#moreso like “this is not awful but can we please move on”

[tinajd187]

100% Achievements in Fallout: New Vegas!

am i a real transwoman now?

Something I've really wanted to do for a long time is finally done! In typical me-style, I did it by staying up all night to grind it out.

I'm gonna go shower now.

[sanjisblackasswife]

Any advice on writers who aren’t black but want to write black characters? Please and thank you, love your content 🥰

aw thank u!

immmm not great w descriptions so bare w me but

i usually just describe myself.

cuz im blck.

there are different ways to describe black women because we come in different shades and allat but a good way is to start w the skin:

“The way Y/N’s beautiful rich brown skin under the setting sun glowed left Sanji speechless.”

Also with hair:

“Sanji moved a section of Y/N’s Amber thick curls that fell over her eyes with the back of his hand.”

Also black people DO blush but not ALL, but that doesnt mean we dont get flustered; with that being said you can moreso describe what a flustered girl looks like instead of saying “Her cheeks got red”;

“Y/N’s supple two toned lips pouted outwards, at Sanji’s compliment. She averted her gaze elsewhere, but she jumped feeling the cool contrast of his palm touching her warm cheek.”

or…just say shes flustered.

im not great w english despite it being my first language but u can google all this since im not great

[doesdarlingexe]

hi silly :3333

for Doe and/or Incelbur and/or Peter (or anyone really, idm, but I'm most curious about those three :3)

3. is there any abuse? physical, emotional, etc? who is the abuser? how far does it go? 4. do you argue a lot? do the arguments ever get physical?

I love doe and incel so much how am I supposed to PICK . doing all of them you can't stop me

Doe🫀3: Any abuse is purely a mistake on his part, but he does gut me every couple of loops, make me go through time loops, uses psychokinesis on me... The works. He's not above abuse, but it's not planned, moreso spur of the moment actions that build up. He's definitely the abuser, but it's not as bad as someone like Peter.

Doe🫀4: We argue sometimes about the time loops, mainly because I'm not the hugest fan of getting stabbed. It's less of an argument and more "Doe please move on to the next day" "🥺" "god dammit". He does allow it to go on to the next loop every once in a while but I mean only after thousands of repeats of one loop that's how rare it is.

Peter🥩3: Peter is an abusive little fucker and he knows it and it's fully on purpose. Any kind of abuse is on the table, be it beatings, drugging, gaslighting, or any other manipulation or bodily harm. He encourages my own self-harm as well, because he finds it easier to control me when I believe I'm not worthy of anyone but him. That he is the only one who will ever love me. By the time I get any chance to escape, I'm too brainwashed to ever want to or to ever try.

Peter🥩4: In the early days, before I'm broken-in, a lot. I yell and beg and cry and he'll do absolutely anything in his power to get it to stop, from breaking my jaw to pulling teeth to starving me for any minor disagreement. There's rarely a time when they don't get physical, and it's only when I start to break, apologizing for ever upsetting him and telling him how much I love him to avoid my physical punishment (there is always an emotionally abusive "punishment" either way though).

Incel💻3: He's abusive. It's rare that he physically abuses me, only slapping or manhandling mostly, but that doesn't mean he won't make me physically harm myself in his name when he is insecure about our relationship (which is extremely often). He's not smart enough to truly plan out any emotional abuse, but in the spur of the moment it's really often that he'll end up picking the worst possible thing to say ("I hate seeing you cry..." followed up with "do it somewhere else" or "you're such an ugly crier" instead of comfort, for example). He's self-centered, and once he does get his hands on me, he abandons all semblance of pretending to be morally superior or a good boyfriend.

Incel💻4: We do, moreso than most of my f/os just due to the nature of his abuse. Most of my f/os are way more physically abusive than him; he's awful mentally but he's one of my more tame physically abusive f/os. That doesn't mean he doesn't backhand me for being a "bad partner", or throw things, or slam me against the wall or door or furniture. It's simply never meticulous or quite as torturous as the others. More blind anger and rage caused by his own insecurities and desperation rather than a need for gore or harm. He pretends to nurse me after, sometimes, if he thinks I might leave: *"I didn't mean to, it'll never happen again, you can hit me back please I deserve it, I'll hurt myself if you leave me".*

[redux-iterum]

Ok, here's a little challenge for you and the editors; roast for me 10 WC couples of your choice.

This was fun! We each took five with a bonus from the editor, and you can read our complaints after the readmore.

LYNX (editor)

Violetshine X Tree: I'm still trying to get through the latter half of AVOS, so I haven't seen their first time meeting up or them falling in love or anything like that. What makes me rather uncomfortable with this couple is that Tree's old enough to be Violetshine's father. Pebbleshine and Hawkwing were already young lovers, but with the release of Tree's Roots, one can calculate Tree to be born around the same time as Hawkwing. He even meets a heavily pregnant Pebbleshine when he's around fifteen months old. Honestly, if his and Violetshine's dynamic in late AVOS is good enough for a Warriors couple, I'm willing to just headcanon him as at most eight months older than her to make it more palatable. By the way, this has nothing to do with the ages when they meet up. Violet's a year old by Darkest Night and nearly an adult if her sister's warrior assessment is anything to go by.

Clear Sky X Storm: It's been some years since I read DotC, but the love drama in The Sun Trail was pretty stupid. Especially the insta-love thing. Maybe it was an insta-attraction? But this is Warriors and we can't have that, noooooooooo...

Clear Sky X Star Flower: Everyone's gone on with how Clear Sky getting with his son's ex is rather dubious, but what is often neglected is the fact that Star Flower can make choices too! She made the choice to go for her ex's dad which is about as questionable as Clear Sky's choice! My personal headcanon is that she's the kitty equivalent of a gold-digger.

Pebbleshine X Hawkwing: Alright, so you're either of these two nitwits who've recently become a warrior. Your very way of life has been drastically upturned by someone you thought you could trust. You've lost family and friends to your betrayal, and what's worse is you've lost your home. The world you've known for your whole life has been ripped form you and you have to keep ambling forward with the hope that the place you'll finally settle in will be worth all this hardship. The path ahead of you is long, uncertain, and dangerous, and you'll need to have a clear head to have a hope of surviving this season. SOUNDS LIKE THE PERFECT TIME TO BOINK AND START A FAMILY, AM I RIGHT?

Bumblestripe X Dovewing: Pushy, inconsiderate, trademark Nice Guy, from questioning why they haven't had children yet at some random meeting to suggesting they have children at her friend's funeral, everyone's said it already. Bumblestripe is not a good cat for Dovewing. I'm glad she's not with him since that makes her happy. But... Tigerfartstar X Dovewing: Yeah, Dovewing, your taste in toms is awful. This temperamental, arrogant, patronizing shipdit, while not as bad as Bimbostripe over there, is still pretty bad. It's been a long while since I read OotS and I haven't yet read Tigerheart's Shadow, but I probably should to get a refresher on why I hate this couple.

DULLARD

Bristlefrost x Rootspring: So ignoring that Rootspring as a -paw is a whiny, overly defensive putz that acts self-conscious about having Tree as his father, Bristlefrost does not ONCE show interest in him. Not once. Count ‘em, zero times. In fact, she’s aware of his crush on her and is embarrassed whenever he comes around and whenever people notice him staring at her. She actively avoids him and speaks curtly, even rudely, to try and drive him off. Then, out of buttfuck nowhere, she says she has feelings for him once he’s a warrior? When they’ve barely interacted beyond her spurring his affections? Fuck with that?

Crowpaw x Feathertail: Feathertail, you’re a nice girl. You’re team mom and almost a second in command to Brambleclaw. Everyone likes you. So why in the good god damn fuck does a pissant like Crowpaw (an apprentice at the time, by the way) deserve your recognition, let alone your love? You could get literally any other cat you wanted to, and you go for the fruit that was formerly hanging the lowest, but dropped off the tree and is now rotting on the floor. He is nothing but a dick to you and only starts being remotely kind two seconds before you die. Please love yourself and do better in StarClan.

Bluefur x Oakheart: Speaking of low hanging fruit, this is a very, very easy one to dunk on. It’s moreso the fact that this entire “relationship” is treated as one of the great tragic romances in this series than anything else. The two of them talk, what, two or three times? And then have exactly one night together before Bluefur kills one of their kits and shoves the other two on him and then that’s it. That’s all they had. A one night stand and child death. What a love story. Why does Bluefur think Thrushpelt is the worse option, again?

Dustpelt x Fernpaw: GOD, this relationship is creepy. I still get simultaneously unnerved and mad whenever I read the first arc, because Dustpelt initially seems like he’ll go with Sandstorm before she stupidly falls in love with Fireheart, but then he sets his sights on someone so much younger than him that he actually asks if he can mentor her instead of his original apprentice (her brother, fun fact). Let me emphasize that, because he is actively seeking a power imbalance in this relationship, and he clearly intends to eventually get with her. Bear in mind that she is still being treated like she’s a young kid, if not a teenager, by the narrative. I could be here all day on this fucking topic, but let’s move on.

Berrynose x Poppyfrost: We all know what I’m going to say here. Berrynose having the brass to say loving things to a dying, agonizing Honeyfern after she spent all this time pining after him, and then less than two months later, he shacks up with her sister. That is the coldest thing he could possibly have done to her. The fact that the writers decided that she’s totally okay with the relationship and takes care of her sister’s dead kits like they’re hers is extra terrible. Like, she still gets the scraps when she’s dead? Seriously?

[bellafragolina]

Heya again! Hope you don't mind the prompt but...

What if Ingo was sort of self aware? Or at least aware of the fact that you and him are on the opposite sides of fantasy and reality? What if he was just as besotted for us as we are to him or moreso?

What if he was to write a loveletter expressing his sorrow of never being able to be truly with the reader? ;w; hhhhhhnnnngh I'm so sad Ingo doesn't exist... he's the perfect man really! TwT if only he felt similar for me...

Aw, I know how you feel. Don't worry, love, I have no doubt that Ingo would love you were he real <3 Also I'm assuming you mean the Ingo from Black/White, but I'm happy to write for Warden Ingo if you want!

🍓🍓🍓

Ingo realized his world wasn't real when he started seeing the code. Everything around him, even him himself, was made of 1s and 0s, all of it capable of tweaking, of change, should he just reach in and move some things around. It was terrifying to realize, devastating to know he and his brother weren't real, but it explained some things as well. Your player character, the erratic behavior and movement style of them, it was because you, the player, were real, outside of this device he lived in.

He saw you for the first time, in the sky, through the screen. You smiled so sweetly when you played, speaking to the other characters, catching and training your Pokémon. He could hear you some days, hear you lamenting that the things in the game weren't real, that. . . he wasn't real.

Your kindness and skills when challenging his lines easily made him fall for you. You wished he was real? He wished the same. He would give anything to be in your world with you, or you in his world with him. The chance to feel you, hold you, kiss you? He would take it in a heartbeat, consequences be damned.

Ingo disregards the game's normal flow in a moment of passion and desperation. He approaches your character before the Elite Four, a letter clutched in his fist, and passes it over after a short speech on how it contains something important, please keep an open mind about it?

Dearest,

I know this is hard to understand, but these past few days you have been one of the only things I can manage to think of. I look up at you and see your smile, and I feel so warm. I hear you speak the same of me, and I wish to join you in your world, or have you join me in mine, but I have no idea of how to accomplish such a thing. It hurts, knowing I can never truly be with you, but I hope to at least express to you my feelings to you through this letter.

I love you. If you are willing, I would revere the chance to try and be with you. If you feel the same, meet me in the Gear Station. I'll be waiting.

Yours forever, Ingo

It's hard to resist such a sweet letter, and you're curious. Is this real? Could he really be awake, conscious of this reality, and love you like the letter says? You go to the Gear Station, find him, and talk to him. Ingo is thrilled to see you, and immediately asks if this means you accept his feelings and are willing to try this out. You're given a prompt, yes or no, and he hopes whatever you choose you don't leave him. He fears if you abandon the game, he'll succumb to the madness of nothingness.

🍓🍓🍓

I would do it, I would brave the engineering and tech schooling necessary to get him an android body, math be damned.

Hope you liked it, love! Have a wonderful day!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Long Live the Queen

“A special spell”, as @panacea-wishes would say, but this time for the Sorceress herself!

***Warning: Mild chapter 5 spoilers!***

Imagine this...

Any affair hosted by Pomefiore was sure to be an opulent one—but today, the dormitory was decked out even moreso than usual. Decorations dripping with gold, tablecloths of shimmering silk, gourmet catering, a private orchestra, and immaculate outfits for each attendee... No expense was spared for the special occasion.

You were but one face in that shining sea, dressed in your finest garb—the only outsider invited to join the festivities. To your left and to your right, strangers in long robes and ties drifted about. They moved so fluidly, cutting across the polished floor like swans upon a lake of glass.

You shifted your feet uncomfortably, feeling a bit out of place in such a glamorous space. You took an anxious sip from your flute of sparkling apple juice. Bubbles danced up and tickled your nose as the beverage went down.

“Did you hear?” a nearby mob student said—not to you, but to a few of his friends. “Schoenheit-sama will be interning with Potions & Lotions, that famous skincare company from the Land of Pyroxene.”

“I heard, I heard! He’s going to be working with their prestigious Research and Development deparment, isn’t he? His proficiency in magical pharmecuticals will serve him well there.”

“Amazing, as expected of Schoenheit-sama! He makes me proud to be a student of Pomefiore!”

You took another swig of your apple juice, trying to avoid eavesdropping. But your curiousity got the better of you, and the mob students’ words floated over yet again.

“What of Hunt-senpai?”

“I heard he will be interning at a detective agency in Pyroxene’s capitol! He was scouted by the police chief himself for his eye for detail.”

“Wow... I hope we’re able to get fancy internship offers like that when our fourth year arrives.”

That’s right. People are moving on. Growing up. Advancing in the world.

Good for them.

You took a third sip—this time, the juice was somewhat bittersweet. Your eyes flitted about, seeking a familiar face, not gossip, to latch onto. Luckily for you, you did not have to search for very long.

“Your attention, please.” A clear, commanding voice announced—and at once, the orchestra silenced. All heads, including yours, turned to the peacock throne at the head of the room.

There stood Vil, in all of his beauty. Today, he wore a form-fitting suit, woven in the colors of green, blue, and violet—the colors of a peacock. His golden hair was up, held in place by a jeweled pin with feathers that jutted out. Vil’s eye makeup mimicked the colors of his suit, cool hues flaring out and making him seem even more bold and imposing than before.

He nodded in satisfaction at those in attendance. “Thank you for being here for the ascension ceremony this evening. As you all know, I will soon be departing to complete an internship—as will your vice-dorm leader, Rook. Therefore, the time has come to crown a new queen for Pomefiore. He will be responsible for selecting a new vice-dorm leader... as well as leading you potatoes to greater heights.”

A mob student before you started to clap. Then a few others joined in.

You wondered if you should set down your class and join in the applause, but Vil was quick to bring a hand up. The beginnings of clapping ceased.

“Hold your applause for your new dorm leader,” he insisted. Vil raised his voice. “Epel Felmier.”

“Yes.”

You swallowed hard at the mention of his name, at the swell of his soft voice.

He stepped up from the crowd, which parted to make way for him. Epel had grown several centimeters in the past few years, now only a bit shorter than Vil. He maintained the delicate beauty he had held in his time as a first year, those wispy lavender locks, long lashes, and full lips. But his eyes—they had sharpened into sapphires circled with makeup moonlight, and he walked with a newfound confidence.

Pomefiore’s dorm leader uniform fitted his new form well. Flowing cloth cascaded over his long arms and legs, and formed a train of fabric wherever he walked. Click, click, went his boots, the cords that bound his waist falling in time with his steps.

All that he was missing was the coveted crown.

“Vil-senpai.” Epel stopped before his dorm leader—soon to be ex-dorm leader—and knelt.

“I am entrusting you with the safety and the security of Pomefiore’s students—and the dorm’s future,” Vil declared, chin raised. “Are you prepared to take on the responsibilites of a dorm leader?”

“I am,” Epel replied with quiet conviction. “I swear...!! I will lead Pomefiore to greatness, just as you and Rook-senpai have before me.”

“Hmph. Don’t let me down, then.” Vil smirked before turning and calling out, “the crown.”

Rook, in a violet suit and crimson bowtie, approached with a plush cushion—and upon it, an intricate crown. The same crown Vil had once worn himself, wrought of gold. A sword piercing a heart as the centerpiece.

The huntsman kneeled, bowing his head and holding out the cushion to his queen. He didn’t need to look to know that Vil had nodded to him before plucking the accessory up.

“With this crown, I pass the torch to you. With this crown, you are Queen undisputed.” Vil recited, raising the glittering diadem over Epel’s head. He brought it down upon the boy’s hair. Gold dug into lilac locks, finding a new home nestled on his head. “You may now rise.”

Epel slowly stood—his back to the crowd, to you. He lifted his head and looked Vil right in the eyes.

Sapphire and amethyst colliding.

“May you carry on the unrelenting efforts of the Beautiful Queen in my place.” Vil took his junior by the shoulders and spun him around. “Pomefiore—your new dorm leader, Epel Felmier.”

The crowd erupted into applause and whistles, cheers and elated well wishes. You, too, were swept up in the frenzy. What little remained of your sparkling apple juice had been set aside in favor of clapping.

Clapping, clapping—one palm hitting the other in rapid succession. Hard, loud. Until your hands were red and swollen and raw.

Raising a dainty hand, Epel waved back.

“... Hey.”

You jumped at the familiar voice that greeted you as you picked up a new flute of apple juice. You dared to look—and there was Epel, in his full, regal dorm leader regalia. Crown and all.

“O-Oh... Hey!!” you stammered, trying to play off your nerves (and failing). “Nice party, huh? Thanks for inviting me as your plus one... I don’t think I’d ever be invited to a shindig as fancy as this one if it weren’t for you.”

Epel offered a gentle smile. “I wanted you to be here. I should be the one thanking you for coming.”

“Of course I’d come. I wouldn’t want to miss your big coronation,” you reached out to give him a playful shove on the arm—but paused midway and let your arm fall. It wouldn’t be appropriate to act so casual with a dorm leader, you scolded yourself.

“You’re all grown up now, Epel,” you whispered, clutching a hand to your chest. “Congratulations, Mr. Pomefiore dorm leader.”

“Ah, well...” Epel rested a hand on the back of his neck. “It’s a new title, but... I like to think that I’m still ‘just Epel’, the Pomefiore student. I’ll always be that farm boy that tried to pick a fight with Vil-senpai—Great Seven knows how many times.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve come a long way since your first year. Especially during VDC—you shone really brightly on that stage.”

“That’s true, but I’ve still got a long way to go. Vil-senpai helped me to realize that.” Epel glanced to the surrounding Pomefiore students. Eating, chatting, laughing. “I just hope I can live up to the legacy he left behind. It’s some pretty big shoes to fill in.”

“You’ll do just fine. You always do,” you reassured him with a pat on the shoulder—before quickly jerking your hand back.

Too familiar, too causal.

Epel raised an eyebrow. “Is... Is something the matter? You’ve been a little jittery all evening.”

“I...” Your voice trailed off as soon as you gazed into his curious blue eyes. Like the ocean, welling up with sincerity. You couldn’t lie to him—you just couldn’t. “I’m just worried that we’ll grow apart now that you’re a dorm leader.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because!” You gestured vaguely to the celebration. “A dorm leader has more important things to do than hanging out with people like me. You have students to lead, events to plan. I... I think I’d only get in the way of your progress.”

“... Don’t say that,” Epel pleaded, suddenly grasping your hands. “Please, please don’t say that.”

You stared at the contact—where his hands met yours. “I... I don’t understand...”

“I couldn’t have made it this far without your support, either. You picked me up when I was down, and you cheered me on when I was at my lowest and about to quit.” Epel’s delicate featured hardened—from glass to diamond. “So don’t ever say those awful things about yourself.”

“But... You’ve made it so far, and I’m still—“

“A farmer never forgets his roots,” Epel said mysteriously, a finger taped to his lips, “and it’s not just me. We all flower one day. You may just be a late bloomer—but when you finally do bloom... I bet you’ll be the prettiest apple blossom in the whole orchard.”

Your cheeks flamed. He laughed, giving your hand a squeeze, and pulling you close to him. You fell against his chest—sturdy and secure and warm—and glanced up at him in shock.

“What are you...”

“Dance with me,” Epel suggested with a light-hearted smile, “and I’ll show you that you’re worthy of this queen.”

The orchestra had started up again, the strings to a new song flowing like water. Turn, twirl, dip, went the pairs on the dance floor, in time with the music. All of this, set in golden lamplight.

Outside, the sky was a dark blue, the starlight reflected in his sapphire eyes. And here he was, offering his outstretched hand to you.

He was still the same sweet, loyal Epel you had always known. The same young man that set your heart aflutter, whether he was soft-spoken or brash. He was both—just as he was both a dorm leader and your beloved.

You melted, and your hesitation dissipated like the winter snow.

You slipped your hand into his and beamed. “Long live the Queen.”

[lifblogs]

do a oneshot about anakin ft a lot of padme's back ;) maybe some fun times with them and that backless dress after they're married

Okay, so I’m gonna level with you, anon. This really came across as a demand, especially since I didn’t state I was taking requests, so there is an etiquette that was lacking. However, this idea was fantastic, and I’m in a fun Anidala mood anyway, and I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, this fic was fun. Please enjoy!

War Will Tear This From Us

1753 words

read on ao3

Padmé’s breath was labored as Anakin slowly began to undress her. Even after their time spent in Varykino on Naboo after the Battle on Geonosis, giving Anakin time to heal and grow used to his new mechno-arm, he still struggled. But Padmé knew he didn’t want her help with this, that he wanted to do it all on his own.

But maybe—

No.

She inhaled deeply—so deep in fact that she felt as if she needed more air—when Anakin finally managed to have the intricate lace of her wedding dress start sliding off of her. This was all new to her, but it was a newness that she wanted to explore with him.

Her back still bore scars from the Nexu during her attempted execution, but Ani didn’t seem to care. His fingers—both skin and metal that was warming to her touch—brushed against the raggedness of them. The scars would fade in another week or so with proper treatment, but for now they were real, and they were a reminder of what they’d faced together. She trembled from the care of which he caressed her, heat running in liquid trails down her spine.

“Ani…” she breathed, not sure what she had even been planning on saying.

She could tell he was smiling, could hear it in his voice when he asked quietly, “Yes?”

“Shouldn’t we undress together? I want to see you.”

Her cheeks reddened at this admittance, the entirety of this relationship so new to her. Yes, she’d already had her first kiss, and she had been close with Clovis, but after all she’d been through, she was married, and to Padawan Anakin Skywalker. She couldn’t calm the fluttering in her stomach or the soaring in her heart. The light in her seemed to grow even as the burning sunset faded over the lakehouse.

“Well let’s just make sure this dress doesn’t get in the way of you taking my clothes off.”

Again she found herself taking in far too much air. Part of her wanted to hold her dress up over her chest as it began to slip off of her body. Anakin, noticing her tension, pressed himself up against her and caressed her arms.

“We can wait,” he said. “Though the images I have in my mind of you… I can barely stand it.”

For a few moments they just existed together, bodies moving in tandem with their breaths. She could feel the strong, racing beat of his heart through her back.

“No.” She turned to him, and did hold up her dress, just so it wouldn’t slip around her legs and entangle her. With one hand she reached out to run her fingers through his short hair, and then caressed his face, holding his chin. “We’re married, and I’m choosing to do this with you, not because I have to as your wife, but because I want to.”

“Then why so tense?”

Testing him, she ran her hand over his body, and found him tense as well, though slightly more relaxed than her. His pupils grew larger from her touch, and this close to him, she was beginning to feel a hardness in between his legs, pressing against her stomach.

“Don’t pretend you’re not nervous too.”

At that, something in him seemed to snap and release, and she was swept up into his arms. They kissed, a kiss that sent liquid fire down in between her legs, and he tugged the rest of her dress off. Something about being bare before him while he was still in his Jedi tunics and tabard tugged at that wildness inside her. Her nipples peaked, and she found herself moving her body against his, in ways she didn’t know it could move or even wanted to, as he brought her over to their bed.

Anakin was gentle about laying her upon it, but there was nothing tender about the way their mouths came together again and again with the force to bruise.

Oh stars, this was her husband. How had any of this happened? How was she so lucky to reconnect with that boy from Tatooine?

During their decade apart she would wonder what he looked like as he slowly became a man, and now, she wasn’t at all disappointed. He was tall, toned, and now possessed a strength about him that made her want to melt, and with a face so handsome it broke her heart. He was melting into her too, so in love with the angel from the stars who’d wished for his freedom.

Anakin’s mechno-arm found her waist, and he hissed in a breath.

Padmé smiled. “How are those electrostatic fingertips working for you?” she asked.

He squeezed, clearly amazed that he could still touch and feel. His kiss-swollen mouth was open in awe. “Just wonderful.”

Anakin took this time to survey her body, and she was faced with all those dreams he’d had of her, all those thoughts he’d tried banishing with his training, all the things he had tried to keep buried. All of it burned like warming and steaming ice in his blue eyes, and Padmé was sure she was flushing down to the roots of her hair.

He caressed, and, wanting more, she slowly began to open her legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her.

“I assume you are too underneath all those robes.”

“You really want to see me naked, don’t you?”

Padmé was breathless as she answered, “Yes.”

So Anakin stepped back, and began to undress for her. Padmé immediately leapt off the bed, completely unashamed by her nudity now, and the ways in which her body moved. She reached for him, slapping his left hand away from his belt.

“I want to do that!” she snapped.

It turned into a war to see who could get his clothes off faster, leaving them giggling. The fight ended with Padmé on top of Anakin on the bed, legs spread over his muscled thighs. He’d just finished kicking off his loose-fitting pants that she had done the honors of untying the laces of, and for some reason she still had his belt. Jokingly, knowing she could explore and play with him, she made to tie the belt around his wrists.

His grin was lecherous.

“Padmé, you don’t want to do that.”

She leaned in, kissed his nose, and asked, “And why not, Jedi?”

“Because I can do this!”

On this, he grabbed the belt, and used it to pull her off of him. He twisted her onto her stomach. Her surprised scream turned into a moan as he pressed against her. Oh, he was hard, and Padmé wasn’t sure since she didn’t have any other measurement to refer to, but he seemed so large. The hot length of him throbbed against her ass. Then that strange, but welcome sensation became a myriad of pleasure as he began to kiss her back, holding her hips all the while.

“What is with you and my back?” she got out, voice low and throaty. 

The laugh that had been building in her throat died as he kissed her topmost scar. That cut had been the longest, the deepest, and it was still sore. But his touch there brought something new to her body. Not pain. But care, pleasure. It brought tears to her eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” he responded, sounding drunk off of her. And Padmé herself was getting drunk off of his voice, his touch, feeling his thighs against hers, closing her in.

She got up on her forearms, and twisted, reaching back, grabbing him by the back of his neck as he leaned in. Even while twisted in a slightly awkward position, Padmé couldn’t stop herself from marveling at the sight of her husband, naked above her. Each muscle had a soft gleam in the dimming light, proving just how hot he was, how much he wanted this. The promise of sweat and movement left her practically drooling, and she shifted against him, moaning with want.

“I love what I see, too.”

They kissed, and then he ever so gently extricated her from him and made her face forward again.

“Stay still.”

“Oh, so you’re going to command a senator?”

“I serve the Republic,” he answered. “But I’m detached from it, so, in a way, I can do as I please.”

“In your dreams. Besides, if there really is going to be a war, you have to follow my orders since you’ll be directly serving the Senate.”

“I thought that was a dictatorship.”

“Fine, then do we vote that I can give you orders?”

“Of course.” Anakin gyrated against her, leaving Padmé even more hot and wanting, moaning beneath him. He went on, “And what are your orders, my lady?”

She pressed back, trying to shove him off of her, but it didn’t work. Instead, it left Anakin holding himself up with his core, running his hands over the front of her body. Their motions turned into a wild thing of desperate, dry-humping, and Anakin’s left hand finding the wetness in between her legs.

“That you stop this nonsense, and fuck me already,” she growled.

“As long as I get to take you from behind first,” Anakin negotiated.

Padmé didn’t even care in which way they came together. They had all night to explore each other, and right now she just wanted him inside her, even while a part of her wondered how he’d even fit.

“Blast, I don’t even care,” she breathed. “Just figure out how to get in me.”

“Can I have help?”

She giggled, realizing that he was as clueless about her body as she was about his—maybe even moreso.

Rolling her eyes, she relented, “Sure.”

Anakin let out a victorious whoop of joy and then continued to lavish her back with kisses, even beginning to lick her. All the while, he lowered himself down her body, and she lifted herself up, ass in the air, ready for him to learn her.

Anakin was an eager Padawan, and with desperate and humorous fumbling, he eventually managed to fill her. With her back pressed against his muscled torso, his cock in her up to his balls, she realized she wanted to experience this for the rest of her life. He held her as he took her, and Padmé gripped his arms, even the mechno-arm.

This was her life now. This was her husband. And for now she didn’t spare a thought for the war that could tear it all away.

[pandoraborn]

We get a lot of Techno taking care of Tommy (which I love as well) but what about Techno getting sick and Tommy having to take care of him? Could make it more angsty with Tommy not knowing what to do and fearing for Techno’s health or more hurt/comfort-y with Techno finally letting his guard down, letting himself rely on someone else and be taken care of for a day.

How’s he let himself get this bad? Technically, cold weather isn’t what makes one sick, but Techno’s been out in the rain and snow long enough that he feels awful. It doesn’t help that he’d barely been sleeping, more focused on building up his syndicate. Sure, he doesn’t have members yet, but building the base and trying to get flyers around takes up a lot of energy, considering he has to travel so much.

Traveling takes its toll.

Which is why when he hears Tommy rummaging through his chests downstairs, he doesn’t bother getting out of bed. He’s too cold, and each time he rolls over, he feels an ache in his chest that makes him want to cough endlessly.

“Hey Techno? I’m here!” Tommy calls up. Techno doesn’t bother responding. He’s long past the point of Tommy dropping by whenever he feels like it. It’s not even that Tommy steals from him anymore, Tommy just seems to have forgiven him, or is brushing everything under the rug. Techno doesn’t know what their relationship is anymore, but he’ll let Tommy do whatever. The company is rather nice.

“That’s nice,” Techno murmurs in response. His voice is too quiet to carry down, but he knows Tommy is probably going to climb the ladder anyway. Even moreso, considering just those two words is sending Techno into a fit, with him convulsing and wheezing into his pillow. Christ, he feels awful.

“Techno?” Tommy sounds concerned, and Techno can hear the footsteps moving up the ladder. He wants to tell the teen to get lost, but the energy needed to speak isn’t coming anymore. “Christ, Technoblade! What’s wrong with you?”

He feels Tommy pawing at him. Hand on his forehead, hands on his cheeks. In spite of how cold he feels, Tommy’s frigid hands feel so nice against his face. “You look awful, man.”

He finds himself leaning into Tommy, wanting more of that coolness against his burning cheeks. His pride won’t let him actually agree though. “I’m just tired, Tommy. I’ll be okay once I get showered.”

“Uh, no.” Tommy narrows his eyes. Even through blurred and watery vision, Techno can see the pensive expression, the concern. It makes him feel young again, too young to cope. Tommy’s clearly taking charge now, and he knows he’s not in a place to argue.

“Tommy I just-” He falls into another coughing fit. This time, he’s coughing hard enough that he can taste acid. Had he really gotten this sick in such a short amount of time? Damn, he really let himself go. “-please...”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” Tommy presses his hands to Techno’s forehead again and nods. “I’ll stay here and nurse you back to health. I initially came by looking for ender pearls and diamonds, but I think you need soup more.” He pulls away to head back down the ladder.

Techno can’t help it: he whimpers at the loss of contact. He really is pathetic. Pathetic and small and sick, and relying on a fucking teenager to dote on him.

“I’ll be right back!” Even Tommy sounds frantic. “Close your eyes, Blade. Just close your eyes and breath slowly, okay? I’ll be right back.” He’s gone down the hole. Whatever he’s doing downstairs is a mystery, but Techno can hear chests opening and closing, followed by the smell of food cooking. He keeps his eyes closed to focus on his own breathing, but he can feel in his chest how messed up he is. Maybe he could make it out into the snow before he vomits all over himself due to coughing.

He must’ve dozed off, because the next thing he’s aware of is a bowl of soup being placed down next to him, followed by an ice pack, a hot water bottle, and medicine. Confused, he lifts his head, blinking slowly at Tommy. He doesn’t remember when Tommy knew how to care for anyone. Tommy had always been so...

“Easy, Tech,” Tommy says soothingly. His fingers come up to comb through his hair repetitively, lulling him back down into a drowsy stupor. Techno dimly feels a thermometer being tucked under his tongue, and he hums absently until the faint beep has Tommy checking to see where his temperature is. The teen is still petting him, keeping him in a fog.

“Temp’s a bit high, but nothing we can’t tackle.” Tommy’s grinning as he slides the hot water bottle underneath the blanket. Techno immediately curls into it, enjoying the warmth. The ice pack is placed on his cheek, cooling his face down. It’s not the same as Tommy’s hands, it’s far colder than that, but it’s also helping.

“You should eat,” Tommy says, once again keeping his voice low. “Eat some of the soup and then you can sleep. Also, I have medicine for you.”

“Hm.” Techno really wants to say ‘go away, I can fend for myself,’ but something about his pride is keeping him from talking. Also the illness.

But then again, it’s nice that he doesn’t have to fend for himself this time. It’s nice that he and Tommy can have this moment, even if it’s just a brief interaction.

He finds himself reaching for Tommy, gripping the hem of the teen’s shirt and holding as tightly as he can (which isn’t tight at all). He tries to open his eyes all the way to plead silently with Tommy to stay, that he doesn’t want to be alone right now.

Tommy seems to understand, because he goes back to playing with the piglin’s hair. “Okay big man,” the teen says softly. “I’ll stay by your side as long as you want me to. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

Good.

[embidedbythesand]

how nature points out the folly of man (fanfic)

gvk spoilers!!! you have been warned!!!!

AN - After being diappointed by Ren's lack of character development, I decided to take matters into my own hands and at the very least gave one of the most important characters of the Monsterverse's angsty son a redemption ark. (To give sum credit where it's due this is partially inspired by 'Abraxas' (if u havent read that yet read it it's *chefs kiss*)

(Constructive criticism is always appreciated)

fanfic availiable on ffn and ao3 (when ig et an account jgjehgaeg)

Summary: For the first time in five years, Ren Serizawa was almost glad his father was dead.

We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty, and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.'

-

He never meant for things to end up this way.

He just wanted peace.

All Ren Serizawa could think as he trudged his way up the stairs of Castle Bravo up to the flight deck was how tired he was. Yet, another sleepless night brings him back up to his best hiding spot, away from all the lights and noises and everyone and everything reminding him of what he did, what it led to.

It led to over four thousand dead.

Simmons ignored his pleas to at least test the Mecha with the energy they extracted. The man was blinded by his own fantasy of humanity reigning the earth once again to see the entity they had awoken, and Ren had been too blinded by grief to see that Walter was merely using him for his own gain, and wasn’t afraid to put him or his own daughter in harm’s way to get what he wanted.

The last thing he remembered before waking up confined to a bed in the Argo with a throbbing headache is being paralyzed by a force beyond comprehension in Monster Zero’s skull. The distorted computer’s warning drained out by the ever growing hum. And then the hum began to cackle.

Then nothing.

They said it was a miracle he was able to walk, talk or think, moreso that he was even alive.

Ren disagrees. He sees it as a curse.

The breeze greeted him immediately as he opened the door to the deck. He inhaled, tasting the salty air and exhaled, letting go of all the tension in his muscles as he did so. The night was silent minus the waves crashing below. He tried to focus on the sound as he walked towards the railing, trying to drown out the flashbacks of the god forsaken sinister voice that overflowed his brain in that machine, tormenting him, taunting him. Almost as if saying, “Now look what you’ve done little one. You awoke a force your pathetic little mind cannot even begin to conceive. You never learn. And now you will feel my rage until you can feel no more. I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you.”

As he lights a cigarette with shaky hands, Ren thinks, for the first time in five years, he was almost glad his father had died.

Blowing the smoke into the air and watching it until it diminished into nothing, he wonders what he would say to him, if anything at all. Would he even be able to even look at him? Perhaps his miraculous survival was at the thanks of him, his way of punishing him for his deadly error. He’d rebelled against his upbringing to respect the course of nature, never to fight against it. He let himself be manipulated into playing God only to become the Devil’s advocate, and he was now living in his own personal hell.

Because living with the heavy burden of his mistake was a punishment worse than death.

He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t even see the blue glow in the sea below beckoning closer and closer until he spots familiar dorsal fins breaking through the surface. He tumbles back and collapses to the floor, dropping his pack in the meantime, staring up in shock and amazement as the king of the monsters rises before him, staring directly back at him.

The titan his father died for. The titan he nearly killed himself trying to destroy.

Gojira.

The king looks down at him with curiosity, leaning closer with a deep bellowing rumble, close enough that he could have named the colors in his irises had it not been so dark. He huffs, the hot wind so forceful, it nearly pushes him back down again. Gojira lets a rumble escape his throat, as if he was saying, “I know you.”

Ren slowly gets back onto his feet and takes a step back, trying to control his breathing. The titan continued to stare him down inquisitively almost looking like he was trying to pinpoint where he had seen him before. Every alarm in Ren’s head rang at him to run, to say something, to do something, but he’s frozen. Whether it was from fear or awe, he’s not quite sure.

He wonders if this was how his father felt when he entered his chamber.

A growl brings him back to his majesty’s full attention, and his blood went cold.

This is it. Gojira recognizes him. He knows what he’s done and how he tried to destroy him and now he’s here to get his revenge. He braces himself and cowers down, waiting for the king to finish him and put him out of his misery. He continues to wait for the end to come, but it never came.

He just stood there, now with a mischievous look in his eyes. Ren’s blood begins to boil.

<“You BASTARD!”> he shouts in Japanese, so forceful that even Gojira looks taken aback.

<“How dare you torment me after everything! Who do you think you are?! You think you can just show yourself whenever you like, come and go as you please?! Take whatever and do whatever your heart desires and expect us to rejoice in your grace and sing kumbaya?!”> Ren stops to regain his breath, his vision beginning to blur, tears beginning to fall. He squeezes his eye shut as tight as he could, refusing to let the king see him begin to finally break after years of keeping his composure. <”My father gave you his life to you and what do you do? NOTHING! You don’t even blink! You have no remorse! He saw you as a God and valued you more than anything and you go on as if nothing happened! You took everything from me!”>

<”Then you come and taunt me! To show me how much of a coward my father’s pathetic excuse of a son is! You don’t think I know this already?! IknowIknowIknow!>”

He’s screaming through sobs now. He doesn’t care.

Looking up to the sky he shouts angrily at his father, <“Look what you’ve DONE! Look what your choice led to! Here I am breaking down to a giant ancient radioactive lizard,”> he dramatically motions his hands towards the beast while shouting to the stars, <”because you left me here! You left me behind! And now I’ve ruined everything! Is this your way of punishing me?! Is this what you want?!?!”> He hoped he could hear him.

Ren chokes and gasps for air and screams with all of his might before collapsing down onto his knees, pounding his fists onto the hard pavement like a child not getting his way, not even noticing that Gojira had moved closer to him until he falls and lands on his snout. He continues to slam his fists with his body onto him, before residing and burying his eyes into the heels of his palms, crying, <”Why did it have to be you?”> into them.

“<Why did you have to go?>”

He sobs for several more minutes, now shouting, <”I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”> into his hands over and over until he has no more tears left to cry. Once he finally regains his breath, he shakily stands up and pats his pockets for his cigarettes again. When he doesn’t feel them in there, he looks around and doesn’t see them. Assuming they fell into the ocean during his tantrum, he sighs defeated.

Gojira rumbles to remind him he’s still there. Ren looks up at him in his eyes again. This time however, he sees the strangest thing. Recognition. Compassion, even.

After a moment, He slowly takes a step forward, and reaches his hand out to rest on his face. (Ren doesn’t have to wonder if his father did the same, he knows.)

“Sorry for hitting you.” he says. (It roughly translated to, "I'm sorry I tried to replace you. For betraying him, betraying you. I'm sorry for all of it, for evrything." and everything his throat was too sore to speak outloud)

Gojira huffs in reply.

(That roughly translated to, “I Forgive You.” he wasn't referring to the poke on snout)

Ren pulls his hand away and Gojira pulls back as well, they share one final look before the titan turns and dives back into the ocean, splashing Ren in the process and disappears below the waves.

Ren sleeps that night, a lifetime’s worth of wounds finally beginning to heal.

-

[yikesharringrove]

Umm, I accidentally deleted the request for this while moving it to my inbox, so here it is. (Also this is like, four months old).

I’m gonna rec this fic which is super well written and adorable

Steve is ftm. (Personally, I’m not a big fan of mpreg unless it’s like, biologically plausible 🤷‍♀️)

Under the cut bc it’s long and there’s a little bit of smut.

-

Billy’s hands were shaking as he raced out of the house.

He had a bag slung over one shoulder, had already put two others in the Camaro.

His dad had gone in hard today. Three days after Billy graduated high school and he’s already calling him a deadbeat, a fuck up. Telling him to get a job like he hasn’t worked every summer and most weekends since he was fourteen.

He lit a cigarette as he slid into the driver’s seat.

He was gonna make one stop on the way outta town.

-

Steve had given Billy a spare key months ago, after he was tired of always having to go downstairs and answer the door.

He liked it when Billy just made his way up, started kissing whatever skin was already exposed and asking Steve if he’s wet.

Tonight, Steve thought, was no different.

Billy was kissing up his calf, mouthing along his knee, a few fingers creeping up the leg of his shorts.

Billy was the best sex he’s ever had. Not a lot of gay guys will go down on Steve, some won’t even fuck him. He had been real hesitant to tell Billy, start having regular sex with his best friend, because he didn’t think Billy would want anything to do with him when he knew what he was bringing to the table.

But Billy had told him not to be an idiot, ate him out, and pounded him into the mattress.

And Steve was in love.

So he let Billy fuck him whenever he pleased, because at least Billy was giving him the time of day, at least he was getting some.

He opened his eyes, smiling lazily down at Billy.

“‘Time is it?”

“Almost two.” Billy was curling two fingers into his waistband, slowly pulling down his shorts, like maybe Steve wouldn’t notice.

Steve lifted his hips, and Billy whipped off his shorts, diving right in for his pussy.

He ate him out with the same fervor he did everything. Making all these gross slurping sounds, sucking on Steve’s cock and shoving his tongue inside him.

He made Steve cum twice on his face, as was the norm, before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and getting right to business.

He fucked Steve like he was mad at him.

He often did. And Steve knew he wasn’t mad at him, moreso mad at the other him, the him that’s ruined Billy’s life since before he was even born.

Steve wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought. Knew that when Billy snuck into his bedroom at odd hours of the night and absolutely ravished him, something bad had happened with his dad.

So when Billy finally rolled off of him, and lit a cigarette, Steve knew better than to ask.

“I’m leaving.” Steve just hummed at him. Billy sometimes stuck around after sex.

But Billy didn’t move.

“Like, leaving Hawkins.” Steve just hummed again. Billy talked a lot about leaving Hawkins. Steve had always secretly dreamed of running away with him. 

Billy just studied his face in the dark, stubbing out his cigarette and rolling over to hols Steve close to his chest.

Steve closed his eyes, let himself pretend.

Pretend that Billy loved him back.

-

He woke up to rustling, Billy getting dressed to leave as weak sunlight began to trickle through his curtains.

“Oh shit, didn’t mean to wake you.”

He smiled lazily at Billy.

“You comin’ back over tonight?” Billy looked stiff.

“Probably not. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah. Later.” Billy was sitting on the end of his bed, had just finished tying on his boots.

And then he moved, quick as a flash to kiss Steve softly before he was thundering down the stairs.

Steve was just falling asleep as the Camaro roared away.

-

Billy had skipped town that night.

And Steve never forgave himself.

-

Steve was leaning over the counter, his head pressed into the cool top of it.

“I threw up all last week, and I just feel like shit.” He had been whining to Robin practically all morning at Family Video.

“Do you think you have the flu?��

“I don’t know, Rob. I mean, my stomach hurts a lot, but like, it feels like I’m just having awful cramps.”

“Are you on your period?”

“Nah. Don’t get it very often with the hormones anymore.”

“Normally I’d suggest pregnancy, but I know you’re in a bit of a dry spell.” He rolled slightly to look darkly at her. “Still no word of Billy?”

“No. The one person in Hawkins that isn’t too transphobic to fuck me, and he skips town.” Steve sighed. “I should’ve known, too. He was being super weird that night.”

“Whatever. When you and I skip town, we’ll have the time of our damn lives, and get you laid.” He laughed softly.

“I’m just gonna go to the doctor this weekend. Get a full physical.”

“Let me know the verdict at and I can come over with some medicine, if you need.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

-

Steve was lying back on the stiff exam table.

He had already given blood and urine samples, and was just waiting for the doctor to tell him what the fuck was wrong with him.

Sometimes his hormones had to be adjusted, and caused all sorts of weird shit to go haywire in his body.

Dr. Mauch was a kind woman, always been pleasant and accepting of Steve, even referred him to an endocrinologist for his hormones.

She didn’t smile when she came in, though. Just sat down at her stool.

“I’m going to go out a limb here and say that this is not news you’ll be happy about hearing.”

Steve felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“You’re pregnant.”

He blinked.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. But you most definitely are.”

“But, but I’m on blockers, and testosterone, and I haven’t had sex in months.”

“I’d say about six months.” His mouth was dry. Billy had left in late May. About six months ago. “And being on hormones is not an effective method of birth control. Some men still get pregnant after taking them.”

“I’m not, I don’t look pregnant.”

“Some people don’t really show their pregnancy. My sister was rail thin the entire time, had a perfectly healthy baby girl. It’s all about your body type.”

“So, so you’re telling me, that I’m six months fucking pregnant.”

“Yes.” He slumped back onto the exam table.

“What are, what are my options?”

“Well, unfortunately, not many. Abortions are only legal in Indiana up to 20 weeks, or five months, or unless the person pregnant is facing severely compromised physical health. There’s always adoption.”

“No one’s gonna want a baby from a trans guy.” She pursed her lips.

“I think that’s a harsh statement. Many people are desperate for babies.” Steve just stared at her.

“So, if I have to take it to term, should I like, go off my hormones.” His stomach gave a lurch at the idea.

“I would recommend it. There’s very little research one pregnancy in transgender individuals. We really don’t know how hormones can affect the baby.” Steve sighed. “I would say, get in with an OB/GYN. I can recommend a few I know and send them your medical history. Your name change and hormone therapy is part of all of it, so hopefully they will be kind.” Steve sighed.

“Thank you, Doc. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry for the disappointing news.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” She gave him a copy of their appointment notes, a list of OB/GYNs for him to research, and a hug before she left.

He drove home slowly, feeling exhausted, like the weight of the fucking world was on his shoulders.

He got home to find Robin sitting on his front porch, her nose buried in a book, a pizza box sitting next to her.

She looked up at him, and he burst into tears.

-

“Look, Max, if he contacts you in any way, tell him to call Steve, okay? It’s important.” Robin was yammering to Max on the phone, trying to get a way to contact Billy.

Steve was laying on the couch, had his shirt rucked up over his stomach, pushing it out and sucking it in, trying to see any change in his body.

“Just give him Steve’s phone number and tell him he’s an asshole.” She hung up the phone, perching on the armrest at Steve’s feet.

“She know where he is?”

“No. She said he ran off and hasn’t contacted her at all. She didn’t even know he was leaving.” She slid onto the couch, let Steve put his feet on her lap. “You think he’d come back? If he knew?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really asking him to. I mean, I don’t think I’m in a place to take care of it, but I kinda just want him to know it exists. Like, I think he deserves that.”

“I get it.” Her voice was soft. She watched Steve stare at his tummy some more. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is just, dysphoria out the wazoo.” Steve huffed a laugh.

“I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. I think ‘cause I’m not showing. I don’t look pregnant, so how can I be pregnant, you know?” He sighed tugging down his shirt. “Going to the doctor’s gonna be a damn nightmare, though. They’re too used to dealing with women. It’s gonna suck.”

-

Steve was right.

Even though his primary care doctor had sent his medical history, he still got deadnamed and misgendered at reception, and intake, and by the nurse, and the doctor when she finally arrived.

They gave him a pelvic exam, getting him in for a sonogram as well.

And as the doctor was moving the imagining wand around on his tummy, and he heard the heartbeat for the first time, something caved inside of him.

A baby. He was having a baby.

And part of him, a really fucking big part of him, was starting to love it.

-

His parents were home for four days.

And Steve had waited for the final day of their homesteading to tell them.

He’s glad he did.

Diner was as quiet as always, and Steve had nearly choked on the words.

“I’m pregnant.”

His father had gotten out his wallet, asked how much an abortion costs.

“I’m too far along for that. Nowhere will legally do it.”

His mother had just stared at him. His father asked how far along he was.

“Close to seven months. I didn’t even know until like, a week and a half ago.”

And his father had stood up, and the yelling began.

“I can’t believe you. You kick up this huge fuss, make us change your name, and the way we refer to you, go around telling everyone your a boy, and you get pregnant like the little slut you are.”

And he had told Steve to back his shit, told him he was not welcome in my house anymore.

And Steve didn’t have a lot of shit he cared about, the clothes he liked fit in one duffel bag.

His mother didn’t look at him as he left.

-

He had called Mrs. Henderson from a payphone.

Nobody else could give him a ride anymore, and he wasn’t expecting her to drop everything and drive him somewhere, but she had freaked out at the words kicked out and for getting pregnant, and told him to stay where he is.

She was there with a tight hug and a travel mug of honey lemon tea within twenty minutes.

Steve had asked for a ride to a youth shelter he had read about, but she shook her head, said you’re coming to live with me and Dusty and Steve had cried in her passenger seat, and again in her guest bedroom.

-

Steve groaned.

He had finally begun showing, just a little bit out a mound near his belly button.

But he felt like shit, had taken to spending most days in bed.

He bat away whoever was shaking him.

“Go away.”

“Steve, it’s Max.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I found Billy, you asshole. I have his address.” Steve sat bolt up straight.

“You, where is he?”

“Boston. He went east, for some reason. But he sent me a letter, out of the blue, and I told him you had something important to say, but he said he doesn’t have a phone.” She handed him a slip of paper.

“Thanks, Max.” He gave her a weak smile, found her chewing her lip.

“Is he the father? The other father, I mean.” He had told the party about the pregnancy, figured rumors would begin spreading soon enough.

“Yeah. He’s the other father.”

“He wouldn’t have ditched you. If he’d known.”

“I know.”

“He’s not like that.”

“I know.” She stared him down. He kept his face open, honest.

“Are you gonna write to him?”

“Yeah. I just, I don’t really know what to say.”

“Just keep it simple. Tell him he’s got a kid. Let him choose what he wants.”

-

It took Steve almost a month to draft a letter.

He didn’t really know what to say.

He settled on the bare minimum.

I’m pregnant. And it is most definitely, without a doubt, yours. I’m not expecting anything from you. I don’t want money, or for you to move back to Hawkins. I just thought you deserve to know about your kid.

He read the letter about three times, one hand pressed delicately to his little bump.

I’ve decided to keep the baby. I’m going to raise them. You’re welcome to meet them, and be in their life if you choose, but if not, I’m not going to hold it against you.

He sealed the envelope, leaving it on his nightstand.

And then his contractions started.

He didn’t get around to sending it.

-

Claudia was the only person in the room with him when he gave birth.

She held his hand the whole time, coached him through his breathing.

And when his son was born, she pet his head, told Steve how beautiful he is.

-

Steve was slumped face down on the bed.

He had just gotten Oliver down, calmed him down enough for him to finally sleep.

He rolled over, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He had barely slept all week. But Oliver had smiled at him for the first time yesterday.

He turned to lay on his side, zeroing in on the envelope on his nightstand.

He sat up quickly.

Fuck. He needed to send that letter.

He didn’t bother thinking about it, just wrapped his sweater tighter around himself, and hurried to the mailbox. He put the little flag up, leaving the letter in the little inner clasp.

He looked back down at Oliver, running one finger over his fuzzy little head.

-

He didn’t hear from Billy for three weeks.

He knew the letter wouldn’t take more than a few days to get to him, and it would take just as long for Billy to get him back.

He had pushed Billy out of his mind, figured if he wanted to be part of Oliver’s life, he had given him enough of a chance to be.

He put on a thick sweatshirt, had taken to wearing baggy tops to hide his tits, too sore, too big to bind anymore. Oliver squealed at him when he leaned against the side of his crib, reaching out for him.

He strapped him into his stroller to take him on a walk, stopped dead in the doorway.

Billy fucking Hargrove was in the driveway, standing next to the Camaro like he had just gotten out of it.

His eyes were wide, trailing from Steve, to Oliver, and back again.

“Is that my kid?” Billy’s hair was shorter than when he had left.

“Oliver. His name is Oliver.” Billy stepped around the car.

“Can I, can I see him?” Steve brought the stroller down the driveway, taking Oliver out of the stroller.

Billy held him like he was made of gold.

“He’s beautiful.”

“I think he looks a lot like you.” Billy smiled at him.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here, I was waiting for my semester to end.”

“It’s okay. I just, you know. Thought you deserved to know about him.” Billy stared at Oliver, his smile going soft as Oliver squealed, tugging on Billy’s hair.

“I want to be in his life. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. He’s your son too.” Billy brushed his thumb down Oliver’s nose.

“Thank you, Steve. And I’m, I’m sorry about how I left. I was going to-” he cut himself off, looking back at Oliver. “I was gonna ask you to come with me. Chickened out last minute.”

Steve’s heart was banging against his rips.

“I would’ve gone with you. Used to dream about running away with you.” Oliver started getting fussy, making disgruntled little huffs. Billy passed him back to Steve. “I was in love with you. You know that?”

“Yeah, I knew that. Was to chicken shit to do anything about it.” Billy was still looking at Oliver, the way he nestled into Steve’s neck. “He loves you a lot.”

“It’s been the two of us for awhile.”

“You’re a good dad. Always kinda figured you would be, though.” Billy took another breath. “You know, you could’ve told me sooner. I would’ve come back.”

“I don’t want you to, to change you life. Don’t quit school, or something.”

“Steve, I got a kid. I want to change my life for him. For, for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No never did. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing my family.” Steve hesitated.

“Would you like to come in? Have some breakfast? You could give Oliver his bottle, If you wanted.” Billy’s eyes lit up.

“I’d like that.”

[reidsexualwriting]

Beard Kink (Hotch/Reader)

I've been binge-watching Criminal Minds for the past three weeks and all I can do is think about the fact that Hotch is no longer on the show. And I get teary-eyed just thinking about it. So here's some Hotch smut because I need it (and because Hotch with a beard has me feeling all kinds of ways). This has a lot of build-up, so I hope y'all don't mind a little bit of plot.

Title: Beard Kink Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader Rating: M/Explicit Words: 2538 Warnings: Smut. Language. The "sharing a bed" trope (I think it qualifies as a warning) for convenience sake. No Derek Morgan--possibly the saddest part of this fic. Unprotected sex--please be safe in real situations. Sir kink (can you even write a Hotch smut fic without it?). Aaron Hotchner with a beard.

When you walked into the bullpen, JJ greeted you with a bagel in her outstretched hand and a smile on her face. "Hey! We missed you so much!" You had been hit in your side by a stray bullet a few cases back and had to take some time off while it healed. Of course, the team had seen you since then. JJ and Prentiss brought meals by your house almost every week, Garcia brought all the candy she could fit in her purse on a given day, and Reid would bring you books to read. It was just good to be back on the job where you belonged.

You were the second person in the briefing room; Hotch was waiting at the table with a case file open. When you stepped in, he glanced up from the file and smiled fondly. "Y/N," he sighed, standing up and outstretching his hand. "It's so good to have you back." You took his hand in yours and shook firmly, finally getting a good look at him.

He had a beard. Not a Duck Dynasty beard or anything, but definitely not stubble. It was the perfect length for his features.

Immediately, for a nanosecond, all acceptable responses to the interaction left your brain only to be replaced by thoughts of what he would look like between your legs. You could practically feel his beard scraping your thighs.

You quickly regained your composure, and grinned. "It's great to be back! I'm so ready to get back to work." Your hands fell to your sides as the rest of the team walked in from the bullpen. While you waited for Garcia for the briefing, the team began to update you on all the cases they had worked in the time you had been gone.

Garcia walked into the room and stood in front of the screen. "Before I get into the absolutely horrible, disgusting, awful details of this case, I would like to extend a warm and fuzzy welcome to our wonderful Y/N," she quipped, tilting her head and smiling at you. "We missed you so much, sweetie." Her posture changed as she pulled up the case details. "Alright, now onto the nitty gritty of it all."

Garcia finished her briefing on the case, and you gathered your go-bag and headed to the plane. It was a serial killer in some small Minnesota town. In the air, the team was working on a preliminary profile when Hotch interrupted. "We're going to be sharing rooms for this case. JJ and Prentiss, you're together." He looked down at the notepad in his lap. "Reid and Rossi, you're in a room. And Y/N, you and I will be together."

When he said the two of you would be in the same room, you had mixed feelings. There was the sense of 'oh-shit-that's-my-boss', but the 'I've-definitely-imgained-this-since-I-started-working-with-him' feeling most definitely persisted, almost moreso than the former. You snuck a glance at him from your seat across the aisle and you could've sworn he was smirking. You looked away as he resumed the profile-building session.

When you landed in Minnesota, it was almost 6PM. The team checked in at the sheriff's office, the crime scene, and the coroner's office before heading back to the hotel on the outskirts of town. You received your room key first, so while Hotch remained in the lobby checking the rest of the team in you made your way to the room.

You noticed the single queen sized bed in the center of the room, but quickly dismissed any thoughts and fell backwards onto the bed. Even the short day you had was already exhausting, and you were ready to go to bed. When Hotch walked into the room, you were still lying on your back on the center of the bed, eyes closed.

"Is the bed that comfortable?" he asked. You shot up, your shoulders tensing up at his voice. "I was just messing with you," he explained, letting a small laugh escape.

You relaxed, letting your shoulders slump once again. "I'm just really tired. Turns out, getting shot takes a lot out of you."

He raised an eyebrow at the comment and sighed. "Would you like to shower? If you're that tired, you can have first go."

"Uh, no, I'm more of a morning shower gal," you explained. "I'm just gonna lie down. You can do whatever though. It won't keep me from sleeping."

He hesitated. "Alright. I'm going to take a shower tonight." He started making his way towards the bathroom door, but as he reached for the knob he turned once again to face you. "You haven't said anything about the one bed--are you sure you're okay with sharing? I can sleep on the couch."

"Oh, no," you responded. "It doesn't bother me at all. We're both adults. I'll probably be asleep before you even get out of the shower anyways." You chuckled.

"Alright," he affirmed. "I will talk to you in the morning." He stepped into the bathroom. When you heard the water running, you shucked off your blouse and pants in favor of a pair of shorts and a tank top. You debated on whether to wear a bra or not, but decided against it. After all, Hotch was your coworker and a close friend. You were not going to sacrifice comfort for fear that he would maybe see the outline of your nipple.

Surprisingly, you didn't fall asleep by the time he finished showering. When the water cut off, you were almost creeped out by the overwhelming silence in the room. Even more surprisingly, he had not brought a change of clothes into the bathroom with him; when he opened the door, your eyes were met with a shirtless Aaron Hotchner with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked at himself in the mirror with his brows furrowed and a hand on his jawline, seemingly inspecting his face. You silently thanked whoever was listening that he had decided not to shave.

He made his way out into the main room, which was dark save the light from the half-open bathroom door. He ruffled through his go-bag on the couch at the base of the bed before seemingly settling on something to sleep in. He didn't say anything to you, so he must have assumed you were asleep already. You weren't staring at him or anything; you were still facing the bathroom door. In your peripheral vision, however, you saw him shuck the towel off and swiftly pull a pair of boxer-briefs on.

Of course, in that light and from that angle, you couldn't truly see his form, but regardless, your breath caught in your throat. He pulled on a t-shirt and made his way to the opposite side of the bed where he slid under the covers.

You were sure you weren't getting to sleep soon, but you were just glad he was out of your vision. At least your thoughts weren't accompanied by the image anymore.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on sleep. Hotch stirred in the bed. You held your breath when you felt him lean over your body. "The silence in this room is deafening. Don't you think, Y/N? I can hear your heart pounding." He put a hand on your upper arm, where goosebumps immediately formed. "I'm assuming you enjoyed the show I put on for you." You choked on a gasp. "Do you want to keep going?" he asked, the concern in his voice evident. You managed a nod. "I want you to say it. I want to make sure."

"Yes," you stated with surprising confidence. He gently tugged your arm to turn you to face him then placed his hand on your back. He had left the bathroom light on, so when you looked up into his eyes you could see his dilated pupils clearly. His hand travelled up your back and into your hair. He gently pulled your face to his in a heated kiss.

When he finally pulled back, he chuckled softly. "I have wanted to do that forever." Your hands moved to his waist where your fingers played at the hem of his shirt. "Take it off," he ordered.

"Yes sir," you replied obediently, pulling the shirt over his head. He groaned at your response and yanked your shirt off in one pull. As he surveyed your torso, you could tell he was trying his best to commit everything to memory. Just as you were about to say something else his lips latched around one of your nipples, drawing a gasp from you. He brought a hand up to fidget with your other nipple.

Your breathing grew labored as he continued to tease you. You dragged a hand up to the back of his head; you ran your fingers through his hair to praise him for his actions.

He pulled off your nipple with a 'pop' but immediately replaced his mouth with his other hand. "Just a quick question," he spoke. "You're okay to have sex right? Medically, I mean."

"Yes sir." He pinched your nipple hard on the word, eliciting a squeak from you. "My doctor cleared me for strenuous physical activity."

He smirked. "Good." He planted a quick kiss on your lips and sat up to kneel at your feet. He pulled your shorts and panties down, and you instinctively closed your legs. He gripped your thighs and pulled your legs apart once again. You felt exposed but still immensely turned on while he looked at your most intimate parts. The circles he rubbed into your thighs soothed you.

When he was satisfied, he moved one of his hands to your clit--first just ghosting over it then gently rubbing circles with his thumb. You sunk into the sheets and felt him looking up at you."I've barely touched you and you're already soaked." You could feel his breath on your thigh. "You really must have enjoyed the show I put on." He increased the pressure of his thumb. "I knew you would like the beard," he uttered. "I figured you would imagine how it would feel on your pussy. Am I right?"

"Yes," you admitted.

He stopped the circles and you whined. "Yes what?"

"Yes sir."

"Good girl," he approved, resuming his ministrations. "What do you want?"

"I want your mouth on me, sir," you whimpered. "Please sir."

He didn't say anything, just lowered his mouth onto your sex. As his tongue danced around your clit you gripped onto the sheets, trying to suppress your moans. "I want to hear you," he said between licks. "I want the whole team to hear you."

You didn't hold back any longer, whimpering and moaning every time his tongue swiped your sensitive bud. He alternated between holding your clit between his lips and the small kitten licks from before. At this point you were bucking up against him. "Sir, I'm gonna cum," you warned him.

"Cum all over my tongue," he encouraged. In just a few seconds you did just that, letting out a load groan as you fell over the edge. He eagerly lapped up all that you gave him and worked you through the high. When you finally recovered he was once again rubbing small circles into your thigh and you were left panting on the bed.

"You aren't even naked yet," you observed. You raised your head up to look at him. "That was amazing. But I still want more."

After you uttered those words, his underwear was off in seconds. He moved up the bed so that his dick was level with your eyes and looked down at you. You wrapped a hand around him, dragging the precum from the tip down the shaft. You began stroking up and down, watching his expression with hooded eyes. You licked the tip and watched as his head fell back, eyes closed and mouth open.

You licked a stripe from the base to the tip before taking him into your mouth. He let out a low moan. You took him in further until you had reached the base where you lingered. "Fuck," he hissed. "Your mouth feels good." You smiled around him and he tangled his fingers in your hair. Using the leverage, he guided your mouth up and down his length.

He pulled you off him gently. "I want you to ride me," he commanded. He reclined on the bed, his back supported by the pillows. You swung a leg over his hips and took his face in your hands. While you kissed him, he grabbed his length and slid it against your pussy teasingly.

You pulled back and stared into his eyes as you sunk down onto him. You both moaned in sync as you started to ride him. "You have no clue how many times I've imagined this," he whispered. He gripped your ass. "Watching you ride me." He landed a smack on your left cheek. "I want you to cum again. Use me to cum."

You desperately grinded on him with your arms wrapped around his neck. He brought his hands from your ass to your nipples once again. When he pinched both your nipples you cried out. You leaned into the crook of his shoulder and bit down on his neck, sure to leave a mark. You moaned into his shoulder as you came a second time, feeling overwhelmed. When you came down from the high you kissed him once again.

"Where do you want me to cum?" he asked you, rubbing your back.

"I'm on birth control, sir," you responded. "Wherever you want."

He pushed you off of him and flipped you over so you were on your hands and knees. Once again, he pushed into you. "You take me so well," he praised. "So beautiful." He gripped onto your hips for better leverage.

His thrusts got faster and stronger as he went. He continued sputtering praises while you moaned into the pillows. Every few thrusts, he would land a light slap on your ass.

His thrusts grew sloppy and you could tell he was nearing his edge. "I want you to cum, sir," you encouraged. "I want you to cum inside me." Your comments pushed him over the edge and he spilled inside you. He collapsed on top of you.

When he rode out his orgasm, he pulled out of you and hurried to the bathroom to grab a towel and cloth to clean up with. He gently wiped the two of you clean before falling next to you on the bed. "That was perfect," he uttered. "At least for me. I hope you enjoyed it."

"Sir, I think that was the best sex I have ever had." You put a hand on his cheek. "How did you know I liked your beard?"

"Well, while you were gone the team went out after a case; Garcia may have had a little too much to drink and told me you had a 'beard kink'".

"Oh my God--of course she would tell you." Even though you cursed Garcia, you knew you would have to text her later and thank her for disclosing your little secret.

[bangtan-dreamland]

A Fairy Tale’s End [Chapter 1]

Pairing: ot7 x reader

Word Count: 11,609

Rating: pg-13

Warning: reader is stressed and anxious 99% of this chapter, brief mentions of a war, several bad encounters with the members who are (for now) jerks

Genre: a little bit of angst, e2l, fantasy!au, supernatural/fairytale!BTS

Summary:  You wanted, for once, to be someone important, someone needed- to be wanted and appreciated, to love and be loved. Well, you should be careful what you wish for.

AN: another chapter I want to thank @shadowsremedy​ for beta reading for me, and as always another thank you to @dee-ehn​ for the banner~ writing this was a doozy since I kept editing it… but hopefully you guys like it ^^

masterpost // previous chapter // next chapter

Taglist: @btsxdoll​ @mspjm​ @barbikatherine​ @xxqueenwxtchxx​ @catsandstrawberries​ @butaes​

»»————-　♔　————-««

When you awakened again, it was to the scent of vanilla- and the feel of a soft bed. For a moment you felt the tug of sleep pull you back in, and you would have let it, but...

You didn’t own any blanket like the one you were currently using. The blankets were pristine white, something you'd sworn to never buy because cleaning it up was a nightmare. So why were you using it? Where did you even get it?

For a moment that thought settled in your mind, and you blearily stared at it, before the words imprinted themselves stronger. You’d never seen this bed before, so why were you sleeping in it?

Between one second and the next your heartbeat sped up too fast that you could only let out a shaky exhale after, immediately feeling awake as adrenaline coursed in you. Where the hell were you?

You immediately sat up straight- then froze as you looked around.

The first thing you thought, as you took in your surroundings was that it was- luxurious. And… strangely old.

Heavy tones of red and gold covered the room, decorated with furniture that reminded you of those used in dramas and shows, ones made for nobles in old times or for royals. The way the bedpost was not only large, but intricately designed, to the fireplace with embers in place of flames, and the heavy curtains that covered the window, for a moment you wondered if you were in a castle.

You hesitantly opened the window a little, curious as to what was outside- and then froze.

The chirping of the birds instantly reminded you everything that happened the day before.

That’s right, you thought, dazed, even as panic began to rise in you. Yesterday, I…

You turned around and stifled a scream.

“M-Milady! She’s awakened! Oh, His Majesty will be so relieved!”

In front of you were three (here you did a double take, feeling even more confused) maids. How did you not notice them coming inside? The door opening? You could only put it to the fact that you were too preoccupied with the fact that- hello, you were now in what had to be a whole other world. 

Your mind spun, dizzy- all you wanted to do was go back to bed and pretend that everything was okay. Still, you grasped their words.

His Majesty.

You needed answers. You wanted to go home.

Both of these meant you had to move forward, didn’t you?

You shakily replied to them, feeling even more hesitant as you saw their eager gazes. “Yes... I suppose I am.“

You glanced away at the instant brightening of their faces, their smiles widening as they clasped their hands together.

“That said, milady, how should we address the saviour?”

“... M-Me?” You turned back to stare at them in confusion.

They beamed back at you- though the one in the middle seemed to be the representative speaking. “Yes! We, the palace maids, feel it only right to make sure we ask first, so that we may serve milady to the best of our abilities. The first, of course, will be to make sure that we address milady, the chosen one, in whatever manner milady wishes for us to call her.”

Chosen one. Saviour. You felt uneasy at those words- moreso when you thought of why you were called with those titles. 

“You can just call me by my name,” you hesitantly offered. The maids gasped- one squeaked, and you winced at their horrified faces.

“But that won’t do!” One of them burst out, a distressed look instantly overcoming their face as they wrung their hands together. “It isn’t right to treat such a venerated figure in such a way…”

You winced again at their vehement refusal, before sighing. “Then, you can just call me as you did before.” At the sight of their worried gazes, you injected a little more firmness in your voice. “Really, it’s fine.” 

Before they could continue speaking, you hurried the subject along. “You said something about, um, ‘His Majesty’?”

They instantly brightened again. “Ah, yes, milady! The King and the Queen are awaiting your presence at any time you are convenient.”

King. Queen. Fuck, either this was a really elaborate set-up, you were in a coma, or…

… You were in another world, another time.

A part of you wanted to believe that maybe you were dreaming, or that you were on drugs- but it only took a reminder of the events from the day before to erase those thoughts. Not even drugs could make you hallucinate the fucked up events, and not the person who saved you- who you saved?

You released another shaky breath as you tried to calm yourself. Hands that had been gripping the bed sheets tightly loosened slightly- and your gaze flickered up to meet the maids’.

“I see,” you smiled tightly. “Do you think they’d mind if I went to meet them now?”

They shook their heads. “Not at all, milady! It would be an honour for anyone to be in milady’s presence.”

“Um, right,” you awkwardly replied, a little overwhelmed by their zeal. “I guess I should get ready then… Do you know where I could change my clothes?” 

They smiled and you shivered in fear of them for the first time. Why were they smiling like that?

“Understood milady! We’ll prepare the bathwater and your clothes soon.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Presenting, Her Ladyship, our Gracious Savior!” 

You internally sighed at the way the guards announced your arrival- bringing you nothing but anxiety for your supposed meeting with the rulers of the kingdom. Although the maids had had fun bathing and dressing you, the lavish clothes on your body didn’t make you feel at ease. Far from it, in fact.

You replayed your plan of action in your head. Just tell them the truth, no need to waste each other’s time. You didn’t want to know what their response would be, knowing that they’d gotten the wrong person- and you didn’t want to prolong it either, uncomfortable with the amount of attention they paid to you either.

The door swung open- internally, you were glad they let you have a private audience, most likely only because of your ‘status’ as their ‘saviour’. Otherwise, you didn’t see why they’d approve letting the most important people of a kingdom meet a random woman. Coming in, you weren’t quite sure what to expect- but the plush, velvet carpet and the gems inlaid on the thrones before you, not to mention on their dresses and jewelry told you- yes, you were meeting the kingdom’s king and queen.

“It is an honor to meet you, milady,” the king spoke to you jovially as the three of you were truly alone, introducing himself. The queen, beaming at you beatifically from besides him curtsied as well- you floundered for a moment before you returned their gesture. 

“I-It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Your Grace,” you greeted them, unsure, just copying their gestures. “I’m… I’m sure you’ve heard about me?”

They both smiled again (internally, you found it unnerving how everything you did so far was met here with awe and adoration. What the hell was up with that?), though it was the king who spoke again. “Ah yes, our hero- our saviour, Lady Y/N, of course!”

For a moment you hesitated before them, nervous, before pushing forward. “That’s it, though, your majesty- grace. I’m not- I’m not the saviour.”

Both king and queen paused at that, looking at you confusedly. You let out a shaky exhale, realizing that they probably didn’t take your words seriously.

“You’ve made a mistake,” you tried to keep your words even, but as you spoke, the words eventually fell from your lips in a desperate, hurried manner. “I’m not- a savior, or anything. Please, I- I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I’ve never even swung a sword or- or whatever it is people expect from, well, a savior!”

You winced even as you finished speaking, the volume of your voice making itself known with the ringing in your ears. Still you kept your eyes on the king and queen, hoping that they’d hear your words, and realize that you were way off from what they thought you were.

You couldn’t be, there was no way- but then you felt your hopes fall at the confused looks on both faces.

“Your Ladyship,” the queen asked, bemused. “Whatever has made you believe that you are not the savior?”

“I agree,” the king interjected. “Why, you possess all the makings of a hero yet! The quest will surely be a success with your leadership”

“That’s not-” You took in a deep breath, becoming more frustrated, especially when the king’s words sank in. Quest? “Whatever you’re thinking, I’m not who you think I am. I don’t even know what’s going on.”

Again you flinched at your words, fearful of their response, this time letting your gaze fall to the ground. 

“... Understandable,” you eventually heard them say. “Why, if we take away her role, then as anyone would, she must have been terribly shocked and confused…” 

“Quite so… I believe we’ve made an error in handling our Ladyship’s arrival.”

Suddenly, it felt as if you were dipped in ice. … This was all useless, wasn’t it? You heaved a sigh. “Not really an error just so much as you’ve got the wrong person.” 

Even so, as you spoke the words you knew it wouldn’t register in their minds- or that they’d choose not to hear you.

“Arriving without a single clue on who she is must have been quite an ordeal! Terribly mischievous of the gods, that is. Though, it’s nothing that a trip to the archives would not help.“

A hand appeared in your vision- what option was left for you but to take it? The gentle look on the queen’s face only made you feel even more defeated inside, as did the accompanying, beaming smile on the king’s face.

“The maids will lead you to our archives- we hope that our array of knowledge will be enough to let you ease in into the savior that you are, that you will be.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

Walking through the halls of the library left you reminiscent of the brief time you spent at ‘Magic Shop’.

For one, there was the same feel to the castle’s library that left you quiet, reverent of the amount of history it held in its walls. Although you knew it couldn’t have been small, stepping in, you were surprised to see that the room was enormous- enough so, that your school’s auditorium and sports field could probably fit inside. Not to mention how it was maintained- not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. There was not a single person inside, except for you- which only made the state of the room much more impressive.

Entering- you didn’t quite have a destination in mind. You were only brought here by the maid, not a single word spoken, though you could see her, well, wide-eyed, and, weird as it was to say, her… Her awed gaze.

Just walking around was nice, though- you could even pretend, for one moment, that everything was fine. That you were back home. That you were just wandering around the bookshelves, looking for something to read next-

You stopped in shock.

Because, then and there, seemingly at home with all the other books, was what had to be a replica of the book given to you, when you were still at home- and when you took it out, you noted shakily that you were just as mistaken as you were right.

The book you held in your hands had a title- and when you flipped it over, the seven men remained on the book- though now accompanied by a girl. Panic began to bubble inside you- and you let out a small gasp when you noticed it.

… The girl on the cover, surrounded by the men- it was you, down to the details of your very dress.

“No… No no no no…” 

You hurriedly opened the book, desperate for a sign to prove you wrong, to tell that it was just sheer coincidence, though you knew better. But you still, you hoped anyway. Your copy had blank pages- surely this version had to have been an empty copy too, right…?

Your fingers trembled as you stared down at the words written on the pages.

‘Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a woman named Y/N…’

The strength left your legs- you fell to the floor, stunned. As the pages flipped over themselves, you could barely read the sentences of them, but those that you could glimpse at was enough to make you feel dread anyway.

Because written in detail was the events of yesterday, up until the present moment- of you in the library, lying on your knees on the floor.

You felt sick.

What did the book mean, then? That everything happening to you- was deliberate? That you were actually meant to go on a quest? Your opinion over the whole events still hadn’t changed- quite frankly, you thought it was ridiculous at best, insane at worst. How could you go on a quest that involved creatures like- like the pixie from yesterday and be okay with it? You didn’t even take self-defense classes for crying out loud! And you didn’t know a single thing about this new world! What the fuck were you supposed to contribute to a quest that seemed to determine the fate of most living things in it!?

You let out a shaky whimper as you slumped forward, trying to silence the heavy thoughts in your head.

I can’t do this.

I… I really can’t do this at all.

»»————-　♔　————-««

It took you three days before you had a change of attitude.

At this point, you’d tried almost everything, just so you could wake up from this nightmare.  At first, after what happened in the library, you had practically locked yourself up in your room. Taking advantage of the misplaced respect and devotion the people had for you (even if it made you feel terrible and anxious about possibly overstepping), you asked them not to bother you with anything. Then you went ahead- first, you’d tried sleeping and sleeping the day away- after all, that was what you’d last been doing, right? So why not try it again? Perhaps that would bring you back.

But you only woke up the next day with a headache borne from too much sleep.

The morning when you woke up in the same place you’d been was not a quiet one, nor was it a peaceful one. You’d brought the maids near you running off to your room with your sobs, as they tried to placate you- but how could they?

You were alone. In another world. Without any method to come back home.

Over the last two days, you’d tried all you could, from reenacting and redoing everything you could remember doing that night- once, you even contemplated that maybe pain was the answer to your problem- you pinched yourself repeatedly, as hard as you could, and got many bruises-

But you still woke up where you were the next morning.

At this point, you’d given up. The novel in the drawer, hidden out of sight and out of mind was brought out, read, examined, analyzed.

From what you could tell, it was, for all intents and purposes, a seemingly normal book. Just like any other- save for the fact that when events related to what to be the quest, the prophecy, you, were magically added.

Still, you thought. Every story has to have an end, doesn’t it? Nothing could last forever. And if the story revolved around the stupid fucking quest...

Then all you had to do was to complete it. Finish the story. If nothing else worked, then that had to be the only way to get out, to go home, right?

Right.

You released a shaky sigh as you fell back on your bed, ignoring the unease simmering in your gut.

You had to move forward. If you wanted anything to happen at all, you had to- you had to take matters into your own hands.

»»————-　♔　————-««

So to start, you needed information. Fast. Before the story could truly begin, before you lost a chance to even prepare yourself- you needed to know as much as you could.

Walking through the halls of the castle, you tried not to let the nerves show through your facade as you heard the staff whisper about you leaving your room- a huge deal for them, since your quite dramatic show the past few days. Still, it wasn’t just that they were talking about you that made you anxious- it was how they talked about you.

Another thing that made you uncomfortable in the situation you were in, aside from what had to be forced abduction, was how everyone, every single person you’ve met so far… They all looked up to you, to put it neatly. Calling you a savior, obeying even the slightest of your commands, fawning over you…

Anyone else would’ve been glad at the attention, at the devotion they seemed to have for you- but for you, it only unnerved you.

Don’t look at me like that. Don’t talk to me like that. I hate it. I hate every moment of this.

Although it wasn’t like you could tell them that, though.

Stepping into the drawing room, which was currently devoid of any other person but the two of you, you could feel your nerves spike as you finally found the person you were looking for.

“Lady Y/N, how may we serve you?”

You took in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The maid before you then, Erina, was a handmaiden of the queen. If there was anyone you could ask...

“I… I was just thinking about the quest.”

“The quest, milady?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Um, if it’s okay, what, um… Can you tell me what you know about it? I don’t-” your voice quieted down, as you struggled to get the words out. “... No one’s told me much about anything so far.”

Erina fell silent for a moment- you looked up to see her wearing a contemplative expression.

“Lady Y/N, from what I’ve heard around… It’s said that magic is dying,” she eventually started.

“... How… How can magic, um, die…?”

“There have been reports of magic slowly losing power, inventions and items and plants and so forth losing their magic,” she explained. “As well as different races losing their ability to use their magic, from spells to incantations and so forth.”

“Ah,” you replied, though you were still confused. “Um… We’re supposed to fix that…?”

She nodded eagerly. “The legends say you’re to seek out the Tower of Babel, a mystical place rumoured to be where a guardian of immense power rests at. It’s said that they’re able to grant a wish- any wish.”

“Doesn’t that…” seem too unrealistic? You wanted to say, before remembering. Fairy tale. Magic. Other world. Fine, okay, maybe it wasn’t unrealistic.

“It’s safe to assume that it’s hidden though, or that there are trials you have to face to meet the guardian, right?” You sighed.

“But of course, that’s why Milady was chosen after all!” You cringed at the sure way she expressed her words, though you chose not to comment on it. It wasn’t as if she, or anyone would listen anyway.

“Is there… Is there, um, anything else you know?” 

“There… Oh! Milady’s companions. Although I’m not quite sure…”

The memory of the seven men engraved flashed in your mind, and you latched onto that topic, unwilling to return to the previous. “No, I mean- I’d appreciate any information you could give me. So, could you- um, if it’s alright… What are they like?”

She brightened, her hands clasping together. “Well, then it’d be my pleasure! Each race in Terabitha has sent a representative to join the quest, from what I’ve been told. Milady is, of course, the representative of humans- a point of pride to our Kingdom of Quies that you've appeared here, then.”

“To start with, Prince Seokjin, the prince of the elves is easily the most renowned. With features that must have been sculpted by the gods, Prince Seokjin is outstanding beyond any other not just with his appearance, but also with his skill with his bow and arrow. His records in the Great War astounds everyone, from his skill as a leader, as a follower, as a strategist and even more, and he is a legend everywhere- though some proclaim him stern and unforgiving, but I know milady will impress him with her might!”

“Prince Yoongi of the fae is another one easily remembered- like Prince Seokjin, he also participated in the Great War, from what the legends tell us. Prince Yoongi is well-known for his ability to control the elements- especially that of water and earth. Of course, plants and trees alike bend to his whims as well- there have been rumours that he can even control the rain! Although he rarely appears in the stories, save for when he’s in battle… Ah, but if there’s anyone who can unravel even the tightest of mysteries, it’s definitely milady.”

“From the mages, there is Prince Namjoon, and what a brilliant man he is- why, he’s quite revered for his knowledge and wisdom! From the age of seven, Prince Namjoon has contributed to many areas in the pursuit of knowledge, from spellwork, to charms, transfiguration… They say he’s never failed to achieve his goals, and that there only exists problems to solve in his path… Why, if it weren’t for the legends, he would triumph over Prince Seokjin and Prince Yoongi in terms of fame! Really, if there is any fault to be seen in him, it would be his propensity to break all kinds of objects in some manner, but considering he's a mage, and a powerful one too…"

You winced a little from the overzealous way the maid told you about the princes- feeling more than a little intimidated as well with how much she praised them. Remembering the seven men on the cover, you hazarded a guess. “There are- um, there are eight races, r-right? Are the others- I mean, do you know who, um, who they’ll be sending?”

Erina hesitated, for once, traces of unease showing on her expression. Still, she nodded. “There are, milady. I…I  believe that they will also be sending their own representative on the quest.”

You stared at her expectantly- she furrowed her eyebrows but spoke soon enough.

“Between the races left, there are the mermaids, the undead, the yokai, and- the dragons,” she started, slowly. “I- the kingdom of mermaids have always been in seclusion, hidden away from the world, and so no one knows anything about them. As for the undead- vampires, well, not much, if any, from the other races interact with them, so we don’t know who they will be sending over as well. The same goes for the yokai- and as for the dragons…” she trailed off.

“As for- um, the dragons?” You prodded her. She shuddered, a look of fear crossing her face.

“I pray that dragons do not send a representative of their race, milady,” she said solemnly. “Dragons are fearsome beasts.”

You shivered from the grave way she spoke.

“I- I see,” you mumbled. “Um, thank you…”

“... Erina, kindly refrain from speaking like so about Milady’s companions,” a voice resounded from the door- you looked up to see Anya, the head of the maids, with a stern look on her face. Erina’s face fell at her scolding.

“Oh no, um, I asked for her honest opinion,” you tried to ease the frown on Anya’s face. “Please, don’t- um, don’t be too harsh on her.”

Anya only sighed at your response, before a stern expression crossed her face as she looked at the other woman.

“Go, and don’t let me catch you gossiping about Milady’s quest again,” she chided her. Erina bolted out of the room, though not before bowing low to you in gratitude.

You gave Anya a small smile as she sat down next to you. 

“That girl…” Anya shook her head, before turning to you. “Please, don’t be too alarmed at her words. No one would dare send someone unfit for the quest, milady.”

“I…” You hesitated. “Um, alright. If you say so.”

“That said, Lady Y/N, I didn’t come here just to check in on you- I do hope you’re ready,” Anya told you gently, her expression worried.

“Ready?” You blankly stared at her. Anya frowned.

“Milady… did no one tell you? The day of your arrival was marked as the sky flashed blindingly white, in the middle of the day- a sign that a saviour has arrived. That the quest will start soon. As such, I believe that even as we speak, those chosen to be on the quest are already on their way here, to the kingdom. ”

You stared at her in shock.

“Right now!?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know when they’ll be arriving?” You whimpered. Anya shook her head. 

“No, but… I believe Prince Namjoon will be arriving the day after tomorrow.”

Two days from now, then… You groaned, before a thought filtered into your head.

“Wait, Anya… um, when is the quest supposed to start? You said- that- they’re coming here soon, right? So…”

“On the night of the new moon,” she answered you instantly.

“And that’s… Um, how many days away…?”

“Six, I believe, milady.”

Fuck.

»»————-　♔　————-««

So began the rest of what had to be one of the worst weeks of your life, all wrapped up in seven days, 168 hours, 10,080 minutes and 604,800 seconds. No, the calculations weren’t needed, but you felt it appropriate to add anyway, if only to emphasize just how long it was.

To start with- Monday, your breakdown, the start of your descent, in which you scrambled to get as much information as you could, only to be blindsided by worse news.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Then came Tuesday, wherein you met a nosy ass stranger.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Chirp! Chirp!

You idly stared at the sky, trying to calm your nerves. There was a different sort of peace to be found being in the midst of nature than in the library, something you’d been craving after hours and hours of locking yourself up, frantically trying to learn as much as you could about what you were supposed to do, about the supposed ‘Tower of Babel’.

Which wasn’t much. As for all that the library had books of all shapes and sizes, different topics, you barely found anything related to what you wanted to know. Still, the library was big...

Today though, you were in the royal garden- which, you had to admit, was quite beautiful. Wide, open spaces that were furnished with intricate pathways and hedges, the grounds filled with flowers of all sizes and shapes, the lake that took up half of the garden and seemed endless… Not to mention the supposed ‘secret garden’ you were currently in. A supposed hiding place of a princess of the kingdom from long ago, though no one knew where she went to… Still, for a story set in the medieval times, you mused, the garden had an oddly modern feel to it.

Still, as soon as that thought crossed your mind, so did the reason why you were currently here.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, you’d be meeting the first of your… ‘companions’. Prince Namjoon, from the kingdom of mages… Yeah, even now the reality didn’t sink much in. It was already enough that you were in another world, to think that you’d be meeting a mage…

You placed your hands on your chest, as if that could make your heart calm down. 

“I just want to go back home…” There was no use saying those words aloud, you knew. But still... 

“Why don’t you, then?”

Though the voice that replied to you was new.

You turned your head to the direction where the voice came from- to meet face-to-face with a man with hair the color of mint and a curious look on his (admittedly handsome) face, only a few feet away from where you were sitting.

“How did you get in here!?” You cried out, scrambling to your feet, your heart pounding too fast in your chest. “Who are you!?”

“I’m one of the guests from the palace,” he chuckled, the hints of a smirk appearing on his face. “If that’s not enough, then the fact that I know this place and I’m allowed here should be enough for you to know I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I-” you paused as you considered his words. “Um… okay, I see your point. But still, what the hell? Is it your habit to talk to random strangers?”

“Is it your habit to talk to the air?” He shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, is there a reason I can’t talk to you?”

“Well-” you stammered, bewildered at the sudden turn of the tables. “I… I guess not. But- uh. I… I don’t think I want to talk to, um, anyone right now, and, yeah.”

You paused, unsure what to do. You came to the garden for time alone, but you couldn’t just tell the other man to leave- it wasn’t as if it was your garden in the first place, and you didn’t just call the shots like that.

Was it okay to leave? Wouldn’t it be rude? But you didn’t want to stay...

“... Why can’t you go home?” He asked again. You flushed, reminded of the previous events. 

You hesitated. If he was a guest of the palace, then he must have already known about who you were- or, he would soon. And did you really want to burden someone with your problems? It wasn’t as if he could fix them. And even if he did… Why would he?

No, it was better to just keep it to yourself.

Still, one look at him and you knew he wouldn’t stop until he had an answer, so you answered in the vaguest way you could think of.

“I… I just can’t. It’s not possible at the moment,” you eventually said. With that answer, you stood up, ready to leave. “Thanks for the talk,” lie, “but- I, um, I have to go-”

The feel of a hand clutching your own made you stop. Moreso, when you felt it- as if something had just woken up, something that you wouldn’t have liked. You could hear the faint sound of water, and the familiar heaviness that came with being its domain, but all the same it was different.

“... Please, let me go.”

“Not until you fully answer my question.” Whoever he was, was frustratingly persistent- and with every passing second you felt your heart begin to beat faster again in panic. You took in a deep breath- then looked back at him.

The way his eyes were focused on you made you only want to get away even more.

“Please,” he added, and with the tight grip he had on you, you caved in. 

“I- I mean… The only chance I have to be able to go home is to do something that’s impossible for me.”

“Impossible for you?” He repeated. “How would you know?”

“B-Because… Because I’ve never- um, I’ve never done anything like it before,” you winced at your words even as you spoke them.

“How so?”

“I mean-”  you racked your brain, trying to think of a way to satisfy his fucking curiousity and leave. “A villager can’t be made to be- to be, um, a king, can they? My situation is like that- but, um, not that I’m a villager and I’m going to be- a king,” you hurriedly explained.

His grip loosened and you stared at your wrist in relief. Still, if you’d looked up then you would’ve seen a flash of something in his eyes.

“Hm. A king doesn’t rule on their own, though,” he pointed out. “They have a court. Generals. Advisors. And not all rule immediately. They could learn. You never know, a villager could be more suitable to sovereign over a prince or a princess,” he added. You pretended to nod along in agreement, even as you slowly rehashed in your mind the pathways of the garden. It would have to be quick- and you’d have to move fast. Still, you weren’t about to stay any longer with someone like him. You just needed the perfect timing...

“Lady Y/N!”

The sudden yell of a maid resounded through the garden- for a brief moment, he looked away- and you yanked your wrist from his hand, immediately running away.

“T-Thanks for the advice but I have to go!” 

If you’d looked back, you would’ve seen the amused smirk, the reminiscent look on his face- but before you knew it, you were out of the garden and back into the slightly familiar halls of the castle.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Proceeded by Wednesday, when you finally met the first (and seemingly only one that went out of their way to introduce themselves to you. The others, as you’d been told, were apparently content with assembling and meeting each other on the day you set out) of your… companions.

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Lady Y/N, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You forced a smile on your face, unsure as hell how to proceed. 

Fancy food covered the table in front of you, as did numerous silverware- they all looked appetizing, but you hesitated. Wasn’t there a manual for how to eat with all of these? Why in the world did anyone need so many things to eat?

On the other side of the table, Namjoon- the heir from the Kim Coven (“Milady, though we call them princes, we only do so as that’s their equivalent to positions we’re familiar to in our race. After all, it would be treason to simply call them by their names!”), as you were painfully reminded about again and again in the form of squeals from other people-  looked at you with an intensity in his gaze, the way he acted the same as the castle staff, who seemed to be one step shy of worshipping you.

“I… I’ve heard a lot about you too,” you offered, when the silence grew too long. “Um… You’re really famous. The- um, you’ve made a lot of advances in different fields of academia? That you’ve studied in numerous areas, such as alchemy, and spellcasting and healing...”

Namjoon smiled. If you were in any other situation, you would’ve stared- Namjoon definitely was a prince in not just his reputation, his skills and his intellect, he also seemed to check the tally mark for prince in the looks aspect, his hair being styled up in purple locks that he somehow pulled off quite well. “I only achieved those because of the people by my side, the same way I hope to be of help to you in the upcoming quest.”

The quest. Right.

“I’m not that special,” you exhaled, feeling a familiar headache creep into your head. “I’m not trained in anything like you are.”

“Lady Y/N, you’re quite humble,” he chuckled. “I believe that everything has a purpose. If you aren’t proficient in any of those fields, then it’s something you’ll quickly learn about- or, perhaps, you aren’t because what you are already an expert in is something I cannot do.”

“You are the saviour, the chosen one, for a reason, after all.”

You gripped your dress as the words hung in the air. The weight of his gaze on you, the expectations he all but thrusted in your face- the words of what would have been a speech on how you weren’t fit to be the leader, to ask him to take over the quest instead died down your throat. You didn’t know what to say. 

He looked at you with, what you eventually realized, was worse than the staff- he looked at you with hero-worship and assumed, expected you in detail to be one. And you were going to spend god knew how much time with him on a godforsaken quest.

“I… I see.” What were you supposed to say in response? It wasn’t a surprise, really, but now you dreaded what his reaction would be if you told him what you really thought. The awe he held for the image of you in his head- it made you hesitant to break it.

“I’ll… I’ll do my best to make sure this quest is a success, then…” Your smile felt frozen on your face, even as you internally felt like screaming.  Under his gaze, then, you tried not to let it show how much his words bothered you.

Dinner ended early that night, and as soon as you reached your room you had to talk yourself through a minor breakdown. Fuck, fuck, fuck, there really was no getting out of it, was there?

»»————-　♔　————-««

Then followed by Thursday, when you encountered a trick ass liar who proceeded to cheat you.

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Prince Namjoon, how may we help you?”

“Oh, no- I was just looking for Lady Y/N.”

You released a shaky exhale as you halted in your steps. The hallway was currently quiet, devoid of people, both a curse and a blessing. No one to point you out hiding around the corner- but at the same time, it was harder to sneak away as you weren’t as used to the castle floor, making every step of yours louder than the others. 

It had only been the day after your initial meeting with Prince Namjoon. Still, considering your (from your perspective, anyway) disastrous first meeting, you admittedly didn’t want to spend much time around him.

Which, unfortunately, led you to sneaking around the very castle, looking for valid excuses to avoid him. Something you were a bit unfortunate in, seeing as the castle was full of people, of which all more familiar with the layout than you were, and that you almost always had eyes on you. And a hand or two lent to the Prince.

Still you stayed stubborn. If you didn’t have to, then...

“Oh, then- Lady Y/N has told us maids of her wanting time alone in the garden- would you like us to search for milady?”

“No, no… But I hope it’s alright if I look for her by myself. There are things I’d like to talk about with her, after all.”

Goddamnit. You groaned quietly. Maybe, you thought- should you just leave? But how? The room behind you had a few of the maids cleaning the empty rooms, as always- and the only exit you knew was beyond the hallway, the very one occupied already by the person you were trying to avoid. You scrunched up your nose, thinking of how to leave.

It was then that you heard it- laughter, low and playful that rang near your ears. “And what do we have here?”

You whirled around, your heart jumping to your throat- to meet a handsome face framed in grey locks (for a moment you wondered what the hell was it with the unnatural hair colors. Where did they get the dye? Or was it a natural thing? But everyone in the castle didn't have such distinctive hair...). Golden eyes met yours- and you instinctively took a step back, cringing at your close proximity.

You let out a shaky exhale, immediately glaring at the other person. “Do you mind not stepping in on other people’s personal space?” You snapped. He merely smirked at you.

“I’m not the one lingering around corners, listening to other people’s conversations, though,” he pointed out with a chuckle.

“I’m not-” you flushed. “Well- okay, maybe I am. But only because I’m trying to…”

“Hide? Sneak past them? Avoid them?” He suggested oh so helpfully.

“... Something like that.”

“I can help you, if you want,” he offered.

You raised an eyebrow at him, feeling suddenly bewildered. “Um. No offense, but- why? I mean, you don’t have to, and it’s not like I can’t do this on my own, so…”

“Ah, an honorable one. Consider it a deal then,” he countered, a hint of mischief visible on his face. “Help me distract the maids, and I’ll give you an opportunity to sneak past them. It’s a mutually beneficial deal, isn’t it?”

You glimpsed back at the corner- to Namjoon who was still talking to the maid, to the person in front of you. Although Namjoon’s back was to you, you suddenly felt a chill down your spine at the thought of being caught by him. Earlier in the morning you heard about him looking for you, wanting to talk about the quest, and about anything you ‘could teach him’...

Which would have been fine, really, except for the fact that you didn’t know what exactly were you able to teach someone who was obviously already like a fucking superhuman. Even back home, you didn’t take classes in any other subject than the ones assigned to you- and you didn’t think modern chemistry or mathematics would have intrigued him. Also, you didn’t want to risk looking like a fool in front of someone who everyone you met so far literally touted as Einstein reborn.

“Alright, what do you- um, what do you want me to do…?”

He paused, tilting his head- an amused smirk alighting on his face. “Just keep the maids busy. I keep my word, don’t worry.”

Turning back to where you came from, he led you to the previous hallway.

“... Was me, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it, knowing I’d have to travel with something like them-”

The maids talking near one the rooms halted as they saw you, immediately bowing. “Lady Y/N!”

You forced yourself to smile, eyes darting to where the man had been- a part of you surprised to suddenly see him missing by your side. 

“Um- hi.” Offering up a small smile, you hoped that your apprehension and anxiety didn’t show. “About- um, about today’s meal…”

Even as you drew them into a conversation, you kept your eyes peeled to the other end of the hallway, your hearing focused on any doors opening, any sound coming from not you or the maids. You had to wonder- what distraction was he talking about?

The sound of squealing soon filled the hallway.

You groaned even as you remembered it- the chaos that unraveled soon after as several pigs ran down the hallway, muddy and wet- the maids shrieking in fright and surprise.

Of you, trying (and somewhat succeeding) in drawing the pigs to a room, since it didn’t seem as if the maids could handle it, moreso with how big they were. Still, you didn’t take into account the fact that it wasn’t as if you knew how to handle them either- and thus just made even more of a mess for the maids to clean up.

You stared in horror as the pigs ran about, bumping into the furniture, making a mess of the sheets and the curtains. Why didn’t you think your actions through? What the fuck were you supposed to do now?

“... Lady Y/N?” 

Goddamnit. You felt panic bubble up inside you as Namjoon’s voice resounded beyond the door. In all of the ruckus, you’d forgotten the reason why you initially got into the mess- you’d been trying to avoid him.

“You still haven’t left?”

Your head snapped up in surprise as the man from before appeared before you, sitting on the windowsill, glee radiating off him as he looked around the room.

“You complete and utter liar,” you hissed at the man who was now giggling, as he turned to leave. “You said you’d help me if I helped you! Come back here! We had a deal!”

“The terms of our deal was that I would give you an opportunity to sneak past them,” he corrected you. “I never said I would help you stay undetected, or that you would stay hidden afterwards.”

You gaped at him as he jumped out of the window, almost running after him- then the sound of the door swinging open had you redirecting your attention back to Namjoon, who smiled in relief seeing you- 

The room as you turned back to look at in panic seemingly back to normal, as if the pigs hadn’t even existed. 

“Lady Y/N, what a pleasure to see you. I’ve been hoping we could talk about some things…”

Damn it.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Trumping even that in weirdness came Friday- giving you another meeting with an even stranger stranger.

»»————-　♔　————-««

You climbed the tower angrily, the sound of your feet against the stone stairways echoing all around. Your legs were aching, and you could feel a part of you beating in fear- there were no railways to hold on to, for crying out loud. How the fuck did the people building towers not think to add safety measures? Someone could easily fall- still you continued.

A little bit of peace, a little bit of quiet… Today had you coming to a secluded part of the castle grounds, somewhat deep into the forest nearby, just to escape everything going on back in the castle. Remembering yesterday… Even now it made you seethe.

What was worse was that you hadn’t been able to find out who the other party was, and no matter who you asked, no one could tell you who he was. The maids hadn’t even seen him, nor had anyone else. Why he even appeared in front of you was a mystery and a half.

Today though, you were determined. You were going to savor all the time you had by yourself, until at least the quest came. 

Still, as you finally arrived at the top of the tower, you halted as you heard the sound of sniffling. 

What the hell?

You cautiously opened the door, just a peek- unsure what to find, as from what you’d known no one ever came to this place in particular. You’d come too far to just leave, after all, so-

Soft, brown eyes covered by a glassy sheen of tears instantly met your own, framed by red hair that stood out in the sunlight.

“!?”

You cringed as the other person fell from where he was sitting by the window, the book he must have been reading flying from their hands and into your direction, their whole body thrown off balance as he stared at you with panic. You would’ve thrown open the door, would’ve tried to comfort him, but-

The way he looked at you made you stay your distance.

Instead, you gently opened the door- shooting a concerned glance as you bent down to pick up the book that had landed by your feet.

“Um… I’m sorry for startling you. I didn’t mean to- um, your, um, book…?”

When you looked up again, he was standing up- his head slightly bowed low, hands fidgeting together- you grimaced as you felt the awkward tension in the room skyrocket. It was highly uncomfortable- and you couldn’t help wondering how bad you’d screwed up-

“... Thanks,” you heard him whisper, barely enough to be heard.

You forced a small smile on your face.”Oh, no, um… It’s my fault for just opening the door and peeking in like a creep- um, again, I’m sorry- he’s your book…”

You held out the item in hand- patient as you waited for the other person to reach out. Though, as his hand brushed against yours, you felt the searing amount of heat emanating from his skin.

You yelped. You didn’t expect whoever he was to have a temperature that almost bordered on feverish- not when he didn’t seem like he was sick in the slightest sense. Not only that, it was the sharp sense of fear and shock that shot in you, making you feel like you needed to stop breathing for a moment- if only to adjust.

You immediately brought a hand to his forehead. “Are you okay!? Y-You’re burning up…!”

Thwack!

“Don’t touch me!”

You stared at him, stunned- your hand still raised in the air, a red mark slowly forming over where he had slapped it away. 

If it weren’t for the fact that he looked as startled as you then- a frightened look on his face, then you would’ve been angry. As it was, you were just confused.

“I… S-Sorry,” you stammered. “I didn’t… I wasn’t going to- to hurt you.”

He frowned- eyebrows furrowing, looking as if he wanted to tell you something- before he deflated. “I… I know. I’m sorry. But… um….”

“... Please leave.” He finally said, lips pursed into a tight line. “I don’t… I don’t want you near me.”

“But-”

“Now,” he repeated. “Out.”

Stunned, you could only follow his orders, though you felt yourself flush in indignance and embarrassment as the door closed shut.  

What the hell had that been?

»»————-　♔　————-««

And then Saturday- another day, another asshole, though this time it was at night. Thankfully, this time you’d caught on.

»»————-　♔　————-««

By this point you’d grown wary. Men appearing out of nowhere (no matter how handsome they were), weird and frustrating encounters- your luck really was that bad, huh? You didn’t even know what to do anymore, how to stop it from continuously happening-

If anything, you were highly cautious now.

Still, you thought, as you maneuvered between the halls, having stayed too late at the library once more (the surroundings were quiet as most staff save for guards were asleep), it was already night time, maybe even nearing midnight now- and still, nothing. 

Were you being too paranoid?

Goosebumps broke out on your skin- you halted, feeling your heartbeat staccato.

“Can you please not trail behind me like a creep?” 

For a moment or two there was silence in the corridor, and you began to wonder if you really were too cautious-

Then came the sound of footsteps, light, barely echoing- if you hadn’t strained your ears to sense even the slightest change, you would’ve missed it. Closer, they eventually came closer, and you instantly whirled around, hands hidden in the folds of your dress even as you gripped the fabric tight. You looked up.

Crimson eyes that seemed so bright against the darkness looked back at you.

You could practically feel your heart jump in your chest. Still, again, this wasn’t exactly the first time it had happened. And, you’d been on guard already since the day started, just in case something like what had happened the past few days would repeat itself yet again- and lo and behold.

So, even with the slight tremble in your body, you boldly stared him down, shoving aside the trepidation you were feeling.

Under other circumstances, though, you had to admit- he was one of the most beautiful people you’d ever met. Cherubic features that prominently featured soft monolids, and full lips- not to mention the way the silver color of his hair somehow made him look ethereal, instead of old... if he was someone you’d seen back home, you would’ve thought him to be a model. Still, that didn’t change the fact that you just knew something was off.

“Yes? Did you want something?” You raised an eyebrow at him, ignoring the urge to place your hand over your heart, as if that would help calm it down. 

However, for all that you’d presented yourself as unbothered, if somewhat just initially surprised, it seemed as if the other person knew anyway how fast your heart was beating- giving you a sweet, sugary smile that you knew was trouble at first glance.

“My apologies. I just wanted to know where the path to the west wing is…  Instead, it seems I startled you.”

“That’s…” You paused, thinking over your words. “That’s fine. You’re quite close to your destination. Um, just go straight and then go through the staircase. You’ll see the main doors from there. Exit, follow the path on the left, until you come to a crossroads- and then, um, to the left.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, the edge of his lips turning down then. “That… Sounds a little complicated. Do you mind coming along with me? I don’t want to get lost, and you seem like you know your way around…”

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“... I’m s-sorry,” you eventually said, fidgeting with your dress. “I’m, um, I’m not sure if I can handle going back and forth, like- like that, I mean, it's pretty late and I'm q-quite tired, so, um…”

The man wilted, the pout bigger then- still, you held your ground. Before he could say anything, you hurried through your next words. “I’m really sorry! But if you’re that troubled about it, you can go ask the guards- there’s one of them right outside the main doors- I’ll be going now-”

You turned around, intent on leaving-

The chuckle resounding behind you made you shiver for a moment.

“... You’re quite sharp, aren’t you?”

You continued your steps even as you responded, your room’s door only a few feet away. “... Not sharp, but… you aren’t the first, so I’m sorry to say but that won’t work on me.”

Your steps faltered as you felt something wrong yet again- trusting your instincts, you ducked, smoothly opening the door, before turning around to glare at the man.

“Goodnight. Maybe if we meet again you can tell me your name,” you said politely, before adding, “that is, if you don’t stalk around dark empty hallways again.”

You closed the door- and fell to your knees a second later, your breaths leaving you in short gasps as the adrenaline made your heart beat fast, way too fast-

A giggle, melodious and high pitched echoed through the door. “Next time then, little princess.”

You pretended not to hear it.

»»————-　♔　————-««

And finally, the day before- Sunday. At that point you'd gotten used to it, to the point that you knew what would be coming, and still...

»»————-　♔　————-««

You couldn’t stop turning your head in every direction- trying to take in as much of the city as you could. Your eyes trailed over the buildings, the roads, the people that crowded the streets as they talked and went about their daily lives.

It was… surreal, in a way. Just when you thought you'd really accepted it, that it really had sunk in already, you would see something new and feel the growing familiar feeling of surprise and dread again. You really were in another world. As a hero, or a saviour, though it didn't fit you.

You caught sight of a man on a horse, its back saddled with items and found that everything seemed to lead back to your current predicament.

Which, honestly, just kept giving you more questions than answers. After a week of coming to terms, you'd done your best to prepare yourself for it, including researching and learning whatever information you thought would be useful.

It also meant that you had to learn how to, well, camp. How to set up tent, make a bonfire, how to ride a horse. Being useless in fighting was already one thing, you didn't want the title of being useless anywhere else stuck on you too…

But then when you'd tried to actually learn about riding a horse, for one, you were surprised- the moment your hands touched the saddle, it was as if there was an unknown force commanding you, a practiced ease you were unknown with appearing as, in the blink of an eye, you found yourself seated atop the horse, reins naturally fitting in your hands.

The applause and admiration of the castle staff had only hammered it in. Especially when they kept exclaiming over your muttering that this was your first time as 'as the saviour, no wonder it would only take one try for milady to master it!'

The same went for other skills you were initially worried about- though, to your dismay, you found that there was no help given with anything related to fighting.

… But, you supposed, it was better than nothing.

Currently though, for once you were by yourself. After the week's events, and the day of departure being tomorrow, you found yourself asking for a day to you and yourself only, wandering the city before you had to leave, a request that was met with smiles from the king and queen. Although initially you would've been accompanied by maids, and even guards, for once you swallowed your embarrassment- and told them you didn't quite need it being the saviour and you really just wanted to be alone, if that was possible.

So here you were.

Truly, the kingdom of Quies, especially its capital, in a way lived up to its name. Everywhere you looked, what remained in your mind was that as chaotic as it seemed, there was an underlying feeling of peace.

“Ah!”

Though, peace wasn’t quite synonymous with order. 

“Boy, is this really all you have? Are you trying to make a fool out of me!?”

You winced as a loud voice hit your ears, the ruckus attracting the attention of nearly everyone in what had to be a mile radius. 

A little to your left, you spotted the cause of the noise, a merchant of what seemed to be trinkets glaring angrily at a cloaked figure. Though you couldn’t quite see what their argument was about, nor did you know what was going on, you had to force yourself to look away, stop getting involved- you didn’t want to have another ‘encounter’ in any way, after all.

Still, the way the vendor towered over the other…

Why the hell weren’t you leaving yet? Why, why were you instead drawing closer?

“I’m not trying to fool you,” you heard the cloaked figure say, their voice melodious, though there lingered confusion and frustration in their words.

“Sure you aren’t,” the vendor sneered. “Giving me a measly piece of rock and trying to take my watches- which reminds me, you aren’t giving it back, you rascal!?”

“That’s not just a piece of rock.” Even though you couldn’t see their face, hidden as it was, you could easily hear the frown in their tone. “In fact, calling it a rock is downright insulting to it. That’s a rare pink pearl.”

“Yeah, sure it is!”

You bit your tongue, a sense of frustration, for some reason filling you as you watched the exchange in front of you. 

“It really isn’t a pearl?”

Your voice rang out, clear- you forcefully shoved down the nervousness you felt as you watched the crowd turn their attention to you, most especially the two men.

“Missy, you think I’d get angry if it was?”

“Then you wouldn’t mind returning it to him, then, would you? I’d be happy to pay for whatever he took,” you asserted, walking over to the merchant with (what you hoped) an air of nonchalance.

At your words, the merchant only seemed to get more angry instead. “And who are you to butt in this, huh?”

“I just think that you shouldn’t be causing a disturbance in the kingdom so early in the morning,” you sharply told him instead, stepping over his question. “So why don’t you just accept the money and let this matter rest?”

Instead he scoffed. “This boy here tries to swindle me by giving me pale imitations, insulting my pride, and you think it can be solved with just money? Why, I'd say he should give me all his items in recompensation! I definitely won't settle for just this!”

“If not, until when are you willing to escalate this then, huh? Talking so much about how he’s insulted you by giving you fake goods,” you stared him down, a frown firmly set on your lips. “With how much of a big deal you’re making about it, in fact, I wonder if you’re not the one trying to fool us instead.”

“What- how dare you!”

Bingo. As much as the merchant then seemed outraged, you could hear the minute fluster in his voice, revealing how spot on your accusation was.

“I’m not the one getting so worked up over something so little,” you simply replied. “If it really is like that, then, why don’t you let us see what he gave you?”

“I- that’s not…”

“Or maybe you’d like for me to involve the guards,” you quietly threatened. “After all, we just passed by several on break a few minutes ago.”

The merchant gritted his teeth, his eyes glaring daggers at you. Still, you stood your ground, only raising an eyebrow at him.

“Give it back.”

He roughly thrust a hand to your side. It was opened without a shred of hesitation- the aforementioned pearls sparkling a little in the sunlight (you knew it! You knew they were rare, they had to be with how much he seemed to overblow the matter earlier). He hissed at you as the figure beside you took it from their hands.

“Leave!”

“Gladly.”

It was only when you were a few steps away that you remembered the reason you ever got involved in that mess. You turned around, if only to apologize for just butting in out of nowhere-

You turned to face eyes set into a harsh pout. 

“... I didn’t need your help,” the cloaked figure grumbled, making you freeze in surprise. “I had it under control.”

“... Sure you did,” you muttered, feeling a little offended.

Their hood fell back as they fully glared at you, and for the first time you saw their face- boyish, with a hint of youth still present. Though it didn't take away the beauty easy to drown in as his ebony hair fell down in a tangled, but somehow artful mess, paired with eyes that truly fit the expression of 'doe-like', with how big they were.

"I would if you had just let me."

You pursed your lips at the biting tone in his voice, your shoulders stiffening. 

“Really. Well, I'm sorry then,” you retorted. “Next time you can go get swindled all you like. I’m certainly not going to stop you anymore.”

“I- I just needed some time to think how to handle it!" The flush on his face resulting from your words somehow made you feel better then, even as you began walking away. Whatever- you were out of there.

Still, you hadn’t taken more than two steps then, before you felt someone tug at your clothes. Feeling annoyed, you turned around, a glare on your face as you placed your hands on your hips-

The glint of the pearl before you, the biggest from the ones he’d been given back earlier, under the sunlight made it all the more beautiful.

“I… What?” You looked up, confused, to meet a pout and a sulky expression.

“Take it,” he huffed. “As thanks. Even if, you know, it wasn’t needed. But… I mean, it’s undeniable that you saved me time, so…”

You stared at him in surprise, before you had to suppress the smile growing on your lips- he glared at you in turn when he saw your expression. As he pulled your hand open to hand over the pearl, the feel of his hands on your own made you feel somewhat embarrassed, a flood of shame and frustration trickling in- and then it stopped. When you’d raised your head, you found that he’d quickly turned away, his steps quick, before he disappeared into the crowd.

You eventually burst into chuckles as his figure disappeared, the sight of his embarrassed face imprinted on your mind.

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Lady Y/N?”

You fell back into focus as Anya’s voice reached you. You smiled at her, though you couldn’t quite hide the fatigue making your body quite weak- not just from the past week’s encounters, but, well, from everything since you woke up. 

“You’ll be fine, milady,” Anya assured you as you hefted the bag onto your shoulder, assuming that you were anxious instead of exhausted. You sighed at her words. 

“I… Um. Thanks, I guess. I’ll give it my best,” you promised- though it was debatable if you were telling that to yourself or to her. Still…

“They’re waiting at the throne room, um, right?” 

“Yes, milady! It’s been an honor to serve you- may you be successful.”

You could only hope.

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Presenting, the representatives of Terabitha! Lady Y/N L/N, of the humans!”

“... Fuck.”

You could only stare in shock as seven familiar heads turned up at your arrival- 

Seven, of which while one you anticipated, the other six were, unfortunately, familiar people, several of which looked at you with amusement, shock, and ever familiar disdain. 

Your eyes trailed over each and every one of them, the features of which you’d read each race for being known to have much more prominent under the light of day, in a moment where you could take your time taking their appearance in.

Mages- perhaps the only race in which there is no distinct difference in appearances to humans. Although there is still a way to identify them- come close, and you will feel magic, heavy and potent linger in the air around them. That is not to mention their skewed luck, that manifests in many strange ways.

“Kim Namjoon, of the mages!”

Namjoon smiled at you then, and you faintly noticed the dimples on his face- you found yourself automatically smiling back, though it was forced.

Your gaze quickly went to the next person.

As for the other races though, you will find after some careful examination their difference is easy to see. Mermaids, for one, as much as they call the sea their home are able to assume human form- though even they cannot quite perfectly blend in, as there remains a shallow pattern of gills near their ears that they cannot hide…

“Jeon Jungkook, of the mermaids!”

Huge, doe eyes partially covered by black, fluffy hair met yours, wide in shock, before he quickly looked away, hands fidgeting with the bag he was holding.

Yokai- kitsune, in particular, are quite tricky to identify. They wear quite the number of disguises, but an assurance is that they usually always have some detail wrong. For one, their eyes might stay vertical, where humans have wide pupils. Another is the tail they might forget to disguise...

“Kim Taehyung, of the yokai!”

The ash grey hair that framed his sculpted face almost covered his eyes- but you could still see them wink at you as your gaze flitted around, the smirk that formed on his lips playful and teasing.

Vampires will always stand out. Their pale skin complements the sculpted features they are given, unnatural beauty that bewitches- and the icy chill that can be felt from their body emphasizes it. Of course, not to mention their fangs…

“Park Jimin, of the vampires!”

Eyes that seemed to smile at you in the shape of crescent moons made itself known, the silver of his hair and the paleness of his skin painting him more as an angel rather than what he truly was, especially when he giggled.

Dragons, terrifying as they are in their true form, are much more approachable in their human form. Though it would be noticeable that they are not quite human- for they still possess scales, and the heat from the fire in their body still rumbles underneath their skin…

“Jung Hoseok, of the dragons!”

Red hair that seemed to glint in the sunlight was all you could see of him, then- though a look at his hands still revealed the light, almost unnoticeable pattern of scales- he glanced upwards and then quickly looked away, the flush on his face then almost matching his hair.

Fae, in turn, tend to have flickers of light around them, though less noticeable as they grow older. In which case, the next clue to look out for is the area around them- particularly, the ground. If you notice that wherever they step, the grass is greener, and plants seem to flourish… Then you’ve found yourself a fae.

“Min Yoongi, of the fae!”

Cat-like eyes narrowed in amusement at the way your face continued to fall with each familiar face. He barely held in his laughter, though you wouldn’t have noticed it if he did- the horror in your face visible to the world as you laid your eyes on the last member of the quest.

And lastly- elves. Oh, where do I begin? Elves, out of all species, might be the one that, with a little bit of planning may truly pass off as human. If not for their pointed ears, then there would be no way to tell an elf apart from a human based on appearances…

“Are you just planning to stand there without saying anything?” Eyes that still remained familiar from never leaving neither your dreams nor your memories cast a stern look over your form, the disapproval subtle but clear in the way his plush lips were set in a sneer.

“Kim Seokjin, of the elves!”

Fuck. You really were screwed.

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas Day 8: Forgotten

Happy Day 8! I have been travelling all day, and plotting Forbidden Fics, so on with the show!

Today’s fic is an untitled riff on the concept of Alice being found in the woods of Forks not only having forgotten her entire life, but still human - her last solid memories are running from James. It was very much meant to be an exploration of Alice and Jasper relearning each other, and falling in love again - though it got quite dark and depressing at one point - and looking at how far Alice has come from her human years. She is absolutely unclear of the year she’s in, and whilst she has some memories of the asylum, she is also unaware of just how damaged she was before she was changed. I hope that all makes sense. 

Onwards!

--

What does she remember?

That is a loaded question. Matron asks her that every morning, as if she is a small child, whenever she can manage to talk. Her mind is gossamer thin, and tattered from shock therapy. She doesn’t remember much, but she does remember that her name is… her name is… Alice, yes.

The waking dreams she has are an illness, a terrible one, and she is mad.

Her dearest friend is Eli, the orderly. He was special, and a good man. He looks after her.

That’s what she remembers. The hunter. Eli taking her away from the asylum, wrapped in his itchy, old coat that smelt like smoke and grass. She was cold and tired and so frightened for Eli, because he is old and the hunt was strong… but he hid her away and went off to defeat the hunter.

//

This Alice is not their Alice, that is clear.

She is undeniably human, and so frail that Carlisle must resist the urge to check her immediately into the closest hospital. She speaks quietly, wringing her hands nervously. She doesn’t make eye-contact.

For Jasper, all he can think is that her eyes are blue. Blue-grey, really, a colour that nearly matches a scarf she bought back in the 50s. She has faint freckles over her nose.

//

The Cullens are very kind to me, whilst Eli has gone. Dr Cullen seems to think that Eli and I will be living with them for now on; that does make sense, I suppose, since Dr Cullen is a doctor, and I am still very ill. They had a very nice bedroom to give me, and clothing, so Eli must have written them. And Mrs Cullen was very nice when the dress she gave me was far too short and it upset me. The second one was much better, though it was black and I am sure made me look as pale as a ghost.

Mrs Cullen has cooked for me, as well – the smells are awful to a vampire, and the rest of them vanish whenever she disappears into the kitchen. She is always asking me what I like to eat, and she looked so sad when I told her I didn’t know, because the food at the asylum was so awful.

I keep away from the others, like Eli warned me. Though, Miss Rosalie was so lovely, I couldn’t believe she was real. I… I think I had a doll like her once. Her husband was a giant of a man who reminded me of the orderlies at the asylum, who seemed nice enough, but I wasn’t getting too close.

The redheaded boy seemed to like watching me a lot, but refrained from talking much. He seemed to have a lot of friends, though, as when he did speak, he was always talking about ‘Bella’ and ‘Jacob’ and ‘Seth’ and ‘Leah’.

The young blond man did not seem to be pleased I was in the house, leaving the room anytime I entered it, and when he was forced to be in my presence, he glowered at me, as if I were the most unwelcome creature in the universe.

Perhaps it should have upset me, but I am used to such glares.

Dr Cullen insisted that I spend a lot of time resting quietly in my room, though he allowed me to sit in the garden for a little while each day, and there was a never-ending supply of books, which was wonderful. I spend a lot of time attempting to pen letters to Eli, though my hands were still quite shaky, and my handwriting abysmal. My drawings moreso. I cried about it a little, when I was in my room, but I should be very grateful – my alternative to this lovely place was death.

//

My bedroom remained a mystery. Mrs Cullen assured me that it was mine, and I adored everything about it – the way the light filled the room every morning, to the dandelion lamp on the nightstand, to the bed with the silk headboard and piles of pillows. Mrs Cullen was always worried I was cold, bringing me as many pillows and blankets as I wished for.

But, I wondered if perhaps this room wasn’t intended for me. Mrs Cullen had filled the dresser with my clothing, and apologised, explaining the closet was used as storage, and I shouldn’t go through it until she had some time to clear it out. I had peeked, just once, and found it full of boxes and clothing. The clothing! I had never seen so many dresses! Most of them had been terribly short, but there had been every colour and fabric. I couldn’t imagine leaving behind so many beautiful things.

There were spaces in the bookcase as well, as if several editions had been pulled out in a hurry.

And I had found a necklace that had been left on the window sill, behind the curtain – a thin silver chain, with a glass teardrop on the end. It was lovely, and clearly beloved – the initials had been rubbed off the clasp, as had the engraving around the setting.

I had simply left it on the dresser and never asked, even when it vanished without mention.

It wasn’t the only mystery. I had noticed that I was kept out of many of the rooms of the house – my meals were served to me on trays or in the dining room. I was allowed in the garden or in my room.

But who am I to criticise their hospitality? Perhaps they keep things in this house that are not fit for human eyes.

//

Today, a man arrived. A policeman, though his uniform was quite odd. He looked quite stern, and when Mrs Cullen went to greet him, I disappeared back to the dining room to finish my breakfast.

Mrs Cullen is determined to discover my ‘favourite’ foods at every meal; I don’t have the heart to tell her after the ‘soups’ and ‘porridges’ of the hospital, every food is my favourite. Today, it is eggs that are like little yellow clouds.

“Alice!” the policeman sees me there and he smiles, but looks confused for a moment.

My glass of orange juice slips from my fingers and all I can think is that he is looking for me, the hospital has searched for me and they will drag me back to that dark, dim little cell, and I’ll be without Eli this time.

I know I am crying and screaming, though it sounds quite feeble to my own ears, and Mrs Cullen is trying to calm me, and the policeman looks bewildered, and the redheaded boy – Edward – is there and trying to fix everything.

“She thinks Charlie is going to take her back,” he keeps saying. “Get Jasper down here to calm her down.”

I must look a fright, my hair has fallen around my face, and there is orange juice spilt all over my dress and Mrs Cullen’s floor and there is glass everywhere.

“Carlisle left some sedatives,” Miss Rosalie says finally, looking rather stunned. Everyone looks rather pained but finally Edward nods.

And then I am calm.

I slump to the floor, my arms wrapped around myself. I am still frightened, my heart pounding, but I am calm.

“Charlie is a friend,” Mrs Cullen is telling me soothingly, smoothing my hair from my face. “No one is going to take you anywhere you don’t want to go, we promise.”

The calm fades into grief, and I fling my arms around her neck and sob like a child and beg for someone to fetch Eli for me.

//

They sit me down in the lounge room, all of them watching me. Esme has an album in her lap, and looks so kind and worried. I keep checking my hair, to make sure it hasn’t come loose. It’s not really long enough to pin up well, and Miss Rosalie never pins hers up, but it feels right.

And then Dr Cullen speaks. His voice is gentle and sad and it takes a while for me to understand the words he is saying.

Eli is, most certainly, dead.

But so is the hunter, and his vile companions.

I don’t make a sound, but suddenly my cheeks are wet, and I am crying. Esme pulls me into her arms and rocks me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure he was a good man,” she murmurs against my head, and ice and fire rip through my veins and Edward hisses at Esme and I pull away, my heart pounding.

I’m sure he was a good man.

“What did he look like?” I demand from Dr Cullen, my voice hard but still shaking. “What did Eli look like?”

Dr Cullen looks startled and Esme is realising her mistake and I am realising that no one here has ever met Eli before. That I was never entrusted to these vampires by him.

Edward is just shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Alice, but I never met Eli in person,” Dr Cullen says.

I let out a little moan, and wonder what comes next. A runaway girl in a borrowed dress.

Truly, how many times in my life shall I be left with nothing?

Perhaps I should have left the hunter to his meal and his pleasure. If I had known then what I do now, I would have.

My face is wet, and the collar of my sweater is sodden when I look up and spy a pair of shoes under the little console table in the entrance. They are small, small enough for me, and black, with a shiny gold toe. Worn, too, and I wonder whose they are. I wonder if that is why they took me in, to replace the ghost girl who left behind my bedroom and a closet full of clothing.

The family clearly doesn’t realise what I’m doing as I move towards the shoes. I am wearing good quality clothing – thick stockings and a grey dress with a black sweater – and now I have shoes. They cannot stop me leaving.

Well, they can. But I will fight until I am dead. I am tired of being a pawn.

Edward groans as I step into the shoes – a perfect fit, as if they were mine all along – and there is the fuzzy muttering I can never understand, and I wish they hung their coats by the door, but there is nothing for it.

Before I can open the front door, there is an iron-bar of an arm around my middle, and I look down and then up in shock, as Jasper bodily drags me away from my freedom.

“Let me go!” I squeal, trying to wriggle free. I am small enough that I could usually get out of Eli’s grasp; he would laugh and tell me I was like a cat, or a goldfish, too hard to catch. But this man, who has treated me with nothing but disdain, has compensated for my size, and I am trapped in his grasp.

“Stop it!” I shriek, and I try kicking and hitting, but it does nothing except bruise my poor limbs. Miss Rosalie’s husband is truly laughing at me, and I’m sure I look quite a sight, my eyes and face all red and wet, fighting against this ridiculous behemoth of a man. Eli was not so tall as the Cullen men, and it is most unhelpful.

“Please, let me go!” I beg, but my voice is cracking, slightly hysterical, as they discuss me. As if I am a naughty child instead of the girl they have lied to.

“You’re hurting me,” I finally offer, rather pitifully. That one always worked with Eli, and it works quite well now. The man nearly drops me, and stares at me in horror – a look that makes me feel terribly guilty, though my back does ache from being held in such a way.

“Jasper,” Edward is looking at him; he has the saddest, most heartbroken look on his face I have ever seen, and I feel awful. “It’s okay, she’s fine.”

Jasper shakes his head and turns; a second later, the door slams.

“He gets to leave,” I say grumpily, and Dr Cullen and Mrs Cullen just look stunned at what has transpired.

Within seconds, a plan is formed. Dr Cullen, Edward and Miss Rosalie’s husband go after Jasper, whom I have caused great distress to, apparently. Miss Rosalie and Mrs Cullen whisk me back upstairs, where I am brought a cup of tea, and ignore my questions about Eli, a sinking feeling in my stomach until my vision swims and I realise they have played the same terrible trick my mother used on me when the orderlies came to take me away. I tip sideways on the window seat and Mrs Cullen carries me easily to bed, and oh, I hate them all. I cannot cry or co-ordinate my arms to move or speak.

But I have learned a valuable lesson. They will be kind and take care of me, but I have no power nor choice. And if I strike out at them, I will be punished. A tiny, hysterical part of my brain is amused that their weapon of choice is pills crushed in tea when they could break me into tiny pieces, but I will be quite carefully about accepting food and drink now on.

The Cullens are not to be trusted.

//

The tea was brewed strong, because I sleep through the afternoon and night. When I wake, there is light slipping through the windows. Normally, I would attempt to wash and clothe myself before Mrs Cullen comes in, but today, I do not. I attend to my needs in the bathroom, and drink water in my cupped hands rather than risk whatever is mixed in with the glass on my nightstand.

And then I return to bed. It seems that is where they prefer me to be, so that is where I shall stay.

It is quite late, mid-morning, when Mrs Cullen ventures in with a tentative smile and a tray, and then a concerned look when I do no sit up nor greet her, still clad in yesterday’s dress. I do not respond to her greetings, and I feel like a dying animal when she finally leaves to fetch Dr Cullen.

Having the doctor in my bedroom makes me feel quite unclean, brings shadowy horrors from the asylum to the front of my mind that I try to push away as he checks my temperature and talks to me.

“Grief, especially for a beloved friend, can be overwhelming,” he says finally, smoothing my hair in a way that makes me shudder and pull away from him. “You should eat, to keep up your strength, Alice. But rest is a great healer.”

He and Mrs Cullen leave, though a plate of toast and a glass of juice is left on my nightstand, and I wonder how many pills they have crushed into the mix. I wait forty minutes before I deposit the toast and juice down the toilet – they shall never guess that I didn’t consume it myself.

I am right, of course. Mrs Cullen’s smile brightens when she sees the empty dishes. I have been good and obedient and all is well, in the Cullens’ eyes.

They might think that they can control me and win whatever terrible game this is, but I grew up in a hellish place, learnt cruelty and sneakiness from the very best at it. No matter what they think they can do to me, I’ve survived worse. And I will survive them, too.

//

It has been almost a week since the terrible altercation, and they all suspect me. I refuse to leave my room, content to take my meals up there and read. The food is discarded via the bathroom, and I drink only from the tap. My bones are returning to the surface. Hunger is an old bedmate, one I’ve known since I was a girl, and I barely notice it anymore.

//

The brunette girl looks quite rough, in her trousers and shapeless sweater. She looked quite sour, too, as we sat in the dining room.

There is little chatter as she presents the food she brought with her. Apparently, the popular opinion is that I am so grief-stricken that Mrs Cullen’s food no longer tempts me, and that this strange girl can provide something that I will eat.

The sandwich is wrapped up in paper, with stickers to keep it sealed – it gives me slightly more confidence that the food has not been tampered with, though my body is well trained in going without food, and I am full after only picking at it for a little while.

The girl – Isabella, daughter of the Policeman Charlie – doesn’t talk much, and when she does, every second word is Edward’s name. It’s strange; I’m faintly reminded of my cousins fretting over boys, a hazy memory of a conversation I had no interest in, and wondered if they ever read a book.

Since I ate, the meal is declared a success, and Isabella is encouraged to return any time - with more food, and I wonder how many conversations about Edward I shall have to sit through.

//

I rather shocked the family, today. Dr Cullen weighed me in my nightdress, and found out that I had lost another two pounds. All that good work, undone. Mrs Cullen had looked terribly sad, and Miss Rosalie had scowled.

“If you don’t start eating, we’ll take you to the hospital and they’ll force you to eat,” she practically growls at me, and I wish I could laugh in her face.

“They attach a feeding tube to your mouth, and they will tie you down,” Miss Rosalie keeps speaking. I tilt my head to the side and think of the asylum, of everything I have lived through in eight years. Nothing Miss Rosalie can tell me will scare me.

“Please, Alice, is there anything you would like to eat?” Mrs Cullen is nearly begging me. I shake my head.

“Perhaps it is time to involve professionals,” Dr Cullen says in a sad voice, and there is a loud bang from upstairs that makes me jump.

“That would be a no,” Miss Rosalie’s  husband says wryly.

//

I don’t know why, but I walk into the kitchen the next morning, and when Mrs Cullen offers to make me breakfast, I agree.

I agree to eat at least half and then sit in the garden with her.

I even agree to a cup of tea, though my hands shake something terribly when I drink it – why am I drinking it? – and I nearly drop the cup.

Mrs Cullen watches me with a tired look on her face, and smoothes my hair from my face as she takes the empty tea cup. I sit in the garden and wonder if I could vomit it all up - it sits uneasily in my stomach, as if it knew how unwilling I was to consume it. I wait for the effect, to feel sleepy or twitchy or dizzy or something.

Jasper is watching me from the doorway, with a flat look on his face. I haven’t seen him since the argument, and he doesn’t look particularly pleased to lay eyes on me, but when he sees me watching him, he moves towards Mrs Cullen’s empty seat and folds himself into it.

“I,” he begins, looking down, “I understand you’ve suffered a great loss and feel like we’ve betrayed you. And I never, ever would have allowed them to lace your tea with sedatives, had I been in the house. I’m sorry I left. But you are safe here. We want to protect you and help you. And I will explain more when you’re well again, I promise. But you must stop trying to harm yourself, Alice. You must eat. I can only stop them from sending you to hospital for so long, and I…”

I blinked at him curiously. He had stopped them? More than once? He had some sort of authority over them - over me?

“I don’t understand,” I manage.

“I know, and we’ll start explaining things soon, but for now, I need you to trust us. Eat, drink, speak with us. I will watch over all the food that is prepared, if that makes you feel better. But I cannot watch you hurt yourself like this, and I cannot leave you. I just…” He looked so sad as his gaze met mine. And something about that gaze, something about the softness of his words made me trust him. He wouldn’t have drugged the tea, wouldn’t have allowed Mrs Cullen or Miss Rosalie to do so either. He never would have hurt me or lied to me. Whomever Jasper was in this family, and to me, he was neither unkind nor cruel. 

“Okay, I’ll try,” I said in a soft voice. “As long as you tell me the truth.”

//

[funkzpiel]

I feel like at some point on the road, Jaskier would have been like, 'I thought Witchers didn't need to eat as much as ordinary folks,' and Geralt would have been like, 'Well, we can starve for a lot longer,' and Jaskier would have been kind of irrationally angry about it for a while.

More Geralt whump? Fuck yes. Thank you for the prompt, I love it.

Jaskier didn’t notice �� not at first, not for a long time. Despite his frequent travels with the white wolf of Rivia, he had never even thought to ask. Something entirely unexpected for a man as chatty as himself and it would not be the first or last time Jaskier kicked himself for not noticing. He had always assumed that witchers had very slow metabolisms or some other strange mutation that allowed them to better digest and absorb nutrients and make the benefits of meals last longer. After all, Geralt rarely ate.

Perhaps ‘rarely’ was too strong a word, Jaskier admitted, but even so he could remember just as many instances in which Geralt didn’t eat as he did.

But it wasn’t until he found himself sharing a fire with the man one night that the question finally came to him. It had been a long ride with few breaks; a ride that had immediately devolved into a fierce fight with a creature Geralt had been contracted to handle, quickly followed by another rough ride when the blasted thing had managed to fly away, wounded and bleeding. Thankfully it had left quite a trial to follow, low as it had been flying and bleeding as it had been – but it meant that the two of them were running off of fumes and Jaskier, for one, was unused to it.

Well, no. Not unused to it. He had known hunger in his younger days, back when he had first left Oxenfurt to start his travels as a bard. Fame did not come without its prices – unless one had a very generous benefactor to start with, of course. And the price had been crude, cruel and simple: play for free, get his name out there, and starve until his music had the hearts of enough folk tied around his fingers that he might then play for pay. He wasn’t always hungry, of course. There had been more than one maid or village lass who had taken pity on him, in love with his blue eyes and silver tongue in that way young ladies – bored with village life – tended to sometimes be. But he had known hunger and cold.

Even though the years had been long since those meager days, even now he could not help but think ‘I remember worse hunger pains’. That didn’t mean he enjoyed it though. And if Jaskier was good at anything – singing and writing and general charisma aside – it was whining and surviving.

He plucked the fluffiest bits of his bread from within the hardened crust of the loaf he had in his pack and moaned as that first tuff nearly melted in his mouth – too stale from riding to be properly soft, but hunger had blurred that line of reasoning into something far more fantastical and pleased.

“Gods above, I love bread,” Jaskier all but moaned, slumping on his log as if the taste alone had rendered him useless. He fluttered his lashes. Geralt grunted.

“Come now, Geralt. Even you with all your witcherly stoicism can’t deny that there’s nothing quite as good as bread after days of starving,” Jaskier pointedly out, plucking another chunk of bread and placing it on his tongue with another lewd moan – now purposefully so.

Geralt rolled his eyes, face canted down toward the fire as he stoked it with a stick, ensuring that the logs lay just right for the best flame. Jaskier continued on, too merry from his meal to stay his tongue.

“Food’s always best when drunk or starving,” he mused.

He remembered lectures about that, at some point in Oxenfurt. His studies, while fundamentally focused around literature in general, had varied. A good writer needed to know a little of everything, after all, and he was nothing if not thorough when it came to his craft. He could still remember an old bore of a professor going on and on about a human’s instinct to survive and that, when starving, food was often times described by patients to be far richer or more delicious than normal – even if that food was in fact bland or stale or generally something the patient might detest in regular circumstances. The body recognizes the necessity of eating, numbs the mind of any factors that might keep them from eating, and therefore everything tastes as if it had been delivered from the heavens themselves.

“Agreed,” Geralt said, setting his stick aside to stand. Jaskier watched him with childish passivity as the witcher went to Roach, filled a feed harness with grain or whatever it was he tended to give the ol’girl, and went about attaching it to her head so she might eat – obviously reminded of the task by their conversation. Then he attended to Jaskier’s horse as well, Daisy. That made something fond prickle in Jaskier’s chest.

“It’s stale and I don’t even care,” Jaskier continued to babble, breaking the hard crust off piece by piece now as he continued to consume his meal. Geralt grunted again, crouched by his pack again, and despite Jaskier’s assumption that the man was now finally fetching his own meal, the witcher instead returned to his place at the fire with his sword, a rag and some oils – and surprisingly no whet stone.

Jaskier rose his brows.

“Really, Geralt? I know you witchers have a frankly unhealthy relationship with your swords, but it can wait. Aren’t you hungry? Tired?”

Amber eyes met his overtop the brilliant flames of their fire. They seemed paler somehow, but the fire made it quickly difficult to hold the man’s gaze; even moreso to make out fine details. Otherwise Jaskier might have seen the hollows of Geralt’s cheeks beneath his riding stubble, or the dark circles that had made a home of the space beneath his eyes. Might have noticed he was paler than usual.

But he didn’t.

“Hmm,” Geralt said, eyes dropping back to his sword as he oiled his rag and began the lengthy process of cleaning it with the meticulousness of a witcher.

That gave Jaskier pause. He had seen the man fight. Geralt had described the Churt as a young adult, even though Jaskier couldn’t have imagined a larger Churt in his life. The point being: the Churt had been no babe, and while Geralt was a witcher of immeasurable skill, the beast had done its fair share of harm in turn. With the bend of its wing it had struck such a blow on Geralt’s right shoulder blade that it had tossed the witcher across a small clearing and into a try. Jaskier hadn’t imagined the wet pop he had heard at the time, nor had he imagined the gash the thing had landed on Geralt’s thigh and hip when it swooped down from above, talons first.

Geralt had excused himself to wash the worst of the fight off in a river, leaving Jaskier to settle Roach and start the process of picking up flammable tinder for the fire – something that once upon a time, he never would have trusted the bard to do. It made a little bloom of warmth grow in his chest at the thought even as dread slowly but surely began to curl in his gut.

He hadn’t seen Geralt take any salves or wrappings to the river. And if Jaskier was tired from riding without food, he could only imagine how ravenous he might feel after riding and slaying a Churt on just as empty a stomach.

“Geralt, come on,” he repeated, the cheer he had felt from his bread now weak in his tone. “You should really eat something.”

“M’fine,” the man said, focused on his task.

Jaskier felt his brows pucker into the slightest frown and not for the first time cursed Geralt for the wrinkles he would no doubt get because of the stubborn witcher and his stupid concepts of logic and reason – aka, his utter lack of either when it came to simple matters of health, wellbeing and general comfort.

Witchers, honestly.

But not for the first time Jaskier tried to quell his sharp tongue if, for no other reason, because he himself was not a witcher and sometimes they were able to do extraordinary things due to their mutations. He tried to keep his tone light as he asked, “Are witchers able to digest their food more slowly or something?”

Geralt snorted, but under the crackle of the fire Jasker could not tell if it was the white wolf’s attempt at a chuckle or not. Jaskier plucked another bit of bread from his loaf, stuck it in his mouth and looked at the witcher pointedly – expecting a real answer.

Geralt grunted, cleared his throat in a manner Jaskier might describe as ‘uncomfortable’ in witcher-speak – a tongue of body language rather than words – and when it became obvious Jaskier would not fill the silence for him or move on, surprisingly answered.

“In a manner,” he admitted.

“In a manner,” Jaskier repeated theatrically, as if this in fact explained all the secrets of the universe, and nodded his head sagely, “Ever a man of many words you are, Geralt. In what manner?”

Geralt blew a breath through his nose in a heavy huff, his eyes darting up in that way he did whenever he was gauging whether or not something was worth sharing with Jaskier. It appeared his distate for being badgered outweighed his dislike of talking about himself, because he kept his eyes pointedly down on his sword as he said, “Mutations.”

“Ah. I see.”

Amber eyes darted to him for a fraction of a moment – almost, dare Jaskier say, nervous; but he couldn’t be certain with the firelight. No, not nervous exactly… but without a doubt Geralt was anticipating something. Bracing himself, one might say.

His sword was already positively gleaming, but the man continued to focus on it as if it were rusted. When Jaskier threw a stick at him, staring at him pointedly, mouth full of bread, Geralt sighed – haughty and on edge.

“Witchers,” he said slowly, drawing it out as if unsure of how to proceed, “Adapt easily. Our bodies can speed or slow our metabolisms as needed.”

The bread in his hands felt suddenly too rough, too heavy. He had a terrible, awful feeling he knew where this explanation was headed, but he needed to hear it. Needed to know for sure.

“Geralt,” he said just as slowly if only to show Geralt that any cheerful playfulness in him had passed and that there was no escaping this conversation now. “What precisely are you trying to tell me? That you have an on-off lever for your hunger?”

Geralt blew out a breath through his teeth that stirred his messy silver hair. It was like pulling teeth, Jaskier thought, frustrated.

“We can starve a long time before it becomes a problem,” he finally said, clinical and blunt, as if he had said something mundane like ‘witchers are more flexible than most’ rather than ‘I can suffer starvation longer than mortal men before I’ll ever die’.

“Geralt,” Jaskier snapped, unsure of what he was even trying to say. The word had slipped past his teeth in a snap, unfettered and unabashed and wholly horrified. Geralt might have flinched, it was hard to tell past the fire, and finally Jaskier had had enough of the man’s cowering. He stood and rounded the fire – loomed over the witcher – and saw the nearly feral glint of the man’s eyes as he pointedly did not look at him. Eventually, words returned to him. “Tell me this is some utterly terrible version of a witcher joke. Humor really does not suit you, you know.”

“Sure, it’s a joke,” Geralt deadpanned, something tight about the way he held his shoulders.

“Geralt!”

“What?” He finally snapped, the word nearly a hushed snarl when his eyes finally darted up to meet Jaskier’s and finally – finally – he saw it. Geralt was thin. It showed in his face, scant of even so much fat as to fill his cheeks, and from this angle the fire cast dreadful shadows in those hunger hollows.

Gods above, his gear. That’s why he hadn’t noticed, at least not yet. They had not exactly found a tavern in some time – sleeping outdoors provided little opportunity to disrobe or enjoy one another’s company in comfort. He had thought it surprising that Geralt had kept his armor on for more, if not all, of the trip. Now he knew – it was just as much a cover as the fire had been.

“Take it off,” Jaskier said.

Geralt blinked slowly, caught off guard. Slow from hunger, Jaskier realized. Something no doubt made worse by the witcher’s difficult relationship with sleep.

“What? No.”

“Geralt.”

“I already did it.”

He meant his wounds, Jaskier realized, and for some reason that made him angry.

“Another lie!” Jaskier said in an explosion of hand movement, too wound up to settle his tendency toward the theatrical as he gestured at Geralt’s shoulders – at the way he was obviously favoring one side over the other, and continued, “I saw you go to the river. You didn’t bring a single salve with you!”

Geralt rolled his eyes – not so much a dramatic gesture as it was a minute flutter of his lashes – and said, “I’m a witcher, Jaskier. It’s fine.”

He had heard the story before. Witcher, in Geralt’s mind, appeared to be synonymous with ‘immune’. But even so, the man was generally good about salving and bandaging himself. His body was, after all, his greatest tool. And yet he hadn’t this time.

“You don’t have any food, do you?” He finally accused, catching on, “Or salves? Gods above, Geralt, why did you take this contract without those things!”

“Because I needed the contract to buy those things,” Geralt said through his teeth, nearly baring them like his namesake might.

It was an argument that was quickly going nowhere, and Jaskier could not exactly pin point why exactly there was a kernel of fury growing in his stomach, searing him from the inside out in a rising tide. Instead he just made an utterly exasperated sound at Geralt, took a step forward – ignoring the tension that bloomed in Geralt’s body in reaction – and shoved the rest of his bread into the man’s hands before stomping off to his pack with a frustrated, “Why didn’t you say you utter oaf!”

Geralt’s brows shot up.

“Jaskier, I can’t,” he said, eyes on the man as he held the bread loosely, his rag haven fallen to the ground. “This is yours.”

“And now it’s yours, you bloody idiot of a witcher,” Jaskier said back just as quickly, his tone almost lilting as he fell back into the comfort of jesting words to hide the anger in his gut that made him want to – he didn’t even know! Kick a tree, maybe? Punch a man? Tie Geralt down until he understood how to better take care of himself? Yes, that one. He busied himself with digging through his own pack on Daisy. His horse whickered at him cheerfully as he shuffled things around. He found another chunk of bread – this one smaller but better than nothing. He also pulled out a tin of cured meat he kept for emergencies, as well as a leather wrapped kit – crude at best – of what scant medical supplies he had come to find necessary during his trips with Geralt. Bandages, cheap salves, thread and needles. He turned back to Geralt, his findings in either hand, and nearly barked out a laugh at the sight of the witchere. The man had never looked more uncomfortable or out of his element, staring at him like Jaskier were a lion that might make of a meal of him rather than a wispy bard with bread, meat and medical items.

“You look as if I’ve revealed myself to be another Churt in disguise,” Jaskier said, coming closer now. Geralt moved, perhaps to stand, to flee, but not quickly enough – and that, in and of itself – convicted Jaskier on his path even more. He pressed a hand onto Geralt’s knee, cautious of where he thought the man’s wounds might be, and urged him back down onto the log as he took a seat beside him.

“Surely you’ve been without coin before,” Jaskier said as he delicately places the second loaf onto the cleanest bit of bark that he could manage, then the tin and medical supplies. Geralt looked like a cornered dog but Jaskier just kept talking, as if his babbling might ease the witcher into some modicum of familiarity and comfort. “I’ve seen you hunt. So why not hunt?”

He asked even as he knew why. Geralt had already hinted at it. With a metabolism that sped and slowed as needed, it meant that his body had burned most of its energy in the fight. Now it was slowing again, drawing the warmth from his skin as his heart beat dropped to an almost unnatural rhythm. Hunting took time and energy. It meant Geralt was now in league with most wild predators – better to wait for an ample opportunity that promised success than to blindly waste it looking for an animal in the woods at night. Better to bide his time, even if that meant a gnawing stomach.

“No point right now,” Geralt said, confirming his suspicions. It was strange to simultaneously see the man as a predator and yet realize that meant that, in this moment, he was vulnerable for the very same reason that he was dangerous.

“Right, of course,” Jaskier said idly, more focused on the task at hand now that he understood the problem, “Not to rush things along because I generally prefer to take my time disrobing my partners, but let’s go, Geralt. Eat your bread, off with your armor and such.”

Geralt stiffened, then held the husk back to him with a murmured, “It’s yours. I don’t need handouts. M’fine.”

The words ‘I’m used to this, it’s not a big deal’ went unsaid – and wisely so. Jaskier might’ve given him a motherly wallop for it. Instead he shoved the bread back toward Geralt with a quick, “Yeah, well, if it’s mine then that means I can do whatever I want with it. And I want you to eat it.”

That, in combination with hunger, seemed to finally cow the witcher into some semblance of obedience. He pulled a tuff of soft, white bread flesh from its stale husk and went about eating it with far less drama than Jaskier had. But the bard didn’t miss the way the witcher’s fingers nearly – nearly – trembled. For the first time he realized the problem might be far worse than a day or two without food. There was no telling how long the witcher had gone without before Jaskier had arrived to join him on his trek.

He realized with a start that he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know how long Geralt could go. He’d much rather focus on ensuring he didn’t ever go that long ever again.

Jaskier pressed into Geralt’s space with long arms and clever fingers, unfastening buckles and straps around Geralt as the witcher ate. He pulled off his chest armor and had to bite his tongue not to hiss. The witcher’s shoulder was a mass of purple – masked except for where it peaked out beneath the hem of his collar, but telling nonetheless. It’d heal, Geralt always did, but it didn’t mean the man needed to suffer while he did. He tugged at Geralt’s shirt, easing it over his head as he sighed, “For a man as adept and trained for survival as you are, Geralt, you’re an astoundingly huge idiot.”

“Wow, thanks,” Geralt mused, a chuckle blurred around the edges of the words, muffled as the shirt slipped over his head and—

Jaskier had to bury his teeth into his knuckles to avoid spitting out the first, dramatic invective that sprung to his tongue. But by Melitele’s tits, the man was deceptively built looking for a man as thin as he was at the moment. With his armor on he looked like a brick wall – tall, broad and built for tasks no normal man could handle. But beneath all that, even as muscled as he was, the truth remained that the white wolf was thin as a rail almost. He tried to remember the last time he had seen the witcher, the last time they had shared a room, shared each other’s company. He was a surprisingly lithe man for someone so accustomed to a job like witchering – but he hadn’t been this thin. He must have been decently fed, last he saw him, because now Jaskier could almost swear that if he had a hand on either side of Geralt’s hips, his fingers would nearly touch. An exaggeration, and yet, he didn’t want to try in case he was right. He could see every rung of Geralt’s ribs, every knob of his spine. His stomach curved inward, even the musculature of his abdomen less prominent that he remembered. And his hips; the way they jutted even while sitting…

Gods above, how long did he starve this time?

Even faced with so much suffering, Jaskier held his tongue firmly between his teeth until he was certain he would not badger the man. Geralt knew how thin he was. There was a reason why he had kept his armor on with Jaskier. He had known the bard would fret. He had tried to hide it. Hounding him now wouldn’t reverse the effects of Geralt’s stint with hunger – but it would drive the wolf away, keen as he was to avoid confrontation and care like a Labrador unwilling to be bathed.

“You put even my boyish figure to shame, Geralt. Going after my job, are we?” He joked because he couldn’t bare the silence. If it were silent for so much as a moment longer he’d babble. He’d babble, and that would devolve to nagging, and he needed the witcher to sit still, to trust him. To finally, finally allow someone to care for him despite his conceptions about what was or was not his, and how far he could push the limit of witcher mutations before he pushed too far. Geralt snorted, back shivering like a horse shoeing flies when Jaskier ran two fingers lightly over his bruising. It was swollen, puffy; hot to the touch. Dark as pitch, made worse by the flickering light of the fire. He opened one jar of salve, coated a few fingers liberally, then went about rubbing it into the man’s skin as gently as possible while still working it in to the muscle and damage before. Geralt moaned – Jaskier couldn’t tell if it were pain or relief, but he continued regardless.

“Hardly about to start singing in pubs,” Geralt mused, evidently just as eager to settle back into some semblance of normalcy. Unused to being the one being taken care of rather than doing the protecting. It rankled him something fierce, muscles tight under Jaskier’s hands.

“Yes, well, maybe you should consider it,” Jaskier said lightly, dipping his fingers back into the jar for more, “With a voice like yours, you’d be quite exotic for the trade. Women would swoon at your feet – if you can hold a tune, of course, very important. Pubs tend to feed their bards. Pay’s good, too. Better than…” he trailed off. It felt too raw, too cruel to take a shot at Geralt’s profession now when the wolf was so bare and vulnerable. Here Jaskier had taken his armor and his wrappings, both physical and metaphorically, and exposed the witcher for what he was: mortal, self-abused and exhausted. To go on felt like a moot point, like kicking a man while he’s down. It felt wrong to acknowledge once more that witchering was a thankless trade. Painful, even, when Jaskier knew Geralt risked his life often, protected thankless assholes that tried to fleece him often – and he starved himself to do it, too.

Geralt made a sound Jaskier couldn’t quite navigate.

“Eat the meat in the tin as well,” Jaskier guided the conversation away, tone light despite the way his breath hitched in his chest seeing Geralt like this.

“Jaskier, this isn’t necessary—”

Jaskier’s hands drew still on Geralt’s back. Something swollen twisted his chest and throat into something thin and strained as he said, “Please, Geralt… if for no other reason than to appease me. I may not have a witcher’s metabolism, but I’m tired as well.”

The tin squealed lightly when Geralt opened it. The same of dried pork wafted up lightly – stronger when Geralt took a slice and held it over his shoulder with a gruff, “At least eat some, too.”

Jaskier would have laughed if the whole situation wasn’t so fucked up. Instead he just hummed a pleased, “How thoughtful,” and took the morsel directly from Geralt’s fingers with his mouth, unwilling to touch it with his salve-greasy fingers. Geralt was more comfortable with that gesture than being taken care of, and Jaskier decided then and there that he’d have to work on that.

Geralt ate the jerky and Jaskier sent a quick halfhearted prayer of thanks to the gods on the off chance they were real even though he was pretty sure they weren’t and mainly enjoyed referencing them for how colorful they made his curses. Once the worst of Geralt’s shoulder was handled, he ran a hand over the rungs of his ribs down to the – sharp, too sharp – jut of his hip and asked, “Did you actually attend to those gashes or do I need to strip you completely?”

“They were shallow enough. Nearly healed,” Geralt grunted around a strip of meat. Jaskier looked at him pointedly, brows raised, and Geralt offered a grumbly, “Truly. It’s fine.”

Jaskier waited another beat for added affect before capping the jar with a soft, “Alright, Geralt. I trust you. But if they’re not gone in the morning, please put salve on them?”

Geralt grunted at that, and Jaskier took that as a sign of victory.

Much of the tension had eased from Geralt’s shoulders now, but there was still a great deal of exhaustion under his eyes and in the shadows of his cheeks. Jaskier wiped his hands clean on a rag, watching the witcher eat with a strange fondness in his gut he couldn’t quite name. He was unused to this, he realized. Not just with Geralt, but in general. In brothels or taverns or even with the witcher, his relationships had been centered around passion and drive. The need to fulfill his desires with lips and fingers and teeth. He had shared meals and treats after with maidens and men alike, of course, and had even himself been cared for some. But had never really done the caring himself and mostly certainly not in a context as benign as this. He had never felt the urge to. No one ever stuck around, after all, and both parties were only ever fulfilling the same selfish desires only…

This was difficult. Geralt was different. Jaskier wanted to help. They wouldn’t lay together, not tonight. There was no ulterior motive, no benefit other than… Well, other than Geralt’s comfort and safety. Jaskier’s hands stilled in his rag, gaze caught a bit wide-eyed on the snacking witcher when suddenly Geralt’s own amber eyes lazily caught his, no longer as edgey as he had been.

“What?” The witcher asked, the idiot.

“Nothing,” Jaskier chirped quickly, eager to cover the sudden revelation before he had time to properly turn it over in his mind and understand it. He tossed the rag at his pack and for once he was the one avoiding the witcher’s gaze as he said, “I was merely thinking about how lucky you are to have such a handsome and selfless friend such as me. Talented, charming and capable in the woods – you were born beneath a lucky star to have met me. What would you do without me?”

Geralt snorted again and that, Jaskier could tell, was a laugh. He grinned in return, back on familiar footing, and came to sit thigh to thigh with his witcher. Geralt hummed, curiously close to a cat’s purr, and Jaskier had the oddest urge to run his fingers through the man’s hair just to hear more of that sound.

“Starve a little longer, I suppose,” Geralt said, playfulness dulled by the truth in it. Blunt, daft ass of a man. Jaskier stretched his legs before him, forced himself not to go off on another tirade unless the witcher – too used to doing things only on his own terms – shut down after all the work the bard had done to loosen him up that evening.

“Yes, well, from now on what’s mine is yours, Geralt. I’ll pack accordingly.”

Geralt stilled.

“—Jaskier, you needn’t trouble—”

“If you’re starving you can hardly protect me or perform those heroic acts of inhuman deeds I do so love to sing and profit off of, can you? Consider it your cut in the fame you’ve brought me with your witchering,” Jaskier said cheekily, eager to cover his own vulnerabilities like the coward and hypocrite that he was. Something stole across Geralt’s face, something unidentifiable, and Jaskier felt his gut curl ever so slightly.

“Of course,” Geralt said. Jaskier felt the slightest bit of distance grow between them suddenly, their comradery turning the littlest bit stale. Guilt stabbed him lightly. The fire crackled. “That is why you come, isn’t it.”

It almost… almost seemed as though Geralt was disappointed by that – mildly, as witchers tended to be, and yet more poignantly because of that.

Well… he had stripped Geralt of his manly pride, his clothing and his illusions of not being a twig. The least Jaskier could do was offer some boon in turn. Even the playing field, so to speak.

He sucked in a breath, let it go slowly, catching Geralt’s attention because of it.

“It started that way, yes. Though not wholly for the stories or the songs… But now… Geralt, I would follow you even if there were no story to sing about in some pub,” he admitted. “If one of our trips just comprised of us dozing under willows by the river, I’d join you. I’d keep the songs just for myself. Sing them to you. Maybe it’d help you sleep.”

Geralt watched him for a long time. Jaskier began to fidget, his neck burning and no doubt red as the silence made his words sound more and more ridiculous. He was just about to say, ‘forget it, I’m just daft with exhaustion, you know how it goes,’ when finally, Geralt spoke.

“What would you sing about then,” Geralt asked slowly, carefully, “If not about whatever I killed?”

Geralt was staring at him, his face a blank sheet, and Jaskier felt prickly all of sudden, frustrated that the witcher could so easily hide while he was weak to expressing himself at the drop of a hat. But the moment felt important to Geralt regardless, somehow the bard could just tell. Perhaps it was his increasing fluency in the wordless speak of witchers. The worst of that dazed, hollow hunger-glaze had retreated from those amber eyes. Still there around the edges, but otherwise focused on him in a manner Geralt rarely allowed himself to do.

“I’d have plenty to sing about,” Jaskier said softly, his protective, charming mannerisms falling away layer by layer under those eyes. “I’d love nothing more than to sing about the white wolf finally enjoying himself for a moment – even if that moment were as benign as enjoying an apple freshly plucked from the tree. Even if it detailed only the litany of your snoring or the way the wind dances in your ridiculously white hair.”

Geralt snorted, a wry twist of amusement to his lips as he looked out into the night and said, “Enough. I’m not one of your conquests from some backwater village or high court function. Stop blowing smoke up my ass.”

He should joke. It was his cue to joke. Geralt was offering him an out. He should joke.

“I could sing even about this,” he said instead, his eyes traveling to the dark bloom on Geralt’s back – proof of his mortality despite the legends Jaskier had hand in crafting.

“Some song that would be,” Geralt grunted, “No one wants to hear about a half-starved witcher. Sour the mood immediately.”

“Don’t be so shallow, you’re cleverer than that,” Jaskier chided.

“I’m daft, I’m clever – which is it?”

“Believe me, the contradiction frustrates the hell out of me too, witcher,” Jaskier chuckled, the littlest bit of a frustrated grumble in the tone as he leaned in, crowding the man. “But I stand by it. Perhaps that should be the next song I sing: how to take care of your witcher. Help some other fool bard out there who also fell head over heels for their witcher.”

“Your witcher?” Geralt asked, brows raised.

“Ears like yours, I know you heard me, Geralt. A mouse farts and you wake up. Don’t play coy with me.”

Geralt actually let out a soft huff of a laugh at that.

“How to care for your witcher… you think you know how?” He mused, too weary to fight or snap, it would seem – made soft by the salve and Jaskier’s hands. Steadier than the witcher from those early days, so skittish and closed off.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Jaskier said, puffing up, proud. Geralt shook his head, exasperated, and Jaskier pressed, “I’ll start with feeding you properly, since you can’t be trusted to make sane choices. And anything after that, well… I’ll learn as I go!”

And that was as close to saying ‘I love you’ as he could get for now. The witcher too easily spooked, and he himself unfamiliar with this version of himself that loved beyond the first fuck. It wasn’t ‘I love you’, not yet. But if the witcher could show him his wounds, trust him with his back, well…

They were both learning as they went.

[xpeachesncream]

a drabble for miss perfectly wrong about y/n surprising tae after coming back from a trip with the gang? and like he can't keep his hands away cause he just misses y/n so much 🥺 super fluffy please? take your time with it also! thanks love, xo 💜

perfectly wrong | drabble [7]: when two long weeks apart finally comes to an end.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: not much besides cussing, implied sexual content, tried to make this as fluffy as possible! i hope you enjoy 🥺

Just a few more hours.

You hurriedly gathered your things and packed them into the trunk of your car, speeding off to Taehyung's apartment. It had been a very, very long two weeks, spent all by your lonesome. Taehyung had gone off to Japan with Jimin and Namjoon, another one of their plans that they had solidified awhile ago. The time difference wasn't so bad, but you were honestly so tired of waiting up just to hear from him, or pulling yourself together so you wouldn't go to sleep too early. Part of you really wanted him to enjoy his trip, away from his phone and other distractions since you knew he had been looking forward to it for a really long time. But, you couldn't help it. You just missed the fuck out of him and you needed him to come back asap.

And for the record, Taehyung did enjoy his trip. He had a lot of fucking fun, roaming around and meeting new people. He's even had his fair share of women trying to get up on him at the night clubs/bars, but he wasn't having it whatsoever. He'd easily block himself or shove his friends in the way because they weren't you and those moments made him miss your presence even more. He always wanted you around him, and it's times like that that made him wish he could touch you, hug you, kiss you, show you off. Bask in these moments with you. But, he knew he had time - you both had forever to go, and he was only looking forward to the days where he could travel with you and bring you everywhere with him.

With that being said, he couldn't wait to fucking see you and just hug you. Feel you against his body. He really, really missed you. But he hates knowing he has to wait another day or so because you had told him you left the city to attend some culinary & food convention with Jin. The specific details, he had no idea. He just knew you weren't around and it bummed him the hell out. He didn't press on for more details, moreso because he was just tired from the flight and from the trip itself.

[start flashback of phone call]

"You're finally coming home!"

"I know." He chuckles. "But you're leaving? What time will you be back?"

"I'm sorry, baby. I totally forgot about the convention. I'll be back tomorrow evening."

"Tomorrow evening?" He sighs and pouts over the phone. "But, I really miss you."

"Aw." You chuckle. "I really miss you, too. I told Jin I'd go since his friend bailed out."

"It's alright, you should accompany hyung." He says softly.

"Cheer up, okay? Have fun for the rest of your time there, I promise it won't be long before we see each other."

[end flashback of phone call]

Tae, Jimin and Namjoon all get picked up by one of their other friends and they head straight to dinner before heading home.

"Taehyungie, where's Y/N?"

"She's with Jin hyung at some culinary convention in the next town over." He pokes his food.

"Aw, look who misses her." Namjoon teased.

"Fuck off, it's been two weeks." Taehyung pouts, not even giving one damn about how he looks in front of his friends right now.

"Taehyungie is in looooove." His other friend teased. "Isn't that some shit? Never thought I'd be saying that any time soon."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Tae shakes his head and rolls his eyes. They can call it whatever the fuck they want, but you were his baby and he was the happiest he had ever been. Of course he loved you. Of course he missed you. Seeing you and feeling your touch is the one thing that pushes him through his days.

Taehyung isn't really in a rush to get home knowing he'd come home to an empty, lonely space, but he was also yearning for his bed. As he's making his way up to his apartment, he digs out his phone to give you a call, hoping maybe you would have came back early. But, he gets no response and the loneliness further kicks in.

Damn, he just wanted his girlfriend. Was that too much to ask for?!

He unlocks the door, sighing heavily at the dark, cold, empty living room. He rolls his luggage in, gently pushing it aside against the wall before throwing off his long puffer jacket and grabbing a cold water bottle. He takes a few gulps before he's just standing there, admiring your photo as his lock screen. Lord, was he in love.

When he slowly opens the door to his room, his eyes widen and his jaw drops. You, in the flesh, were sitting on his bed all cutely, legs criss-crossed applesauce with your arms up in a V shape. A small "Welcome Home" banner draped the headboard, with a few balloons scattered across the ceiling and plastic tea lights scattered around you on the bed.

"Ohhhhh, shit." He says, chuckling to himself since he doesn't know how to act with how surprised he is.

"Welcome home, love!" You giggle as you hop off the bed, straight into his arms. He hugged you tightly, the scent of your hair filling his nose. He's so fucking happy right now, he could honestly cry. He holds you close to swing you around once, causing you to squeal into his chest before he puts you down.

"Baby." Is all he says when you pull away to look at him. He gently caresses your cheek, smiling from ear to ear before kissing you on the lips. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

"I thought you were gonna be gone."

"No. I tricked ya." You pull away to walk towards the bed, but he gently grabs your wrist to pull you back to him. His hands are feeling up your entire body before they rest on your cheeks to cup them as he's planting a kiss on your forehead and nose. "Why don't you get into comfier clothes so we can cuddle?" You giggle. He silently nods and makes his way to his closet to grab some clothes he can change into, but before he could make his way to the bathroom, he's back to holding you close and kissing your cheek. "Babe." You softly squeal.

"I'm sorry, I just haven't gotten to do this for awhile." He chuckles before running off to the bathroom to get changed and washed up.  Next thing you know, he's waddling over to the bed and tossing his arms around you, tightly holding you. He smells of baby powder, which honestly is the cutest thing. Every move you make, he tries to be right there - needing to touch you, hold you, play with your fingers, anything.

"You're a baby." You playfully joked. "What is up with you?"

"Mmmm." He whines as he sits up against the headboard and pulls you close by throwing his arm around your shoulder. He gently lifts your chin to meet your lips, slowly kissing you and taking you in. You wrap your arm around his torso, your leg draped over his to be as close as possible. "My pretty girl." He smiles down at you, completely smitten and in love with all your unique features. "I had fun on the trip but I really wished you were there."

"Yeah? Tell me all about it."

"We walked so fucking much. Ate so much." He tapped his tummy. "The food was so good though."

"Sounds like." You poked his tummy, feeling him flex his abs every time your finger made contact.

"I think I came home with more things for you than myself." You smiled. You didn't even ask him to buy you anything. The fact that he was still thinking about you and buying things for you on a trip he had been excited to experience for himself - what did you do to deserve Taehyung? You had no idea. It hadn't been an easy ride but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Seriously?" You chuckled.

"Yeah. I found a lot of things I thought you'd like. I even got you a reusable bag with Shiba Inu's printed all over it." He wiggled his eyebrows, knowing how much you bag on him for not buying reusable bags to use for groceries or other things.

"You're so cute." His hands are caressing your arm, laying another gentle kiss on the side of your mouth.

"We took the train everywhere, visited Namjoon's friends off in the countryside and stayed there for two days. Got really fucking wasted, Jimin was outside yacking."

"Poor guy."

"He's alive, right?" You laugh, playfully hitting him on the chest. "Went to the club and bars with Namjoon's friends. It was a good time."

"Lots of ladies flocking you, ey?"

"Yeah but what does that matter if it isn't my lady right here?" He gently boops your nose. You follow suit and boop the mole on his nose, one of your favorite things to do since it became one of the many features you loved about Taehyung. "We did a lot of shopping. Took a lot of pictures. Jimin will probably upload our pics and videos to a drive and I can share it with you once it's up." You nod. "I wanna share these things with you if you can't be there physically with me."

"It sounds like you had a really good time though, and I'm happy you did."

"I did. But," He looks down at you, his finger tracing your jawline. "I wanna do these things with you."

"We will. Once school is over." You chuckle.

"I really mean it." He says, ever so seriously [sweetly]. "I wanna take you to places you've never been to before, or places we've never been to before. I wanna be the person that takes you there." His plump lips softly press against your forehead. "I can't wait to be able to do that. I can't wait to wake up in a new place with you, have good fucking sex in a hotel room, roam around, take pictures of you, videos of you." You giggled. "I just.. can't wait to do everything with you, love."

"Sounds just like my type of trip."

"I couldn't agree more." He chuckled before swooping you into his arms to bring you out into the living room. "K, come on. I need to show you what I got you." He says happily.

[whumpqin]

Quinn - Chapter 1 (This Wasn’t the Plan)

Hello all! It’s been a while since I’ve posted some of my own writing. I’ve decided to make a side story to Elisha, which is what this is! I hope yall are interested in some Quinn whump >:3c

Taglist: (considering this is a similar but also different series, I’m tagging Elisha’s people, but feel free to want to be removed from this taglist! I will make sure to make the difference.) @faewhump​ @galaxywhump​ @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​ @insanitywishes​ @burtlederp​ @whumpasaurus101​ @simplygrimly​ (ask if you want tagged!)

CW: nonhuman whumpee, creepy whumper, muzzles, forced muzzling, fantasy racism, kidnapping, smoking, guns, briefly mentioned assassination attempt, manhandled, getting patted down, gut punching, drugging, needles

Word Count: 2,799

It’s a dull ringing that rouses him from his sleep - an annoying tone that he’d sworn to fix and still hasn’t gotten around to.

Quinn groans at the rude awakening, and rolls his head over to see why it was going off by planting his hand on his phone and dragging it closer. It reads unknown against a background of black. Despite the annoyance that makes his tail curl lazily in his bed, he still swipes his finger across the bottom to answer it, bringing it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

The other side of the line is quiet for a moment, before a gruff voice, a little lower than Quinn expects, speaks. “This number was provided in relation to contacting a ‘Quinn Devereux’. Is this who I’m speaking to?”

“This is he,” Quinn says, sliding his blankets off of him, confusion lighting his voice.

“I am calling on behalf of my employer, Mr. Delaney, who has arrived at the meeting place. Except, it does not appear that you are there. I do hope you plan to be on schedule, yes?”

Ah, hell.

Quinn sits up in the bed quickly as alarm saps all the weight from his body. “Uh, of course not! ‘Pologies, I was plannin’ on makin’ it a uh…” he pauses to bring his phone down and note the time, which is about ten ‘til nine. Shit, shit shit- “a little earlier than this. Same place, right? That old abandoned house?”

“Yes. Don’t be late, Quinn. We wouldn’t want this deal going south, now would we?”

“‘Course! I mean, I-'' The phone makes a beeping noise to indicate that the other side hung up, stopping Quinn in his tracks. He looks down at it to be sure, before heaving a large sigh. It’s going to be one of those days it seems.

He needs to work fast. Firstly Quinn rifles through his apartment for nice-ish looking clothes, and though he’s never bought a suit and swears that he’s not going to no matter how much his Ma tells him to, he finds one of the newer button-up shirts that he bought recently. He scans its surface in case it magically had gathered stains on it while sitting in his dresser drawer in exile, but considering he only wore it once for a job interview he figures it’ll do the trick. He slips it on and finds some day old jeans that don’t smell too awful before he takes a look at himself in the mirror.

He’s a little worse for wear, but at a quick glance it’s only those faint dark circles underneath his eyes that catches his attention the most. Quinn combs through his black hair with his fingers, flattening it to look more presentable while also unhooking strands that wrap around his antlers and the bright orange tag against his ear. He pauses there, looking himself up and down.

Bedraggled and half awake, in clothes that are only somewhat clean. Going to a shady place to make a shady deal on behalf of people he barely knows.

“You can do this,” he quietly tells his reflection as he leans against the sink. “Get in, get out, get paid. Get in, get out, get paid.”

He repeats the phrase a few more times, committing it to memory on his way out. He picks up the handwritten letter he’d left on the small table at the front door and stuffs it into his front pocket. Then Quinn grabs onto his muzzle, slipping the buckles around his antlers to fasten it loosely against his face.

As he walks out of his apartment and onto the street, he makes the mistake of checking his phone one he’s properly in the morning light. It reads five minutes before his meeting, and he still has a ways to walk yet. Quinn lets out an exasperated sigh, eyes falling upwards to the adjacent apartment complex. It’s there he notes some curtains quickly shutter closed. His eyes narrow.

There’s someone watching you. Real strange fellow, he remembers the considerate old lady from down the hall telling him.

Tell me something I don’t know, he had responded. Quinn wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out it was just his employer keeping a good and proper eye on information.

To make up for time, he runs. Quinn dips into the alleyways to escape the busy streets of the morning, taking a few turns that he’s become familiar with while walking through the streets. A couple turns here and there, and he exits out onto another main street very close to his destination. He counts himself lucky he remembers the address at all. It would have been embarrassing as hell to have to ask the guy on the phone where he was supposed to have this meeting in the first place.

Quinn jogs up to the specific house, noting the old “for sale” sign that doesn’t even have a number on it anymore. It’s a huge place, once a mansion that was abandoned a long time ago because of bad press or something. He’s never looked at it before; even looking as ruined as it is by time, the place is still out of his price range.

He knocks on the door politely, taking the small pause to smooth out his clothes in a last ditch effort to not look like he had just gotten up a little bit ago, and waits patiently. The door creaks open with several years’ old whine that makes him wince, squinting one eye while he notices a human, dressed in dark clothing with short brown hair and amber eyes, staring back at him. Due to the muzzle making him unable to speak, Quinn offers a small wave before hovering his pinkie over his mouth and thumb over his ear, then pointing to the man. The human offers no reaction, but merely steps to the side. He takes the cue and steps inside the house.

It’s not as majestic as he once thought it might be. It hasn’t been taken care of in ages; the wallpaper is peeling off of the walls and there are holes in the floor, and the more Quinn steps through the house and hears it creak in response to him the more he wonders if the whole thing is going to cave in on him. It’s practically a deathtrap at this point.

He tries to make his reservations known to the human with a pause, knitting his brows in an uncomfortable position as he shoots a glance back at him, but he doesn't get the message.

The human opens up an old door for him that Quinn peeks around. There’s another human sitting in a chair in the middle of the living room, his legs crossed as he reclines into his seat. There’s a cigarette in one hand trailing smoke into the air, filling the room with its scent. His dirty blonde hair was perfectly styled like his fancy suit, and the only thing that didn’t look put together was the rough stubble against his chin.

The man who greeted Quinn closes the door behind both of them and steps around, joining another man with different hair behind the reclining human’s chair. The human in the chair - the boss he’s supposed to speak to, he supposes, flicks out his left wrist to check his watch almost casually. Then, he looks to Quinn with that icy blue stare of his.

“Right on time, it seems,” he says. Quinn tries not to let the dual feelings of discomfort and relief wash over his face too plainly. The man motions to a table he hadn’t seen yet. “Please, take off that muzzle. We can’t talk business if, well, you can’t talk, now can we?”

At his behest, Quinn slides his fingers up to the buckles against his head to loosen them and pull the muzzle off of his face. As it’s drawn away he takes a moment to work his jaws, careful not to bare his teeth too much in the presence of other humans, just in case. Then he places the muzzle on the table.

“Thanks for that. Are you uh, Mr. Delaney?” Quinn asks.

“Yes. I believe you have a message for me?” Delaney sits up in his chair and takes a long drag of his cigarette.

“Uh, yes, I do, I-” As Quinn reaches into his pocket to pull out the letter he’d been given, both of the humans to Delaney’s left and right immediately pull out guns and aim them directly at him. His chest goes cold. “Whoa, whoa, I’m just pullin’ out a letter!”

Delaney brays out a chuckle, puffing out smoke like some sort of dragon. “You’ll have to forgive these two. A bit jumpy after the last attempt, especially with lone messengers like you. Can never be too careful. You understand, right?” His eyes are squinted from his friendly smile, but there’s an emptiness in them that makes Quinn uncomfortable. Moreso when he waves his free hand towards Quinn and tells the guards to, “search him.”

The two bodyguards step forward without putting their guns away. Quinn swallows and stays perfectly still just like his Pa always told him to, allowing the two to move his arms about and go through his pockets. It’s a bit awkwardly invasive with two sets of hands patting him down like they are, but he’d rather have his personal space invaded than, well, the other outcome. The guards dig into all of his pockets, pulling up his wallet and the letter that had come from Quinn’s employer.

The human who found the letter gives Quinn a side eye that makes him draw a blank in terms of words, before opening the letter himself. He draws out the paper that was carefully handwritten and placed, unfolding it like it was a bomb of some sort.

Quinn was watching him like a hawk, so much so that he didn’t notice the other human had stepped away and given his wallet to Delaney.

“So, Quinn, it seems. You’ll have to forgive me for not remembering, it’s hard to remember everyone’s name nowadays. What brings you to this type of work, huh?” Delaney went on, rifling through Quinn’s wallet with curiosity.

“Um, I-I needed the money,” he mutters, watching the bodyguards hand the letter off to Delaney. “For the record, my employer thought it’d look wrong to bring more people besides, well, me. Wants to be cordial an’ all.” It’s not really his message, but he can’t help but feel a bubbling nervous feeling in his stomach as Delaney reads the letter.

“You mean he doesn’t want to lose any more men, so he figured I’d take mercy on just the messenger,” Delaney cooly corrects.

“Well I’m not sure what my employer’d think, but I’d for sure want the messenger t’ be spared,” Quinn says in the attempt at a joke.

When no one in the room laughs, he curls his tail around his ankle.

Delaney huffs a small bit of laughter as he reaches the end of the letter, beginning to slowly rip it up into little pieces and shoving it into his nice suit. “Quinn, do you know what happens when you give someone an inch?”

“They take a mile?” He swallows as the human stands up from his chair and adjusts his cufflinks.

“Yes, good, at least you’re not totally brain dead like some I’ve seen. I’m not about to relent and give that man a fraction of space like he’s requesting. You of all people should know that this is my territory, right? Where I do my business?”

“Right, but-” His breath hitches when the guard next to him grabs onto his shoulders and holds him before he can step forward. “This agreement is so they won’t encroach, is all. Wouldn’t it’d be better to not have any more territory disputes?”

Delaney regards him for a moment, having to tilt his head upwards just slightly due to Quinn’s height. Then he smiles a bit more widely. “I don’t think we’ll be making a deal today. But… I think we’ll take care of it from here. When are you meeting with your employer again?”

“As, as soon as I can.” Quinn’s eyes frantically look around for an exit as the other bodyguard closes in. He needs to get out of here. Now. “I’ll uh, leave you to it then, I guess. Sorry we couldn’t come to some sorta agreement-”

“Let me at least escort you out. My treat,” Delaney offers with an extended hand towards the door.

“Um, I ‘preciate the offer, but, I actually have a uh, a few things to tend to after this, so-”

The bodyguard holding him delivers a solid blow to his middle, knocking the air out of him in one fell swoop. Quinn doubles over, held up only by the strong hands gripping onto his shirt now, gasping to fill his lungs quickly.

“Perhaps I wasn’t very clear. I wasn’t asking, Quinn.” Delaney tilts his head to the side to catch his eye. “I’m not about to let you blab about everything you saw here just yet. Need a few things in order, you know? I just need to know if you’re coming with me willingly, or if my men need to get involved.”

“Hold… hold on a minute now,” he says quickly and yet still breathless as the panic wells in his chest instead of the oxygen he desperately needed. “I’m, I’m just a messenger, I’m not- what-what are you doing?”

Delaney had sighed and looked to his other body guard while Quinn was talking. He points over to the muzzle lying on the table and flicks his hand. “Muzzle him. I don’t have time to deal with his blabbering.”

Quinn’s arms are wrestled behind him before he can realize. The bodyguard is stronger than he thought, and he holds him still long enough for the other one to draw close enough, muzzle in hand. He struggles, lifting his head out of their reach and kicking his legs out to delay the inevitable. One of them grabs his antlers, jerking his head downwards for long enough that they can wrap the buckles around his face. They’re affixed tightly against his face, muffling most of the panicked cries erupting from his throat beyond whines.

“Enough of that whining,” he hears from Delaney as a firm command. He glances over with terrified eyes to see him pull a phone out of his pocket. “I have to make a call. Oh, you two, make sure to get him comfortable in the trunk, will you?”

The two humans nod, and drag him out of the room. Quinn screams as best he can through his nose, kicking his legs and struggling to get away from them as best he can. One of them spits out a curse, unhooking the gun from their side.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. “I’m not dealing with a spitfire devil today. I’ll just shoot you and get it over with. You want that?” Quinn breathes hard and shakes his head frantically. “Then fucking act like it.”

They pull him out of the house with little issue after that. Quinn’s tail coils, tightening painfully against his ankle as it worries at the fabric and skin, as they approach a dark car with tinted windows. One of the bodyguards walks to the other side and pulls out a few items from the front seat, and Quinn can hear the clinking of chain along with it.

He’s suddenly thrust forward, and his face impacts against the side of the car. His bright eyes go wide, searching frantically for what’s happening, and then he feels metal tightly wrap around both of his wrists. Then he is taken from the side of the car to its back, as one of the bodyguards opens up the trunk. Quinn jerks against the cuffs holding his hands together, frustrated and scared tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

This can’t be happening, he thinks, looking at the interior of the trunk. His antlers are roughly grabbed again, dragging his head to the side. He can’t help but roll the thought around in his head, how this wasn’t supposed to be how it went, as something sharp sticks into the side of his neck. Quinn squirms, a muted whine slipping from his nose as a wave of dizziness hits him and his legs nearly buckle. The guards take the opportunity and throw him into the back of the trunk, and as Quinn lands with a harsh thud his vision blurs from the force of the impact.

“Get comfortable,” the one who cursed at him before remarks. “You’re gonna be with us for a while, I think.”