#goblin cave with bones

[galehive]

preserving this video at all costs to teach future generations what twitter was like

EDIT: About a billion people asked me where to get the soundtrack. I'm so glad you like my silly music. Working on an ep with bonus stuff ASAP

[hobohobgoblim]

I'd rather be flaking stones into sharp points honestly.

[jetii]

I love love love your style of writing, I’m so happy I discovered you. As I see you are well on your way with writing a bunch of fics for the bad batch already I would very kindly request a smutty fic with my favorite reg Wolffexf!reader maybe with “only one bed” 🥹

That's so lovely to hear, thank you so much! 💙 I've never written Wolffe before so I hope I did him justice. This started out as pure smut, but my angst goblin brain got me in the end.

For One Night

Pairing: Wolffe x Jedi!Reader / Wolffe x fem!Reader

Words: 10,745

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, reader is Plo Koon's former Padawan, protective!Wolffe, mutual pining, forbidden love, love confessions, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise kink, underwear kink maybe, biting, marking

Summary: When you and Wolffe are stranded during your first mission together in months, you're forced to confront the feelings between you that have been threatening to break through the surface.

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You’ve never seen a storm this bad.

The clouds are roiling and thundering above, but they aren't the typical gray you've come to expect. They are an ugly shade of yellow-green, as though there's an eerie, toxic glow coming from within. Lightning flashes across the sky, and with each successive burst you feel the rumble deep in your bones. The air is thick and wet, and the rain that pours down is torrential, but it isn't water.

The acid rains from the toxic atmosphere are a blessing and a curse. It washes away the filth of the world, but at the cost of further destroying the planet's natural ecosystem. It's the reason why all the humans are locked inside a walled city, why most of the animal species are extinct.

It’s also the reason why you and Wolffe are stuck here.

You've been assigned on a scouting mission, the first one for you since you were knighted. There was a group of battle droids sighted near the wall, and the Council didn’t want to take any chances. If there was an attack, the city would be completely defenseless.

A normal scouting mission would be simple enough, even during a storm. It would just require a couple hours of searching, and then you could report back. But you weren’t prepared for a storm this strong. The rain is so thick that you can barely see a few feet in front of you, the only light from the occasional flash of lightning. There are no signs of the droids, which means that the mission has become a fruitless endeavor. And with the acid rain threatening to burn into your skin, you can tell that it isn't safe to be outside for long.

Your comms have been down for hours, and you and Wolffe have no choice but to make your way back to the city.

"We need to find some sort of shelter," you say, shouting over the roar of the storm. "At least until this blows over."

Wolffe doesn’t look pleased. "We need to keep looking. Those droids—"

"They've either been washed away by the rain or they're gone. We'll head out again when the weather clears." You're the General now, so the mission is ultimately your responsibility. Wolffe grunts his displeasure, but you know that he'll obey.

There's a flash of lightning, and you shield your eyes from the glare. The rumble of thunder is louder than before, and you feel the vibration of it under your feet.

You shiver as another gust of wind cuts through your robes, the heavy material doing little to protect you from the elements. "I don’t have the protection you do, Wolffe. I can't stay out here much longer."

The tension in Wolffe's form eases, and he gives you a nod before turning. He begins to walk away, and you have to jog to keep up with his long strides.

The two of you stumble through the storm for what seems like ages. There are no natural shelters nearby, no caves or overhangs, nothing. You've made it back to the area where the droids were spotted, but you haven't found anything of note. Just dead trees, trees, and more trees. It's starting to become clear to you why no one has made an attempt to reclaim this part of the planet.

Then you notice a glint of metal in the distance.

"Wait." You hold up a hand.

Wolffe stops immediately, his hand dropping to his blaster.

You step closer, peering through the storm. There's definitely something there. You reach out, trying to get a sense of it. The Force is murky and turbulent, but you manage to get a vague idea of what you're dealing with.

"I think it's a bunker," you tell him. "And it's unoccupied."

Wolffe grunts, and he starts off towards the glimmer. You follow behind, trying to keep your footing on the muddy ground. The rain is starting to become too much, and you can barely see where you're going.

Finally, the entrance comes into view. It's a hatch in the ground, the metal rusted and corroded by time.

You're already kneeling down and reaching for it when Wolffe pulls you back.

"Let me go first," he says.

You huff and stand back, crossing your arms. You don't bother to protest. It's not worth the energy, and it's obvious that Wolffe won't be persuaded.

Wolffe kneels down, and you watch as he lifts the hatch, yanking it open with a grunt. You can see him hesitate, but after a moment, he lowers himself inside.

There's a long pause, and then he calls up. "Clear."

The ladder is slick and rusted, and you cling tightly to the rungs as you descend. You finally make it down, and your feet hit the concrete floor with a soft thump. Wolffe is at your side as soon as you're stable, his helmet sweeping over you from head to toe, his hand on your elbow.

You roll your eyes, but your annoyance is tinged with fondness.

"I'm fine," you say, trying to brush the hair out of your face. Your ponytail has come loose, and the wet strands cling to your face.

Wolffe just nods, but he doesn't move away. Instead, his hands come up, and he gently pushes the hair out of your eyes. His thumb brushes over the curve of your cheek, and he lingers for a moment before he drops his hand.

The movement is quick, so quick that you're not sure if you imagined it. But Wolffe's thumb was warm against the skin of your cheek, and the feeling lingers.

You're about to say something, but he's already turning away, moving to inspect the bunker. You let out a breath, and then shake yourself, pushing down the feeling in your chest.

The bunker is small and dark, barely illuminated by the faint glow from the emergency lights. There are crates scattered around, and a couple old terminals along the far wall. You can see the silhouettes of worker droids, but they're so covered in cobwebs and rust that they've long been rendered inoperable. A thick durasteel door is on the opposite wall, leading to another part of the facility.

"Stay here," Wolffe says, heading for the door.

You frown. "Why?"

"There could be enemies in there," he replies, already pulling his blaster.

“There isn’t,” you insist. You try to peer through the doorway, but it's too dark to make anything out. "If there were, I would sense it."

"I still need to check."

You cross your arms, letting out an annoyed sigh. You hate feeling useless, especially when you're a general, but you can't fault Wolffe for wanting to be cautious. It's the exact kind of behavior that has earned him his reputation.

"Fine," you mutter. You walk over to one of the terminals, trying to get it to turn on as you hear Wolffe wrench the door open.

It takes a few moments, but the terminal finally hums to life, the screen flickering before glowing a dull green. There's a few old files on there, some reports and logs, but you can't access them without the proper password. You didn’t bring your slicing kit, and even if you did, the terminal is far too old to use it.

Wolffe's voice floats in from the other room. "Clear!"

You stand and stretch, wincing as the rainwater sloshes in your boots. "Anything interesting?"

"A few things," Wolffe replies. "Looks like they were testing some kind of weapons system."

"Weapons? On this planet?" You raise your eyebrows. "Who would be stupid enough to do that?"

“Stupid enough, or desperate enough," he says. He walks back into the room, prying his helmet off his head and tossing it on a nearby crate. He looks at you, and his expression softens. "Find anything useful?"

You gesture to the terminal. "Some logs. I can't access them, though. Do you have the data drive? It’s a long shot, but it might be compatible.”

Wolffe pulls the data drive out from the pouch at his waist, handing it to you. It's a slim cylinder, the silver metal shiny and unblemished. You plug it in, and the terminal makes a faint beeping noise, the screen flickering before a login window appears.

"Got it," you say, typing in a command.

"Good work."

“Don't sound so surprised."

Wolffe huffs, and you hear the sound of footsteps as he comes up behind you. He stands next to you, and the two of you watch the progress bar creep along the screen, the connection to the nearest satellite weak, but stable.

"Looks like we might have to wait a while," he says, resting a hand on the edge of the terminal as he peers over your shoulder. His voice is deep and rough, and it rumbles against you. You're pressed up against his chest, and you can feel the warmth of him, his body heat soaking through his armor and into your skin.

You swallow, trying to keep your breathing steady. "Looks like."

It's almost unnerving how quickly you fall back into this pattern. Wolffe hasn't even touched you yet, not really, but your skin feels too tight and hot. You're hyper aware of him, every movement, every breath. You've never wanted him this much, and it scares you.

The two of you have a complicated history. Before you were knighted, you and Wolffe were... close. Not lovers, but not quite friends, either. It was difficult for the both of you to define the nature of your relationship, but you were certainly more than coworkers. Master Plo had always said that you were a good influence on him, that you tempered his rough edges, but the truth was that he had tempered yours. You were reckless and impulsive, and Wolffe grounded you, kept you focused. You needed each other, in a way.

But when you were knighted, you were sent away, and you haven't seen each other since.

And now...

Well.

The progress bar continues to crawl across the screen, the green light flickering and casting an eerie glow. Wolffe lets out a frustrated sigh.

"This is taking too long," he says, stepping away from you. He turns, and his gaze falls on the crates scattered around the room. He goes over and begins inspecting them, his fingers prying the lids open.

"You're such a grouch," you tell him with a laugh, leaning against the terminal and watching him work.

He snorts. "And you're a brat."

"I didn't choose the mission, Wolffe,” you say, rolling your eyes. "Besides, there are worse places we could be."

"This place is a shithole."

"Maybe, but at least we're not in the storm."

"Hm."

There's the clang of a lid hitting the floor, and then the sound of metal scraping. Wolffe stands, a couple of water canisters in his hand.

"I found some water," he calls over. "And some ration packs. Enough to last us a few days, if we have to."

"Well, hopefully it won't come to that," you say as you turn back to the terminal. "I'd hate for you to have to put up with me for that long."

"It's not so bad."

You smile to yourself, ducking your head so that he can't see. "Don't lie. We both know you'd rather be anywhere else."

"I didn't say that,” he says, and his tone is oddly serious.

"Oh."

Wolffe doesn't say anything after that, and the silence stretches on, the only sound the whir of the terminal as it processes the data. There's a sudden loud crack of thunder, and the sound of rain drumming on the roof of the bunker is louder than before. You wince at the sound as you start to parse through the local files on the terminal, searching for a map. 

It's difficult to focus on the task at hand. The room is small, and you're hyper aware of Wolffe moving around. He's still investigating, and you hear him rustling around in the crates, the sound of the lids being opened and shut. You try to pay attention to the screen, but you're not able to concentrate.

"You okay?"

You blink and realize that Wolffe is standing right behind you.

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?" you reply, turning around to face him.

He crosses his arms, his brow furrowed in concern. "You've been staring at the same file for ten minutes."

You flush, embarrassed, and quickly exit out of the menu. "I was just..."

You trail off. You were just what? Trying to figure out what you're doing? Trying to decide how to act around him, when everything is so different now?

Wolffe doesn't seem convinced, and his frown deepens.

"I'm fine, Wolffe," you mutter.

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Don't bullshit me, jet'ika. I've known you for too long."

Jet'ika. Little Jedi.

The nickname was given to you when you first met, and Wolffe had called you that ever since. It didn't matter that you were already an adult back then, nearly twice as old as he was, or that you were a full-fledged knight now. It was just part of the banter the two of you had, and the fondness in the nickname made your chest warm.

"I'm not—" you begin, but the words die in your throat as you meet his eyes. His stare feels like a physical weight, and your stomach clenches as your gaze flicks over his face. The scar, the dark circles under his eyes, the harsh lines of his face. All the changes that time had wrought.

You've thought about this man almost constantly since you left, but now that he's in front of you, you feel almost... intimidated.

"You look tired," Wolffe says after a moment, his voice low and gruff.

"That's... a little rude," you say.

"I'm just saying." He shrugs, and then reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, and you let out a quiet sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing.

"Fine," you huff. "I'm tired, and I’m freezing, and these robes aren't exactly made for the weather. But we're stuck here, and it's not like there's anything we can do about it."

"Thought so,” he replies, his voice smug. His hand drifts down to take the hem of your robes between his fingers. He gives them a little tug. "You know, you could always take off those wet robes."

You know he's teasing, but the suggestion still sends a jolt of heat through you. You glance up, meeting his eyes. There's an intensity in his gaze, and you have a feeling that he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, unable to keep the husky tone out of your voice. You grin, giving him a sly smile. "You think so?"

"Yes, sir."

You let out a breathy laugh, and Wolffe's mouth quirks in a half-smile. It's been a long time since you've flirted with him, but it seems like he hasn't lost his touch. You can feel the tension crackling between the two of you. It's always been like this, and you can't deny that there's a part of you that wishes he would just pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

But you know it wouldn't be that simple. There are complications, complications that the two of you can't ignore. It's why you haven't acted on the feelings between you, why you've tried to forget them.

You're a Jedi Knight now. And Wolffe is a Clone Marshal Commander.

Neither one of you have the freedom to be together.

Still, though, you can't help but tease him.

"Well," you say, slowly taking off your robes, "if you insist."

It’s not as if you’re revealing anything by allowing your outer robe to slide down your shoulders. You’re still wearing armor, after all. But the effect is still the same, and you can see his eyes roaming over your body, lingering on the way your leggings cling to your thighs, the curve of your ass.

You smirk and set the wet material aside. "Better?"

"Yeah," he replies, his voice a low rasp.

You're tempted to tease him further, to see how far you can push him. But you know that there's only so far you can go before one of you breaks, and you're not sure either of you are ready to face the consequences.

So instead, you turn back to the terminal, trying to distract yourself.

The storm rages on, the thunder shaking the bunker. After a few minutes, you start to shiver. The room is cold and damp, and the temperature has dropped as the storm worsens. You wrap your arms around yourself, and the armor on your forearms isn't doing much to warm you up.

Wolffe steps closer, and his hand brushes against your arm.

"You're shivering," he says, frowning.

"Yeah, I'm cold."

He doesn't say anything. He just takes off his gauntlets and tosses them on the floor. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he starts undoing the straps and buckles of his armor, pulling it off and stacking the pieces on the floor next to him. You don't understand what he's doing until he pulls his chestplate off and drops it, and then wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you against his chest.

You don't resist, allowing yourself to lean into him. The undersuit he wears beneath his armor is made from a thick, insulated material, and the heat of him seeps through the thin fabric of your tunic. He's so warm, and you relax, letting out a content sigh.

"That better?" he asks, his breath warm against your ear. You shiver at the sensation.

"Yeah," you say, closing your eyes. He snorts, his breath fanning over the top of your head. You can't stop the small smile from tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Thanks."

The two of you stand like that for a while, his arms wrapped around your waist. You try to keep working on the data, but it's difficult to focus with him so close. His chest is pressed against your back, and every time you breathe, the soft swell of his pecs is against your shoulder blades. You can't help but let your mind wander, imagining what he looks like under the armor, the planes of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen. You've always had a fascination with the strength of the clones, and Wolffe is no exception.

Wolffe doesn't move, his arms staying looped around your waist. His hands rest on your hips, and he shifts occasionally, his thumb stroking over the jut of your hip. After a while, he rests his chin on the top of your head, his stubble scratching at your scalp.

"Are you warm enough?" he murmurs, his breath stirring the hairs on the top of your head.

You hesitate. Wolffe runs hotter than most humans, his enhanced genetics making him a living furnace. You started to feel warm a while ago, and the air inside the bunker is stifling. But you can't deny that you don't mind having his arms wrapped around you, and you're reluctant to give up his touch.

"Not yet," you say, a hint of cheekiness in your voice.

He huffs, and his arms tighten around your waist. His fingers press into your sides, the pressure sending a shiver down your spine.

"Don't test me, jet'ika,” he grumbles, and his breath fans over the shell of your ear.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

His words send a jolt of heat through you, and you squirm against him. You feel his grip tighten on your waist, his hands flexing to keep you in place.

He’s right. You do. But down here, away from the prying eyes of the Council and the GAR, it's easy to forget all of the reasons why you shouldn't be with him. You can almost imagine a future where the two of you could be together, one where the war doesn't exist.

Almost.

"I know," you murmur at last, and you feel him relax slightly.

"Good."

There's a pause, and the air grows heavier, the tension becoming more palpable. You can feel the press of his chest against your back, and his hands have moved, his fingers tracing idle patterns over the skin of your hip. His nose finds the curve of your neck, and you can feel him breathing, the tickle of his breath on the sensitive skin of your nape.

You let out a sigh, letting yourself sink back into him. Your eyes drift shut, and you relax against his chest, giving in to the comfort of his touch. He's so warm, and it's so nice to be held. You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if things were different. If you weren't a Jedi, and he wasn't a clone. If the two of you had met in another life, another universe. If the two of you could just be.

You spend a long time like that, standing in the circle of his arms. The storm is raging outside, and the bunker is dark and cold, but his presence is enough to make you feel warm and safe.

Eventually, Wolffe pulls away, and the two of you move apart. The chill in the air is sharp against your skin, and you miss his warmth immediately. You want to lean back into him, to bury yourself in his embrace, but you resist.

You turn to face him, and he meets your gaze, his eyes dark.

"Come on," he says, his tone gruff. "Let's see what else we can find."

You nod, trying to ignore the way your heart clenches as you watch him put his armor back on, his back to you. You know it's for the best, but it still hurts. You shake yourself, pushing down the sadness. It's not a productive emotion, and it won't help the situation.

"There could be old tech down there," he continues. "It could be worth checking out."

"You're right," you say, forcing yourself to smile. "We might as well see if we can find anything useful."

You follow him deeper into the facilityy, taking note of the way his shoulders are tense, the way his helmet constantly sweeps the corridor, searching for any sign of danger.

The bunker is even colder now, and you shiver as you descend further underground. Wolffe leads the way, his flashlight cutting through the gloom and outshining the light of your saber.

After a while, you come across a door, the metal rusted and caked with grime.

"Think this is worth checking out?" Wolffe asks, looking at you.

"Could be," you reply, inspecting the door. "Looks like an old storage area. We should be able to find some supplies in there, at least."

Wolffe nods, and he grabs the handle, wrenching the door open. There's a faint creak of metal, and the sound of dust being disturbed. He nudges you aside, his arm brushing against yours.

"Wait here," he says. "Let me check it first."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Really, Wolffe?"

"Really."

"Fine."

Wolffe gives you a look, his helmet dipping down toward you. He doesn't move until you nod, and then he's stepping forward, disappearing into the darkness. You hear his footsteps receding, and then the sounds of crates being shifted and opened.

A few moments later, he comes back, his flashlight sweeping over the doorframe.

“What is it?” you ask, your eyes tracking his movement.

“Looks like a med bay. Nothing useful, anyways. Just a cot and some storage lockers. We should keep going, see if we can find anything else."

"Yeah," you say, and you let out a sigh. "Yeah, okay."

The two of you continue to search, but the other rooms are just as empty and abandoned as the first. The bunker seems to be a relic from the past, a forgotten piece of history.

Finally, after what feels like hours of searching, the two of you make your way back to the entrance. You can still hear the storm raging above, the thunder rattling the metal hatch.

"We'll have to wait it out," Wolffe says, and you can hear the frustration in his voice. "The ship can't land until the storm passes."

"Great." You groan, rubbing your forehead. "I'm sorry, Wolffe. I know this is a waste of time."

"It's not your fault, jet'ika. It's the kriffing weather. It'll blow over soon, and then we can get the hell off this planet."

You let out a breath and turn away, trying to quell the frustration that's bubbling up inside of you. You can't help but feel as though you're failing at your first official assignment as a general, that you're letting Wolffe down. It was a simple mission, and you can't even complete it properly.

"Hey."

Wolffe's hand lands on your shoulder, and he gives you a gentle squeeze.

"We'll be fine," he says. "It's not your fault. These things happen."

"Yeah, but—"

"Stop," he interrupts, and the harshness of his tone makes you jump. "Just stop."

"Okay, okay," you mutter. "Sorry."

He shakes his head, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. His thumb rubs soothing circles against your skin, and you feel the tension start to drain out of you.

"You're always too hard on yourself." His voice is softer now, and his grip on your neck loosens. "This is hardly the worst thing that could've happened."

You huff, leaning back against his chest. You can't deny that the contact is comforting, that his touch is grounding.

"Maybe," you murmur, and he lets out a sigh, his fingers digging into the skin of your neck.

"No 'maybe'. We'll be fine, and we'll get out of here as soon as the storm passes."

"Okay, Wolffe," you whisper, letting yourself relax into his hold. "You're right."

"Of course I am."

"You're also insufferable."

"And yet, you put up with me."

"For some reason, I do."

He snorts, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "Must be my winning personality."

You laugh, and Wolffe's hand slides down your back, coming to rest on your hip. You shiver at the contact, your skin tingling where his palm presses against you, and you can feel him tense up behind you.

"Sorry," he murmurs, but he doesn't remove his hand.

"It's okay," you reply, and the two of you stand in silence for a long moment. The only sound is the storm outside, the thunder rolling and the rain pounding against the metal hatch.

"Are you still cold?" he asks eventually, and the rumble of his voice against your back sends a shiver down your spine.

"A little," you reply, and he sighs.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get you warmed up."

Before you can ask what he means, he's pulling you back down the corridor. He leads you back to the first room, the one with the bed and the storage lockers.

"What are you doing?" you ask, and he lets go of your hand as he moves to one of the lockers.

"Found something earlier," he replies, and he pulls open the door. There are a few blankets and pillows inside, and he starts gathering them up. He tosses them onto the bed before he starts to unclip his armor, and your cheeks flush when you realize what he's doing.

"Wolffe, I don't—"

"Get over here," he says, and there's no room for argument in his tone.

You hesitate for a moment, but then he shoots you a look, and you obey. You cross the room, and he helps you remove your armor, placing the pieces carefully on the floor alongside his. The sight of the plastoid strewn about together makes something inside of you stir, and you quickly turn your attention to the bed.

The sheets are thin and worn, but they're soft and clean. Wolffe takes one of the blankets and wraps it around your shoulders, his hands lingering.

"Thank you," you murmur, and he nods, stepping back. He turns away and busies himself with the bedding, fluffing the pillows and spreading the blankets out. It's strangely domestic, and it makes something inside of you ache.

After a few minutes, he's finished, and he gestures to the bed.

"Come on," he says, his voice rough.

The mattress creaks as the two of you climb in, and it's not as uncomfortable as you expected. Wolffe lies on his back, and you tuck yourself against his side, resting your head on his chest. He pulls the blankets up over the two of you, and the warmth is immediate.

"Better?" he asks, and you hum in agreement.

"Yeah, much."

"Good."

You can hear his heartbeat, strong and steady. You rest your hand on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. He's warm and solid beneath you, and you can't help but enjoy the sensation of his body against yours.

"This is nice," you murmur before you can stop yourself.

"Yeah," he replies, his voice a low rumble.

You nuzzle into him, and you feel his arm wrap around your shoulders, tugging you closer. The two of you lie like that for a while, neither of you saying anything. The sound of the storm is muffled, and the quiet is almost peaceful.

You know you shouldn't be doing this, that it's crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed. But it's hard to care about that right now, not when you're warm and comfortable, wrapped in his arms.

"I'm sorry I dragged you out here," you say, your voice soft.

"It's not your fault," Wolffe replies, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your shoulder. "I volunteered. We're soldiers, jet'ika. We go where we're told."

"Still."

He huffs. "Still, I've been stuck with worse people."

"Gee, thanks, Wolffe." You roll your eyes.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of you fall silent again, the only sounds the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. You know you should leave it there, but the words are on the tip of your tongue, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt them out.

"Why did you volunteer? Why didn't you send someone else?"

Wolffe's hand stills, and you shift, pressing your cheek to his chest. You can feel the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat, and it picks up speed.

There's a long pause, and then Wolffe speaks again, his voice gruff.

"Because I wanted to see you," he admits, and your heart skips a beat.

"Oh," you say, your throat tightening. "Oh."

He clears his throat, his hand starting to stroke your shoulder again.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, jet'ika."

Your stomach twists, and the ache in your chest grows stronger. You press your lips together, trying to hide your reaction.

"You shouldn't have done that," you murmur.

"I know."

You sit up, propping yourself up on your elbow so that you can look at him. His face is half-shadowed, the dim light from the corridor casting strange patterns on his skin. His eyes are dark, and there's a vulnerability in them that you haven't seen in a long time.

"Wolffe, we can't do this. It's—"

"I know," he interrupts. "I know."

He sighs, reaching up and cupping the side of your face. His palm is rough and warm, and the calluses scratch pleasantly against your cheek, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw.

"But I had to see you," he says, his voice rough. "Even if it was just once. I've missed you."

Your heart clenches at his words, and you feel tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. You can't deny that you've missed him, too. That the thought of being with him has kept you awake at night, has made you ache in ways you can't name.

You lean into his touch, unable to resist. "I've missed you, too," you whisper.

He pulls you closer, his hand moving to the back of your neck. His grip is firm, and you can feel his desperation in the way he holds you. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, and the two of you breathe in sync, the air thick between you.

"Wolffe," you say, your voice strained.

"I know," he replies.

His fingers trail down your neck, his touch sending sparks of electricity across your skin. His hand moves lower, his thumb brushing over the curve of your collarbone. Your breath catches, and you can't stop the small sound that escapes you.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he murmurs. "About what it would be like, if we could..."

"If we could be together," you finish, your voice barely a whisper, and you reach up to trace the line of his jaw. His stubble is rough under your fingers, and you can feel the heat radiating off him.

"Yeah," he says, and the sadness in his voice breaks your heart.

You want to tell him that it's not possible, that there's nothing either of you can do, but the words die in your throat. He's so close, and the longing is too strong, too powerful.

"Me, too," you whisper, and then his mouth is on yours.

Wolffe's kiss is desperate, hot and demanding, and you can't stop the moan that slips out as the ache inside you finally, finally eases. Wolffe's hands move to your waist, and he pulls you into his lap, the blanket falling to the side. Your thighs bracket his hips, and you can feel the press of him between your legs, the heat and hardness of him.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping against the seam of your lips. You part for him, allowing him entrance, and he groans, the sound rumbling in his chest. His hands move lower, his palms splayed over the curve of your ass, and he grips you tightly, his fingers digging into the flesh.

You arch into him, and his touch sends shivers down your spine, goosebumps erupting on your skin. He's everywhere, his scent and his taste overwhelming, and you're lost in the sensation of him, his kiss driving away all rational thought.

You know you should stop this, that this is crossing a line that can't be uncrossed, but the thought is fleeting, and soon, all you can think about is Wolffe, the heat of him and the feel of him under your fingertips.

You grind down onto him, and the two of you let out a groan in unison, the friction sending a spark of pleasure through you. Wolffe's hands tighten on your hips, and he rocks up, his erection pressing into the apex of your thighs.

"Fuck," he growls, his hand tangling in your hair. He pulls your head back, exposing your neck, and he presses his mouth to the hollow of your throat. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin.

He trails kisses down your neck, his teeth scraping along your pulse point. You shudder, the sensation overwhelming, and your nails dig into his shoulders.

"Wolffe," you breathe, and he pulls back, searching your face.

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.

You swallow, and his eyes track the movement, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

"You. I want you," you gasp, and his grip on your hair tightens.

"Be specific," he growls, his eyes blazing.

You squirm in his lap at his command, grinding down on his cock. He hisses, his jaw clenching, and you can see the tendons straining in his neck.

"I want your mouth on me. I want you to touch me. I want— fuck, Wolffe, I want everything." You can't stop the words from spilling out, and you feel a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I want to pretend that you're mine, just for a little while."

He lets out a shaky breath, his chest heaving.

"Yeah, jet'ika. Fuck. You can have whatever you want."

"Kiss me," you whisper, and his lips crash onto yours.

His kiss is even more frantic now, and you can feel the heat rising between the two of you. He bites at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and you moan, your hips jerking. You're overwhelmed by him, his scent and his taste and the heat of his body.

You feel as though you're burning up, the heat of him searing through the fabric of your clothing, and the urge to rip the layers of cloth between the two of you away is nearly unbearable. You break the kiss, panting, and the two of you stare at each other, both of you trying to catch your breath.

Wolffe's eyes are dark and hungry, and there's a flush high on his cheeks, his pupils blown wide.

"Take off your shirt," he growls, and you don't hesitate.

You yank your tunic off, and the cool air of the room is a shock against your bare skin. By the time you've thrown it to the floor, Wolffe's pulled off his own.

His chest is broad and muscular, and the sight of his naked skin makes your mouth water. You've always known him to be bigger than the other clones, but seeing him like this is different. You've never seen him like this before, and the desire coursing through you is almost primal.

Wolffe seems just as eager, and he stares at you with blatant hunger, his eyes raking over your form. You reach out and run your fingers through the hair on his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, and he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away.

"Jet'ika," he murmurs, his eyes hooded. "Let me see you."

You nod, swallowing thickly, and then the two of you are moving. He reaches up and undoes the bindings around your breasts, letting the fabric fall to the side. The air is cool against your nipples, and they stiffen, the sensation sending a shiver through you.

Wolffe's eyes darken, and his hands move to cup your breasts, his palms rough against your sensitive skin. You moan, arching into his touch, and his thumbs brush over your nipples, the friction making them pebble.

"Fuck," he mutters, and he pinches one of the stiff peaks, making you gasp. "So pretty. Look at you."

He continues his exploration, his hands roaming over your skin. He kneads your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples, and you let out a shuddering breath. You can't stop the whine that escapes you as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and squeezing. It's a delicious sort of pain, and you grind down, your clit throbbing.

Wolffe smirks, his eyes dark and heated.

"And so sensitive," he murmurs.

"Please," you whimper, arching into his touch.

"Patience," he says, and he pulls you closer. He wraps his arms around your waist and shifts so that you're lying on your back, and he's looming over you, his knees straddling your thighs. "If we're going to do this, I'm going to take my time with you. I've been waiting a long time for this."

You're tempted to tell him that it's the same for you, but the words are lost as his mouth finds your nipple. He teases and sucks, his tongue laving over the sensitive flesh. You moan, your hands gripping his shoulders. His hands are everywhere, touching and stroking, and you're lost in the sensation of finally having him so close.

It's only when his teeth nip the underside of your breast that you're jerked out of your reverie.

"Wolffe," you hiss, and he chuckles, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.

"Sorry," he mutters, pressing a kiss to the spot. His tongue soothes the sting, and the dual sensations make your head spin. "Got a little carried away."

"It's okay," you pant. "Feels good."

"It'll bruise," he warns.

You shrug, running your hands over his back. "I don't care."

He looks up, his gaze searching. You meet his eyes, and he gives you a crooked smile.

"In that case..."

You whine as Wolffe presses his teeth to your skin again, and the pain makes your cunt clench around nothing. You've never been into this before, but the idea of Wolffe marking you, of being able to look down and see evidence of his claim, makes your blood sing.

"Fuck," you gasp, and he hums against you, his mouth hot and wet.

"Gonna mark you up, jet'ika," he mutters, and then his teeth are sinking into your skin, and you keen, his name tumbling from your lips.

"Oh, kriff. Wolffe!"

His mouth travels across your chest, leaving a trail of bruises and bite marks in his wake. The storm outside is a distant rumble, overpowered by the sounds of your gasps and moans, the slick sounds of his mouth against your skin, the harsh pants of his breath.

The heat of him is overwhelming, and your senses are on fire, the pain and pleasure intertwined, the two of you lost in a haze of lust. You can't stop the urge to rock your hips, desperate for some kind of friction, and you grind against him, his cock hard against your stomach.

"So good," you moan, and his hand slides between your thighs, cupping the heat of you.

"Impatient," he mutters, and he nips at the soft skin below your navel. You shudder, your hands fisting in his hair, and he gives a low chuckle.

"Need you," you plead, and he looks up at you, his expression heated.

"You have me," he murmurs, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You swallow thickly, trying to ignore the way they make your heart skip a beat, and the ache inside of you grows.

Wolffe leans back, his eyes roaming over your body, his gaze burning. He strokes the skin of your stomach, his fingertips tracing over the scars and marks. Even in the low light, the evidence of his attention is evident, and the sight of the red and purple marks against your skin makes something possessive flare in his eyes.

"Such a pretty little thing," he murmurs. "I've always wanted to see you like this."

"Wolffe, please."

"Shh," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the crease of your hip. "I'm getting there."

His fingers dip below the waistband of your leggings, and you lift your hips, helping him peel the fabric off. You're left in just your underwear, and you can feel the wetness soaking the fabric, the need inside you almost unbearable.

Wolffe sits back on his heels, and he swears under his breath as his gaze settles on the apex of your thighs. He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes dark.

"Look at you," he breathes, and his fingers ghost over your sex, the feather-light touch making you shiver. His thumb hooks into your underwear, and he tugs, the silken fabric brushing over your clit. “I don’t think this is GAR regulation, jet'ika,”

"It's not," you admit, your cheeks heating.

He groans, his eyes falling shut. "Fucking hells."

He tugs again, the fabric slipping between your folds. It's damp, and you whimper, the sensation almost too much. You can't remember the last time you were this aroused, this turned on. The sight of Wolffe above you, his gaze dark and intense, is almost enough to make you come, and he hasn't even touched you yet.

"Soaked," he mutters, and the rasp in his voice sends a shudder through you.

"For you," you gasp, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

He leans down and presses his mouth to your clothed sex, the warmth of his breath fanning over you. His stubble is rough against your inner thighs, and you moan, his name falling from your lips.

He pushes the fabric aside, and then his tongue is sliding along your folds, the flat of it pressing against your clit. You cry out, and he groans, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through you. He licks at you, his tongue hot and slick, and the sounds are obscene, his mouth wet and messy.

"Taste so good," he rasps, and then his fingers are joining his mouth, spreading your folds. He flicks his tongue over your clit, the tip tracing the sensitive bud.

You cry out, your hips jerking, and he groans, his hand wrapping around your thigh and holding you in place.

"Needy little thing," he murmurs against you.

"Only for you," you whimper, and the truth of it hits you like a slap to the face. It's never been like this with anyone else, the need for release so intense, the urge to give yourself over to him so strong. You've never felt like this before, and the thought scares you as much as it excites you.

"That's right," he mutters, and then he's pressing his mouth to you again, his lips sealing around your clit.

The pleasure is white-hot, and you can't stop the string of curses that spill from your lips. He's relentless, his tongue working over your clit, his lips and teeth adding a delicious edge of pain to the pleasure. It isn't long before you're trembling, your orgasm coiling tight in your belly, and you gasp his name, the sound falling from your lips like a prayer.

"Close," you manage to say, your breath coming in ragged pants.

He pulls back, and his thumb replaces his tongue, his mouth moving to your inner thigh. You whimper at the loss, and he nips at the sensitive skin, the sting making you jump.

"Not yet," he murmurs. "I'm not done with you."

You groan, your hands tangling in his hair. You tug at the strands, trying to pull him back, but he's stronger than you, and he ignores your attempts to get him to move. He bites at your thigh, his teeth leaving more marks on your skin, and then he's pulling away, slipping two fingers inside of you.

You gasp at the sudden stretch, the feeling of being filled after so long without it making your toes curl. You're so wet that there's almost no resistance, and his fingers slip in easily, the glide smooth.

"So fucking tight," he rasps, and you groan as his thumb presses against your clit. "You're going to feel so good around my cock."

The thought is enough to make you moan, and your inner walls clench around his fingers, the muscles fluttering. He chuckles, the sound rough and low as his lips trail across your hip.

"You like that, jet'ika?"

"Yes," you hiss.

He adds another finger, and the stretch is almost too much. It's been so long since you've had anyone inside of you, and his fingers are thicker than yours, his hands larger. You clench around him, and he hisses, his forehead resting against your thigh.

"So good," he murmurs, and he starts to move, his fingers sliding in and out of you. "Look at you, taking my fingers like such a good girl."

You whimper, the praise going straight to your clit. You rock your hips, matching the rhythm of his fingers, and the sound of his palm slapping against your cunt is almost enough to make you come undone.

"Just like that," he whispers, and his mouth returns to your sex, his tongue pressing against your clit. He swirls the muscle around the swollen bud, the pressure just enough to make your head spin. You're so close, the heat in your abdomen threatening to explode, and he can tell.

"You're going to come," he mutters, and his fingers speed up, curling inside of you. The angle changes, and the tip of his finger presses against a spot that makes you cry out. "You're going to come on my fingers, and then I'm going to fuck you until you're screaming."

"Yes," you moan, your head falling back. "Yes, please, Wolffe. I'm so close."

"Then come," he growls. "Come for me, jet'ika."

And you do, his command sending you over the edge. Your climax crashes into you, the pleasure blinding, and your whole body trembles, your inner walls spasming around his fingers. You sob his name, and his mouth moves, sucking at your clit, his fingers milking your release.

The sensation is too much, and you try to twist away, but his free hand moves to your hip, holding you in place. He works you through your orgasm, his tongue and fingers drawing out your pleasure until you're trembling and oversensitive, the sensation almost painful.

"Stop, please," you beg, and he does, pulling back and sitting up.

"Okay, okay," he pants. "That's it. Good girl."

Your cunt clenches at his words, the muscles still twitching. You take a few deep breaths, trying to regain control of yourself, and Wolffe slips his fingers out of you, the movement slow and gentle.

"Good?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yeah," you sigh. "Yeah, I'm good."

He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks, the sight making your cheeks heat. He groans, his eyes closing, and he savors the taste of you, his tongue licking away every drop.

"So fucking good," he murmurs, and his hand cups the back of your head, pulling you into a bruising kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, the flavor salty and sweet, and you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The kiss is rough and hungry, the two of you clinging to each other, and the urgency returns, the need for more rising up inside of you.

"Please," you whisper against his lips. "I need you."

"Yeah," he rasps. "Yeah, I know."

You can't help the whine that slips out as he pulls away, his hands reaching for the waistband of his blacks, and he chuckles, the sound strained.

"Soon, cyar'ika. I'm right here."

The promise makes something inside of you clench, and you can't tear your eyes away as he pulls his briefs down, his erection springing free. He's thick and long, the head leaking pre-cum, and you swallow hard against the saliva pooling in your mouth. You want to taste him, to feel him stretching your throat, but that's not what either of you need right now. What you need is him buried deep inside you, fucking you until you can't remember your own name, until you can’t remember the world outside the two of you.

He kicks off his clothes, and he kneels between your legs, his hands moving to your waist.

"Let's get you out of these," he says, his voice a low rumble.

His knuckles brush against your clit as he slips his fingers into your underwear, and you gasp, your hips arching up. You feel exposed and vulnerable as he peels the damp fabric away, leaving you bare and naked before him, but the look on his face is one of reverence.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs, and the raw emotion in his voice makes your heart clench.

You reach up and cup his cheek, the gesture tender, and his eyes fall closed, his breath hitching. He turns his face into your palm, his lips brushing against the skin.

"Wolffe," you whisper.

"Jet'ika," he murmurs against you.

"I'm ready."

He opens his eyes, the gold of his iris gleaming in the dim light. There's an intensity in his gaze, a fire that burns, and he wraps a hand around his cock, stroking himself. You watch, transfixed, as he teases himself, the head turning purple and shiny with pre-cum.

He reaches out and presses his hand against your stomach, his palm flat and hot against your skin. He rubs it in circles, and the touch is soothing, the ache inside you easing. You take a deep breath, and his nostrils flare, the muscles in his neck tensing.

"Tell me if it's too much," Wolffe says, his eyes searching yours. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," you murmur. "I trust you."

He leans down and presses his mouth to yours, the kiss soft and tender. It's a stark contrast to the urgency from before, and the gentleness makes your throat tighten. He pulls back, his hand still pressed against your stomach, and he reaches down, lining himself up.

"Ready?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yes."

He slides in slowly, the stretch almost too much. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to relax, and he kisses your temple, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh.

"Easy," he whispers.

It takes a moment, but you adjust to his size, the pressure lessening as your body accommodates him. He's hot and heavy inside you, his length reaching deeper than anyone ever has, and the fullness is delicious, the pleasure-pain making your eyes water.

"Good girl," he rasps, his hand moving up your stomach, his thumb brushing against the underside of your breast. You whine, and he hushes you, his hand continuing its path up to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands.

"Kriff," he groans, and the sound is pained. His eyes flutter shut, and his head drops down, his forehead pressed against yours. "You feel so good. Like you were made for me."

"Wolffe," you breathe, and he kisses you again, the contact searing.

He pulls out and then pushes back in, his movements slow and controlled. He's trembling, the tendons in his neck standing out, and you can see the effort it's taking him to hold back.

"Faster," you beg, and his hand tightens in your hair, the bite of pain making you moan.

"I don't want to hurt you," he grits out, his hips stuttering.

"You won't," you assure him, and the lie sits bitterly on your tongue.

Because it's not true, and you both know it. No matter how gentle he is, how careful he is, the fact remains that this is temporary, that the two of you can never be anything more than a stolen moment. You're going to hurt, and he's going to hurt, and the truth of it is enough to make you want to cry.

But Wolffe doesn't point it out, and neither do you. He does as you ask, his thrusts speeding up, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the small space. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, and his lips find yours, his tongue tracing the seam. You part for him, allowing him entrance, and his kiss is desperate and hungry, his fingers digging into your skin.

He fucks you with abandon, the two of you lost in a haze of pleasure and lust, the years of pent-up desire finally coming to the surface. He's everywhere, surrounding you, his scent and his taste and the weight of him pinning you to the mattress. You feel claimed, possessed, and the thought should scare you, but instead, it makes you feel safe.

His pace is punishing, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed, and you cling to him, your nails raking across his back. You can feel the sweat beading on his skin, the slick slide of him against you, and the pleasure is building, the heat in your belly threatening to consume you.

"Fuck," he growls, and his hand moves to the side of your face, cupping your cheek. "Look at me. I wanna see you when you come."

Your eyes flutter open, and his face is inches from yours, his eyes locked onto yours. There's an intensity in his gaze, a raw emotion that threatens to undo you.

"Wolffe," you whimper.

"That's it, cyar'ika," he says. "Let go."

And you do, the orgasm hitting you like a shockwave. It crashes over you, the pleasure white-hot, and your inner walls clench around him, the feeling of his cock rubbing against your sensitive spots enough to make your vision blur. You cry out, and his name is a chant on your lips, the syllables falling from your mouth over and over. The bliss so intense that it's almost painful, and you're lost in the feeling of him, the pleasure consuming you.

"So good," he mutters. "You're so good for me."

He fucks you through your release, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and his thrusts become frantic, his rhythm stuttering. You can tell he's close, and you tighten your grip on him, urging him on.

"Come on," you plead. "Come for me, Wolffe. Make me yours."

He groans at the desperation in your voice, and his hips snap forward, the force of his thrust pushing you up the mattress. You whine, and he grunts, his grip tightening.

"Say it again," he demands, his eyes burning.

"I'm yours," you repeat. "Yours, Wolffe. Always."

The sound that leaves him is a broken thing, the anguish in it clear. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and then he thrusts himself to the hilt. He groans, the sound muffled, and you feel his cock pulse, his release spilling inside you. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt, and you feel yourself coming undone again, a smaller, softer orgasm washing over you that makes your vision blur and your toes curl.

You cling to him, the two of you gasping and trembling, and the aftershocks roll over you, the pleasure making you shudder. You can't stop the tears that leak from the corners of your eyes, the realization that this is it, this is all you'll have of him, is too much to bear.

You feel him tense above you, his body rigid, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head as he presses his mouth to your temple.

"Wolffe," you whimper, and he murmurs something against your hair, something soft and sweet.

You don't hear him, but you can feel the shape of the words, and it makes the knot in your chest tighten, the pain threatening to consume you.

The two of you lie there, wrapped in each other's arms, and the minutes tick by, the only sound the rain pounding against the roof and your breathing. Your heart is breaking, the grief and sadness threatening to overwhelm you, and you close your eyes, the tears falling freely now.

Wolffe brushes them away, his touch gentle, and he pulls out, the loss of him almost unbearable. You whimper, the sound soft, and he kisses you again, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"Don't move," he murmurs.

You watch as he gets to his feet, his movements slow and stiff. A few minutes later, he returns with a wet cloth, and he wipes the evidence of your coupling from your skin. He's careful, the strokes gentle, and the act is so intimate that it makes the knot in your chest grow. He tosses the cloth to the floor, and then he's pulling you into his arms, his hands smoothing down your back.

You let out a sigh, your head resting on his chest. "Wolffe, I—"

"Don't."

You look up at him, and his expression is grim.

"Don't say anything."

"Wolffe—"

"This was a mistake," he says, his voice strained. "We shouldn't have done this."

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to argue. "It's too late now," you murmur.

"No, it's not. We can still pretend it didn't happen. Just..." He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just don't make it harder than it has to be."

The pain in his voice makes your heart ache, and you bury your face in his chest, unable to hold back the tears. He holds you tight, his arms wrapping around your shoulders, and the tenderness, the protectiveness, only makes you cry harder.

"Jet'ika," Wolffe says, his voice soft, "please. Please don't cry."

"I'm sorry," you choke out, "I just..."

"It's alright," he replies, and he cups your face, tilting your head back. His eyes search yours, and you can see the sorrow and regret in them, the pain he's trying to hide. "It's alright."

"I'm sorry," you say, wiping at the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Wolffe. I can't... I can't do this. I can't pretend like this never happened. I can't keep pretending like I don't care about you."

He lets out a ragged sigh, and his thumb traces the line of your jaw.

"I know," he murmurs.

"I love you," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I've always loved you."

His eyes widen, and the two of you sit in silence for a long moment, the confession hanging between you. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and you wait for him to react, to say something.

"You don't mean that," he says at last, his voice hoarse.

"I do."

He swallows hard, and you can see the conflict on his face, the war between what he wants and what he thinks is right. He closes his eyes, his fingers trailing down the curve of your neck.

"Fuck," he whispers.

"Wolffe," you say, and his eyes open, the gold of his iris burning.

"This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever done," he mutters.

"What?"

"This," he says, and his hand comes up, gripping the back of your neck. "This is the dumbest thing I've ever done, and it's probably the worst decision I'll ever make."

You're frozen, his words hanging between the two of you. The room feels as though it's been turned upside down, and you're spinning, the world around you tilting.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying..." He hesitates, and then his expression hardens. "Fuck it."

And then he's kissing you, his lips hard against yours. The kiss is bruising, his teeth catching on your lower lip, and the sting is enough to make you gasp. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and his fingers tangle in your hair, his grip tight. When you part, both of you are panting, and his gaze burns into yours.

"Wolffe," you breathe, "what—"

"I'm saying I love you too," he says, the words spilling out in a rush. "And I'm done pretending like I don't. I'm done lying to myself, to you. I'm done."

The words send a shock through you, and you stare at him, speechless. You open and close your mouth, and he gives you a rueful smile, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"You love me," you say, and the words are thick in your throat.

"Yes," he murmurs.

"Even though..."

"Yeah," he replies, his voice low. "Even though."

"What do we do now?"

Wolffe sighs, and his fingers trail down your jaw, the touch gentle.

"We make the most of whatever time we have," he says. "And we don't look back."

"It's going to hurt," you whisper.

"I know."

"Can you live with that?"

"For you?" He looks at you, and the tenderness in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. "Yes. I can."

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. The two of you sit there, your breaths mingling, and you take comfort in the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hand against the nape of your neck.

"Okay," you murmur. "Okay."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you let out a shaky breath.

"Go to sleep, jet'ika," he says, his voice soft. "It's been a long day."

"Stay with me," you plead.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises.

He pulls the blankets up over the two of you, and you close your eyes, letting the exhaustion take over. His warmth is comforting, the sound of his heartbeat a steady rhythm in your ear.

The rain continues to fall, and the room is filled with the sound of you breathing together. It’s peaceful, and for a brief moment, the two of you allow yourselves to believe that everything is going to be alright. That the universe isn't falling apart around you. That maybe, just maybe, the two of you can have this.

The truth, however, is a far more complicated one. And come morning, when the sun rises, you'll have to face it.

But as you drift off to sleep, held tight in his arms, you can't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, things will work out.

After all, there has to be some kind of a happy ending.

Even in a galaxy as cruel as this one.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak @lovelytech9902

@frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana

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@lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777 @schrodingersraven

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@anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @ghostymarni

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn into BG3: Chapter 12

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 12: You take a walk through the cellar in the blighted village. When the others catch up you say something that freaks out Astarion.

Word count: 2.6K

A/N: I was undecided if I wanted to post this >.> But what the hells.

You’re on your own, now.  Just for a bit, thanks to Wyll convincing Tav you don’t need to be watched at all times.  And with no more goblins between you and camp you’re able to be left alone to sort out…yourself, you guess. 

You didn’t throw up again after leaving Ethel’s, but you may have done some crying as you walked in circles around the forest by the village.  If it wasn’t for having to face the others you’d have run back to camp, pulled scratch into your tent and bawled your eyes out.

Though you promised to go back to camp you find yourself in the blighted village.  You can't read the sign at the entrance but you know it says Moonhaven, and you try to memorise what you think the letters might be.  

A little stop can’t hurt, you think.  Anything to avoid a conversation about what happened.  And you can collect the herbs that are in the cellar, along with anything else that might be useful.  You take a small swig of the health potion to get the taste of bile out of your mouth and then stash it into your bag, since it’s now nearly empty after leaving your personal hoard at camp, and head down into the cellar.  Whatever objects had been clinking in there remain a mystery–you still haven’t looked inside and won’t even as you add more to the pack.

As much as you had wanted to abandon your staff you took it with you.  Necromancy or not, it could bludgeon someone should the need arise.   And apparently it can cast light in a small radius around you because it does just that when you make it to the bottom of the ladder.  

With a slight purple tint, the staff lets out an eerie glow giving you just enough light to see by.  There’s a small buzz of energy through your body that you assume is the Weave.  Not wanting to question things anymore, you get to work prying open the barrels and crates and find the herbs you’re there for.  You circle around and pick up a couple health potions, a couple mystery potions to be identified later, and find the hidden lever.  You hesitate before pushing it down, but curiosity gets the better of you in the end.  You watch the shelves move and step into the secret cave.

Now that you’re aware of the phantom limb and what it has been reaching for, you can feel the dead weigh on your mind.  You know where they are, kind of in the same way you could navigate your room in the dark.  They’re permanent objects stuck in place, and should you so desire, you can reach out and move them. 

“I guess I’m a necromancer,” you mutter as you pluck a bone cap out of the ground.  “Awesome.  Couldn’t be a wizard or a sorcerer or…wait, am I one of those?”

Wyll seemed to make it sound like a necromancer was separate, but it kind of was a subcategory of wizard.

You straighten and keep moving, turning the corner and finding the cavern.  You ignore everything there and head for the mirror that waits beyond the wooden planks.  

When you step up to it the staff's eyes glow violet again, and the mirror slides open.  You sigh.  “Necromancer it is, then.”

But…maybe there’s a clue to your identity in this place if you’re powerful or rich enough?  You move inside and find the lab on the right, the paperwork scattered about, and logbooks.  Or you assume they’re the logbooks—you can’t read, after all.  Instead of flipping through them you head to the exit and find the rusty key on the shelves.  Soon enough you’re standing before the first trap that lights the braziers, and risk the step.  The room is filled with light as the fires blaze to life.  

The Necromancy of Thay is just beyond the barred door, and this time you can hear it.  It whispers to you, quiet little voices that speak in a language you don’t know.  They’re distant, but like with the bodies of the dead you know where the book is.  

It takes some strength to push the rusty key into the padlock on the door, and with some force you manage to turn it.  The whispers quiet.

“A well hidden laboratory, wonder what it’s doing down here?”

You turn to find Tav, Wyll and Astarion walking into the lab.  He still has both eyes, at least.  After he outed Astarion you thought he might take the hag’s deal. 

“How did you find this place?” you ask.  

He only offers you a shrug, eyes darting around the lab in search of loot.

You relent,  “I found the hatch and started looking around.”

Tav smiles and rests his hands on the back of his head.  Maybe he’s just happy you aren’t ignoring him again, or running away.  By the way his tail flicks at the air you think that might be it, and the reason he’s being quieter than usual.

“I followed your tracks,” Wyll reveals.  Well, he did hunt down all sorts of beings as the Blade of Frontiers.  “What have you found?”

“Creepy book,” you reply.  They approach you, surveying the book and everything else in the small cage.  

“Trapped, most likely,” Astarion says.  He steps forward carefully and does something to the stand the book is on.  It’s so quick you don’t have time to peer around him and get a good look at what “disarm trap” really looks like.

Astarion picks up the book, turning it in his hands.  They begin to discuss what it could be when you remember the bracers that are down here.  You slip away without a thought and find the nearby gilded chest, poking it before opening it.  There are traps here, who knows what else could be rigged to explode?

When you open the chest you feel a wave of magic—Weave—come from it.  It’s different from the warmth of the healing magic, somehow sharper, more demanding.  You pull the bracers out and put them in your bag, nearly overflowing with loot now.  

You turn to rejoin the group only to nearly run into Astarion on the level below you.  You stumble back and catch yourself.  “I think Shadowheart was right about putting a bell on you.”

He gives you a smirk, genuine, your surprise.  A thought occurs but rather than ask it you bite the inside of your right cheek.  

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion asks.  You don’t know what he’s referring to, considering the amount of surprises you’ve had lately.  He goes on, waving one hand in the air.  “Filthy rich, can’t read, enchanted clothing, and now, a necromancer.”

“To be fair, I don’t know anything about all of that.”  You try not to sigh too hard thinking of what Auntie Ethel had said.

“I wonder what other secrets that little head holds…” he muses.  It’s more to himself than you.  “And you killed on my behalf, I’m flattered.”

“I didn’t mean to, though.”

“I know, that’s what makes it all the more entertaining.  You, the picture of innocence, murdered a man for a vampire spawn.  Ha!”

You furrow your brow, unsure how you could be considered the picture of innocence.   But maybe that was only compared to those Astarion knew.  It was your first murder…and only murder!  Not first.  Just the one, and only, murder.

Yes, you are rather innocent in the terms of this world.

Astarion pinches your cheek between two fingers, bringing you back to the conversation.  “Don’t think this makes us even.”

“Okay,” you say when he lets go.  You rub at where he’d pinched, shocked he touched you so casually.  And not just that…his fingers are warm.  “Uhm…”

Astarion quirks a brow.  “Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?  About being a vampire.”

He leans his weight into one foot, crossing his arms as he eyes you warily.  “I suppose.”

“Why are you warm?  Shouldn’t you be, like, cold?  Or room temperature?”

Astarion, for all his acting, is easy to read.  His eyes widen as he steps back, arms uncrossing and held out before him like he’s trying to catch his balance.  “What did you say?”

“Sorry, is that rude?”  You shift on your heels.  “I just thought vampires would be cold, with the…being dead, and all.”

“We are,” Astarion confirms, voice grim. 

“But your skin is warm.”

“I assure you, it is not.”

“I literally just had your hand on my cheek.  You’re warm.”

“I think I know what temperature my own body is!”  Astarion huffs and walks away.  You notice the bag that rests on his back has the weight of the book within.  

You move down the steps as he paces, annoyed.  

“What’s wrong, Astarion?” Tav asks.

You answer, “I asked him why—”

But you don’t get to finish it because Astarion wraps one hand over your mouth and the other on the back of your head, successfully silencing you.  He says, “Nothing!  Nothing at all.  Just discussing what reward I might offer for valiantly saving me from a monster hunter.”

You roll your eyes.  But having his skin on yours again confirms his heat.  He feels like a living, breathing human.  Why did that freak him out?  When he releases you he gives you a hard stare that’s easy to understand.  Shut.  Up.

Wyll and Tav watch you, waiting to see what you say but you just shrug.  “It’s not that important.”

Wyll frowns, but lets it go.  For now.  Tav bites into his bottom lip but keeps silent.

Astarion’s words remind you of something you’d like to forget.  The Gur.  You can’t even recall his name right now.  Maybe you should have tried harder to keep Astarion away, or convinced them to not go there at all.  But you didn’t, and there was no reset now.

You watch Tav flit about the basement collecting loot.  It does little to help your mood, but at the very least you take comfort in the fact that they didn’t call you a monster for what you did.   You promise to keep better watch of those chords in your head, the little phantom strings that connect to the dead around you.  Because avoiding the dead is an impossible task, at least as long as you travel with Tav and everyone.

When you return to the surface the others are waiting by the well.  You spot your bag of gold on Gale’s shoulder and hurry to take it from him, but he holds up his hands to stop you.  “What kind of man would I be if I let an injured person carry so much weight?”

You’re about to argue but think better of it when the world sways a little.  You manage to stay still, probably, and thank him instead.  

“Oh, right,” you say, pulling the magic bracers from your other pack.  “I thought you might want these.”

Gale takes the bracers.  It’s then that you notice the bags under his eyes are especially dark—and you realize he hasn’t told anyone about his condition.  As far as you know.   The little lines that travel up the side of his neck and towards his left eye are darker, too.

Your thumbnail scratches at your staff as you wait for him to say something.  Anything.  Literally anything would be good right now because it’s been ten whole seconds of him staring at the bracers and that’s long enough of him being silent that the others are now looking.

“Gale?” Tav asks.

It jolts him out of his stupor.  “Yes?  Oh, yes.”  He looks at you.  “Thank you.  Perhaps there’s something I must admit…”

Gale goes through his first speech about the orb, and then his second.  It’s a lot to take in in one go, if you haven’t heard it all before.  At the end he says, “I understand if you want to part ways—this orb, for lack of a better word, is immensely dangerous.”

Tav asks, “Why?”

All eyes turn to him, his head tilted with a smile on his face.  

“Because I could explode,” Gale says slowly.  

“So?”  Tav points to each companion as he adds, “Shar worshipper, warlock turned devil, angry githyanki, infernal engine that could explode, vampire, necromancer with memory loss, and I’m sorry Halsin we’ve barely just met, but…uh, old?”

There are worse things to be said, about all of you.  

“Plus we’ve all got worms in our heads,” Karlach says.  “Oh, well except for…”

Gale lets out a small laugh.  “Thank you.  All of you.  Now, even I’m getting tired of my own voice so shall we get going?”

The group begins their journey back to the goblin camp. 

“I am not angry,” Lae’zel says, her voice almost a hiss.  “At least not at any of you.  The mindflayers, however…”

Halsin walks next to her, asking questions about the tadpoles and their magic, while Astarion and Wyll follow, then Shadowheart, Karlach, and Tav.  You and Gale are last to leave the village.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Gale asks. 

You hesitate too long before answering.  “No.”

“You are a terrible liar.”  He keeps his voice low as you walk, putting the bracers on his wrists.  “But I consider that a good thing.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say.  They seem to consider your knowledge to be some kind of deadly premonition, so maybe you should lean into that.  “I can’t really explain it.”

Gale smiles but it’s weak.  

“We’ll find lots of stuff for you to eat,” you assure him.  “Or absorb, I mean.  Like those!”

You point at the bracers.  He holds them closer to where you know the orb is tattooed on his chest, breathing deeply. 

“And if we can’t find anything there’s always my boots, or coat.”

“You would offer me those?”  Gale looks you up and down like he had when you’d first met.

You shrug.  “Of course.  Oh, do you need them now?  Because I just need to sit down to get them—”

You lift a foot as you walk, nearly stumbling to the ground when Gale stops you.  “No, no, I’m fine for now.   I am just—very grateful to have such a generous companion.”

“It’s not really generosity if it’s something you need though,” you argue.  

Gale smiles gently but moves on.  “So what’s this I hear about you being a necromancer?”

Whatever emotion crosses your face makes him pull back and try to change the subject.  Regret, maybe, or pain.  You can’t focus on controlling your features with so much going on.   “I don’t want to be…that.  I can feel…I can feel where they are—like something is dragging behind me.  It’s heavy, but easy.  I don’t want it to be easy.”

“Just because something comes easily to you doesn’t mean you need to do it.”

You look up at him, unaware your gaze has been on the ground this whole time.  “But I did it by accident.  I can’t—I can’t exactly control it.”

“That’s no problem to learn,” Gale says, as if moving the dead was no harder than riding a bike.  “Learn to control it, and don’t use it.  Though if you can move a boar in your sleep you must have some considerably…powerful benefactors in Baldur’s Gate to deal with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean to frighten you,” he says, “but if you can use magic without the intent, without the movements or incantations, then you hold a great power.  And that is something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the wealthy elite.”

Chosen.  Like Gale had once been of Mystra you too could be the preferred mortal of a god.

“Meaning there may be some unhappy people if I don’t use magic.”

“It’s only one possibility of many,” Gale assures you.  “And until we know more I am happy to help you control your magic.  I’m told I’m an excellent teacher.”

You twirl the staff between your fingers and laugh.  “It would be an honour to learn from you.”

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat @jeneralmischief @notsaelty @runaway-17 @aoirohi @tinswhimsy @xxgrimripp3rxx @kemonocat-blog @thetiredtoad0-0 @sleepydang @iwannabealocalcryptid @troutberryspoon @betwixttheweave @the-pale-elfs-love

[chillinglyadventurous]

Spooktober Day 9 - “I can’t die! I haven’t even had my first kiss yet!”

The forest of Gravity Falls was eerily quiet as you, Dipper, Mabel, and Ford ventured deeper into the unknown. The air around you was cool and thick with the scent of damp earth and pine needles. You could hear the occasional rustle of creatures moving in the underbrush though it was impossible to tell if they were harmless animals or something more sinister.

Ford walked close beside you. His hand brushed against yours as he walked and you two exchanged a brief, reassuring smile before returning your attention to the path ahead. You trusted Ford with your life and you knew he trusted you with his no matter what.

“We should be getting close,” Ford said, his voice low as he glanced down at his compass. He held it up to the faint light filtering through the trees, its needle wobbling slightly as it pointed toward a distant ridge. “The cave of the Oracle Goblins should be just over that ridge.”

Dipper sighed, walking just ahead of you and Ford with Mabel at his side. “I really hope they’re as friendly as the book says.”

“Oh, I bet they’re cute!” Mabel chimed in from up ahead, her voice full of optimism as usual. She skipped a little, her colorful sweater and beaming smile standing out starkly against the ominous atmosphere of the forest. Why was it that the woods were always so spooky even in broad daylight? “Maybe they’ll help us find that magic artifact thingy without any trouble! I mean, who could say no to a little help, right?”

Ford chuckled, though his eyes remained sharp as he scanned the woods around him. “Well, they do guard the Amulet of Oracleness, so I wouldn’t count on it being too easy. Goblins aren’t known for their generosity.” You noticed the grimace he gave. You wondered if he had tried this before, much like with the unicorns.

Mabel seemed undeterred, humming a cheerful tune as she continued to walk ahead. You found yourself smiling at her endless enthusiasm. It was the kind of brightness you needed in moments like this, even though you knew the danger was real.

Just as Mabel was about to make another cheery comment, there was another rustle in the bushes. The sound was sharp and deliberate. You froze in your tracks, your heart beginning to race. Ford’s hand immediately reached for yours, a protective instinct you’d come to rely on.

You ordered for Dipper and Mabel to get closer to you. They obliged quickly, scampering to stand just in front of you and Ford. You placed a hand on each of their shoulders to hold them in place.

From the shadows of the trees, a group of grotesque, green-skinned goblins emerged, their beady red eyes gleaming with malice. There was nothing cute about them much to Mabel’s disappointment. Each one stood about three feet tall with jagged teeth that glinted in the light. Their skin was pimpled and rough, covered in patches of dirt and grime. They carried crude weapons, makeshift clubs and spears fashioned from sticks and bones.

“We smell fresh meat!” One of the goblins hissed, licking its cracked lips with a forked tongue. “Humans! We haven’t had humans stew for years!”

Your heart lurched as the goblins began to close in, surrounding your group with hungry, predatory looks. They brandished their weapons menacingly and their eyes glinted with hunger.

Ford immediately stepped in front of you and the kids, his body tensing as he assessed the situation. You could feel the intensity of his thoughts as he calculated your next move. His mind was always racing, always strategizing even in the face of danger.

“Not the best time for a stew, wouldn’t you say?” Ford called out, his tone calm, but firm, trying to reason with the goblins even as his eyes darted around for any possible escape route.

The leader of the goblins cackled, his voice raspy and high-pitched, “It’s always a good time for human stew.” He pointed his gnarled spear toward you, his grin full of malice. “And you’ll make a fine feast. Tender and juicy!”

Dipper’s eyes widened in terror as he took a step back. “I can’t die! I haven’t even had my first kiss yet!”

“Seriously, Dipper? Now?!” Mabel shouted, pulling him closer protectively, though her face was pale with fear just as yours surely was.

You squeezed Ford’s arm, your own heart racing. “What do we do?”

Ford’s eyes flicked from the goblins to you then back to the creatures surrounding you. His mind was working fast, analyzing every possible angle, every exit. You could hear the wheels in that beautiful mind turning, “When I say ‘run,’ head for that ridge. There’s a cave up there they might not follow us into. Get the kids to it as fast as you can.”

Your pulse quickened. “What about you?” You whispered, your voice barely audible. There was no way in hell you were leaving him behind.

“I’ll be right behind you. Trust me.” Ford gave you a reassuring smile, one that sent warmth through your chest despite the fear clutching at your heart.

Before you could respond, Ford reached into his coat and pulled out a small device, something you’d seen him tinker with earlier that week. It was a makeshift flashbang, one of his many inventions.

His eyes shone with determination and affection for you, accepting small kiss you placed to his shoulder before he stepped out from in front of you, “Cover your eyes!”

A blinding flash of light exploded in front of the goblins, and they screeched in agony, stumbling backward as they clutched at their eyes, disoriented by the sudden burst of brightness.

“Run!” Ford yelled, his voice urgent.

You didn’t hesitate. Grabbing Dipper and Mabel by the hands, you sprinted toward the ridge, your heart hammering in your chest. You could hear the goblins shouting in confusion behind you, but the flashbang had bought you some time. Ford was behind you in an instant, his hand gripping the hem of your t-shirt as you climbed the steep incline toward the cave.

Just as you reached the mouth of the cave, you heard the goblins recovering, their furious howls growing louder as they charged after you. Their footsteps pounded against the forest floor, getting closer with every second.

“They’re getting closer!” Dipper panted, glancing over his shoulder in panic.

Ford’s sharp eyes quickly scanned the area. He spotted a large boulder near the cave entrance, “Help me push this!” His voice was commanding, steady.

With adrenaline coursing through your vein the four of you rushed to push the boulder into place. It was heavy, but the you all heaved with all your strength.

The creatures howled in frustration, clawing at the boulder and shrieking, but it was too heavy for them to move. Their ugly, twisted faces pressed against the small gaps between the rock and the cave walls, but they could do nothing more than glare at you through the narrow cracks.

Breathing heavily, you all slumped against the cave wall, your muscles burning from the effort. The air inside the cave was cold and damp, but it was a welcome refuge from the chaos outside.

Mabel, still catching her breath, turned to Dipper, raising an eyebrow. “So, uh, about that first kiss thing-”

“Don’t even start,” Dipper groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

Ford chuckled softly, the sound filled with both relief and amusement. He turned to you, pulling you close against his side as you all settled down, catching your breath in the safety of the cave. His arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders and the warmth of his touch eased the tension in your body.

“We’ll need to find another way out,” Ford said quietly, glancing at the cave walls. “But for now, we’re safe.”

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I’m just glad we didn’t end up in a stew.”

Ford’s eyes softened as he looked down at you, his hand squeezing yours gently, “As long as we stick together, we’ll always find a way out. That’s a promise.”

“Gross!” Dipper whined.

Mabel’s laugh echoed off the cave’s walls, “Almost as gross as your internet search history! Ayo!”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

The Riddle of Tom Riddle: Part 1/?

(Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7)

The Death Tool of Voldemort's Wars

So, I did say I'll make this post somewhere, so here it is.

When trying to make sense of Voldemort’s behavior in the books, I noticed that the two wars were actually very different. How they were waged, how many people died, and who was most targeted along with Voldemort's goals.

(Because I mentioned it, I'll just say Voldemort’s behavior in the book is really weird and somewhat contradictory, but I found a way to explain that. Consider this the second post on my way to analyze Voldemort after the Horcruxes one)

The Wizarding Population in the UK

The first step to figuring out how bad the wars with Voldemort actually were is to know the size of the wizarding population in the UK. Numbers of deceased don't mean much without being able to calculate percentages.

If there are 40 students a year at Hogwarts in 1990s → 400 wizards and witches between ages 10-19

Account for fewer births during and right after the war with Grindelwald in the 1930s-1940s, and the war with Voldemort in the 1970s

Account for longer life acceptancy (Average of 130)

And we get an estimate of something like this:

With wizards being around 0.01% of the muggle population in any country.

The population in Britian in 1991 was 57,359,454, making the wizarding population 57,359*0.01% =~ 5,700

The population in Ireland in 1991 was 5.1 M, making the Irish wizarding population about 510.

So as a rough estimate, we'll say there were ~6,200 wizards and witches in the UK and Ireland together in 1991

Probably less though considering JKR killed most of Harry's grandparents' generation with Dragon Pox....

By the same logic above in the 1970s the Wizarding population in Britain and Ireland was ~5,600 + ~300 = ~5,900 wizards and witches.

So, now we have the estimated size of the population and we can gage how much damage these wars actually caused.

So, I may have compiled a list of all war casualties from both wars. I will not place the full details here (like the exact year each died), but I'll mention sides, who they were killed by, and any other information relevant to understanding the war's influence on wizarding society, and what we can learn from it about Voldemort's intentions.

For these lists:

(M) - muggle (MB) - muggleborn (PB) - pure-blood (HB) - half-blood (O) - other $ - Death Eater or affiliated ^ - Order of the Pheonix member or affiliated Italics - killed against Voldemort's orders

The First War: Surprisingly Targeted

Killed By Voldemort Personally:

~4 unnamed goblins (O)

Dorcas Meadowes (PB/HB)^

James Potter (PB)^

Lily Potter (MB)^

Killed by Death Eaters:

Mr. Bones (PB)^

Mrs. Bones (PB)^

Robert McGonagall (PB)

Marlene McKinnon (PB)^

~4 more unnamed McKinnons (PB)^

Mrs McGregor (M)

Douglas McGregor (M)

2 McGregor Children (M)

Caradoc Dearborn (PB/HB)^

Dean Thomas’ Father (PB)

Edgar Bones' Wife (PB)^

Edgar Bones (PB)^

~2 Edgar Bones' children (PB)^

Benji Fenwick (PB/HB)^

Frank Longbottom (PB)^ - Not dead, but counts

Alice Longbottom (PB)^ - Not dead, but counts

Fabian Prewett (PB)^

Gideon Prewett (PB)^

Killed by the Order of the Pheonix & Aurors:

Evan Rosier (PB)$

Wilkes (PB)$

+ 13 muggles killed by Peter Pettigrew on October 31st, 1981

+ Regulus Black who died in the cave with the Inferi

This lands us at 45 casualties (including the Longbottoms) for the first Wizarding War. Now, let's look more closely at the numbers.

Not counting the muggles and creatures other than wizards lands us at 24

24/5,900 =~ 0.40% of the wizarding population was killed in the first war.

And did you notice anything interesting about the names on the list? There is only 1 muggleborn and 1 muggle family, whose death wasn't even on Voldemort's orders. What does it tell us about the war?

Well, first off, Dumbledore's idea of morality and not using dark magic and lethal curses kind of sucks. This is hardly a war, it's a massacre. 19 Order members and their families die compared to 3 Death Eaters, one of which was killed by Voldemort's creations. Moody and Mr. Weasley aren't kidding when they say the first war was rough in the fifth book. It really was, but only for their side.

The innocent casualties of people not belonging to any side in this war stand at 19 (including the 13 muggles killed by Pettigrew), and 6 (not including Pettigrew).

It's just wild how Peter Pettigrew has the most kills in this war, more than Voldemort. And it tells you a lot about Voldemort's priorities.

His priorities clearly aren't to kill all muggleborns, we can see that much. So what are his priorities? What is he actually waging a war for if it's not to kill all muggleborns like all the characters tell us?

Well, I will post a full rundown of the timeline of the first war at some point, but for now, what we know is that Voldemort is targeting the Order of the Phoenix, who opposed him. And he is in general causing chaos for the Ministry of Magic.

We know that by 1981, Voldemort practically won, with the ministry having more spies of his than any other group. The ministry was made up of Death Eaters. But we don't know of any rules he passed in this time, or moves to legalize dark magic or outlaw muggleborns — nothing like that happened.

What did happen, was that Voldemort made a cave filled with Inferi and experimented with potions (he invented the potion of despair in the cave).

It seems, more than anything, the war was there to distract the ministry or weaken it, and less about accomplishing a specific political goal. And if he was after a specific political goal, then it isn't blood purity as he isn't rounding up muggleborns like in the second war.

The low death count overall (especially when compared to the second war) is because Voldemort is there. Voldemort does not approve of unnecessary death, even muggle one:

“Nice costume, mister!” He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face. Then the child turned and ran away. . . . Beneath the robe he fingered the hand of his wand. . . One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother. . . but unnecessary, quite unnecessary. . . .

(Deathly Hollows, page 295)

Voldemort himself does not like unnecessary death. He considers it and killing in rage below him at the end of the First Wizarding War. He doesn't do it himself and doesn't let his followers kill unnecessarily up until the night he kills the Potters.

What exactly Voldemort was trying to accomplish is a question I've pondered and have a few more posts about. But understanding he wasn't really after the death of all muggleborns and neither was he after control of Magical Britain, which is made very clear by the second war, is the first step to understanding him.

The Second War: Chaos Galore

Killed By Voldemort Personally:

Bertha Jorkins (PB)

Cedric Diggory (PB)

Bathilda Bagshot (PB)

Charity Burbage (PB/HB)

Alastor Moody (PB)^

Rufus Scrimgeour (PB)

German-speaking child #1 (M)

German-speaking child #2 (M)

German-speaking woman (M)

Mykew Gregorovitch (PN)

Gellert Grindelwald (HB)

Peter Pettigrew (PB/HB)$

2 Unidentified Death Eaters (PB/HB)$

Severus Snape (HB)$

Killed by Death Eaters:

Bodrick Bode (PB/HB)

Emmeline Vance (PB)^

Sirius Black (PB)^

Amalia Bones (PB)

Florean Fortesque (PB)

Mrs. Abbott (PB/HB)

Igor Karkaroff (PB)$

Montgomery (PB/HB)

4 Unidentified Muggles (M)

Gibbon (PB)$

Albus Dumbledore (HB)^

5 Unnamed muggles in Gaddley (M)

Gornuk (O)

Edward Tonks (MB)^

Dirk Cresswell (MB)

Dobby (O)

Lavender Brown (PB)^

Camelia (PB/HB)^

Vincent Crabbe (PN)$

Colin Creevey (MB)^

Remus Lupin (HB)^

Nymphadora Tonks (HB)^

Fred Weasley (PB)^

Killed by the Order of the Pheonix:

Bellatrix Lestrange (PB)$

Killed by Golden Trio:

Bogrod (O)

Tom Riddle (Voldemort) (HB)$

+ 42 more casualties for the Battle of Hogwarts.

What we see here is that this second war was much deadlier. The Battle of Hogwarts alone had more casualties than the entirety of the First War. Even if I'm generous and add 20 more dead to my estimate of the First War, it doesn't come anywhere close to the death tool of the Second War.

Now, I ask myself, why?

The Second War was much shorter, officially ongoing between May of 1996 and May of 1998 (2 years), with the First War officially waging from 1975 to October of 1981 (6 years). What was so different between the wars that caused this kind of escalation in the second one this quickly?

We see the Second War unfold, we watch how quickly the Ministry of Magic falls and the Death Eaters take over. They quickly make laws such as the Muggleborn Registry — things that didn't happen in the first war.

“Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard,” he replied. “That was announced yesterday. It’s a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred..."

(Deathly Hollows, page 182)

Lupin is talking about the Muggleborn Registry and compulsory attendance to Hogwarts — completely new things, never seen before in Britain. They weren't around the first go-around even if Voldemort had the same amount of control over the ministry (it being made up of his followers even in the 1970s). So, what changed? What's the difference?

I pondered this question, and I realized what the main difference is — Voldemort. He is different. His priorities are different.

In the second war, Voldemort doesn't show any care for the ministry, government, or unnecessary death the way he did in the First War. In the First War he limited his Death Eaters, focusing them on targeting only Order members, but in the Second War, not only did he let them loose, but he let himself loose as well.

And I'll prove just how unconcerned he is with Britain and the war during Deathly Hollows and Half-Blood Prince.

In Half-Blood Prince, when the Death Eaters break into Hogwarts to kill Dumbledore, arguably their biggest achievement in the war thus far, and where is their leader? Off, somewhere. Researching wands so he could kill Harry Potter.

And where is Lord Voldemort, leader of the Death Eaters when his followers take over the ministry and start passing the aforementioned rules? He's in Germany, tracking down the Elder Wand.

“That’s—that’s pretty, Dolores,” she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge’s blouse. “What?” snapped Umbridge, glancing down. “Oh yes—an old family heirloom,” she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. “The S stands for Selwyn. . . . I am related to the Selwyns. . . . Indeed, there are few pure blood families to whom I am not related. . . . A pity,”

(Deathly Hollows, page 225)

Voldemort is so unaware and un-present in Britain during the time he supposedly rules it, that Dolores Umbridge can strut around the ministry with the locket that is his Horcrux and holds a piece of his soul and is his Slytherin family heirloom and claim it to belong to the Selwyn family and to be hers. And she wasn't tortured horribly to death.

Yeah, Voldemort never stepped foot in the Ministry throughout Deathly Hollows. At least, not until he retrieved the elder Wand and was convinced he could kill Harry.

In the First War, Voldemort had intentions, unrelated to blood purity as they were, but intentions nonetheless. He was actually leading and had goals for the war. In the Second War, it looks like he gave up. Like he decided killing Harry Potter is the only important thing and he isn't even bothering with anything else and lets his Death Eaters do as they please.

Conclusions:

Voldemort didn't really plan to win the Second War, he didn't really care what happened to the Ministry, as long as he could kill Harry Potter whom he is quite obsessed with. Like, he's really weird about Harry Potter, and maybe I'll talk about it more in-depth, but he's obsessed with being the one to kill Harry with a wand of his own, to the point of ignoring literally everything else.

If you are going to fight an opponent that is trying to kill you, you should probably be just as willing to be lethal in turn or you'd end up massacred like the Order of the Phoenix from the 1970s....

[the-dork-urge]

|| Stone and earth || Zevlor X Tav

Summary: In which a cold Tav helps Zevlor and realizes how lonely it must be hidden away in a damp alcove. Just a quick little fic. (can even be a prequel to this ) Wordcount: 1235

Tav meticulously traced the intricate paths on the map, her brow furrowed in concentration. Despite their focus, an unyielding chill seemed to seep deeper into her bones with each passing moment; Tav longed for even a fleeting warmth.

A sidelong glance at Zevlor revealed a subtle flicker of orange fire dancing in his dark eyes. Tav's heart fluttered, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her—feelings unspoken. The comfort she felt in his presence and the quickened pulse at the sound of his voice left her questioning: were these emotions born solely from shared hardships, or did they hint at something more profound?

Unfazed by the cold, Zevlor maintained focus on the maps. Recollections of the tieflings' natural warmth prompted Tav to subtly shift closer, seeking solace in his comforting heat.

As Tav pointed to the Goblin Camp on the map, her hand rested on the table's edge, the other hovering near the camp's perimeter. "Your scouts reported a guard patrol stationed here?" she inquired, her voice steady as she studied the markings.

Zevlor leaned forward, his hand finding a place near Tav's. Her breath caught as she felt the warmth of his hand close to hers. Distracted momentarily, Zevlor gently held her hand, nudging her pointing finger to align with the correct location on the map.

"There," he said, still holding onto her hand. "And those are likely not the only ones," Zevlor continued, withdrawing his hands with a throat clearing, his gaze flickering away.

"Astarion's silver tongue might grant you entry past the first. Sneaking past them all seems improbable," he explained, his eyes returning to the map, his mind still reeling from their touch. Wishing for the courage to reach out again, to express how much her presence meant to him.

"Then perhaps we'll have to confront them head-on instead," Tav contemplated, meeting Zevlor's gaze with a faint blush on her skin.

Zevlor's worry was evident as he looked down at Tav. He wanted to object, to caution against such a risky approach. Tav and the others were his only hope, and the thought of losing her, not having her counsel and kindness during evenings like this, was unbearable.

With a heavy heart, he spoke. "Are you up for that? I have nothing to offer you in this fight." Admitting his shame, he contemplated alternatives, his gaze falling upon the maps. "Sending out another scouting party might be wise," he suggested, his voice carrying the burden of recent losses. "But after the massacre at the gate, I doubt anyone is willing to risk it. I would go myself if I could, but I can't leave them defenseless, not while we are still in this snakepit." Bitterness coated his words, disappointment etched across his face.

Tav placed a hand on his shoulder, and Zevlor relaxed into the gesture. "I appreciate it. All I need from you right now is trust," Zevlor turned to meet her gaze, "and perhaps a little prayer." Tav smiled, a worry mirroring his own, acknowledging the limited options. They had to go in, find the Druid Halsin, defeat the Goblins—for herself, her party, the tieflings, and Zevlor.

"I can do that," he said, a smile barely masking his worries. "Thank you, Tav."With a subtle nod, Tav acknowledged his gratitude, warmth blossoming within her. "You are very welcome," she replied, pride coloring her words as she looked back at the maps. "Alright, well, since that's settled, how about we have a drink?" Zevlor suggested, a twinkle in his eyes and a smile breaking through his worries. "I bet you could use one—the last one for a couple of days."

Tav chuckled. "A drink sounds like just the thing to take the edge off," she agreed, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Setting aside the maps, they made their way to a small alcove in the cave, bottles of spirits stashed within. Tav wondered if these were the last of Zevlor's provisions as he bent down to grab them.

"Are you sure you don't want to save them?" she interrupted, her concern evident in her voice. Longing for the warmth of the spirits, she felt it more appropriate for Zevlor to save them for a time when they could celebrate victories.

Zevlor chuckled, a hidden sadness behind his smile. "And then drink them by myself?" he joked, the weight of their situation underlying his tone. "Nonsense." Handing her one of the final bottles, he added, "Besides, it's just a small way to thank you."

Tav accepted the bottle with a grateful nod. "Then I shall accept the offer." With a soft pop, she opened the bottle, the sound echoing in the quiet alcove. Zevlor followed suit, mirroring her actions.

"To your courage," Zevlor toasted, lifting his bottle in the air.

"And to your kin," Tav replied, clinking their bottle necks together. As their gazes met, she sensed something in Zevlor's expression—a complexity she couldn't quite decipher.

"To my kin," Zevlor repeated softly, his voice filled with a mix of astonishment and gratitude. It was as if he couldn't quite believe that Tav would raise a toast for them. Yet, why was he still so surprised by her kindness?

As they made their way back to the table, Tav took a seat on its top, the warmth from the drink spreading through her chilled body. As she settled in, she couldn't help but cast a lingering gaze around the alcove. It was a small, dimly lit space, tucked away in the depths of the Grove. The dampness of the surroundings seeped into the air, mingling with the faint scent of earth and stone.

Her eyes traced over Zevlor's personal belongings scattered around the alcove. A sense of sadness washed over her as she realized how many evenings he must have spent here alone before she came to aid him. Mustering the courage to speak, she pressed the bottle to her lips, taking big gulps, before placing it down beside her, a question formed on her lips. ''Are you lonely Zevlor?'' Tav's eyes wandered to the corner where Zevlor's messy bedroll lay tucked away. She imagined his restless nights in dark and damp solitude, carrying the burden of leadership by himself.At least she had her companions near her as she carried the burden of leadership, with them beside her, every task felt severely less daunting.

"I- it's," he stumbled quietly, seeking refuge in the bottle before continuing, "Tilly, she helps me during the day, it's company but..." His words trailed off, and a heavy silence settled between them. "When it's dark, I face the world alone." Tav's heart ached at his admission. She reached out her hand, a silent gesture inviting him closer. "If you'd like, I can stay a while longer," she offered her words lingering in the air. Zevlor hesitated briefly before extending his hand, allowing Tav to draw him nearer to the table.

"I'm cold, Zevlor. Come sit beside me," she encouraged, feeling the warmth in his touch as he complied. As he settled beside her, he took one last sip from his bottle for courage, feeling Tav gently lean her head onto his shoulder.

"We're in this together, Zevlor," she whispered softly, her voice barely audible as she reached for his hand. Zevlor's heart swelled with gratitude at her words, squeezing her hand in return.

-> Masterlist

[dullgecko]

Bro bro bro, figs horns were never counted for her height and she's still taller than Fabian.

Also w the goblin hierarchy sich, riz meets his grandparents who moved back to the mountains after pok died

Fig takes after her dad, and as she gets older and more of her infernal traits kick in well.... her dad is very very tall. She's not sure if she's excited for, or dreading one day being so tall that she has to duck to get through door frames.

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

Riz has met his paternal grandparents many times, but those were when he was still very small. His dad used to take him up to the Mountains of Chaos whenever he got a long enough break from work. He thought it was healthy for Riz to spend as much time around his people as possible while he was growing up. Because of this Riz got to go to many small festivals and parties where he got to run around with other goblins his age, and even a few weddings.

This time was also a wedding and he was /dreading/ it. It was one of his second cousins on his fathers side which meant that both he and his mother had been invited to come stay for the festivities. The only problem is Riz doesn't have a partner. He's seventeen, he's basically considered an /old maid/ by goblin standards now and he just knows his grandparents are going to try and set him up with someone.

His anxiety is completly founded because after hiking up to the caves, dealing with the standard greetings and welcomes and bone-crushing hugs from his grandparents and extended family he gets asked /the question/. The worst part is if he says he doest have one he'll have to spend the weekend trying to dodge ever girl, or boy, or whoever else gets shoved his way, and if he DOES say he has one he may have to spend the entire weekend flinching at mirrors.

He opts for dodging the question the first time he's asked, stealthing away, and sending a paniced text to the team group chat. This strategy can only last so long though, and he does NOT want to deal with the same sort of shit he was dealing with the last time he was stuck with a goblin horde for a whole weekend. Its only worse this time because he really /really/ doesnt want to disapoint his grandparents. They're hearts are SO set on seeing their little Rizzy in a happy relationship before they die.

[abbysleftbicepp]

The Thief And The Fairy

An Ellie Williams x Maleficent!Reader au. part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

An: This fic is the result of an idea that’s been rotting my head for months. The story line will be extremely close to Maleficent, and a lot of the lines will be exact to the film. Fair warning, it is a strangers to lovers to enemies sooo yeah 🫶 not proof read.

|~~~|~~~|~~~|~~~|~~~|~~~|~~~|~~~|~~~|~~~|~~~|

Once upon a time, in a far off land, there lived a little girl. She was no ordinary girl, for she lived in the branches of a tree on the top of a mountain. Most of her features resembled a human, however a few of her features did not.

The girl carried long, dark, feathered wings on her back, and upon her head were two scaled horns that curled ever so slightly. Her ears were almost human, as they spiked near the tops, and her cheek bones were as sharp as a blade.

The girls wings could carry her high up into the clouds and she felt like she danced with the stars as she flew, the wings never faltered nor failed her. She trusted them with her whole life.

Her tree belonged to her land, known as the Moors. It was located in a large forest next to a kingdom. The Moors and the kingdom had been at war for centuries, until 7 years ago, when the king had claimed her parents heads on his sword. Two years later, the king had died and his son, Jesse, took his place on the throne.

Because of this, Y/N was unfortunately the only one of her kind left in the Moors. There were goblins, Gorgons, Pixies, Sirens, Spriggans, mushroom fae and more. There were many family’s of each, creating a population of the Moor folk.

Although Y/N was only 14 years old, she claimed the title of the protector of the Moors, just like her parents once were. This was a mutual agreement between the moor-folk as she had the strongest wings and a power stronger than they had seen ever before. She was able to heal and break with the stroke of her finger, and she did not know what she was fully capable of, yet.

One day, Y/N was helping some of the pixies mend some of the crops, as a storm had destroyed their farmland the night before. As she used her magic to heal the poor crops, one of the Spriggan soldiers, Balthazar, came to her.

The Spriggan folk look a lot like trees. They disguise themselves as such from the humans, as a way to hide from them. Their ears are large and can shield their faces from harm, they have sharp wooden teeth and their body’s almost resemble a skeleton made out of wood. Their jobs were along side Y/N, as her soldiers. They usually carry wooden spears with them as weapons and did not speak human like the pixies and Y/N could, however they could still understand it.

Balthazar made some earthy deep sounds, which is the Spriggans way of communicating.

“What do you mean there’s a human in the Moors? there hasn’t been for years.” Y/N protested, slightly nervous to encounter her first human since the last war, where her parents were stolen from her.

He replied with similar noises as a moment ago.

“She’s stealing from the pool of jewels? Tor heavens sake we need to stop her. They’re not hers to take.” She announced before flying up into the clouds and towards the pool of jewels.

When she arrived, two more Spriggans were surrounding the entrance to a small cave in the mountain right next to the pool, however it was covered in ivy so she couldn’t see the human hidden inside. She landed on a grass covered rock inside the pool, in-between the Spriggans.

“Come out!” She demanded. She had no response from the human, maybe they speak a different language now? She decided to try her luck again.

“Come out this instant!” She spoke louder than before.

“No! They mean to kill me!” A female voice spoke. Her accent was different to the humans that Y/N remembered. Perhaps the humans had changed their way of speaking the language.

“They don’t mean to harm you whatsoever. They know you have something that doesn’t belong to you. You have to give it back!” She spoke loud and clear.

The hidden human hesitated, but slowly crept out of the ivy, into the open. She had auburn brown hair, pale green eyes and freckles scattered along her face. Her hair was tied up into a pony tail and she wore ragged old clothes, covered with an old brown cloak. She looked quite small for a human.

“Are you fully grown?” Y/N asked curiously, analysing the humans appearance.

“No..” The human responded.

“I believe she’s just..a girl?” Y/N said slightly confused to her soldiers.

“And you’re just a girl…i think..?” The human stepped into the conversation.

“Who are you?” Y/N asked the human who stood before her.

“I’m called Ellie. Ellie Williams. Who are you?” She replied with confidence.

“Y/N” The fairy replied with the same amount of confidence. One of the Spriggans quickly reminded her of why she was here, meeting the human.

“Yes! right.” She spoke. “Like i said earlier, i believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“No i dont.” Ellie said confused, trying to act dumb. Y/N rolled her eyes and held out her hand expectedly. Sighing, Ellie digged into her pocket, retrieving a jewel and chucked it to Y/N’s hand. Y/N then gently tossed the jewel back into the pool.

Y/N and Ellie walked together through the forest, as Y/N wanted to make sure the girl was safe leaving. Ellie’s eyes were glued to Y/N’s wings, she felt drawn to them. They were like nothing she’d seen before. She decided to speak before her stares got too weird.

“if i’d known you’d throw it away i would have kept it.” Ellie complained, knowing she could have gotten a meal by paying with that jewel, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a whole meal.

“I didn’t throw it away. I delivered it home, as i’m going to do with you.” She announced. The girls walked through the woodlands together in a comfortable silence. Ellie admired the nature around them, and gasped as fireflies flew passed them.

Finally, they reached the end of the forest where there was a large grass field that separated the Moors from the kingdom.

Ellie came to a halt, Y/N following suit.

“Y’know, some day i’ll live there,” Ellie spoke, pointing into the distance. “In the castle.” She frowned, hoping her dreams will someday come true.

“Well where do you live now?” Y/N asked curiously. She was so drawn to Ellie in a way she couldn’t describe. She’d never felt like this before.

Ellie turned her face away, embarrassed to face Y/N as she responded. “In a barn..”

“So your parents are farmers then?” Y/N continued, not noticing Ellie’s demeanour change.

“My parents are dead.” Ellie responded quite bluntly, her head hanging low.

“Mine too.” Y/N looked at Ellie with sympathy. Maybe not all humans were bad anymore. Maybe it was time for the moors to stop being afraid.

Ellie looked back at Y/N with the same expression. She stared into the fairy’s eyes for a while before speaking up.

“We’ll see each other again.” She said with confidence, turning so her back was to Y/N and took a few steps forward

“You really shouldn’t come back here you know.. it’s not safe.” Y/N protested, she almost cared for the human. She felt connected to her in ways she didn’t understand.

Ellie turned around again to face the winged girl. “and if i made that choice, if i came back…would you be here?” Ellie asked with a smile tugging on her lips.

Y/N looked around for a moment, she was lost in thought.

“Perhaps.” She shrugged with a smile. Ellie was beaming, and stretched her hand out to shake Y/Ns. When the girl took Ellie’s hand, she immediately took it back and gasped in pain. Ellie’s face dropped and concern rushed through her body.

“What’s wrong?!” She exclaimed, her eyes searching Y/N’s face for answers. Y/N gripped her palm in pain, where Ellie’s ring touched seconds ago.

“Your ring..Iron burns fairy’s.” She explained to the concerned human in front of her.

“I’m so sorry!” Ellie said apologetically, before she took her ring off and threw it as far as she could. Y/N felt her face heat up and her heart grow warmer. Humans were a lot kinder than she thought, so it seems.

“I like your wings.” Ellie spoke, interrupting Y/Ns thoughts. The fairy’s grin only grew wider upon hearing her words as Ellie walked across the fields, towards her home.

Later that night, Y/N couldn’t sleep. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of Ellie and how she, who had so little in the world, threw away her ring so that their hands might touch again. Her heart longed to see the human once more, and all her hatred towards the humans had shifted into peace in her mind. She believed that maybe they’ve changed, and that there is good in them.

The young thief who had once hoped to steal a jewel, had managed to steal something far more precious.

“Y/N?” Ellie called outside the forrest, where they she had last seen the fairy. “Y/N!” She called over and over again. After a minute or two of calling her name, she decided it was hopeless and sighed. Suddenly, there was a gust of wind behind her, and she heard something thump onto the ground.

Turning around in a haste, Ellie saw the girl she had hoped to see stood in front of her, smiling ear to ear.

“After all these weeks, look who came back” Y/N teased. Ellie smirked and walked closer to the girl.

“I thought it was worth the risk.” She replied, a smile growing bigger on her face by the second. “So, what do you do to entertain yourself around here?” Ellie asked, and Y/N only replied with a smirk.

“Follow me.” She spoke before running into the Moors. Ellie quickly followed suit, curious as to where they were going.

[thedo0zyslider]

Explosions Across Lifetimes - Chapter Thirty Four: Deja Vu - 5k Words

Jimmy makes an alliance with Fwhip, finally gets a tour of Gobland, and has a strange moment right in the middle of it. Right when he thought the whole day would be perfect, too.

A03 Link

Fwhip sees Jimmy again soon after the dragon fight, but not too soon. At least a month or so has passed, and he’s done good work in Gobland. He wanted to see the Sheriff sooner, but he’d been a busy bee! The goblin had gotten more than a little fixated on his work, and it was quite easy to lose track of times in the caves. Actually, it might’ve been closer to two months, now that he thought about it….

But that two month time span doesn't matter now! Because he’s currently on his way to see the Sheriff, right now, as he’s thinking this! He’d decided that they’d been on good terms long enough, and had exchanged enough messages, for an alliance to be a possibility. So that’s why he was heading towards Tumble Town! He was gonna propose an alliance between the mesa and Gobland, two shulker boxes full of goodies with him to sweeten the deal.They held some of the best materials, the best rocks, he’d managed to find over the past two months. And some good quality bones and bonemeal from the bone farm he had! Everyone needed rocks and bonemeal! They were important for building and decoration!

Fwhip skipped along to the mesa, absolutely sure this offer would work. No matter what that anxious little voice in the back of his head said. Jimmy would have to be stupid to not accept the deal, or at least bargain with him, and the Sheriff was anything but stupid! He would certainly go along with the idea, certainly! (At least, that’s what Fwhip told to calm said voice in the back of his head. And what he also kinda believed.) 

He arrives at Tumble Town quicker than expected, his arms only aching a little bit from the weight of the shulker boxes. It seems his general excitement, and a new familiarity with the path to the mesa, had made his movements a lot faster; and he’d gotten here in record time. Fwhip skids down the side of the fishbowl, a little clumsier due to the boxes in his hands, and makes his way across the bottom of it until he finds the man he’s looking for.

“Sheriff!” He called out, spotting a very recognizable hat standing a few feet away. The blonde was leaning against a lamppost, watching something in the distance when Fwhip spotted him. At the call of his name Jimmy jumped, his tail swishing in surprise behind him, and his ears turned backwards towards the sound in fright. The goblin can’t help but giggle, and keeps masking his way towards where his friend rests. 

The Sheriff spins around, arms flying out a little to balance himself. Something he looks quite silly while doing, with his ears still pinned backwards and all that. The absolute goober the Sheriff could be sometimes, honestly. “Fwhip, hi!” He says, reaching up to fix his hat's position. Something he does a lot, the goblin has noticed, anytime the accessory moves even slightly. It must be a very important hat to him then, if it needed so much adjusting.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, Sheriff!” Fwhip says, coming a halt. He sets the boxes down behind him, in what he knows is a half hearted attempt to hide them. Jimmy ignores the obvious boxes for the sake of the bit, focusing all his attention  on the goblin in front of him. Plus, asking about them would ruin the whole surprise, and that wouldn’t be fun at all, now would it?

“It’s alright!” Jimmy says, casually resting a hand on a hip. When he next speaks, he exaggerates his slight southern accent for a silly effect. Fwhip can;t help but smile at the sound, and has to hold back a small giggle or two. “What brings you to Tumble Town?”

“I have come to offer you a deal, actually!” The goblin says, tail swishing behind him with a sort of dramatic flare. He shifts himself further in front of the boxes, hiding the two tall stack behind his head just slightly. It’s the best he can do, really, without having thought out the surprise plan. He’d really just grabbed the shulkers in his excitement to get here, and had decided to improvise along the way. This was, rather sadly, the best he could do with improvising right now.

Jimmy looks curious, his eyes lighting up with intrigue. “Have you?” He asks, gaze pointedly avoiding the two shulkers boxes just barely hidden behind the goblin’s small frame. He’s being a really good sport about not spoiling the rather obvious surprise for him, Fwhip has to admit! Bravo Sheriff!

“Yep!” Fwhip said, dragging the shulker boxes out in front of him, his tail flicking in even more excitement than he had been feeling beforehand. He ignores the scrapping sound they make along the grass, and presents them proudly in front of the Sheriff. “You can have all these rocks and all this bonemeal! And access to my bone farm!” 

“In exchange for..?” Jimmy asked, trailing off at the end there. Despite that he eyed the shulkers excitedly, seemingly eager to see what was inside them. And Fwhip did let him have a peak, so the other would know he wasn’t lying about the deal or anything; and that the boxes really were full of a stupid amount of rocks and bonemeal.

“Just an alliance!” Fwhip says, watching as the Sheriff inspects each box in turn. He lifts both their lids open, and his eyes seem to sparkle at all the contents inside. The goblin, who had been watching the reaction closely, can’t help the happy grin that stretches across his face.

“You have yourself a deal then!” Jimmy snaps the lid of the second box shut, and reaches out to shake his hand. Fwhip takes it quickly, feeling his tail curl up in joy behind him. His foolproof plan had worked! Like it always would! Like all his plans totally did! Tumble Town was now Gobland’s first official ally!

“Great!” Fwhip shakes his new ally’s hand maybe a bit too aggressively in his excitement, but the Sheriff just laughs it off. He returns the energy of the handshake happily, also excited to have this alliance it seems, and causes the both of them to giggle at the force of it all. This had been a great decision so far, just like the goblin thought it would be.

“When I get my gunpowder trade set up, you’ll be the first to get some.” The Sheriff promises after their handshake, going to tip his hat for effect. His ears are upright too, a further indicator of how thrilled he is about this deal; even if his tone of voice and other body language is showing it less. The ears always betray emotions, something the goblin knows far too well.

Fwhip’s tail moves in joy behind him for what has to be the million time that day. “Oh that’ll be great!” He doesn’t even know what this gunpowder farm could possibly look like, but he’s getting excited about it regardless. He’s sure however Jimmy builds and decorates the farm, it's gonna be all western and amazing, just like he is!

“And I really have to see your empire now, if we’re in an alliance.” Jimmy adds, picking up one of the shulker boxes. Presumably to take it to his storage area, and dump all the materials off there. A much better plan than Fwhip’s had been, which was just to let them sit there or something. They weren’t his materials anymore, after all, and therefore he didn’t really have to think about what to do with them.

“You can come over whenever!” Fwhip picks up the second box, his arms still a little achy from the trip over here. But the pain was manageable. He’d carried far more materials across a dangerous cave in much worse conditions many of times before now. This really was nothing compared to that.

“Are you sure? Aren’t you busy a lot?” Jimmy asks, starting off towards the storage area with a shulker box now securely in his arms. Fwhip scurries after him, struggling to keep up with the Sheriff’s longer stride. He almost drops the shulker he’s carrying because of it, but manages to keep it in his arms, thankfully.

“Eh, I always need to take a break.” The goblin says, shrugging the best he can with the cargo in his hands. Jimmy notices he’s lagging behind after a minute, and starts walking slower; which the goblin greatly appreciated. The long walk back home would really suck if both his legs and his arms were already achy.

“I’ll stop by soon then!” Jimmy says, right as they reach his storage room. Which might also be his house. Fwhip isn’t too familiar with the layout of this place yet, which he was keen to change very very soon. They are allies now, after all!

Fwhip makes an excited sound in response, and sets his shulker box on the ground next to Jimmy’s. And after that, he spends the rest of the afternoon unloading and sorting them with the Sheriff, all the while they discuss when the Gobland tour will be. Tail flicking in happiness the whole time, Fwhip insists that Jimmy can come over anytime as they discuss it, and mentally clears his shedulce in preparation for it. 

They sort through the alliance gifts together, and Fwhip knows the next few days are gonna be horrible for the waiting factor, but will be so, so worth it in the end. It will all be so, so worth it when Jimmy can finally see the empire he’s so proud of making.

He just hopes the Sheriff will love it just as much as he does.

______________________________________

Barely two days later, the Sheriff finds himself standing at the entrance to Gobland. Fwhip had no idea he was coming, unless he’d checked the message Jimmy had sent when he’d left Tumble Town. And it had been over an hour since then, one with no response, so he really hoped the goblin had just seen it and forgot to message back. He didn’t wanna be rude about anything by barging into his empire unannounced. Even if Fwhip did do that to him all the time, so maybe the goblin wouldn’t think that's rude… 

He gets off Bullseye slowly, one of the two wild horses he’d taken in recently. He and his brother Arrow had been found injured in the mesa a month or so ago, and nursed back to health. Now they were the Sheriff’s loyal steads, furthering that old western look he had, and the current quickest way of travel. Minus elytra, which he hadn’t gotten around too yet. The End still scared him after their last rather disastrous excursion into the dimension.

The Sheriff shoots Fwhip a message, expecting him to take a minute or so to get up here. Let alone see the message. But, to his surprise, the goblin seems to sprint from wherever he is straight towards the entrance. He pushes open the big door less than five minutes later, and the Sheriff can only blink down at him in surprise while his brain tries to process the sudden appearance of his friend.

“You have a horsie!?” Is the first thing Fwhip says, gaze instantly landing on Bullseye. His eyes widen, and seem to light up like stars at the sight of the Sheriff’s trusty steed. Like he’d never seen a horse, or anything like it, before. Which, considering that he lived almost exclusively in a cave, was probably the case.

“Yeah!” Jimmy says, giving his horse’s side a small pet. He could be rather nervous around strangers, and affection tended to help calm him. He didn’t want the horse freaking out and trampling Fwhip, especially with how small the latter was. “His name’s Bullseye.”

“Can I pet him!?” The goblin asks, walking forward cautiously. He looks up at bullseye with a mixture of fear and curiosity, and still that sense of wonder lingering in his eyes. It’s like a little kid seeing a dog for the first time, his reaction is so wholesome. And also cute as hell, the Sheriff might add. Like, really really cute.

“Of course!”  Jimmy says, grabbing one of Bullseye's reins. He slowly moves the horse closer to Fwhip, giving him comforting pets on the back just in case. But it seems his worries were a little on the overprotective side. Bullseye seemed to be getting used to people more and more as the days went on, and actually seemed curious about the small man in front of him. Fwhip reached up slowly, and looked absolutely amazed for about five minutes as he pet the horse on his spotted muzzle.

“Sorry. We don’t see many horses in the caves, obviously.” Fwhip says, sounding rather sheepish. He runs his fingers through the horse's coarse fur, being very gentle due to his sharp claws. He’d feel downright horrible if he scratched the first horse he ever got to meet, especially one so nice too. Especially if it was one that belonged to Jimmy.

“Is this your first time seeing one?” The Sheriff hums, his earlier suspicions all but confirmed. He wondered what other above ground animals Fwhip, and by extension the other goblins, hadn’t seen. Which made him wonder what cave animals he also hadn’t seen before, and made him wonder how different they would be from the ones he was used to. Living underground and in the dark was sure to produce such different creatures from ones that lived in the air and trees and under the sun’s rays after all.

“Up close, yeah.” The goblin confirms, looking absolutely smitten as Bullseye starts to nuzzle into his palm. Jimmy smiles at the sight, and makes a mental note to bring Bullseye or his brother arrow every time he visits in the future. Even if he has elytra. The happiness on Fwhip’s face is absolutely worth a few more hours of travel.

“We have a whole herd in Tumble Town! You have to see them next time you come over!” Jimmy exclaims, seeing a spare fence post near the door. Probably for this exact reason, actually, since horseback was a common mode of travel for a lot of people. He ties the horse to it, and let's Fwhip get a handful more pets in before he directs his attention away. The Sheriff is sure if he didn’t do anything, the goblin would spend a week mesmerized in front of this horse.

“You mean it!?” Fwhip’s tail flicks in excitement for the first time all day, and Jimmy can’t help but he proud that his words caused it. He wanted to make Fwhip happy all the time, every day, because he loved seeing him happy. He loved seeing him so much he could hardly believe it. If he could make this goblin smile everyday fir the rest of his life, the Sheriff knows he’d be the luckiest man to ever walk the earth.

“Of course, they’ll love you!” The blonde says, deciding now is a good time to move his friends' attention back to the original purpose for today’s meetup. He was itching to finally see this cave empire that had been so personally hyped up to him over the months, after all. “Now, about that tour you promised me?”

“Ah, right, of course!” Fwhip says, hurrying back over to the entrance door. “But first, I also have a friend to show you!” The goblin says, and pushes the empire’s door open. And as soon as they step inside it, the Sheriff is greeted with what the clearly a rather large hog, one that has to be native to the caves for it to even be down here in the first place.

“Woah!” Jimmy exclaims, taking an instinctive step back from the rather large and intimidating hog now infront of him. “That’s a big pig!” This was probably how Fwhip had gotten here so fast, now that he thought about it, This thing was definitely fast as hell, he didn’t even have to see it run to know that. Heck, it could probably keep up with Bullseye on a good day.

“His name is Snort, and he’s my personal stead!” Fwhip says, sounding very proud of that fact. The boar is very clearly dear to him, if his flicking tail and happily perked up ears say anything. “His brother Boris is the Gobland ambassador of Animalia!” The hog himself isn;t actually the ambassador, as Fwhip will explain later. He just accompanies the actual goblin ambassador, but that’s basically the same thing to the goblin king anyways. The animal empire would probably like an animal representative anyways.

Jimmy blinks, impressed by the statement. He didn’t have anything like an ambassador yet, and should probably look into all that political stuff when he gets home. Even if politics aren’t really his forte . “Is he friendly?”

“Ohh he’s very friendly,” Fwhip says, walking closer towards his pet. He beckons the Sheriff forward, and Jimmy approaches slowly. He’s still rather hesitant, considering how big the animal is, and how he’s never been around anything bigger than a horse. “Loves being pet, too!” Fwhip is clearly inviting him to meet the animal, just like the goblin had done with Bullseye not even ten minutes earlier. So the Sheriff decides to get it over with, and meet a giant pig for the first time ever in his life. And it certainly won’t be the last.

Jimmy reaches his hand out slowly, hesitant as it gets closer to the frankly massive hog in front of him; one that could totally kill him if it wanted to. But Snort does not kill him, or even attack him, all he does is make a sound as the Sheriff gives him a scratch behind the ear. He seems to be enjoying the feeling, and Jimmy gives him a few more scratches before eventually pulling his hand away.

“Not so scary is he?” Fwhip asks, giving the boar a big hug. Well, the biggest hug he can give, with how big the animal is compared to its owner. And how small the goblin is in general. It’s still a cute sentiment regardless, and the cave hog makes a happy grumble in the back of his throat. It seems to be a big sap, just like it’s owner was.

“No, not really.” Jimmy says, smiling at Snort. He really wasn’t that scary, not after a few minutes at least. Even though he still had tusks that could one hundred percent impale a man and a bad case of resting bitch face. But, despite that, he was friendly, and maybe kinda cute. Oh, and also Fwhip liked him a lot, so Jimmy decided he would too. Anyone or anything his ally is fond of is a friend of the Sheriff’s, after all!

“And he’s gonna help us on the tour!” Fwhip exclaims, crawling up onto the saddle that rested on Snort’s back. Jimmy watched him in amusement, his ears flicking passively as well. Once the goblin has situated himself on the saddle, he points forward, and pulls on the hogs reins lightly. “Onward! For the grand tour of Gobland!” He exclaims, and then they set off deeper into the caves, the tour he’d been waiting for for so long finally starting.  

They start on a tour around the empire, Fwhip showing him nearly every building and telling him what each one’s function is. Jimmy appreciates the detailed explanation, but is a little surprised. It’s certainly more than he would, and has, done for tours of Tumble Town before. He also hopes he can remember all the information being thrown at his ears, knowing he’s gonna feel a little bad if he forgets on future visits; so he pays attention the best he can. Even if it's hard not to get distracted by the big flashy signs and complex railways.

The goblin tells him about everything he’s built in these last few months it feels like. The Sheriff is told about the blacksmiths and the stone masons, the most recent and profitable shops for the empire that Jimmy just has to check out some time because they have the best deals on rocks and tools. He tells him more about the bone farm he mentioned, and how successful the endeavor has been, how half of the other emperors are gonna get scammed when he changes the pass for it. But not Jimmy though, the Sheriff will never be scammed by his most loyal ally. He points out the broken cobble farm he’s proud of regardless, all the new roads that had been built, the rather impressive pen and barn for the pigs and hogs. (Much better than the horse’s pen at home, Jimmy does have to admit to himself He’s really gotta work on those building skills.) If, in his excitement, the goblin accidentally slips up and says something about secret railways while they put Snort in said animal pen, then Jimmy chooses to ignore it. Especially since one of those definitely not real tunnels is said to go to Joel’s empire, and the Sheriff totally does not want to take advantage of that. Not at all.

He listens to Fwhip’s whole ramble as they walk, soaking up every word he can. Even if the goblin is rambling, and talking much too fast for most people to keep up with. But Jimmy still tries to do so. He likes hearing Fwhip speak, likes hearing his voice. He thinks it's cute too, how the other emperor has a tendency to go on these passionate rambles, seemingly by accident, jumping from topic to topic as they flash across his mind. He clearly has a lot of love for his empire, his people, and all the recent improvements and additions, and the Sheriff can’t help but find that trait both admirable and enticing at the same time.

(He wants Fwhip to rant about him like that, one day..)

The Sheriff caught a small glimpse of Fwhip’s storage room as he walked past, a shine from inside it catching his eye. A pile of gold was stacked against the very back wall of the room, parts of the pile reaching from the floor to the ceiling, while other parts were just small piles of coins scattered across the floor. He only meant to observe the room for a second, but the universe had a different plan; it seemed. Ths Sheriff blinked once, and suddenly the storage room was replaced with another sight, another room and a different place in time, one that felt vaguely familiar to the Sheriff. But only if he really concentrated on the feeling.

He thinks this is a vision of somesort, and has no idea why one is happening to him right now. And when he had really wanted things to go well with Fwhip, too. But regardless of what he hopes, his vision goes black before he blinks, and then he is transported to a whole different place in time entirely.

A pile of what was presumably old and failed inventions crowded the corner of a study room. Some were broken and had missing pieces, while others were covered in rust. Parts of the pile almost reached up to the ceiling, and he'd never figured out why the failed items were kept, having chalked it up to hoarder tendencies. To each their own, but J̵̮̥̲̻̳̭̠̿͒i̸̡͕͕̓̍͋̿̚m̵̩̟̳͙̙̣͝ḿ̷̡̻̺̼̲̑͌͌͝ỹ̵̛̮̬̗͙̼̺̻̝̾̒͘ didn’t really see a point in keeping such junk. Maybe F̵̩̻̺͕͍͊̂w̷̧͙̙̭̯͎̲̒͊ͅh̸̢̦̹̳͙̼͐̈́i̶̧̯̙̻̳̣̲͝ͅp̸̺̰̣̻̓̀͐̑͑͛̓ was just reallt attached to his inventions, or saw some possible future use in them. Somehow 

The walls were lined with various blueprints in sketches. All of them were quite detailed, nothing J̵̮̥̲̻̳̭̠̿͒i̸̡͕͕̓̍͋̿̚m̵̩̟̳͙̙̣͝ḿ̷̡̻̺̼̲̑͌͌͝ỹ̵̛̮̬̗͙̼̺̻̝̾̒͘ could decipher, especially not at a distance. Or up close, probably, he wasn’t good with all that stuff. The papers were all clearly of varying ages, some just barely turning yellows while some of the blue sheets looked ready to fall off the wall. F̵̩̻̺͕͍͊̂w̷̧͙̙̭̯͎̲̒͊ͅh̸̢̦̹̳͙̼͐̈́i̶̧̯̙̻̳̣̲͝ͅp̸̺̰̣̻̓̀͐̑͑͛̓’s artistic prowess was quite impressive, and the ability to draw was something his fellow rulers rarely saw. Usually they saw his sketches when the drawings had been turned into full functioning inventions. One’s trying to kill or explode him or something, usually.

Jimmy feels his vision go black again before he blinks for a second time, and leaves the weird vision just as quickly as he had entered it. The strange study room was gone, and he was looking at the storage room and the large pile of gold once more. Fwhip was now standing next to him again, the little goblin giving him a worried look. ‘Sheriff, you okay?” He asks, hesitantly giving his vest a tug, careful that his claws don’t catch on the fabric. “You just kinda stopped walking and zoned out..”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jimmy says, shaking his head a bit. His vision seems to be spotty from his, well, vision he’d just had. Hopefully it will clear up in a few minutes, or this visit is gonna have to end early. He can’t really admire Gobland’s greatness if he can’t see it, after all. “You can carry on with the tour!”

Fwhip does not carry on the tour like his guest wanted him to. Instead he raises an eyebrow, and lightly tugs on the Sheriff’s vest again. His friend is still worrying, despite the Sheriff’s reassurance. (An admittedly bad reassurance after that, but whatever. It was good enough in Jimmy’s head, and worked on the people back in Tumble Town well enough.) “Are you sure?”

“I’m absolutely positive!” Jimmy insists again, hesitantly putting a hand over Fwhip’s. That seems to convince him just a little bit, the expression of his face softening slowly. He lets go of the vest, his movements still reluctant, and Jimmy moves his hand away as well. The goblin gives him one last worried glance for a bit, but slowly starts up the tour again regardless. For Jimmy’s sake more than anything, probably. They move past the storage room, and go towards what else Fwhip has yet to show him. Even if there wasn’t a lot left to tour, really.

The tour is now just showing him small bits and pieces of the empire, and recapping everything as they head back towards the entrance. But with a lot less rambling this time, and a lot more digestible information. Oh, and Fwhip shows him where the bone farm he mentioned is, and also gives him a pass. A forever pass, as he calls it, tipping Jimmy off that he’s probably gonna scam all the rest of their friends with their own passes. Or that’s the plan, at the very least. And as the Sheriff, Jimmy should probably stop him from doing that. But no one’s actually been scammed yet it seems, and this is Fwhip , so he guesses that it’s fine for now…

Speaking of Fwhip, his occasional glances back at Jimmy for the remainder of the tour, ones that still held concern, do not go unnoticed. The Sheriff finds himself rather endeared by them, and cannot help the small flutter in his chest whenever their eyes meet. But Fwhip doesn’t need to worry, because he’s not lying. He truly is fine after the vision, other than being a little startled and put off by the whole experience.

To reassure the other, Jimmy does reach for his hand towards the end of their walk back. Fwhip doesn’t take it immediately, having to process what’s happening. But eventually, he does take the Sheriff’s, faces a little red, and gives his hand a squeeze. Jimmy feels his heart flutter at all of that, and squeezes back. Judging by the heat on his face, he’s pretty sure he’s turning red because of his goblin friend, and not for the first time either.

Fwhip is…. handsome. Cute in his own goblin-y little way. Enough to tug on the Sheriff’s heartstrings and make him blush ever so slightly whenever they would talk. It causes a new type of feeling to flutter up in his chest, one that is not unwelcome. It is just unfamiliar. And like all new things, Jimmy needs time to adjust to it, even if it is an amazing new thing.

Being so attached to a boy is also ….a new thing for the Sheriff, to say the least. Well, he knew he could be into other guys, he’d known that for a few years now; it’s just…different to actually be living it is all. Very different, when it's real instead of some fantasy. And especially when it's a short goblin king instead of any buff dude he’d been imagining so far. But not much can be done about that, really.

This feeling feels vaguely familiar if he thinks about it, kinda like how that room in that vision had felt; familiar . He doesn't know how or why either of those things feel like that, but the Sheriff doesn't mind it. It makes all the newer feelings feel a lot less scary. It makes being with Fwhip like this a lot less scary, which he likes more than he would ever admit.

The tour ends as quick as it starts, and they are back where they started at the tunnel leading to the surface. The tunnel who’s copper roof needs some cleaning, Fwhip notes, spying the rust on top of it. He also groans about having to get up there, and how many hours that would take him and how much honey he would need. Jimmy frowns at how disappointed his friend sounds, and decides to extend a helping hand.

“I can help!” Jimmy offers, taking a glance up at the tunnel’s roof. It would take hours for one person to clean this by themselves, especially a goblin like Fwhip. The roof is rather low down, to where Jimmy has to bend over a bit to avoid hitting his head, but the goblin would still have to do a bit of maneuvering to reach most parts of the roof.

Fwhip looks over at him, clearly surprised by the offer. “You really don’t have too.” He says, tail flicking behind him. He sounds so sincere, like he wouldn’t want to make the Sheriff stay any longer. Or make him do anything he wouldn’t enjoy doing. But Jimmy likes spending time with the goblin, and likes helping him out, so this is no big deal at all!

“I insist! It’ll go quicker with the two of us.” He says, taking another glance up at the roof. Two people really would make it go faster, considering all of the roof is either fully oxidized or halfway through the process. This would genuinely take hours to do single handedly, and would also be a horribly unpleasant thing as well. He would feel bad if he just left without even offering to help, or without making any sort of attempt too.

“Well, fine, if you insist.” Fwhip agrees, and then runs off to get the honey from his storage chest. He says he’ll only be a minute, and is true to his word. It feels like Jimmy blinks once and then the goblin is already running back, arms full of the sticky substance. This guy has to have like, super speed or something, or maybe all goblins are just fast. Which is definitely something to inquire over later.

Or his head is still messed up from earlier, which is also equally as possible. But again, that was something else to inquire over later. When this roof was clean and he was back at home; and therefore could properly check himself for any side effects or injuries that vision may have caused. He doesn’t think there are any side effects, but better safe than sorry as they say.

Fwhip hands him a bunch of the honey he brought, and they make quick work of the roof together, probably cutting the usual cleaning time in half. The goblin tends to the lowest parts of the roof, while Jimmy bends his arm awkwardly to reach some of the highest ones; the ones he has to duck to not hit his head on. It takes a bit to get each section clean, but it’s a pretty satisfying process. Even if his arm does start to hurt a bit in the process.

Fwhip even scurries his way onto Jimmy’s shoulder, reaching for the highest part of the roof neither of them can reach on their own. The highest point of the roof towards the entrance, where it opens up to match the height of the rest of the cave. Fwhip cleans it quickly as possible, and Jimmy tries not to think about the warmth on his shoulders. It’s nice that the goblin feels comfortable enough and already trusts the Sheriff enough  to climb on him like this; the thought making him feel all fuzzy inside.

Fwhip hops down once he’s done, and starts  heading back towards the entrance once again like nothing had happened. Though the happy movement of his tail betrays him, and Jimmy watches it fondly as he follows the little goblin back. He smiles fondly at the sight, and goes to hold Fwhip’s hand again. The goblin takes it instantly this time, and they both squeeze each other's palms once more; just like earlier. 

They end up outside Gobland’s entrance door once again, Fwhip giving Bullseye even more attention before the Sheriff departs. The two leave each other with promises to see each other soon, sooner than they had this time. Jimmy agrees to meet up in a week from now with a smile, and feels his face turn red at the beaming grin the goblin gives in return. They’d just set the date, and he already can’t wait for the week to pass.

Fwhip gives his hand one last friendly squeeze, and then lets go so the Sheriff can mount his horse. He calls out goodbyes as Jimmy rides off into the sunset, all the way until his friend has disappeared into the tree line and is no longer visible. The goblin ruler only stands outside for a minute after that, before darting back in the cave excitedly. He has to tell Snort and the other hogs all about today, just like he tells them about all the fun things; even if they can’t understand him. (They like hearing him talk regardless, Fwhip is pretty sure.)

The days before the visit will not go fast enough, even as Fwhip works to make them go faster. He cannot wait for that fateful day, and knows the excitement will bubble up inside him no matter what he does. He can’t help feeling like this, not when it comes to the Sheriff, and won’t try to either. Today had been the best day of his, and hopefully Jimmy’s, life so far, and he knows the next time they meet will be even better.

[maxwellatoms]

The Beaker

This is Cog “Beaker” Inkdies, Champion of Baldbrass. He’s called the Beaker because he wields Baldbrass’ artifact warhammer “Eshesemuth”, AKA “Spunbeak”. Perhaps it was named such because Cog was from Joytooth, which was famously destroyed by giant birds. Cog still bears the scars from a giant cockatiel, and wears a giant sparrow nail amulet as a reminder of those dark times. But now the peckee has become the pecker. With Spunbeak in his left hand, Cog defends Baldbrass from goblins, fish men, blind cave ogres, and the odd undead harpy.

Interestingly, images of the dragon One Glowguilds murdering elves is a cultural touchstone of the dwarves of The Nourishing Axe. Left to their own devices, these dwarves are happy to make statue after statue of this particular dragon eating elves. They don’t have Television, so they entertain themselves in other ways.

Cog also wears another artifact-- a pair of “blocky dog bone greaves”. We slaughtered a unicorn while these were being made, and I have to admit that I’m pretty disappointed in the creator’s choices.

The jagged dagger on his loincloth was commissioned by the Temple of Ingtak as a reminder that sneakery and thievitude are both ideals to aspire to - even if you’re a head-smashing Hammer Lord.

Behind the Beaker, we can see one of his many war dogs (each militia commander gets a handful of war dogs) and his son Ingish Uttergold. Ingish’s mother died of chronic pecking in Joytooth, and Ingish didn’t take it well. At the age of three, he was wandering the halls of Baldbrass picking fights with other kids, war dogs, and the occasional chef. By the next year he was toppling clothiers shops and breaking swordsdwarves’ arms. I began to wonder if we couldn’t Batman this kid. If he could just somehow just make it through the next fourteen years or so without snapping...

But alas. It was not to be. After putting one of our masons in the hospital, someone (cough) accidentally locked Ingish in a warehouse for several months where he perished. So sad, but these things happen.

Cog has taken it all in stride, learning to value law a bit more after seeing what happened to his lawless spawn. Now he puts all of his rage into his work. And the drinking. So much drinking.

[faerybones3]

Which Witch

Fíli x witch!reader

cw: canon-typical violence, non-sexual choking

word count: 3k

prologue | series masterlist

Chapter One

three years later

Nothing could be heard above the screeching coming from the hundreds of goblins surrounding you, all clambering over each other to get a good look at the group of dwarves they had just caught on their front doorstep.

You sat, hunched at an awkward angle, with your head shoved between your knees, inside a makeshift cage made out of what you guessed were human bones. The commotion with the new prisoners had piqued your interest, and you tried to get a good look at who was being brought before the goblin king, a great hulking thing with protrusions and tumors growing out of every crevice on his massive body. He sat on a throne with a muck-filled bucket underneath, and several smaller goblins lay underneath his throne as a staircase for him. Your cage sat just to the right of him.

The goblin king stepped down from his throne and demanded to know who they were and how they had come to be in his kingdom. You wondered the same thing, privately, to yourself. As you watched the scene, you reflected on your own adventures and how you yourself had been captured by goblins. You had been traveling solo through the Misty Mountains when you stopped to make camp in a small cave. Exhausted as you were, you did not inspect the cave thoroughly. The goblins had sprung out of the walls and grabbed you in the middle of the night, taking your weapons and forcing you into this cage, where you had been sitting for days now. You had no idea why you were not already dead.

You also wondered to yourself if the dwarves had been in that same cave when they were taken, and if they had made the same mistake of not checking it properly for goblins.

When no one said a word, he became enraged and demanded that they be thoroughly searched. The goblins poked and prodded and searched thoroughly enough by goblin standards, ridding the dwarves of their weapons and throwing them carelessly to the ground. One sword in particular caught the king’s attention, and when he realized what it was, he jumped back and screamed, more infuriated than ever that these dwarves would come to him with Biter, the sword that had killed many of his people. You were quite surprised as well, as that sword looked to be made by elves and you knew quite well the enmity between their people and the dwarves.

Suddenly, the Great Goblin turned to you, fury in his eyes. You shrunk back.

“You know them don’t you, witch? They sent you ahead to scout out a way in!” He screeched. “You seek to destroy my kingdom!”

You shook your head furiously and shrunk back even further into your cage in a futile attempt to escape his wrath.

“I don’t know them, I swear!” You yelled.

The Great Goblin was seeing red, too enraged, too incensed to listen to reason. He started to bang and thump on the top of the cage, the bones threatening to break and crush you. Of course you didn’t know these dwarves, and you didn’t know how he had come to that conclusion, but the goblin didn’t need a reason to display his vileness. He wanted someone to pay for these imagined crimes, and you were the first person within reach.

“I don’t . . . believe you!” he squawked, before ripping apart the bones separating you and grabbing your arm, yanking you roughly out of your tiny cage. You stared at him, eyes wide and watery, as he lifted you up by the collar of your shirt and slammed you back down again to the floor of the rock his throne lay upon.

You yelped and tried to right yourself before the Great Goblin could grab you again, but he was too big and too quick for you. He pulled you up by your arm and twisted, making you scream out in pain.

By this point, some of the dwarves were yelling for him to stop, that you were telling the truth, anything to draw his attention away from you. Of course the goblin king did not hear them and did not care that they were speaking at all. He had you again, by the throat now, and he had started to squeeze as you clawed desperately at his bulbous arms, trying unsuccessfully to get him off of you.

You felt your feet start to lift off from the ground and you began to panic, eyes bulging. You were kicking and scratching at him and trying to scream but no sound left your throat. It could not end like this. You fought to keep yourself conscious, but the giant goblin was too strong, grinning as he squeezed the life from you.

The dwarves watched the scene unfold before them in shock and terror, but what could they do against such heedless evil? Some of them tried to fight off the goblins holding them down, but it was no use. There were too many of them, and they could not help you.

Your legs were twitching and your eyes were starting to close when suddenly there came a bright light from somewhere in the large cave and you were thrown to the ground before the dwarves, gasping and choking. You faintly saw a large figure wearing a pointed hat and wielding a sword in one hand and a staff in the other, from which the light seemed to be emanating from. You tried and failed to pick yourself up off the ground.

Everything seemed muffled and deafeningly loud at the same time, and your vision was blurry at the edges. The group of dwarves behind you and all the goblins had been knocked to the ground as well. The light dissipated and the pointy man started speaking, but you could not understand what he was saying. Before you knew it, you felt a pair of strong hands lift you from behind and saw the dwarves hurry to gather up their weapons.

Fighting had broken out amongst the dwarves and the goblins, the dwarves holding their own quite well. You, however, could do nothing but watch and try to catch your breath.

The hands that had lifted you began to half lead, half drag you in the direction you realized the dwarves had started running, following after the tall man who had saved you all. You found your feet and began to push the hands away, your vision becoming slightly stronger and clearer. A young, exasperated face stared back at you when you turned around, giving you an expression telling you that if you did not move quickly, you would most certainly be left behind.

“Come on, hurry!”

“Give me a sword.”

You knew he had heard you but he did not answer, instead grabbing your hand as if he didn’t quite trust that you were well enough to walk on your own. The two of you ran after the other dwarves, closely followed by the horde of goblins when they realized that their prisoners were escaping.

The man in the pointy hat led the group over the rickety wooden bridges of goblin town, trying to get to the winding tunnels that would lead them out of this hell hole. All the dwarves had retrieved the weapons that had been stolen from them, and were fighting off the goblins in their way. You had not been so fortunate, and you felt helpless when you had to rely on the other dwarves for protection while running. You noticed that the young dwarf leading you out had twin swords and considered just taking one from him, but thought better of it.

You had not made it very far when out of nowhere, the Great Goblin rose up and blocked your path.

He looked right at you and snarled, “You thought you could escape me!”

The Great Goblin swiped at the tall man, but he dodged.

“What are you going to do now, wizard?” He growled.

The wizard was quick as he thrust his staff into the goblins eye, blinding him. He then made two quick slashes in the goblin’s gut and throat, killing him. The goblin king fell and the bridge collapsed, taking you and all the dwarves with it, down into the black depths of the cave.

With a great crash, you all somehow landed safely, albeit piled on top of each other, on the cave floor and made a run for it into the deep and dark tunnels, looking for any sign of an opening or daylight.

At last, you came upon an opening in the rock, guarded by two particularly fierce looking goblins. However, the dwarves made quick work of them and in no time, you were out into the open, breathing in the fresh air of the early evening. You did not have very long to enjoy your freedom though, as the dwarves continued to run into the trees lining the mountainside. You followed them until they finally stopped to catch their breath.

The wizard started to count each of them, saying their names aloud and counting on his fingers. When he reached 13 of them, not including you, he paused and asked where their hobbit was. You did not remember seeing a halfling in their group when they were brought before the goblin king.

The dwarves start to argue amongst themselves about where he was last seen. At the back of the group, you tried to hide yourself somewhat behind the dwarf who had helped you, the younger one with blond braids. You suspected that they had not had the time to register your presence and you were not keen on being questioned at the moment. Some of them were blaming each other and one with three distinct braids shaped like a star claimed he saw the halfling slip away. It was then that one of the dwarves, the tallest of them and the most imposing, said in a displeased tone that he believed the hobbit had left them and gone home.

“We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is long gone.”

You sensed that there was some deeper feeling hidden by his obvious resentment for their 14th member. Considering his tone, you also made a metal note to not get on his bad side if you could help it.

At that moment however, you saw a small profile walk through the trees toward them. You assumed this was the halfling as you saw all the shocked expressions on all of the dwarves' faces, especially the tallest of them.

They began to ask him how he got past the goblins but you had stopped paying attention. You could feel something moving in the earth now. You reached down and touched the soil with your fingers, which brought all of their attention to you. They looked at you like they had completely forgotten about you. Their eyes were kind though, and some of them looked at you with worried expressions, taking in your already bruising throat and battered body. The wizard took a step towards you with silent questions in his eyes, a little too knowing for your comfort.

“We need to move,” you said, so quiet that only the two young dwarves in front of you had heard. They exchanged a look.

“And who are you?” questioned one of the dwarves in what you could only describe as a fatherly tone.

“We need to move now,” you repeated, a bit louder this time. “Do you not hear it?”

Everyone looked around at each other, confused. You looked at the wizard, and he understood.

“Wargs,” he said. “Run!”

You heard them before you saw them, a great pack of wargs, advancing down on you from the top of the mountain. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, weaving in and out of the trees. A few wargs ran ahead and tried to attack the group, but the dwarves fought them off. Up ahead, you saw that you were coming up on a cliff.

“Up the trees, quickly!” called the wizard.

The dwarves at the front of the group started expertly climbing the trees near the edge of the cliff, but you knew the wargs would catch up before they were all up and safe. The wargs were coming up on you fast, and they needed more time.

Without thinking, you stopped suddenly, and turned on your heel, ignoring the shouts from the other dwarves. While running, you had managed to get in the middle of the group, the two younger dwarves still at the back. The blond dwarf was right in front of you and you stopped him with an outstretched arm.

“What are you doing!” He shouted.

“Give me your sword!”

“What? No, come on!”

You sighed in exasperation. “I’m trying to help you, halfwit!”

Before he had time to be offended at your remark, you grabbed his arm and yanked him so that he was pulled ahead of you. When his back was facing you, you grasped the hilt of one of his twin swords and pulled it out of its sheath. Your movements were so quick that he barely had time to register what had happened before you shoved him forward between his shoulder blades. You yelled at him to run and turned back to the fast-approaching wargs.

Fili barely realized that he was missing a sword, and was too preoccupied with climbing a huge tree alongside his brother, as they had reached the edge of a great cliff and could run no more. He was halfway up when he noticed you, still on the ground, doing something peculiar.

A flash of indignance rose up in his chest as he looked down at you with his sword in your hand.

“What does she think she’s doing?” came Kili’s voice. “She’s gonna get herself killed!”

“Wait, look,” said Fili, leaning forward in the tree. “What is she doing?”

You were mumbling in a language Fili did not understand, repeating the same words over and over again, getting louder each time. The other dwarves were a mix of panic and vexation, all looking between you on the ground and the wargs who were getting closer and closer with every breath.

Fili’s indignance turned to awe as he saw a strange kind of rippling energy emanating from your fingers, spreading out through the sword. He did not have a word for it, as he had never seen anything like it, but it was beautiful and uncanny to his eyes. As the energy went through the sword, it started to give off a faint glow. Then it was traveling down your arms and encircling your entire body, and you were surrounded in it. As you continued chanting in that foreign language, a phantom wind lifted your hair from your neck and made your buttoned tunic flutter.

You were on your guard as soon as the wargs entered the clearing. They snarled and growled as they started to circle you, effectively taking your bait. They looked at you as if you were an easy meal. As the last of the dwarves climbed into the trees, you looked back to the wargs, and you smiled.

Two more tense seconds later and one of them suddenly charged and you exploded into movement, the sword in your hand almost invisible as it slashed and sliced at the beast. You were a flurry of skilled movement and Fili could do nothing but stare as one after another of the wargs rushed at you and were taken down.

Something bright caught the young dwarf’s eye and he looked up to see Gandalf throwing flames from his staff down onto the wargs, cutting off their path to you. Some of the other dwarves caught on and began throwing loose branches and pine cones down to the wargs as well. Pine cones were not nearly as effective as flames or a sword, but they hoped to at least distract some wargs enough to give you some time to fight them off.

Things, however, turned quite sour as the last rays of sun disappeared behind the skyline, and the goblins began to worm their way out of their holes and hiding places and into the cold dark of night. A great group of them, enraged by their king’s death, charged out of the mountain tunnels and descended on you.

You were skilled enough in combat and well protected by your magic and the fire sent by the wizard, but you could not take on a hundred wargs and goblins by yourself. While the wargs stayed clear of the fire, you knew the goblins would jump through it to get to you. Just as the pack of goblins reached you, you heard yelling coming from up in the trees. You looked up, and saw a dozen of the great eagles circling from above. Some dove and swooped, clawing at the goblins and wargs.

As you turned around to run, a stray goblin, half on fire and crawling on the ground, grabbed your leg and slashed at you with his jagged knife. You stumbled to the ground and suddenly it was on top of you with its blade raised.

“You’ll pay for this, witch!” It screamed.

At that moment, a great eagle swooped and easily plucked up the goblin, carried him several hundred feet into the air and dropped him off the cliff to his death. You sucked in a long and uneven breath, stumbling to your feet and limping through the trees. At the wizards command, the dwarves had begun to drop from the trees they had climbed, to be carried away by the eagles. There were only a few of them left now and you knew you needed to hurry.

Reaching the edge, you looked down the several hundred foot drop off the mountain. You took in a shaky breath, praying to any gods listening that something would catch you, and jumped.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

After what seemed like hours, the great eagles deposited you and the dwarves onto a great Carrock. You slid off the eagle that had carried you and stumbled a bit on the uneven rock beneath your feet.

When the two younger dwarves arrived, the blond one walked right up to you and snatched his sword from your grip with a slightly disgruntled look on his bearded face. You were too dazed and weak to protest, all of your energy now going into keeping yourself upright and standing. You looked around at the horizon lethargically, taking a step forward. Turning around again, the blond dwarf was now looking a bit worried and tentatively reached for you, perhaps to steady you. Your brain started to go fuzzy and your vision darkened. There was a sharp pain in your abdomen that you hadn’t noticed before, probably due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pain felt like it was spreading up and through your fingertips, and you noticed that the magic you had used before had all but dissipated. You barely saw the other dwarves jumping onto the rock from their eagles, but they were giving you strange looks and you wanted to tell them to stop looking at you like that.

You started to stumble and fell hard onto the rocky ground, landing on your side. You heard someone curse in a foreign language from above you and yell for someone called, ‘Oin.’ But they were so very far away, and you just wanted to sleep now. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was a golden braid with a hand carved bead woven into it, dangling from a handsome face, and your own hand, reaching out to touch him.

[jacqcrisis]

Spent all day hoping Alfonso "The Face-Breaker" Tombstone could get magic lessons before the tiefling party AND before any vampires decided to try and jump his bones. So they got through the owlbear cave, the goblin outpost, and giving the wizard his first snack of magic accessories and-

Ladies and gentlemen: we got him

[freyasilverbough]

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - Spirit of the Forest

If this looks familiar, it’s because it’s a rewrite/repost since I’m at that point in the story lmao. Tweaked a few things, added others, anyway enjoy (or don’t, I’m not your mother)

Cw for blood, violence, undead. Canon typical stuff, nothing too horrible. Act 2 spoilers

Halsin stood on the large rock jutting into the dark lake. He waited, he prayed, he recited the ritual over and over in his mind. He’d spent the last hundred years preparing for this moment, and thanks to a tadpoled Selûnite, the time had finally come. 

He heard her approach from behind, and turned to face the paladin who he trusted the most to see this through. Three of her friends followed closely behind her. Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Gale. Two soldiers, a mage, and a cleric. Halsin prayed once more that it would be enough. 

“You’re here, good. Now we can begin.” He forced bravado into his tone, refusing to reveal his growing nerves. 

“First, I want to know what to expect.” Freya cocked a hip and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Thaniel is trapped in the Shadowfell, but thanks to your efforts, I know where to look. I need to cross into Shar’s domain to get him, but doing so will sap my strength. Keep the portal open until I return.”

“Hold on, shouldn’t I come with you? Going in alone is suicide.” 

“No. This has been a hundred years in the making. It has to be me, and only me.” Her eyebrow quirked up in question as Halsin sighed. “I didn’t bring you here to witness an old druid’s grandstanding. You have a part to play in this, and I trust you will play it well.”

“What part might that be?”

“The shadows won’t be banished without a fight. Once the portal is open, they’ll descend on it like a pack of rabid hounds. I need you to keep them at bay until I return with Thaniel.” Her lips lifted in a smirk as the promise of battle washed over her. 

“Leave it to me,” she said, repeating the same words she had said when he directed her to kill the leaders at the goblin’s camp. She couldn’t possibly know, but her resolve did wonders to steel Halsin’s own nerves. She would not fail him, he knew it in his bones. 

“It took me years of study, of gaining the Oak Father’s favor.” Halsin took a deep breath and thumped a fist over his heart before continuing. “Pray that this works.”

“Oak Father, aid me, guide me. Force open the jaws of darkness. Make passage for your vessel of light.” Golden magic shimmered and expanded to open the portal to the Shadowfell. He looked over his shoulder at Freya, whose eyes met his. “Stay close to the portal,” he called to her. “Buy me what time you can.”

As he turned to go, she caught his hand. “Halsin,” she said. Their eyes met once more as she drew her sword. “May Selûne light your way.” She dropped his hand and drew her shield, hard determination written all over her face. 

“And may she guide your blade,” he responded. 

“She always does. Now go.” Freya all but shoved him toward the portal as shadows and undead began to appear behind them. White hot radiant fire spread down her longsword, and the last thing he saw before he entered the Shadowfell was the sight of an avenging angel leaping from the rock with a furious scream into the hoard of shadow cursed undead that had descended upon them. 

————

Halsin emerged from the Shadowfell out of breath, Thaniel unconscious in his arms. The land of the beach was littered with bodies yet the last of the battle still raged around them.

He spotted Freya as she battled a wraith, commanding her inner light to swallow its shadows. She was covered head to toe in both the black blood of the dead and the red of the living. He noticed a slight limp in her left leg and her shield had been discarded. Gale stood ahead of Halsin on the rock, readying a fireball to land the killing blow. Shadowheart was next to him casting what healing spells she had left on Freya and Lae’zel.

The wraith caught Freya by the shoulder with its necrotic claws, and she let out a cry of pain and righteous fury. Blood dripped from her right arm as if the beast had sliced clean through her armor.

“ENOUGH!”

She took a knee and plunged her good fist to the ground, where a shockwave of holy silver fire erupted and burned through the few remaining enemies.

Finally, it was done. 

Gale and Shadowheart rushed to their injured leader as Lae’zel looked to Halsin. None of them had noticed he was there. His magic was completely spent, Shar’s domain had eaten away at him while he searched for Thaniel.

“Is he dead?” The githyanki asked simply. It was then that Freya got to her feet, waving off her friends, and approached the rock. She winced as she stepped up to where Halsin had laid Thaniel.

“No, but something’s not right. Take him back to camp, Halsin. He’ll be safe there. I’ll join you after I’ve had a damn drink.” She clutched her injured shoulder as she turned to go back to the inn, blue light radiating from her palm before sputtering out. “Fucking hells.”

“I’ll meet you back at the inn. You’re injured,” Halsin argued. He’d been the one to ask her to put herself at risk, again, and he would not let her suffer in silence on his account.

“I’m sure Jaheira has a needle and thread laying around somewhere. Focus your energies on Thaniel.” She stumbled as she stepped down from the rock and swayed a bit as her boots touched the dirt.

Damn stubborn woman, he thought as he scooped Thaniel back into one arm as he caught up with Freya and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He’d throw her over his shoulder and carry her if he had to. She grunted as she tried to shove his bulk away with her bad arm, but he wouldn’t budge.

Her blood leaked into his side as he helped her up the hill to the safety of the inn. When they entered, Jaheira took one look at Freya and ordered Halsin to get her into the room where Art Cullagh lay sleeping once more. Their friends trailed behind them, Shadowheart had gathered Freya’s shield from where she had thrown it on the beach.

“I tried to keep her up, they just kept coming, I’m so sorry,” Shadowheart said to the two druids. Her voice was laced with concern for the paladin. The Sharran and the Selûnite had become reluctant friends, surprisingly enough. A bridge built in the endless war between their goddesses.

“A few godsdamned scratches and everyone loses their fucking minds,” Freya snapped as Halsin sat her on one of the empty beds, turning to lay Thaniel on another. When he was settled, Halsin turned back around to see Freya trying to stand. He pushed her back down lightly with a hand on her good shoulder and knelt to start undoing the clasps of the armor encasing her injured leg.

Halsin ignored Freya’s increasing protests. She had almost always insisted on healing herself, entirely resistant to being taken care of. Halsin had respected her wishes, but today her face was growing paler by the minute with blood loss and she was out of magic. He was sapped as well, but he had trained for long hours and many years to mend any wound without the aid of spells for this very situation. Jaheira and Shadowheart carefully removed her shoulder pauldrons and gauntlets. When Jaheira began work on the clasps of her chest piece at her left side, Freya hissed at her touch.

Jaheira pulled her hand away, only to find it was soaked with crimson.

“What in the hells is this?” Jaheira demanded. She leveled a motherly glower that would bring anyone else to their knees at the paladin. Freya just glared daggers right back. Shadowheart stepped back as Jaheira quickly removed Freya’s chest plate and tore the side of her fitted undershirt that had been soaked in red.

Four angry, deep claw marks ran the length of Freya’s side, the skin around each wound had turned black, and her veins branched in ebony spiderwebs through her pallid skin.

Halsin recognized the signs of necrosis. Necrosis that was quickly traveling toward her heart.

“Oh gods,” Shadowheart whispered in horror.

“Shit,” Halsin said, before flying into action. “Lae’zel, Gale, get in here and hold her down. Jaheira, I need every healing potion you have to spare, alcohol, and clean cloth. Warm water and balsam too.” Halsin removed the rest of Freya’s armor and sliced the leg of her pants open with his knife. Shadowheart removed the scraps of Freya’s undershirt, exposing the same necrosis festering in the wound on her shoulder. Jaheira hurried from the room to gather the supplies Halsin asked for.

A sheen of sweat coated Freya’s forehead, her breath coming in short, labored pants as he looked her in the eyes.

“This is going to hurt, my friend,” he said to her as Lae’zel gripped both forearms and Gale her ankles. Jaheira returned with a basket overflowing with linen and herbs in one arm and a bucket of water in the other.

“Talli was low on potions, but she gave me the few she had left,” Jaheira said. “Alcohol, we have in abundance.” She set the basket down on the side table next to Halsin as he removed his bracers. Though his heart was racing, his hands mercifully remained still as he retrieved a bottle of clear liquid from the basket. He opened it and splashed some on his hands. Raising the bottle over Freya’s side, he looked at her again.

“Are you ready?” He asked her.

“Just fucking do it,” she spat through gritted teeth. Jaheira put a strip of leather between Freya’s teeth and the paladin clutched Lae’zel’s wrists.

She screamed and thrashed against her friends’ hold when the alcohol hit her shredded side. The sound broke Halsin’s heart clean in two. Gale used a holding spell to help him keep her legs in place, but every one of her muscles strained against his and Lae’zel’s grip.

“I know, Freya, I know. I’m almost done. This is the worst part, I promise you,” Halsin murmured as he worked to clean her gashes, and he prayed that she would pass out soon. Jaheira leaned over and gripped her good thigh in both hands as Isobel came rushing into the room.

“By the Moonmaiden,” she whispered. Halsin could hardly hear her over Freya’s muffled roars. “You should’ve come to me, I can help.” Isobel crossed the room, rolling her sleeves up and taking Jaheira’s place at Freya’s side. Blue light glowed from her palms as she approached.

Freya released the leather strip from between her teeth. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she panted at the cleric. Jaheira just stuck the leather right back in her mouth.

“The shield won’t fall over a few spells, don't be an idiot,” Jaheira said as Isobel lowered her glowing palms over Freya’s abdomen.

Halsin took Gale’s place at Freya’s feet when she started to kick. He held her ankles to the bed gently, but firmly. “Look at me, little wolf. Your body needs to rest. You’ve done the hard work, let us make sure you live to fight another day.” Freya’s eyes watered as she made eye contact with him. Another muffled scream ripped from her throat as the necrosis began to leave her body under Isobel’s touch. Her tears fell in streams down her cheeks as her teeth clenched around the leather.

“This curse will not have you, do you hear me? You will not be lost to the darkness. I’ve got you, little wolf. I’ve got you.” His own eyes began to well up as her body slowly relaxed. He relinquished her legs and filled the basin near the bed with the water Jaheira had brought earlier, murmuring a cantrip to cool it.

“I’m afraid these are deep enough she’ll probably scar,” Isobel said as she finished her work.

“I wear my scars with honor,” Freya coughed. How she was still alive, let alone conscious, was a miracle in itself. He’d seen plenty die in minutes from less exposure to the shadow curse.

Lae’zel let go of Freya’s biceps and led Gale and Shadowheart from the room, Isobel following to return upstairs with a promise to check on her fellow Selûnite. Jaheira told him where to find any supplies he needed in the inn, and whatever he couldn’t find, their quartermaster Talli would try to provide.

With everyone cleared out, Halsin dipped a rag in the cold water and laid it on Freya’s forehead. She moaned quietly in relief. He gently wiped the blood and sweat from each of her now mostly healed wounds, careful not to aggravate them once more, before wrapping clean linen around her torso and over her shoulder. The gash on her thigh was now just an angry red line, which he agreed with Isobel would surely scar.

Halsin retrieved a healing potion from the basket Jaheira had brought and slid an arm under Freya’s shoulders to prop her up. “Drink this,” he quietly commanded her. “It’ll help with any lingering pain so you can rest.” For once, she did as she was told. He lowered her back down and turned to leave the room, as he knew she valued her privacy, but she caught his hand in his just as she did before he entered the portal.

“Stay with me,” she whispered. It was so faint as her eyes fluttered shut that he wasn’t sure he heard her properly. She looked so small on that bed, so vulnerable, so in contrast to the fearsome warrior who had leapt into a crowd of undead not two hours before. Her slender hand, calloused from centuries of wielding her blade, went slack in his as her exhaustion took over. He kept holding it, stroking her moonlight hair with his other, and realized that he would follow this woman to the ends of Faerûn as long as she would have him. 

[isawken]

Damn I would also love to be assigned a American state in place of my Australian one! (Y'all's state name are sick honestly.)

hell yes let's go!! i bequeath unto you, the great state of...

here's some 'tucky fun facts!

-kentucky is home to Mammoth Cave system, which is the longest in the whole earth, which is fucking insane. this shit is 83 sq miles/214 sq km!!! i'm terrified by the thought!!!

-in addition to the natural holes, we got manmade ones too. kentucky is prime coal minin' country. any and all mentions of coal and/or mining must elicit a deep sorrow from your soul

-kentucky has a super varied history of indigenous peoples but the most well-known are the Shawnee, Osage, Chickasaw, and Cherokee. there was apparently a rumor that native peoples never lived in kentucky, just used it as a hunting ground, but that's been proven to be false. there's been settlements here for over 10K years!

-i hope you like bourbon cus baby, it's alllll over here. one of my favorite drinks of all time is basil hayden, but maker's mark is fine too. if you ever get the chance to indulge in genuine small batch or home made moonshine that's even better

-the guy who is the logo of KFC did just straight up look like that. like that is a 1:1 of what that dude's appearance was. KFC is fine, but be sure to get visibly irritated if someone expresses that yeah, they've totally had real 'tucky fried chicken, but then admit it was just from KFC

-i'm sorry, but you have to get into bluegrass, at least a little. if you wanna ease into the country/bg genre in general, start with hometown boy tyler childers. if you wanna get into the thick, check out other hometown boy roscoe holcomb.

-eastern kentucky is lucky enough to be situated in Appalachia, which is essentially just what we call a chunk of the appalachian mountain range! you may know this mountain range as being older than literal bones. the appalachians are sacred. the appalachians are deep and dark and thick and they will love you, but just keep that head o yours on a swivel

-bigfoot has been sighted in kentucky (as with most US states) but the real MVPs imo are the hopkinsville goblins. also the pope lick monster. mostly just cus the name let's be real here

-you want to eat a hot brown. everyone wants to eat a hot brown. do not question why it's called a hot brown. just enjoy. the hot brown

and here's your complimentary badge and "_____ MENTIONED" meme!

[misternohair]

So I'm doing a last minute Christmas project as a gift for my family-in-law, which is way more rushed than I would have liked since I had no money until payday on the 22nd. Regardless, about a year ago I ran a small one shot D&D game for the fam with my partner, their parents, their brother, and their brother's partner. They ran through the intro to Phandelver, fighting some goblins and having a goofy good time, as you do.

To commemorate that, I'm making a small diorama of their characters vs a couple gobbos. I started by ripping up some cork board and layering it on top of each other to give the impression of a cave interior. I threw some texture paste on top and let it dry

When it dried and I had plenty of texture paste on all the mini bases too, I used some slightly watered down Elmer's glue and some little battlefield rocks and cork chunks for boulders to get an idea of what it might look like when primed/painted.

Next I got the whole thing primed with black spray paint and a little bit of bone white over the top to give the whole thing a black/white contrast as if it were inside a dark cave. I primed everything with each of the player models tacked to the board so that it looked uniform (and I could remember where each of the models went after painting.) In the interest of time, I decided not to paint the goblins, with the creative decision to make it look like they were still in the dark (and definitely not cause I'm running out of time.) I also dry brushed over while slightly brightening the shades of gray to give the whole thing that uniform color. Unfortunately it also knocked loose a couple of pebbles, so I'll have to clean up a couple of spots. On the bright side, the end goal is to leave the player characters sticky tacked to the diorama so that they could be used on a battle mat if we ever play again.

Now I'm almost done and while I've rushed the paint job and not taken as much time as I might have liked, I think it's turning out pretty damn good. Most of the party is done, just one more kobold player to go

For a slapdash crazy gift, I think it still looks pretty cool, and I hope the extended family likes it. I'll update again with the final product tomorrow, since we're going up there to celebrate Christmas Eve with all of them then. Time to get some sleep so I can wake up tomorrow and finish!