#i nearly cried cause of this damn drawing

[koszmarnybudyn]

Here is the slut.

[grapejuice32]

New Years Eve

masterlist here Rafe Cameron x reader

Notes: Happy New Year my loves!

Dazed, you threw your head back, Rafe's fast pace quickly pushing you over the edge a second third time, his grip on your hips so tight that it would definitely leave bruises, not that you cared, and to was probably his goal.

"oh my god," you panted, eyes squeezing shut as your back arched off of the mattress. One of Rafe's hand quickly left your hip, he gripped your face between his fingers, squishing your cheeks together.

"Eyes on me, want y'to see who's makin' y'feel so good," he borderline growled, you whined, your eyes opening, not wanting to go against his wishes and have him stop. His hand slid down from your face to the base of your neck, before you knew it, he held it in a tight grip, restricting your air flow just right. It was obvious from the loud moan you let out, one of your hands abandoning its post on his back to grip his wrist, pushing his hand down on your neck harder, "yeah, y'like that?"

You could only respond with the breathy moans that were leaving your mouth, not able to muster the words. Rafe chuckled condescendingly, "fuck look at you, takin' everythin' I give," he leant down briefly to press a chaste kiss to your lips, "didn't go out t'get drunk with y'friends so y'could stay here and get all cockdrunk, huh, like the dirty slut y'are, ain't that right baby?"

No response left you, just desperate whines, the hand you still had on his back clawing into his sun kissed skin, "Hey," he spoke, his voice forceful, his hand on your hip briefly leaving to lightly slap your cheek, "pay attention, aight? Otherwise 'm got' stop."

Your breath hitched in panic at the sheer thought of him stopping, "nonono," you shook your head so fast it was surprising that you didn't have whiplash.

"Look at you, y'so desperate 's almost pitiful," he falsely pouted, the cruel gleam in his eyes contradicting the look on his face.

Tears lined your eyes, you weren't sure why, but they did nonetheless, "Please, don't stop, 's so good."

"Then say it," he encouraged, his thrusts coming to a slow, instantly drawing a displeased sigh from you.

You blinked, feeling slightly clouded in your head, "what?"

He tutted in disappointment, "Say that you stayed home so I could fuck you like the dirty slut you are." He gave you one last thrust before stilling all together.

"Y-yes, 'm sorry, please don't stop," you begged desperately, "I stayed home, so you could, so you could fuck me. Please Rafey."

"Please Rafey," he mocked, picking up the pace again, his thrusts harsher than before, "y'so pathetic, beggin' me like y've not been fucked in weeks," his hand left your hip to rub at your clit in a fast circular motion, "when y'know damn well I had y'cummin' round my fingers this morning' in the shower, huh? Jus' can't get enough?"

You nodded in agreement, not to anything in particular, but just because you didn't know how else to react. "Fuck," he groaned, laying his forehead against yours, " 's not your fault 's it? Y'jus' like feelin' good, don't you, baby?"

You only responded with a series of quiet "Mhm's", your legs tightening around your waist as you came around him, your mouth with no sound escaping in sheer ecstasy.

"There y'go, doin' so good f'me, sweet girl," he praised, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, his thrusts didn't cease though as he chased his high.

" 'S too much," you cried, humming in happily as his hand left your neck to intertwine with your own that had previously been gripping his wrist.

He lay his face in your neck and whispered, " 'M nearly there," he paused in between his words to press and open mouthed kiss to your neck, " 'makin' me feel so good, baby." It didn't take long before his hips stuttered as he came inside of you, his own small moans filling the room before he stopped his movements, laying on you in silence for a minute before he slowly pulled out, causing you to wince.

He lay on his side, catching his breath before he stood, his hand still intertwined with your own. He hoisted you up in his arms, knowing you'd be sore and took you to the bathroom, helping you clean up. He took you back to your shared room and placed you in the bed, pressing a kiss to your hairline and murmuring that he'd be back. When he returned, he had two cold glasses of water in his hands, he placed them both on his bedside table and climbed into bed besides you. He held a glass towards you and got you to drink some, pulling you into his chest after you had done so.

His hand ran through your hair soothingly, the other placed on your bare thigh that was thrown across his hips, "Y'feelin' okay, sweet girl?" Again you only responded with a sleepy 'mhm', your face nestled against his chest, "y'very quiet, feelin' all fuzzy in y'head?" You only nodded, glad he could read you so you didn't have to explain, "did so well f'me." He whispered, almost assuredly, something he knew you needed want to hear.

He glanced over your shoulder to the digital clock on your besides table, smiling as he read the time, 00:00, "Happy New Year, baby," he leant down, pressing kiss to your lips who you reciprocated instantly, an identical smile on your lips, "I love you, can't wait to spend another year together."

Please lmk what you guys think, I'd love to hear from you! I'll also be happy to try and write any requests you may have <3

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 12:

Previous // Next

Warnings: None

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

This is already so much harder than Cid made it seem, you thought with a grunt as hills of gravelly rock slipped and slid beneath your feet.

The moon's perpetual dusky atmosphere made it nearly impossible to navigate the rough terrain without a headlamp.

And it's just my luck that this one is almost dead. The lamp flickered briefly but remained lit for the time being. At the rate you'd been replacing power packs on this thing, you weren't sure there'd be enough to last the journey back to the ship. The moon’s naturally emitted electromagnetic frequencies were not something Cid had mentioned.

No surprise there. Wonder what else she failed to mention.

You were glad Hunter wasn't here. This would be the death of him. You couldn't imagine the havoc it would wreak upon his enhanced senses - the pain it would cause him. Yet the sour taste of loneliness still faintly lingered, littering the background of all your thoughts.

A faint rumbling sound echoed across the rocky plain and you paused, listening. The strange, muted grumble became louder like the moon itself was warning you to leave and never come back.

Rocks began to quake as the ground rolled in a violent tremor.

“Well, that’s just wonderful…” you growled sarcastically. “Thanks for that!” you yelled out to no one, voice echoing strangely through the barren atmosphere.

The tremors subsided after a few minutes, though you waited a few more before starting out again.

You paused after a while, double checking the coordinates on your datapad. The screen flickered. It was a small inconvenience, yet one that landed precariously atop of so many others, drawing all the ire of pent up rage and hurt into one soul crushing cry of frustration that you’d been keeping down for so long.

“I hate this kriffing moon!”

You stopped, taking a few deep breaths.

Calm. Calm. You have a job to do.

The datapad screen blinked back on as you smacked the side of it with your hand.

Should be right around…. There.

The dimming light of the headlamp softly illuminated the entrance to a mine just ahead.

Here goes nothing.

You sighed, placing your bag on the ground before pulling out the necessary gear.

Grabbing the cable, you began to lower yourself down the dark, damp mineshaft. Without warning, another tremor rocked the ground again.

Stronger than the last, you noted, hoping that didn’t mean anything.

Another small quake sent a shower of dust and pebbles cascading down onto your face and hair. One arm let go of the cable, instinctively curling upwards to protect your face while the other held on with aching fingers, fighting how it swung wildly and out of control.

As if the vengeful moon had heard your angry cries, another rumble of the ground tore the cable from it’s resting place, pulling a terrified shriek from gasping lungs as you found yourself in a freefall, desperately clawing at the wall for any kind of stop.

Pain shot up through your shoulder as gloved fingers caught the edge of a protruding rock, dragging yourself to a more steady position, jamming your feet into crevasses in the wall.

Karking hells! You closed your eyes and let your head drop forwards to rest on the cool rock face where you clung, taking a moment to calm your screaming nerves.

You exhaled in disbelief, unsure of whether you should cry or laugh.

“Oh gods, this is not my day. This is really not my day.”

Whining to yourself, you looked down and realized you were nearly at the bottom.

Taking another breath, you pulled the cable from your belt and hooked it securely once again to the rock face, quickly gliding down the remainder of the mineshaft.

Damn. Absentmindedly stretching your sore shoulder, you crouched to place the pack onto the ground, hissing quietly as the action sent a shooting pain down your arm. You switched the headlamp off and waited for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. A dim light glimmered from a cavity in the wall on the other side of a small pool of bubbling water. They matched the description Cid provided on the jewels she’d tasked you with retrieving.

“Oh how convenient,” you scoffed, carefully scanning the area lest you be swallowed alive by some carnivorous rock or whatever else thrived in this hellhole of a moon. You chuckled dryly. That would be just my luck.

With trepidation, you stepped carefully over the small pool of water. Grabbing the small extraction tool you’d brought along, you sank down to your knees and began drilling at the glowing stones, counting each one as they popped free.

One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six…

You stood back up, carefully placing the stones inside one of the many pouches that lined your belt, and turned around to head back. A wave of sudden exhaustion pulled a sigh from your lips as it washed over you. This place was definitely not one you’d be coming back to in a hurry.

Pausing before the bubbling pool of water, you took one last look around, but your gaze was drawn right back to the pool in front of you.

Weird. A strange feeling of unease crept into your bones and you shivered. Could’ve sworn it wasn’t that big when I stepped over it before. You shrugged, certain that your mind was only playing tricks on you because when you looked once more, it was the same size as it had been before.

“This place gives me the creeps,” you muttered, looking around suspiciously. You glared at the bubbling pool and took a running leap over it just to be safe.

It was almost as if someone had pulled a rug out from beneath your feet. The edge of the pool caught on the tip of your boot and you came crashing down, a cry of alarm turning into a cry of pain as your shoulder roughly met the ground. You scrambled forward with a gasp, pulling your foot from the water.

“Did you just….” you spoke aloud, voice saturated with an incredulous annoyance, “Did you just trip me!?”

The ground rumbled lowly once again.

“Great! I’m arguing with a kriffing moon,” you muttered, shaking your head.

You sighed, four days of solitude and you were already talking to inanimate objects.

Your boot squelched as you dumped out the water that filled it. I hate wet socks. You wiggled your toes glumly.

Wrecker would find this hilarious, you chuckled to yourself. What would the rest of them think of this place?

You smiled, thinking of how Tech would be cataloging each tremor and tectonic abnormality, looking at everything through that endearing lens of curiosity. Echo would be working on a way to combat the harsh electromagnetic frequencies for himself and Hunter. His steadfast attitude wouldn’t let himself give up until he tried every option. Omega would wander, collecting oddly shaped rocks and staring into the strange bubbling pools. And Hunter…

You sighed, picking yourself back up, best not to think about Hunter. But you couldn’t help it. Loneliness settled into your gut, you missed them.

No. You scolded yourself. You’re a grown adult. You have made it in this galaxy on your own before and you will do so again.

But being on your own was a lot different than being alone.

You took a deep breath, willing that forever-heavy emotion back behind the locked doors of practical reality. It wasn’t worth dwelling on thoughts that only brought you down, and it took skill to lock them all away so efficiently - a skill you knew you’d better relearn fast.

Unwilling to stay and reflect any longer, you shot the cable up and climbed out of the mine.

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[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Great War | Regulus Black

▹ Pairing: Regulus Black x Reader

▹ Genre: Angst and Fluff

▹ Words: ~ 5K

▹ Summary: You'd swore not to cry anymore if you and Regulus managed to survive the great war.

▹ Notes: I'd like to personally thank the Anon that reminded me nearly a year ago about Sirius Black dying without knowing his brother wasn't like their parents. To alleviate the sadness of that fact, I wrote this fic :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Your memories were plagued by cold winter nights and eyes as bright and bitter as a snow storm. 

Regulus' hands in yours, interlocked with a grip so tight it kept you from floating away. Stolen stares and clandestine meetings in the middle of the night at the top of the Astronomy tower became sacred, only for him to never look your way in the light of day. 

You knew every constellation, both in the sky and in his eyes. When snow fell, Regulus would carefully brush away the melted snow droplets on your cheeks. The air was biting and the wind unrelenting, a concoction that made for the perfect excuse to nuzzle into Regulus' side. You'd pretend it was for warmth when really you craved his touch. His lips would tilt into a half-smirk as you spoke, seeing through your flimsy excuse. Yet his arm would wrap around you all the same, pulling you impossibly close. 

The moments had been brief, gone within the blink of an eye. Reality would creep in, dampening the dreamy optimism you clung to in moments of doubt. No one could know; Regulus Black was consorting with a muggleborn, how scandalous. His family would eat him alive, a notion that made him keep you in the shadows, a place you happily stayed. You'd draw stars in the air with your fingertips, placating your fears with delusions that it wouldn't be forever. Each whispered word was an oath that you would carry to your grave. 

You'd never doubted that Regulus Black loved you; you could hear it in the easy silence and see it in the soft expression reserved just for you. Understanding and calm, he clung to the tranquility you brought to his turbulent life. So certain that everything would turn out fine, you never dared to ask for more. 

Then, it all turned into something bitter.

He slipped from your grasp like water, his feather light touches and sardonic smile only felt and seen in your dreams. The haze brought by the security of Hogwarts was muddied, reality much too bright to look at head-on. War gripped the wizarding world; Voldemort and his Death Eaters were the cause of the strife. Thrown into the trenches, you struggled to stay above water. With each mission and spell cast, any trace of innocence and youth that remained was ripped from you. All the bloodshed, death, and terror stained you dark red. Even if you survived, you'd never be the same.

You hadn't seen Regulus since the war started; even in your dreams, his face was a vague blur of what he used to be. You couldn't recall when the severing had happened; the letters came less frequently until they stopped coming at all. He used to drop by your apartment unannounced, a shy grin and flowers in hand. Regulus must've lost his way because he never made his way back. The love shared between the two of you turned bitter, and in the haze of it all, the betrayal stung harsher than any spell could. 

You damned him each time the phantom scent of his cologne lingered in your apartment. And you cried each time flashes of your best moments came back in the depth of night. Sucker punching walls and screaming into the sky never alleviated the pain; you cursed him while sleep talking. It was cognitive dissonance; you claimed to hate him all while wishing he would just come back and explain why.

"You good for this?" Sirius Black's voice echoed in the depths of your mind, breaking you from the reverie. Twin gray eyes, reflecting similar to his brother's. It was nearly enough to send you into a spiral. A simple nod was the only reply you gave him, but it was all he needed. 

Another mission, another attempt at stopping what was starting to feel inevitable. You didn't want to be so hopeless and desolate, but it couldn't be helped. The walls were closing in; you were losing the war.

"We all remember the plan, right?" A member of the order said. You couldn't remember their name, but you didn't care to. They may be dead in a week. There's no sense in getting to know them now. 

"Was there even much of a plan? We go in and minimize as much damage as we can, that's it," James Potter's voice stood out amongst the chatter. The rest of the members assigned to the mission solemnly nod, calling out various agreements. 

Numbness flooded your body, completely apathetic to the chaos you were charging headfirst into. This part used to be daunting, stabbing tiny needles in your body, but you'd desensitized yourself to it. Dissociated so far away that you weren't even sure anything was real. Healthy? No, but it was necessary; you couldn't afford to freeze up.

The people around you began to apparate and you followed suit. It felt as if you were being pulled apart and put back together. A thought flickered in your mind; perhaps if you were spliced, you wouldn't have to deal with the emotional turmoil that's been weighing you down. But all too soon, the feeling stopped; a wave of nausea hit and then vanished. 

You were there. 

It all became a blur; the exact moment the fight broke out was hard to pinpoint. All you could remember were the screams and the people pushing and pulling you like the tide. In the confusion of it all, masked figures around every corner, it was easy to forget you were fighting real people. They were skeletal visages you created, not living, breathing people. Bodies began to drop on both sides, curses and spells falling from the lips of everyone around. 

“Petrificus Totalus.” You flicked your wand, petrifying the Death Eater closest to you. With a thump, their body fell to the ground, and you were on to the next, adrenaline keeping your body upright. You turn the incantation to another spell on the tip of your lips. But your words fell short, your body locking up as you stared at the person in front of you. It was as if you'd been cursed, except you hadn't.

They wore a mask like all the other Death Eaters, but the icy gray eyes peering at you were hard to forget. 

Regulus. 

You froze, unable to move even as your mind screamed at you to act. The noise of the room was muffled, a sharp ringing nearly making your ears bleed. Regulus was a--

You'd suspected as much, what with his family's allegiance to the Dark Lord and all he stood for. Yet until now, there has been no confirmation that your worst nightmares have come to fruition. But as Regulus stood there in the garb of your enemy, it would seem war found you on different ends of the same battlefield. 

A bitter, smokey taste filled your mouth as everything the two of you shared turned to ash. He was here; there was no more denying what he'd done. Regulus was a Death Eater. Your stomach turned to knots as it threatened to empty its contents right then and there. Fighting for the blood purists, you guess he never really loved you then.

Regulus tore off his mask, allowing it to drop to the ground with a thud that wasn't heard over the noise. His dark hair was messy and tangled, the ends of it curling from the sweat on the nape of his neck. Heavy dark circles lined his eyes, worse than they'd ever been, skin pallid and sickly. Eyes that previously shone like a bright star were dim and threatening to burn out. Dry skin clung to his lips, and you could see the damage his teeth had caused to his bottom lip. 

He looked terrible. 

Regulus had talked in length about the stifling expectations his family had placed upon him. He both hated and feared his family, witnessing the abuse Sirius suffered before he ran away. It was never something spoken, but you knew the resentment he harbored for Sirius, both for leaving Regulus behind and having the courage to go against the grain. You did your best, encouraging him to leave as well, to make the hard choice of not getting swept into the current. Even when Regulus disappeared from your life, you hoped he would take the hard road. Yet he took the easy way out.

Pity turned your numb body cold, and the fury it caused turned you hot. How dare he? After everything he'd done, to have such a tight grip on you still. To make you feel sorry for him as if he'd been forced down this path. He'd made his decision; he decided to follow the road that led to this exact moment. Why should you weep for him? 

Even then, with all your turmoil and rage, you still couldn't lift your wand at him. Time seemed slow, the chaos melting away the longer you looked into his eyes. Five seconds extended to five years.

But Regulus didn't share your hesitation or paralysis. He lifted his wand, a spell falling from his lips as his wrist flicked. You didn't have time to react, magical energy pooling at the tip of his wand before it shot towards you. Your eyes widened, and your heart stopped, unable to do anything other than watch your own death. 

But the impact never came. Instead, the green light flew past your shoulder, grazing your hair. Square in the chest, it hit a Death Eater that had crept up behind you. A gasp left your mouth, the only sound you'd made since the battle started. 

Their body hit the ground, unmoving. Only then did you turn to face Regulus. His expression remained unchanged, yet yours portrayed all the confusion and surprise in your head. At the speed of light, your heartbeat rattling against your chest, the barest hints of hope tinged your pessimistic thoughts. Was there a chance? His gaze softened, and his wand hand hanging slack at his side. You didn't want to fight anymore. All your steeled nerves and empty declarations of no longer caring about him were voided in an instant. You took a step towards him, hand reaching for him, but he took a stiff step back. 

"Regulus--"

He was gone, apparating from the battle. 

Sharply, you inhaled, holding it for a few heartbeats, then let it out. Regulus was no longer in sight. You returned to the battle. You rushed forward, trampling over the Death Eater mask he'd left behind. The porcelain it'd been made from cracked under the weight of you as the dirt on your shoes muddied its intricate designs.

You hardly thought twice about it, flinging another spell at a Death Eater. 

Another mission completed; more casualties piling up. 

---

"I saw you, you know," Sirius Black said. You'd all returned from the mission about two hours ago and just finished debriefing what happened. You stayed silent, your mind too preoccupied to come up with a singular thought.

"Saw me what? Fighting Death Eaters? Yeah, I saw you too." You were deflecting; he knew that, and you knew that he knew. The glint in his eye was not at all as careless as it had once been. Yet you feigned ignorance all the same.

"Yeah. I also saw you and Regulus." 

Your movements stilled as your body turned rigid. You didn't meet his eyes, didn't even blink. What could you say? Nothing would stop him from going to Moody or Dumbledore; at best, you'd be kicked from the Order; at worst, thrown in Azkaban and branded a traitor. 

"I don't know what you mean." It was a weak defense, but it was all you had. 

"Oh, shove off. I'm not stupid. I saw the way you reacted when you saw him, but I also saw him kill that Death Eater." 

You turned to meet his eyes. There was a question hidden in his statement. His gray eyes, so similar to Regulus's, were pleading, a part of him begging that maybe his brother wasn't completely lost. That he wasn't exactly what their parents were. 

"I don't know why he did that." Confirmation that Regulus was a Death Eater should've cemented so many things. The world should be black and white; he was a Death Eater; therefore, he didn't love you anymore, if he ever even did. How could he claim to love a muggleborn while doing his best to ensure you were eradicated? But now you weren't so sure. He was a Death Eater, yes, but he'd also saved your life. 

The migraine you'd had since you met him on the battlefield threatened to explode. 

"Do you--" he hesitated, his words quiet and soft. So unlike the barking confidence he usually possessed. The armor he'd shielded himself with was cracking. "Do you think there's a chance for him?" 

You pursed your lips. 

"I don't know." 

Without another word, you stood from the chair and muttered a quick "goodbye" before returning home. Your apartment had been just as you'd left it as you stood in front of the door, illuminated by the dim light on the steps. Except when you went to unlock the door, you found it already slightly ajar. 

The hair on your body stood up, cold fear briefly washing over you. The Death Eaters were getting bolder with their attacks. Would you be the next victim? Would it be your name and picture covering the cover page of every newspaper? For a moment, you considered leaving or at least getting help, yet you did neither. Instead, you pushed open your door, the wand held tightly in your hand. 

The room was dark, the sun having long since set. The pale blue light of your wand cast shadows in every corner of the room. It only made your nerves worse, jumping at every corner and shadow. The entryway was empty, as was the living room, but as you turned into the dining area and kitchen, you noticed a figure sitting at your table. They were still as a statue as they sat at your table, jacket neatly folded and placed in front of them.

Regulus. 

His eyes were on you, arms slack at his sides, and he was wearing a grim expression. The dark circles you'd seen earlier that day seemed worse, so blackened they looked like bruises. You took a step back, the grip on your wand tightening as you held it up in a threatening manner.

"So this is it. You came here to kill me?" Your voice was like stone, cold and hard. There was a lump in your throat flecks of fear in your shining eyes, but you hardened your face. You wouldn't show any sign of weakness. If he would let the love you shared sink beneath the waves, then you'd drown the entire fucking world the two of you created. 

He took a step forward, dark, stormy eyes pleading. “No, Y/N, that’s not--”

Regulus fell silent as you moved your wand from his chest towards his face, eyes narrowed. There was a tremble to your body; lips pressed so tight as to stifle the sobs that came up your throat. 

"Stay back."

Regulus complied, raising his hands as a show of good faith. He wore that same disarming puppy dog face, like an abandoned dog alone in a shelter. Previously, you would've melted, running back to his embrace. But so many things were different, and it showed in the vacancy that made your eyes hollow.

"I would never hurt you." He asserted, hoping the sincerity of his words could penetrate the steel-enforced walls you'd encased yourself with. His placations had the opposite effect, the pain twisting into cold rage. 

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it? You're a Death Eater, Regulus. That means you and all your other purist friends want people like me dead." The death grip you held your wand with seemed to tighten. All circulation in your hand has been cut off, but it was all you could do to stop the tears from falling from your eyes. 

"That is not true. I don't want you dead." 

A choked laughter fell from your lips. 

"Then I think you joined up with the wrong organization." Your words were sarcastic but not at all joking or light. 

"It wasn't my choice." There was no change in his expression, eyes holding your gaze captive.

"No, you had a choice," you snapped back, silencing whatever pathetic excuse he used to convince himself he was justified in his actions. "And you made the wrong one."

Regulus fell silent, chewing on his bottom lip and shifting nervously. Your breath came out in angry puffs, reminiscent of a dragon. The tears made everything unclear and watery, but you refused to move a single muscle, even if it was just to wipe away the tears. 

"I did what I had to do."

You felt your hand loosen, grip slackening enough that your wand almost fell from your fingertips. Thickly, you swallowed, cheeks damp from the tears that steadily fell from your eyes. This was it; your chance to finally tell Regulus everything you'd been screaming into your walls since he walked out of your life.

"You didn't have to do anything." Your voice was raw as you said the words you'd rehearsed time and time again. "Least of all, join the wrong side of the war. We had graduated; you could run away from all of that, and there was nothing your parents could've done." 

"It's not that simple--"

"But it is, or at least it was," you exclaimed, cutting him off, voice cracking with the desperation you've locked away all this time. "You could've run and never looked back after our last day--"

"It was too late then."

You narrowed your eyes, a silent cue for him to explain when it had been too late.

"The summer between 5th and 6th year. After everything that happened with Sirius, they wanted to ensure I would be the perfect son they wanted."

"You never said anything."

"I didn't want you to look at me differently. My fate had already been sealed, and it was selfish of me to keep it from you, but I--"

He fell silent, eyes meeting the floor as his tongue became tied.

"You what?"

In a crazy, fucked up way, you were hoping he'd say everything you dreamed of. That he would reassure you he loved you and he never meant to hurt you. You wanted him to scorn his family and all their expectations of him. For once, you wanted him to make the right choice and not take the easy way out. You'd never fight with him anymore if he'd just asked to stay. 

People always said love wasn't always enough, but you'd be willing to let Regulus ruin you time and time again. 

"It doesn't matter now." 

Disappointment was a feeling you were accustomed to by now, but that didn't make the bitter rejection sting any less. The tears on your cheeks were like acid, and you roughly wiped them away.

"I suppose it doesn't; you made your choice, and so have I."

Maybe now it would sink in. Your whirlwind romance with Regulus ended the moment you left Hogwarts for good. It wouldn't be some grand love like the books you'd read. He wouldn't push through any obstacle that stood between you and him. 

Regulus wasn't a passionate man; he was pragmatic and calculated. Any risk he'd taken was never a risk after analyzing every angle and way it may go wrong. It was how he'd ended up trapped in the cycle of his family, and Sirius was able to break free. They were two sides of the same coin, yet they couldn't have turned out any more differently. 

It was a hard pill to swallow; the man you loved was nothing like you imagined him to be. 

"Why are you even here?" Your tone was sharp and pointed.

One last opportunity for him to mend what he had ripped to shreds. Why did you keep giving him so many chances?

"I'm not sure."

You slowly nodded, hands lowering to rest at your side. He'd never say the words you needed to hear; Regulus Black could never be the man you wanted him to be. 

"I've missed you."

Maybe without realizing it, Regulus continued to twist the dagger he embedded in you. 

You should tell him to leave, but the words won't form. 

"I missed you too."

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, fighting a battle within his own mind. You stayed silent, watching with wide eyes as he stepped towards you. 

Your eyes stayed on him, afraid that if you even breathed, he'd change his mind. His hands were cold as he gently grabbed ahold of your face. The grip he held you with was careful and delicate, afraid to break you. 

As if no time had passed, you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut and relishing in his presence. He still smelled of bergamot and smoke. 

You opened your eyes, meeting his unwavering gaze. A thousand words were said in the silence, both of you trying to convey what you were too cowardly to verbalize. 

A sharp breath, the flutter of your lashes as your eyes closed. The Regulus' lips were on yours. His kiss was nearly too light to feel, and it made all reason disappear. 

Your lips parted as you combed your hands through his hair, working through the tangles at the nape of his neck. His grip tightened as he kissed you like a man starved. 

Regulus pulled back first, his expression blank and unsure. Did he regret what he'd started? Hurt began to blossom, weighing down the high he gave you. It took so little effort to fade back into him. The reminder was like a sharp jab to the gut. 

His eyes wouldn't meet yours, yet his feet stayed planted in the ground. So close together, you could feel the heave of each intake of breathe and hurt radiating from his body.

This was dangerous territory to be in. Regulus was a Death Eater; you couldn't do this all over again.

Whatever love there was between the two of you had to die. You had to light the match and turn it to ash, even if that meant you went out in flames too.

"I think it's best if you go."

Regulus slowly nodded his head, his eyes moving from the floor to meet yours. Years of abuse and "discipline" led to him mastering the art of dissociation, to not let an ounce of emotion show on his face.

Despite the self soothing thoughts that reassured you it was the right choice, your bruised ego was desperate for a sign that your love affair had maimed him even an ounce as much as it did you.

Maybe in an alternate universe, the two of you were happy, but war was war, and its very nature was to take, take, take until there was nothing left in the aftermath.

Regulus didn't argue or fight, he simply dipped his head in a single, firm nod, mouth set in a thin line, nothing more spoken than a quiet "I see." In the blink of an eye, he disappeared, leaving you alone in your dark, depressing apartment.

A shuddered breath left your body shaking. That night, you didn't make it to your bed; that felt entirely too big and too lonely. You collapsed on the couch, allowing the weight of the world to fall off as you slipped into unconsciousness. And in your dreams, you saw nothing but the endless nothing that threatened to swallow you whole.

---

“I now go to my death with the hopes you’ll forgive me for all the pain I’ve inflicted upon you. I never intended to hurt you, but now I realize it was all I’ve ever done. I don’t expect forgiveness, I understand I’m no longer worthy of it, if I ever was. I love you, don’t forget that.”

- Yours truly,

Regulus

Your eyes were trained on the letter held by shaky hands, stained with tears that fell from your cheeks. It had arrived two days ago, the letter accompanied with a small bag holding a locket. The writing on the letter was illegible, but you’d memorized every crease and fold on the paper. Why was it when you’d finally begin to forget about him, something would always bring him back. Part of it was your fault, you’d always welcomed him with open arms, but you’d hoped this time you’d end a cycle that never seemed to end.

Stood on the cliff sides, the winter air biting at your skin. What could he have done to be so certain of his death? Regulus was too insignificant for the Order to focus entirely on, so maybe he’d done something to spurn his Dark Lord. You hoped that was the case.

Inhaling the frosty air, you tucked the note into your pocket and turned to return to your house. Hands shoved in your pocket, the snow crunched under the weight of your feet. Lost in thought, you hardly noticed the sun had begun to set. Before long, the old brick building you’d made your home came into view. Crunching snow was replaced with footsteps on wood stairs and you pushed open your front door. You shook the snow off your jacket, setting it on the coat hanger by the door. The fireplace was already crackling, casting a warm glow in the room. 

You moved towards the kitchen to put a kettle on before moving back towards your room to get ready for bed. The heavy winter clothes were replaced by fleece pajamas that were soft like a rabbit. You sat at your vanity table and began combing through your hair. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the small box on your side table. Within the iron enforced lead box was the locket Regulus had mailed with his letter. It seemed insignificant at first glance, but the longer you looked at it, the darker its aura felt. Regulus had written explicit instructions for you to hide the locket, both from yourself and the world. There hadn’t been time to think of a secure location, so before then, it would remain in the box, its magic suppressed for a time. 

You’d question Regulus on it at some point, but for now you would go against every instinct telling you to ignore his letter and send back the locket. For as many times Regulus disappointed yourself, you’d let yourself down tenfold for continuing to give him the chance to do so. 

The whistle of the kettle had you stand from your vanity and pad back into the kitchen. But as you moved into the kitchen, the wall opened so that you could see into the living room, you were no longer alone. Standing in the middle of the room was Regulus. He looked worse off than his last visit, his clothes wrinkled and hair greasy. 

He didn’t speak and neither did you;’ your eyes focused on one another. The air was awkward, all the questions you’d had for him melting away from the softness in the gray eyes. You were the first to break the impromptu staring contest, grabbing two mugs instead of one. Wordlessly you began to prepare cups of tea, making it in just the way you knew Regulus liked it. 

The wood floors creaked as Regulus moved to the couch in front of the fireplace, his jacket hanging beside yours. After a moment, you joined him, passing the warm mug to his open hand. Not a single word shared between the two of you. The only sound in the house was the crackle of the fire and the slurping of the two of you drinking from your mugs. 

“Is it over now?” You finally spoke, unable to look towards Regulus. 

A moment passed; you blew on your tea, steam flooding your face as you lowered your head. 

“Yes.” 

You leaned forward to set your mug on the table, the glass clinking as you did. You turned, finally looking at Regulus since taking a seat. His eyes were focused on you; broken and blue with the face of a man haunted by war. Yet beyond that was warm relief. War was finally over. 

The Dark Lord and his followers were still afoot, and they’d need to be dealt with. But the Great War that plagued you and Regulus was finally over. The worst had ended.

Tomorrow you'd have questions about the locket and it's evil aura, you'd want to know what exactly he did that made him believe his death was certain. There was also the matter of how they'd proceed in the war. Regulus could be a turn coat, to give insight on the Death Eaters. So many things to consider, it made you feel dizzy. But those were semantics better dealt with at a later time.

For now, you just wanted to be a girl, sitting with a boy who you've loved since you were fourteen.

Droplets of tears stained your couch dark, your cheeks dampened. It was like a weight had been lifted and for a moment you thought you might disappear.

One of your hands dropped from the mug, laying on the couch near Regulus' limp hand. The grim line his lips had been pressed into warped into a soft smile. He placed his hand over yours, intertwining his fingers with you.

Not much was spoken the rest of the night. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, occasionally making chatter here and there. Your drinks were drained and when your eyes were too heavy to keep open, you’d led Regulus back into your room and onto your bed. His arms tangled around your body and your head on his chest you fell into a peaceful slumber you’d been robbed of since leaving Hogwarts behind.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

In spirit of ur last Jason fic can u do a Drabble or small fic w ghost where he has a night terror and when reader tries to help him he really hurts her? Even though she forgives him he doesn’t trust himself. (Maybe she is also a military personnel)

This is not proofread

- -

It’s unclear who’s hand Simon believed he was clutching back with all of his strength. A forearm withholding glimmering, serrated steel from his jugular by an enemy.

The hand of his bastard spawn labeled as his father preparing to strike him down with a fist.

Hands attached to painted faces grasping rusted butcher hooks behind their backs.

A whisper invaded his conscience. A trembling plea from quivering lips, begging him to wake up from his cursed agony. Your voice was soothing, like warm milk and honey, encouraging him to open his eyes.

His heart never hurt so horribly when his mind slipped back into reality, meeting your petrified gaze full of distressed tears.

“Simon.” You speak up through a forcibly calm demeanor, like you remembered to practice.

“Simon. It’s okay, you’re okay … you’re fine. You’re safe.”

He almost believed you, until he fully collected his bearings.

What he saw, what he had done, made all your calm words reach chiming ears.

Its unclear if he had you pinned down to the mattress like he’d done with his shadowy victim. No, regardless, why are you choosing to forgive him so easily?

What he remembered that night was scrambling out of bed, tossing the sheets off his sweaty back. He didn’t look back, refusing to acknowledge your worried cries when you follow him, only halting once the front door slams shut behind him.

He didn’t come home the first night. All phone calls going straight to voicemail for a solid nine hours, just until you remembered he didn’t leave with it.

Simon told you to slap him if he ever caused harm on you. Hit him back, punch him, stab him deep in his scarred ribs, but you never could. Violence struck with violence never stuck well with you, regardless of the battles you fought for your country.

Simon said nothing to you when you greeted him from the kitchen when he came home the next evening. You behaved as if it didn’t happen at first, offering him a sweet, hopeful smile he had no right to visually bare.

“It wasn’t your fault, Simon,” you attempt to convince him, not seeing the wrong he believed he had some to you the night before. No, the wrong he knew he had committed.

“Better off putting a bullet in my damn head.” He murmurs, exhausted eyes refusing to meet yours.

It was the first words he had said since he came back home. Those very words striking a bullet in your heart instead.

“No. No no,” you approach fast, grasping his face in your hands. “No! Don’t you ever say that. Don’t even think about it, Simon!”

Without warning, he clutched your hand, wedding bands clinking against each other as he yanks up your long sleeve, revealing the damage he’d done.

“I hurt you!” He shouts, forcing your other hand off his face. “Get that through your head! How can you stand here and forgive me for this?!”

Bruises. Broad, indigo bruised the size of his fingerprints. Grape colored crescents from his naturally crooked nails painfully digging into your skin, nearly drawing blood.

“You did hurt me,” you say, meeting his furiously narrowed expression with glassy eyes. “You’re hurting me right now the more you keep blaming yourself.”

Simon scoffs after releasing your hand, wanting nothing more than to rid himself of your presence out of self disgust. However, your hand grasps hold of his arm, encouraging him to halt in his step.

“Did you intend it? No,” you shook your head. “You didn’t. That’s not your fault, this is something you can’t control. You can’t blame yourself for that!”

There you go again, continuing to insist he wasn’t to blame for your injuries, conveniently hidden under your long sleeve to appear presentable. As if you could pretend it didn’t happen.

Simon wished he could pretend too, but he’s a strict believer to reality.

What else could you tell Simon to get it through his mind? It was difficult. Even after this discussion, he slept on the couch for nearly two weeks. His natural silence was painful, his heartache for harming you without intent was difficult for him to process.

You couldn’t take it, sleeping alone without your husband. He hadn’t had this kind of episode in weeks, nearly two months in total. Yes, he never hurt you before, but the harm he inflicted upon himself left you feeling powerless to help him.

“Simon?”

Your sweet voice opens his eyes to darkness, his rattled mind preventing him from receiving an ounce of sleep.

There you stood in front of the couch, a thin blanket draped over your shoulders, a heavily distressed expression invading your sniffling face.

You missed him. Even since before you were married, you used to enjoy sleeping alone. These weeks of distance had you realizing what hell you were immersed in, sleeping in an empty bed without your death masked killer protecting you from the cold.

Sleeping on the couch wasn’t new, crammed together like little fishes in a tin was how the both of you slept when you first moved into your home late at night. The both of you too tired to construct the bed frame or unwrap the mattress from copious amounts of heavy plastic.

Simon missed you too, regardless of his guilt. He missed your koala like tendency to cling to his body as if you lived in the Antarctic all your life, submerged in your dreams with the sound of his heartbeat to keep you company.

Thousands of screaming apologies express in the silent essence of his tears as he holds you, pondering over what he could do to make sure this never happens again.

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Utter silence

~ Joel Miller, Ellie Williams/Male!Reader

~ Familial (found family)

~ 1.8k words

Request :3

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You had lost count on how long it’s been since Joel and Ellie had found you on your own. You thought you were a dead man. Having almost died against a stray hoard of those infected freaks. You had managed to escape from your quarantine zone and ran off with minor injuries. Now on the run from FEDRA, you got desperate and sloppy. Only leading to you getting cornered in an old church.

Even before escaping, you never were a people person. They weren’t fond of you and you weren’t of them. Especially in such an overcrowded environment like the quarantine zones, you were often quiet around them. Biting your tongue in face of conflict.

You had Joel and Ellie to thank for your life. After getting trapped in that abandoned chapel, they heard the ruckus from the hoard inside, and found you. Rightfully, they were wary that you had gotten bit or scratched by any of them. Though, by a miracle, you hadn’t.

At first, they were put off by your strange habits. You had a tendency to over-apologize when it wasn’t needed or asking for permission to do mundane tasks; you were quiet and reserved as if you were a drone of sorts.

Currently, you were trekking through the humid Nebraska with Joel and Ellie to find this Tommy person. You hadn’t been paying much attention to what they were talking about. Tugging your ragged coat closed to shield yourself from the dry winds pelting you. You could hear Ellie reading those shitty jokes from her book, only causing Joel to groan and criticize the quality.

You had considered them to be the closest thing to a family by now. They certainly acted like it. Joel cared for you and Ellie as if you were his son and daughter respectively. Having long lost his Sarah– a sore spot he didn’t care to talk about. He fed Ellie first, due to her being two years younger than you, then he fed you..always himself last.

Ellie treated you like the older brother she never wanted, but will always care for. She played stupid made up games with you, not without relentless teasing, of course. While you were quiet, you weren’t heartless. Finding her creative insults to be amusing.

“Okay, okay.. How about…” She draws out as she scans over the page, giggling to herself, she looks over her shoulder towards you, grabbing your attention to look over towards her. “Those fish were so shy. They were obviously coy.” she reads with a grin.

It takes you a minute to actually understand what that means, before you chuckle dryly with a roll of your eyes, prompting Ellie to playfully nudge you with her shoulder. “It’s like you!” she points out bluntly. “You get it? Like coy.. Koi.. coy like shy but like k-o-i, fish.” she over explains, causing you to chuckle with a nod.

Joel hums softly as he considers Ellie’s words, before giving the faintest chuckle through his nose. “She ain’t wrong, kiddo. You’re damn shy.” he muses as Ellie giggles to herself. Reading pun after pun as she tries to find another to read aloud to the group.

“I know..” you mumble sheepishly as you shuffle behind them. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be close to them, far from that actually. Ever since they’d helped you, you were always worried about invading their space. That fear has yet to dissipate– even now.

Joel stretches his arms over his head with a wide yawn. Prompting Ellie to yawn after him, in the middle of a pun, followed quickly by you. It was starting to get a bit later than you had hoped. Your body ached from the constant walking for hours on end. You nearly cried as Joel suggested to take a break for the night.

You weren’t a stranger to camping out in the woods, but that didn’t mean you liked it. Far too many variables to make it comfortable– though Joel shared your sentiment. Surrounded entirely by trees, thankful to not be in an open clearing. More trees were less risk, in your head anyway. Joel didn’t bother kindling a fire for the same concerns; his were much less visible than yours.

While Joel and Ellie got themselves situated for the night, you just stood around awkwardly, unsure of where to start. Ellie finally remembers one of your strange quirks and looks back over towards you from her spot in the grass.

“You don’t have to be so creepy, y’know.” She remarks sarcastically, not trying to be mean-spirited. As Joel adjusts the items in Ellie’s pack to make it a tiny bit more comfortable to rest her head on, Ellie gestures to the grass next to her.

“Get all your stuff ready.” You nod slowly and finally feel comfortable enough to move. Sliding your backpack straps off your shoulders and down your arms, catching them with curled fingers. Shuffling across the grass near silently, you drop your bag onto the ground next to where Joel had placed Ellie’s.

Slowly crouching before finally sitting down in the grass. Quickly stealing a glance over your shoulder, to triple check for anyone, or anything nearby. Finding no one, you allow yourself to lay down next to Ellie on your side, her back facing towards you. 

Joel doesn’t bother setting anything up, claiming the first lookout shift as always. His hands curled around his rifle as it rests in his lap. His back resting against the tree as he silently surveys the surrounding land.

“Joel?” you squeak, adjusting your backpack to be able to see over the uncomfortable lumps of rations inside. Looking over Ellie and towards him in the darkness. “Hm?” He grunts in response, only occasionally looking at you and Ellie. Mostly focus on keeping his kids safe.

“Do you ever think about what things could’ve been like if all this never happened?” It was probably the most words you had ever spoken to either him or Ellie, and that caught him off guard. Of course he wondered about it. Spending almost half of his life in either scenario, one of them was obviously less favorable.

“Get some sleep, so– kid. You don’t need’ta be worrying about all that.” Joel deflects entirely, as expected. Tripping over his tongue so as to not refer to you as son; he’s not sure if he’s ready for that output of feelings yet..if ever. 

You sigh softly with a small nod. Despite expecting rejection, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t disappoint you, nor does anything to squash your curiosity. Turning over to face your back towards Joel and Ellie. Her snoring used to be off-putting, but you’ve long since learned to tune it out. 

You allow your heavy eyelids to win against their fight to stay open, closing your eyes slowly with another small sigh to relax your body. WIth each breath out, you relaxed your muscles entirely. The only trick that seemed to work nowadays. It wasn’t long until you let your exhaustion overtake you, slipping into sleep without another thought.

In the morning, you awoke to a bright beam of light cutting through the trees and hitting you in the face. You grumble as your face scrunches in discontent, only to feel a boot nudge your back. “Hey.” It’s Ellie. Slowly opening your drowsy eyes, you lazily turn over and look at her in confusion– having to squint in order to see her in the bright sunlight.

Sitting up in her sleeping spot in the grass. Her pack laying next to her as she hugs her legs comfortably, crossing her ankles over one another. Her arms wrapped around her shins, interlocking her fingers together to keep her body close together. 

“Nothing.” She explains calmly, already assuming what you were thinking. “Joel fell asleep again. It’s your turn to wake him up.” You groan in annoyance as you run a hand down your face, attempting to rid yourself of your exhaustion. “Don’t give me that shit, man. I woke him up last time.” She points out following your groan of displeasure.

You wave a hand dismissively as you force yourself to sit up. Your sore body audibly cracking and popping in several different places. You look over towards Joel to see if you’re able to reach him from where you’re sitting, but you don’t bother trying.

Joel mutters something incoherent in his sleep again, prompting Ellie to look at you as if saying “I told you so.” Laying on his side with his arm trapped underneath him. His back still somewhat pressed against the tree behind him. His rifle weakly held in his free hand.

Reluctantly rising to your feet, you step around Ellie and over towards Joel. You didn’t even need to touch him before he woke up with a short gasp. “You fell asleep again.” Ellie states as she looks over towards Joel who sits up and rubs his eyes with his hand. Shaking the other from its numb state to try and wake it up.

“Shut up..” Joel grumbles. Removing his hand from his face and looking up towards you standing over him, then over towards Ellie– just making sure the two of you made it through the night in one piece due to his grievous error of a simple human action.

“And you were mumbling in your sleep again.” Ellie adds matter-of-factly as Joel begrudgingly stands up with a small groan, finally standing face-to-face with you. You’re as quiet as always, your hands clasped comfortably behind your back.

Joel chooses not to respond to her. Instead, he looks down towards her and gives a vague gesture to tell the two of you to get everything gathered up as he yawns widely. You shuffle away from Joel and back over to your backpack laying in the grass, picking it up with minimal effort and pulling the straps over your arms.

Ellie uncurls her body from itself and pulls on her pack before standing up, much quicker than Joel managed to. After he sets his backpack on his back, he carefully slings his firearm over his shoulder by its strap. Preventing it from moving too much by stuffing his jacket in the under string of his backpack strap. 

Without another word to one another, the three of you head back through the trees and continue on your way. The comfortable silence was only broken by Ellie spewing the first thing that came to her mind. You didn’t have the slightest clue how she did it. Always so talkative and ready to interrupt any sort of silence that washes over the three of you. Joel was still recuperating from falling asleep, feeling the weight of his exhaustion drag him down slightly. You only nodded or shook your head in response to any of Ellie’s random questions.

Nebraska was fairly boring, in your opinion. No buildings to raid, no game to hunt, no nothing. Just a dry field as far as the eye could see. The most entertaining thing in sight was Ellie pestering Joel with her puns and constant questions. Despite it being a strange family dynamic, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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I finished this really late </3 (its like 2 when I'm posting this)

had bad writers block all day and ended up redoing my original plan entirely. Hope you like my second attempt lolz !! :3

[its-jaytothemee]

Until I Met You - Chapter 17

Chapter 17: All Burns Heal

Pairings: Halsin x Tav

Word count: 4,865

Rating: Currently M, will be Explicit in later chapters.

Read on AO3

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Summary: Tav comforts Karlach after she's recovered from her burns. The group learns that another gnome may have been left behind and must decide if they can go back to Grymforge and save them. Part 17 of the slow burn fic. Tav and Halsin POVs.

Tags: Slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual love confessions, eventual smut, angst, implied past rape/non-con and abuse, graphic description of injuries, brief suicidal thoughts.

A/N: Very dialogue heavy chapter incoming, but half of it is fun and sweet Karlach & Tav fluff <3 Getting ever closer to the end of act 1! Another update should be coming within the next couple of days. Thanks as always for the kind words and your continued reading! <3

Tav made a quick change of clothes in her tent before heading over to Karlach’s. She found Wyll sitting there beside her, Karlach’s back turned to the rest of camp, and she could hear some soft sniffles.

“Karlach?” She called out with no response. Wyll whispered something unintelligible before standing up to greet her.

“Glad to see you doing better.” He clapped her on the shoulder.

“Thanks. How is she?”

Wyll looked over his shoulder to their friend, still curled up on the ground and facing away from them. “Her wounds are healed, but she feels awful, Tav.”

“I know she does.” Tav sighed. “Do you think she’s ready to talk?”

“Isn’t she always?” Wyll chuckled. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit.” He gave Karlach one last look and Tav could have sworn she saw a bit of longing in his one good eye.

“Karlach, love? Can you talk to me?”

“I…” Her soft sobs made it hard to understand what she was saying. “I’m so sorry, Tav.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, Karlach.” Tav kept her voice low and gentle as she sat on the other side of her. “You didn’t make me touch you, I chose to on my own. I wasn’t going to let you die in agony on the floor in front of me.”

“This stupid fucking engine!” Karlach cried. “If I get hurt too bad, you guys can’t even get me out without nearly killing yourselves. I hate that you have to make that choice.”

“For what it’s worth,” Tav grabbed Clive who was sitting on the ground nearby, “I’d make the same choice again.”

She turned around to face her at that.

“You would?”

“Every damn time.” She took Clive’s snout and used it to give Karlach a kiss on the cheek. “You’re my best girl.”

“Really?” She sniffled as she took the stuffed bear into her arms.

“Really, really. We’re going to find a way to get that thing fixed, Karlach. And I’m going to make sure you survive long enough for us to find it.” Tav promised.

“Gods I want to hug you right now.”

“I’m counting down the days, my friend. You’ll just have to keep hugging Clive until then.”

Karlach finally sat up next to her.

“Thank you, Tav.” She said quietly as she clutched the small bear to her chest. “You didn’t have to do that. But I’m glad you did, soldier.”

“Anytime, love.”

And she meant it. With a choice between suffering horrible burns and watching Karlach die, it was no choice at all, really. She would do it one hundred times over to make sure her friend lived.

“Lemme see your neck.” Karlach scooted a little closer to her. Tav leaned forward to show the spot where she had been burnt before. “Huh, I can’t even tell where the burn was now. Halsin did good.”

“I figured it would be fine. If he could practically regrow my leg after our first time in the Underdark, a burn must have been nothing.” Tav chuckled as she rubbed the back of her neck.

“I mean if anything, the burns give you an excuse to spend some time with him, eh?” Karlach pumped her eyebrows up and down at Tav, causing another laugh from her.

“I think we get plenty of time together while the rest of you are sleeping. Common quirk of us elves.” She started absentmindedly drawing shapes in the dirt near her feet.

“Oh? I haven’t heard much about this yet. Spill the beans, sister!” Karlach pulled a pillow out from behind her and put it underneath her elbows so she could lay down on her stomach and look up at Tav.

“Well, we have been a bit busy lately, and you’ve been going to bed awfully early.”

“Yeah well, I’m awake now. Spill!” Karlach urged.

“Okay, fine.” She would be lying if she said she hadn’t missed gossiping a bit with Karlach. Tav laid down and propped her own elbows on one of Karlach’s spare pillows to face her.

How does she have so many?

She started to fill her friend in on the past few mornings of conversations between her and Halsin, starting with the glowing pond he showed her.

“I’m sorry, he took you to a glowing pond, you kissed him, he told you he thought that you were beautiful, and you didn’t tell me?!” Karlach yelled.

“For fucks’ sake, Karlach!” Tav laughed. “Keep it down at least a little. And it was just a friendly kiss on the cheek.”

“Oh please, as slow as you’ve been moving you may has well have ripped off his clothes then and there!” The volume of her voice didn’t change in the slightest.

Tav buried her face in the pillow beneath her, letting her feet that were kicking behind her fall to the ground.

“So, what now, you’re just ignoring that little intimate encounter?” Karlach asked.

“I’m not ignoring it.” The words were muffled by the pillow smothering her face.

“Then what gives?” She wiggled the pillow underneath Tav’s head causing her to look up from her hiding place.

“It’s like I told you back when we were camping in the Mountain Pass. I just can’t quite figure him out. He goes from telling me I’m beautiful to panicking over me holding his hand. There’s something there but it’s…blocked.”

“Want me to set him straight?”

“Gods no.” Tav begged.

“Okay, okay. I’ll let you guys figure it out or whatever.” Karlach rolled her eyes playfully. “Tell you what, if you need an excuse to get close to him though I can always give you a friendly pat. You know, give you an excuse to go for a little healing.” She gave an exaggerated wink.

Tav let out a snorting laugh. “So that might not be the best idea…” She could feel the blush from earlier returning to her face and chest.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, first of all it was rather painful. Second…he uh…he called me a ‘good lass’ and I nearly passed out.” Tav turned away as her face reddened further, Karlach’s hyena cackle wasn’t helping with the embarrassment.

“Oh, my gods…oh my…Ha!” She couldn’t even talk she was laughing so hard, her fists hitting the ground as she worked through her fit of laughter. “You’re one of those girls, huh? Give you a little praise and you melt into a puddle?”

“I hate you.” Tav shoved her face back into the pillow.

“No, Tav. I think it’s sweet.” She wiped the joyful tears from her eyes.

“What’s sweet?”

Karlach and Tav both screamed in alarm as another voice had joined their conversation. They looked to their side to see Astarion laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows to match them, a sly grin on his face.

“How are you so quiet?” Tav’s heart pounded against her ribs.

“One of the few perks of being a vampire. Now what are you two talking about? You’re not gossiping without me, are you?” He stuck his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Nothing important, love.” Tav tried to shoot a sneaky look at Karlach to keep her mouth shut.

“Fucking liar.” Astarion shot back. “Give me one of those pillows, darling.” He pointed to the small pile behind Karlach and she happily obliged.

“Tav kissed Halsin.” Karlach blurted out.

“Oh? Is that why he was such a flustered mess the other day.” Astarion giggled as he slipped the pillow beneath his arms.

“It was just a quick peck on the cheek, it wasn’t that big of a deal!” Tav glared at Karlach.

“If you say so. You left him in quite a state that morning after…” Astarion trailed off.

“The morning after you drank the blood of some unidentifiable monstrosity and came stumbling into camp drunk as a sailor?” Tav batted her eyelashes at him.

They locked their eyes in a stare down, each waiting for the other to blink. Astarion won, of course.

Damn vampires.

“So, you and the druid…” Astarion’s smug grin was still shining on his face.

Before Tav could make a snarky comment back at him, their conversation was interrupted by Gale.

“Sorry to interrupt your little slumber party,” he had his arms folded across his chest, “but the gnomes from Grymforge are ready to speak with you.”

“Don’t be jealous, Gale.” Astarion giggled as Tav stood back up.

“I’m not jealous.” Gale replied, obviously jealous.

“Don’t worry, Gale. Next time we decide to have a little gossip session, we’ll make sure to invite you too. That make you feel better?” Karlach offered.

“…yes.” He muttered.

Tav couldn’t help but smile as she walked away to talk with their newly free gnome friends. A gnome in a red tunic, Beldron, approached her first.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet us here. We had some rather grave injuries that needed tending.” Tav held a hand out for him to shake.

“The least we could do, I suppose.” He gave her hand a couple of curt shakes. “Gaerdal Ironhand you may not be, but you damn well fight like him.” She smiled back at him.

“Why would a True Soul free slaves? I’m grateful, don’t mistake me, but…”

“The cult thinks they own me. I beg to differ.” Tav shrugged.

“Hurry it up! We need to find Wulbren – now.” Barcus was trying to sound commanding, but the nervous edge to his voice undercut any authority he hoped to project.

“You’re too late, Barcus. He’s already been sent to Moonrise Towers. He…knows things. Things they’ll want to know too.” Beldron’s slight waver as he eyed her from the side told Tav that he knew more than he was letting on.

“This is no time to be coy. What does Wulbren know?” Tav knelt to look Beldron in the eyes. “Whatever the cult wants, whatever those slavers wanted, I can almost guarantee that I want the opposite.”

He considered her words for a moment before responding. “Fine. Wulbren has found the formula for runepowder.”

“What?!” Barcus yelled back.

“Aye. A fistful of the powder could wipe out half an army if the stories were to be believed. But Wulbren thought those were more than legend, so he went and actually found it.” Beldron’s excitement was palpable in his way of speaking. “He had just made sense of the old manuscript when the cult jumped us – so he burned the damn thing.”

“So, if the cult wants to know how to make runepowder…” Tav started.

“Then they’ll have to pry it from Wulbren’s head.” Beldron finished.

Tav shuddered to think of what the cult could do with such a terrible explosive. A weapon of such mass destruction could hardly be trusted in the hands of those with the best intentions, let alone those who served a mind flayer cult.

“Then we’ll have to get to him first. We’ll be leaving for Moonrise the day after next, we could travel together and find him.” She offered.

“My people can barely stand. And we have business in the city, we can’t lose time chasing after false hopes.”

“And just like that, you’d leave Wulbren behind?” Barcus interjected, the hurt look on his face twisting his expression. “I knew you lot were foolish, but I didn’t think you were cruel.”

“If you knew half as much as you think, Barcus, Wulbren might have kept you around.” Beldron snapped back.

The two gnomes continued to bicker in front of her about their next steps. Beldron was adamant that they needed to leave for Baldur’s Gate, Barcus held his ground that Wulbren should be their priority.

“Enough, this fighting won’t help anyone.” Tav rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Our path will take us to Moonrise, I’ll do what I can to free him if he’s still alive. Thulla is waiting in a nearby colony of myconids, we can escort you there so you can take your leave when you’re ready.”

“Wulbren would admire your resolve. Should you find yourself in Baldur’s Gate, seek us out.” He gave a small nod before walking away to join the others.

If I find myself in Baldur’s Gate again, I’ll have need of all the friends I can get.

“Done me a decent turn again. It was most amusing watching you wallop those greylings.” Barcus remained standing at her side.

“It was nothing.” Tav tried to muster a smile to reassure him. “How did you find yourself captured by duergar since our last meeting?”

“I came down here looking for Wulbren. I suspected he and his little friends might’ve come to this region, and I was right.” Barcus shook his head lightly. “But I was too late. Wulbren had already been taken to Moonrise Towers. The rest you saw had been put to work.”

Tav nodded along as she listened, sensing something else troubling the skittish gnome. He shifted in place as his eyes darted to the other gnomes just out of earshot.

“What’s on your mind, Barcus?” She asked, keeping her voice quiet.

“These other gnomes, they call themselves ‘Ironhand Gnomes.’ You won’t find a worse gaggle of rare-do-wells than them.” His voice was a nervous whisper, keeping an eye on the others to make sure they wouldn’t hear.

Tav glanced over at the others as well. Barcus saw a group of ruffians where she saw a battered and exhausted group of gnomes.

“They’re desperate to recreate that runepowder, to bring ‘glory’ back to our people. They’ll stop at nothing and wait for no one to achieve their goals. You see the extent of their loyalty. They’re not even going after him. I wish I were surprised.” Barcus shot a glare at Beldron and the other gnomes. “And so…to Moonrise Towers I go.”

His sudden resolve startled Tav, but she still caught the hint of uncertainty that clouded his tone.

“First things first – you’re exhausted. You should stay here and rest. We can travel to Moonrise together.” Tav gestured back at their camp.

“Certainly not!” He took a step back in offense. “My friend has been taken captive. He needs me.”

“Come now, this is no place to travel alone, the land around Moonrise is even more dangerous. I don’t want to have to rescue you a third time.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Or find out I was too late to rescue you a third time.”

“I was only unlucky twice, slim chance it’ll happen again. Although…” He looked over to where Wyll and Halsin sat by the fire, snacking on a few nuts and dried sausages they had stashed away. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take a brief moment of respite, let me think.”

Tav waited patiently as Barcus paced back and forth, every now and then letting out a pensive hum as he thought through his options. The fatigue of the day was already catching up to her despite their short time away from camp.

“Very well, I suppose if you’re going to Moonrise anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to have some company.”

“Glad to hear it. Find a spot, settle in. We’ll only be down here a couple more nights.” He seemed to relax a bit, but his eyes still darted around him.

“Is there something else?”

“I think one last gnome was left behind.” Barcus wrung his hands as he spoke with her.

“We still have some exploring to do, we can look for them.” Tav assured him.

“It would be most appreciated. His name is Skickpit, he wasn’t mining with the rest of us.”

“We’ll make our way back and find him.” Tav stood back up.

“That is most kind of you. Now, I think I’ll have a seat for a moment. It’s quite nice to not be surrounded by lava.” Barcus took a few steps toward the fire before turning to look back. “And, erm…thank you.”

Tav nodded back and followed him over to the fire to speak with Wyll and Halsin. If one of the gnome slaves had been left behind, she wasn’t going to leave them there to be tortured alone.

“What’s the word, Tav?” Wyll was finishing up his midday snack.

“One of the gnomes was left behind, he wasn’t mining with the others. I think we should go back and get him.”

“Today?” The concern in Halsin’s voice was obvious.

“I mean, we still have plenty of daylight, er, daytime…” She furrowed her brow. “Whatever you want to call it down here.”

“And you were just half dragged back to camp an hour ago, my friend.” Halsin countered, his voice ever gentle, yet firm.

“That was my own fault for touching Karlach. We took care of the duergar and Nere easily enough, getting one more gnome out should be no trouble at all.”

“If that’s true, then I’m sure the others could manage without you so you can rest.” Halsin still insisted.

“I don’t need to rest, you got me all healed up.” Tav was smiling, but her words came out through gritted teeth.

“You said your magic is spent for the day.”

“Yeah? And do you think I carry this bow around just for show?”

He just pursed his lips in response, those smoldering eyes trying to burn into her soul. Despite how weak it made her knees feel, she held his gaze.

Wyll cleared his throat, startling them out of their staring contest.

“I can’t help but agree with Tav. If the other duergar there catch wind of our little fight, that lone gnome could pay a heavy price.” His eyes shifted uneasily between the two elves as they exchanged their concerned glares.

“Exactly, thank you Wyll.” Tav crossed her arms. “I won’t let a slave we left behind pay for our attack.”

“Of course, forgive me.” Halsin stood up and gave her his typical fisted salute over his chest before walking away from them, sending a stab of guilt through her gut.

She had really thought he would understand. Surely Halsin of all people wouldn’t want them to leave someone behind in slavery, to be left as the sole bearer of retribution for the others’ escape?

“Would you see if Karlach will stay here? I don’t think we want to risk another incident with her engine.”

“Sure thing, shouldn’t take too much convincing.” Wyll slapped his knees as he stood up. “Perhaps we should split up. Leave a couple of people here to deliver Nere’s head while the rest re-infiltrate Grymforge?”

“Good plan. I’ll go get ready.” She had to go find her armor and load back up on potions and–

“Tav?”

She spun around to look at him again.

“You know no one here doubts your skills, right? Even so, sometimes we…worry about you. We can’t help it. Just as I’m sure you worry about us.” His eyes glanced at Halsin who was kneeling over his bag not far away, fighting to keep Scratch’s nose out of a pack of herbs.

“I know. It’s just…” She let out a frustrated grunt. Dealing with this underground slave ring was taking a toll on her, but she couldn’t tell them why. Not yet.

It was all getting to be too much. The tadpoles. Her family coming back to haunt her. Each new friend that had a long list of ailments and problems. Every day was two steps forward, one step back. Slowing their progress and gnawing endlessly at her subconscious.

“Do you ever feel that no matter how much good we do, no matter how much evil we see come to light, it really does feel as if it’s all for nothing? You said you’ve lived what, two hundred years? I’d wager that it would take some days for the two of us to recount the good deeds we’ve done yet it still feels like it’s but a drop of rain in the sea.” The sudden change in Wyll’s tone snapped her out of her spiral.

More from you than me I’m afraid.

“Yes.”

He gave a forlorn nod, averting his eyes to the ground.

“It’s easy to think that way when we spend so much of our lives fighting those evils. People like us don’t get breaks. We don’t get time to recover. We just keep pushing forward. But today?” She walked over to place a hand on his arm. “Today, we can see here in front of us the lives that we’ve changed for the better. And we know there’s one more that needs us.”

“It’s not just the gnomes here today that have you to thank.” Tav jumped as Halsin reappeared behind her. “You forget that I too would have met my demise if not for your kindness and bravery. Not to mention countless tieflings and druids at the Emerald Grove. Wyll, I want to be able to tell you that the weight upon your shoulders becomes lighter as time goes on but…” He trailed off to look at Tav again.

“Sometimes the best we can hope for instead is to find someone else willing to help bear it alongside us.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve found so many broad-shouldered friends.” Wyll’s dashing smile had returned at Halsin’s reassurance.

“What can I say? I’m happy to help where I can.”

“Thank you. Both of you.” He gave another small nod before running off toward the others.

“Sometimes I forget how young he is, even by human standards.” Tav watched as he jogged up to Karlach’s tent, where Gale had taken her place on the ground.

Oh gods, what are they talking about now?

“He’s right, you know.” Halsin rubbed the back of his neck before running the hand through his hair. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“We do worry about you.” He paused. “I…worry about you.”

“I know.” A small smile pulled at her lips.

“I don’t want to stop you from doing what you think is right. I just have a difficult time seeing you return in such a state is all.” He shifted nervously in place.

“And yet, I’m more comfortable putting myself in danger when I know I have you waiting here to help me.”

“Always.” He whispered the word, almost as if he didn’t mean to speak it aloud.

For a moment, the air between them was charged again. Unspoken, crackling desire pulsing to the same rhythm as their heartbeats. She almost dared not touch him, worried that it would send another spark to tease the fire always burning low in her stomach. But he reached out anyway.

The familiar feel of his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her into a hug caused an involuntary sigh.

“Please don’t take this old fool’s worries as a distrust of your abilities.” His voice was quiet when he pulled away from her. “Just try to be careful.”

Tav hugged herself back against his side.

“I’ll try.”

***

Tav took off to go and put her armor back on before they left for Grymforge again. Halsin felt a bout of shame rip through him. Once again, his personal feelings trying to cloud decisions being made for the good of the group, for the good of other innocents they were trying to help. Of course she could handle herself, and it was obvious that the others would also protect her. Yet for the second time, he watched as she was dragged back into camp horribly injured and the scene upset him more than he would have expected.

He was a healer, and a skilled one at that. Many of the injuries he had seen and tended to in his long life would churn even the strongest stomachs. But each time Tav was barely able to stumble back into camp whether it be from gashes, burns, or fatigue, the sight caused him to lose all reason and critical thought.

Knowing she was out risking her life each day made it all the more difficult to stay behind in camp. He wanted to help, he wanted to go explore and be by her side to support her. To support all of them. But he knew he couldn’t risk it. He had seen the state of their return on multiple occasions, he knew how many close calls they had already endured.

Regardless of the perils they faced in their daily outings, his priority had to be making it to Moonrise alive. He was the only one who could banish those shadows, Silvanus had made that clear. For now, he had to stay behind for the more dangerous parts of their journey. He had to stay alive and well for Thaniel and everyone touched by that wicked curse. Though little comfort it was to him, he told himself he could at least be here in camp ready to tend to their wounds.

When he looked up, Tav was trotting back over to the rest of them, her hands weaving the thick strands of her hair together behind her head to fix it back into her signature braid.

Wyll and Gale caught Tav and the others up on the items they found on Nere’s body. Astarion claimed a dagger and a pair of boots, while Wyll claimed a rather fine rapier. Tav plucked the mind flayer tadpole that had been harvested into a small vial and stored it away with the others they collected. He wasn’t quite sure why they were keeping them; they had already refused to consume any to further their illithid powers.

Otherwise, there was a good number of valuables on the drow that they could at least sell. One last item seemed to catch Tav’s eye – a broken lantern.

“Have you figured out what left this residue?” She asked the others.

“I haven’t investigated it hardly at all, just pulled it off Nere’s body with the rest of the items.” Gale shrugged before holding out his hand to request the lantern.

He turned the odd contraption over in his hands as he studied the iron frames. One of his fingers drew a line in the dust before pinching the soft powder between his index finger and thumb.

“May I?” Halsin held his hand out as well. He held it up to his nose and lightly inhaled before also rolling a bit of the powder between his fingers. Based on the thin layer of dust inside of it, it didn’t appear to run on oil or even fire. This was more…shimmery? As if ground from pearls. He would have expected to see ash or scorch marks, but instead just that small gathering of powder in the cage. On the few glass panels that weren’t broken, there were grooves on the inside that almost looked like scratch marks.

“Is this…?” Gale hesitated. “Is this pixie dust?”

“By Silvanus…it is pixie dust. Wily little creatures.” He handed the lantern back to Tav. “Why would a drow have been carrying a pixie around in an old lantern?”

“I’ve no clue. We’ll keep an eye out once we go back across the lake.” Tav set the lantern back down.

“That means you’ll have to leave some of the duergar living long enough for us to ask about it, Tav.” Astarion was sitting on the ground next to them, trying on the boots he nabbed from their spoils. She shot a glare back at him in response.

“We can question them first, but regardless we will be leaving with that final captive gnome. If that means we kill the rest of the duergar, so be it.” She spat the words with a particularly vicious venom that caused the others to exchange nervous glances.

Something else was bothering Tav, Halsin was sure of it. The pure vitriol seeping from her when she spoke of the slavers…

The contempt in her voice was such a stark difference from her typical demeanor. She had said her father was a cruel man, could he have been tied to a slavery business? Or gods forbid could she have been part of one herself? A shudder ran though his body, shaking the thoughts away. Best not to let his mind run amok right now.

“Okay, then. Karlach and Wyll are staying here to deliver Nere’s head and escort the gnomes to the myconid colony. The rest of us will go across the lake again. Once we have the area cleared and the last gnome rescued, Gale will set a travel rune so we can bring the rest of you as well.” Tav recounted their plan with effortless clarity while she also checked the tension of her bow and adjusted the straps of her armor. Every time he sat and watched her command the attention of a large group, he found himself in awe of her.

“See you soon, gang!” Karlach waved as they started to make their way past camp then turned to Halsin. “Feel like talking a walk with us, bear man?” She smiled at him as she slung the cloth containing the drow head over her shoulder.

“I’d be happy to.” The myconids were close by, and taking a short walk might help clear his head. But for just the briefest moment, he could have sworn he saw disappointment flash across Wyll’s face.

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

With A Flap Of Wings, Part One

(okay. here we go.)

Warnings for the overall story: Implications/mentions of suicide, miscarriage.

Tags: Nie-family centric, alternate timeline, time travel fix-it, ghosts, suicide, everybody lives (I know how weird it sounds having both, you gotta trust me here), no-war timeline

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

Nie Huaisang sits and stares at the closed stone doors of the tomb that contains the bodies of nearly all of his family, or at least their sabers.

All except for his brother, who remains trapped in that heavens-damned coffin.

The pile of aged papers in his lap rustle in the chilly breeze, but he barely pays attention, even though the pages are the answer to one of the many questions that had been plaguing him since the first time the ritual to purify his brother’s soul had failed. 

Since the first time the time-jumping ritual had failed.

He can't remember how many times he's cast it, using his own blood to dive into the past, only to inevitably be flung back here no matter how deep he went or which events he changed.

But now he understands. 

All of the monsters and ugly twists of fate that had targeted his family... they had only been symptoms of the disease. 

He is the cause. 

He, the ill-omened child who killed his own mother with his first breath, is the one who brought calamity on all who ever knew him, death and misfortune dogging his steps before he could even walk.

This, all of this, is because of him.

But he can still fix it. 

Maybe none of the other attempts had worked, but that was because he hadn't known where to weed out the rot threatening the garden. 

Now, he does. 

Closing his eyes and bracing himself, he draws the knife from his belt for what he desperately hopes will be the last time.

–- 

Nie Leiyun is six months into her pregnancy –one month away from what would have been her death from hemorrhaging during an arduous childbirth– when she staggers and has to catch herself on a table, suddenly overcome by a horrible throbbing pain in her guts. 

But it's when the pain stops, everything inside her going unnaturally still, that she actually starts to panic and sinks down to sit on the floor, trying to call out and unable to make her voice work. 

A maid rushing to help her back to her feet is the first to see the blood starting to stain her robes and the stone beneath her, and she’s the one who screams for the healers when Nie Leiyun can’t. 

Despite all their efforts, the healers are only able to save one life. 

Once, in a timeline that has just been erased, it was the child. 

This time, it's the mother.

---

The grief that falls over the sect is heavy. 

No one seems to be more crushed by it than Nie Mingjue. 

All of six years old, he had been adamant that he didn't want a sibling and had complained to anyone who would listen. Babies were stinky and dumb and boring and either cried all the time or made messes everywhere. Gross.

And now the baby is dead, dead and gone, and no amount of hugs or kind words can convince the boy that he hadn't somehow wished his little brother away. 

Nie Haoran and Nie Linsong are gentle with their wife and son's grief -it had been Linsong's own struggles with having another child that had prompted the second wedding, after all- and it's Linsong who makes a fateful suggestion one night as the two of them are sitting by the fire one evening, Linsong spoiling her falcon with some extra preening assistance and Leiyun mending some clothing. 

"The only reason you put your search on hold was because the pregnancy was becoming too harsh on your health, wasn't it? Why not pick it back up again now once you've recovered a little?" 

---

Three and a half months later, Nie Leiyun hears rumors of a high-ranking courtesan in Yunping who has been making waves among the cultivation gentry. This by itself is nothing new, she has investigated over a dozen other women who ended up in the brothels like she originally had and have since risen to some level of fame, some even attracting the attention of sect leaders like she had. 

But none of those women had been outright carrying her long-abandoned surname of Meng. 

She does her best not to get her hopes up, but luck is on her side for a change, and three days after she first hears the whispers, Nie Leiyun -Meng Xiu- clutches her sister Meng Shi in a tearful embrace. 

She doesn't know how to feel about the tiny boy that her sister introduces her to. He is not yet two years old, so close to her Sang-er. 

They could have grown up cousins. 

Friends. 

But now- 

She wipes her eyes and puts aside her selfishness. Yao-er can still be a cousin and friend to Mingjue, and he and her sister both deserve far better than this place. 

She takes them home.

[queenofcats17]

Hello there! I don't know if you can read it but I find the stories you made from the questions very interesting and I love the AU very much!(So yeah,I am a big fan for this AU but now for this) So HS!Bendy just wanna make normal day and go to the office,where the surprise that Joey Drew isn't here today like yesterday. I don't know if he would worry by that,but I can deny that he had to tell Henry to clear it up. But he didn't know anything about it.

I think I understand what you're asking, and I assume you want me to write something for it.

And I will do my best to deliver.

===========================================

Joey was absent.

This in itself wasn't necessarily a cause for concern, but the studio had learned to be somewhat wary when things were too calm and quiet. And Joey being absent didn't usually mean good things.

Bendy couldn't help but be suspicious as he looked around Joey's office for any clue as to where the studio head might have gone. The office was clean and organized, which probably meant Joey hadn't been in today. His desk was seldom so organized when he was actively using it. Going through Joey's desk offered few clues aside from a hastily scribbled note reading "17th, 8am," along with something that looked like a name. It was the 17th that day, but that note could have been for another month too.

He should ask Henry. If anyone would have seen Joey, it would have been Henry.

So, he marched down to Henry's desk with the note in hand.

"You seen Joey today?" He asked.

Henry looked up from the frame he'd been working on. "Today?" He frowned in thought. "Uh... No, I don't think so."

"You know what this means?" Bendy held up the note.

Henry squinted at it, flipping up his glasses to get a better look. "No?"

"Damn..." Bendy tucked the note away.

"is Joey not here?" Henry's frown deepened.

"I haven't seen him," Bendy admitted.

Henry looked around, tapping his pen on the desk. "Do you think he's doing some ritual of...?"

"I don't know." Bendy folded his arms. "I mean, I don't think he's been in or anything."

"Joey's not in?" Boris' head poked around the corner.

"Doesn't seem like he is," Henry confirmed.

Boris' ears drooped. "Do you think he's alright?"

"I'm sure he's fine, Bo," Bendy said, although now the seed had been planted. What if Joey wasn't alright? What if he was hurt? He quickly shook his head. No, he couldn't jump to conclusions like that. He had to stay calm.

"But what if he isn't?" Boris asked, suddenly looking very worried. "It's not like Joey to just be gone for no reason!"

"He probably just forgot to tell us about something," Henry tried to reassure both toons. "You know how scatterbrained Joey can be, even on the best of days."

"But... what if he isn't alright?" Bendy echoed, the wheels in his mind beginning to turn.

"What if who isn't alright?" Now it was Alice's turn to pop around the corner.

"Joey's not here!" Boris said, worriedly fidgeting with his tail. "We're worried something happened to him!"

"It's not like him to just be gone for no reason," Bendy said, beginning to pace as his anxieties threatened to overwhelm him.

"And he's so bad at looking after himself!" Alice cried. "What if he got himself hurt?!"

"That's just what I was thinkin'!"

It wasn't long before all three toons had worked themselves up into quite a frenzy, each of them feeding off each other's fear to get more and more upset. Henry, despite his best efforts, could do little to lessen their anxiety.

It was at that moment that Sammy entered the picture, carrying some sheet music he'd no doubt intended to show to Joey. He turned the corner to see Henry desperately trying to comfort three hysterical toons who were nearly in tears at this point.

He blinked.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Henry looked up, an expression of desperation and relief settling on his face.

"Joey hasn't been in today and they're worried something happened to him," he explained as he scrambled over to draw Sammy closer. "Could you please help calm them down?"

"Wha-? Why me?!" Sammy sputtered. "I'm not good at calming people down!"

"Could you try? Please?" Henry begged. He seemed to be at his wits' end.

Sammy let out a long exhale. Well, it was worth a try, he supposed.

"Has anyone tried calling Joey's house?" He asked.

Abruptly, all three toons stopped their wailing to stare at him.

"Call... his house?" Bendy echoed.

"Yes. Have you called his house?" Sammy asked. "He might just be sick at home and forgot to tell us."

There was silence for a beat or two before Bendy sprinted off in the direction of the studio phone, with Boris and Alice hot on his heels. After exchanging a glance, Sammy and Henry jogged after them.

They found Bendy at the phone, frantically punching in Joey's number. The line crackled and the phone rang before...

"Hello?" Joey's slightly disoriented voice crackled on the other side of the line.

"Joey!" Bendy breathed a sigh of relief. "Where are you?! We've been worried sick!"

"I'm at home," Joey said. "I had a dentist appointment today. Did I not tell you?"

"No!"

"Well, I had a dentist appointment today!" Joey said brightly.

Bendy groaned, running a hand over his face. "Yeah, I got that."

"What's he saying?" Boris whispered loudly.

"Just, uh, rest up, okay?" Bendy said, gently shooing Boris away. "We'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Of course!" Joey replied brightly before hanging up the phone.

"So, what is it?" Alice asked. "Is he okay?"

Bendy sighed, covering his face with his hands. "He had a dentist appointment he forgot to tell us about."

"See, I told you he was fine," Sammy said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Yeah, yeah." Bendy awkwardly cleared his throat, his cheeks darkening from embarrassment. "So! Mystery solved! Joey's okay! Let's get back to work, alright?"

Boris and Alice both screwed their faces up in mock seriousness, giving salutes and darting away back to wherever they'd been before.

Henry, Bendy, and Joey departed as well, with Sammy muttering that he guessed he wasn't showing Joey the music today. As he left, Bendy mentally began preparing himself for the ribbing he knew was going to come once word got around about how he'd reacted to Joey's "disappearance".

He was never going to live this down, was he?

[throughtrialbyfire]

Snippet Someday

@dirty-bosmer hope it's okay to hop in on this!! this is such a fun idea, thank you for making this tag game!

tagging - @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy and anyone who'd like to join in! no pressure to join at all!

Rules: Revisit an old fic (or earlier chapters of your current WIP) and share a snip from:

Your first chapter

Your favorite chapter

Your most challenging chapter

Alternatively, if you don't write longfic, feel free to share your one-shots. Provide as much or as little commentary as you want.

From "Cycle of the Serpent"

First Chapter: "Unbound" (i did Not intend for it to be 6.6k words but yknow what. its fine <3 )

"Next, Ralof!" As Ralof was pulled forward by guards, the shrill noise rang out again, clear as the Anvil chapel bells. Athenath darted their gaze to the sky, a large, dark shape making itself known. At first, it swept distantly, riding the winds, before it rose high above the town. The beast, dark as night, spilling shadow over everything it crested with it's massive wingspan, pulled the wind aside and into it's maw. It blacked out the sun as it swooped down, a thing larger than belief, skull alone as big as a guard tower. "What in Oblivion is that?" General Tullius cried out. The sky went black, all sign of clouds, all sign of blue, of the trees that bent and swayed under it's wings, shielded by the beast as it drew closer. "It's in the clouds!"

Favorite Chapter: Chapter 5, "Fus" (favorite thus far at least ;3c)

"Who should pull it?" Athenath darted his gaze between the other two. "We all should. Do it together, I mean. It feels… Wrong, to volunteer someone to death if we fail." Wyndrelis turned to the Bosmer, who shrugged. "We could draw straws. I'm sure we could-" Wyndrelis pressed his heel into the toe of Emeros' boot, causing the other to grunt in pain and, after a moment, throw his hands in the air. "Fine, fine! Let's all pull the bloody lever together. If we die, at least it's not alone."

Most Challenging Chapter: Chapter 10, "Dragon Rising" (i'm not used to writing action scenes, hopefully i'll get better at it though!)

"Let's make sure that overgrown lizard is really dead. Damned good shooting, boys!" Irileth congratulated her ranks, before turning back. She began to approach the corpse, but stopped in her tracks. All joy fell from the features of the survivors as they took in the sight. The corpse began to peel apart like parchment in a flame, scales and flesh setting themselves aflame, blinding in it's light to such a degree that left everyone closing their eyes and shielding their faces. "Everybody get back!" Irileth shouted the command, some guards frozen in place, some sprinting away from the beast's body as fast as their exhausted legs would take them. The moment passed, and as all flesh and muscle and sinew faded off the bones of the beast, a terrible wind flowed, dividing like a mighty river into three streams, the power of the rush nearly sending the Mer backwards. In a strange moment, the energy returned to them, anxieties and aches washed away until they stood as though there had been no fight at all. The world fell silent for a moment, the trio checking themselves over, then one another, then turning to the guards, all eyes on them, some with mouths agape beneath their helmets. One guard removed his, stepping closer. "I can't believe it! You're… Dragonborn…" He gaped.

[nerves-nebula]

what made your first year of college so much worse than the second?

godddd where do i even start. Complaining goes under the cut cuz it’s too damn long.

8 hour studios 3 times a week that start at 8 AM and only break for lunch. one of the professors expected us to stand the entire time we were drawing and only sit when we went on break. plus homework for those studios, because each studio was a different foundational class. and on the days when you dont have those studios you got other foundational classes like art history and literature or something. you've got homework for all of these classes too and tests and everything.

and each studio being a different class is a huge issue and really frustrating as well. the classes are drawing, design and, like, basically a 3D class, right? where you use power tools and carve stuff and all that. But imagine you go to this school for painting or to make clothes, then the three foundational classes might just really bore and frustrate you. because you don't really feel like they're helping you gain any skills in your preferred major.

so you have all these artistic kids who want to do their best, being forced to do things they hate and being told it's to make us "more well rounded." (which dont get me wrong i understand, but that doesnt make it suck any less)

so all the art you make is painful to create, and you don't even like the result. but we knew what we signed up for, and the point is to last past first year so you can get into your major. thats the point for me, at least. so you just get what you can done, but i cant imagine what I would've done if i'd fallen behind even once.

And then my own personal hell- being in a new place and not knowing what to do or who to talk to or how to communicate ! So i was constantly stressed out in like a social way. idk if i vented about this here but i fell over in a fit of anxiety and hyperventilation in class multiple times first year. I straight up fell over at least twice and i had crying fits multiple times (with varying degrees of how quiet I was being, sometimes they don't even notice :D)

I was incredibly emotionally isolated and cried myself to sleep like every night. my only social interactions were at work because I'm very bad at socializing properly and making friends in class, and i was always too tired to go to any events. LUCKY for me I met a really cool friend while doing some student work and it was really nice and chill.

ANYWAY BACK TO THE STRESS. to give an example of the situation: our first homework for drawing class was to make this big ink master copy of a van gogh sketch, and it didn't have to be perfect, or even GOOD tbh, but regardless it took forever. and i spilled my ink on it which nearly led to a breakdown but instead i just laughed cause otherwise I'd go insane. the amount of podcasts and audiobooks i burned through that year just to keep myself sane was mind-numbing. i listened to, no joke, ALL of Well There's Your Problem, and i went back and listened to a lot of them more than once.

i was really lucky though, cause some other students had first projects that were like "bring in 50 drawings by next class" or "make a chair out of only cardboard that you can sit on without it collapsing" or something. and i never had a teacher that bad.

actually, my second semester design professor was really REALLY chill. He let me sleep in class if i finished the work so I spent a few hours in his class just chilling and sleeping fitfully (as in I was so stressed i would gasp and mutter myself awake, which really alarmed my classmates but i never got close enough to them to explain myself soooo they prolly just think something is wrong with me. which it is! oh well)

i can only speak for myself but i was basically working any moment i wasn't sleeping, eating, shitting, or showering. somehow other people made time to befriend each other and hang out and like, go to parties??? i dont know how. Frankly I don't even remember how i did what i did either, specifically I reached out to my college's mental health services and got on some medication for anxiety. I also somehow managed to write an essay for our student published thingy about how I wanted to kms and felt unsupported by mental health professionals lmao.

I have NO IDEA how i did any of that because this year i kept falling asleep for five hours in the middle of the day. my theory is that I got more done because I physically HAD TO STAY AWAKE. I COULD NOT ALLOW MYSELF TO FAIL.

I was so stressed out the first year that I often couldn't sleep without hugging my giant elephant stuffed animal or using it as a comforting weight on top of me. one morning i woke up hyperventilating and went to go cut a huge role of paper at like 6 AM because i was so worried about forgetting to cut the paper before i left before class at 8 AM.

so yeah, my theory is that since second year wasn't that insanely stressful, all those hours i spent eking out any artistic joy possible (making owl house comics, writing that essay, and painting my clothing) just to make sure i didn't kms were replaced instead with me just falling asleep at inopportune times, because I wasn't as scared that I wouldn't have time for my work.

OH MY GOD AND FIRST YEAR I GOT PUT IN TWO CONSECUTIVE GROUP PROJECTS WITH THIS ABSOLUTE MONSTER- but that could be its entire own post. suffice it to say that he had been reported multiple times for various things and one of my classmates recognized who i was talking about just from me vaguely complaining about how much i hated him.

anyway im sure there's even more that i forgot about but to be honest i think i've explained enough.

[crimson-calligraphyx]

Death is All Around | part IV

This shouldn’t be happening. I should not be standing outside dressed in black, placing a single flower on top of this casket in front of me, saying goodbye to one of my best friends.

I will forever have the sight of Randy bloodied with his head slumped over, shoulder pinned to the tree behind him, that damned Ghostface mask stuck to his chest.

I pulled my jacket tight against me, shivering, even though it wasn’t particularly cold out. I just felt hollow, numb—ghostly, even. Sucking my lip into my mouth to hold my sobs in, I turned around to face Billy and my friends, one lone tear trailing down my face. This wasn’t fair. This shouldn’t be happening; it shouldn’t have been Randy. It shouldn’t be anyone, not Casey or Steve, not my mom, no one.

I walk back over to the trio, the sadness in their eyes making me want to break down more so than I already wanted to. Sniffling, I ran my hand across my cheek, wiping away the tear that found its way down my face before any of them acknowledge it. I know they saw it, but I didn’t want to draw attention to it. Billy extends his arm, welcoming me into his embrace, where I nuzzle my head against his chest and wrap my arms around him. No one speaks, we just stand there exchanging pained glances between one another. Oddly enough, it was comforting, the silence and understanding of the situation before us.

Billy places a gentle kiss to the top of my head, rubbing my upper arm as he does so. I peer up at him, locking eyes with him. They were exceptionally dark today; there was no shimmer, no welcoming warmth in them. Just sadness. Worry. Sunken in and red around the edges from the few tears he let out earlier today. Swallowing, I break the silence with a croak, “I’m fine.” Tatum nods, but I know she doesn’t believe me as she purses her lips together. She closes the gap between us and pulls me from Billy, engulfing me in a hug. She squeezes me for an uncomfortably long time, nearly pushing the air out of me. I swear I could feel her tremble, trying to hold back her cries. She’ll never admit it, but she did value him as a good friend of hers, and I know she regrets all those times she wasn’t particularly nice to him. “I’m so sorry, Sid,” her voice was strong, but quivers. Hearing that causes my vision to blur as fresh tears make their way to the surface. I place my hands on her shoulders, steadying her in front of me. “You can cry, it’s okay,” I sniff, coughing out a small chuckle. “I know,” she whispers, wrenching her eyes shut as she finally lets those tears free that she was holding back. This time I pull her into a hug, resting my head on her shoulder.

I glance up, blinking through my tears as something dark catches my eye in the distance against the pines. I squint, trying to make sense of what it is that I saw—or think I saw, anyway—but there was nothing but low hanging branches swaying in the wind. I shake my head, releasing Tatum from my hold. She wipes the tears from her eyes with the tips of her fingers, sniffling softly as she runs the sleeve of her shirt under her nose. Her cheeks and nose were both reddened, eyes glossed over and starting to become bloodshot. “What’s wrong?” she questions after studying me for a moment. I clear my throat, “Oh, uh, nothing. I just thought I saw something…” I peer over her shoulder again, confirming that there was nothing but trees behind her. “Must’ve just been an animal running by, is all.” She gently pushes her knuckles against my shoulder, playfully pushing before muttering a quick ‘kay’.

“So, whaddya two ladies think about bailing this fiesta and grabbing some grub and having a few drinks back at my place?” Stu slings his arms around our shoulders, bobbing his head back and forth between us as he waits for a response. “Stu! Now is not the time or place—” “A-actually, Tate, I think that’s a great idea,” I cut Tatum off mid-scold. “This has been a hard day for all of us. Maybe a little downtime is what we need.”

I steal a glance at Billy; a comforting smirk stares back at me as he saunters over to us. He replaces Stu’s arm around my shoulders with his, resting his hand on my upper arm and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He cocks his head to the side, "C'mon. Let's get outta here."

-

I stare absentmindedly at the movie that was playing on the living room TV, lazily spinning the beer bottle I was holding between my fingers. We decided on John Carpenter's Halloween in honor of Randy, knowing that was one of his favorites; he adored Jamie Lee "Scream Queen" Curtis.

I was in such a fog, not even retaining anything that I had watched. My head throbbed lightly at the temples, my eyes puffy from crying and nose raw from blowing it nearly all day. I keep telling myself that this is all a dream, and I'll wake up soon and have to deal with Randy's enthusiasm towards all the newly released movies he planned to watch in theatre, and possibly convince us to join.

I chuckle lightly to myself at the thought.

"Earth to Sid!" I look up when I hear my name called through the haze just as a dusting of popcorn plops me in the face. I jerk back slightly, shaking my head. "You alright over there?" Stu asks, leaning over to retrieve the popcorn that was now sitting in my lap, popping it into his mouth. "Yeah, sorry," I mumble, bringing the bottle to my lips and taking a swig. "Hey dickhead, why don't you leave her alone?" Billy barks at Stu, shooting him a stern look. Stu puts his hands up in defense, "Sheesh, sorry, man. She just looked like a space cadet for a minute there, wanted to make sure she was coming back to us at some point."

Sighing, I tip the bottle back and finish off the beer before standing, "I'm fine. Please, for fuck's sake, stop asking me." I turn on my heel, making my exit towards the kitchen to grab another drink from the fridge. I hear a low mumble, followed by a distinguished 'ow' from Stu. I pluck a bottle from the bottom shelf and close the fridge, turning around and leaning against it. Letting out a sigh, I bang my head back against the door just as I hear someone enter the room. I briefly glance over, meeting Billy's stare.

"Don't," I bite, twisting the top off the beer and aggressively tossing it into the trash by the kitchen island. He doesn't say a word, just walks towards me and puts a hand on my side and looks directly into my eyes. He studies me, trailing his gaze up and down my tense face, trying to get a read on me.

I breathe in deeply through my nose, closing my eyes and resting my forehead against his chest. "I'm sorry," I mumble as I let go of the breath I was holding. "It's okay," he whispers, moving his hand up and down my back soothingly. "You have nothing to be sorry for." "I'm just frazzled, you know?" I speak into his chest. "All the stress from this is getting to my head. Earlier today at the funeral, I could have sworn I saw him." "Saw who?" I gulped, choking on my answer. "Ghostface." Billy remains quiet for a moment, still running a hand slowly up and down my spine. I could feel my heart begin to race with anxiety, drumming against my chest, waiting for his answer. Does he think I'm crazy? Did he see him too? Does he know something that I don't?

"Would you like me to take you home so you can relax?" He asks after his momentary silence. I start to calm now that he finally answered as I shake my head, still pressed against his chest. "No, I just opened this," I respond, lifting the beer aimlessly. He chuckles, "Okay. Ready to go back in there with those goons?" This time I let out a small giggle, lifting my head and gently placing a kiss on his jaw. He gazes down at me, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a tiny smile. I break away from his grasp, grabbing his hand and pulling him with me back towards the living room. "I'll take that as a yes."

-

The room was spinning, and I was laughing.

Okay, so the room wasn't actually spinning, but with the alcohol influencing my vision, it sure seemed like it was. I felt warm, vibrant, exhilarated, and most importantly, distracted. There wasn't a care in the world to me besides feeding myself more booze to keep these feelings flowing. I felt free from the looming darkness that's been consuming me since Randy's passing.

I was currently wrapped up in a blanket with my head slumped against Tatum's shoulder, the bowl of popcorn now in our possession. She was lazily tossing kernels into her mouth, trying hard to ignore her boyfriend who was trying his damnedest to annoy her. By the sounds of it, it seemed to have been working, hearing her huff as she throws her head against the backrest. "Stu!" She finally snaps, "knock it off, or so help me God." "Aww, what's wrong Tatum?" He teases her, promptly poking her in the side. She jerks at the touch, whipping her head to glare at him. I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing at the situation that was unfolding beside me.

In one swift movement, Tatum stands with the popcorn bowl in her hands, leaving me to fall against the couch cushion. I grunt softly, but right myself to witness what was about to happen. I scoff, astonished once I see her lift the bowl over Stu's head, popcorn pouring over him. She finishes her attack by slamming the bowl onto his head, pushing it down past his eyes so he couldn't see. She let's out a 'hmph' as she folds her arms over her chest, leaving him to sit there with his new hat and mess around him.

I couldn't contain my composure; I was full on belly-laughing.

I turn my attention towards Billy, who was sitting in the lounger across from me, to see if he was witnessing the drama before us. He was leaning forward, elbows on his legs propping him up, dangling his beer between his legs, chuckling lightly. I watch him as he brings the bottle up to his lips, taking a quick sip before returning to his original position. I watch him swipe his tongue over his lips, savoring the taste of his brew. I mimic his actions, licking my own lips while imagining the taste of him infiltrating my palate.

He adverts his attention towards me as if he could sense that I was staring at him. He locks those dark eyes with mine, smoldering. That look electrifies me, shooting this sudden warmth through my body that pools at the pit of my stomach. I squirm uncomfortably in my seat to try to ease the heat that was simmering in me, swallowing harshly as I feel my mouth start to go dry. I watch his eyes slowly trail from my eyes, down to my hands I had been wringing anxiously while Billy practically eye fucked me. His mouth pulls to the side in a devious smirk while he meets me eyes again—he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Why tonight of all nights his actions—which certainly were supposed to be innocent—were causing my body to react this way, I wasn’t sure. But my God, the things I’m imaging him doing to me was not me by nature… I guess I’ll blame it on the alcohol.

“Why don’t we get you home, Sid? You look like you’re ready to leave,” Billy’s voice was low as he stood and placed his half-drank beer on the coffee table. I felt another rush of warmth, this time running up my neck as my heartrate began to pick up from anticipation of what those eyes were portraying. “Oh, um…” I trail off, taking a quick glance around the room; Tatum still hadn’t returned, and Stu was clearly irritated that he was now picking up the mess that he egged on from her. “Yeah, it’s getting pretty late.”

When I stood, the room began to spin again as my brain finally registered just how much alcohol I consumed tonight. I bumped my knee into the coffee table, causing Billy’s beer to topple over and spill. I gasp, quickly reaching for it, only to push it further and inevitably causing more of a mess. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Stu,” I mumble with embarrassment, turning to head towards the kitchen for something to clean up the spill, and immediately bump into Billy’s chest. He rights me, planting a hand firmly on the small of my back. He leers down at me, that same damned smirk playing on his lips. I gasp, feeling myself flush.

Fuck. What is wrong with me tonight?

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Not like this is the first beer we’ve spilled here, right?” I hear bottles clacking together behind me as Stu starts to clean the room up. “You both look pretty sloshed, why don’t you go on up and take my parent’s room tonight?” Billy continues to smirk at me as he winks. “You sure?" "Yeah, man," Stu chuckles, "go for it. You never know with Officer Dewey-Boy. Don't want him bustin' ya, and I don't think Tatum can bail you out on that one." "Appreciate it." Billy cocks his head, motioning for me to follow him up the stairs. I trail after him, reaching for his hand in guidance.

Once inside the bedroom and the door was shut, he begins to loosen the tie that he was still wearing since leaving the funeral, watching me sway softly. Was I dizzy from being intoxicated by the alcohol or was it by the effects of him?

He smirks, slowly closing the gap between us. He places a warm hand on my cheek, running his thumb across my lips while his other hand lands on my hip. I take in a quick breath from the contact. I drink in the way his hands feel on me, how close he was to me, feeling his hot breath caress my lips while his dark orbs penetrate me. My stomach flutters, heat rolling down and pooling into my panties. "What's the matter?" His voice is gravely, seductive. "You're awfully unsteady."

You.

I swallowed as my mind raced for an answer. When I don't come up with anything, he hums with amusement before crushing his lips to mine. Almost instinctively, our tongues find one other, meshing together, savoring each other. I grip onto the front of his shirt, clinging to him, feeling weak at the knees, wanting him closer to me. His hand moves from my face to the back of my head, clawing into my scalp and pulling my hair and aggressively steering me backwards until the back of my legs hit the mattress. I buckle, falling back and pulling him with me. He breaks away from the kiss, now pulling my hair to move my head to the side for clear access to my neck. He places soft kisses on my flushed skin, earning quiet mewls from me. I could feel his smile against my neck, followed by a quick breath as he chuckles. "So," he says lowly, "you gonna tell me what's wrong now? Or do I have to force it out of you?" "H-how do you plan on forcing it out of me?"

He runs a hand down my leg, hiking it up around his hip and ground his pelvis into mine. Feeling the bulge that was growing underneath his dress slacks pressed against my center earns him a louder moan from me this time. "Like this," he jerks his hips into me, his erection pressing just hard enough to feel it against my clit. I bite my lip, muffling the moan that was coming out of me. He grazes his teeth against my neck, nibbling lightly before sucking on the tender skin. I involuntarily dig my nails into his back, scratching down and around his hips, my hands meeting at his belt. He hums, still pressed against my neck as I fumble with the buckle that was holding back what I was desperate for. I manage to unfasten it, only to have him grip my hand and stop me. "Hold that thought." He places a quick kiss against my lips and crawls off of me.

Breathing heavy, I sit up on my hands and watch him with confusion as he sits down on the chair nearby. "Billy," I huff out, heart pounding and aggravation starting to build in me. "What are you doing?" He bends down and begins to untie his dress shoes. By this point, I was fuming--did he really rile me up and pause to take his goddamn shoes off? "I know what you're thinking," he begins without even looking up at me, "my entire outfit is my dad's--he'd kill me if I ruined them." "Really?" I wasn't normally this irritable about this type of thing, but God, I really fucking wanted him right now. Needed him, even. Impatience growing, I stand up and kick my own shoes off to the side of the room and turn towards him. I let out a shaky breath, knowing what I was about to do was way out of my normal character.

I step up a few feet away from him, waiting for him to finish with whatever he was doing. Hearing my presence, he looks up as he places his now untied dress shoes off to the side. I watch as his expression turned quizzical, surely wondering what I was up to. He cocks his head slightly, studying me with curiosity. I keep my composure calm as I slide one strap of my black dress down my shoulder. Understanding flashes across his face, amusement taking place as I continued to remove the other strap from my shoulder. The dress pools around my feet, leaving me in a strapless bra and panties. I smirk, stepping out of the ring of fabric and close the gap between us.

As I fist his tie, he straightens out, running his hands up his thighs. I pull upwards on the tie, causing him to lift his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows the air he took in. He brandishes a toothy grin, clearly liking where this was going. “I’m not waiting,” I tell him lowly. I jerk the tie one more time before swinging a leg over his lap and taking a seat. My heart was pounding against my chest; this was taking all the courage to execute this, alcohol surely helping along with this. I roll my wrist, wrapping his tie around my hand and pull to lessen the distance between us even more, to which he grunts in response. I capture his lips with mine, grinding my pelvis into him while he moans into my mouth. I take the opportunity to tackle his tongue with mine, once again savoring his taste. His hands find my sides, fingers digging deep into me as he manipulates my hips into a swivel on top of his erection.

“Fuck, Sid,” he moans against my mouth. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like this side of you.” I giggle in reply, continuously rubbing up against him still. He brings a hand to the back of my head, grabbing a fist full of my hair and yanking my head back again. He nips my jaw, licking a trail over to my ear and latches his teeth onto my lobe, growling. “I wanna fuck you so bad,” he whispers. His breath tickles me, bringing goosebumps to the surface of my skin—his words strike me, coursing through my center and causing more wetness to pool in my underwear. “Then do it,” I demand as I stand up abruptly, removing my thong and flinging it at him. Surprise flashes across his features momentarily while he instinctively catches my panties before they collided with his face. Smirking with hunger in his eye, he curls a finger, beckoning me to come back. He stands to drop his pants as I obey and return to him—I put a hand on his chest and guide him back onto the chair. I go back to my original position over his lap, hovering over his cock since he was blocking me from sitting on it. He takes hold of himself, running the tip through my folds to coat himself with my slick. He teases me as he does so, tapping his head against my clit and causing me to buck my hips towards him. He takes advantage of that, replacing his cock with the pad of his thumb and rubbing against me. My head rolls back, hands planted on his shoulders to stay on his lap. I groan, which only causes him to continue his handywork by slipping two fingers inside of me while still massaging my swollen bud. He continuously curls his fingers in such a way that it forces a deep moan out of me. I could feel the pressure begin to build inside me, bubbling up and ready to explode while I rode myself out on his hand. I feel myself begin to clench around his fingers as my climax was about to hit, only to have him abruptly stop and pull his hand away from me.

I whimper, returning my gaze to him as I pant embarrassingly fast. “Billy…” “Oh, is something wrong?” he teases, placing his fingers in his mouth and sucking them clean of my wetness. “I was about to come,” I whine. He chuckles, pulling his fingers out of his mouth. “Congratulations, you now know what edging is." Appalled, I huff, “You’re unbelievable.” “I’m aware,” he winks at me, leaning in to bite my bottom lip. I whine, partly in pleasure of his bite, but mostly in irritation from being denied my orgasm. So, I take it upon myself to pick up where we left off by taking a hold of his cock, giving it a few strokes, which pulls a soft moan from him.

I watch his eyes flutter shut as I lower myself slowly onto his length, adjusting to his girth inside me. I let out a sigh of relief, finally getting what I wanted and loving the way that he felt. I start to rock my hips slowly, relishing in the way his cock stretched me out and stroked against that sweet spot. “Oh, fuck,” Billy moans, opening his eyes to catch my gaze. “So good.” I start to let out a small chuckle, only to be taken over by a gasp as he suddenly tightens his hold on me and stands. Crushing his mouth to mine with one arm around my back and the other hand fisting my hair, he hurriedly carries me to the bed. Tossing me down, he slips the tie over his head and throws it, returning his hands to the top of his button-up. In one swift movement he tears the shirt open, sending buttons flying across the room, promptly whipping it to the floor. Before I’m able to admire his bare chest, he sprawls back on top of me, pawing the cup down from my left breast to expose my now-pert nipple and takes it into his mouth. I gasp, arching my back, pushing my chest closer towards him. “What’s your dad gonna do when he sees you’ve ruined his shirt?" “Who gives a fuck?” He mumbles against me and grazes his teeth against my nipple before tracing it with his tongue.

Fair enough.

While he continues to suck on my breast, he pushes my legs apart to gain access to my sex. Without so much as fumbling, he runs a finger through my middle, landing on my clit. He aggressively rubs the swollen bundle of nerves, making me moan out and buck against his hand involuntarily. I feel his chuckle vibrate through my chest, finding amusement out of what he was making my body do. He takes my nipple between his teeth, devious eyes peering up at me. “You’re so fucking wet,” he mumbles around my breast. I feel my face flush as I bashfully smile down at him, unsure if that was a good thing or bad thing. Judging by the smile that formed on his lips when he released my nipple and slowly brought his face close to mine, I’d say it was a good thing. He plants a quick kiss to my lips before replacing them with his fingers, leaving a trail of my slick in their path. I instinctively lick my lips, taking in the taste of myself—oddly enough, I found it to be quite pleasant. “Good girl,” he growls, slipping his fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean for a second time.

Settling in between my legs, he slowly pushes himself inside me, earning another mewl from me. My legs find their way around his hips, crossing at the ankles and locking him in place, urging him to keep moving. He pulls out slowly, reentering me forcefully. I whimper at the sudden deepness—he smirks down at me and repeats his move; I find myself letting out another squeak. I quickly pull his head towards me, bringing his lips to mine in a heated kiss to stop myself from making these noises. A low groan sounds from his throat as he shoves his tongue into my mouth, exploring and massaging my tongue while his hips start to find a rhythm. I find myself running my hands down his back, feeling his muscles flex beneath my fingertips with each movement he made. I dig my nails into his skin while he keeps thrusting into me, earning a hiss from him.

He retreats, sitting up on his knees, palming my thigh and pushes me onto my side. I roll onto my belly as he grabs my hips and aggressively pulls them back, bringing my ass up against him. Without a warning, he thrusts back inside of me, causing me to cry out while fisting the blankets. He continues to pound into me from behind, striking me in an angle I haven’t experienced before. “Fuck, Billy,” I groan out, relishing in the way his cock continuously struck my g-spot. I move my arm underneath me, running my fingertips across my clit, feeling how wet I was, just like he told me before. I run my middle and ring fingers against myself, edging on the climax I could feel build up. It doesn’t take long before I feel the heat spool up and let go, my walls clenching against his length as my orgasm finally hits. As I let out a string of moans, he relentlessly fucks me, never slowing down as my legs tremble and struggle to keep me from completely collapsing against the mattress. “Billy, oh God—” I whimper out, moving my hands onto his thighs in attempt to push him away as I was becoming overstimulated. “Please, stop, I-I can’t—” Suddenly I’m being pulled back by my hair, flush against his chest. “You can, and you will,” he growls almost animalistically. I had no choice but to take it, his strong arms holding me against him while I writhed against him, my legs still struggling to keep me upright. By the time his thrusts started to slow down, tears were pooling in my eyes and slowly trickling down my cheeks.

His strokes became sloppy, his breath load and coarse behind me, while he pulls my head back and to the side. He plants his mouth on mine, panting through his nose as I feel his load shoot in me. He keeps himself buried in me while he kisses me, coming down from his high.

After a moment or two, he releases my limp body, both of us crashing down on the bed in a sweaty mess. He lays on his side, pulling me to him and wrapping his arm around my back while we both tried to catch our breaths. He leaves a firm kiss on my forehead before lowering his gaze to my face, the tiniest lift in the corners of his mouth in a smile. Noticing the dry trail of tears on my face, he takes the arm that was around me and swipes my cheek with the pad of his thumb tenderly. I nuzzle into his touch, humming peacefully, a small smile forming on my own lips. “Sorry,” he breaks the silence, “I couldn’t contain myself. Are you alright?” His voice was so soft, comforting. “Yeah,” I sigh, craning my neck to place a kiss against his jaw. “Good,” he hums this time, giving me another firm kiss on my forehead. “I love you, Sid.” “I love you too, Billy,” I throw an arm around his side, pulling myself closer to him. “Thank you for being here with me.”

|Chapter 5|

[mekkyuun]

Some BSD OC ideas Part 1 Foreign Authors

Ann Conan Doyle

genderbended cause I like drawing women.

"Hound Of Baskerville"

She can summon a bloodhound dog by her side. And can connect her senses with it. Can be used as an attack dog, used to sniff evidence and trace scents.

Now this is stupid, and unnecessary, but for the life of me I cannot RP here without thinking she can only work for the Order of the Clock Tower cause she's bri'ish (my condolences for her btw) I'm imagining she uses the name Saburo Kagami since that's the name of one the translations into Japanese I read Sherlock Holmes and was the first to translate the anthology "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" into Japanese, if you want to go the whole living in Yokohama route.

I love to imagine she has sight impairment and her bloodhound, dubbed "Watson" is a sight dog.

And considering it irratationally pisses me off how a lot of Sherlock perception like the "Elementary my dear Watson" wasn't in the book when I read it, I will not allow her to follow the Sherlock tropes out of spite.

Charlotte Gilman

"The Yellow Wallpaper"

Kinda like Lucy's ability "Anne of Abyssl Red" it creates a room and entraps her and her targets in a pocket dimension of sorts, but unlike Lucy's being her escapist break from reality, Charlottes is just miserable, and she has no control over it's design or functions towards her, makes a great prison with how damn dingy it is. If Lucy's ability is the ultimate escape from reality, Charlottes is the snap back to reality. It's designed like a liminal space, unlike Lucy's that's a mostly closed off space, I imagine Charlottes is a never ending expanse, with no end in sight.

Aesop

Yep, just fucking Aesop. No limit to how old the authors I pick go. Considering the amount of fables this fucker wrote, and now way in hell I'm reading any of them, listen everyone read some rehash of Aesop in a childrens book, I ain't doing that.

"Boy who cried wolf"

OP as it is, he can alter reality or create manipulate circumstances, if he can convince the person what he can do is true. He can't necessarily "create" anything, or "alter reality" in any grand way, just has to rely on reasonable scenarios since they have to be believable. Like for example, he isn't saving anyone from Ame No Gozen cause there' no way anyone will actually believe he can do shit. With BSD being full of characters who just read the script (Dazai, Fyodor, Mori, Ranpo you don't get nearly enough screen time) I can't imagine he could do much against them.

C o r m a c M c c a r t h y

Ohhh this one is going to be fun, and I'm saying this as someone who dislikes Cormac Mccarthys works.

"Blood Meridian"

I get it, most popular work, kinda boring one to go with but I do not give a flying fuck.

Judging by the "Judges" whole shtick of depravity, and nigh omnipotence, I'm imagining he can see into the future, but it's limited by the scope and morality of the person, someone like Kenji? Probably at most a second or two, if it all cause it's Kenji, someone like say Fukuchi? Probably maybe months of planning ahead. Now to balance this already OP ability, the stipulation is the person has to be aware they're immoral, and doing the wrong thing. Someone like Fyodor who thinks he's doing good? Doesn't work.

Probably joined the Guild just to watch it burn frfr, just an indulgent OC who purely exists to observe and fuck shit up.

Joseph Conrad

"The Secret Sharer"

Can create doppelgangers with the same voice and appearance of others, great for infiltration all that.

Since the Captain sees himself as a "double" of Leggatt, all that, I just took it literally. Bla, bla, bla, limitations, I'll think of some later.

Bella Dickens

Genderbended again from Charles Dickens but this time I have a reason

"Our Mutual Friend"

While there's plenty to pick fron, a Christmas Carol, Oliver Twist, I wanted to choose this one.

Similiar to Mori, Bella summons her "ideal" partner, John Rokesmith / Harmon. And while we don't know Mori's extent of control over Elise, Bella cannot control John at all, ans he ultimately has his own will even if it coincides with her subconcious goals, that way I can write fun scenarios of them getting royally fucked over by John. Since Bella lives in poverty, a lot of her main goals is just to survive and is vague shit like "I want money to survive" that way John can do it in the worst way possible. Ability that makes your life worse? Yes. Fun to write? Also yes.

(Just feel the need to note this, god I hate the name Bella so damn much, and Isabella too, but I can't in good concious call her Wilfer Dickens or some shit.

Miguel Cervantes

"Don Quixote"

Just a perfect knight in shining armour, generates a suit of armor around him and a sword. He really, really likes his ability. Takes great pride in it. I imagine he's with the transcendents but no one there likes him, and they all think he has a screw loose. VERY VERY MORALS DRIVEN, not in a Kunikida way, more like the Azure King way. Thinks he's the most upstanding noble guy in the world. Overall just the goofy funny man OC when I write too much angst. It'll make the angst all the more potent when he fails and realizes he isn't the infallible knight he thinks he is.

I'll be back with my massive backlog of Japanese author OC's, since I've gotten into more Japanese literature as of late. But for now these are some little snippets.

[thefanficmonster]

Ever Heard of Knocking?!

Max Brinly x Reader (AFAB Non-binary, They/Them pronouns used) [The Quarry]

Warnings: Mentioned (not described) nudity, Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Humor

Summary: Max’s omission of the basic etiquette of entering rooms lands him and Y/N in a curious predicament.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request, hope I captured what you wanted! Love, Vy ❤

As someone with a strong respect for your wardrobe, you’ll begrudgingly admit the slim pickings you’ve gotten stuck with when it comes to outfits. There’s only so many risks you’re willing to take with your clothes and getting a beloved article dirty during a hike is not one of them. One might wonder why you even brought something so sacred to a damn summer camp but you wouldn’t be able to answer. You’re asking yourself the same question. Hell, you have at least three shirts you wouldn’t let anyone even breathe on let alone wear them out in the wilderness. You’d never sentence your clothes to death like that, you’re no monster.

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you weigh your losses. Considering your typical outfits of choice for outdoorsy activities are in the laundry room still, you have no other option than to send someone after them.

A moment’s thought offers you a solution: Abi. She was sitting on the stairs outside the cabin when you made the short dash from the showers back to your cabin. If there’s anyone you can rely on with your clothes, it’s her.

However, just as you turn on your heel with the intention of peeking your head out the door to call out to Abi, it’s flung open, causing you to jump back, the towel wrapped around you slipping ever so slightly before your hands instinctively catch it, saving too much from being shown. 

Before you stands a now paled but still crimson-cheeked Max whose brain just so decides to pick this very moment to betray him and malfunction, levaing him frozen and slack-jawed.

At least until you screech: “Do you mind?!”

You can just about see the gears turning in that head of his as he processes what you’re insinuating, “Oh! Oh, r-right!” He barely maintains his balance with the speed at which he whirls around to face the outdoors. That’s when he also draws the conclusion to close the door so no wandering campers can stumble upon the scene and make it worse than it already is.

You mutter curses to yourself as you grab the first pair of pants and the first shirt that finds itself under your palm, “Ever heard of knocking, damn it?!”

“I wanted to scare you!“ Max, bless his heart, sounds distressed and guilty to the point you’re surprised he hasn’t taken off running yet.

“Oh, well isn’t that great! Weak defense, Max!“ You bite back, masking your bright burning embarrassment with faux anger.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I really am!“ He cries out. Peeking over at him from your task of getting dressed, you can see that the tips of his ears and the back of his neck are a fiery red, probably the same color as his cheeks right now. You can’t help the smile that threatens to creep up onto your face at how cute and endearing you find it even though you yourself are drowning in the need to turn into a turtle and crawl back into your shell and sleep for a long time.

“You can turn around now.“ You sigh, adjusting your freshly applied clothing as he waddles around to face you like an awkward penguin, “And although your apology has been accepted, I will exploit your remorse and ask you for a favor. Is that cool?“

He nods frantically, “Yes, of course, anything....”

“Great, ok.“ Two birds, one stone, you think to yourself, “Would you be a dear and make a dash to the laundry room and pick up my clothes. Basket number ten.“ Although you make sure to emphasize the number, a part of you can imagine that in this frenzy, poor Max has a grand chance of forgetting and grabbing the first basket he comes across. The thought nearly makes you laugh.

“Of course. On it.“ He replies without a second to spare, his mouth dry with embarrassment still as he quickly struts out of the cabin. However, just when you think he’s gone, he pops his head back in, “That’s a great shirt, don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it.”

Instinctively, you look down at your band tee, “Oh, thanks. You like them too?”

“Sure do!” He replies with his signature warm and charming Max smile, “Though it would probably help if you didn’t wear it on backwards.“

Wha-shit!

Yeah, the shirt is very backwards. How you didn’t notice the tag sticking out front is a mystery. Wait, no, it’s not. It’s not that outlandish considering your crush almost saw you naked.

“Shut up, Brinly!“ You can keep the smile off your face only for so long, it’s always like that with Max.

[froldgapp]

For the writing prompt list (and Tim Drake):

“I hate that I let you convince me to do this” or “I don’t want you to die for me, I want you to live for me.” :D

Thank you!

“And one and two and three and f–!” Dick lunged forward, barely managing to keep himself upright on his crutches, as Tim lost his footing and almost ate a mouthful of rubber matting. He managed to correct himself at the last moment, bouncing into Dick and nearly bringing them both down. “Oopsie,” Dick said, chuckling despite the judgemental look Jason was giving him as he moved through his cool down routine.

“Ugh,” Tim moaned into Dick’s chest. “I hate that I let you convince me to do this.”

Dick made there-there circles on Tim’s back. “You’ll get the hang of it. Think of it like an assignment. Or–ooh–like an equation. You love those.”

“I failed calculus four times, Dick. Mr Schiller cried when he had to call Bruce about my report.”

That gave Dick pause. Tim looked up at him through sweat-clumped hair. “Why’d you have to go and break your foot?”

“Technically masked assailant number four broke my foot. And a mallet. And gravity, I guess.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You love watching me suffer.”

“I love to watch you flourish. Which is exactly what dancing will help you do–hey!”

Tim sank to the floor, leaving a damp forehead streak on Dick’s spotless grey cropped sweater. Sitting slumped in his white shorts and tee, he looked like a person doing their best impersonation of a discarded tissue.

“Nobody’s ever going to believe I’m a dancer, never mind a new member of this fancy dance troupe. Can’t we just, I dunno, storm in and make the guy hand himself in?”

Awkwardly, Dick positioned himself on the floor opposite Tim and offered his most doleful look. “Come on, Timmy. You know the guy’s cagey. Now I’m out of commission for the next four weeks, you’re our best shot at luring him out.”

“Isn't there anyone else in this stupid family who...?" Tim trailed off as his weary eyes took in miniature demon Damian furiously drawing a picture of a mound of dead ninja and Jason who was distractedly inspecting an errant nipple hair. "Ugh," he groaned and flopped onto his back. “This is going to be a disaster. I can’t even box step.”

"Stop overthinking it so much, Timmy. It's just like fighting." 

"Then he's truly a lost cause," Damian sneered from across the room.

"Har dee har.” Tim closed his eyes and sucked in a noisy breath through his nose. “Dick, you know I would die for you...”

“I don’t want you to die for me. I want you to live for me. Dance for me!”

Jason sniggered. “Phantom of the crop-topera over here.”

“But I just... It’s embarrassing. I have two left feet.”

“Nuh-uh.” Dick wagged his finger. “You have two perfect feet but one big noisy brain.” Struggling to his feet and crutches again, Dick offered his hand. “I promise I won’t let you embarrass yourself.” Jason opened his mouth to speak, so Dick added, “Publicly.”

Tim wriggled in place like a petulant toddler. That’s when Dick knew he’d won. Tim was way too easy. “I promise you won’t regret it. I think you’ll even like it. And besides, you can prove Jason and Damian here wrong, which is, like, your favourite activity. They’ll be calling you Mr Hips when this is all over.”

Tim grumbled and took Dick’s hand. “I can think of one or two things to call you.”

Dick grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Can’t be any worse than what I got.”

Tim trotted back to the middle of the training mat, smiling despite himself. “Play the damn track.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."