#hear me out: i don’t like bramble

[ginzuras]

happy 5am is it cringe to say i’m at work thinking about ashfur redemption au

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.5k / 20 / post-apocalypse au, part 1

...

You're injured but moving as fast as you can with your bow slung over your back. Soap is close behind you, giving chase, shouting your name as he does. Doesn't he learn? Doesn't he know you'll pull your bow on him again if he corners you?

He must know, but he's too stubborn to give up the chase. You don’t understand it.

He pushes on, just as graceful and twice as effective as you. You slip through the thick trees and their branches trailing whips of brambles. He shoves past them. You’re injured. He’s not. He's gaining, boots heavy in the soil.

"Watch yourself--!"

Your boot lands on leaf litter that falls out from under you--a pit trap. You’re moving barely fast enough for your momentum to save you from falling in. Your waist hits the edge of the pit. You brace yourself by your elbows, fingers digging into the dirt. The soft underside of your arms drag against something sharp underneath.

Soap grabs you by your coat and pulls you up out of the trap and to your feet before you can scramble out yourself. You're neither surprised nor mollified by his careful handling of you.

"Let me go!"

"Na. You're hurt. Stay still."

"Soap, I swear to God--"

"Shut up. I'm taking a look."

He holds your arm firmly with one large hand and, with the other, pulls your sleeve away from the bleeding gash. You grab his wrist with a pained curse. Whatever caught your arms—the rough wood and metal at the trap's edge—tore you bloody. Soap glares at the gash and then at you. He's close.

You could reach for your bow or for the dagger on your hip. But you know for a fact he's armed. With guns. A sniper rifle on his back and two sidearms at his belt. He knows how to use them, too. If you fight, he wins. But you know better than to back down quickly. The world is crueler than it used to be ever since things went to shit. People who show weakness don’t survive.

"Why are you following me?" you growl, your grip on his wrist tightening.

His grip on you loosens in turn when you speak. "You know why. I'm lookin' out for ya."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"Aye, but you still needed it."

"You're not a soldier anymore, Soap," you retort, trying to pull your wrist away. "It's every person for themselves. Stop following me."

"That's no way to live. The world may be a shithole, but there are still folk around who'll lend you a hand even though they don't need to. Soldier or no'."

You can't get out of his grip when he's determined to keep you there, and he is. As much as you'd like to give him a matching wound for being so goddamn stubborn, the rational part of your brain--the part that makes sure you survive--knows better than to expend energy struggling when it's not strictly necessary.

"Nobody lends a hand unless they want something in return," you mutter, glaring down at your wound as he bandages it. "Even if they're pretending otherwise."

He knows you speak from experience. You're a woman, and that means you're nothing but a resource to the worst of whoever’s left. He can't blame you for being guarded. Then again, you wouldn't be making such heated statements to his face if you really thought he intended to hurt you. You're just... defensive. Hiding under all that anger. That's what he tells himself. So he ignores your grumbled protests.

"That's how you'd look at it," he finally replies as he finishes dressing the wound. "Seein' as you've not met the right people. But some of us don't expect anything back."

"You don't expect it because you think you're better than asking. But you still want it."

"Might be so." His voice is soft, gravelly, but you can hear the steel in it. "But am not asking, now am I? So stop your fussin'. You're safe. Nae need to worry." He releases your bandaged arm.

"You run your hand along the wrapping, checking it. "Fine. But I'm... I'm not coming back with you."

"Can't promise you'll be safe out there. Where do ye plan to go?"

"I don't know. Wouldn't tell you if I did."

"Aye." He rubs his jaw, examining you with flint in his blue eyes. Pressing you for an answer would be pointless. Not that you seem to be lying—but you're not telling the whole truth. The short history you share with him is just enough that he can tell. But he also knows trying to change your mind would be pointless. If you won't listen, he'd have better luck bashing his head against one of these huge, mutated oaks.

"Am nae stoppin' ya. But these woods are full of treacherous paths. If ye run into trouble—when ye run into trouble--my boys and I, we know these woods well enough to dust you off and send you in the right direction. Cannae promise to find you before somethin’ else does, though."

You're fairly sure he's not lying. His boys, as he calls them—his old squad, you think—they've made their home in these woods. It's perilous living—bears, wolves, muties, and terrain just as hazardous as the wildlife. And still those men are the most dangerous things in here.

The offer is tempting. You consider it for longer than you should, looking down at your bandaged arm again. But then you step back, shaking your head slowly. "No, thanks. I have to get going."

It tears him up inside. You're making the wrong choice. If he lets you walk away, he's letting you walk to your death.

He looks at you for a moment. You can tell he's got something more to say. But he changes his mind, stepping back as well. He pulls something from his belt and holds it out. A handgun, scuffed and black, grip held toward you. You stare at it for a second before looking back up at him. He's serious?

"I'm not gonna take that--"

"You're damn well gonna take it." His voice is low and insistent. "You think I don't know you'll run into trouble out here? Don't be a fool. I have spare. Take it."

Your one rule is don't owe anybody anything. How the fuck are you about to owe this man twice?

Fine. Whatever. It's not like you have to use it. Could just barter it. Not like you’re going to see him again. You take the gun, biting back a retort.

He nods his approval. The steely look in his eyes softens, though he still looks dismayed. "Mind where you point that. And when you pull it. Biters'll hear it for a mile and come running. Survivors, too. The curious ones." He glances at your bandaged arm one more time. Then he adjusts the bag over his shoulder and turns his back, walking away from you. Back to camp. "Am expectin' you to keep yourself alive with that," he growls. "Or else it's a lot of good time and material I wasted on ya."

"I didn't ask you to waste your breath," you retort, practically snarling at his retreating back in your irritation. You watch him go until he's disappeared into the trees. You need to make sure he doesn't plan on doubling back and following you.

Then you set off on your own. You take a winding path to throw off any trackers. Never can be too cautious. The gun in your pocket is heavy against your thigh, and you try not to think of it as a comforting security.

You came here to get Roach back, and you don’t care how long you have to wander this Godforsaken forest. You’re not leaving without him.

…

Soap feels your eyes on him until you disappear.

He wants to divorce himself from this, but he’s on edge. People who strike out on their own here come to a nasty end. But he’s not going to take away your agency by deciding what's best for you. You were right about him not being a soldier, after all. He doesn’t have the authority to herd you back to his squad’s campsite. Your life is in your own hands.

He just hopes you live to do better than he believes you will.

That night, he sleeps restlessly. Which is why, when he hears a cluster of gunshots in the distance, he wakes up instantly. It's you. In trouble.

The night watch—Gaz tonight—is already there, tossing Soap's gun to him. "You were right," Gaz says.

"Course I was," Soap says with a lopsided grin. "Owe me a ten-piece in the next poker game, aye?"

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3

more Soap / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Therapy Files 1: Dead Enough to be Alive (Carmy)

Screenshot Credit: @neverscreens

Summary: Carmy is headed to his first therapy appointment and his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) tries to soothe him while he freaks out about it. (873 Words)

Warnings: Swearing, mention of vomit, passive suicidal thoughts, impending mental breakdown (no breakdown in this one), fem reader/generic lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! Sideblog for social stuff: @m-z-shoroi. If you want to filter out the therapy posts, the tag is #cb therapy files.

Day 1

I almost threw up the day of therapy.

It's funny how al-anon meetings didn't fuck me up this bad. Being a no-face in a room full of faceless sufferers somehow made it easier to summon and examine the pain of Mikey dying, of cooking consuming every aspect of my being until all that was left was this chewed lump of mangled muscle and bone fighting for some form of continued existence. I could rip it from my chest, hold it in my hand, turn it in the light. Look at all the faces, the thin spots, the gouges, the dents. Half the people there weren’t listening to me at all, were lost in the turmoil of their own pain and suffering, of the loved ones that were too far away to reach or so unreachable that they were gone. I didn’t mind it.

Half the time, I just needed to hear what I had to say, anyway. Something about the words coming out of my mouth, as stuttered, incomplete, inadequate as they were; something about hearing my own voice say them to me, of my voice hitting my ears—that was the important part. I’ve been through hell and back, I understand clearer than anyone else that I’m the most powerful climber I know. I don’t need someone to grab my hand and pull me out of this mess; I just need someone to know that I’m here. I need someone to witness my existence, my pain, my misery. I just need someone to come looking for me if I go quiet for too long. Just a face over the edge of the cliff. They don’t need to say nothing. They just need to exist.

I’m just dead enough to be alive at all, and in a room full of ghosts, that’s an easier thing to reconcile than trying to explain that to a fucking therapist (who’ll probably put me on some sort of watch list after probing me with a thousand questions about whether or not I want to die, how I plan to do it, how much of my plan I’ve enacted). I shouldn’t be pissed. It’s their job. Fuck only knows how many times they’ve had their 3:00 not show up only to find out the next day that their 3:00 would never show up for anything again. But how else do I explain these brambles of mortality, this barbed wire anchored in my skin. I can’t escape death.

He owes me a brother.

He owes me some fucking answers.

 Darling's hand landed on my thigh. "Baby, you're going to crack your knees on the dashboard if you don't stop bouncing your leg like that."

And I'm fucking terrified of therapy.

"Why are you terrified, sweetheart?"

Shit, I said that aloud, didn't I? "I just... I don't know." I raked my hair back. "I don't know."

"It's a little too late to cancel the appointment now—"

"I know, I know, I know." I pressed the heels of my hands into my cheekbones. I know. I’m not saying I’m not going to go; I’m saying I’m terrified. Those are different things.

She squeezed my knee. "Breathe, pretty boy."

I heaved a breath.

"You're gonna be okay, baby.”

"What if I'm not?"

It took her a bit to answer. "Then we'll do what we can to make it okay."

She can’t make promises, but right about now I need some of those. Promise me I’ll be okay? Promise me it’s not as bad as it seems?

The car turned, then stopped. Her cold fingers curled around my wrist.

"Hey. Look at me, Bear?"

I dropped my hands, but I couldn't make myself look over. Don't know why; it probably would've calmed me down to see her pretty face, but my eyes stayed glued to the hood of the car parked in front of us, the icicles hanging in front of the grill. Teeth. Fuck, I was clenching my jaw again. Heat surged in my chest, crawled up into my neck, only this time, the panic didn’t come with it—my eyes just stung. I only felt a breakdown coming.

She interlocked her hand with mine, brought the back of it to her warm lips. Pressed a kiss to it, just to the side, behind my thumb. She returned it with a plum-pink lipstick print on it. Jagged, sharp, blurred edges, but distinctly hers.

"Do you think that'll help?" She whispered, carding through my curls, tucking them behind my ear.

I’m trying not to have a meltdown, baby girl, I’m useless.

She pulled my shirt collar down and planted another one on my sternum, just below where the neckline would be. It bloomed a wave of coolness in my chest. A comfortable cold. This wasn’t ice against my chest; ice is sharp, jagged, a frozen lightning bolt. The kiss was milder, softer. Diffuse.

She replaced my shirt, pecked my mouth. “How about that one?”

How about you give me another one after this fucking appointment, hm?

Tags: @jess248, @catharticconsolation, @persymons, @morgthemagpie, @glitch0o0, @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly

[sagethegaywitch]

Dimensions: Diasomnia

Male reader

TW: yandere behavior, memory erasing, implied Grim death

Genre: yandere

Here's the link for my other Dimensions: Twisted Wonderland Overblots.

The story will take place in medieval France, the one from the original “Sleeping Beauty” that the Diasomnia dorm is based on.  As the overblot eats away at the characters, they start to resemble and act more like the Disney characters they are based on.  The reader will be called Y/N and Aurora/Briar Rose.

f/f = favorite food

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

The feeling of something prickling your skin forces you awake.  You groan in discomfort, trying to stretch out only to flinch in pain.  You're now wide awake and take in the black thorns piercing your skin.  A whole bush full of the sharp plant seems to surround you and you wince as you slowly move into a standing position, your shoes protecting you from the pointy thorns.  Unfortunately, the clothing you're wearing wasn't as fortunate.  The baby blue suit you're wearing with little baby pink details and a white collar is riddled with puncture holes and a few bleed a bit, staining the fabric.  You look at your surroundings, not seeing much but a foggy green sky and more brambles of black thorns.  You manage to push your way through the thorns, looking for a trail or even a building before you hear muffled voices.

“Silver, we're barely 5 minutes from the castle.  How are you tired already?” a loud voice exclaims, scaring a few crows from the trees.

Another voice mumbles but it's interrupted by a yawn so you don't quite catch what he said.

You lean forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the two strangers, seeing a head of pastel green and a head of white.  Just your luck, your foot slipped and you stumbled, cutting your leg pretty badly on a particularly sharp thorn.  You let out a sharp cry of pain, and the two boys turn to look in your direction.  You fall to your knee, the plants digging into your skin again as you put pressure on your bleeding wound.

“Halt!  Intruder!” the loud one yells as the sound of metal clinking together and footsteps approach you.

You flinch as a cold metal gets pointed under your chin and a sharp blade threatens to cut your neck.  Just as quickly as the blade is placed there, it is retracted as they both gasp.

“Aurora!  By the Great Seven, I’m so sorry!” the green-haired male kneels beside you and wraps you into a hug.  “What are you doing out here?”

“Who are you?” you ask, trying to put some distance between yourself and the person who almost just beheaded you.

“We need to get you back to the castle, Malleus is so worried,” the green-haired boy continues, not really paying attention to what you’re saying.

“Wait, what is going on?  Who are you people?” you question a bit more loudly, pushing the boy away from you.

“Quit with your games, Aurora.  We need to get you back to safety,” the loud one seems upset now.

“Sebek, I don’t think he’s playing a game,” the white-haired boy named Silver interjects.

Sebek looks back at you, looking at your confused expression and injured body, “Do you not remember us?”

“No, I just woke up here.  I don’t remember how I got here or who you people are,” you respond, trying to determine if these two are friends or enemies.

They said your name is Aurora so they must know you and they seem very overprotective of you, maybe it is safe to go with them.  Plus you don’t really see a better option. Sebek and Silver exchange a look before looking back at you.

“My name is Sebek, and that is Silver.  We’re the royal knights of the Great Malleus Draconia,” Sebek explains to you, offering his hand as he stands up.

You take his hand, whining in pain at your leg wound, “And how do you know me?”

“You’re Malleus’ favorite human,” Silver explains.  “But you’re also one of his closest friends and most trusted advisor.”

“Interesting,” you murmur to yourself before letting out a surprised yelp as Sebek swiftly scoops you up into his arms.  “What are you doing?!”

“You’re injured and in no state to walk back, let me help,” is all Sebek says as he starts marching off with Silver in tow.

As the three of you walk back to the castle, you try to learn more about your situation and only learn that you’re apparently in a fae realm.  You notice that Sebek has pointed ears, but Silver does not, but you do not bring it up.  As you arrive at the castle, you can truly take in the magical architecture.  The structure is perched haphazardly on two mountains and there appears to be a swirling storm threatening to bring rain and thunder.  Although it’s dark and aged, you can tell that the castle used to be white-ish in color with a blue roof and golden details, but now the colors have blended together in a sad dark gray color.  You try not to look down as Sebek carries you up a very narrow staircase bridge over a large and very deep canyon.  As they approach the doors, Silver pushes them open to let the two of you in.

“Silver, Sebek, is that you two?” a voice calls out from the courtyard.

“Yes, Lilia, it is us,” Silver responds as Sebek walks toward the voice.  “And we found Aurora too.”

“Oh, my sweet darling!” the voice exclaims as a short boy flies straight toward you.

He looks young and very feminine, his black and pink hair cropped short, barely hiding his pointed ears.  He floats in the air as he starts to poke at your flesh, which snaps you out of it and flinch out of his touch.

“That’s a nasty looking scratch, but not to worry, Father Lilia is here to help,” Lilia declares as he flies away.

“What was that all about?  Who is he?” you ask as Sebek sits you down on the edge of a fountain, taking a seat beside you as he starts taking off a few pieces of his armor.

“That’s General Lilia.  He helped raise Master Malleus and me,” Silver tells you, sitting on your other side before leaning his head on your shoulder.

“But he looks so young,” you mutter, deep in thought.

“Don’t let his youthful facade fool you, Lilia is over 700 years old,” Silver answers, snuggling into the crook of your neck.

“700!  That’s pretty old,” you blurt out.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.  How rude.  I’ll let you know that 700 is pretty young in fae years,” Lilia scolds as he reappears with a medical bag.

You quickly apologize, an embarrassed blush dusting your cheeks.  Lilia accepts your apology as he kneels in front of you, propping your leg on his knee.  He hums a catchy tune as he cleans the wound, cooing at you when you wince, before rubbing in a healing ointment and wrapping it in bandages.

“Ta da!  As good as new!” Lilia cheers as he stands back up and helps you to your feet.

Your injury definitely feels better now, the ointment must have some numbing properties because you could walk around with a slight limp with little to no pain.

“Now that your injury is taken care of, it’s time to tell Malleus the good news,” the older fae says before he hooks your arm in his and starts leading you out of the courtyard.

As Lilia walks inside the castle, Sebek and Silver start to take off a few pieces of their heavy armor as they follow behind you, but they keep their swords sheathed at their hips.  Inside the castle is as gloomy as the outside, with dark stone walls, dark purple and green decorations, and black suits of armor lining the hallway.  Sebek and Silver push open the doors and hold them open as Lilia enters with you in tow.

“Malleus~,” Lilia calls out into the dimly lit throne room.  “Look who Sebek and Silver found.”

You scan the room, finding the throne elevated by a few steps shrouded in darkness.  Two gargoyle statues stand next to the throne and you notice that the shadows start to move before a dark blur rushes up from the throne and suddenly you’re being lifted up into the air.  You let out a noise of surprise before looking down to see a horned male staring up at you with a scrutinizing gaze. He’s clad in a black and purple robe, the sleeves very similar to wings, the ends of the cape tinged green with flames (Malleus is in his overblot form).  His hands grip firmly into your waist as he brings you down to eye level, looking you down with his glowing right eye before hugging you tightly.

“My Briar Rose, where did you manage to wander off to?  You had me so worried, dear,” Malleus speaks softly as he holds you securely.

“Um…I got lost?” you respond, but your answer seems more like a question.

Malleus tilts his head like a confused dog before sitting you on his hip, his hand holding you steady as he wraps your legs around his waist.  You blush at the position as the male looks over at his knights for answers.

“We found him in the brambles close to the castle, but he doesn’t remember anything,” Sebek informs Malleus as the two knights come closer but keep a respectful distance.

“Got a case of amnesia, eh?  I might have something for that,” Lilia mentions as he pokes at your temple.  “But first, let’s get some food into you.  I’ll whip up your favorite: f/f.”

You perk up at the mention of your favorite food, but the others seem to deflate and desperately shake their heads.  You only understand what they mean when you watch Lilia waltz around the kitchen, trying to cook.  You can only watch in horror as he puts in the wrong seasonings and burns a few components of it.

“Lilia, I think it would be fun if I could help you,” you tentatively suggest from your seat on the kitchen counter.

Malleus stands protectively next to you while Sebek and Silver watch from the doorway.

“Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing.  Plus it’s best not to put too much pressure on your leg wound,” Lilia disregards you as whatever is in the pot lets out a small poof of colored smoke.

“Wound?  I was not aware you were injured.  Show me where,” Malleus starts as he takes your hands in his and looks at you with a worried expression.

“It’s nothing.  I just cut myself on a thorn,” you tell him, giving him a reassuring smile as he looks down at your leg.

Malleus slowly lifts up the pant leg to inspect the bandages on your leg, “I sincerely apologize for not being there to protect you Briar.”

“Malleus, it’s okay, really.  You didn’t know I would get injur - What are you doing?!” you start but quickly exclaim in surprise as Malleus kneels before you and starts kissing your injury.

“Don’t humans believe that kisses will make any injury better?” Malleus asks you innocently as he presses another kiss onto the bandages.

“No…I mean yes…but you really don’t need to do that.  Lilia already made it all better earlier,” you’re a blushing mess but eventually your words convince Malleus to stand up again.

“Dinner is almost done, boys.  Go set up the table and I’ll bring it over,” Lilia calls out as he starts to plate the food.

You don’t get a good look at it as Malleus picks you up, telling you that you shouldn’t be walking with the leg wound, and carries you to the dining room next door.  Malleus places you in the plush seat next to the one at the head of the table before taking the head seat for himself.  Sebek sits next to you and Silver sits across from him just as Lilia enters with plates piled up in his arms.  He sets a dish in front of everyone before taking the seat next to Malleus and in front of you.  You look down at the food, barely recognizing the f/f.  It looks burnt and is completely the wrong color, but you don’t want to be rude so you take a small bite of it.  Even if it doesn’t look good, it actually doesn't taste too bad.  The flavors may have been way off, but it still brought you comfort and was somewhat plateable.  Silver and Lilia both dug into the meal, but Malleus and Sebek appeared to be having a harder time getting the food down.

“Wonderful as always,” Malleus compliments, a tight and strained smile on his lips.

“I agree, this must be one of my best works yet,” Lilia laughs as he scraps his plate clean.  “Aurora, what do you think?”

“It’s pretty good, tastes exactly like home,” you smile.

Home.  Is this your home?  It feels familiar and you feel safe, but deep down you know that this isn’t your home.  But everyone is so nice to you and treats you so well, how could it not be your home.

“Does anyone have room for dessert?” Lilia asks as he collects the plates.

“No, I think I’m full,” Sebek grimaces as he stands.  “I think I’ll turn in early.”

“I agree.  We’ll save your dessert for another night,” Malleus quickly agrees as he stands as well.

You follow suit and Malleus places his hand on the small of your back as he starts to guide you out of the dining room.  Lilia disappears back into the kitchen to do the dishes and Sebek and Silver follow behind you two.

“Tonight you can sleep with me.  I would feel much better if I knew you were safe beside me,” Malleus informs you, looking down at you for approval.

“Of course, but let me reassure you that I’m not going anywhere,” you tell the taller male.

The dragon gives up a very sweet and sincere smile as he stops in front of a door at the end of the hallway.   Sebek and Silver wish you a good night before disappearing into other doors in the hallway.  Malleus opens the door, allowing you to see the four post king-sized bed resting in the middle of the room.  Curtains drape down from the top of the bed, offering some privacy and protection from the open windows.  Walking into the room you can see a wardrobe and vanity table in one corner and a spinning wheel and bookshelf on the other side of the room.

“Do you like making yarn?” you ask, approaching the spinning wheel and tracing your fingers over the wooden structure.

“Actually, you do,”  Malleus tells you as he takes your hand off the wheel.  “You also enjoy making crafts with the yarn you make.  I have chestfulls of little pieces you have gifted me.”

“I hope I can relearn how to do it all, it sounds like fun,” you smile as you move away from the spinning wheel.

You walk to stand at the window, sitting on the ledge and looking out into the courtyard and past the walls to the thorn forests.

“Is it always this dark here?” you ask, gesturing to the sky that hadn’t changed color since you awoken.

“Not always, but I’ve been in a gloomy mood,” Malleus responds, waving his hand and suddenly the clouds start to part and the sky lightens a little bit.

“Wow, pretty neat,” your smile getting a bit nervous now in front of the powerful male.  “Tell me more about yourself.  Maybe it’ll help trigger some of my memories.”

“Well, I really like gargoyles.  We used to spend hours talking about them,” Malleus speaks as he looks outside into the distance.

“Oh yeah?  Tell me about that one,” you point to one right outside your window.

The two of you spend the next few hours talking about the gargoyles decorating the castle, Malleus even taking you to a few different locations in the castle to show you his favorite ones.  Eventually the two of you find yourselves back in Malleus’ room, you cuddled up sleepily next to him as he continues to ramble on about the history of the stone creatures.  When he realizes you are no longer awake, he smiles and kisses your forehead before snuggling up next to you and falling asleep with you in his arms.

~

“Should we wake him up?” a voice rouses you from your slumber.

You groan and swat away the hand poking your cheek.

“Lilia, let him rest,” Malleus voice scolds while Lilia giggles.

“It’s already early afternoon,” Lilia continues to poke you as you sigh and open your eyes.  “You can’t hog him all day.”

“It’s already past noon?” you ask as you sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes.

“You’re just like Silver, sleeping the day away,” Lilia jokes as he sits on the edge of the bed by your side.

“It’s okay though, you had a long day yesterday,” Malleus defends you as he rubs his nose in your hair, his arms still securely around you.

“Anyways, now’s a perfect time to get the day started.  Sebek and Silver are training right now and wanted to invite you to watch,” Lilia mentions as he stands and makes his way to the wardrobe.

Lilia starts to pull out a similar outfit to the one you were wearing yesterday and you look down to find that you changed into some comfy pajamas at some point last night before passing out.  Malleus helps you out of bed and redresses your leg wound which definitely looks and feels better today.  Lilia helps you get dressed before sitting you down at the vanity, helping to style your hair and apply some light makeup.

“It is with a heavy heart that I will be unable to join you this evening with the others,” Malleus says from behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders as you make eye contact with him through the mirror.  “But as a token of my love for you, please take this.”

You turn around as Malleus kneels beside you, presenting you with a small box that holds a ring nestled on a cushion.  Malleus gently takes your hand and slips the ring onto your finger, the metal cool against your skin.  The head of the ring features a shield shape that has horns growing out of its top and thorns curling up its sides, and in the center of the shield is a feisty looking dragon.

“Thank you so much!  I love it!” you jump out of your chair to embrace Malleus, the taller male falling onto his bottom from the impact.

With your arms wrapped around his neck and you on the ground with him, he lets out a small chuckle before returning the hug.

“I leave you two alone for a few minutes and this is what you’re up to?” Lilia taunts as he returns to the room.

You hadn’t even noticed he left to begin with, but his comment brings a bright red blush onto both of your cheeks as you get off Malleus and help him stand up.

“It was nothing, Lilia,” Malleus gives the other male a pointed glance.  “Brair was simply expressing his enjoyment over my gift to him.”

“Right,” Lilia nods but speaks in such a way that makes it seem he doesn’t believe it.  “Anyways, I’ll take him off your hands for you.  Aurora, come along.”

Malleus unwillingly lets go of your hand as you follow Lilia out of the room and down a hallway.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but why does Malleus call me Briar Rose and you guys call me Aurora?” you question as you look over at Lilia.

“Well, your name is Aurora, but Malleus first met you when you were using the fake name Briar Rose,” Lilia explains before pausing.

You wait for him to elaborate but he remains silent, “Why was I using a fake name?”

You’re caught off guard by the menacing look Lilia gives you, “It’s best that you don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.  Besides, with your memory loss, it’s probably for the best that you forget about your past.”

The answer Lilia gives you is both menacing and confusing, and you, now more than ever, want to know who you were before.  If you can’t get answers out of Lilia, maybe you could get some from Sebek and Silver or maybe even Malleus.  The rest of the journey to the courtyard is enjoyed in awkward silence, neither you nor Lilia attempting to make conversation.  Once you reach the courtyard, the sky is still a gloomy gray, but it seems just a bit brighter than yesterday.  Sebek and Silver seem to be in the middle of a sword fight, but both pause to say hello and offer you a good afternoon.

“So what do you guys train for anyways?” you ask as you take a seat on the fountain again.

“We train to protect Malleus and you,” Sebek exclaims loudly as he looks at you in shock.  “Your safety is our utmost priority.”

“That’s nice, but what are you worried about?  I haven’t seen anything dangerous yet,” you question as Lilia walks around the two and starts fixing their postures and sword positions.

“There are many dangers past the walls, you were lucky that you didn’t bump into anything before we found you,” Silver responds, and you wait for him to elaborate but he never does.

You keep quiet as Sebek and Silver resume their mock battle with Lila floating around them offering criticism and suggestions.  Both males seem to be well trained, matching each other’s strength and passion as they swordfight.  Sebek seems to have a more powerful strike, but he tires easily, while Silver is better at conserving his energy and striking only when he has a clear opportunity.  The fight eventually ends with Sebek knocking Silver down with his last burst of energy, but Silver also manages to hit Sebek’s armored stomach in the process.

“Another stalemate,” Lilia decides.  “That’s a good thing, that means you’re both improving and can match each other’s skills.  Now, let's focus on some of your weaknesses.”

Lilia starts to help each boy individually, but the session is interrupted by a large explosion and a puff of blue flames bursting in the distance.  You can’t really see much because of the palace walls, but the other three seem to be on edge and look nervously at the smoking mess.

“See, I told you the outside world is dangerous,” Silver tells you as he gently grabs your arm and starts leading you back inside.

“What is that?” you inquire, mesmerized by the oddly colored flames before the door gets closed, blocking your view

“We should get inside and notify Malleus,” Sebek offers, ignoring your question.

“Yes, let’s move as a group, we’re stronger in numbers,” Lilia mentions as the trio surround you in a protective circle.

With Lila leading the group back to the throne room, Sebek and Silver stand at either of your sides, clutching their swords in their hands as they look down each hallway they pass.  The lighting in the hallway starts to dim as the sky grows dark and stormy and the torches lining the walls blow out.

“Aurora, stay close!” Sebek tells you, but it’s easier said than done with darkness surrounding you.

Through the confusion and the blackness, you run and turn blindly down a few hallways before the torches flicker back to life.  You look around to find yourself in an unfamiliar corridor, your three friends nowhere to be seen.

“Lilia?” you call out, but get no response.  “Sebek!  Silver!”

You can hear them in the distance yelling your name so you continue to call out to them until you get interrupted by the empty suit of armor next to you rattling.  You gasp and create some distance between you and the metal armor as the head falls off and rolls to your feet.

“Human?  That’s you?” a voice comes from the fallen head.

“W-Who are you?  What are y-you?” you ask, bending down to peek into the helmet.

You’re met with glowing blue eyes as a cat-like thing comes out of its hiding spot.  It has flaming blue ears, reminding you of the blue fire in the forest.

“You!  You started the fire out there,” you connect the dots, starting to shuffle away from the creature.

“Of course I did!  I needed a distraction to get inside.  We need to go now!” the cat tells you as he walks towards you and you continue to back away from him.

“Brair!  There you are,” a relieved voice calls out as you turn around to see Malleus standing at the end of the corridor.  “I heard that Lilia lost you in the blackout, let’s get you to safety.”

“Brair?  That ain’t your name,” the creature sounds confused.  “Malleus, what have you done?”

“Brair, come to me slowly, that thing is very dangerous,” Malleus speaks to you softly, like calling out to a cornered animal.

You spare the cat one more glance, pushing away the familiarity you feel when you look into its blue eyes, before walking over to Malleus.

“Y/N, wait!  He’s tricking you, you need to come with me!” the cat exclaims in a last desperate attempt to get your attention.

You pause, halfway to Malleus already.  You momentarily blank out, your old memories flooding your mind as you suddenly remember everything.  There was a mass overblot at Night Raven College and you managed to get stuck in the Diasomnia dorm. You really should get out of here with Grim before something bad happens.  In the moment that it took you to recollect your memories, Lilia, Sebek, and Silver appeared to back up Malleus.

“Briar?  We need to get you to safety, please come to me,” Malleus brings you back to reality as he takes one step closer towards you.

Out of instinct, you take one step away from him and closer to Grim.  Your heart clenches at the hurt expression on the dragon’s face, but it quickly turns blank as you continue to approach Grim.

“So, what’s the plan?” you whisper to your familiar.

“I thought you would have one,” Grim tells you sheepishly, an embarrassed smile on his face.

You sigh and shake your head as the four Diasomnia members start to advance, telling you that you’re making a mistake and that everything will be alright if you come to them.

“I think we should run,” you tell Grim before scooping him up and making a wild dash down the hallway.

You should have paid more attention to the layout of the castle when Malleus took you on that midnight walk, but you turned blindly down the hallways, trying to throw them off your trail.  You yelp as black thorns suddenly block your way, the plants curling up the walls and breaking through the floor.  You quickly run back the way you came and narrowly avoid Silver making grab at you as you turn down another hallway, only to bump into Lilia.

“There you are, Aurora.  Such a silly little game you’re playing,” the older fae giggles as he grabs tightly at your upper arm.

You protest and try to rip your arm out of his grip, even banging on his chest as he starts to roughly drag you somewhere else.  Lilia only lets go of his hold on you when Grim bites at his wrist, causing the fae to gasp in surprise, giving you a chance to break free and bolt down another hallway.  Unfortunately, the next time you get caught, it's by Malleus with Sebek blocking off your only other way of escape.

“Brair, you can’t escape,” Sebek tells you, his sword drawn menacingly.

“Just come to me, dear.  There is nothing to be afraid of.  I can make everything better,” Malleus coaxes you towards him.

“Not a chance, Malleus.  It’s the overblot clouding your mind, I can fix that,” you try to reason with the dragon.

“No, you don’t understand.  You belong here with us,” Malleus growls as he grows impatient and starts stalking towards you.

You nervously look around, trying to find an escape, but you find nothing but an open window.  You groan, but you’re desperate enough to attempt it.  You make a run for the window, but you hadn’t been paying too much attention to where Sebek was and he manages to grab you just as you’re in the middle of throwing yourself out of the window.

“Malleus, now!” Sebek commands as he bear hugs you to his chest, not minding the fact that you’re kicking and screaming with your arms pinned to your sides.

Malleus gives you an apology with his eyes before he taps his finger to your forehead, “Sleep, darling.  Everything will be better when you wake up.”

You try to fight the sleepiness that wash over you, mumbling weak protests as you eventually give in and fall limp in Sebek’s arms, the last thing you hear is Grim screaming your name.

~

The sound of a soft lullaby being sung brings you out of your deep sleep, the beautiful melody almost lulling back to sleep if it wasn’t for the whispered argument also happening in the room.

“It’ll be best if he stays asleep, then he can’t cause any problems,” a voice that seems to have issues with volume control whisper-shouts.

“But he doesn’t deserve that.  I want him to enjoy his life, I want to see him awake and smiling again,” a somber voice murmurs.

“He’ll be waking up soon, so we need to make a choice now,” another objects before he cuts himself off with a yawn.  “Maybe we should keep him asleep for just a bit longer, just to make sure that he doesn’t remember anything.”

“Guys, he’s waking up,” the singing voice stops to tell the others.

You blink your eyes open and are greeted by four males hovering around the bed you're resting on.  A shorter boy sits at your bedside and the other three are near a spinning wheel, having paused their argument to look over at you.

“Aurora, how are you feeling?  What do you remember,” the one by your side asks.

“I’m okay, I think.  Just feeling sleepy, Lilia,” you tell him, his name rolling off your tongue.  “What happened?”

“It’s best if you don’t remember, it was a terrible thing,” the horned male tells you as he moves to sit on your best, reaching out to hold your hands.

His skin is cold against yours as he pulls your hand to his face and nuzzles his cheek into your palm.  You smile, tangling your hand in his hair, the gesture feeling natural.

“We’re still cleaning up the aftermath, so I think it would be best if you went back to sleep,” Sebek offers as he and Silver walk and sit on the other side of your bed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll wake you up when everything is returned to the way it was before,” Silver adds as he leans his head on your shoulder.

“Is it really that bad?” you ask, feeling more awake by the second.

The others exchange a glance, having a silent conversations with their eyes.

“You shouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Lilia pats your head and offers you a sweet smile before giving Malleus a pointed look.

“Let’s get you back to sleep while we finish cleaning up,” Malleus tells you as he kisses the palm of your hand before removing it from your cheek.

Before you can object, Malleus presses a soft kiss to your forehead and you start to feel sleepy again.  Someone helps you lay back down and more kisses are peppered around your face, making you feel all warm and cozy.

“We’ll see you again, once upon a dream,” is what you hear before sleep consumes you once again.

[dogs2shouldvote]

during my latest relisten of taz balance, i recorded every line i found even the slightest bit funny with zero context, not even who said it (though some are pretty obvious). here’s all my favorites!!

“i’m probably studying.. my cantrips”

“just say mastrubating, dad”

“don’t come in mom i’m studying my canteips!!”

.

“yeah you’ll do any dumb shit”

.

“it’s like a bag of holding! but for.. ass.”

.

“do we know how much damage we did to him?”

“six damage, you said it out loud with your mouth.”

.

“it should be in the player’s handbook! get your salty snack to enjoy while you play dnd”

.

“my grandpa says it’s rude to whisper. especially on a train!”

.

“i’m not going to go toe to toe with a crab while youre armed with a terrible scottish accent and travis doesn’t even have his sheild. i’m out! … did i say travis? i mean leman kessler.”

“nope! that was wrong all the way around.”

.

“i’m cosplaying taako right now, as a stupid man.”

.

“who’s just rolling dice? who is doing secret checks that i don’t know about?”

.

“i always waste my 20’s on perception checks. like i give a shit.”

.

“it’s completely conceivable he would have a name tag.”

“IN A GANG?”

.

“like a pelt??? like a bramble*pelt*?????”

.

“is there a math check? what are you talking about?”

“yeah it’s your fucking brain. you use your brain to add numbers together”

“16”

“what are you fucking doing??”

.

“griffin i love you youre my brother. but if my skill called history doesn’t literally help me with history trivia questions in a category called history what are we FUCKING doing here??”

.

“can i ask you a question? are you guys mean to everyone?”

.

“fus-ro-over dere”

.

“that one was actually a badass bernie sanders”

.

“hey thug! what’s your name? i’m about to tentacle your dick.”

.

“a d6 is like some dice ass dice. that’s some monopoly shit.”

.

“i thought you were saying merle, it’s his bread and his body, take 2d6 healing points”

.

“you two remind me of something… you remind me of the babe! and then i throw the glass sphere at them.”

.

“make a constitution saving throw to see if you can eat this fucking rock with your mouth.”

.

“dungeons and dragons is a. great game.”

.

“my name is magnus burnsides”

“marchins burchens”

.

“magnus would not say that. however, travis would.”

.

“can we please not talk about chekhov’s bush?”

.

“we’ve got a ball, a sack, and a tool!”

“everything is gross here in dnd.”

.

“only losers smoke, isaac.”

“i give isaac an hour long lecture about the dangers of smoking.”

.

“i’m just gonna put my mouth down there and go buck wild”

.

“there’s a lot of go cart tracks called the adventure zone and i’ve been working with my lawyer to shut them all down forever”

.

“does taako fish?”

“yeah taako fishes.”

.

“a rock hard-“

*justin, clint, and travis laugh*

“come ON, *really*?”

.

“taako rushes in!”

“what! magnus follows him.”

“merle’s good out here!”

“WHAT is going on?”

.

“how do you not have a d6 it comes with every board game”

“my daughter-“

“eats them for power???”

.

“uhhh how much health do you have.”

“im not gonna tell you.”

.

“let’s see… i am going to hurt jenkins. with a magical spell.”

.

“this is about to become the taako show starring taako.”

.

“BLUFF FUCKING BLUFF O’CLOCK?? WHAT IS THIS, HALF PAST PERSUASION TIME??”

.

“i’m not laughing in game” *justin fucking loses it*

.

“she’s the best at burning shit ever.”

.

“traaav griffin got to do his show for so long and now he’s gonna destroy yours.”

.

“fucking lup finds like. a gun.”

.

“for sure, keep it sleazy. we’re out, bye!”

.

“i have to believe…. i’m gonna get those fifteen dollars back from greg fucking grimaldis”

.

“based on the rules of the game, dad… you die.”

.

“dad’s making a jerk off motion at me”

.

“don’t play the pennywise card like you ALWAYS try to”

.

“should i talk slower so that everybody who has been complaining about us not playing dnd has time to nut?”

.

“i am a wizard. my name is taako. and i am pretty well fucked.”

.

“yeah i’ve got cumin who do you think i am?”

.

“hear that, babe? we’re *legends*”

.

“i’m clint mcelroy and i played merle hightower-“

“nope”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A New Life 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Steve Kemp

Summary: You have an unexpected encounter in the park.

Part of the Silverfox AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

There’s a hint of dampness in the flow of spring air. The breeze stirs the leaves and the scent of dirt along with the sprouting leaves. The season of renewal has arrived. You hope there’s a fresh start for more than the foliage.

You sit on a bench along the winding path that leads from the nearby park. You have your journal on your leg, knee hook over the other as you sketch the thin branches of a barren bramble. You cross hatch the dulling end of the pencil, the skitter of unseen critters and winging of birds brushing around you.

Another twenty minutes and you’ll go. You can feel the rain, see it bulging in the clouds looming above. You can’t be very disappointed, at least you got out of the house. You need to do more of that.

You hear footfalls down the path. Heavy and quick. Another jogger passing through. You don’t look over, focusing on adding the patchy grass around the twigs. 

They get closer, looming as they bounce up the path, coming around the curve. This leg of the path isn’t as busy as the others. Many are deterred by the incline. You bend your neck as you raise the notebook slightly, trying to get the angle of the blades just right.

A huff as a shadow hangs over you. Someone claims the empty space next to you on the bench. You make yourself smaller as the jogger sits and bends over their lap, loudly catching their breath. You don’t own the bench, you can’t stop them, but there’s another further up the path.

“Nice day,” he comments as he raises his head, elbows on his legs as he stays hunched over his lap, “spring’s coming.”

You glance over. He’s older. His gray hair has a few lingering streaks of brown and his blue eyes meet yours briefly before you retreat back into your journal. You shrug and hum, “mhmm.”

“Good running weather, not too hot,” he remarks as he sits up, bending his elbow over the back of the bench.

You wouldn’t know. You don’t run. You’re surprised someone his age keeps up the habit.

“You’re an artist,” he points lazily with his hand to your journal.

You nod, “just doodles.”

“I can’t draw at all. Chicken scratch,” he sighs.

Your wall of silence slips into place. You don’t mean to be rude but you’re not overly fond of strangers. You hope he gets the hint.

“Sorry, hope I’m not disturbing you,” he chuckles, “you know, ever since my wife died, I just… spill all over.” He sits up and clears his throat, “like right now.”

You fidget and rest the pencil between the pages, closing the journal. “I’m sorry about your wife,” you eke out, a tremor of guilt tugging at your heart.

“That’s life, I guess,” he says, his other hand twiddling on his thigh, “can’t all be sunshine,” he looks up, “gotta rain sometime.” He stands and puts his hands on his hips, facing you, “probably soon, ya know? Wouldn’t want that pretty art to get ruined.”

“Uh, yeah,” you hug the book to your stomach, “thanks.”

“Er,” he reaches to rub his neck then drops his hand again, the front of his light zip-up straining across his shoulders, “I guess it’s been a while for me, I’m Steve.”

He offers his hand. You look at it. It isn’t the strangest encounter you’ve had but unexpected nonetheless. You left the house for some alone time. To get away from the stomping and hollering above your basement unit. Now you’re being pestered by this lonely widower.

That last thought once more fills you with guilt. You shouldn’t think like that. It’s selfish. You have your issues but you’re not mourning someone you love.

You relent and give your name as you reach for your hand. As you clutch it, you feel a strange prick against the heel of your palm. He clings to you, shifting oddly as the stabbing deepens in your hand. He holds onto you a strange sensation flows into your veins.

He lets you go as you recoil and hold up your hand. There’s a tink against the brickwork below the bench. You look down at the syringe as your journal slips out of your grasp. What the heck?

Panic erupts from your stomach and you try to scream but your voice catches in your throat. You set your feet and push yourself up, thinking only of fleeing. Who is this man? Why would he do this? What did he inject you with?

The horror courses through you the mysterious serum. Your vision hazes at the edges as you stumble on your wobbly legs, teetering back and forth. The man puts his arms out as you stagger and he brings you against him, hushing you as your head lolls back. Your eyes widen as he pets your forehead.

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he embraces you, “don’t fight it.”

You can only choke out a splintered moan. You hear more people. A group chattering as their footsteps echo up the path. He draws you into him, pushing your head forward to hide your face against his shoulder. He sways and coos as heaviness floods your limbs.

“Love you, baby,” he says loudly for the passing audience, kissing the top of your head.

You groan and try to fight him off. You only manage to lean harder into him. Your legs slacken as he’s the only thing holding you up. The group passes as they continue to talk about some party. You blink and your lashes stick together.

“Just breathe, it feels good once you let it happen,” he coaxes, “breathe, sweetheart.”

You take a breath, chest hammering, and let it out. Before you can expel all the air from your lungs, the world is black. You collapse into the void and the snare of this man.

[ms0milk]

no cw so self indulgent, farmhand nanami showed up from nowhere like he was made in a lab to bewitch you <1k

He would look better on horseback this morning, cantering through fog falling cold from the mountains. Nanami is a handsome rider and he’s strong enough to do it well. His hips roll like they should in a saddle and his hair was always meant to be mussed by a breeze. Reins fit nicely in his golden hands. Regal might be a word you use as you bundle up in your doorway, watching the man emerge from a quickly-overgrowing gate at dawn. A word you might use if Nanami was actually on horseback and not leading your horse on foot, clearly mired with bramble thorns from waist to boot.

He’s wearing your hat. Nanami draws it low to hide his face and your sweet horse nips at his hand as they walk together; their gaits are both heavy with sleep. He’s never once looked disheveled but this morning his clothes hang quite well over his jeans where he’s usually so careful to tuck them in and in all he embodies the farmhand’s equivalent for wearing odd shoes to carry groceries inside.

A canvas coat that is clearly much too small on his broad shoulders, is thrown over a dress shirt– possibly two– you’ve never seen before and he couldn’t even manage to button one closed. His undershirt glows obnoxiously underneath as it hugs the shapes of his firm body. It’s a blessing to watch, a thought you will keep to yourself, and you open your door a bit wider in invitation.

“Early ride?”

He peers out under his brim at the sound of a voice and tips the hat off his head with a quickness when he sees you. He tightens his sleepy posture. Your pretty cream gelding is returned to his stall for breakfast before Nanami answers your question.

The only thing between the back stalls and your front door is moss. The earth this farm belongs to is wet with life. A thousand horseshoes have flatted the walkway like pressed powder and still the dandelions grow, pollen falls, petals fall, rain falls, snow falls freezes and melts and still your stables are warm and your dusty clearings grow grasses. You tighten your shawl around your shoulders. The morning fields are all mist and the sun can’t be bothered to warm you.

If you surprised him, it doesn’t show. Dewed pebbles crunch under Nanami’s boots as he crosses the clearing to reach you, you standing chilly in your sleepshirt with coffee brewing in the kitchen. You’d like to know why he’s wearing half the bramble patch as pants.

“M’sorry miss,” he rasps like he hasn’t spoken yet today and a quick twitch of his brows is the only thing that hints at embarrassment. Man of few words. English doesn’t seem to be his first language but he won’t tell anyone a thing about himself past what you all can observe. He works well, he works quietly. The animals love him and he doesn’t mind a bit of dirt. Nanami showed up in town a few months ago and the old boss hired him outright when she saw him in a full suit at sunday market. Horndog. She knew how good he’d look in chaps.

“Excuse my thieving” he murmurs this time to keep his voice soft and hangs your hat on the horn beside your door.

“Don’t call me miss, Mr. Nanami.”

“Excuse that too.”

Your hat hugged him too tight and his hair suffers for it, blond bits stuck flat to his head like a teenager with bedhead. He has to hang his head low to look at you for how much taller he is and you haven’t decided whether his dedication to eye contact is chivalry or flirtation. He’ll look through you to the bone with those sharp brown eyes, even if you’ve only just whistled good morning. Something inside him can’t help but call you miss.

“I’d love to hear this story,” you yawn slightly and gesture to his outfit, “I put a pot on.”

Nanami’s head tilts so slightly as he considers all the ways he might decline such an imposing offer but when you bump the door open a touch and bitter, bread, and jam roll out into the morning air you know you’ve got him. After all, what cowboy can resist coffee?

farmhand nanami tag <3

[grimbanes]

Goodnight, Sweetheart.

KAZ BREKKER X GN!READER

Summary: Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason and yet he kept finding them to loiter. Every night, without fail. Kaz Brekker also didn't like to be teased.

WC: 2.2k A/N: so this is my first time writing grishverse fanfiction and my head is currently full of mr brekker. this is loosely inspired by im so hot by chrissy. i have no idea for to format these. kaz might be slightly OOC, but he's a secret softie, we all know it. NO BETA, we die like jordie.

“Why would I bother with anybody else?” 

It was a rhetorical question spoken by a humoured voice, cadence lilted with confidence, dripping venom and a little bit of sarcasm. It remained that way as the Y/N continued to raise a groomed brow and lean their weight into their hip, long lashes blinking pointedly, briefly, to the patron they were serving. They kept themself poised as if expecting a real answer - one that wouldn’t come, of course.

And Kaz? Kaz was watching the exchange with that one might call amusement. What he would call it though, despite internal disagreement, was annoyance. And maybe that was also true, if the involuntary yet impatient tap of his gloved finger against the bar’s surface was any indication. It wasn’t rare for these exchanges to occur, expected even, as the Crow Club heaved with foreigners, tourists, dock workers and other kinds of uncivilised folk praying to win big. 

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason. That was the word on the street. That was the reputation he had spent years cultivating. He repeated day in and day out. It hung in his mind with every ledger and document he flicked through, wrote on, and triple-checked. No job too messy, no job too small. Dirtyhands. Bastard of the Barrel. So then why did Kaz Brekker have a hard time finding a reason to speak to this person that spoke in riddles, threats and simultaneously was the most infectiously pleasant being in the entire room. 

The barhand scoffed at something the man had said to them, adjusting their grown out hair in its fancy clip against the back of their skull and rolling up their billowing shirt sleeves. It didn’t take a criminal mastermind like Kaz to figure out the exchange was going to get violent. He merely nursed his whiskey, neat, and watched from above the rim of his glass, finger still tapping against the bar. 

“Careful love, you don’t want to bruise that pretty face of yours,” Jesper’s voice spoke as is from nowhere, the sharpshooter sidling up beside the drunken man with noisy footsteps and his usual grin decorating his face in that way that had Kaz grimacing, turning away with a twitch of his eyebrow and sipping his drink. He might be what some might call a friend, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get annoyed by the constant buzz of energy. 

“My face is pretty regardless,” That unwavering confidence, tongue in cheek and lips pulling up into a mischievous grin and Kaz’s eyes were on them again, stormy and studying with every movement of their body. From them hopping up on the bar and smoothly twirling themself over it, landing on their boots and bringing a fingerless glove covered hand square into a man’s cheekbone. It only ever took them one hit, the poor receiver crumpling to the floor in a drunken stupor and asking for his mother. 

“While that is undoubtedly true, that is actually my job and boss will have me banned from Three Man Bramble for another week,” Jesper’s awkward yet charismatic hand gestures soon followed, ringed finger pointing to the lump of a man lying unconscious beside the barstools. Kaz could almost hear himself saying ‘Jesper, guard the door’ or ‘No games for a month’, but he chose not to, too busy trying to figure out why their stature and usual weekly knockouts had become a thing of routine for him. 

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason and yet he came up with many when he had hired Y/N. They’d been dancing for money, a shift of silks and sheer fabrics, eyes hooded. That wasn’t all. As he had taken his time to study them, hands gripped to his cane and jaw tense, he realised the sway of choreography as deliberate as it was captivating. Each sway of material ended up weighted with deft fingers slipping purses from pockets, unchaining pocket watches from chains, swiping earrings from Mercher women’s pierced ears. He’d come back time and time again after noticing.

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get them to work the Crow Club, extending a gloved hand and introducing himself. They offered him a flirtatious smile, a flutter of their lashes and had accepted the silent offer, seemingly entertained with the mere existence of Kaz in their space. He didn’t like it, hated it even, but it was magnetic. It became routine to creep from his office, scan the Club’s floor for an hour and then wander his way to the furthest side of the bar and nurse a single whiskey all night. Most of the time he didn’t even finish it. He didn’t want to drink, not really. 

He just wanted to learn. To figure out what it was about Y/N that had him irritated, angered, on edge and utterly bewitched.

“Kaz won’t mind me defending myself. Little me all defenceless, what else could I have done?”

It was meant to be teasing, not meant for him to hear, an inside joke. Kaz’s jaw tensed and he felt his teeth grind, setting his glass down on the bartop and feeling his shoulders straighten as he gripped his cane and tapped it loudly on the rickety floorboard below.

“You could start by doing your jobs,” He hissed, gloved hand tensing around the head of his cane and eyes locked on the pair as they turned to him. He didn’t miss the way Jesper’s bare fingers were seeking comfort on his revolvers, or the way Y/N’s lips pulled into what was almost a… a pout? A weird frown?

“Sweetheart, don’t be so mean,” Y/N huffed, arms crossing over their loose cotton blouse, head tilting in that infuriating way that had Kaz frowning, forehead creasing and impatience rising.

Except, he didn’t know what he was impatient for, what was making him wait, but it angered him more than anything ever could. Just what about them made it so simple to  get under his skin so easily? He felt his heartbeat fasten uncomfortably in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his body and he felt the heat in his cheeks - either from the drink or irritation nagging in every fibre of his being. His black shirt suddenly felt too hot, his usual vest too tight and he felt his hands tighten around his cane, tapping the crow’s head uncomfortably fast. He had to calm down, it was not the place to lose his temper and start a shouting match on a day where the kruge was flowing into their awaiting coffers. 

“Is he blushing?”

Kaz’s eyes snapped to Jesper’s smiling form, meeting sparkling eyes that stared at him with wonderment. He didn’t like it. He raised himself from his seat, noisily banging his cane against the floor and storming past the sharpshooter, mood even more foul than it had been prior. How could it not be? Dirtyhands did not blush like some schoolboy unable to speak a word. Like a Rietveld boy. The thought invaded his mind before he could stop it. He limped his way to the staircase and gripped it tightly with his gloved hand, hoisting his leg up the steps and ignoring the creaking, aching pain starting to crawl its way up his leg. 

Kaz Brekker was nobody’s sweetheart.

┕━☽【❖】☾━┙

Y/N sighed as they finished wiping down the surface of the mahogany bar, polishing down and removing every last stain before it could set into the nice wooden surface. Their tired eyes suddenly felt even more tired as they drifted around the empty club, scaling the tables and turned over chairs, over splintering floorboards and stone walls until they fell on a single glass of whiskey left untouched on the edge of the bar. They reached their hand over to clasp it with shaking fingers, disappointment evident in the motion. 

He hadn’t visited in a week and they didn’t realise how badly they missed his company.

His watchful eyes, his gloved hands that tightened on his cane as if ready to intervene in an altercation if they needed it, his unwavering stare a storm of angry tidal waves, lashing at them with unspoken words and a bit of something else. They missed the subtle way he would check his pocket watch, deem it good enough and allow them to close early regardless of the booming business. They missed the way he would nurse a single drink all night, never really finishing it and keeping a more relaxed eye on the club’s floor. They missed his presence, no matter how quiet it was, no matter if they didn’t speak. He was like a shadow, always there, just out the corner of their eye if they ever needed them.

Of course, Y/N knew exactly where he was. Holed up in his office, head sunk into numbers and names and bribes and whatever else it was that crime bosses did. He was a busy man, a workaholic but he was also… so much more. A complex puzzle yet the most open book and each page turned by itself, in little ways. They liked to think that the two of them had a somewhat friendship, even though they didn’t talk much. When they did, it was usually Y/N flirting with him and the man ignoring it with a blank stare and a stern ‘get back to work or else you’ll be finding it elsewhere’.

Careful fingertips smoothed over the rim of the glass cradled closely, the urge to befriend the most terrifying man in Ketterdam stronger than ever but they just didn’t quite know how to go about it. Instead, they turned their exhausted gaze to the amber liquid that had been sitting out since opening. Untouched. Ignored. Again. They’d even seen him on the floor that night. With a sigh, they brought the drink to their lips and threw it back, swallowing the burning liquid with a grimace. Y/N really didn’t know how Kaz managed to stomach the awful drink.

“I don’t pay you to drink on the job,” That rasping voice spoke, interrupting their stupor and drawing their eyes from the glass to the staircase that led to the office. And there he stood, or rather leaned, against the metal railing and what could almost be amusement on his handsome face. His lips quirked up in that arrogant way they do when he knows he’s being clever, that twitch in his dark brow when he’s caught somebody cheating at his tables, the confidence in his gait despite the limp. 

“My shift is over, actually,” Y/N realised how silly it sounded the moment it left their lips. Of course Kaz knew when their shift was over, he knew what time the Crow Club closed. It was his, of course he knew. The Bastard of the Barrell had clearly cracked what could only be a joke. And it was funny. It was really funny, actually. Hilarious even. They didn’t even realise that they’d started giggling, covering their hand to stifle the laugh and grip onto the bar, refusing to let the laughter fit take over them - had the whiskey gone straight to their head or was it just the sheer exhaustion? 

The uneven, out of rhythm walking signalled Kaz’s presence approaching even though everybody knew he could be just as stealthy as the Wraith if he really wanted to be. Rather than sliding into his usual seat, he chose to place himself right in front of Y/N and rest an arm on the edge of the freshly clean bar. The first thing Y/N noticed was his lack of coat and hat, still just in his usual daily attire that signified he was not yet leaving for the Slat.

“You stole my drink,” He stated, fingers tapping gloved hands against the wood in the way he so often did. This time it was slower, offbeat, contemplative. Y/N raised a brow to his statement, glass set aside and lips pulling into a line.

“I pay for it, so it doesn’t matter if I drink it,” Y/N smoothly replied. Truthfully, they did not know what to do. What to say. They did not really speak much, and when they did it was polite but short, to the point and didn’t require much thinking. Much feeling. 

Kaz’s inquisitive eyebrow raised and it was then Y/N took in his features. He looked tired, more than usual. The purple that blossomed beneath his forget-me-not irises was deeper, blooming in violet and standing out against the sheer alabaster of his pale skin. Brekker’s hair remained dishevelled, stray ink tumbling over his forehead where it had slipped from the usual slickback he wore. Had he not been sleeping well? 

“I’ll have it paid back to you by the month’s end. Go home,” His voice rumbled, finger ceasing its tapping. Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, offering to pay back the tab. Not offering, stating that he was going to. 

“It’s fine, keep the money,” Y/N offered a small smile, shifting to remove the apron from around their waist and fold it. They tucked it into a little cubby beneath the bar, shutting it with a click and straightening their back. They must be hallucinating but the joy that caused their heart rate to stutter increase felt too real to be a hallucination. Saints, they needed to sleep.

“Month’s end.” Kaz didn’t look away from his cane as he spoke, tapping it against the floor and looking completely and utterly endearing to Y/N in the Club’s warm lighting. Suddenly, he looked his age. 

“Goodnight, Mister Brekker.”

“Goodnight… Sweetheart.”

[usmsgutterson]

Contented- K.B x fem! reader

This one was requested by @levis-dilutedbleach​! I don’t think I’ve written something of this sort in the two years I’ve been writing for Kaz and if I have, it has been a very long time since I last wrote something of this sort, so thank you for sending it in and I hope you enjoy!

Fic type- this is very fluffy

Warnings- none

Yours and Kaz’s relationship was anything but typical, but it did have it’s typical moments. Moments like the one where, after you’d hit the one year mark, you asked if he’d like to attend dinner with you and your parents, and he had said yes. 

You were the daughter of a wealthy merch that lived in the financial district and you had an apartment in the area, and that fact alone was enough to put Kaz on edge. Dealing with merchants was typically easy though certainly a rare enough occurrence in his life, and still. The fact that your father was a merchant and the fact that he was your father was enough to make him just a bit jittery. 

It was something he’d schooled out of his expression and daily mannerisms with a practiced carefulness that some would’ve found impressive, but it was still something you had noticed. 

You commented on it as the two of you walked up the steps to the front door, hand ghosting over his arm in what would’ve been a comforting gesture but never touching it to respect Kaz’s touch aversion. 

“Don’t be nervous,” you said. “My mother has very low expectations given that she knows your status in the Barrel, so as long as you don’t act much like you do when we’re in the Slat and you’re running a mean streak, all will be well. My father is...well, he’s my father. He takes a bit of getting used to.” 

You knocked on the door, once, twice, and one of the staff answered, greeting you with a smile. You went in, took off your coats and your shoes. Kaz glanced at his gloves daringly for a moment before shaking his head at himself. 

As the two of you proceeded down the hallway that lead to the dining room, Kaz straightened his tie and ran a self conscious hand over his dark hair in the last second before the two of you spotted a woman who might’ve been you but thirty years older. Kaz had a split second to do so, but he managed to smile and hoped it came off as warm. 

“The refined Kaz Brekker, I assume?” She asked. Kaz nodded and registered a man who must’ve been your father approaching.

“Barrel businessman,” your father intoned. “Criminal, really. Shameful business model.” 

“I run my clubs as fairly and efficiently as possible,” Kaz responded, already sensing a dislike from your father. “There is no conning in my clubs, and when there is, it is dealt with accordingly. I thank you for the businessman comment, though, so few recognize me as more than Barrel trash.” 

Barrel trash that was a force to be reckoned with, of course, but he forced himself to bite his tongue. The aim of the meeting was to get your parents to like him, not to argue with your father over the expensive wine or the taste of the cheese on the charcuterie board. 

“Kaz Brekker,” your father greeted. “It is...well, it is something indeed, to finally be able to make your acquaintance.”

Your mother took you by the hands and gave Kaz a kind smile. “You two have most certainly arrived on time! Dinner is to be served any minute, and the table is set!” 

Kaz followed you and your mother to the table set for four, took a seat on your right and across from your father. 

“Do tell us more of your clubs, Mr. Brekker,” your father said. “I do hear that they’re all the rage among the tourists.” 

“The Crow Club is largely a gambling hall,” Kaz said. “Makkers Wheel, Three Man Bramble, games mostly. There’s a bar for those who aren’t interested in gambling and a lot of seating for those looking to dine at the establishment. The Silver Six is more of the same, and I would like to think it’s a step up from what it used to be.” 

“Oh yes! I’ve gambled at the Kaelish Prince during a few meets with my coworkers--that Pekka Rollins who ran it was bloody awful. Lots of those games were rigged and the liquor sometimes tasted quite odd.” 

You glanced at Kaz. 

“Had a few squabbles with Rollins myself,” Kaz said. “Dregs business and irrelevant, though. Glad he’s gone.” 

“Glad you took it over,” your father said. “I think I’ll visit the Silver Six, get a taste for what it’s like to gamble in a place owned by my daughters most beloved.” 

“I do hope you’ll enjoy, then,” Kaz said. “Tell me what day you and your lot come down--I’ll man a couple of games at the tables.” 

“He’s excellent,” you said. “I won’t say he’ll ensure you win the pot of money that you and your work friends will put down because he likes a fair game, but he’s really excellent with cards. When he mans a game, it’s in his hands the whole time. Mesmerizing to watch.” 

Kaz shot you a thankful smile, and the dinner continued as such. Kaz’s father attempting to a throw a curveball at him, Kaz catching the ball and tossing it back into your fathers yard. Eventually, when your father grew tired of the games and decided he liked Kaz well enough, you both noticed it, and you watched Kaz’s shoulders deflate along with his nerves bit by bit throughout the rest of the night.

A couple hours in, Kaz was making your father laugh and relishing in the way you laughed when your mother took your hands and told you that Kaz must’ve been the one, that they were sorry for how they’d judged him without knowing him so well. 

Kaz could relax. He’d impressed both of your parents with only a few glasses of wine, a twelve course meal that took you all quite some time to eat because you were so busy talking, and the beginnings of a lemon meringue pie for dessert. 

By the time that you were leaving, your mother was hugging you and your father was shaking Kaz’s gloved hand--he’d asked first, the rumors of the touch aversion lingering in every corner of Ketterdam no matter the district--and Kaz was hoping that the waters would not rise while simultaneously hoping that your father was impressed by it.

Kaz walked you to your apartment and chose to stay the night in the end, the two of you sleeping far enough away from one another that you didn’t risk waking up to find your bodies entangled and triggering Kaz’s touch aversion.

As he drifted, Kaz couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Your parents liked him. He had won their approval. It was enough to keep him contented through to the next morning, your presence enough to keep him contented forever. 

[esta-elavaris]

Prologue [771 words]

Jane Eyre inspired Aemond Targaryen fic (except there's no wife in the attic - only Vizzy T and his miniatures) -- I've been meaning to write this for ages and now with the new season around the corner my brain said it is time.

It's not on AO3 for now but I do have a whole load of other fics over there!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged when I update this 💜

Brambles tore through her sleeves, and then her arms, as Jeyne tumbled to the ground. The shadow above took an impossibly long while to pass – but Vhagar was the largest dragon living, and the fear that seized her drew out the seconds into eternities. Was it that same fear, she wondered, that had her thinking she could even hear her name, cried out into the wind? It had to be. He had no cause to call for her that way…nor at all. The last time he’d spoken to her – the last time she knew for a fact that she’d heard his voice – he made that more than clear.

“What did you expect? That we’d marry? That you’d carry my heirs? You? A servant? One of your birth would hardly be fit to have my bastards, should I have been so foolish as to spawn any.”

He hadn’t looked at her, as he said it. No, his eye had been fixed steadily – coldly – on the wall behind her head. That fact had given her the strength to ask what she did.

“Why are you saying this? Why are you talking like this, Aemond? I thought…you said…you don’t mean-”

At that, he had looked at her, violet eye steely, wide with outrage that she would dare disagree with him.

“You forget yourself,” he’d sneered. “Along with how one of your birth should refer to a prince.”

And there had been such disdain in his face, so much that it seeped into his voice, that her blood ran cold and she felt sick to her stomach, blinking hard against the tears that stung her eyes. That look left her without doubt as to what she was hearing. Most of all, it left her mortified that she was even surprised.

Jeyne had not been able to feel her legs as she sank into a curtsey and managed to force out a strained, reedy forgive me, your grace, her eyes downcast.

“You’re dismissed. I’m sure my sister can find some use for you – I myself cannot.”

That was it. Those were the last words Prince Aemond Targaryen had spoken to her. The last ones he would ever speak to her. Nothing within them could leave any room for misunderstanding, even had Jeyne been the fool he’d treated her as. And while she was much – obscure, plain, and little, all at once – she was no halfwit. A halfwit would have remained in the Red Keep thereafter.

No, by now the Princess Helaena would have found her parting letter, and if any were looking for her, they’d look to the Kingsroad – northwards, where she’d come from, long before she was called to King’s Landing. Not among the brambles, aimless through a wilderness that would lead to either the Reach, or to death. She cared not which. But it had been days, now, with water only when luck graced her, and food not at all. It was becoming clear what possibility was the more likely.

Senses heightened by hunger, the cold of the evening bit at her fingers as she dug them into the dirt as if clinging to the ground would help her further escape notice. It gave her something, anything, to cling to, at least. And Vhagar was as like to spot a mouse as she was to spot her, all the way up there.

I myself cannot…

You forget yourself…

What did you expect?

The three parts that had hurt the most to hear – the ones that drove the blade deeper and deeper into her chest until it threatened to pierce through to her back – were the ones that she replayed in her head, over and over. It was a willing exercise, not quite because she hoped that repeating them would remove their edge, but because he’d been right. What had she expected? To anticipate it ending any way other than precisely how it had ended was the height of stupidity.

Perhaps she was a halfwit, after all.

A long while had passed, and the rush of Vhagar’s wings was well out of earshot, when it even occurred to her that she should move. She could no longer feel the cold – a fact that she dully acknowledged was dangerous in the back of her mind, but could find little energy to care about.

She would move in a moment. A few minutes. She just needed to collect herself first –  and to be sure that he was truly gone. That tactic made the most sense. No doubt the feeling would soon return to her limbs, and she could continue.

By the time she heard footfalls drawing near, it didn’t even occur to her to open her eyes.

[catboymoments]

hello!! out of curiousity, do u have any voice headcanons for the nextgen kids?

OKAY SO last time this question was asked I didn’t have answers but now I have a few!!! It’s been a bit of a struggle to find voices for some of my guys but I do have ideas on their voice profiles so I’m open to suggestions on who would be good…

Azura- I’ve really fallen in love with the concept of AJ Michalka (Stevonnie, Catra spop) being her voice- I think Azura would have a scrappy cute voice that’s still unique to her that fits in with her family, and it would be very cute to have a VA who’s iconic for voicing queer cartoon characters be the voice for the kid of two of the biggest history makers in Disney…. Shes so cute

Bronwyn- Bronwyn at her core is a musician and her struggles with anxiety and panic disorders are a huge part of her character- I feel like her voice would be that of someone who could connect with her and play a soft voiced “mature” girl with a passion for singing and songwriting, so I settled on her being voiced by Mitski, the singer we all know and love. I think she would be able to bring a lot of life to her.

Juno- Juno being a trans girl is very important to her character and I would want a transfem to voice her, but when there’s transfem characters in media they’re almost always portrayed with higher “passable” voices from what I’ve seen. I want her voice to be a little deeper to represent girls who have those voices, and I think her sense of style and humor would come through well with iamblizzymcguire/blizzabella, A transfem nyc based comedian and model who I love. She’s so unique and sillay and I adore her

Now!!! Voice profiles for the guys I don’t have specific ideas for!

Hyacinth- at first I thought of him being voiced by Alex Lawther who plays younger Philip in canon, but he’s 1) British and 2) his voice is a bit more mature than I would like. Part of Hyacinth and how he differs from Philip is that he’s a lot smaller, and while I wanna have a voice for him that’s still in that “tenor range head voice that’s very in the nose and has a soft cadence,” I don’t think Lawther could do that. I would want someone similar and who isn’t British so I could imagine it better…

Mittens- I think mittens would have a tiny voice that’s also more masc, not so much scratchy and raspy but like. Little guy. Y feel me

Calcifer- honestly I’m not sure how to describe what I hear for them- they give me a vibe of a very cute and polite little kid who’s able to get Sillay???? They’re excitable and they tend to infodump………

Bramble- at first I thought I had a voice for him- that voice being Andrew Kishino who voices the character his design is based off of (Kevin from Steven universe) but Kish’s voice is way too mature for an angsty 14 year old trans boy. I do want his voice to be on the deeper and softer side with a good amount of sass though.

Briar- I don’t really know what to do for her since she’s still kinda new ….

[silencedlambs]

first fic i’ve ever written because i was sad about Will again, i’m not a writer tho so if anyone reads this please be kind🫶

He had woken up alone, with his arms reaching out to the rest of the bed empty of both Hannibal and their dog. (He had managed to find a sweet puppy who couldn’t be more than a year or two on the side of the road months ago, flea-bitten and covered in small cuts from brambles and thorns.) This had sent him into a short-lived panic since there had only been a few times in the past year that he had to wake up alone, and each time had been due to Hannibal rushing to pack up their belongings because there had a been a neighbor who had learned too much about the two of them and decided they should give the FBI a heads up.

Will slowly got out of bed, body aching from thrashing around in his sleep, and put on warmer pajama pants. He went and looked up and down the hallway; no lights on in any of the rooms. Going to the stairs, he could hear faint humming coming from the kitchen. Entering the room, he could see Hannibal stirring something in a bowl, some unnecessarily fancy food that Will couldn’t pronounce the name of most likely. He coughed quietly to let Hannibal know he was there. Hannibal turned, but his smile dropped when he saw Will.

“Is something the matter, beloved?” He set the bowl and spoon on the counter and approached cautiously, as if worried any sudden movements would set Will off to do God knows what.

Will took a shaky breath and whispered, “you weren’t there”. He couldn’t make eye contact, knowing it would more than likely end with tears and hyperventilating. He could feel his hand gripping the doorframe, knuckles turning white from how tight his hand was, nails digging into the wood. Hannibal stood at the edge of his vision, and slowly brought himself close enough that Will could feel his breath on his forehead before a gentle kiss was placed there.

“Forgive me, mylimasis, I did not think you would be up for at least another hour, and I had an idea for a breakfast recipe I was making in your honor.”

He was trying to be sweet, and calming, and all the things he tried to be when he knew he had done something that had truly hurt Will. “I don’t like waking up by myself, Hannibal. It makes me feel unbalanced. I have nightmares of you being taken from me, or me being shot in front of you, and then I wake up and you’re not there, and I have to calm myself enough to figure out if I’m awake or just awake in my dream, and I don’t like it.” He was shaking now, nails leaving permanent marks in the door, his breath catching, teetering between calm, and burning his throat.

He looked up to see Hannibal just looking at him. As if he were still just his therapy patient, as if he was just there to be left alone in the morning. He looked away before those heartbreaking brown eyes could peer into his mind more than they had in the past minute, but it was too late. “Will, you know I do not intend to hurt you in this. I was genuinely trying to do something I thought would make you happy for a moment or two, since I so rarely see you without any sort of pain, self-inflicted or otherwise. I would do anything for you and feel I have proven myself time and time again.”

Will’s hand was starting to let out little drops of blood from where the wood had splintered in his palm, and he could feel it moving down his wrist toward his shirt sleeve. “Don’t do that.” He could feel his face burning and the tears running down his cheeks, flushed with shame and regret at speaking his feelings out loud, without editing them to be as fancy as Hannibal liked his psyche to appear.

He let go of the frame, and slowly made his way back to the bed, and pulled the covers over his head. Maybe if he couldn’t be seen, he could be left alone for long enough that Hannibal would forget what had happened. Of course, since he was who he was, he couldn’t get what he wanted. Will heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall; Hannibal could be as silent as he wanted, which meant he wanted Will to feel his presence getting closer, knowing this gave him the kind of anxiety that made him feel sick, like he could vomit all his blood and bones up and give them to Hannibal for his amusement.

“Will.” Will didn’t say anything or make any movement, trying to make himself invisible, or better yet, nonexistent. “William.” This got his attention, since a full name meant he was not getting out of anything. He poked his head up past the blanket’s edge, and there was Hannibal standing above him. Holding a small, wrapped box of all things.

He sat on the edge of the bed and gave Will another look which Will knew meant he did feel sorry for his actions, but he couldn’t make himself say it out loud. He placed the box next to Will’s hand, then took his hand and pressed small kisses to his knuckles. “I do truly love you, Will, more than anything. I would give up my freedom a thousand times over if it meant I could have you in my life, whatever way you wanted me. The three years apart from you with no word or visit made me feel as though I were dying at a rapid pace, and only felt my heart start beating once you acknowledged my existence again. I would do whatever it took to prove my love and devotion to you, and perhaps one day you’ll believe that. You have never seen yourself as I see you, a being of perfection sent from God Himself to my life to show me there was something worth my time.”

Will rubbed his finger along the bow on the box, refusing to open it until Hannibal was done with his speech. “If you would open the box, I think there may be something for you in it.” He made himself sit up and carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside was a bracelet. It wasn’t anything extravagant or gaudy, but simple and made from bones that he would know the feel of anywhere.

“Winston.” He could feel his eyes fogging up with more tears as he held it like it would burn up if he let go.

“I had them taken from him after his death and made sure it would be worth wearing on your wrist. If it’s too soon for you, I understand, but he was a good dog, even by my standards, and I know what he meant to you.” On the inside of the bracelet, there was a small engraving in Hannibal’s handwriting. Wherever you die, I will die and there will I be buried beside you.

Will felt like the world was on the verge of ripping apart, taking him with it. He lifted his wrist and Hannibal put the bracelet on him. “Thank you,” he said quietly, not used to speaking again yet. He moved the bracelet in the light, sunlight moving slowly along the bone and reflecting onto the ceiling. He brought it close to his face to look closely at the small dips in the bones. He closed his eyes, remembering when he had found Winston, and what a miracle that dog had done to his life. All of his dogs had had an impact on him, but Winston had been special. The number of times he had managed to get away from Alana and run all the way back to the house in Wolf Trap, it had felt like he was meant to be Will’s protector from the world, finding him anywhere.

Will took a deep breath and met Hannibal’s eyes. He leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. I love it. I’m sorry for getting so worked up earlier, I just didn’t know what to do or if something had happened and it made me panic.” Hannibal was quiet for a moment and then said,

“This was my doing, and I apologize for upsetting you so. I had planned on breakfast in bed and a warm bath for you, but I should have given you a warning. Will you forgive me?” He had a small flicker in his eyes, the kind he got when he was worried Will would find something out of place in him.

“I do, but I cannot do a repeat of this. I don’t think my heart can take more of it.” He lay back on his side of the bed and reached out to Hannibal, who proceeded to lay in Will’s arms with his head on his chest. Will could feel his heartbeat pick up slightly, the way it always did when Hannibal got close enough to hurt him. He pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s temple and rubbed circles into his shoulder. “Please don’t leave me again. I know you don’t think it’s the end of the world because you’re just in the kitchen cooking, or getting vegetables from the garden, but I’m always afraid that this could be it. The one morning I wake up too late and your gone, vanished or shot dead in the kitchen, or splayed out like one of your tableaus on the lawn, and I can’t make it not happen.” He was crying again, tears making their way into Hannibal’s hair. He raised his head and gazed at Will before kissing the tears on his cheeks.

He pressed a deep kiss to Will’s lips and held his head so gently, the way he had the night he stabbed Will in the stomach before abandoning him. “I will never let that happen, mylimasis. I would kill anyone who got close enough to try.”

[lazskum]

wilson x reader fanfiction becaude im deranged

You’d been on this terrifying Island for a good year now. Something about it made you want to look, even though you’d known for a while this place didn’t have one other person on it. Every single inch more, you’d hoped that there was someone just beyond the tree line, just over that hill, through that grass, but there was never anything. It was always empty, just more landscape to cover. And yet you still walked the miles and discovered the world around you. After another unsuccessful trip, you returned to your base and sat down next to the fire pit. It was getting dark, and you were hungry. As you glumly pulled out a spare morsel and started to cook it, you heard movement nearby. Your head perked up and you grabbed a spear, hoping it was a kolefant. But as you approached, you heard something you thought you’d never hear.

Another persons voice.

“Dang brambles-! oh, this is so unsightly, i do hope nobody else sees me in such a state-“

A young man in his early thirties appeared from out of the shrubbery, at the end of your spear. He jumped back a little and held his hands up slowly, an awkward smile appearing on his face.

“Haha, seems like you’re a little…on edge?”

He gulped as you pushed the spear closer and looked him over to make sure you weren’t dreaming. He wore a red cardigan with a white collared shirt visible underneath, a set of black gloves going all the way from his shoulders to the bases of his fingers. His hair was wild and untamed, filled with leaves and sticks. He was also injured and half-starved, his gaze drifting to the fire as he drooled a little.

“Uhm…I don’t mean to interrupt, but that meat smells simply amazing…”

You shake your head and pull the spear back. You sign and ask for his name. The man looked confused so you mouthed it to him. “Oh, my name! Sorry, I didn’t realise you were mute. My name is Wilson Percival Higgusbury, Gentleman Scientist and Survivor…Well, not extraordinare, but i’d say pretty good. Now, about that meat…?” You nodded and he slowly walked to the fire, before grabbing the hot meat and biting into it like an animal. It wasn’t really any of your concern as you dumped another log onto the fire and pushed it in a little with the end of your spear. You looked at him again and asked for where he came from.

“Hm…I come from Britain, the centre of enlightenment at the moment. They’re very keen on bills, you know, and their advancements are certainly fascinating.” He said through several mouthfuls of meat. As you got up, he continued to talk at you, something about science. You didn’t really care. You found a few spare spider glands and asked him to show where he was injured. “Injured? Oh, just my arm. Don’t tell me you’re going to-“ Without any indication of being about to do so, you grabbed his arm and rolled down his gloves. Then you squeezed the glands into his cut and rubbed. Wilson yelped and covered his mouth with his hand, watching as you continued to apply more glands until his skin healed over. “Amazing! I must write this down, somewhere…” He grabbed a notebook and began to pencil in some words. Again, none of your concern, though you glimpsed the title and it made you smirk.

‘Wilson’s book of wonders’. Certainly sounded like a smash hit. You looked up at the sky whilst it slowly turned to a nice, orange colour. “How long have you been here for, erm…?” You mimed a year. “And your name?” You shrug. You tell him you don’t bother with names, since you haven’t been around people for so long. “…Right..Hey, I’m still hungry, got anymore morsels?” Hesitating for just a moment, you considered if you should lie or not. You didn’t really want this stranger to just take all your food. But checking the fridge revealed you didn’t have to and you shook your head no.

“Then…why don’t we catch some rabbits?”

You blinked. Rabbits, right. You’d forgotten that those were a viable source of food since you’d stuck to hunting or farming. You nod and Wilson excitedly took out some traps and started to run to the nearest rabbit hole, setting one up and standing back to watch. Actually, he was just watching. He stared at the hole, waiting. You were confused. Why wasn’t he just going off somewhere else? As you watched, a rabbit slowly inched closer to the trap. Wilson tensed and spring forward, grabbing the rabbit and promptly killing it. You blinked. Then you asked him why he didn’t jsut let the rabbit go in the trap.

“Because they don’t always go in! They always get tempted, though, and then if you jump and hit them they die. It’s easy once you get a hand of it.” Curious, you peered down the rabbit hole. Not too far away was a small collection of rabbit holes, so you wandered over and watched as the rabbits ran away and hid. Wilson followed and watched you. “What are you going to-“ You shoved your hands down the rabbit holes, grabbing rabbits and smacking them against the floor to make them unconscious. Some of your hand poked out the other side of their connecting tunnels, and by the end of it you’d managed to harvest 32 sets of morsels. Wilson laughed a little and made sure to collect them all

“…You said you don’t have a name, right?”

You nod.

“How about…Warren? Cuz you love to put your hands in them!”

You consider the name, and then nod, smiling slightly.

Warren it is.

[fallenclan]

brambles tugged at his exhausted muscles as he scowled his way through fallenclan territory. otterslip made his way around a tree, his only guide the bright light of the moon. as he walked up to a rock where he often sharpened his claws, a voice caught his attention.

“henryclaw,” it seemed to weep. “i will not let you die in vain. antlerclan will pay for this.”

otterslip blinked. was this one of his former clanmates? he strained to hear a little bit more then he began to recognize the voice.

brambletuft?

he peered from behind the rock and saw the she-cat sitting in a clearing that was pooled in moonlight. she was staring up at a star overhead.

“brambletuft..?” he whispered. maybe this was a bad idea-

she turned her head towards him, eyes widening. “otterslip?” she gasped. “what in the world are you doing here? you shouldn’t be here!” her cakes glinted as they slid out.

otterslip’s eyes widened. what happened to the nervous, kind brambletuft he had once known? “wait,” he unsheathed his own claws and watched as a quick look of alarm shot across brambletuft’s for a split second. he smirked with satisfaction. this could work out very well for him. “i just wanted to say hi to an old friend.”

his voice was caked in false innocence but brambletuft’s eyes softened. “oh. i get it,” she muttered. “ever since henryclaw was murdered, i’ve been so lonely. id do anything to see him again.”

otterslip took a step colored to her and reached out with his tail to comfort her. she leaned into his embrace, clearly having been starved of affection.

“you know, what those cats did was terrible,” he soothed.

brambletuft pulled back from him. “wait, do you know who did it?” her eyes where wide. “you can help me! i need to avenge him.”

he smirked to himself. “oh yes,” he frowned. “i heard a couple of them speaking about it. terrible, terrible cats. foxhearts, honestly!”

“you need to help me!” brambletuft exclaimed. “please,” she paused for a moment. “listen, i know i shouldn’t be talking to you, but you’ve already been exiled! it doesn’t matter what you do, so please help me kill whoever did this.”

otterslip smiled kindly. “of course. how could i decline a former friend?” his voice was laced in poised but brambletuft was too determined to notice.

“oh, thank you. i’ll be back here tomorrow night. then we can work out some plans. bye, otterslip.”

he waved as she padded back to her camp.

when somebody was grieving, it was always the best time to manipulate them.

uhhhm i don’t know if this is anything?? maybe an au or sumn. or real. i just like the idea of otterslip turning her evil. hawkfrost ivypool situation.

- 🪼 (sorry to spam hehe)

OUGGHHGH GOD THIS IS SUCH A COOL IDEA.... Bramble has the Nervous trait as well so i feel like it would be fairly easy for Otterslip to manipulate her. god thats so fucked. get a job leave her alone etc

[middleearthpixie]

Living Proof ~ Chapter Eight

Summary: When he puts himself between the Uruk-hai and Merry and Pippin, Boromir knows it means sacrificing himself. But it also means redemption for his near betrayal of Frodo and the Fellowship, and so it is a price he is more than willing to pay.

Kaia has been on her own for as long as she can remember, having escaped a terrible life in a village not far from Mordor. When she hears the sounds of battle, she knows what it means and when she ventured forth and finds a gravely wounded man lying amongst the leaves and debris, she takes him in, not knowing he is actually the son of the steward of Gondor.

Angry at himself and faced with a long road to recovery, Boromir does not make things easy on Kaia and it is only through her own sheer will that she does not give into the urge to hit him over the head with something on a daily basis. That refusal to give up brings about changes neither one of them could have foreseen.  She just wanted to save him. She never thought he would save her in return…

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia 

Warnings: Disposal of orc corpse - a little ooky, but not terribly graphic

Rating: T 

Word Count: 3.9k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell @emrfangirl @emmanuellececchi

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

What had he been thinking? 

Boromir swallowed the oath rising to his lips as he dragged the stinking, rotting, unwieldy orc corpse down past an out-of-control blackberry brambles, along a path that grew more and more narrow as he moved deeper into the woods. Kaia said there was a clearing just down the path. Well, what did just down the path even mean? He felt as if he’d hobbled a mile already and yet saw nothing even remotely resembling a clearing. 

His back ached. His chest ached. His thigh throbbed. He was ready to just let the foul corpse rot right there on the path. He’d had enough dealings with orcs and wouldn’t be the least bit upset to never lay eyes upon one again. Curse the lot of them. 

He scowled. And what on earth had possessed him to kiss Kaia?

He let go of the orc’s legs, which hit the dirt with a dull thud, and with a groan and a wince, he straightened up. The now-familiar hot sting swept in the equally familiar wave from his collarbone to his knee. It wasn't quite as bad as it had been, but he’d still not miss it when he’d healed completely. 

Footsteps sounded and he automatically reached for the sword that was not on his hip, but instead remained in the cabin, leaning against the wall in the kitchen. A foolish mistake and one he’d not repeat again, to be sure. 

The orc’s head rolled about the bend, followed by Kaia, who flinched as she swatted at it with a stick to send it on down the path, almost to where he stood. She scowled as she looked up at him. “I said I would do this.”

“I know what you said. And I am not completely useless, so I decided I would do it.”

She sighed, and he didn't miss the eyeball that accompanied it. “Boromir, I never said you were useless.”

“You don’t have to.” He crouched and grabbed the ankles again and as he moved once more, he’d swear the orc was heavier now. “Believe me, I know I am.”

“Oh, stop that. You’ve made great strides, but it’s only been a few days, remember.”

The head made a sickening squelching sound when Kaia whacked it with the stick and this time, she’d struck it with enough force that it shot past him, and down the slight embankment, down into the clearing at last. 

With a low grunt, he shoved the corpse down the slope in the wake of its head and a few minutes later, between him and Kaia, who’d brought a small jar of oil, flint and steel, they managed to get a fire going. A rank stink filled the air as thick, black smoke rose from the flaming corpse. 

Dragging the back of his wrist across his forehead, Boromir looked over at Kaia. “How far are we from your cabin?”

“Half a mile, perhaps more. I’m not sure. I just know that nothing seems to ever come back here. It always feels… heavy…”

He looked about at the trees and bushes, none of which seemed any different from the other parts of the woods. “I feel nothing heavy.”

“You don’t?” She looked up at him, her brows pulled low. “It feels like the air is pressing in on me. And there so much sadness here… It’s not a pleasant place at all. I don't blame anyone who avoids it.”

He shrugged. “I feel nothing but the urge to go back and put my leg up.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.” She seemed to hesitate, then added, “Do you need to lean on me?”

He wanted more than anything to tell her no, that he could manage just fine on his own. But the truth was, the aches in his leg, in his chest, were worse than they’d been in some time. She didn't wait for him to admit to it, but instead sidled up to him and eased her arm about his waist. “It’s a long way back.”

He nodded, draping his arm about her shoulders. While he tried not to lean on her, each step grew more difficult and by the time they were back at her cabin, he was breathless and sweating and exhausted. The steps up to the back porch were nearly the end of him, and he couldn’t hold back his groan as he finally sank into the sofa. 

“I’ll go brew that tea for you.”

He nodded, managing to grit, “I would appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

His eyes closed of their own, but he did not fall asleep. Instead, he lay there pondering the madness that drove him to kiss Kaia. The madness that now drove him to want to kiss her again. 

As she waited for the water to come to a boil, Kaia sang softly beneath her breath. Once again, he understood not a word, but it didn’t matter, for her voice was almost angelic in tone. It soothed him as well as any balm or any tea brewed for pain, and as he listened, that urge to kiss her swept through him again. 

No one could fault him, for the more time he’d spent with her, the more he realized how wrong he’d been about her. She was not nearly as mannish as he’d originally thought, and while he would never use the word demure to describe her, he found he rather liked her outspokenness and her habit of saying exactly what she thought. It was refreshing to not have to wonder what she meant or if she was honestly speaking her mind.

But most of all, he realized she was anything but plain. In fact, the more time he spent with her, the more he saw that she was actually something of a beauty, with her wild mane of dark red curls falling about her face, and while he knew her eyes were green, he’d noticed that they seemed to change depending on what she wore. In the time since he’d first opened his eyes in her cabin, he’d seen hers go from green, to aqua, to a stunning turquoise shade he’d never seen before. 

He couldn’t explain why the urge to kiss her had taken him over, as it wasn't until she helped him tug his trousers up that it even hit. Then, something called to him, and that something awakened a need within him. As soon as he touched her, as soon as his hands curved about her cheeks, his blood felt hotter, felt as if it rushed through his veins with greater force. All he could think about was how her lips would feel beneath his, how her kiss would taste to him, and he was powerless to resist that pull. 

Had she felt it, too? She hesitated at first, but then…

A soft groan rose to his lips, one he managed to hold back. Once her lips parted, he didn't want to stop at just kissing her. The moment his tongue touched hers, he wanted to gather her in his arms, to peel off the layers of linen and wool between them, to feel her skin bare against his.

If it hadn’t been for the fiery flare of pain driving up into his hip…

“Boromir?”

He jumped slightly at Kaia’s voice, his eyes snapping open as she bent to set a cup on the table. “Th-thank you,” he murmured thickly, rubbing his face with both hands. His cheeks were bristly now as he hadn’t shaved in weeks, so instead of the goatee he preferred, he had to be near full beard by now. Perhaps she had a looking glass he could borrow to remove what didn't belong on his face. 

“Are you hungry? It’s getting late, so I should put something on for supper.”

His stomach growled to answer for him, which made Kaia smile. “I suppose that is that, then.  I know we only had some last eve, but all I have is what is left of the hunter’s stew. I’ll have to go fishing or try to scare up some game, but deer are becoming more and more rare these days, so I can promise nothing.”

“I have some lembas in my pack,” he said softly, gesturing toward said pack as he spoke. “If we are desperate enough, a small bite is enough to fill my stomach, so it should be more than enough for you.”

She nodded. “It would be, yes.”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“I can fish as well, as I said,” she told him. “Game is becoming difficult to find, but orcs don't know the first thing about what can be found in the river. I just—I hesitate to leave you alone for that long. Especially considering an orc has already wandered here as it is.”

“I’d be fine. I’m not quite as helpless as you think I am.”

A hint of color rose along her slanted cheekbones. “I don't think you’re helpless at all. Far from it. But,” she shrugged, “you were seriously wounded and only in the earliest stages of recovery. I’m merely concerned for you, is all.”

He leaned his head back and let out a long sight. “I know and it frustrates me that I am so seemingly helpless. It is not something I am accustomed to feeling.”

“I imagine you aren’t,” she said, sinking onto the table, as was her wont. “I assume you are a soldier of some sort?”

He hesitated for a moment, just staring up at her. He’d been in her company not quite a week, and knew better than to trust as yet. But at the same time, she’d given him no reason not to trust her. She’d seen him at his lowest and cared for him. If that didn't earn her trust, what else would?

With that, he nodded. “I am. The Captain of the White Tower, which will mean nothing to you, I’m certain. But then again, I am not so certain it means anything to me any longer.”

Her forehead furrowed and she shook her head. “Why would you say that?”

“Because of—things—that happened since I left Minas Tirith.”

“Things.” She nodded slowly now. “I understand that completely. I, too, have things in my past that weigh heavily on me from time to time.”

She met his gaze then and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Somehow, he just knew she understood, that she wouldn’t press to learn what those things were, which was just as well. He might be coming to trust her, but he would never trust anyone enough to ever admit to what he’d done, to admit to how far he’d fallen. She would turn him out, should she know the truth. 

Her eyes softened. “How long ago did you leave Minas Tirith?”

“Almost a year ago, which is rather hard to believe, actually. It’s been a bit of a journey.”

“A year? That is a journey.”

“What about you?” He nodded toward her. “When did you leave home?”

She didn't answer him at first, but stared down at her hands, clasped between her knees. He didn’t press, didn't push, but just waited. He didn't want to rush her, didn't want her to retreat, but wanted her to trust him as he did her. 

“I, too, left home about a year ago.” 

She looked up and the shadows in her eyes troubled him to a certain degree. “Did something happen to drive you from it?”

She pressed her lips together and as they disappeared into a white line, he sat up and without thinking, caught her hands in his. “Kaia? What happened?”

“How do you think I know what orcs do? What they’re capable of?”

“You’ve crossed paths with them, haven’t you? I mean, before you came here.”

“I have, yes.” Her fingers linked, then split, then linked again, this time tightening enough to turn her knuckles white. “They came through our village a year ago. Our farm was on the northern edge and they simply swept through and destroyed everything in their path.”

Her hands relaxed then, the backs of her fingers brushing his palms. Her voice was soft, filled with memory and pain and when she met his eyes again, he saw that same pain reflected in the green depths. Without thinking, he linked his fingers with hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “I am sorry, Kaia.”

“There were so many of them,” she went on softly, looking at their entwined fingers, “and they just kept coming. We’d cut ten down, only to find twenty more in their wake. And they care not who or what they kill. They just kill. Men. Women, Children. Pets. Livestock. They just cut down every living thing in their path. Without hesitation.”

“I know them all too well,” he told her. The urge to tug on her hands, to pull her into his arms, swept through him, but he resisted. “You are fortunate you were spared.”

“I wasn't spared,” she told him, shaking her head as her eyes shimmered. “I fought them, fought alongside my brothers and my father and the all of the men who toiled for him. And I fell alongside them as well.”

As she spoke, she pulled free from his grasp and rose, and as she did, she lifted her tunic. Along her left side, from her ribs downward, disappearing into the waist of her trousers, ran a thin, slightly jagged line. “I played dead once the orc ran me through. Dropped to the ground and after he moved on, smeared blood anywhere I could reach and just lay there, hoping none would double check. When dawn approached, they moved on and when it stayed quiet, I figured it was safe to get up. I checked on every body I came to, but—”

Her voice broke and she sat back down with a soft thud, clasping her hands between her knees once more as she stared at the floor. “I couldn't help any of them. I tried, but there was nothing I could do. So, I sewed myself up—” 

He couldn’t keep himself from blurting, “You treated your own wound?”

She nodded, her face going somewhat pale. “It had to be done, so—” she shrugged—“I did it. I steeled myself with some of my father’s whisky first, which made my stitches clumsier, but it was the only way I could tolerate it. And after a while, I felt practically nothing.”

She offered up a rueful smile as she lifted her tunic again and swept her fingers along the edge of the scar nearest her ribs. “And that is why it is very jagged up here.”

“Still,” he shook his head as, without thinking, he reached out to brush his fingers along the uppermost part of the scar, “I am impressed.”

“I had no choice if I didn't wish to bleed to death, although I will admit, sewing oneself is not easy, even without considering the pain. I am lucky I did not make matters worse and that I survived long enough to even see the next morning. But, when I felt up to it, I took what weapons I could find and I ran. And I’ve been running ever since and any chance I have to kill an orc,” she looked up at him and his blood almost ran cold at the steeliness of her gaze, “I take great joy in doing so.”

“I couldn't fault you if I tried,” he told her, catching her hands in his once more to give them a gentle squeeze. “I would do the same.”

“And that’s why I helped you. I went back to see if the halflings were still there, but if the orcs took them…”

His gut twisted violently even as he nodded. Merry and Pippin were most likely already dead. And there was a strong possibility that Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas were as well. And that was because of him…

He winced at the thought, at the steaming hot guilt that swept through him. Kaia bore no blame, no shame, while he bore all of both. He swallowed hard and met her gaze once more. “And I will be forever grateful, of course.”

“I didn't do it for you. I did it for me,” she said with a hint of a rueful smile. “I failed my family, my people, I wouldn’t fail you if I could help it.”

“You failed no one,” he assured her, shaking his head. “Outnumbered and out-armed, there was nothing more you could do.”

“I know that’s what people would say to try to make me feel better.” She pulled her hands free and rose again, moving to the hearth where she took several pieces of wood from the small bin to stack on the grate. “But, it does not help at all. I did fail them. I survived and they didn't and I will never understand how that happened. And before you try to explain it to me, know that I will never understand it. Not ever.”

“Then I won’t try to explain it. I know it all too well.”

“You do?” She looked over her shoulder at him. “How?”

A dull ache took root in his chest, in his thigh, one that had him carefully rubbing the muscle around the wounds on his leg. “That isn’t important. Let’s simply leave it that I know.”

“Is that why you had to leave your city?”

“Something like that, yes.”

And let me guess, people filled you with the same platitudes that made them feel better but did nothing for you.”

He hesitated, but then offered up a slow nod. “Something of that sort, yes.”

For a moment, he thought she might prod him, ask what had happened, and he offered up an inward sigh of relief when she just nodded herself. “It’s a useless thing, isn’t it? People who try to make you feel better when they really only mean to assuage their own guilt or whatever.”

Silence settled about them, but it was only momentary as she met his eyes once more and said, “I’m so very sorry I couldn’t save your friends.”

“Apologize for nothing,” he told her softly. “You did what you could and that was more than I could ever ask of you.”

She got a small fire going and moments later, the flames sizzled as rain pattered down. It dotted the windowpanes and the roof and as she rose to go into the kitchen, that was the end of the conversation.

The rain fell harder as the night wore on. Kaia sighed softly as she sat at the table, a cup of tea long gone cold before her. Boromir had eaten some, but then went back to the sofa and was now asleep once more. The fire on the hearth in the great room had died down to just barely anything, but the room remained cozy still.

Thinking back to their conversation, she wondered what it was Boromir wasn’t telling her, because she had the feeling he held something back from her. Did it have something to do with the two halflings she’d seen in the clearing? Perhaps they weren’t friends of his at all. She had no way of knowing, but she felt he definitely wasn't telling her his entire story about why he’d left Minas Tirith.

The White City. She’d heard tales of it, and of its warriors, since she was a child, but she’d never seen the city herself. She’d never been to Gondor, as far as she knew, as her people came from further north. North of Rohan. North of wherever she was at that moment, for she had no idea where her cabin was located, she’d simply come across it, found it empty, and set up house there.

From where she sat, she couldn't see Boromir, but could only hear him and at that moment, he snored softly, which made her smile as it had the first time she’d heard it. It was almost a comforting sound, for it meant she was not alone and she’d forgotten what it felt like to not be alone since that terrible night when the orcs rampaged through her village.

Over the last year, she’d learned so much about herself, the main lesson being that she could take care of herself if she absolutely had to and up until that night, she had not been pampered, but she’d definitely been well-cared for by her mother and her stepfather. Her stepbrothers were all older and just as protective as her parents. She’d been raised secure in their love and her place in the family and her biggest worry had been which of the village boys she might want to court her. 

In the span of a few hours, that all crumbled down about her ears. As the sun came up that morning, and she was certain the orc pack had moved on, she gone back to what was left of the farmhouse where she’d been raised, gathered what supplies she could, treated her wound and when she felt up to it, finally left. She’d found the sword now propped by the kitchen door in the rubble of a neighbor’s house, and as soon as she’d found that, she left her village and did not look back.

The days had a way of blending into one another, so she wasn't entirely certain how much time had passed since that terrible night, but it was at least a year. Possibly longer. She couldn't be sure, but she knew that a long time had passed and the girl she had been was long since dead. 

With that, she rose from her chair and moved around to take one last peek at Boromir. He slept peacefully, more so than any other night since she’d brought him to her cabin. Leaning against the back of the sofa, she peered down at him. Asleep, he looked far younger than his years, the worries and cares of his daily burdens had fallen away and left him also at peace. He was, in fact, quite a handsome man, and she wondered once more why a man like him would kiss her. It made no sense to her at all. Men such as him did not court women such as her. She was too plain and tall, too mannish, as one of stepbrothers teased her once. Her interests lay not in fashion or beauty, but in horses and weapons. A man such as Boromir would not look twice at her. 

So, why did he kiss her? 

He let out a particularly loud snore and tugged the blanket closer to his chin. With a soft smile, she came around to the front of the sofa and with gentle fingers, stroked along his honey-gold hair. It was most likely only a coincidence, but Boromir sighed in his sleep and murmured, “Oh, love…”

Trying to ignore the odd flutter of her heart, Kaia leaned over and pressed a kiss into his forehead. “Sleep well.”

She waited to see if he’d react, but he remained quiet and soundly asleep. With a slight sigh, she straightened, blew out the candle, and made her way to her bedchamber, where she lay awake for longer than she cared to think about, wondering why Boromir had kissed her, if she would ever work up the nerve to ask him why he’d done it, and if he would ever do so again. 

[fates-theysband]

the day you came, the sun ran out of light

idk what it is about this game that's making me pound out writing in a fevered haze but. another outer wilds self ship fic. here there be emotional conversations. maybe also some smooching. who's to say. also i think this is the first time i've had multiple of my s/is in one fic.

words: 2.2k

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It was inaccurate to say Dark Bramble was ever quiet. It had…significantly less sound than somewhere like, say Giant’s Deep, that was for certain, but it was never quiet. Feldspar was part of the reason, of course, since their harmonica was usually the loudest thing in earshot. But even when they weren’t playing, they could hear other things. The distant screeches of anglerfish fighting for territory, the crackling of the fire, and, sometimes, if they listened just closely enough, the distant sparking of their ship’s remains. 

One thing they never expected to hear in their corner of Dark Bramble, though, was thrusters. Especially thrusters without the follow-up of an anglerfish immediately giving chase. It’d certainly happened to them enough times during the trip that stranded them here. They set their harmonica aside and squinted at the fog, searching for any sign that the ship was close to their camp…only for a BANG to resound from the back of the skeleton, followed by…voices?

“Stars above, are you trying to get us both killed!?”

“It was just the landing gear, I can bend it back into shape in three seconds!”

“We won’t have three seconds if every anglerfish in this…abomination against nature is after us!”

“The frequency–”

“Shut up about the frequency! You don’t think that landing was louder?” 

“It’s not about how loud it is, it’s about how unpleasant it is, first of all. Second–”

Feldspar was loath to move out of range of the gravity crystal, but they couldn’t lie that they were intrigued. The arguing voices were unmistakably familiar, and as they crept to the very edge of their camp, they could see two figures in spacesuits, floating toward the camp from a ship wedged between the skeleton’s tailbones. They were about the same height and build as each other, although one of them wore a noticeably shabbier spacesuit–Feldspar recognized it as the training spacesuit from the zero-g cave. That thing was barely spaceworthy, it didn’t even have proper boosters on the jetpack, and they already admired anyone who’d be willing to fly all the way out to Dark Bramble wearing it.

The figure in the training suit was reading their companion the riot act as the two of them floated closer. “–and you just start banging on my door, rambling about how ‘there’s no time to explain, just put this on’ and drag me out in that deathtrap Slate calls a ship–and you know how much I hate that you even climbed into that hunk of junk–but you beg me to trust you, and I do because you’re my sibling and at least if I’m with you I know what you’re getting up to, and to reward my trust you bring me to Dark Bramble of all places, the entire time flying like an absolute maniac and only by some sort of completely insane luck not ending up down some anglerfish’s gullet!”

Oh, now that voice was a sound for sore ears. Feldspar could scarcely believe it–they almost didn’t until the other figure cut in with, “Zirc, you’re blowing it out of proportion.” Stars above, Tourmaline had gotten big. They’d barely been old enough to operate a signalscope last time Feldspar had seen them, and now they were blasting off all by themself. Well, almost by themself. Seems they’d brought Zircon along for the ride. Good. There was a lot of lost time to make up with everyone on Timber Hearth, of course, but Zircon…

The pair came within range of the gravity crystal, and Feldspar stepped back a bit so it wasn’t too obvious they’d been eavesdropping. Zircon seemed to be wrapping up their rant. “I just wish you’d be a little more careful; if not for your sake, then for mine. I know you’re not deliberately reckless, but when you get like this you’re worse than–” They stopped in their tracks, seeming to notice just who they and their younger sibling were standing in front of. “Feldspar?” They froze in their tracks, their tone shifting from frustration to a combination of relief and disbelief in just that one word, before turning back toward Tourmaline. “Why didn’t you..?”

Tourmaline shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d believe me. Thought maybe you’d accuse me of playing with your feelings or something. Also, I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. But yeah. Feldspar’s still kickin’ around.”

“Kickin’ more than that,” Feldspar interjected, walking backward toward the campfire and motioning for Zircon and Tourmaline to follow. “Pull up a marshmallow stick, you two, I’ll tell you the whole story.”

“Sorry, I can’t stick around that long,” Tourmaline quickly replied, turning to leave. “I, uh, heard something really weird on my ship��s signalscope while I was navigating here and I wanna go check it out. Zirc, you wanna hang out here while I investigate? I won’t be long.”

“Tourmaline, what are you–” Zircon turned to grab their sibling’s shoulder, but Tourmaline put up a hand to stop them.

“Trust me, you’re a lot safer in this guy’s jaws,” they motioned to the roof of the anglerfish skeleton’s mouth, “than anywhere else in Dark Bramble.”

“The hatchling’s right,” Feldspar added. “No beasties will bother us here…and I’d love to catch up with you.” They winked. It wasn’t visible through the helmet, of course, but judging from the way Zircon tensed up at that last part, the message came through loud and clear.

“Fine,” Zircon relented, arms dropping to their sides. “Just…don’t do anything that’ll get you killed, please? For me?”

“If getting here didn’t kill me, nothing else will,” Tourmaline reassured, before gently motioning their head toward the campfire. “Go take a load off. I’ll be back.” They dashed off before Zircon could respond, and Feldspar heard the sound of thrusters again, fading away this time.

“Still just as subtle as they were back then, huh?” Feldspar said, settling back down to where they’d been sitting before the ship arrived, patting the ground next to them and looking at Zircon expectantly. “Crazy that they’re all grown up now.”

Zircon didn’t move. They stood where Tourmaline left them, staring at Feldspar, as if frozen in place. It put Feldspar in mind of someone watching the Quantum Moon–as if Zircon thought that, if they moved or blinked or did anything to break their focus, they’d be left standing alone in an abandoned campsite. Finally, after what felt like forever, they spoke, their voice wavering. “Everyone thought you were dead.”

“What, me? Not a chance.”

“Nobody else in the village would ever admit that, of course. Hearthian optimism at its finest. They’d say you were missing, or that you never came back, or that you’d disappeared, or they’d just awkwardly trail off after they said your name. But I thought–I knew–that you were dead.”

Feldspar stood up, approaching their old friend. “Zircon…” they murmured, unsure how to react.

“I cried, you know? When Hornfels told me they’d lost your signal? And for so long after that. It was so long before I could be alone for even an hour without thinking about you and breaking down. And having everyone else pretend that there was a chance you’d come back, that someone would find you, that one day someone would turn on their signalscope and hear you again–it just felt like they were dragging it out longer. Like instead of just letting me pull off the bandage in one go, they were making me gradually peel it away, so I felt every single cell of my skin individually separating from the adhesive, and it was agonizing.” Their voice trembled even more. “There’s so much I want to say to you that I thought I’d never get to say, and now…” they trailed off.

“Guess that makes two of us,” Feldspar responded with an awkward chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. “Come on,” they extended a hand, “come sit by the fire and you can–”

Zircon cut them off, gripping their shoulders, and Feldspar could feel their glare through the helmet. “Some part of me wants to throttle you for being so reckless again, just like you always are, you always worried me so sick doing all those stupid dangerous stunts…the few times I thought about you and didn’t cry I was fuming, I was so angry that you’d done the one thing I always hoped you wouldn’t do and gotten yourself killed on one of your daring adventures…ugh.” They softened their grip. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t want the first thing I did when I saw you again to be berating you. I know that whatever you did to end up here wasn’t something you did on purpose. You’re too reckless for your own good, but you aren’t foolish.”

Feldspar pulled them into a hug, unable to stop themself from smiling. “All these years and you’re still such a worrywart,” they said fondly. “Can’t imagine how you’d have reacted if I’d made it back home. You’d try to have me grounded, wouldn’t you? ‘Feldspar’s not fit to fly, they went to Dark Bramble willingly! Nobody in their right mind would do that!’”

“Nobody in their right mind would come here,” Zircon replied, returning the hug and squeezing even tighter. “But I’m glad I had that particular lapse in judgment. Sorry for dumping on you like that. I’m really happy you’re okay.”

“Stars above, I missed you,” Feldspar responded. “Glad you didn’t worry yourself to death over me before I could see you again.”

“I don’t like seeing you in danger,” Zircon protested. “I know it bothers you because you have this reputation as a thrill-seeking daredevil whose last words are going to be ‘watch this’, but I only get that way because I…”

“Because you what?” Feldspar teased, pulling away from the hug but holding onto Zircon’s arms, cocking their head to the side. “Because you love me?” There was a bit of hope behind the joke. Not much hope; their half-joking flirtations had never landed back then, at least not as anything more than jokes. Still, they hoped this one would make Zircon smile, if nothing else.

It didn’t work. Zircon clenched their fists so hard their hands shook, and if they hadn’t been crying before the sound of their voice told Feldspar they definitely were now. “Because I don’t want to lose you that way. Because I don’t want you to die pointlessly just for a stupid adrenaline rush. And you know what? Yeah. Because I love you. I’ve learned that it definitely hurt so much more to know you were dead and I could never tell you how I felt, so I’m going to tell you while I still have the chance. I love you. I’m in love with you. You don’t have to love me back, but now you know. Are you happy now?”

Oh. That…was not the response Feldspar had been expecting, and they didn’t know how to react. They let go of Zircon’s arms and stepped back. “…wow. I feel like a real jerk now. You never seemed like you were actually into me back home, I…thought that would make you laugh like all my other lines did. I’m real sorry. Let’s…let’s get closer to the fire, there’s more air over there. Don’t wanna get tears all over your visor.” They reached out their hand again, and this time Zircon took it.

Neither of them spoke until they were both settled next to each other by the fire, helmets off and resting on the log behind them. Despite the tension in the air mingling with the campfire smoke, Feldspar couldn’t deny that Zircon still looked just as good as they had years ago. They’d have commented on it, but…that probably wouldn’t go well right now. Zircon finally broke the silence, calmer this time. “That was another thing I was meaning to ask you. Your ‘lines’...did you really mean those?”

It would have been easy to just say “yes” or “of course I did” or “you’re the only one I ever joked with that way, so I guess either way I was trying to tell you I liked you” or anything along those lines. That was the safe option. But…well, Feldspar was an incorrigible risk-taker with a habit of acting first and then thinking about it later. So instead, they leaned over and kissed Zircon square on the lips. When they pulled away, they did so with a cockeyed grin and a “That answer your question?”

Zircon froze again, blinking as though they were registering what had just happened. Then, once they’d processed everything, they were gripping Feldspar’s scarf like a lifeline, kissing them back so hard the two of them almost fell completely over from how far they were leaning. It was long and intense, so consuming that it was hard to hear anything else–not the fire, not the anglerfish, not anything.

Especially not jetpack thrusters or footsteps. When Zircon finally released Feldspar (who would swear they hadn’t been that dizzy since their first zero-g training), the two of them were finally able to notice the flickering shadow cast over them both. Tourmaline was back, and seemed amused by what they’d just seen. “You owe me an apology for lying to me when I was little, Zirc. You are too sweet on Feldspar.”

Feldspar couldn’t help but laugh at that. “They’ve got you there,” they told Zircon, gazing at them with a woozy smile.

For the first time since they’d shown up, Zircon finally smiled, a huffed laugh escaping their lips. “Don’t push your luck.”