” Caleb said with a smirk, shifting out of the way as Beau swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “You should probably get dressed, too.”

Beau glanced down at her clothes, blinking at the simple gray base of her robes, all her other vestments and accessories absent. Caleb pointed to the neat pile of them across the room knowingly. She stood and stretched out her stiff, aching limbs with a chuckle.

“I mean the first time we met her, you and I were in those weird harnesses. I don’t think me showing up like this will change her opinion of me.”

Caleb snorted, standing and grabbing his coat from the back of his chair as Beau rapidly donned her miscellaneous items. Finally slipping her bracers into place and securing them around her wrists, Beau reached up to where her hair spilled down her shoulders, gathering it into her hands before she paused. She turned slowly to where Caleb was adjusting the fall of his coat across his shoulders.

"Did you wash my hair? The blood's gone."

Caleb glanced up from his coat for a moment before focusing in on fiddling with one of the buttons. "I asked one of the healers to magically remove the blood and dirt, as it was easier that way. But I did brush out your hair, ja. I could tell it was bothering you before."

Beau deftly twirled her hair into something like a bun while she stared at Caleb. She walked over and lightly punched his shoulder, still managing to draw a wince from him.

"Thanks, man," Beau said, haltingly. She was better about accepting this part of the whole 'being cared for thing', but she still floundered when it came to showing her appreciation without cringing at herself. Her consolation was Caleb was almost as bad as her, too. "Let's get this meeting over with."

Their audience with the Bright Queen was brief, as she was overtly preoccupied with the fallout of the solstice. Beau and Caleb were not keen to keep her long, any more than she was to keep them. They thanked her for her aide and hospitality, promised to be in touch when they could, and promptly exited the throne room. Shoulder to shoulder, they walked briskly to the outer courtyard, intent on being out of the way and gone soon.

“Ready?” Caleb asked, standing in the middle of a stone-laid terrace, chalk in hand and transportation sigil nearly done.

Beau bounced on her toes as Caleb put the chalk back to the stone, waiting for her word to draw the last piece of the spell. The lines were already glowing faintly, primed and ready. Beau adjusted the fit of her sash at her neck and nodded, looking down at where Caleb crouched beside her.

“Let’s go home.”

[sammylkcho]

Hello! It's me again with other fic, enjoy!

The metal weapon you held in your trembling grip felt heavier with each passing moment, a weak attempt to aim precisely at your target.

Sebastian.

Your main mission was to kill Z-13 and retrieve the crystal from the Blacksite, all in exchange for your freedom.

When you were preparing to descend in the submarine, you didn’t even have time to ask what you might encounter, or if there were at least any safe zones. They explained nothing to you beyond your primary objectives.

You barely made it past the first doors by sheer luck, with Angler and the rest of its variants hot on your heels.

You had a brief moment to catch a breath when he offered you the safety of his shop.

"Welcome, welcome! My name is Sebastian, your only friend. Here you can restock on everything you need, in exchange for documents, USB drives, and small vials of DNA. Things you don’t need. You get rid of what’s useless to you, and I get what I want."

You still remembered those words clearly, spoken with a dizzying display of friendliness.

From that moment on, everything became blurry fragments you couldn’t clearly recall anymore.

The most likely scenario that led to your current situation was a possible game of cat and mouse. As soon as you drew the weapon you'd brought in your diving gear, the real intentions became apparent.

You couldn’t be sure where in the facility the two of you ended up. Both of you were gravely injured by the other’s attacks—you had shot Sebastian in one of his arms and other parts of his body, and he had struck you in a blind spot during an encounter in total darkness.

You were bleeding out, possibly suffering from internal injuries, though you weren’t sure. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush that kept you standing, panting heavily.

But as soon as you stopped running to catch your breath, you instantly regretted it. A sharp, stabbing pain coursed through your entire body, making you fully aware of your condition.

While you were consumed by your misery, Sebastian was enduring an even worse torment.

He had multiple injuries along his tail, his three arms were stained with blood, his nose was bleeding, and small drops of blood trickled from his mouth. The front of his head had a wound that seemed difficult to stop unless enough pressure was applied.

You pointed the gun at his forehead with a trembling hand, unsure.

Did you really want to kill him? Ending his suffering—and yours—was an option, yet you didn’t feel right about doing any of this.

No one was watching you from the cameras, no Urbanshade operative breathing down your neck.

Aside from the power outage caused by an Angler not long ago, your options were limited now.

You could leave him there, let him bleed out, and then succumb yourself to the same fate—either from the massive blood loss or exhaustion.

But that would only prolong both your suffering, especially Sebastian’s.

His sudden murmurs and curses snapped you back to reality in an instant, drawing your focus once more to his dire state.

The fins on the sides of his head twitched slightly as he lowered his head to the ground. His dark hair obscured much of his face, making it hard to tell at a glance if he was still alive. The only signs that indicated otherwise were the tears falling from his eyes and the short, shallow breaths raising and lowering his chest.

"Mom... My older sister, my brother…" he muttered in a weak, raspy voice, unaware of his surroundings.

From Sebastian’s point of view, he was no longer aware of what was happening around him and had completely forgotten your presence.

Small fragments of the life he once had, before being blamed for the murder of nine people and becoming an Urbanshade experiment, flashed before him.

He wasn’t even conscious of the moment he mentioned his family. He simply saw a vivid image of his mother appear in front of him.

This image of his mother had short hair, instead of the long, cascading locks she used to have, but he didn’t dwell on that detail. He focused solely on the loving gaze she always gave her son, without judgment or fear.

With weak effort, he extended his hands toward hers, which seemed hesitant to take his. But once he grasped them, he didn’t care.

"Please, help me…"

Those words were the final push you needed to take hold of his hands more firmly and make a decision.

With the same trembling grip you had for a while now, you tore off a damaged piece of your wetsuit and used it as an improvised bandage around his head, where the bleeding was most severe.

You had no knowledge of first aid, and the little information you did have seemed to vanish in the face of your nerves. You acted on instinct, applying pressure to his wounds while doing the same for your own once you finished with him.

You wanted to cry with all your strength for what you had done to him, for putting both of you through this nightmare.

But you didn’t even have the energy for that, so closing your eyes for just a second didn’t seem like a bad idea.

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: Samantha Mulder's (Many) Returns

In honor of anon's request: "I was wondering if you had any fic recommendations in which Mulder found Samantha? I'm having a hard time with closure ahah."

(Here are some previous Samantha fic lists:

Meet the Mulders    

Redux II Samantha Was Real

Little Samantha’s Life in Capture

A Tribute to Samantha's 50th Anniversary)

Loose chronological order below~

CANON-DIVERGENT

Pequod's Way Beyond Blue

He summoned up all the courage he'd ever had, or ever needed and walked into his future.

Pre-Sein und Zeit Mulder has a prophetic dream.

eponine119's

Odyssey

"I'm supposed to believe you did him a *favor* when you killed a little girl and - what, paid some workmen - to plant her scoured bones in that basement?" demanded Scully.

Pre-Sein und Zeit Scully is commanded by CSM not to tell Mulder that Samantha is dead.

Searching in Vain

Fingers moving through disturbed earth over bone. He couldn't look and yet he had to. The right size. The right injuries. Including that final, horrible one.

AU-- Mulder is suppressing the true nature of Samantha's twisted death.

Glimpse

The hours dissolved as he sat entranced, watching himself on videotape in situations where he knew he'd never been. A wedding. To Scully, a beautiful bride. Surprisingly, the tears didn't come when he saw Samantha on the tape, alive and grown and lovely. The tears came when he saw the children on video.

AU-- Mulder is shot into a horrific alternate universe where he gained (and lost) a happy ending.

@agent-troi's This Heart That I Misplaced

She looked just like the others… but something was missing. Something essential had been taken from her, and somehow that convinced him beyond any last shred of doubt that this was in fact his Samantha.

AU-- Pre-Closure nurse died saving Samantha's life; and her sacrifice kicks off the finale of Mulder's journey.

Justin Glasser's (xphilefic) Orrery

I don't remember a lot about where I was before I was here. I remember someplace else. There was water there, and I wasn't too warm all the time. And I remember that I miss it, but I don't know why. Here is okay, when there are no tests. Jeffrey lets me pet his dog.

AU-- Post Closure Mulder's happy ending is torn from him after Harold's son is found alive.

amorfati3215's The 5 Ads for If Samantha Was Found Alive

“My name is Claire,” she replies softly. “But I used to be called Samantha.”

AU-- Closure Scully tracks down the nurse who rescued and raised Samantha.

@all-these-ghosts's (Ao3) happily ever after

“She was married for a few years, but her husband passed away. Georgie and Lauren moved back in with me after. Lauren was just a baby when it happened.”

AU-- Closure Mulder and Samantha reunite.

DaynaFox's The Return of Samantha Mulder

“Are you another cop?” she asked him. “Did you find my Mom and Dad yet? They only went next store, to visit the Galbrands. Did you ask the Galbrands where they went?”

Samantha, the Galbrands have both been dead for over 15 years… Mulder thought as he gazed at her. 

AU-- Post Closure Mulder is given a call from the authorities: his sister is not dead; and has been returned, not a day older, with no memory of her disappearance.

AU

@ghostbustermelanieking/skuls's

AU: The Mulders adopted Samantha instead of her being abducted.

Later on, he’s kind of glad he’s an only child.

What it says on the tin.

november 27, 1973

Her mother cries, pulls her into her lap and holds her tightly, says, “My baby, my baby,” over and over again. Samantha asks for cookies, and her mother takes her to the kitchen and pours her a glass of milk and stacks three cookies in front of her even though the rule is no more than 2 and not after bedtime. It’s past her bedtime, but she eats them anyway, has never remembered being this hungry.

Different endings to Samantha's abduction.

california winter

Fox gulped. He wanted to change his mind in that moment, but he heard Samantha and Jeffrey crying in the closet and he couldn't say a word. He had to be the brave big brother. He had to protect him.

Mulder and Samantha are both taken; and devise a plan of escape with little Jeffrey in tow.

X-Files Fictober: woman, socks, locker. setting: abandoned storage unit.

He turns and sees the girl, much younger than her with dark hair curling down her back, dressed in the same hospital gown as her. No shoes, just socks.

One Breath Scully escapes with Samantha.

Half-Light Universe

You have another chance to figure out what happened to Samantha. She may not be dead. All of it… you get another chance.

He wonders if it’s worth it.

Revival Mulder and Scully are shot back to those nine minutes they lost in the Pilot, with a chance to make everything-- or more things-- right.

@pilotinthestars's the holding-her-breath girl (Ao3)

It hit him then. She’d never been to this house, the one Teena had bought after the divorce in Connecticut.

Samantha is gone; Samantha is returned; and Samantha might not stay.

Erin M. Blair's

Turning Nine

"It's not your fault, Fox."

Samantha is returned from her abduction; and refuses to tell anyone except Mulder about her experiences.

Newfound Love

"I know," said Samantha as she took the photo from Scully. "I want to find him...."

Mulder, not Samantha, was abducted; and she and Scully (with the help of Deep Throat) help rescue him years later.

Discovery Of Samantha

"You look as though you had seen a ghost," Jennifer remarked, with a wry sense of humor.

Mulder and Scully are happily married (despite Diana's machinations); and find out one of their friends is Samantha.

@discordantwords's (Ao3) Lethe

She cannot remember the song, cannot remember her mother's name. But she remembers the sound of laughter, the red polka dots on her dress, bare toes in thick pile carpet.

Pre-One Breath Scully finds Samantha on the train car.

@i-gaze-at-scully's AU where the Samantha clone was actually the real Samatha

Mulder doesn’t attend the funeral. Can’t face his parents, can’t face the finality of two decades’ worth of his quest finally ending. Can’t face the 28 year old cold body of his 8 year old sister.

End Game Samantha wasn't a clone.

Mystic's

Misnomer

She watched them run test on her blood and her skin, they were exited by everything about her. She didn't understand.

X tells Mulder where to find Samantha... but, as always, nothing is ever clean-cut.

Secrets in the Forest

"Scully there's something you have to know about Kinnear. The night's are cold. I don't mean Washington D.C. cold, I mean cold." Samantha said accenting that last 'cold'.

Mulder and Scully inadvertently find Samantha while investigating a UFO case.

JLB's Lost and Found

"The test results determined that there is a match," she says quietly. "This is Samantha."

DNA confirms that one of Roche's victims was Samantha; and Scully tries to keep Mulder from falling completely apart.

@officialmulder/specialagentpao's broken hearts, paper hearts

It was going to be a snowy day. Mulder smiled to himself. Samantha liked snowy days. It was an excuse to stay in bed and drink hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows. They were allowed to do it once or twice a year.

Roche did kill Samantha; and Tena Mulder blames her son.

@slippinmickeys's

AU where Roche DID kill Samantha (Ao3)

In a photo in the lower right-hand corner, Samantha was posing with a brand new bike, dressed in a floral nightgown, the tree behind her covered in garish amounts of tinsel.

Post Memento Mori Mulder finds evidence that the last girl was Samantha, after all.

Livia Balaban's

180-Word Self-Imposed Challenge: Samantha's Fate - Version Four

And now a new lie. That she is my sister. I look into her unblinking Hazel gaze, and shake my head. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Redux II Samantha appears, again; but Mulder doesn't believe she's his sister.

Cunegund's Restoration I & II

Nine-year-old Samantha sits with us, another addition to our new family, and Krycek seems impossibly pleased with himself as he eats his own omelet with his right hand while he stirs his coffee with his left.

Post Requiem Mulder returns-- via the efforts of Krycek, TLG, and even Morris Fletcher-- with the abductees and his still young sister... right in time for his growing family to go into hiding.

Susanne Barringer's Thicker than Blood

Mulder stepped into the kitchen and immediately Samantha dropped Scully's hand. She shifted her position to put some distance between them, and her face turned hard.

Post Redux II Samantha appears again... and not for benevolent purposes.

Amy's Where Are You, China Blue?

"You're not listening."

"Yes, I am."

"Then stop it, Daddy. Just hear me out. I don't care anymore."

Post Redux II Samantha is sick and tired of CSM's games.

@writingwell/RocketMan's (xanadu) A Jerry Maguire Ending

"Why are you still here, Mulder? Your life long quest has ended. Samantha is back, and you know the reasons behind it, if not the purpose. What keeps you here?"

Post Redux II Samantha is incensed that her brother doesn't want to quit the files.

Susan Proto's

Familiar Faces

There was no doubt in his mind it was Samantha.

Or a clone.

Post Fight the Future Mulder and Scully see a Samantha lookalike; and Scully decides to do some investigating.

Miracles

"Fox, you're wrong. He can help your partner," Christeena attempted to convince. "He cured me, and he can cure Dana. Fox, I swear. I swear on your sister's life."

Scully is pregnant and in a coma, Maggie doesn't consider Mulder 'family', and Tena has known all along her daughter is still alive.

Jennifer Maurer's Perfect Gifts

"Yes. I have Agent Mulder's sister Samantha."

Scully makes a Christmas monkey paw deal for Samantha's return.

Lauren's (MC) The Return

The side profile of the child looked vaguely familiar. Mulder squinted his eyes to look closer. He suddenly felt the strength drain from his body as recognition registered for a brief minute.

Samantha is briefly returned; and CSM tries to use that to his advantage, luring Mulder into a death trap.

Sarah Ellen Parsons's 180-Word Self-Imposed Challenge: Samantha's Fate - Version One

I look at them suspended in greenish liquid - my children.

Samantha is a co-conspirator in the clone project.

Mish's Contact

His eyes swim with unshed tears but his words are steady. "I had the Gunmen search for her. Actually, she seems to be leading a pretty normal, happy life." His lips curve in a watery smile.

Post The Unnatural Mulder brings Scully to watch a little league baseball game; and has one more surprise in store for her.

@cecilysass's The Boy on the Beach (Ao3)

He recounted it like it was an exciting action tale, like it was a comic book, and Samantha just stared at him, gimlet-eyed. Maybe it was right to trust him to handle his own sister. Then again, he had a well-documented tendency to make reckless moves, even when he was in his thirties.

Post Amor Fati Scully is whisked back in time, resigning herself to being trapped in the past forever if she can save Samantha from being abducted.

@o6666666's (Ao3) What's your headcanon for if Samantha was found?

“I’m fine,” Scully calls to her, eyes still beating down on Pfaster. “I’m fine, Samantha!” But she is shaking from head to toe, teeth chattering as if her apartment’s cold. 

Scully, Mulder, and Samantha adjust to the latter's return, riding the ups and downs of Season 7 together.

 finisterre's The Tunnel at the End of the Light

It's her, the woman from the video, peering out of the door. I can only see the right half of her face in the murk of the room. I relax a little; this has to be the right place.

Samantha and her two sons escape, looking for Mulder's help-- not knowing he'd recently been abducted.

Gillian Leigh's (MC) Visitor in the Desert (MC)

"Samantha?" The woman stared at him without recognition for a moment, and then her own hazel eyes widened behind the simple frames of her glasses.

Season 9 Mulder is visited by his daughter from the future-- who helps him prevent William's adoption and reunites him with his sister (and Scully's brothers) in an underground colony.

Donna's After the Future

The atmosphere was nothing like when he had been a child. He could remember hiding in the loft with Samantha watching their parents fight or their father conspire against humankind.

Part II to a Colonization timeline, Scully barters for Samatha's life so Mulder (and their biological and adopted children) can be at peace.

@mldrgrl's Some Other Me

There’s a Fox Mulder whose sister wasn’t taken from him by aliens.  Instead, she died in a drowning accident at their summer home when she was four.

A series of AUs for Mulder, Scully, and Samantha.

@wexleresque/hellsteeth's the holidays linger like bad perfume (Ao3)

“I grew up here, my parents both still live here, but they’re separated. My sister…isn’t well. They share the responsibility of caring for her, and as they’ve gotten older, I’ve been trying to come back more often and help out.”

Mulder and Scully briefly meet on the Vineyard, and swap some intriguing family history.

Leni's Partnership

It had taken a year of partnership to learn about Mulder's little sister. 

Mulder is an author, penning out the stories he'd told his late sister growing up.

@swinging-stars-from-satellites's no but the concept of Samantha Mulder being returned to the world at 14

she wants to know her own history and what Changed Her and it worries her, gets her deep enough into her head — Mulders, conscious of it or not, have depressive, obsessive tendencies — that she finally tries regression hypnotherapy....

Samantha, amnesic and happily adopted, works tirelessly to learn about her old life.

Keri Gontarek's Reunited II

"Yes. And she's fine. A little weak--apparently, Krycek was pumping her full of morphine and other drugs, but she's recovering."

Scully is an FBI Director when Mulder rejoins her life. In part one, it's revealed they have a son. In part two, they find and rescue Samantha.

Taverl's Notes II

But he took it even worse than I had imagined, shutting himself off from anyone and everyone. Especially me. After seventeen years of friendship and almost eleven of marriage, I know Mulder too well not to realize that he never held me responsible for the fact that he didn't find Samantha until it was too late. It was his own innate and well-honed sense of guilt that made him hurl accusations at me; that made him blame me for not finding her it time to save her. That didn't make it hurt any less, though.

Mulder's marriage falls apart after finding his dead sister; and Scully (and Skinner) finds him, half dead, in the tub.

@dreamingofscully's Surely, to the sea (Ao3)

She sighed, then stepped forward and took one of his hands. “Years ago. Samantha.”

Mulder’s eyes dropped to the floor and his hand went limp in hers. Silence draped over them as he processed her words. She knew what he was thinking, because the same ideas flitted around her own mind. 

Samantha's mysterious illness is mentioned as part of a larger casefile (featuring married paranormal investigators Mulder and Scully.)

Medusa's Sandcastles

"Samantha?"

She smiled at him. The most beautiful smile he'd ever seen, bar one.

Mulder wakes from a coma, having dreamt the X-files as an entire, false life.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[thatgirlwithasquid]

letters that i can never send

words: 25,571

Chrissy/Tina | Teen and Up Audiences | POV Tina | Ghost Chrissy Cunningham | Letters | Right Person Wrong Time | Unhappy Ending

beyond excited to get to share my fic for @sapphicstevents' stranger things sapphic mini bang!! writing it definitely fought me for a while but i'm really proud of this fic.

so here's the first chapter and a cover i threw together to post it with! the whole fic is up on ao3 here, and @hullomoon has been amazing and created a podfic of the work for anyone interested in listening <3

---

Chapter 1 : A Pack Of Green Scrunchies

words: 5,739

June 20th, 1986

Dear Chrissy,

I wish I had known you before everything went mad. 

I think I told you that before, but I mean it now more than I meant it then. It feels so crazy to think that we went through school walking past each other in the halls and not even glancing in each other’s direction. I know that I did the same thing to other kids but it still feels impossible.

My mom took me out to the mall the other day—there’s a mall in this town, not like the destroyed one in Hawkins. It’s full of people and stores and it's loud. I didn’t like it. I always used to find it annoying how quiet Hawkins was sometimes, but I hate how loud it is here. There’s too many people talking and smiling and I can’t see them without thinking about how oblivious I was before I met you.

They were selling scrunchies in one of the stores. My mom was looking for a new purse but I stopped to look at them instead. I bought a pack of green ones because they made me think of you. I wonder if that’s what you would smell like; cotton fabric and lingering perfume from my wrist.

I miss you. 

Tina.

—

The lights in the hospital waiting room hum with an electric static. Even under all the anxious chatter and background noise of the hospital, it’s the only thing Tina can hear. Well, that and the fading ringing in her ears.

Her hands clench and unclench around the hem of her shirt as she watches the minutes tick by. Beside her, her dad’s leg bounces up and down. She’s not sure if he’s aware of her watching him. The man stares ahead down the crowded hall through the chaos as if her mother will suddenly appear there, good as new.

Tina doesn���t say anything, just reaches out and entwines their fingers, letting out a sigh of relief as her father squeezes her hand back. She needs his strength to lean on. It doesn’t matter that, rationally, Tina knows her mother’s injuries from the earthquake were far from the most severe that came through those hospital doors today.

She’s never been more scared than she was when her dad came stumbling out of the rubble, shirt bloodied and with her mom’s arm over his shoulder to support her weight. Tina had been so frantic that she can’t even remember if her mother had been conscious at that point. She was out cold during the drive to the hospital, though; the sounds of ambulances and firetrucks and police cars responding to the destruction weren’t even enough to break her from her state. Her father had somehow remained stoic then, too.

Thankfully, it’s not too much longer before a nurse lets them visit her mom. After hours of waiting, they’re more than ready to see how she’s doing. 

With all the trouble caused during the disaster, her mom is crammed into a room with other people, separated only by a flimsy curtain. Around them, the relieved reconciliation of other patients and their families fade into the background as Tina reaches her mother’s side and grasps at her hand where it lays atop her blankets. 

IVs poke into her skin and wires trail off to monitors she doesn’t even begin to want to look at. Instead, Tina focuses her gaze on her mom’s weary face. She looks tired, eyes rimmed with dark circles that are only accentuated by the pale colouring of her skin. But she seems okay, all things considered, and Tina sighs out in a relieved whoosh of breath.

The nurse goes over her mom’s condition with her dad, but Tina hardly takes in a word—the moment the nurse confirms that her mom will be okay, she tunes her out entirely. Instead, Tina drinks in the sight of her mom, brushing a careful thumb over her scraped knuckles and almost tearing up when her mom gives her a small smile in return.

Eventually, the nurse hurries off again and Tina’s dad slumps into a chair beside the bed. Tina barely glances his way, too scared to look away from her mom, convinced that if she so much as takes her eyes off her, something terrible will happen again.

“Tina,” her mom sighs. “I’m okay. You don’t need to look so worried.”

Tina shakes her head.

“I was so scared,” she manages, voice cracking under the tears she spent so long suppressing. They finally rush down her face in a flood of emotion, tasting salty where they converge in the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, baby,” her mom says, voice softening. “It’s going to be okay now, okay? Why don’t you go and get some rest, you look exhausted.”

Tina can’t help but laugh at that, an ironic, choking thing. “I look exhausted?”

“Well,” her mom smiles before shifting slightly and doing her best to smother a wince. “I’m already laying down and getting rest. I’m more worried about you.”

Guilt stabs Tina’s heart like a blade. Her mom’s the one in a hospital bed, with doctors and nurses hovering around outside to help if needed, and yet Tina’s the one acting like the world’s weighing down on her shoulders. It’s shameful in its own way. 

Tina always thought she was strong enough to be her parents’ equal. She did well enough in school and had plenty of friends; her parents saw how grown up she was and even helped her plan her Halloween parties; her mom told her everything—every annoying thing someone at work said, every snippy little complaint about her dad forgetting to hang the washing out…

And here she is now. Comforting Tina like she’s a little kid in need of a nap and not a seventeen-year-old who should be better than this. So, she shakes her head, plastering on a smile even as her eyes sting with another wave of tears and, admittedly, exhaustion.

Before she can put up much protest, her dad pipes up to agree with her mom. It doesn’t leave enough room for anything more than Tina going along with what they want. Her dad almost follows before he hesitates, catching her mom’s eye. She nods back at him.

“Why don’t you see about finding some dinner for us two? I won’t be far behind you, I just need to have a talk with your mom.”

What is Tina supposed to do about that other than leave? She’s obligated to listen to her parents, even if she wants to stay. Besides, she’s sure she’ll be visiting her mom as often as she can until she’s discharged. 

So, it’s fine. All this is fine.

When she gets to the door, Tina turns and looks back at her parents one last time. With all the other people talking in the room, she can’t make out what her parents are discussing. What she can make out is the way her father’s face pinches into a concerned frown. 

Whatever it is they wanted to talk over without her must be serious. Resigned, Tina sets off in search of the cafeteria. It feels strange, pushing on through crowds of the distraught and the injured. Against her better judgement, her eyes catch and linger on the horror around her. 

Nothing will ever be the same after this, not in Hawkins at least. Too much bad has happened, too much to even let herself think about.

By the time her dad finds her in the cafeteria that evening, the dinner that Tina bought them has long since gone cold.

—

School doesn’t reopen until a week later—a week filled with funerals and clean up and searching for anyone still buried under the rubble. During that time, Tina recovers what she can from her trashed house to cram into some other girl’s bedroom. She should probably count her lucky stars that its usual inhabitant left for college a year ago, otherwise she would be knocking elbows in this little space—seemingly so much smaller than her own room was.

She longs for home: for her corkboard of polaroids of herself and her friends, for each marker line creeping up her door frame dedicated to a year of her life, for her fuzzy blue blanket, and for so many more little comforts that she had taken for granted. Staying here, in someone else’s bedroom while her dad stays on the pull-out downstairs, makes her feel strangely like a jigsaw piece jammed into the wrong puzzle.

There’s nothing to be done about that, with the roof of her house half-collapsed it’s not like they have much choice other than this. She is grateful that her dad’s work friend—Mr. Daniels—took them in, but that doesn’t stop her longing for what she’s lost.

Returning to class brings back none of the normality she longs for, either. Sure, the cracks in the road outside have been hastily paved over for the most part and the classrooms have been deemed safe to return to despite whatever state the earthquake had left them in, but everything has so clearly shifted…

All Tina sees, everywhere she looks, are the empty seats. The ones from kids whose families fled the town are one thing, one type of grief for the friends she’s not sure she’ll ever see again. The rest are something else entirely, vacant seats that will never be filled; those seats offer no question to their absence in Tina’s life.

So far, she has been to eight funerals. Three of them were some of her best friends. She didn’t sleep the nights after any of those. After the last one, she hasn’t been able to bring herself to attend any more; it turns out that there’s only so many bodies you can handle saying goodbye to within such a short period of time.

Mr. Clarke clears his throat, trying to recapture the forlorn attention of the room. Even he can’t seem to muster a genuine smile so Tina doesn’t know how he expects the students to care about any of this. Honestly, she’s surprised the school has even bothered swapping teachers to fill in for staff absences with how little chance they have at passing their exams after all this. If their grief wasn’t enough, having a teacher so clearly unprepared to deal with older kids isn’t going to help them learn at all.

She remembers Mr. Clarke from middle school and almost, very briefly, feels bad for thinking poorly of him. He’d been a nice enough teacher. She’s sure he’s still nice enough, but she just doesn’t have it in her to care about stuff like that anymore. Not after everything. She’s not sure how she fits into this new, broken version of Hawkins; how the hell should she be able to care about how everyone else fits in?

Slowly, the eyes of the class do raise to the man where he stands, squirming at the front of the room, backdropped by the chalkboard covered in scrawled science Tina hasn’t understood a word of. She can’t help but think that their usual teacher would have explained it in a way that made so much more sense to her.

She doesn’t know if that teacher is one of the leavers or worse.

Everyone sits quietly as Mr. Clarke stumbles his way through telling them about the commemorative assembly that is going to be held in the gym. Both schools will be coming together in a few days time to remember their lost friends, or at least that’s the plan.

Silence hangs in the air for another excruciating moment. Then the whispering finally begins. Names get thrown around, ones Tina is sure must belong to the dead.

“Jason,” someone whispers.

“Carol,” says another.

“Nicole—”

The whispering gets cut off abruptly by the scraping of a chair as it’s shoved out from under its desk. Some kid launches himself to his feet and stalks out of the room, eyes red-rimmed. Behind him, the classroom door slams shut on a spluttering Mr. Clarke.

Whispers start up again in the wake of his sudden departure. This time, Tina tunes them out. Instead, she sets her thoughts adrift, steering away from anything too dour to think on. She doesn’t want to deal with this today. They’ve only been back at school for a day. 

She isn’t ready for this yet. It doesn’t feel like there has been nearly enough time for any of them to come to terms with this. How the hell are they going to get through these last two months of school and—

“Tina!”

Blinking back to her senses, Tina looks up, across the lunch table and to whoever called her name. It’s Vicki, looking at her with wide, concerned eyes. She probably should be concerned, Tina can only vaguely recall walking to the cafeteria, she’d been so trapped in her own mind.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she asks.

It’s just the two of them, perched on the edge of a sparsely populated table. Their group used to be a lot bigger.

“I—” Vicki starts, hesitates, and then leverages a painfully forced smile onto her face. “I asked if you figured out what you wanted to do at college yet.”

She wants to wince, to cringe away from the inane topic. It makes her feel sick to pretend that everything is normal. People died, other people got hurt, the town is a mess. Why would they be worrying about stuff like this as if it means anything at all anymore?

“I don’t know. With my mom in the hospital everything’s changed. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

Vicki squirms uncomfortably at her confrontational tone, looking chastised. It makes her deflate a little, feeling suddenly very cruel. Just because Tina doesn’t know how to play at being normal, doesn’t mean she has to be such an ass to her friend over it. She still cares about her and being a bitch is only going to drive a wedge between them. It’s not like she has many friends left after everything, either.

Her hands tremble in her lap and she shakes them out as if that might banish some of her simmering nerves. It doesn’t. With a tense kind of control, Tina pushes up to her feet. Vicki’s eyes swivel up to her, surprised by the abrupt shift.

“Bathroom,” Tina chokes out, trying to tamper down the frustration in her voice.

“Tina…” Vicki starts but Tina is already walking away.

The lighting in the bathroom is dingy and off-putting, and yet the electric buzzing of those fluorescents still puts her in mind of sterile hospital walls. Her mom’s been making a great recovery, she reminds herself. She’ll be home before she knows it. Maybe then everything will start going back to normal.

The porcelain basin of the sink stares, glaringly white up at her as she leans over, splashing her face with metallic-tasting water from the old taps. Her ragged breaths send speckles of water back into it as it drips in trails down her face. She’s probably smudged her makeup now, and it didn’t even help at all.

With a choked sob, Tina turns her face upwards, meeting the paled expression of her reflection; eyes wide, droplets of water clinging to mascara-tinted lashes. But that’s not all she sees.

A sick feeling of horror settles deep in her stomach as she notices something from the corner of her eye—something hovering behind her, in the corner of the bathroom. The room had been empty when she came in. Heart hammering, startled by being snuck up on, Tina whirls around to see—

Nothing.

Just an empty, dingy, school bathroom. The green doors of toilet stalls stare back at her impassively as she clutches a hand to her chest, willing her racing pulse to settle.

It was nothing. It was her mind playing tricks on her. It had to be nothing. Because if not, how could she explain that fleeting glimpse of the ghost of Chrissy Cunningham?

—

Tina’s pen taps restlessly against the Daniels’ kitchen table, the only sound in the eerily silent house.

Sharing a living space with another family comes with all the chaos one would expect, with each of their routines clashing loudly and incompatibly as they stumble around each other each morning and night. And yet the quiet moments like this are almost worse, when everyone is out working or visiting the hospital or whatever else it is these people do. Aside from Tina, it’s empty. Abandoned, almost, like the rest of this god-forsaken ghost town.

She scratches a frustrated line through her pitiful homework attempt and pushes it away across the table, out of sight and out of mind as she stares distractedly out the window. The chair she sits on creaks as she leans to the side, trying to look out into the street. Usually at this time of the evening, kids would be running around, excited and playing in the warm spring air. Usually parents would be seen and heard, trying to cajole their kids inside for whatever they had cooked up or ordered in for dinner.

Tonight, there is nothing but a creeping sunset that paints the sky a dull pink, like drops of blood diluted in a lake of blue. There is no one finding time to play, and no one enjoying a peaceful evening, and Tina’s parents aren’t here. It’s just her, alone with her anxious mind.

She should be at the hospital, trying her best to be there for her dad and checking in on her mom. But going there again and again felt like poisoning herself, losing herself in worry that would set her heart pounding and mind spiralling. It doesn’t matter to her scared brain that she knows her mom is doing much better, she still can’t help but feel sick with worry.

And she’s so tired. It makes visiting her mom so difficult because her mom gives her this pitiful, concerned look whenever she sees her like this. Tina just can’t take that; being a burden to her parents instead of a place of support. They have nothing to be worried about, really. It— She’s just tired…

She can’t sleep with worrying about if something happened to her mom in the night, or if another earthquake might come to completely level this damn town. And what’s more, her mind hasn’t been able to stray far from the thought of what she saw—or what she thinks she saw—in that damn bathroom. Any time her mind has a chance to wander, her thoughts get inevitably dragged back to that sight.

She had only glimpsed her for a fleeting moment but that had been enough. Enough to see the shape of blood splatters on her cheer uniform and the inhuman pallor of her skin… Now, every sound—every creaking shift of this unfamiliar house, every car driving by, every sudden noise—leaves her jumping, expecting to see something horrific around her as if she’s being tormented by some twisted apparition. She hates it.

She should know better than this, she doesn’t even believe in ghosts! Whatever she saw must just be a trick of the mind. And yet.

With a frustrated groan, Tina pushes her chair out from the table and stands. Sitting around like this is doing her no good, either. It’s like she can’t escape any of this worry for even a second. Or, at least, she can’t when crammed into too-small rooms that have no space for the shape of her grief.

Her loaned keys chime against each other as she snatches them from the countertop. She just needs to get out of the house, walk around and clear her head. Maybe then all this anxiety can start to dissipate and the memory of that hallucination will fade.

Locking the door behind her, Tina wanders off in whatever direction her feet decide to take her. 

The air is clear outside and she hopes that might ease some of the tension that she has been holding, coiled and aching, within her. It’s hard to remember that she doesn’t need to be prepared for something awful to happen, because chances are nothing will.

She wishes she believed that.

Every time she blinks back to awareness, she finds herself on a different stretch of road that she can’t recall making the conscious choice to head to. This walk clearly isn’t doing anything for her. Clear her mind? What a ridiculous idea. How the hell could a place as fucked up as Hawkins bring her any relief, no matter where she might go or what she might do? It’s like the only thing her body knows how to do here anymore is to run on autopilot—to keep her body moving as her thoughts keep on spiralling.

She stills, taking a frustrated breath and at least trying to keep track of where she’s ended up. Her eyes scan her surroundings, taking note of how the efforts to fix up the town haven't reached this far yet, great deep cracks still clear and precariously crisscrossing the roads, splitting the asphalt open to reveal the exposed bowels of the earth.

It’s not something she’s that surprised by. Ahead of her, the road turns off into the trailer park. It makes sense that no one has prioritised fixing up things around here. With the abandoned yellow streamers of police tape, catching and glinting in the golden hour, it’s only too easy to remember what happened here all too recently.

Tina cringes at the sight of them, dancing in the gentle breeze like they don’t know what they mean. Like they don’t know a girl was massacred inside that place. Still, she can’t quite tear her eyes away. For a long, breathless moment, she just stares, caught in the bone-deep wrongness of that place. And then, like ice slithering down her spine, a stomach-churning feeling of horror settles upon her. It takes a hold in her chest before she even realises the cause of it.

Just barely visible from this far away, lingering in the window of the Munson’s trailer, is the shape of a person, standing stock-still. The longer she stares, breaths shallow and fast under the weight of that settling dread, the more the distant shape seems to resemble a girl, its silhouette becoming more convincingly feminine as that agonising second draws out longer and longer, running on forever as her gaze refuses to budge from the sight.

It’s like time has stopped. 

Tina doesn’t realise she’s stepping away until her feet scuff against the uneven ground and she nearly loses her balance. That, at least, is enough to break her out of her trance even if the terror sinking into her stomach refuses to dissipate; she rips her gaze away from the trailer as if burned. It feels like the shape of that figure is scorched into her retina now.

Unwilling to look back at that window, Tina runs.

—

Sitting through the commemorative assembly in the school’s gymnasium is like pulling teeth. Every word jars her, striking through with pained awareness of how overcrowded the room is playing host to two schools and yet not nearly as crowded as it should be.

She feels like an exposed nerve, too vulnerable for this. Her eyes burn with exhaustion and the threat of tears.

At some point she stops listening entirely, too mentally overwhelmed as she tries not to think about anything at all if it will get the ringing in her ears to stop. As she looks down at her hands, the shadows cast by the lines of her palms form a dark echo of the blood and grime she remembers from that day. She had to trim her nails as short as she could to get rid of the last traces of it.

When they’re finally dismissed, the end of the speeches coinciding with the end of the school day, Tina lingers behind at a shout of her name.

Waving over at her from through the dispersing crowd is Vicki. There are strained creases around the corners of her eyes as she weaves her way to meet Tina but she valiantly keeps a smile in place, something more than Tina can say for herself.

“You want to tag along with me? I’m heading to meet Samantha, she snuck some of her parents' booze in all the confusion so we’re going to meet up and let off some steam.”

“Samantha Stone?” Tina clarifies. “Since when do you hang around with Samantha?”

Vicki scoffs. “Since almost everyone else is gone.”

Tina presses her lips together to keep the sudden roll of nausea at that blasé statement at bay. Vicki seems to pick up on it, her expression dimming marginally with her concern, but she chooses not to question it. Instead, she strides on, head held high.

“Anyway, we all have people’s memories to drink to. I cannot deal with the aftermath of that stupid assembly while sober. So, you coming or what?”

Tina takes a steadying breath and follows. After all, it’s not like she’s got any better ideas. 

The crowd that gathers at the edge of the school’s field is a mishmash of different people, most of whom Tina has only ever seen around each other in the classroom or at her own parties. They seem to clump together uncertainly, stilted conversations offered between each other about inane topics that Tina doesn’t have the energy to entertain.

Regardless, she loiters around with the group, accepting whatever drinks get thrust into her hand and taking great gulps to avoid joining any conversations. Listening is more than enough, if you can even class what she’s doing as listening. 

Everyone else, at least, seems on the same page about getting shit-faced. As the hours creep by, shoulders finally start to slump and the group gets rowdier the drunker they get. Bottles are uncapped with grandiose claims of them being in honour of someone who couldn’t be there with them.

Silently, Tina raises her own drink, the faces of her friends flashing in her minds’ eye. 

At some point, Vicki leaves her place at Tina’s side. She looks up to see her, arms interlocked, with Samantha and laughing the way she only does when she’s really tipsy. For a second, Tina considers going over to talk to them, but when she gets up from her spot on the bench her body feels clumsy and uncoordinated. It’s probably better that she stays here, leaning against the seat for support.

There’s another kid who could probably benefit from the same. He’s pale aside from a splotchy flush to his cheeks as he stumbles ungainly out from the tree line.

“Didn’t get lost taking a piss then?” his friend taunts as he wobbles his way back over to their side.

“I think I just saw a ghost,” he says in a daze.

Everyone laughs at that. Tina tries not to think at all.

The sun is creeping towards the horizon and Tina is far too many drinks in when the nausea finally hits her. It feels like a physical thing, crawling its way up her throat.

“Shit,” she gasps, floundering up onto her feet at last and heading blindly into the trees. At least there she might have just a smidge more privacy in her shame.

Her sneakers shuffle over uneven earth, hesitant at first until the need to puke becomes too much and she hurries further along, with all the uncoordinated grace she can muster. Knees meet the ground and an arm braces against a tree as she sucks in deep breaths. They slowly soothe the sickness away. In the end, she’s not sure if it’s better or worse that she didn’t actually vomit.

Head still hazy, she looks up and widens her awareness back to her surroundings.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she says, clambering back to her feet, as she spots them.

It’s a girl. It’s too far away to be sure but she looks to be dressed in a cheer uniform, at least from what Tina can see. The girl is curled around herself, sitting with her back against a tree and her head in her hands.

This could be it. This could be that same hallucination. 

Tina should just go—whether or not this is real, she just needs to leave it alone. If this is just some other student from their drunken group, then her crying is none of Tina’s business. Hell, she’s had to step away for private moments herself and it’s not the sort of thing you want to be walked in on. And if this is Chrissy, then… Well, then that doesn't bode well to think about.

Leaves and twigs crunch underfoot, stealing any stealth she might have managed, as Tina approaches. Not like it matters, the girl doesn’t react at all, as if she can’t even hear her.

The closer she gets the less she can deny it. That strawberry-blonde hair, held back from her face by a green scrunchie; that small stature; the familiar cheer uniform, speckled with somehow still-red blood… She may not have known Chrissy personally, but Tina had certainly seen her around enough to be able to recognise her.

She slows to a stop, looking down at the figure of her. From here she can see that her head isn’t actually in her hands. She’s covering her ears, muttering something under her breath that Tina can’t quite make out without getting closer.

Tina’s mouth opens to speak but she finds it suddenly dry, her throat barren. She clears her throat, the sound perversely loud in the atmosphere around her.

“Chrissy?” she manages finally, voice little more than a whisper.

Chrissy’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and frantic. Her whole body tenses, posture coiling and shifting as if she’s preparing to bolt, and for a moment Tina feels that same need to flee echoed in herself. Neither of them do.

Tearful, blue eyes take in Tina’s face before some of the fight seems to drain from her, slumping infinitesimally against the tree behind her. Tina, though, doesn’t relax and her alcohol slowed mind fumbles to come to grips with the sight before her.

Chrissy, where she sits in the leaves and dirt and forest debris, is so pale. Every so often, the very vision of her seems to flicker in Tina’s sight, as if the girl herself were not fully corporeal… trapped between this world and the next.

“Are… Are you real?” Chrissy breathes, voice small and broken.

The irony of that startles a laugh from Tina before she can help it. 

Shouldn’t she be the one asking that? Chrissy is the dead girl out of the two of them. If either of them should be mistrusting their minds right now, it should be Tina. Because if ghosts aren’t real, as Tina had always believed so strongly, then how can Tina be facing this right now?

“Am I real?” she scoffs, voice bordering on hysterical. “You’re the dead girl here.”

“What?” Chrissy asks in that same crushed tone.

“You’re dead,” Tina tells her, because what else is there to say?

Somehow, Chrissy seems to pale further, as if blood was rushing away from her non-existent face.

“No. N-no. I’m not, I can’t be. What are you talking about?”

“You died. In the Munsons’ trailer.”

“You’re lying. I’m right here—I can’t be—” Chrissy’s voice becomes shrill and stricken with panic before an anger steals over her features. “This isn’t funny. What kind of joke is that? I just—I need to get home.”

Tina scoffs, almost disbelieving, and steadies her swaying against a low-hanging branch.

“I went to your funeral. You’re dead. And I must be going crazy…”

The last part comes out half as a laugh, half as a sigh. It’s a fact she’s resigned herself to uncomfortably quickly, but what other explanation could there be? People don’t just see visions of dead girls sitting around and telling them they can’t be dead if they’re not mad.

Chrissy’s expression glazes over, seeming to be lost in her own mind as a fresh wave of tears give a new shine to those mournful eyes.

“You’re lying,” she says again, but this time she sounds more defeated than accusing, like it makes sense to her even if she doesn’t want it to be true.

Or Tina’s mind thinks Chrissy shouldn’t want it to be true—if Chrissy’s ghost actually was in front of her, that is. But she isn’t, because that would be preposterous. She’s just had too much to drink, and she’s been feeling paranoid, and it’s not as if she’s been able to rest since all of this began.

She doesn’t know why she’s indulging this in the first place. 

Her mouth opens to say something to that effect. Surely she has some smartass comment about it all, but all that remains in her mind are the wispy impressions of the thought as she tries her best to reorient herself. In the end, she gets nothing out before a voice calls out for her. 

Damn, she’s been out here for too long. She’s not even really sure how much time has slipped away without her notice between her leaving the gathering and ending up where she stands now.

Right, that decides it, she’s leaving. This—all of this—is something she doesn’t want any part in. Not ghosts, or hallucinations, or whatever any of this is and certainly not while she’s drunk. There are a thousand more important things she could be worrying about, she chides herself as she turns on her heel and sets her eyes on the way back. In fact, she’s mid-step when a feeble voice calls out for her.

“Please, don’t go. I’m scared to be alone…”

Tina pauses, her heart pounding.

“I need to get back,” she says; to herself, because there is no one else there. 

For a moment, Chrissy is quiet. Tina almost thinks the hallucination has finally dissipated when she speaks up again.

“Will you come back?”

Tina’s heart stutters in her chest. This isn’t real. None of this is real. She turns to look behind her and Chrissy is gone, not even a trace of her to be seen. 

“Tina!”

“Yeah,” Tina replies, the words mumbled to herself, as she finally unsticks her feet from the ground to return to the group. 

---

chapter 2

[brutal-nemesis]

ok siiince you asked for requests for demon boy castys… the tongue cut out + gag seemed like such an adorable situation for him <33

Giving you that and a little extra because I wanted More Whump 💕

←Previous - Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: manhandling, a lot of unsexy noncon touching, slight dehumanization, partial nudity

Castys wasn’t sure if he slept at all that night, but after what felt like an eternity, Neteri reappeared wearing different clothes under her white coat.

“Good morning, Castys!” She sat on one of the stools from last night and motioned for him to do the same. “Get up, I’ve got wonderful news to share!” 

Castys opened his mouth to retort, but he found he couldn’t form the words. His tongue was still…he looked away, swallowing, and sat up while remaining on the floor. 

“You’re going to have to start listening to me, you know. Because,” she broke out into an excited smile, “I get to keep you!” Upon seeing Castys’s glare, she just laughed. “I figured you wouldn’t be excited, but trust me,” she held up a finger, “you’ll be much better off in my hands than if you were sold as a pet to some bored aristocrat. I’m sure they’d beat that personality right out of you, and I don’t plan on doing anything of the sort. As long as you cooperate with my experiments, you’re free to be yourself. You can even hate me as much as you like!” Castys raised an eyebrow at her final statement. He’d see about that.

After rummaging in her bag for a moment, she pulled out a little silver medal and moved to crouch next to him on the ground. “Hold still now,” she ordered as she started to bring it towards his neck. Castys wasn’t sure what was happening at first, but after a moment, it clicked, and he decided he’d rather not listen, leaning back. Neteri just sighed. “You’re not off to a very good start.” Well, it’s not like he wanted to be.

Suddenly, Neteri changed tactics, shoving him down on his back and straddling his waist before he could try to sit up, pinning his arms down with a knee on each elbow. Castys cried out, the wounds on his back from the whip lighting up in pain, and that combined with her full weight on him kept him from moving. He bared his teeth as her hand came closer, daring her to get within range, but she just curled her other hand in his hair, yanking it back and keeping his head firmly in place. Great. He was once again powerless against this tiny lady, forced to keep still as she attached that dumb little tag to the collar and sealed the metal shut with the same spell that kept him from taking it off.

“There,” she said once it was on. She tapped the tag, cold against his throat. “Property of Neteri Crozien. Whether you like it or not. Now,” she grabbed his chin, “are you going to let me put some new restraints on you or should I call the guards to manhandle you? Your resistance is pointless and only delaying the inevitable, exactly like every other time. Just nod if you’re going to cooperate.”

Did he want to get manhandled again? Not particularly. He’d had more than enough of being grabbed and held still while chains were taken off and put on. And it’s not like he was resisting out of pride or something stupid, he just fought back when it was something he really didn’t want to happen. Which was most things in the past couple days, but, hey, if new restraints meant he got to leave this boring-ass cell, he was okay with it. Her grip on his hair had loosened enough to allow him a small nod, so he gave one, praying she’d get the fuck off of him now.

Neteri smiled brightly at his cooperation. “Great! Although,” she got off of him and stood, thinking, “maybe just stay laying down. I don’t really trust you not to try and run at the moment, so just roll on your stomach and I’ll take the chains off.” Castys sighed in annoyance but complied, gritting his teeth as his weight went from his injured back to his burned chest. The cold stone floor felt a little good on it, at least, but it was a small consolation as he watched Neteri walk back over with a key and a coil of rope. 

She squatted down and-fuck, that was a knee on his back, not her full weight but enough to make him gasp in pain. Paying him no mind, Neteri unlocked the manacles around his wrists, and he could barely enjoy the feeling of not having anything around them for a moment, just wishing she’d tie him up and get the fuck off of his back. It didn’t feel like she was going particularly slow as she pulled his arms behind him and wound the rope around his wrists, but the seconds still dragged by at an agonizing pace. 

Finally, she finished tying the knot and took her knee off of his back as she stood. “There we go!” Castys just groaned, rolling on his side. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s not like I was hurting you.” Castys’s glare deepened, and he awkwardly used his bound hands to pull up the back his shirt enough to expose the bandages wrapped around his torso. Neteri’s jaw dropped slightly, and she just stared at him for a second before worry took over her features.

“I…I’m so sorry I…I completely forgot. That you were hurt. I wouldn’t have done that if I remembered.” Her head hung slightly. “I’m really sorry, Castys.” Her apology seemed genuine, but how the fuck did she forget he got whipped and branded yesterday? She looked back at him again. “Let’s just hurry and get you to your new home so I can heal you up, okay?” Wait, new home? She was taking him somewhere else? At first the idea was scary, but then Castys remembered that he’d never particularly loved living in the castle, so whatever. It was probably just going to be a different prison cell, anyway.

With ridiculous difficulty and a lot of groaning in pain, he managed to sit up, using his elbows to help him do it since his hands were kind of useless. By the time that was done, Neteri was standing above him with…a chain? He was already tied up what the fu-no. No fucking way. He growled as her hands moved towards his neck, baring his teeth once more.

“Seriously, Castys? You said you weren’t a dog yesterday, but you sure are acting like one.” Yeah, sure, whatever, but since he couldn’t fucking talk, he was forced to resort to other means of protest. He honestly wasn’t entirely sure where the growling came from himself, and, yeah, it was a little animalistic, but that didn’t mean he deserved to get put on a leash. “This is happening either way, so just give it up already.” Her hand was moving closer, closer, the clasp at the end of the chain open, ready to-

Once again, instinct took over, and before he knew it, his teeth were buried in the flesh of her hand.

Neteri cried out, jerking her hand back and dropping the leash. “Lyte! Seriously?!” She winced as she dabbed the wounds with what smelled like the stingy liquid from yesterday and used her magic to close them up, during which Castys couldn’t help but smile smugly. Once she was done healing, she pulled on her leather gloves and grabbed a couple rolls of bandages from her bag. “I figured you were going to be difficult to keep in line, but this is just ridiculous.” Castys took pride in being ridiculous, so he’d take the compliment. What he didn’t want to take were the consequences of his actions, but he was a little bit helpless at the moment, so there wasn’t much he could do as Neteri shoved a wad of bandages in his mouth and tied a strip around his head to keep him from spitting it out.

“There. You’re just about the only person who’d need to be gagged when they can’t talk.” Castys just looked away, feeling his face grow hot as she clipped the leash to the collar. She gave it a tug, but he didn’t budge. Now he was just resisting out of spite. Neteri’s expression grew even more frustrated, and it looked like she was about to say something before she stopped herself and took a deep breath, calming herself down. She crouched down to look Castys in the eye.

“Look, I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I hurt you when I didn’t mean to, so I’m not going to punish you for biting me. We’ll just call it even.” She paused and held up a finger. “The gag stays until we reach our destination, though. Just for safety’s sake. But I’ll tell you something about my plans for you. If you come with me, you’ll have a tongue again by the end of tomorrow. Does that sound good?” 

Castys could be stupid and stubborn and petty and shake his head and sit here and then end up getting dragged off to wherever, or he could just suck it the fuck up and get the ability to complain back. Complaining would be nice...After weighing his options he nodded, and Neteri broke into a smile. “Good. Let’s go, then.” She helped him stand, and she seemed to do her best not to pull on the leash as they walked along. Soon enough, they had reached the teleportation stone, and Castys…he couldn’t help but be a little excited to leave this stupid place. He knew he was a fucking prisoner now, but he was basically a prisoner in his old life, too, minus the chains and plus a comfy bed. 

At least he was going somewhere else.

The other palace was pretty cool, at least, the short glimpses he got before he was pulled into the lower levels, down halls and through doors until they arrived at his lame little prison cell. It did have a bed, though, so that was an upgrade. And a private bathroom?! Why did the prison cells in his family’s dungeon have to suck so much ass? He only spent two nights there, but still. If he was ever in charge of a dungeon, he would make sure it was at least a little comfy in case he got thrown in there.

Neteri clamped a manacle around his ankle, which was whatever, because that meant she untied his wrists and took that stupid leash off. And then, true to her word, she healed his wounds. The brand scarred, of course, which was…the symbol was kind of cool, but since it meant he was “property” or whatever he wasn’t too excited about it being on his chest for the rest of his life. At least shirts existed.

After that was done, Neteri instructed him to clean himself off and left him alone for a bit. He wandered into the bathroom, chain clinking with every step, and paused in front of the mirror. He looked pretty much the same as always, just a little more tired and blood-covered than usual. Oh, and the stupid collar around his neck. Neteri was fucking delusional, it didn’t look the slightest bit “cute” on him, it just looked…He didn’t want to see it anymore.

Once he was clean and dressed in some slightly comfier clothes, Castys tried out his new bed. It was nowhere near as nice as his old one, but it was way better than the floor, so he’d take it. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, Neteri poked him in the face.

“I’m back, Castys, get up and take your shirt off.” Castys sat up, but didn’t take his shirt off, instead just crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. His wounds were healed, so what the hell did she need it off for? “Come on, I’m just going to examine you and take some measurements. Nothing painful, I promise.” Not painful, sure, but probably still not pleasant. Even so, he didn’t really have much choice but to listen, so he pulled off his shirt and stood, hoping this wouldn’t involve too much touching.

His hopes were in vain.

It started off fine, her measuring his height and a few other things with a strip of leather, but then she started running her hands all over him, poking at him, moving him this way and that. He couldn’t help but flinch every time since he hated being touched, and Neteri was clearly getting annoyed by it. His full-body recoil after she ran a hand down his spine was the final straw. Wordlessly, she clamped a manacle around one of his wrists before shoving him down onto the bed. He tried to stand back up, but she basically fucking tackled him, pinning him down on his back for the second time today. And, to top it all off, she managed to loop the chain around the top of the cot before cuffing his other wrist, leaving him pretty much helpless.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just kept still,” Neteri sighed, seeing his frustration. Well, it was a little fucking hard to be still when someone who’s basically a stranger is running their hands all over your bare skin. He considered trying to kick her, but she’d probably just chain him up more and keep going, and he’d rather this bullshit just be over with already.

Being chained down on his back somehow made this infinitely worse. There was nowhere to run, nothing he could do, Neteri looming over him as she put her hands all over him, touching his chest, his brand, squeezing his arms, grabbing his chin, pulling at his eyelids, gloves on now, hands in his mouth, poking at the stump of his tongue, feeling his teeth, gripping his hair to turn his head from side to side, his skin was crawling, crawling, his muscles tense, breaths coming short, fast, he just wanted her to get off stop touching him examining him taking notes reducing him down to just numbers just a body not a person not someone who got boundaries or personal space no just someone who gets touched and touched and touched-

“Castys! Hey, hey, just breathe.” Neteri was standing over him now, fiddling with the cuffs on his wrists, releasing him. Castys hadn’t even realized he was hyperventilating, but he tried his best to calm down as he scrambled to the other end of the bed, as far away from her as he could get. Neteri watched him sadly. “I…I was making you uncomfortable, wasn’t I? I’m sorry, I just thought you were trying to be a nuisance.” No shit he was fucking uncomfortable, how the hell did she misread that?! At least she looked upset by this, but it was way too late for that. Castys still felt like there were bugs crawling all over him, and he could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. 

Neteri reached out a hand in a misguided attempt to comfort him, but after seeing how Castys flinched and bared his teeth, she backed off. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone. Well, I’ll go get you something to eat, and then I’ll leave you alone. Until tomorrow, and then you’ll have a tongue again and you can complain all you want and yell at me, okay?” Castys would rather never have to see her stupid face ever again, but that’s not how this was gonna work, so he just nodded silently, not relaxing until she’d left the room. 

He almost wanted to take a shower again, just to wash the feeling of her hands off, but it was starting to subside, so he just pulled his shirt back on and hid under the covers. What was that, exactly? He knew he didn’t like being touched, and he’d never let anyone do it remotely that much, so maybe being touched for so long in such an invasive way had been too overwhelming. Castys had thought he’d be a little tougher than this, since the thought of pain didn’t really scare him, but apparently being pinned down and touched was too much for him? Kind of…pathetic. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he could talk, protest, fight back a little bit with his words. Maybe he’d be okay once he could talk again.

He just hoped Neteri wasn’t lying about giving him his tongue back.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ 

@starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump 

@painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad​​ @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​

@whumpedydump

[saturnniidae]

Modern au with a strong theme of Hiccup coping with his leg better than all the people around him and it's low key pissing him off

[hanzajesthanza]

also regis swearing at stygga is so meaningful to me because he swore over milva’s dead body and also in front of angoulême (and assumedly cahir too)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!