#or there is something Sinister lurking right under the surface

[monster-noises]

Also i Gotta tell ya'll about this one dream i had last night...

Or at least a part of it cause like

Disregarding everything else that was already pretty surreal, this was just.. flabbergastingly strange?

Me and the group i was with walked into like.. a fun house type situation, and found ourselves in a short bright yellow hallway with kinda dingey lighting and on the walls were these little glass panels

And behind each panel was a box with its own top-down light

And a little miniature bathtub.

Each bathtub with filled with a different kind of soup. And as you walked past and viewed each window the tub would drain the liquid portion of its contents, leaving behind any solid chunks. The box would then go Completely black, and the tub would be full again when the light came on.

Each little window had a placquard next to it explaining what kind of Soup was in there in the same way a museum has artists statements next to displayed pieces.

They were all also like.. two feet off the ground so you really had to bend down to see 'em.

It was Very bizarro Backrooms vibes

Which is exactly what I said to my companion and then Immediately woke up.

[lilacxquartz]

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

choso x gn!reader

ao3 • masterlist • part 2 >>

summary: stumbling upon a strange man while deeply lost on halloween night in the subway, you find yourself quickly in trouble.

tags/warnings: slight non graphic violence, yandere, reader insert, season 2/shibuya arc references

Quickly finding yourself trapped in the quickly dimming station Shibuya, you found yourself rather lost on what to do, let alone where to go. The flickering lights felt harsh against your eyes, inducing an almost nauseating headache as you attempted to navigate the subway.

With no idea as to what was happening, you pressed on regardless. Maybe there had been maintenance going on? Or was it something else? None of it made sense anyway. One minute you were walking to meet your friend for the big halloween party and the next, the world seemed to scramble into a disorienting mess.

Something was ripe in the air, making you feel uneasy and your gut instinct couldn’t help but ache with unrelenting dread.

You paced through the now seemingly empty space, finding that you could just barely breathe. The atmosphere felt heavy with pressure, the air feeling thick against your lungs.

It was right about then that you saw another presence lurking right by the stairs and although you were surely wary, seeing just the sight of another soul down here alone with you filled you with unfathomable comfort like nothing else.

Quickly approaching the person, you took in their gradually closer appearance. It was a man; tall, pale with long dark hair spearing into two parted bunches. His under eyes were painted purple, suggesting deep set exhaustion with a birthmark of some kind across the midsection of his face. His gaze on you bordered intense, although a flicker of care could be reflected in his stare.

The man watched as you soon devolved into a desperately hopeful mess, with your own eyes sinking into his soul and seeing him as something that he hadn’t been able to fully register himself:

As a human.

There had been no fear lurking behind your eyes, no willingness to cast him away as a monster—no recognition of the blood he wore on his hands—nothing of the sort and with such a revelation, something stirred inside of him. Maybe it was something sinister, maybe it wasn't right, but it was happening and festering, a certain sort of thought that boiled away in his restless mind.

“H-hey, do you um…” you attempted to speak up, your words trailing under his watchful stare. You felt unsettled, but he was your only hope. “Do you know if there’s any trains running right now? I was supposed to take the last one on the platform over, but it seems to be cancelled? A-All of the trains seem to be canc—“

“—you…” he interjected, stopping you in the midst of your nervous ramble, his voice slightly cracking before he cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He stepped forward as his violet eyes sank into your form, searching for any hint of awareness of the unfortunate situation that you had found yourself within, but there was none. This led him to understand that you were completely, blissfully and almost beautifully ignorant of the horrors that roamed the subway, of the hell that was soon to be unleashed on the surface.

“I-I got lost,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you slightly stepped away, not quite liking the hint of warning that his words carried, “like I said, I was supposed to meet my friend, I was supposed to… I don’t know. I feel like something's wrong down here. I can even think right, let alone find a proper exit. I-It’s like there’s something down here messing with my thoughts.”

The man—Choso—almost twitched before you, his mind racing with almost intrusive thoughts that challenged him to reach out and touch you just to prove that you were real. To prove to him that you weren’t a figment of his imagination (to prove that you were a person who saw him as their equal).

How long has it been since someone looked at him the way that you have?

Surely this couldn’t have been the first time?

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured again this time with less volume, his tone adopting a darker edge as he drove his point further, “it’s dangerous.”

You laughed again, not understanding the grave implication of his words. You couldn’t help your reaction, though. You were slightly afraid but your mind refused to acknowledge that something was wrong, even if you did feel it on a deeper level.

“Y-yeah, I know,” you acknowledged, “clearly there’s something up,” you however then paused, hoping to trust the kindness you saw in him just moments ago. “Can you maybe show me the way out if you know it? I’d just like to get home at this point.”

Home. He replayed the word as you said it in his mind again and again until it sounded almost foreign to him. He had no concept of it, yet when he looked at you, he could find comfort in your unsettled gaze, understanding that you saw him for what he truly wished to be.

A darker thought formed once again.

He couldn’t let you go. Not now, not ever.

“I can’t, but…” he gently declined, giving into the part of him that defied reason. Slowly, he reached out to grab at your wrist with his cold calloused hands. He coiled his fingers right around your arm with an almost gentle firmness that hinted at the strength he kept hidden—the strength that would otherwise make him into a monster. He didn’t want to drive another person into hurt though. He wanted to use himself for good.

(To protect you, perhaps?)

“Hey—“ you gasped, trying to tug your arm away.

However Choso’s grip only tightened, reeling you in with almost a desperate plea. “—please,” he whispered, “it’s not safe out there. You’ll stay with me.”

“H-hang on a second, I can’t just—“ you protested once again, trying your hardest to pull away from such force but in doing so, he only tightened his hold on you more and more. He squeezed at your wrist until your bones whined and almost cracked, failing to understand just how fragile humans truly were.

Your heart rate spiked as you were reminded of your own weakness, of the dire situation you found yourself in. Suddenly, you felt weak and perhaps even small; your senses telling you that something was especially not right with this man at all.

Attempting to drive his point home, Choso tried to soothe you, “You’re safe with me. I promise. I’ll protect you from the rest.”

“T-the rest…?” you almost whimpered, fearful for what sort of company he was inviting you into.

“Just stay with me,” he told you, “don’t worry about anything else.”

However, the alarm bells were loudly rolling for you now. Your mind was a mess. This man wasn’t normal. There was something off about him that almost made him seem inhuman, that urged your instincts to break away from him and to run as far as you could possibly go but you couldn’t—his hold on you was completely unforgiving, as if afraid to let you go.

“You’ll be safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” he repeated.

And so, you were left with no choice but to stay by his side, his grip on you unyielding as he led you deeper into the station, away from whatever horrors lurked outside, and into a different kind of nightmare.

A dream of his that started with you seeing him as human.

Ending with a nightmare of yours that you had run into a monster instead.

[defectivevillain]

through gritted teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary:

The man says he’s your husband.  He’s polite, charming, intelligent. He seems a little pretentious, but he appears to know you rather well and the thinly-veiled devotion in his eyes dispels most of your remaining doubts.  It certainly helps that the man is rather well-dressed—and attractive, a traitorous voice in the back of your mind whispers.  Unfortunately, you have no idea who he is. 

word count: 3.8k | ao3 version

You wake up to fluorescent lighting burning into your eyes, pulling tears down your cheeks as you blink stars from your vision. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and you can feel a headache brewing already. Groaning, you try to push yourself up to a sitting position. There’s an IV attached to your arm and, upon closer inspection, you seem to be in some sort of hospital room. White walls line the space, and there’s nothing much of note in your immediate vicinity. You blink a few more times past your absurdly dry eyes and continue inspecting the room, until your eyes catch on the chair to the right side of your bed. 

There’s a man sitting at your bedside with his eyes closed. He stirs within a few moments, as if he can sense you staring at him. Relief is written all over his face as he leans forward and clasps your hand with a small smile on his face. You can’t stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the contact and he notices, removing his hand at once. 

“Do you remember who I am?” He asks. His words are carefully constructed, strung together with eloquence and remnants of what sounds like an accent from a European country. You blink at him once, twice. It takes a moment for you to process the question, and another to contemplate the answer. The man doesn’t look familiar. Indeed, he looks like a stranger. 

When you tell him as much, a sad smile works its way onto his face. It seems he expected your answer. He begins to explain the circumstances surrounding your visit here, which you are immensely grateful for. You know next to nothing as you sit in this hospital bed, and, try as you might, you can’t remember anything save for your name. 

Apparently, you’ve suffered a serious head injury that left you with a spontaneous case of amnesia. Fortunately, your memories will likely return to you in due time. Somehow, these two revelations aren’t the most shocking of statements from the stranger. What the man reveals next shakes you to your core: he’s your husband. 

Upon closer examination, you find that the man is charming, polite… He’s rather attractive, too, with fine-combed hair and sparkling brown eyes with flecks of amber. His face looks as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself—sweeping lines, sharp edges, soft curves. The man is intelligent and [perhaps as a result] a little pretentious. From his attire, you can only assume that he makes a lot of money and has rather particular tastes. You could see someone like this going to the opera regularly. 

But there’s something else about this man—something lurking beneath the surface. You can’t puzzle out what it is. There’s something sinister concealed in those reddish-brown eyes, an unspoken violence in the man’s careful poise. And you think you catch him intently scrutinizing you—as if you’re under a microscope.  

You soon learn that the man’s name is Hannibal Lecter. He’s a psychiatrist who used to be a surgeon. He’s in his 40s. He has refined tastes—and even goes to the opera on occasion, yes. He is fascinating, intriguing beyond measure. He discusses heavily philosophical topics with ease. He is slippery, only giving you the information he wants to give you. He has a very controlled image. The dishes he cooks you are extravagant and lavish, with ingredients you’ve never even heard of. (The meat in them is always some sort of organ, and it turns your stomach every time.)

In the wake of your injury, you’re unsure of almost everything. But you know one thing for certain: Hannibal is not your husband. And you’re convinced that he’s dangerous. You don’t trust him—can’t trust his carefully crafted words, his home-cooked meals, his polite smiles. It’s all a farce. 

It would be all too easy to ask your next visitor about this well-dressed, enigmatic man. Unfortunately, you don’t get any other visitors. In fact, your next visitor is Hannibal again… And again. And again. It gets to the point where your nurse gives up on having him sign in when he visits. At first, she had been rather strict in enforcing the rules; she seems to have caught onto something that you still haven’t grasped, because she now collects herself with an entirely different—almost heightened—awareness. 

You’re having increasingly conflicting feelings, especially when you consider the fact that Hannibal hasn’t actually exhibited any behavior that justifies your wariness and suspicion. If anything, he’s been the perfect supporter—the perfect husband—throughout your recovery. You want to believe your gut sense, want to believe the whispers in the back of your mind that tell you to exercise caution. But, at the same time, who’s to say they can be believed? You still have almost no recollection of who you are. Why are you questioning the only person who has bothered to show up for you throughout your recovery? 

Days pass in the blink of an eye; before you know it, Hannibal is walking in one morning with the declaration that you’ve been officially discharged from the hospital. Despite your misgivings, you head to the bathroom to change into some normal clothes before putting on the pair of shoes near the door. Your heart is racing as Hannibal’s gaze refuses to leave your form. Why can’t your mind rest? Why can’t your thoughts be silent, for once? Why are you so damn suspicious of every minute kindness? 

The walk out of the hospital and through the parking lot is painfully silent. You can’t resist sneaking glances at Hannibal, waiting for his mask to crack and fall. It never does. He catches you looking and sends you a smile, which discourages you from looking again. You let your eyes roam about the shiny cars in the parking lot as the warm afternoon sunlight greets your skin. You missed the fresh air. 

“Where are you taking me?” You finally ask, as you continue to follow behind the man.

“Home,” Hannibal remarks. He pointedly does not say your home or even our home. Your heart is racing in your chest. His back is turned, leaving you to imagine the expression on his face.  

It isn’t until you’re secured in the front seat and Hannibal’s driving out of the parking lot that you summon the courage to utter the question that has been plaguing your mind. “Are you really my husband?”

“Hm?” It’s clear he heard you; he’s giving you a chance to retract the remark. You know you should take it, but… you want to know what’s going on. You need to find an answer for the seemingly irrational fear drumming in your chest and rushing in your ears. 

“You say you’re my husband,” You repeat yourself, gaining a bit more confidence. “But I don’t think you are.” For an awful moment, there’s nothing but silence. The car zips along the road. You feel your hand trembling at your side—hopefully the only visible sign of your distress. You clench your shaking hand into a fist and try to remain calm. Panicking won’t do you any good. 

“Do you remember how we first met?” Hannibal asks instead. You stare at him in disbelief, surprised by how he completely ignores your accusation. There is an utter lack of emotion on his face. Seconds later, you remember his question and shake your head. “You’re an FBI agent,” Hannibal reveals. “I was called in to perform your psychiatric evaluation.”

Great. Just great. Out of all things, you had to be an FBI agent. The thought of forgetting your work—forgetting all the victims left to die in muddied puddles of crimson, forgetting all the killers with mocking smiles and cruelty written in the lines of their faces—is sincerely troubling.  

And Hannibal is a psychiatrist. That seems to fit—you can see him in a needlessly extravagant office, surrounded by books and expensive elegancies. You have to shake your head to get rid of the weirdly vivid imagery that your thoughts produce. “Are you… my psychiatrist, then?” You ask. 

“If you wish,” he replies with a mirthful smile. That answer doesn’t satisfy your curiosity—not in the slightest. 

“Were you my psychiatrist?” You press. You get the feeling that you need to be asking the right questions in order to get the answers you want. The man across from you is adept at picking apart people’s words, flipping them around and twisting their intended meaning. Your wording will be immensely important. 

“I was your psychiatrist, for a time,” Hannibal acquiesces. From that statement, you get the sense that he really was your psychiatrist, until something evidently happened. You ask him as much, but you seem to go too far, because he regards you with an amused glance. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“And you’re not giving me any answers,” you feel the need to respond. You have simultaneous suspicions that honesty is dangerous in front of Hannibal, and that he values honesty above sugar-coated words. Your eyebrows furrow. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal is providing more questions in lieu of answers. He’s definitely hiding something. Sensing that you won’t get anything more from him, you fall silent and settle for staring at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is locked on the road ahead.  Despite the time you’ve spent together, talking about your past, you still aren’t totally convinced that you’re married to Hannibal. Is there a way you could test him—test his knowledge of you? Surely there’s something you can ask him to determine if he truly knows you or not. 

It comes to you a moment later. “What’s my favorite color?” You ask, before you can think better of it. The man doesn’t react at first, instead staring straight ahead. Just before you can repeat the question, he answers. 

“I can’t imagine you have a favorite color,” Hannibal responds. “You once told me the very notion was foolish.”

Okay, he’s sort of correct there. But that was an easy question. You sort through the few memories you have, looking for something you can ask him. “What’s my middle name?” That’s an answer that you just barely know yourself—a memory came back to you a mere few minutes ago, of you and your childhood friend talking about middle names and nicknames and other unimportant things. 

Hannibal answers the question correctly again. The two of you must’ve been friends, at the very least. You continue to search your mind for something you can ask him. 

Five minutes and several questions later, you’re starting to doubt your own conviction. Hannibal answers every single question correctly, providing you with information you don’t remember but know deep-down to be true. It’s unnerving and disturbing to think that you could’ve forgotten this man so easily. He seems… utterly unforgettable, in every sense of the word. Furthermore, he’s your husband—perhaps you shouldn’t be doubting him so easily. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before you can quite contemplate your next words. Hannibal’s eyes are locked on the road, but you know he’s listening. “I don’t mean to doubt you, I just- I don’t know what to do. I don’t remember anything, obviously, and… I feel so lost.” You choke out, your throat burning. You bury your head in your hands for a selfish moment, hoping for some solace and clarity. 

“Don’t apologize, dear,” Hannibal says. You hate how the remark sends a shiver down your spine. Damn it, why can’t you just be comfortable? This man is practically a dream, so why are you trying to ruin it? Can’t you just accept that, sometimes, you deserve to have nice things?! Hannibal continues, unknowing of your internal dilemma. “You’re going through a lot right now. I’m just happy to be here with you.” 

You feel ashamed, knowing that you’ve been holding yourself back despite the fact that Hannibal has shown you nothing but compassion and affection. “I’m… happy you’re here, too,” you say. Guilt prickling in your chest, you impulsively reach out and clasp his free hand resting on the console. Somehow, this surprises your husband, because he stiffens for a second before reciprocating, gripping your hand reassuringly. 

“We will get through this,” he promises. You push aside your doubts and decide to believe him.

Maybe things really will be alright. Maybe, you’ll get your memories back sooner rather than later, and you’ll be able to look back on these moments—riddled with doubt, insecurity, wariness—and laugh. You take a deep breath and look out the window, watching the passing trees blur together. 

Your hand slips from Hannibal’s and you look at your nails, picking at your cuticles. Your hands are somewhat indicative of the life you led—the one you don’t remember living—with a few scars stretching down your wrist and climbing up your forearm. You look down at the healed wound and frown, trying to remember how you got the scar. 

Suddenly, you get a flicker of a memory. It’s faint and fast, but it’s a reminder of the past nonetheless. You squint ahead, trying to focus on keeping the flashback in your mind for long enough to dissect it. You remember… blood. A corpse, perhaps? Yes, a corpse. A woman’s corpse, hoisted and impaled on antlers. You remember… staring at that corpse for so long that you had to be physically led away from the scene, albeit with a gnawing feeling in your gut that something just wasn’t right. You remember… walking into an office, only to be met with Hannibal’s curious gaze. That must’ve been the first time you met the psychiatrist. You put a hand to your temple and try desperately to concentrate. 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Hannibal says, effectively throwing your focus. You blink and chance a glance at him. He’s still looking at the road, yet you can’t shake the perplexing conviction that he’s been watching you. What’s more, you can’t shake the feeling that his interjection was purposeful—that he meant to throw you off and break your concentration. 

“I- just remembered something,” you choke out, feeling a bolt of pain slide down your scalp to the back of your neck. You bring a hand to the nape of your neck and press, hissing as your fingers glide over sore muscles. “Something important.”

“Congratulations,” Hannibal hums, immune to your internal panic. You don’t know exactly what this man did, but he must’ve done something. Your subconscious is convinced that he is incredibly dangerous, and you feel inclined to trust your gut. 

Another flashback arrives, apropos of nothing. You remember sitting across from Hannibal in a finely-decorated room, lined with bookshelves and artifacts. You remember averting your eyes as you speak, desperate to avoid the roaring flames racing up your skin with every additional moment of prolonged eye contact. You remember… a twisted grin on Hannibal’s face. You remember… the intensity to his gaze as he studied you when he thought you weren’t looking. 

Unsettled, you shake your head and try to refocus on the passing scenery again. To your surprise, you think you recognize where you are. Hannibal must be taking you home. You take a deep breath. You just have to survive this car ride—then you can figure things out from there. You have all the time in the world to muse on the nature of your injury and the nature of your “husband,” once you’re safely contained within four walls. Right now, though, you need to be wary. You need to have your wits about you, you need to watch for any sudden movements, you need to be ready-

“We’re here,” Hannibal announces, promptly throwing your thought process to a halt. You blink and look ahead, only to find a nondescript home with beige siding and a somewhat weathered front door. Vaguely, you remember pulling your car into this driveway, remember unpacking boxes from your trunk. Yes, this is your house. Hannibal is much quicker on the uptake, as he gets out of the car and walks around the vehicle. You don’t realize that he’s opening the passenger door for you until you feel him staring at you expectantly. You thank him and get to your feet, a sudden bout of dizziness sending you wobbling. Hannibal is there in a moment, steadying you with a hand on your forearm. You pretend not to notice his hand on the small of your back as you walk up the path to the front porch. When you’re finally situated in front of the entrance, you realize that you have no idea where your keys could be. 

“Left pocket of your jacket,” Hannibal murmurs, as if reading your mind. You nearly choke on a breath. 

“Thanks,” you respond a bit breathlessly. When you finally manage to unlock the front door and swing it open, you turn back to face him. “Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Of course,” Hannibal responds easily. There’s a regretful smile rising on his face. Everything around you fades to obscurity. “I’m afraid this is goodbye.” That remark sounds strangely ominous. Your heart is in your throat. 

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you feel the need to say, regardless of your suspicions about the man. He was the only one to visit you. You don’t want to think about how you would feel if you spent your entire hospital visit without a single familiar face. “...Bye.” Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek. Hannibal’s hand cradles your jaw, his thumb gently roving along your skin. He regards you for a moment, his eyes sparkling, before kissing you on the cheek and leaving. You watch him return to his car and drive away, apprehension and adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you get the feeling that you’ll never see Hannibal again. 

Your doorbell rings about an hour later. You look through your peephole, only to find a somewhat intimidating man with his hands shoved in his pockets. You have to focus on quelling the foolish spike of hope that had risen in your chest when the doorbell rang, and the subsequent disappointment at the unfamiliar figure you found. You take a second glance at the stranger, only to find that he looks somewhat familiar. This vague familiarity convinces you to crack your front door open slightly and ask him, “Who are you?”

The man pulls something out of his pocket. “Jack Crawford, FBI,” he answers, showing you his identification card. You stare at him for another moment. “Your boss.” Crawford supplies, when you can’t seem to get the words out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, you decide to invite him inside. 

Before long, the two of you are settled in your living room. The tension that first appeared when you opened your front door has yet to fade. You’re not sure why this man has yet to crop up in your memories—he has a rather powerful aura of authority, not to mention the fact that he’s apparently your superior. You decide not to beat yourself up about it. Your memories will come back in due time; until then, you’ll make do with what little you have.

Crawford—Jack, he tells you to call him—clasps his hands over his knees and levels you with an unreadable gaze. “I need to ask you something,” Jack says, rifling through his other pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it slowly, before revealing it to you. “Do you remember this man? Hannibal Lecter?” Jack explains, immune to your growing dread. You feel sick to your stomach as your eyes flit across the black-and-white photograph of the same man who watched over you vigilantly as you recovered, who claimed to be your husband and kissed you on the cheek mere moments ago. “He’s the Chesapeake Ripper—the serial killer who has been evading capture.” 

“I-” You stammer, bringing a hand to your temple. Your headache from earlier is returning and your head is spinning from this sudden disclosure. You almost don’t want to believe Jack, but you get the feeling that he’d have no reason to lie to you. If anything, lying would just make his job harder. You take a shuddering breath in, trying to come to terms with the fact that you just narrowly escaped a serial killer’s grasp. 

“It’s alright,” Jack tries to reassure you, evidently sensing that you’re growing a bit panicked. 

“No, I-” You’re choking on the words. Recent memories are mixing with old, creating a convoluted and murky timeline of events. It’s hard to sort through everything, to find the truths hidden amongst the lies. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to collect your composure and organize your thoughts into a relatively coherent statement. “I saw him. He… visited me in the hospital. He drove me home.” 

“What?” Jack asks, utter disbelief written all over his face. You don’t remember your boss very well, but you get the feeling he isn’t usually so expressive. The look on his face would be comical, in a different situation. “What did he say to you?” He implores.

“He said a lot of things… Nothing very important.” You try to recall what you can, but your memories are quickly slipping through your fingertips in granules of sparkling sand. You press a hand to your temple, your headache growing worse as you try to recall what happened. “I tried asking him questions about me, to throw him off, but he knew all the answers.” 

Somehow, Jack doesn’t seem surprised by the notion. “You two were… close, before,” your boss evidently settles for saying. There’s a certain suspicion in his voice, as if he suspects you may have been more than “close” with Hannibal. You’re feeling too discombobulated to rise to the bait or bother calling him out on the obvious verbal trap. 

“He said ‘goodbye,’” you continue, eyebrows furrowing. Somehow, you get the sense that Hannibal isn’t the type to utter goodbyes. Moreover, a goodbye ushers in a sense of finality, as if you will truly never see him again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, pretending that your exchange with him on your doorstep isn’t replaying in your mind. He kissed me on the cheek, you don’t say to Jack. He said he was my husband. He watched over me in the hospital when no one else did. And it may have been fake, all of it… But that gleam of affection in his eyes didn’t look manufactured—it looked genuine.  

Jack looks troubled and somewhat restless. “You’re lucky you made it out alive.” He states. You don’t think you can quite believe his words. For whatever reason, Hannibal Lecter—the Chesapeake Ripper—is interested in you. Whether sick fascination or cloying obsession, you have to face the facts:  luck had nothing to do with it. The Ripper kept you alive because, inexplicably, he wants you alive. 

And that unnerves you. 

hannibal taglist, cause i think y'all would be down with reading this since it's also hannibal: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

[slavicdelight]

METANOIA

Pairing: Tom Riddle x f!reader

Summary: Metanoia - the journey of changing your mind, heart, self and way of life

Warnings: slightly ooc Tom, pureblood ideas, hits of murder

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Tom Riddle was a name recognized by everyone at Hogwarts. The infamous Slytherin Head Boy commanded respect from every student and even from professors, thanks to the aura surrounding him. However, what most people didn't know, or perhaps didn't care to notice, was that there was something sinister lurking behind his captivating gaze and mannerisms.

His friend group, constantly present by his side, consisted of members from the most well-known pureblood families. Tom considered himself superior to them because he possessed the blood of the noble Salazar Slytherin. By the age of 19, he had already committed horrifying acts, such as opening the Chamber of Secrets during his 5th year, resulting in the death of Myrtle Warren. He also murdered his remaining family around the same time. Furthermore, he created Horcruxes in order to reach immortality, which was one of his goals and the initial step towards becoming the greatest dark wizard in history.

Tom was a skilled manipulator. He had the ability to hide his true emotions, always putting on a mask of politeness. In addition, he was brilliant and could be described as an over-achiever. Tom thoroughly planned everything and never allowed setbacks to hinder him. There was only one person who saw right through him - Dumbledore, the person Tom despised the most in the entire school.

Tonight, Tom was strolling through the hallways of Hogwarts, carrying out his patrols as a Head Boy. Although it was generally a mundane duty, it had its advantages. One of them was being out after curfew without anyone questioning it. The corridors were dimly lit, so Tom had to cast a spell to produce light to see clearly."Lumos." he muttered, before continuing on his way. It appeared to be another uneventful night, where nothing of particular interest occurred.

As he was heading back to the Slytherin dorms, someone bumped into him, causing both teenagers to fall to the ground. "I'm so sorry," said a girl who appeared to be about the same age as him, possibly a year younger. He was about to reprimand her for running into him and give her detention for breaking curfew, but then he looked at her and was instantly captivated by the most beautiful pair of eyes he had even seen. They were warm and welcoming, but what truly enthralled him was their enchanting violet color, which sparkled under the light emerging from his wand.

"I should've watched where I was going," continued the witch. He cleared his throat and gave her a cold stare, trying to hide his intrigue. "Why aren't you in your dorm? It's past curfew," Tom questioned the girl. Another surprising thing was that he had no idea who she was. He only noticed the Ravenclaw emblem on her robes, indicating that she was a member of the eagle house. The Slytherin prided himself on knowing almost everyone at school, from students to professors, yet he didn't know her. How could someone with such captivating eyes escape his attention? "Oh, right. I got caught up in the library and forgot about the curfew," she explained. "I'll go straight to bed." With that, she tried to pass him and walk away.

She wanted to end the interaction as quickly as possible, knowing that Tom Riddle was trouble. Despite his perfect student persona, she sensed a hidden darkness beneath the surface and wanted to avoid getting involved. "Now, now. I can't possibly let the witch with such incredible eyes leave without knowing her name, can I?" he asked, causing her to freeze. "I fail to see how my name is of any interest to you, Riddle. I would prefer you not knowing it and allowing me to go.”

Tom didn't expect his charm not to work, but he hid his surprise. He wondered if the girl was brave or stupid, perhaps both. She didn't know that she piqued his interest, and that was something dangerous. "It hardly seems fair that you know me, but I don't know you, don't you think?" He took a step closer to her but didn't predict what she would do next. "No, I don't," she said, while taking a step back and bolting in another direction. The Head Boy simply stood there and let her get away. 'Let her run,' he thought. 'I shall find her anyway.' And with that, he continued on his way to the dorms.

The next morning, during breakfast, he scanned the Great Hall in search of her. Tom tried to be discreet, but his best friend, Abraxas Malfoy, noticed. Abraxas was his most reliable follower, someone Tom could trust. "What are you looking for, Riddle?" he asked. The boy with raven hair turned to glare at him and said, "It's none of your business, Malfoy." He was becoming increasingly frustrated that the witch from the previous night was nowhere to be found.

Finally, the girl made her entrance, walking into the hall accompanied by another girl. They both headed towards the Ravenclaw's table and took a seat. He couldn't help but gaze at her. It was as if she sensed his gaze, as she turned and looked directly into his eyes. Their staring contest continued until Headmaster Dippet began greeting students and wishing them a good day.

After finishing his meal, Tom made his way to the Potions classroom, his first subject of the day. He enjoyed this class, despite Professor Slughorn being a bit overwhelming. Tom was the professor's favorite student, excelling in this class just as he did in every other. He was an exceptionally talented wizard.

It turned out he shared the class with the violet-eyed witch. He wondered why he hadn't noticed her before. He took his usual seat and waited for the Ravenclaw student to enter, which didn't take long. She sat two rows ahead of him, accompanied by a boy he recognized as the Ravenclaw's seeker. Shortly after, Slughorn entered and the lesson began. Today, they had to brew an advanced potion called the Elixir to Induce Euphoria in pairs. As always, Tom was the first to finish his potion, with the help of his partner, Rosier. The potions professor, impressed with their work, allowed them to leave early. Tom decided to wait outside the classroom to talk to the girl who had sparked his interest and learn more about her.

As the girl walked out, he quickly grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the abandoned broom closet across the hall. She protested, but wasn't strong enough to break free from his grasp. Tom pushed her inside and blocked the entrance.

"Hello again," he said, noticing the anger on the girl's face. "What do you think you're doing? Let me go!" she yelled, attempting to escape from the classroom.

"No, I don't think I will," Tom replied. "What do you want, Riddle?" she questioned, gritting her teeth. Her captivating eyes locked with his, and he could swear they had the power to melt a man. But he was no ordinary man, and he wouldn't allow that to defeat him. "I already told you what I want," he started, before she interrupted, "and I already told you that you won't have that." The girl had some nerve, he had to give her that. "Listen, darling, either you tell me your name yourself or I'll find out on my own. But I would prefer to hear it from your beautiful lips.”

"And what?" she spat, her eyes narrowing with a mix of defiance and fear. "Will you force it out of me?" If looks could kill, he would already be six feet under. Tom's lips curled into a malicious smirk as he leaned in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You'll soon discover that I can be very..." He paused, relishing in the anticipation he was building. "...persuasive." The words hung in the air, sending a shiver down her spine. As he observed her reaction, he couldn't help but notice the subtle trembling of her breath, a sign that his presence and words were affecting her.

“If I tell you my name, would you stop pestering me about it?” she asked not looking into his eyes. Tom grabbed her chin and forced her head up, just enough for him to see her eyes. The Slytherin just nodded and took a step back. “Fine. My name is Y/N” she finally answered and moved past him, heading straight for the door. As Y/N was walking away she heard him say “Such a beautiful name, for someone with such extraodrinary eyes.”

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine as she left the broom closet, the encounter with Tom Riddle leaving her unsettled. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had just opened a door to a world of complications. Her day continued with classes, but her mind kept wandering back to the mysterious encounter with the enigmatic Head Boy.

Days turned into weeks, and Tom's fascination with Y/N only deepened. He started to make subtle attempts to engage her in conversation during Potions class or whenever their paths crossed in the hallways. Y/N, however, remained guarded, careful not to reveal too much about herself. She sensed danger around Tom, but there was also a part of her that felt an inexplicable connection, an undeniable intrigue that kept her from avoiding him completely. She didn’t like it, preferring to stay away from the drama that would undeniably follow her once she got too involved with the boy.

As time passed, Tom's pursuit became more relentless. He would show up unexpectedly in places where Y/N was, asking about her interests, her family, and her background. Y/N, althrough in the beginning sheltered and slightly annoyed, soon found herself drawn into conversations that danced on the edge of forbidden topics, and Tom, turn, discovered that there was more to Y/N than met the eye.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Tom found Y/N sitting by the Black Lake,reading a book . He approached her cautiously, and for the first time, his demeanor seemed less calculated, more genuine."You're a puzzle, Y/N," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I can't quite figure you out." Y/N turned to look at him, her violet eyes searching his face for any sign of deception. "Maybe some puzzles are meant to remain unsolved," she replied cryptically. Tom chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Maybe so, yet here we are. Both of us puzzling each other. But I do enjoy the challenge." he admitted. "And you, my dear, are the most intriguing challenge I've found at Hogwarts so far."

As the weeks turned into months, their interactions became more complex. Y/N found herself reluctantly drawn to Tom's charisma and intelligence, while Tom, discovered a more vulnerable side of himself. He couldn't quite understand why Y/N had such an effect on him, but he was determined to find out.

Their dynamic took a turn one evening in the Hogwarts library. Tom, managed to convince Y/N to join him in exploring the restricted section. As they looked through ancient tomes and hidden spells, Y/N couldn't ignore the growing tension between them. In the quiet space of the library, Tom leaned in, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "There's something about you, Y/N," he murmured, his breath sending shivers across her skin. "Something that both intrigues and unsettles me." Y/N looked at him curiously and asked “What is so unsettling about me?”. Tom only looked at her and leaning closer said “You’re making me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

As they continued their meetings, the lines between friend and enemy slowly became blurred. Tom’s past and his ambitions started to rub off on her, making her question everything. But she wasn’t weak and wanted to stay true to the right side. She wasn’t about to go down the same path as the Slytherin boy, and wanted to make him see that it was wrong. Little did she know that the choices made in the upcoming months would shape the destiny of the wizarding world.

As the weeks unfolded, Y/N found herself in a dangerous position. The more time she spent with Tom Riddle, the clearer it became that he was wavering on the edge of darkness. His thirst for power, his relentless pursuit of immortality, and the shadows of his past painted a grim picture. Yet, among all this darkness, Y/N saw moments of vulnerability, moments where the mask slipped, revealing a fractured soul. Y/N couldn't ignore the pull she felt toward Tom, a pull that went beyond fascination. Beneath his charming facade, she noticed loneliness that mirrored her own.

One evening, as snowflakes danced outside the castle windows, Y/N found Tom alone in the library. The fire cast a glow on his face, making him appear more handsome than ever. Y/N hesitated but she knew she had to ask the next question. "Tom," she began softly, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you." He looked up, his piercing gaze meeting hers. "Ask away, Y/N."

"Why are you so afraid of letting people in?" she inquired, her voice gentle but filled with genuine curiosity. Tom's eyes moved towards her, she could see suffering behind them. He took a deep breath before replying to her."People often betray and are fake in order to get what they want from you. After they get it, they leave and never come back.” Y/N took a step closer, closing the distance between them. "But it's also lonely, isn't it? To carry the weight of responsibilities on your shoulders without anyone to share it with."

Tom's mask wavered, revealing the boy beneath the facade. "Loneliness is a small price to pay for greatness," he stated, but a small amount of doubt could be seen in his eyes. "Maybe attaining greatness isn’t meant to be done alone." Y/N suggested. "Maybe it's in the connections we make, the people we let in"

In the days that followed, Y/N continued to challenge Tom's perspective. She introduced him to the joy of laughter, the warmth of genuine friendships, and the beauty of simple moments. As the walls around his heart slowly crumbled, Y/N became a beacon of light in his world, a reminder that there was more to life than power and darkness.

One evening, beneath the sky covered in stars, Y/N and Tom found themselves strolling through the Hogwarts grounds. Tom, usually composed, seemed uncertain, as if something was bothering him. "You don't have to be alone, Tom," Y/N whispered, her words carrying the weight of sincerity. "There's goodness in you, which you only have to choose." For the first time, Tom Riddle looked genuinely conflicted. The darkness within him warred with the flickers of light that Y/N had ignited. He was standing on the crossroads where the choices made would shape the future.

In the quiet of the night, Y/N extended her hand, a silent invitation to choose a different path. Tom hesitated, his gaze locking onto hers. And in that moment, the boy who had been consumed by shadows took a small step toward the light, changing the course of history forever. The journey towards redemption would be a long one, but with Y/N by his side, Tom Riddle was confident in succeeding. He realized that greatness could be found not in the pursuit of power but in the capacity to love and be loved.

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

A/N: let me introduce you to my first ever Tom Riddle imagine. The obsession I have with this man is unhealthy. Anyway let me know if you enjoyed it. Thank you for all the support ♡

[isthlsfate]

⌞ 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 ! ⌝

🎸⋆｡𖦹°‧

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: vecna’s curse

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: black!cheerleader!reader, anxiety and panic attacks, self-doubt, emotional vulnerability, cursing, mentions of blood and death

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 𖥔 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

🎸⋆｡𖦹°‧

march 24th, 1986

hawkins high had fallen silent with the start of spring break, its once bustling hallways now eerily empty, devoid of the usual clamor of students.

the quiet felt unsettling, as if the very air was holding its breath.

in the dimly lit drama room, faint lights scattered across the space, casting long, uneven shadows that danced on the walls.

at the center of the room, a worn table stood beneath the soft glow, its surface scratched and weathered. eddie and his young friend, dustin, sat around it, their faces etched with serious expressions.

the flickering light played tricks on their features, making their furrowed brows and clenched jaws appear even more intense as they leaned in, deep in thought.

hawkins was under the shadow of tragedy once again.

fred benson, a member of the school’s journalism team, had been found dead on a lonely stretch of highway, not far from the forest hills trailer park where eddie lived.

the news had sent a ripple of fear through the town, a dark omen that something sinister was lurking just out of sight.

eddie sat in a daze, his mind wandering far from the present as dustin rambled on, theorizing about the dark forces at play, spinning tales of vecna’s existence and how this latest death could be his doing.

but eddie’s thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by you—your face, your voice, the way you looked at him with those eyes that seemed to see right through his bravado.

“hello, earth to eddie!” dustin’s voice breaks through the haze as he waves a hand in front of eddie’s face, snapping him back to reality. “this is serious shit, dude!”

“yeah, yeah. vecna’s real,” the long haired boy mutters, rolling his eyes, though his voice lacked conviction.

dustin scoffs, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “it’s not a joke, eddie! just ask (y/n).”

at the mention of your name, eddie’s heart skips a beat.

his mind sharpens, the fog lifting as he sits up straighter. “wait, how do you know (y/n)?”

dustin hesitates, his expression growing more serious, the weight of what he was about to reveal heavy in the air.

he clears his throat, locking eyes with eddie.

“look, what i’m about to tell you might be a little… difficult to take.”

eddie’s pulse quickens, a shiver crawling down his spine as he notices the gravity in dustin’s eyes.

he swallows hard and nods, signaling for dustin to continue.

“you know how people say hawkins is… cursed?” dustin begins, his voice low and steady. “they’re not… way off. there’s another world. a world hidden beneath hawkins. sometimes it bleeds into ours.”

eddie stares at the younger boy, his mouth slightly open in shock.

the story dustin tells is horrifying, beyond anything the boy could have imagined.

his arms prickle with goosebumps as the reality of it all begins to sink in.

yet, even as his mind reels from the revelation, his thoughts keep drifting back to you.

all he could think about is how terrified you must have been, how deeply this must have affected you.

the anger he had felt yesterday evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming need to find you, to comfort you, to hold you close and assure you that everything would be okay.

*

"no, i can’t! i can’t go through this again!" you plead, your voice trembling with fear as your body quakes.

robin steps forward to comfort you, but you instinctively back away, terror tightening its grip on you.

“look, (y/n), i know last time was hard, but we can’t just sit here and do nothing. we need you. max needs you,” steve says, his eyes filled with sympathy but also urgency.

a whimper escapes your lips, the reality of what your distant friends have told you settling in like a heavy weight.

“max needs you. don’t let her fate end up like billy’s. you owe her.” (tick)

your chest tightens, your breath turning into shallow, wheezing gasps. it feels like you're trying to breathe through a straw, every intake of air a struggle.

your hands start to tremble uncontrollably, fingers tingling as if all the blood has drained from them.

you clutch at your chest, desperate to ground yourself, but it feels like the ground is slipping away, leaving you teetering on the edge of an abyss.

you want to escape, to find somewhere—anywhere—to hide from the panic clawing at you from within, but there’s no place safe from this overwhelming fear.

“(y/n), breathe with me,” robin says softly, stepping in front of you and placing her hands on your shoulders.

you meet her gentle blue eyes, finding a small anchor in her calm presence. together, you take exaggerated breaths in and out, until the tightness in your chest begins to ease, and the tremors in your hands subside.

“i’m scared,” you admit, glancing between them, your voice small and ashamed of the vulnerability you’re showing.

steve gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding in understanding as he pats you on the back. “you’re strong, (y/n). and we’re right here with you. we won’t leave your side.”

you nod in response, following them out of your room and toward the front door, grateful that your parents aren’t home to question you.

as you pass a mirror in the hallway, you catch a glimpse of yourself and flinch, a shadowy figure seeming to loom behind you.

you barely have time to register it before the creak of the front door opening pulls your attention away.

as you approach steve’s car, an overwhelming sense of doom churns in your stomach.

the mind flayer had been terrifying enough, but deep down, you know whatever you’re up against now will be far worse.

“robin? steve? do you copy? this is a code red! do you copy?” a voice crackles over the radio as you slide into the back seat.

you look toward the front, seeing the fear reflected in steve and robin’s wide eyes.

“shit!” steve curses, slamming his foot on the gas.

the tires squeal as the car lurches forward, speeding into the unknown.

as you approach the cemetery, you catch sight of lucas sitting beside max.

without a second thought, you leap out of the car the moment it stops, collapsing to your knees as you grasp the red-haired girl’s hands.

"w-what’s happening? what do we do?" you ask, voice trembling with fear.

dustin comes sprinting up behind you, with nancy and eddie close behind. you barely register the boy's presence as dustin drops a walkman and tapes onto the ground, urgently turning to lucas.

"what’s her favorite song?" dustin demands.

"why?" lucas replies, clearly frazzled by the chaos unfolding around him.

"nancy says it might help—there’s no time to explain. what’s her favorite song?"

lucas snatches the portable radio, hurriedly placing the headphones over max’s ears as he shoves a tape into the player.

he presses play, and kate bush’s voice bursts through the speakers as everyone holds their breath.

suddenly, max’s body begins to levitate, and you stumble back in shock.

"max!" you cry out, your voice joining the panicked shouts of the others.

time stretches out unbearably as you all stand there, helplessly calling out to your friend.

then, with a sudden jolt, she crashes back to the ground, gasping for air as all seven of you rush to her side.

lucas pulls her into a tight embrace. "it’s okay, it’s okay," he murmurs, though his words seem more to reassure himself than anyone else. "i thought we lost you."

"i’m still here. i’m still here," max replies, her hand gripping his arm tightly.

your heart aches at the sight, a wave of longing washing over you as your gaze shifts to the grave in front of her.

“you’d still have him if it weren’t for your idiocy.” (tock)

[random-vore-blog]

May I ask for more sanegiyuu vore? It's so cuteee 😭😭

Of course! I am just gonna use an au I have cooked up. Plus, this gives you an idea of what happened to Giyu :3

Harpy's Lake Gem

The moon was up, its rays casting over the forest where mythical creatures resided in, illuminaring the landscape with its its gentle touch. The forest that held mysteries no human could solve, a puzzle too difficult for the human mind to complete. A foreign, but also familiar space for many who travel across the land to find the place.

Those who entered never came back. Many went missing upon entering the forest, many remains left out by the borders- a warning to any who dare to try to enter the forest without permission. Be it an arm or any other limb or a corpse, it didn't matter. It was still a warning.

But deep in the forest, a lake stood proud in the open in the heart of the forest. Its surface shone like gems, the water calm and at peace. The moonlight caressed the precious surface with care and a gentleness no one knew about. But as gorgeous as it looks from above and on land, there was a sinister aura that lurked beneath the surface- hidden from anyone by the facade of the innocent surface of the water.

The most deaths of humans occured here, in the heart of the forest, where no one would ever find the remains- gone and nowhere to be seen or to find their way out of this place. The lake was a trap- a deathtrap that had worked succesfully for the creature that resided in the lake it called home. It lured the next victims by just its voice alone, a song that no one could resist and follow.

A seastack on the far side, close to shore, sat comfortably with the water gently lapping at it. Ontop sat the cause of all the missing people that dared to enter the forest, right into its webbed hands.

A Siren.

Mythical creatures with the lower half of a fish and the upper half of a man, beings sailors told tales of- with a taste and appitite for human flesh, an appitite no human could understand. Its beauty hid away the sinister side deep beneath the surface. The beauty of the creature used to trick mankind, a facade to disguise their true intentions from mankind- violent beasts that drowned man for its own pleasures and needs. Sometimes feasting on the corpses of the victims it drowned.

The siren on the seastack had a beautiful tail as blue as sapphire stones with white diamond-shaped dots on the sides, the fins a transluscent baby blue colour, hair as black as a raven's with hints of almost invisble blue hues under the moon, dark blue eyes that pulled many in their gaze, fins acting like ears the same colour as the tail, the fingers a light blue colour that spread up to the elbow, claws a beautiful dark blue and webbing white, the upper torso covered in robes of red with a checkered pattern consisting of green and yellow.

The scales reflected the moonlight that caressed them, giving off a faint glow from the tail. It made the creature not only look majestic but also gorgeous and etheral, a beauty no one could take their eyes off of. A mask crafted over thousands of years to perfect the beauty.

The gentle sound of a song escaped its throat, sounding masculine in comparison to most feminine songs sung by the normal female sirens. Thus being identified as a male siren, a rare sight to behold as thete are few left in the world.

The fins on his head twitched as he heard something, another creature that he was all too familiar with. Someone the siren knew and had been friends with im the past, despite their historical rivalry, the wars both of these two mythical creatures had for thousands and thousands of years.

The siren turned his head slightly to look behind him, seeing all-too-familiar bird talons clutching onto the hard ricky surface, latched onto the stone to ensure that they don't let the creature slip off. He looked up, seeing a familiar face he had grown used to.

White hair that illuminated silver when light caressed the strands, purple eyes that glared daggers at him, scars on the face and lips formed into a frown. Dark green armour covered the chest, a black shirt underneath, a cloth of sorts hanging from the sides and tied to its waist, dark green pants that stopped right above the knee where the bird feet began to form. Black wings with white feathers at the edges, the tail matching the colour scheme of the wings. Green streaks right by the cheeks, feathers placed on either side where human ears would be acted as the ears.

" Shinazugawa-san."

" Tomioka."

The voice of the creature was a lot deeper and rough, as if it ate sand for breakfast instead of its preferred food. The hint of venom in the tone gave the siren, dubbed as Tomioka, an insight to what the creature wanted.

It wanted him for something, and that something he was unsure of. He couldn't place a clawed finger on what the winged creature wanted. And that creature was an expert at aerial hunting.

A Harpy.

Winged beasts with the lower half of a bird while the upper half was a human, arms replaced by wings larger than a human's body. Maybe larger than two humans stacked on each other. They came in many shapes and sizes, but they took on the species of any predatory bird. Their excellent aerial control in the air was phenomenal and more executed than any bird, surprassing their bird of prey counterparts.

" Is there something you need?"

The siren asked softly, a curious glint evident in the blue orbs that watched the Harpy with caution. He was aware that he was a delicacy for these aerial predators, nothing but a meal to them. He had to tread carefully if he didn't want to become Harpy food. However, he was unsure if the Harpy viewed him as a food source, seeing as he- identified by the masculine voice- never laid a talon on him.

" Does Kagaya-san need us in his presence?"

" No,"

The Harpy lowered his upper torso, bending it to be on eye level with the aquatic being.

" he does not need us in his presence."

Tomioka made a small frown, eyes squinted in confusion at the words that left Shinazugawa's- as Tomioka called him- mouth. The confusion did not leave his features, not until a talon pinned him against the rock, on his back. His back arched from the sudden contact of the cold surface, eyes widened as they stared at the purple ones that glared at him.

" It is you."

" What are-"

" It's your late night swimming that irritates me."

" Shinazu-"

" NO! Every time I patrol, I always see you swimming late at night!"

His jaws clenched in anger, body shaking with rage.

" And tonight is NO different! You think I don't notice the smallest of hints that you have insomnia?! Or the details like the dark circles under your eyes known as eyebags?!"

He growled, snarling at the being under his taloned foot, wings opened slightly to prove his point, to imply what he meant by his words. Tomioka just stared at him in disbelief, as if the Harpy had said that he had commited a crime...

" Don't try to hide it! I can see it from a mile away! Even Iguro can smell it from a mile away!"

" Sh-"

" No-! I am DONE watching you swim late at night when Iguro and I are on patrol!"

The pressure on the Siren's chest increased, before he was lifted up, off of the cold floor as his tail laid limp on the ground beneath. He had never seen the Harpy this irritated before, let alone concerned for his wellbeing. A warmth blossomed in his chest at the thought of someone caring for him.

" And I am going to do something about it."

He said dangerously low, above a whisper and his voice dripped with anger. Not only that, but the talons brought his face closer to Shinaguzawa's.

Before he could say anything, the lips in front of him parted, reavealing a cavern of flesh. Strands of saliva clung on the roof an anywhere it could cling onto, a tongue slipped out to give him a taste. He didn't react to it, however, as his attention was drawn to the pearly white teeth that were sharp and could snap him in half, crush bone. He was in a state of shock, not able to tell his body to move as it failed to co-operate with him.

It closed in front of him, and he stared at Shinazugawa wide-eyed.

" You taste better than I expected."

The Harpy murmured, tilting his head to the side, squinting his eyes in glee, something the Siren never saw.

Before long, the Harpy tilted his head straight and licked his lips. He- he wasn't going to- right? Tomioka felt a wave of panic hit him like a ton of bricks, a slap across the face full force.

The maw opened again and this time, his head was placed inside. He wanted to struggle, to scream and cry out for help, but his body refused, still in shock and trying to process what was going on.

It was warm, very warm. The humid air inside messed with his gills, threatening him to gasp for air a lot nicer than the dry air he was forced to inhale-! But he didn't, he couldn't. His body didn't belong to him as he was swallowed, body sliding down the now tight tube with ease like he was nothing. As if he was a small fish that slid down the throat of a crocodile... His skin got irritated by the dry air, unable to handle the warmth the air inside the Harpy provided. It was unbearable, and quite itchy.

By the time he got his body to struggle, it was too late as his head slipped into a roomier organ, the rest of his body following soon after.

It was hot, humid and with a liquid that filled tbe organ, stopping the itching he felt on his skin and scales. He panicked, body jerking away at the sudden pressure on his back. His eyes wide as realization of where he was dawned on him. He was in Shinaguzawa's stomach, a place he feared the most.

" Shinazugawa-san! Let me out!"

He panicked, body about ready to hyperventilate as the shock wore off, adrenaline the new booster to help his body to hyperventilate. His body shook.

" Let me out! Please! I beg of you!"

He yelled, trembling as his eyes were blurred by the tears that formed, jerking as a sob left his form. He held his head with both webbed hands, covering his finned ears that flattened against his head and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. The waterfall got out of the walls known as tear ducts.

" Please- please Sanemi! Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease-"

He repeated, unable to do anything but beg Sanemi to let him go, to not let him die in this place other sirens had died.

<_>_<_>

He stared at his middle in shock, where his hand would've been if he had human arms rested on the slightly bulged area his "meal" was in, begging for his life to be spared, pleading.

Did- did he not realize that he... oh no-! Oh nomonononono! He didn't-

Panic enveloped his body when he was called by his first name. Did his insomnia affect him to the point of not thinking rationally? That him and Tomioka were a thing? This- oh god... The thought of digesting a living creature and his mate alone made him sick.

He rubbed his middle, trying to soothe and calm the the hyperventilating Siren down as best as he could while he hummed.

" Hey- hey-! It's okay! It's okay!"

He wanted to calm down his poor mate, tried to reassure him that he was not in any danger- that they have done this before with comforting words! But they didn't leave his throat after he spoke or tried to speak again. The words evaporated from the tip of his tongue.

All he could do was push thrpugh it all and just head back to his place located on a massive and broad seastack where a cave was.

He opened his wings and crouched down, jumping in the air and took off, heading back to his cave- his home. He couldn't use words to calm Tomioka down... he'll just hope that he realizes that he is safe-

His feathered ears twitched as he heard shaky breathes, the heartrate of the siren inside the organ slow and at a pace he was familiar with- that he grew fond of. He sighed in relief, in time to land gracefully on the edge of the cave.

His talons scraped against the stone beneath them as he entered, checking his surroundings to make sure that nothing was out of the ordinary. Besides Genya sleeping in the mest he built for him.

It was a long night, and restless one. He was tired, wanting to gain energy for what the next day wpuld bring. He stopped in his tracks and laid down like a bird, eyes closing as he focused on the weight in his crop. He'll rest his eyes for a few minutes... It wouldn't kill anyone if he rested a little, right?

And so, he dosed off, joining his brother and Giyu in dreamland where everything that had happened was nothing more than an old and bad memory.

The End

Sorry if this is not what you wanted, but I did enjoy writing it! It was a lot of fun to play with these two boys I ship so much!

[saveregblackordie0726]

Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 4

Fifth Year – 1975 

My fifth year began with an abruptness that mirrored the way my friendship with Sirius had snapped back into its usual form. The crushing weight of my feelings hadn't magically lifted, but a sort of resigned acceptance had settled over me. I locked it away, a dull, throbbing ache beneath the surface I ruthlessly ignored. 

The first few weeks were a blur of new textbooks, bubbling cauldrons, and a return to the sweet chaos that always accompanied the Marauders. Perhaps the distance had been good for us; there was a fresh ease to our interactions, the old camaraderie shining through the unspoken heartbreak. I threw myself into studying with a single-minded focus, pouring over ancient runes and memorizing jinx reversals. The escape into the structured world of magic was a welcome reprieve from the tangled mess of unrequited feelings that lurked just beneath the surface. 

Without the constant thrum of love-struck yearning, I noticed things I had missed. Our common room, always brimming with a boisterous hum, felt strangely quiet, an undercurrent of tension buzzing just below the laughter. Remus’s smile seemed strained, his eyes holding shadows older than our fifteen years. 

Then there was Regulus. The sharp-tongued boy I had sparred with for years had become a shadow of himself. Less taunts, less of the Black arrogance, replaced by an almost haunted silence. There were dark bruises peeking from beneath his robes, a hunted look in his eyes that seemed to reflect my own hidden pain. I caught him watching us more than once, a strange mixture of calculation and longing flickering across his face. Yet, we never spoke of that night in the Astronomy Tower. It hung between us, an unspoken and uncomfortable truth. 

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Sirius confessed the reason for the shift in the atmosphere around us. "Mum and Dad," he muttered darkly, staring out the window at a particularly vicious Quidditch practice. "Pressure keeps mounting. On both of us..." He trailed off, then looked at me. In his eyes, usually alight with mischief, there was a flicker of something akin to fear. 

I swallowed, my own tumultuous home life, thankfully far less sinister, flashing through my mind. "Are the... are the beatings getting worse?" The words felt heavy on my tongue. 

He nodded, his gaze dropping to his worn trainers.

"Reg, mostly. Dad wants him on the 'right side', no matter the cost. Says I'm already a lost cause..."

His voice was barely above a whisper. Aching sympathy mixed with a helpless anger stirred within me. We sat there, staring at the rain-soaked Quidditch pitch, neither of us saying a word. But for once, the silence between us was of the comforting kind. 

The rest of the year passed in a flurry of whispered plans, clandestine transformations under the cloak of darkness, and a growing awareness of the darker currents in the wizarding world that extended far beyond our teenage worries. For a few fleeting hours, when we were running wild through the Forbidden Forest, the weight on our shoulders would ease. I had learned, through painful trial and error, that ignoring the ache in my heart worked... most of the time. 

There were still bad days, of course. Days when I'd pass Sirius and Remus engrossed in a hushed conversation, a laugh or smile shared between them that pierced me like a rusty arrow. But I'd blink, focus on Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze or the complex knotwork of a new spell, and push the feeling aside. It became a habit, a way to survive the year without shattering completely. 

Strangely, even the triumphs that usually brought me a rush of satisfaction felt hollow. I aced my exams, my Transfiguration essay even earning a rare flicker of praise from McGonagall. Finally, I could consistently match Regulus Black in Potions, Slughorn's booming voice echoing with approval directed at me, not him. Yet the spark of victory I craved, the triumphant feeling of proving myself, was strangely absent. 

It was as if all the joy had been leached from things, leaving behind only a dull ache and a strange, unsettling apathy.       ------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Waiting for the boys to emerge from their O.W.L.s felt like watching a kettle slowly come to a boil. The usual thrill of anticipation was absent, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that mirrored the dull ache in my sun-warmed limbs. I'd settled into a patch of clover, my head propped against my bag, promising myself just a few minutes of respite. That was how I usually ended up snoozing right through Charms, much to Professor Flitwick's dismay. 

My Arithmancy notes lay abandoned beside me. The intricate calculations might as well have been ancient hieroglyphics. Instead of focusing on my work, I found myself tracing the paths of ants through the vibrant green blades. They, at least, seemed to know exactly where they were going. 

"Evans, here's your Charms notes. Since you played hooky yesterday."

The shadow that fell across me was accompanied not by the usual boisterous clatter of the Marauders, but by Regulus Black's sharp drawl. Typical. Flitwick had likely sent his pet lackey in hopes of catching me slacking. 

I propped myself up on one elbow, shielding my eyes from the sun. "Felt a bit peaky yesterday, not that it's any of your concern, Black." My voice rasped slightly. Even the insults took effort today. 

He thrust the notes towards me, and it was then that I noticed it. His hair, never as perfectly coiffed as his brother's, was utterly disheveled. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his usually pale skin was tinged with an unhealthy pallor. 

"You really are a prat, Black--" I started, but the words felt hollow. The dark gaunt circles under his eyes and the pallor of his face making me chew on my bottom lip in contemplation. A flicker of concern, unwanted and unwelcome, bloomed in my chest. "Are you ill?" 

His reaction was immediate. It was like a mask slammed down, replacing the exhaustion with hard defiance. "Don't do that," he ground out, his fingers tightening on the parchment. 

"Do what?" I was genuinely bewildered. 

"That whole bleeding-heart act. Don't try it on me," he said, his voice low and full of a bitter anger that seemed out of proportion to the situation. "I don't need your help, Evans." 

A thousand scathing responses bubbled to the surface, the same ones I had hurled his way for years. I wanted to lash out, to hide the uneasy mix of pity and protectiveness that stirred within me. There was still that part of me that craved revenge, however petty, for the countless insults, the way he made my cheeks burn. But I swallowed it all back down. 

Instead, I simply looked at him. Really looked at him, beyond the bravado and the carefully cultivated Black persona. He radiated a silent, desperate kind of loneliness that cut far deeper than any schoolyard taunt. And beneath the layers of exhaustion and simmering anger, there resided a sliver of the boy I’d shared an unlikely moment of vulnerability within the Astronomy Tower. 

My words, when they came, were barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to our usual verbal duels. “It’s there, when you do.” 

The arrogance on his face faltered. His eyes narrowed; his mouth set in a thin, unreadable line. I held his gaze, an unspoken challenge hanging in the heavy silence. Let him deny it. The silence between us was charged. Regulus seemed shocked into a wide-eyed silence, a flicker of something like sadness lingering in his gaze. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but before he could a commotion erupted from the direction of the lake, cutting short whatever he was going to say. 

A wave of unwanted déjà vu washed over me. It sounded disturbingly similar to the times Regulus and his crony friends harassed Peter. My heart hammered against my ribs as I whipped my head around, searching for the source of the noise. My eyes landed on a cluster of students on the lakeshore, and amidst them, a flash of fiery red hair set off alarm bells in my head. 

Then, a voice rang out, sharp and furious. It was so familiar, yet tinged with a raw desperation that sent a chill down my spine. "Leave him ALONE!" 

Lily. 

Regulus turned towards me, a startled expression flickering across his face. "Is that your sister?" 

My hand found my wand, tucked into the waistband of my robes, and I was already turning, Regulus on my heels. "Better not be your cronies harassing Peter again, Black," I hissed over my shoulder, a wave of protectiveness for my bookish best friend mixing with a growing sense of dread. "I swear to Merlin..." 

"We have better things to do than to pick on your little lump of a friend, Evans," Regulus retorted, his tone holding an odd mix of exasperation and defensiveness. He was on my heels, quickly following the sound of the commotion with me ahead of him. 

The shouting grew louder the closer we got. A surge of panic-fueled energy propelled me forward. We burst through a ring of spectators and my heart seized in my chest. The sight before me was like a horrible echo of countless other confrontations. 

Severus Snape lay sprawled on the ground, gagging and choking as thick, frothy bubbles spilled from his mouth. Standing a short distance away, wand still outstretched, was James. A cruel smirk twisted his lips, and he tossed taunts at a red-faced Snape, his free hand brushing his glasses out of the way in that infuriatingly familiar gesture. 

Beside him, Sirius and Peter stood with arms crossed, their expressions a mix of indifference and twisted amusement. The horror of the scene slammed into me with the force of a rogue Bludger. My boys, the ones I'd laughed with countless nights in their common room, looked monstrous in this light. 

A cry of rage was building in my throat, but it died before it escaped my lips. Regulus’s hand closed around my upper arm, a tight grip that felt less like malice and more like an anchor against the urge to charge in blindly. 

"Don't get involved with this, Evans," he said in a low voice. There was tension in his jawline, his eyes fixed on his brother with an unreadable expression. "All right, Evans?" James called out to Lily, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature and it was cutting through the charged air. He barely spared Snape – gasping and clawing at the ground in a desperate attempt to breathe – a glance. Lily was in his way, her fiery temper a beautiful, terrifying force in the face of his casual cruelty.  

"Leave him alone," Lily repeated, her voice taut with barely concealed fury. She was fixed on James with an expression of pure and open disgust. "What's he done to you?"   

"Well," James drawled, the smirk never leaving his face, "it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean..." 

Howls of laughter erupted around them. Sirius and Peter cackled, mirroring the glee of their little audience. Regulus’ grip on my bicep loosened, replaced by a tense silence as he watched his brother with a mixture of resignation and something darker in his eyes. I remained rooted to the spot, a spectator in this nightmare that seemed to twist and replay on some awful loop. 

"You think you're funny," Lily spat, her voice carrying over the jeering crowd. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone." 

James's cocky grin only widened. "I will if you go out with me, Evans. Go on... Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again." 

Snape was slowly regaining his bearings, crawling towards his fallen wand. Soap suds dripped from his chin, his humiliation painfully obvious. 

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," Lily said, her voice cold as ice. 

"Bad luck, Prongs," Sirius announced cheerily, turning his back on Snape. A shout – "OY!" – followed, but it was too late. A flash of light illuminated Snape and with a flick of his wand a gash appeared on James's cheek, spraying his shirt with blood. I hissed in sympathetic pain. Before I could process it, Sirius was already turning on me, a surprised look on his face at seeing me and his brother standing there. Then, James was whirling around, pure fury contorting his features as Snape struggled to pull himself upright, wand raised, dripping with soap and water. 

Another flash of light erupted, and the scene changed with sickening speed. Snape was dangling upside down, his robes obscuring his face, revealing a shock of pale legs and embarrassingly old underpants. 

A low curse escaped Regulus, his eyes wide as he watched the unfolding scene. I covered my mouth with my hand, mortified and aching for Snape, who was flailing in the air like a hooked fish. 

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter. James, Sirius, and Peter were practically howling, flushed with the thrill of their cruelty. A split second of guilt flickered across Lily's face, as if even she couldn't help but find the ridiculousness of Snape's predicament amusing. But then she straightened, and her voice sliced through the uproar. 

"Let him down!" 

"Certainly," James smirked, flicking his wand, and Snape dropped to the ground like a sack of wet laundry. He scrambled to his feet, wand raised feebly, but before he could retaliate, Sirius had struck. "Petrificus Totalus!" The spell rebounded off Snape, rendering him immobile once more. 

"Sirius!" I chided instinctively, but my voice was lost in the renewed wave of laughter. 

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Lily's cry was one of pure rage now, her own wand drawn. James and Sirius paused, their grins fading under the intensity of her gaze. 

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," James said, half-heartedly raising his wand. 

"Take the curse off him, then!" 

A sigh escaped James, and he muttered the counter-curse. "There you go," he said, as Snape jerked back to life. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus –" 

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" 

My heart stopped. The air seemed to crackle with the insult. A collective gasp ran through the crowd. I felt Regulus stiffen beside me, his grip on my arm suddenly absent. I turned, and his eyes met mine – wide with horror, mouth slightly agape. Shame was mirrored in his features, echoing my own sick feeling. 

Lily paled. "Fine," she choked out. "I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus." 

"Apologize to Evans!" James was practically vibrating with fury, his wand trained on Snape. 

"I don't want you to make him apologize," Lily retorted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is..." 

The rest of her tirade barely registered. The world narrowed down to Regulus's haunted gaze burning holes into me, the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks, and the crushing certainty that something fundamental had shattered, leaving jagged pieces in its wake. Lily turned to escape all of them, finally noticing me, beelined to where I stood and grabbed my hand, pulling me from Regulus's silent stare and the ugliness of that place. But the look he gave me, a haunting echo of pain, stayed with me long after the shouting faded behind us. 

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

The rest of the year unraveled like a tapestry chewed up by moths. The once vibrant threads of our friendship, the laughter in the common room, the midnight runs through the Forbidden Forest, were now faded and torn. A heaviness had settled over us, a shadow we couldn't shake. Sirius and Remus were barely on speaking terms. There was a hollow space where their easy banter used to be, an icy silence during their rushed meals. It seemed like every day another crack appeared in the bright facade Sirius tried so desperately to maintain. The weight of suspicion, of the whispers that followed his name, was slowly crushing him. 

What made it worse was Remus's withdrawal. He stopped coming to classes, barely ate, and vanished as soon as the sun rose. According to Mary, my Hufflepuff friend, he spent most of his days in the greenhouses, tending to strange, spindly plants and muttering charms under his breath. He'd return to his dorm in the dead of night, face gaunt and eyes dull with some private torment. His absence hung heavy in the air. Gone were the stolen chocolate frogs shared under the covers, the whispered theories about what lurked in the darkest depths of the lake, the quiet support he always offered when one of us was feeling overwhelmed. His empty bed was a constant, aching reminder of the distance widening between us. 

Lily became his shadow, her fiery spirit a flicker of light in his growing darkness. She'd sit with him in forgotten corners of the castle, her voice soft and murmurous. Sometimes I'd catch glimpses of them walking by the lake in the moonlight, the way Remus's normally hunched shoulders seemed to straighten a little in her presence. 

It made the ache in my chest twist even sharper. I longed to offer him the same kind of solace, to help carry his burden. But the echo of his shadowed gaze when I mentioned Sirius, the silent plea for me not to push, held me back. They had secrets I wasn't privy to, a bond forged in shared pain that I could only observe from afar. 

The rest of the year was an endless storm, the darkness swirling within us mirroring the darkening skies outside. Whispers of Voldemort’s growing power slithered through the corridors, and the word “Death Eaters” was spoken fearfully. The accusations that followed Sirius were like a constant, low thrum beneath the surface of every interaction, every stolen glance. Yet, he and I clung to each other, an unspoken alliance against the world that seemed determined to tear us apart. Our midnight escapes became more frequent, desperate bids to recapture the simple joy of just being a fox and a grim, hurtling through the darkness. 

James was our anchor, his bravado unwavering in the face of the swirling rumors, his loyalty a shield for his best mate. We spent long nights in the common room, playing increasingly reckless rounds of Exploding Snap, the laughter a balm for our battered spirits. 

The end of the year came as a relief. The looming shadow of exams was a welcome distraction from the deeper fear and the broken bonds that haunted us. Saying goodbye was a hollow ritual. We mouthed promises to stay in touch, knowing full well that the coming summer would likely stretch those promises thin. Remus vanished the moment the Hogwarts Express clattered into Hogsmeade station, leaving a lingering sense of guilt that settled over me like a fog. The journey home was a quiet one. Sirius sprawled across the seats, seemingly asleep, but I knew the dark circles under his eyes weren't just from lack of rest. James sat across from me, absently tossing a worn Quidditch practice Snitch into the air, his usual easy grin replaced by a contemplative frown. I escaped under the pretense of fetching a snack from the trolley, inwardly cursing my lack of foresight in not stashing a hoard of chocolate in my trunk. The corridor offered a brief respite – relative quiet punctuated by the steady rumble of the train and the occasional muffled argument drifting from inside compartments. 

It was, as always, an excellent place to get lost in thought. I wondered how my parents were doing, if that awful rash on our neighbor's cat had cleared up, and whether or not there would be lemon drizzle cake for dessert when I got home. Just as these pressing concerns were threatening to completely consume me, a solid mass of dark green robes materialized directly in my path. 

Regulus Black stood mere inches from me, a hint of amusement in his usually guarded gray eyes. A strange warmth flooded my cheeks and I immediately berated myself. Did he have to be so… unfairly handsome? The neatly combed hair, the way his robes fell perfectly on his shoulders – it gave him an aura of aristocratic elegance that shouldn't have been attractive to me, but good lord it was. 

To get past him, we engaged in an awkward sideways shuffle, and despite my best efforts, my shoulder brushed against his. His scent, an intriguing mix of old parchment and some kind of spicy cologne, drifted towards me. Another wave of warmth spread across my face, which hopefully he couldn't detect. 

"Have a good summer, Evans," he said as I managed to maneuver past him, the warmth in his voice catching me off guard. It was strange, this unexpected shift from the usual snide comments and thinly veiled dislike. 

"Have a good time with your family," I replied without thinking. And, like a fool, immediately regretted it. 

I knew, of course I knew, that the Blacks weren't a happy bunch. Rumors swirled about their fanatical adherence to pureblood ideals, their parents' cruelty, and a house filled with whispered curses and dark magic. The haunted look in Sirius’s eyes after a long break spoke volumes about the sort of environment they returned to. 

Regulus's expression shuttered closed in an instant. My stomach twisted with guilt and a touch of frustration. My intentions might have been harmless, but the reminder of his home life was likely far more cutting than any insult. 

"Regulus—" I began to apologize but he held up a hand to stop me. 

"It's fine, Evans. Really." Yet, the way he said it was so incredibly not fine that it hung between us, a testament to my impulsive blunders. With a sharp nod of his head, he turned abruptly and strode further down the corridor, leaving me in his wake. 

I stood there for a long, awkward moment, debating whether to chase after him or simply retreat to my compartment of chaos. Part of me wanted to try again, to somehow ease the sharpness of my words. But another, more rational part reminded me that Regulus Black was a Slytherin, and a Black – his pride wouldn't appreciate the sympathy barely concealed in my apology. Leaning against the cool window, I watched the Scottish countryside roll past. Instead of chasing him, I resolved to be more mindful, more observant the next time we crossed paths. He might not want my pity – indeed, it might make things worse, but maybe he just wanted someone to notice. To acknowledge him as an individual, not a mere extension of his brother or his family name. The rest of the train ride passed in a haze of half-eaten chocolate frogs and whispered jokes with Lily. The guilt over my exchange with Regulus lingered, but so too did a sliver of determination.  

As the train finally screeched to a halt at King's Cross, the bustling crowds and shouts of reunited families blurred together. I spotted my parents instantly, my Mum waving excitedly, and my Dad balancing an enormous pile of luggage. With a relieved sigh, I headed towards them, the chaos a welcome balm after the tension of the train. 

Yet, as I was enveloped in my Mum's warm hug, a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye drew my attention. For a moment, the Black brothers stood out amidst the sea of students – their profiles sharing that same aristocratic edge, yet their stances worlds apart. Sirius, laughing uproariously at something, his arm slung over the shoulder of an equally amused James Potter. Then there was Regulus, a step or two behind, his expression carefully blank. Something in his posture, in the way he held himself ever so slightly separate from the chaos, stirred familiar feelings of both guilt and quiet resolve within me. 

My own parents and friends were evidence that not all families were poisoned by darkness or consumed by bitterness. It was idealistic, and probably more than a bit naive, to think that I could bridge the distance between me and Regulus Black. We stood on opposite sides of a chasm too wide, too deep. 

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

The first week of summer break was a glorious blur. Sleeping in past sunrise, stacks of library books that had nothing to do with schoolwork, and a kitchen table piled high with treats were a welcome change from Hogwarts' rigid schedules. But as the days wore on, a familiar restlessness settled in. 

I missed my friends, especially the quieter, less dramatic ones. Marlene, bless her heart, could fill the silence of a cathedral with her chatter. Nearly every other day, a cheerful owl would drop off a letter filled with updates about her summer adventures, her relatives she was visiting, and the latest wizarding world gossip. It was like having a slightly less chaotic version of Lily with me. Even better, she didn't expect a lengthy reply, often content with just a short note of acknowledgment. 

Pandora, despite being younger, always managed to outdo Marlene in the bizarre anecdote department. Her letters were filled with mishaps with morphing potions, tales of her chaotic relatives, and vivid sketches of her latest hair color experiments. I'd never met anyone quite like her, and her unique brand of energy was infectious through the written word. 

James and Peter would occasionally send a joint letter, mainly filled with descriptions of their latest Quidditch moves and elaborate plans for the next year's round of pranks. While I appreciated their enthusiasm, sometimes the sheer amount of exclamation points made my head ache. 

Remus was, surprisingly, more thoughtful in his correspondence. Gone was the silence that had formed between us. His letters were filled with insightful comments on the books we’d talked about sending over the holidays, and quiet observations about the natural world around him. It was like having a whisper of the Hogwarts library’s calm carried by owl post.  

The lack of letters from Sirius, though, was a worry that gnawed at me. It wasn't unusual for him to go a few days without writing, but this was stretching into weeks. The memory of his haunted expression before the summer holidays lingered, a constant reminder of the darkness that swirled around his family. If Sirius, the boy who sent me even one sentence long posts throughout the week, seemed to be writing less frequently, how bad were things truly getting at Grimmauld Place?  

Then, like a gut punch, came James's owl. An uncharacteristically short letter, his normally messy scrawl tight and filled with barely restrained fury. The words seemed to sear themselves into my brain: Sirius was cast out of Grimmauld Place. Disowned. Thrown out by his monstrous parents after one vicious argument. He had run to the Potters, bruised, bloodied, and carrying the weight of a broken home. 

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the crumpled piece of parchment for what felt like hours. A wave of nausea swept over me, mixed with a potent surge of anger. I knew the Blacks were cruel, but this … this was beyond what I had imagined. How could they do that to their own son? 

Of course, I felt an immense relief that Sirius was safe, that the Potters had taken him in without hesitation. Mr. and Mrs. Potter had always been warm and welcoming, treating every one of James's friends like their own. 

Yet, the relief was threaded through with fear. Fear for Sirius, for the scars – both seen and unseen – that he would inevitably carry. Fear for the lingering hurt, the way this betrayal would twist within him, fueling either a reckless fire or a cold, dark sort of bitterness. Fear for the backlash this would cause him. 

Then, a horrible realization struck me like a Bludger to the chest. Sirius was gone, but Regulus remained. 

It hit with a chilling clarity; Regulus, quiet and proud, was now the heir to the Black family. That meant he was alone in that house of whispers and darkness. Trapped. 

The guilt of my fumbled words on the train, the reminder of his hollow expression, came flooding back in sickening waves. It was clear that Sirius was the one who fought back, who raged and rebelled – his pain and anger an open wound. But Regulus? He was the one with the carefully guarded mask, the one whose silence spoke of a different sort of hurt. It was all too easy to dismiss him as simply another Slytherin, a miniature version of his vile parents, but I'd seen the cracks in his facade, the flicker of hurt when I'd stumbled into his path. 

My concern for Sirius warred with a newfound empathy for Regulus. They were brothers, yet their pain was likely as different as night and day. Sirius had at least found refuge, a family who loved him in a way his own blood had failed to. What did Regulus have? Did anyone see the boy beneath the pureblood posturing, the forced arrogance that was so at odds with his quiet sadness? 

I had no answer. No comforting solution presented itself. The distance between us, our Houses, the way I embodied everything the Blacks hated – it made offering even the slimmest gesture of support seem impossible. This was bigger than our petty schoolyard rivalries. This was about a boy who might be drowning in a darkness that had nothing to do with the Sorting Hat. 

The next few days were filled with an odd sort of tension. Our house, usually filled with laughter and a cheerful sort of chaos, felt suddenly muted. My parents, sensing my unease, offered the sort of well-meaning advice only Muggles could give. Distract myself, focus on the sunshine, don't dwell on the what-ifs. All noble ideas, but utterly pointless against the worry lodged stubbornly in my chest. 

[2baddiesfanfics]

Reminders of Existence

Pairing: Beidou x Ningguang

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Epic Battles, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Injury Recovery, Banter, Injury, Dildos, Biting, Spanking

Summary:

When Beidou is seriously injured protecting the children of Liyue during an epic battle with a fearsome sea serpent, Ningguang is devastated. In a desperate plea for her to wake up, she says something she maybe shouldn't have. After Beidou wakes up, the two remind each other of what it truly means to be alive.

Read on Ao3

It was a busy day as usual in Liyue. The hustle and bustle of people roaming the streets buying from merchants and making their way to various restaurants was typical for the port city.

Ningguang sat in her chambers overlooking the city. She gazed out at the water as Captain Beidou’s ship bobbed among the waves. Thinking about the rendezvous, or rather, “business meeting,” they had planned for that night, visions of Beidou’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist while pressing her up against the wall flashed in her mind. The Tianquan shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts and returned to the stack of papers before her.

Beidou, on the other hand, stood on the deck of her ship looking up towards the beautiful floating structure in which Ningguang sat. She’d never tell her this, but she enjoyed being a guest at the Jade Chamber as much as she loved sailing the seas. Or was it more just being with her?

She thought of stolen kisses and breathless nights, the sweet sound of Ningguang moaning her name over and over. As Beidou stood lost in thought, she sensed the wind pick up and gave orders to close the sails so they didn’t drift away to Inazuma.

On the dock Beidou could see three children, Little Lulu, Little Meng, and Little Fei, playing out by Liyue Harbor. They always made their way onto one of the docked boats and pretended to be pirates, often recreating one of the many stories of the courageous Captain Beidou.

Usually, at least one adult would be out there watching them. However, on this day, the three snuck onto the boat without anyone noticing…even after they were told to stay away when the winds picked up for their safety.

A strong gust howled and whipped through Liyue. The boat the children were playing on suddenly freed itself from the dock and quickly made its way out to sea. Headed straight for the massive wall of waves that would easily swallow such a small ship, the children screamed for help, catching Beidou’s attention.

Without thinking, she jumped off the ship into one of the smaller boats, her crewmate Sea Drake right behind her. The two made their way to the children as quickly as they could. When they finally reached them, they pulled each onto the boat right before a wave swallowed the vessel whole.

“What were you kids thinking!? It’s much too dangerous for you to be out here today,” Captain Beidou reprimanded.

“We’re sorry! We only wanted to play,” the three of them said in unison, tears pouring from their eyes.

Captain Beidou sighed. “Alright, we’re gonna head back in and tow what’s left of this boat with us,” she said as she patted their heads.

They had started to make their way back to shore but were completely unaware of what lurked beneath the surface of the choppy waves. The commotion of the kids yelling for help had captured the attention of something sinister. As Beidou stood at the back of the boat, she noticed the normally crystal-clear water had turned dark.

A shadow bigger than the Alcor herself emerged from beneath. It rocked the boat back and forth before rising from the deep: A sea serpent with teeth sharp as a blade stared right back at them.

“Oh shit!” Beidou whispered under her breath.

The creature bashed its head into the boat, forcing everyone to hang on for dear life. The serpent let out an ear-splitting screech before repeating the action once again. This time, Captain Beidou was launched overboard with a splash. The monster followed after her. She swam as fast as she could back toward the boat when the serpent popped its head out of the water, crashing against her.

One of its bottom teeth slashed her head, causing blood to run down her face and completely obscure her vision in her left eye. She waded in the water as she tried to catch her bearings. The creature once again lunged at Beidou but missed and quickly darted behind her. The tell-tale scent of iron drove it mad. From behind, it latched onto Beidou’s shoulder and pulled her under. A patch of crimson bloomed in the deep blue. Attempting to scare the monster off, Beidou’s crew shot off warning flairs.

The Jade Chamber was jolted by the sudden, loud booms echoing off the walls. Ningguang jumped from her seat to the window to survey the source of the ruckus just in time to see Beidou dragged to the depths of the ocean. She threw her hand to her mouth and gasped.

The crew stilled their firing, waiting to determine the fate of their captain. A ripple formed at the water’s surface before the serpent emerged once more. Beidou hung from her claymore lodged in its side before crashing back into the sea.

It was now eerily calm. The waves slowed, the wind died down, and the water became still once more. The crew waited in silence as they stared at the blood-stained surface, their faces reflecting back at them like a gruesome mirror. In the distance, Beidou clung unmoving to the wooden remains of the smaller vessel that had been torn apart.

The crew quickly made its way to her, carefully dragged her aboard, and headed back to Liyue as fast as the ship would carry them. Having watched the entire battle play out, Ningguang rushed through the city streets to meet them at the harbor. Her heart felt like it was going to rip itself out of her chest as she made her way through the crowd of on-lookers.

The ship pulled into the harbor, and a few crew members carried Beidou out on a makeshift stretcher. Ningguang ran to her, looking at the damage in absolute horror. There was no doubt Beidou would never see out of her left eye again. Her shoulder was torn to shreds and her leg had undoubtedly seen better days.

“Lady Ningguang, the surgeon of the ship doesn’t have what we need to care for her,” one of the crew members stated hastily.

Turning to one of her assistants, she ordered, “Fetch Baizhu, now! Go! Hurry!” The young woman ran as fast as her legs would carry her toward Babu Pharmacy.

Beidou was brought to the Jade Chamber and placed in Ningguang’s private suite. When Baizhu arrived, he used his medicinal arts on her, and, with the help of the crew’s doctor, was miraculously able to patch her up. The two exited the room to inform everyone of the captain’s condition.

“She’s lost a lot of blood and there’s no saving her eye. The other injuries should heal by the end of the week with continued magic infusions. She’ll be sporting some major scars here and there, but I think we are past the worst of it. However, we can’t be sure how long it’ll be before she wakes,” Baizhu said, the ship’s surgeon nodding alongside him.

Ningguang turned to the crew. “I’ll ensure she gets the best care mora can buy. Let her rest here. You should all go and get some sleep as well. I’ll send notice if anything changes. The ship’s doctor, Yinxing, is, of course, welcome as often as needed. If any of you need anything at all, please let me know and my assistants will be at your beck and call.”

As the remaining members of the crew took their leave, Ningguang closed her chamber doors and made her way to Beidou’s side. It was just the two of them in the quiet room; there would be none of their usual banter or witty remarks…only deafening silence. She leaned down to kiss her forehead and placed the palm of her hand on the back of Beidou’s, lacing their fingers together. No longer under the scrutiny of her subjects, she allowed the tears she had been holding back all afternoon to flow like rivers.

Sobs wracked her body as she choked out, “Please…wake up…I’d give up everything…everything. Don’t you dare leave me. There’s no point in me being Tianquan if you’re not here by my side.”

———————————-

Ningguang canceled all her meetings for the week. Over the next two days, Beidou lay motionless on her bed except for the subtle rise and fall of her chest. From time to time, Ningguang would place her hand there to ensure she was still with her. Yinxing would come to the chamber every day to dress her wounds, administer medication, and monitor her condition.

Baizhu’s advanced healing techniques were nothing short of a miracle. One night toward the end of the week, Beidou opened her eye for the first time. Ningguang nearly launched herself out of her seat and grabbed her hand.

“Beidou! Can you hear me?”

“Hey, Ning. Yea, I can hear you. I lost an eye, not my ears,” she joked. While she was relieved Beidou still had her goofy sense of humor, she felt rage begin to bubble inside her. If she hadn’t been so grievously injured, Ningguang would have punched her in the face.

“What in the seven hells is wrong with you!? Are you an idiot? Do you have any fucking idea how worried I was when I saw you out there? You’re lucky to be alive, Beidou,” she screeched, tears breaking through her normally ice-cold facade.

Witnessing this reaction, Beidou fully snapped back to reality. She rolled her eye. This wasn’t the first time they had had this argument. It was, however, the first time she had come back this wounded.

“And what was I supposed to do, Ning? Let those kids die? I don’t have the fucking luxury of sitting up in an ivory tower watching the world pass me by. It may have escaped your notice, Lady Tianquan, but I have a duty to the people of Liyue, myself be damned,” she turned her head, refusing to meet Ningguang’s gaze.

Livid, Ningguang grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look into her eyes. “The ONLY duty you have is to come back to me alive.”

The events of the last few weeks had taken their toll on both of their sanities. Beidou honestly couldn’t believe how good she now felt despite how dire her injuries had been. She’d have to thank that doctor with the creepy snake the next time he stopped by.

The two women stared at each other in silence, chests heaving. Emotions swirled. The air thickened. Rage, spite, worry,…need. Running on pure adrenaline, Beidou seized Ningguang and hauled her onto the bed. Trapping her underneath her, their mouths violently crashed together. Ningguang grabbed her by the hair, forcing Beidou to plunge her tongue deeper into her mouth.

The need they had for each other was so intense neither of them was thinking straight. When Ningguang bit her lower lip, Beidou felt fire course through her veins. Clearly, the medicine Baizhu had been administering was restoring her strength by the minute. She grabbed the opening at the top of Ningguang’s dress and ripped it straight down.

Beidou felt her gasp beneath her. A sly grin spread across her face. “What, you don’t want to yell at me and call me names anymore? Tell me then - what do you want?”

“What I want is for you to shut up and fuck me,” Ningguang bit back.

“That I can do,” Beidou said as she wrapped her fist in Ningguang’s hair and tilted her head back. Trailing kisses down her neck, she moved back up to her ear and growled, “Well then, get on your hands and knees for me, bitch.”

Ningguang reached up and grabbed Beidou’s face firmly with one hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. What did you just call me?”

Beidou knew she was the only one Ningguang ever allowed to speak to her this way, which only excited the both of them all the more.

“I said,” Beidou grabbed the wrist of the hand Ningguang held her with and pushed her back down into the mattress by her neck with the other, “Get on your hands and knees for me, bitch. I’m not gonna tell you a third time.”

Ningguang did as she was told. Assuming the position, she felt Beidou’s hand strike her ass. That was going to leave a mark.

“Aghhh!”

“That’s better,” Beidou said as she soothed the now-reddened skin beneath her palm. She leaned forward and kissed down her back.

“I know you like to act like you’re in control at all times. It must have been real hard for you to keep it together with me down for the count like that. But as you can see, I’m fine. Let go, Ning. Let me make you lose control.”

Beidou had made her way to the back of her thighs. Ningguang could feel the heat of her breath on her pussy and it took everything in her not to reach back and pull her face in. But that would be proving Beidou’s point.

As if reading her mind, Beidou chuckled knowingly. “Wow, I’m impressed. You must have really been worried about me to actually let me boss you around like this,” she said. Her fingers now hovered right at her entrance.

“I was only worried because it would have been a shame to lose you after all the time I spent training you to fuck me exactly how I prefaghhhhhhh!” Ningguang screamed mid-sentence as Beidou plunged into her.

“Wrong answer, baby,” she chastised. Her practiced fingers worked their magic as Ningguang writhed with need. “You know, when I was out, I could hear you the entire time. Are you fucking crazy? I’d never forgive you if you gave everything up for me. It may have been said in desperation, but this city needs us. Both of us. You on land, me by sea,” she said, teasing her relentlessly.

Ningguang felt the familiar warmth start to build deep within her. “I love you…I only want you to be safe…I’d walk away from it all…” she muttered between thrusts. “Ughhh…yesssss…right there…don’t stop…”

Beidou slowed. “I need to hear you agree that you’ll never try to make a deal that stupid with the archons again.” Ningguang was so frustrated she could cry.

“You would have done the same. Don’t lie to me,” she started to say as she moved to try and regain momentum.

Beidou grabbed her by the hips with her free hand, stilling her. “You’re not getting off until I hear you say you’ll never utter something like that again. You’ve worked too hard to get here. I won’t have you throw away your life’s ambition for someone like me.”

Ningguang whined in response. Still not willing to give in, she retorted, “Bite me.”

“Have it your way.” Beidou sunk her teeth into the juncture of her thigh.

“AHHHHH!! F-f-fine! But only if you swear to me you’ll never do anything so dangerous ever again!” Beidou could tell she was holding back tears once more. Their little game was over.

“That’s fair. After all, I can’t savor the way you taste if I’m dead,” she agreed. Flipping Ningguang on her back, she dove in. Their banter was done. They needed each other more than they needed to determine who was in the right. The only word left on Ningguang’s lips was Beidou’s name as she found her release.

———

Beidou rested next to her as they both took a moment to catch their breath. Once their heart rates returned to normal, Ningguang was ready to show her how grateful she was that she was here in her bed and not on the ocean floor.

Careful not to agitate her remaining wounds, Ningguang climbed on top of Beidou, straddling her waist. Beidou looked into scarlet eyes that seemed to bore straight into her soul and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Hey, now! I’m fine. You don’t need to-“

Ningguang interrupted her with a slow kiss powered by need, sliding her tongue between her lips. Never fully entering her mouth, Beidou could feel her licking back and forth. Her breath caught in her throat and turned into a deep moan.

Ningguang only stopped when the need for air became too much to ignore. She took the moment to study Beidou’s damaged eye, gently moving the patch up to view the injury. The pupil that used to match the color of her own was now cloudy. Afraid to upset her, Beidou quickly shut her eye so as to not ruin the mood.

“Ning, don’t-“

“Oh, hush.” She leaned down to kiss her eyebrow, then under her eye, before gently making her way to the injured lid. She needed no words to convey that she adored her for who she was, not her outward appearance. Every time her lips met Beidou’s skin it was as if she was trying to confirm she was really still here with her - that this wasn’t a dream.

Placing the patch back in place, she then alternated licking and kissing down her neck to her now nearly-healed shoulder. Beidou’s breath hitched when Ningguang started to suck on the area. Satisfied with the mark she had left, she looked Beidou up and down. Beidou gulped as she felt her mouth go dry.

Ningguang got up and moved between Beidou’s already wet thighs and nipped at her hips. Beidou bucked in response to the action. Ningguang halted her movements and looked up through her lashes at Beidou with a smirk.

“Since you love to argue with me, I think it’s fitting I make you moan so loudly you won’t be able to talk tomorrow.”

With a chuckle, Beidou smiled back. “I’ll enjoy watching you try. Challenge accepted.”

At that, Ningguang licked Beidou’s wet folds while pinching her clit. Beidou inhaled harshly at the sudden and unexpected sensation. With her thumb, Ningguang circled the sensitive nub as her tongue entered her. With her free hand, she slid past Beidou’s toned stomach up to her breast where she pinched and pulled at her nipple.

Beidou let out a soft sigh but refused to give in completely. Her breathing was quickening with each dart of her lover’s tongue. Gripping the bed sheets to ground herself, she screwed her eye shut. To watch the deliciously filthy image of Ningguang going down on her would certainly be her downfall, and she wasn’t about to give up without a fight.

Unsatisfied with the response she was getting, Ningguang plunged two fingers into her while continuing to suck and swirl on the bundle of nerves. Her exaggerated slurps and moans only brought Beidou nearer to her undoing.

“Mmmm…Captain Beidou…you taste so good,” Ningguang groaned seductively. She knew it drove her crazy when Ningguang called her by her title. “Tianxian…look at me.”

Beidou couldn’t take it anymore. She opened her eye to see Ningguang staring straight back at her, pumping her fingers in and out with the evidence of Beidou’s arousal dripping off her face. Ningguang’s tongue darted out to lick up what remained. Beidou’s head shot back into the pillow. Turning her head, she bit the cushion to stifle the embarrassingly loud moan that had started to build in her throat.

Ningguang could feel Beidou’s legs shaking but knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Her practiced tongue spelled her name on her clit, the pressure fluctuating with each letter. Beidou, still biting the pillow, threw her hand into Ningguang’s white locks and pressed her deeper. Ningguang halted her movements.

“I’m not going to give you what you want until you’re a moaning mess. Let me hear the big, strong Captain Beidou who thinks she’s invincible moan like a little bitch,” she taunted. The two fingers that were inside her opened and shut, stretching her.

A growl erupted from Beidou. She was teetering on the edge, her lower abdomen contracting uncontrollably, the familiar build-up ever so close yet still so far away. Tears pricked at the side of her eye. She still refused to cave.

Ningguang sighed and pulled out of her. Grabbing her chin, she made Beidou face her. She whined at the sudden emptiness and abrupt movement of her head. Ningguang maintained eye contact as she sucked her fingers clean. Beidou’s jaw clenched in response.

With the flick of Ningguang’s wrist, she used her elemental abilities to create a thick, elongated piece of ore. Beidou looked at her questioningly. Without saying a word, Ningguang gestured with her finger and the gem slowly entered her. A simple snap of her fingers controlled the pace at which it pumped in and out. Ningguang then made her way back up to Beidou’s neck allowing the ore to take care of her lower half. As she bit her neck, she could feel a low hum buzz against her lips and knew Beidou was about to break. With another snap of her fingers, the ore began to vibrate.

“OH shit!” Beidou yelled in surprise at the new sensation and sudden intrusion.

Ningguang slyly smiled against her neck.

Beidou let out a loud moan that echoed off the chamber walls that sounded more like a scream.

“I see…you learned a new…AH…trick,” she breathlessly gasped. Ningguang hummed in response and kissed Beidou deeply, playing with both breasts.

“Archons…Ning…”

Another snap of her fingers and the smooth stone moved faster. Beidou started thrusting in time.

“Fuck! Ningguang!” Beidou screamed as she came. Shaking, she arched into her lover’s body as she held her close. Ningguang loved watching her come undone knowing she was the only one who could bring Beidou to her knees.

Their foreheads met and, once she caught her breath and the stars dancing above her head disappeared, Beidou leaned up to kiss Ningguang, pulling her down on top of her. She buried her face into the crook of Beidou’s neck and felt her arms wrap around her tightly.

“You know, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to make it back. When that serpent pulled me under the only thing I kept thinking was, ‘if this thing doesn’t kill me, Ning will,’” Beidou said, trying to lighten the mood.

“That is an astute and altogether accurate concern,” Ningguang replied as she lazily traced her fingers across her chest. “I’m much more fearsome than a sea serpent.”

Beidou barked out a laugh but then turned eerily quiet.

“Love? Is everything ok?”

“Uh…God, this is going to make me sound so stupid…”

Worried, Ningguang sat up.

“What’s the matter? Did I hurt you?” The tremor in her voice frightened Beidou.

“No! No. I’m fine. It’s just…”

“Just what? You can talk to me, Beidou.”

Beidou heaved a sigh. “I know I made light of the whole eye situation, but it’s good to know you still find me…attractive,” she said with a blush. “Thank you for not treating me any differently despite it.”

Ningguang laid back down, carefully caressing Beidou’s cheek. “I didn’t want to ruin the moment, but it killed me inside when you said you didn’t want me to give everything up ‘for someone like you.’ Why? Why would you say such a thing, darling?”

Tears silently fell as Ningguang’s voice choked with emotion. “I love you for who you are, not who you appear to be. As enraged as I was at the thought of you sacrificing yourself for others, I was also extremely proud. Your beauty lies in your selflessness, my love. I see it in everything you do. You have been and always will be my hero. Only…don’t be so rash next time, okay? I know I seem like I’m a calm, confident, and capable leader, but I have a heart too, you know. It belongs to you. I can’t do this without you, Beidou.”

The room that had once bore witness to the sounds of unbridled passion now beheld a truly rare spectacle. The two strongest women in Liyue had fully let down their guard. Having put responsibility and duty before their own human desires for far too long, they found solace in each other. Their touches were no longer driven by a lustful need to confirm the other’s existence, but instead, tender affection and gratitude for the grounding presence they brought to each other’s lives. Their formidable strength as individuals was not their own but bestowed upon them by their inability to live without the other.

[harocat]

Writing Patterns Game

List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern! (@sassybluee tagged me!!)

In the quiet of late morning, with the sun shining down on the meadows of Xishan, the green grass soft, now dry of morning dew, Xiao Lanhua wished that she could stop time  (Shades of Pink and Red [LBFAD, DFQCxXLH] )

It had started with an innocuous comment. (Cherry Lips [TTEOTM, TTJxLSS] )

Wei Wuxian is dead, and the pugilist world moves on; rebuilds, sweeps their actions under the rug, leaving the only echoes of them in their tales of the sinister Yiling Patriarch. (Unnamed Short Fic [MDZS, Wangxian] )

Hua Cheng could never begrudge Xie Lian’s kindness.  (Unnamed Short Fic [TGCF, Hualian] )

If you asked Sana what her favorite type of cat would be, she might say it was a soft, gentle gray one like Miss Purrs had been, but in reality, she wasn’t exactly picky. (Like A Kitten Kiss [Magia Record, Iroha/Sana] )

Beneath the surface of the mortal realm, lurking under the waters of Shuiyuntian and the soil of Cangyan Sea and even the lush green grasses of Xishan, before time itself, something was sleeping. (Desert Moon (Light the Way) [LBFAD, DFQCxXLH] )

The thing about Masayoshi was that while he was called stupid a lot, by almost everyone that he was close to in fact, in reality he was quite knowledgeable about a great few subjects. (Love in Between [Samurai Flamenco, Masagoto] )

When Li Susu gets pregnant, she’s not that surprised. (Like the Birds Do [TTEOTM, TTJxLSS] )

There was little luxury to be had on the battlefield, even when you were the Moon Supreme of Cangyan Sea, the most powerful man in the three realms.  (What's Past is Prologue [LBFAD, DFQCxXLH] )

Nishigori Yuuko was a giggly drunk. Almost everything made her giggle, and when there was nothing to giggle at she made herself giggle, which on this evening she’d done by telling embarrassing stories about one of her long time friends, Katsuki Yuuri. (Japan's Ace [YOI, Victuuri] )

First and foremost, I guess I tend to start fics with rather lengthy sentences. There's only a few exceptions to that. Almost all of them start directly from the perspective of the protagonist of the story (or one of them), often in a seemingly rather pedestrian moment with the character. I tend to either jump right into the story, or start off with a few paragraphs of narrative from the perspective of that character. I guess that's pretty typical though. Ahahah I don't think there's anything very unique about the way I do things?

Tagging @abarero and @midori-verte

[killianopage]

Not A Quiet Place: Camping Day

Weekends are the best for hiking and camping. Can you imagine how peaceful it is? The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of damp soil and the sweet fragrance of wildflowers and the distant rustle of unseen creatures.

The forest's symphony of chirping birds welcomed us, as if inviting us into a realm of enchantment. Captivated by the breathtaking natural beauty, we resolved to spend the night under the watchful gaze of the ancient trees.

The forest, a silent guardian of secrets, cloaked in an eerie aura. Its gnarled trees, reaching towards the heavens, seem to whisper tales of the unknown. Beneath its tranquil surface, a darkness stirs, a sinister force that lurks in the shadows. The forest, a place of both beauty and dread, invites the curious, but warns them of the dangers that lie within.

“Okay guys, now let’s build our tent for us to stay a night here.” Kian said to the girls.

Kian started to build his own tent and Jenna with the help from Anne built their tent.

“So tired…” she sighed, stretching her arms after finished setting up the tent. Just then, her stomach let out a loud growl. “Oopsie… did you hear that, guys?” she asked, a little embarrassed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A few moments later.

“Jenna, just a bit longer! The kitchen prep is almost done,” Kian and Anne reassured her, laughter in their voices. Jenna happily made her way to Anne and Kian, eager to join them in getting the ingredients ready for their meal.

They decided to cook their own favourite meals to eat together. Jenna started by making ramyeon, and while the noodles were boiling, she threw some meat on the grill. Seeing her friends focused on their cooking made her want to talk with them.

“I met someone while I was getting water earlier,” she mentioned casually. “Did you get his number? Is he cute?” Anne teased, clearly intrigued. Kian laughed and added, “Are you sure he was even human?”

“We’re not the only ones camping around here, you know!” Jenna explain while serving the grilled meat onto their plates. “Only caught a glimpse from afar… he seemed to be around our age?”

As she tried to recall more about the guy she met before, a chilly wind swept over them. The sky was getting darker, leaving the flickering campfire to light their faces. All of a sudden, Jenna heard the crunch of branches underfoot around their tent.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, but Kian and Anne just shook their heads. Shrugging it off, she kept eating and turned to Anne. “Oh right, you also talked to someone before? Do you know her?”

The sound of ramen being slurped by Anne echoed loud in the midst of their camping site. After sipping the soup, she looked at Jenna and said, “Oh, her? I can’t recall her name, but she said she was a local resident and her house was near our camping site. It would be awesome if we could visit her, she added.”

Kian and Jenna gasped at how quickly Anne mustered her extroverted social skills and got close to someone that fast.

“You really have something that makes people open up so quickly like that, girl.. but you have 0 survival instinct with strangers.” Kian responded after chewing his ramen while Jenna nodded agreeing to him.

“I suppose that’s a good thing though, right? We can get a help, if..” Both of them glared at her, with a “do not say what you want to say” expression on their face, warning her not to be careless in a terrain they barely knew.

“I said if! I wasn’t even wishing something would happen to us..!?” She exclaimed with pouty lips.

She heard it again, that eerie murmurs, not far from where she sat. Her heart started to beat faster than usual, before she moved her head to observe their surroundings. She knew something was off when Jenna said she heard a footstep. The urban legend about this forest being haunted by a virgin ghost, a woman who fell off from the cliff after having a heated argument with her fiance, also didn’t help her to shrug off that horrid feeling.

She wanted to tell them, but seeing Jenna’s laughter when Kian told her a joke made her feel bad. She didn’t want to ruin this long-planned trip they both have. Three of them had to clear off their weekend after countless attempts of doing so. It was hard even to do it so she decided to shrug it off.

“I have one more thing!” In her usual high pitch whenever she’s excited, she grabbed their attention only for them to see her digging her big cloth bag.

“Ta-daaa!” Two boxes full of home-made kimbab and sushi that she had prepared two days in advance made Kian and Jenna (almost) drooled.

Jovial expressions were plastered on both of their faces. “You should’ve told us sooner, GIRL?!” Both of them exclaimed in happiness while taking the boxes from her hand while Anne laughed so hard.

“I’m sorry if it didn’t suit the theme, like.. who would bring sushi and kimbab to a camping site?! But I wanted to make it special since we could barely even have time to bond like this, hehehe..” She felt like she had to do that, an explanation of her silly and sudden affectionate act, which indeed didn’t suit the meals you’d usually munch while camping.

“Nah, this is good. Thank you so much.” Kian starts to munch the kimbab. “Should we take a walk after this? I hear that this forest has the best river.” He waits for their response.

“Sure sure, I want to see that!” Anne exclaimed with joy and Jenna only nodded because her mouth was still full.

After finishing their last bite. They start walking to the nearest river. Bringing their important things and flashlight. Afraid when they are back it’s already dark.

Finally, they arrived. The river is so beautiful, we can see the sunset reflected on the water. They are busy taking some pictures when suddenly…

“Did you hear that?” Jenna shushes Kian and Anne. Both of them raised their eyebrows.

“Hear what? I only hear the splash of water.” Kian said but his instinct warned him to be aware of his surroundings.

“I hear something.. I hope it’s not a bear.” Jenna told them.

The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long, ominous shadows across the dense forest. A chill wind whistled through the trees, carrying with it an eerie silence. They decided it was time to return to their tent, a small beacon of safety in the encroaching darkness.

As they trekked through the winding path, their conversation, once light and carefree, grew hushed, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig. Suddenly, a faint whisper pierced the tranquillity.

“Psst,” it seemed to call out from the depths of the woods.

Kian, ever the sceptic, dismissed it as a trick of the wind. “Probably just a prankster,” he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. Jenna and Anne, however, felt a shiver run down their spines.

The darkness deepened, enveloping the forest in a shroud of blackness. The only light came from the beam of their flashlights, cutting through the gloom like a feeble sword. A sudden gust of wind howled through the trees, and a strange, guttural sound echoed in the distance.

“Jenna…” a voice, soft and otherworldly, whispered from the darkness. Jenna's heart pounded in her chest as she clung to Anne.

“Did you hear that?” Kian asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Someone called Jenna.”

Before they could react, a figure emerged from the shadows, its face obscured by a horrifying mask. A blood-curdling scream erupted from the three friends as the masked figure lunged towards them.

“You can't escape me!” the figure cackled, its voice distorted and menacing.

The friends stumbled backward, their fear palpable. They knew they had to escape, but the darkness and the relentless pursuit of the masked figure made it seem impossible.

They starting to scream for help and throwing anything they could find at the masked figure. Stones, twigs, dirt, and other debris hit the masked figure. However, the masked figure only got closer to them. With all his strength, Kian quickly got up and helped Anne and Jenna escape as fast as they could. They ran towards their tent.

Without looking back, they kept their eyes straight ahead, their feet bringing them away from the masked figure. When they reached the tent, they saw a familiar person sitting and roasting marshmallows. They stopped in their tracks, catching their breath.

"AYA!?" Anne shouted, panting. "You guys scared me!" Aya said, confused by their terrified expressions. "It should be... us... saying that..." Jenna muttered, still trying to catch her breath.

"Aya! How did you get here!?" Kian urged, wanting her to explain.

"Oh, we were visiting a friend who lives nearby." Aya showed them a photo from her visit to her friend's house.

"Wait, I think I know this girl, so she’s your friend!?" Anne gasped, recognizing the girl she had met before.

"Let's talk about it later." Jenna signaled for them to leave as quickly as possible.

"Oh we… you said WE... could it be...?" Just as Kian was about to finish his sentence, the sound of footsteps made the three of them turn.

The masked figure was seen walking toward them. In a panic, they quickly grabbed nearby equipment. Jenna with an axe, Anne with a bow & arrow, and Kian with a sword.

"Whoa guys, where did you get all those weapons?" Aya exclaimed, wanting to touch it.

"Get back, Aya! The masked figure was chasing us," Jenna warned her. Aya quickly took cover behind them.

"By the way, guys, did you smell that? Something’s burning..." Anne sniffed the air. They followed the scent of smoke, and their eyes landed on the campfire, which was growing larger and higher.

"NO WAY! All my marshmallows are burnt!" Aya panicked.

"Quick, put it out with water!" Kian shouted to them.

The four of them were in disarray, frantically searching for water to put out the campfire. Fortunately, they managed to extinguish the flames quickly. The panic began to subside, and the sounds of chirping birds and a chilly wind filled the air. Their expressions became more relaxed and calm. Turning on the flashlights, looking at each other, with Jenna stifling laughter as she pointed at Aya, Anne, and Kian. Their dirty faces, covered in campfire ash. They burst into laughter, amused by each other's sooty faces.

"Oh God, I should take a picture of your faces." The masked figure laughed, patting Kian on the shoulder.

Suddenly, their laughter slowly stopped. The atmosphere turned tense and silent. The masked figure had been helping them out and standing next with them all along. But they only just realized the presence of the masked figure.

Feeling awkward, the masked figure started to clear his throat, breaking the silence, "Have you guys finished the task yet?".

Speechless, there was no response from Kian, Anne, and Jenna. The friends remains silent.

"See, I told you they wouldn't be scared," Aya scolded the masked figure.

"Since I won the bet, you get to drive us home." Aya humming cheerfully, looking pleased.

The masked figure caught the car keys thrown by Aya. "Hmph, okay, fine! But seriously, you guys aren't scared of me!?"

The masked figure grumbled as he removed his mask. The friends eyes widened in disbelief at what they saw.

"It's me, Kai! HellAUuRRR!" Kai greeted them, waving his hands in front of their faces.

Jenna's hand began to move to pick up the weapon that had fallen earlier. "We went through all that just to hear the TASK word from you!?”.

Her expression turned fierce as she said, "You know, I almost fainted when you were chasing," She threatened, gripping the axe. Anne and Kian joined in.

Kai gulping, his eyes blink oddly, "I- I greeted Jenna from afar… b- but she didn’t h- hear me…" He shuddered, trying to reassure them.

"So what?" The friends leaned closer to the scared Kai, who slowly stepped back. "Well Aya said she saw you all camping here… so I wanted to play with you guys… since it’s Halloween too."

Kai forced a smile, his face growing paler. "Aya, help me out!" he shouted, looking for support.

Aya simply huffed and nodded slowly, giving approval to Anne, Kian, and Jenna. As a result, the sounds of knocks and shouts echoed through their campsite.

[nicolettesdreamworld]

Guilty as sin - Chapter 11

As if the tension wasn’t already high enough, Nicolette and Elena hadn’t spoken in days. Since their visit to Rebekah, things had spiraled into an explosive fight that left Nicolette seething. It wasn’t that she had suddenly warmed up to Rebekah; far from it. But the mere thought of waking Mikael, Rebekah's monstrous father, felt like a betrayal. Not just to Rebekah, who had already suffered so much, but to herself as well. Mikael was a monster, a brutal killer, and the world was undoubtedly better off with him bound in a coffin somewhere.

Nicolette had no idea that behind her back, Elena and the others were secretly persuading Rebekah to help them with a plan to lure Klaus into town so Mikael could do the dirty work of killing him. She remained blissfully unaware of their scheming, but the thought of it would have infuriated her. Instead, she focused on spending her days with Tyler, who was doing his best to keep his loyalty to Klaus under wraps. He had enough sense not to bring up the hybrid lord around her, but Nicolette wasn’t naive. She knew he was still tangled in Klaus’s web, and that realization twisted her stomach in knots.

Though her heart ached for Tyler, who was trying so hard to navigate his new reality, she couldn’t share any of what had transpired with Rebekah. The warmth she once felt for him was overshadowed by the darker emotions simmering beneath the surface. As bad as she felt for Klaus, who had been turned into a monster through his own tragic history, she still despised him. He had caused too much pain and loss, and even though she didn’t want to admit it, the idea of waking Mikael for any reason left a bitter taste in her mouth. She would never stoop so low.

Nicolette took a deep breath, resolving to confront Elena when the time was right. There had to be a line drawn, and she would make sure to stand firmly on the side of humanity, even if it meant standing alone.

Homecoming was just around the corner, but Nicolette couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled in her stomach. The tension between her and Elena had grown unbearable since their fight, and the silence that followed felt heavy and suffocating. She hadn’t spoken to anyone but Tyler, avoiding Bonnie and Damon like the plague. The thought of attending the homecoming dance felt redundant, almost meaningless in the face of everything happening around them.

Despite her reluctance, Tyler was persistent. He kept begging her to go, reminding her that it was their senior year, a time to celebrate the memories they had created together. Nicolette understood the importance of that sentiment, but the feeling that something sinister was lurking just beneath the surface made it hard for her to enjoy the idea of a dance.

Eventually, Tyler's enthusiasm wore her down, and she reluctantly agreed to attend. It wasn't that she wanted to ruin his excitement; she just hoped that maybe, just maybe, the evening would serve as a brief escape from the chaos swirling around them. As the day approached, she found herself caught between the desire to participate in a normal high school experience and the gnawing anxiety that warned her something was about to go horribly wrong.

As Nicolette got ready, a wave of sadness washed over her. She couldn’t shake the memories of how she, Elena, and Bonnie had planned to spend this moment together, transforming their last homecoming into a cherished memory. Now, here she was, sitting alone in her room, curling her hair and feeling more isolated than ever. For a fleeting moment, she considered reaching out to Rebekah, hoping for some camaraderie while getting ready. But Rebekah had been distant lately, and the thought of sharing this experience with her felt tainted by guilt.

When a text from Tyler buzzed on her phone, stating that the gym had flooded and the homecoming was being moved to his house, her heart sank even further. “Meet me there,” it read, but the casual tone only deepened her frustration. How could he be so nonchalant about her driving herself to a gathering that was supposed to be a shared experience?

The emotional weight settled heavily on her chest. The gym flooding felt suspicious—like another strange twist in the chaotic series of events that had become their lives. But despite her reservations, she found herself sitting in her car, gripping the steering wheel tightly, as she steered toward the Lockwood residence. Maybe she could salvage something from the night, even if her heart wasn't fully in it.

As Nicolette stepped into the backyard of Tyler's house, a chill crept down her spine. She was right—something was seriously off. The lavish setup felt extravagant, almost too extravagant for a last-minute change of venue. Fairy lights twinkled in the trees, casting an ethereal glow over the scene. A massive stage showcased a rock band belting out music, while hundreds of people milled about, most of whom she didn’t recognize. This wasn't just a homecoming party; it felt like a carefully orchestrated event with an agenda.

An uneasy feeling tightened in her stomach as she pushed through the crowd, scanning for Tyler. Just when she thought she might be able to shake off the anxiety, a familiar voice sliced through the air, resonating from the stage. The British accent was unmistakable, chilling her to the bone. It was Klaus.

Her heart raced as she focused on the stage, realizing she had stumbled into something far more dangerous than a simple school event. Whatever Klaus was planning, she had a sinking feeling that they were all caught in the crossfire.

“I want to thank you all for being here with me to celebrate. It’s been a long time coming,” Klaus declared, his voice echoing across the yard as the crowd erupted in cheers. Nicolette's heart dropped, the festive atmosphere suddenly feeling suffocating.

As he stood there, a sinister grin spreading across his face, she couldn't shake the feeling that this gathering was anything but a celebration. The excitement in the crowd contrasted sharply with the dread pooling in her stomach. Why was Klaus here? What was he planning?

With each word he spoke, Nicolette felt the walls closing in around her. She had to find Tyler and get out—whatever Klaus had in store, she wanted no part of it. But as the crowd continued to cheer, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the surface, she knew she had to act fast.

Nicolette started pushing through the throng of bodies, scanning the crowd for Tyler, but he was nowhere to be found. Panic began to settle in, tightening its grip around her chest. Just as she turned to retrace her steps, she bumped into someone.

Of course, just her luck—it was Klaus.

“Ah, Nicolette,” he said, his voice smooth and taunting, like honey laced with poison. He flashed her that charming yet predatory smile that always sent shivers down her spine. “I was hoping you’d show up. It wouldn’t be a party without you.”

Her heart raced as she struggled to maintain her composure. “What are you doing here, Klaus?” she demanded, her voice steadier than she felt.

“Oh, just bringing a little life to the festivities,” he replied, his gaze glinting with mischief. “But I see you look a bit out of sorts. Is something troubling you?”

Nicolette swallowed hard, the urge to shove past him rising within her, but she knew he wouldn’t let her go that easily. “Where’s Tyler?” she pressed, her voice laced with urgency.

Klaus merely chuckled, leaning closer, his presence overwhelming. “Why don’t you enjoy the show first? I promise, it will be unforgettable.”

Before she could respond, he stepped aside, gesturing grandly toward the stage, where the band continued to play, and the crowd cheered louder. Nicolette’s instincts screamed at her to escape, but Klaus was blocking her way out, his intentions as opaque as the night sky above them.

Suddenly, as if conjured from thin air, a woman approached Klaus, urgency etched on her face. “Klaus, Mikael is here,” she said, glancing around nervously.

Nicolette barely registered the conversation. Her head started spinning, the world around her blurring as she struggled to process the reality of Mikael’s presence. “Mikael is here?” she mumbled to herself, dread pooling in her stomach.

“Of course he is, love. You and your friends invited him, after all,” Klaus replied with that infuriating smirk of his, as if he found her confusion amusing.

She didn’t respond, too consumed by the rising panic. Klaus’s smirk faltered, replaced by a look of mild concern. “You didn’t know, did you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

With a surge of defiance, Nicolette met his gaze. “I despise you to my core. I think you’re a monster,” she spat, her voice steady despite the chaos brewing within her. “But I also think your father is a thousand times worse. I may want you dead, but I would never, ever, wake up Mikael to do so. Even if he wasn’t an abusive, cruel bastard, he tried to kill me. I’d be a fool to wake him up.”

Klaus’s expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. For a moment, she thought she might have pierced through his facade, but the glint of amusement quickly returned to his eyes. “How sweet of you, Nicolette,” he said, the mockery dripping from his words. “But sweet sentiments won’t protect you tonight.”

She stumbled slightly, her vision blurring as she clung to Klaus for support, feeling faint. Seeing her reaction something in him snapped. He didn't hesitate. With a swift movement, he vampire-speed transported her to her car, his expression now serious and unyielding. “Get in,” he ordered, his voice firm.

“What are you doing?” she shot back, frustration rising in her chest. “Stop telling me what to do”

“Get in the car, Nicolette,” Klaus said, his voice lowering to a tense whisper as he leaned closer. “For once, do as you’re told.”

The urgency in his tone pierced through her irritation, leaving her momentarily speechless. She hesitated, torn between her instinct to resist and the undeniable threat looming over them both. The thought of Mikael lurking nearby sent a chill down her spine, and as she glanced around the chaotic scene of the party, she realized she had little choice. With a reluctant sigh, she opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat, her heart pounding as she braced herself for whatever was to come.

“Drive to Elena’s place. Lock the door and don’t let anyone in,” Klaus ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Me and Elena aren’t exactly on speaking terms. Hasn’t Rebekah told you? Where is she, anyway?” Nicolette shot back, her confusion mingling with irritation.

Klaus smirked, his expression a mix of amusement and seriousness. “Rebekah and I aren’t on speaking terms either. If you don’t want to drive to Elena’s, pick another one of your human friends' houses. I don’t care where, just somewhere that vampires have to be invited in. Lock the doors, close the windows, and don’t go outside. Understand?” His urgency was palpable, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Klaus, what are you doing? What is this?” she pressed, her heart racing with a mix of fear and frustration.

“Saving your stupid life in case this thing goes sideways. Now go,” he commanded, his voice brokering no further discussion.

Nicolette swallowed her protest and, with a resigned nod, turned the ignition. As the engine roared to life, she drove away, the weight of Klaus's words heavy on her mind.

Nicolette let herself into Bonnie's empty house, her heart racing as she locked the door behind her. She moved swiftly through the dimly lit rooms, checking each window repeatedly to ensure they were securely closed. Anxiety churned in her stomach, a heavy weight that made it hard to breathe. Finally, she sank onto the couch, the familiar surroundings offering little solace.

As tears began to spill down her cheeks, questions flooded her mind, each one more painful than the last. Why would Klaus save her? His motives had always been shrouded in manipulation, so why this sudden act of protection? The thought of her friends plotting to awaken Mikael, a monster who had tormented them all, twisted her heart. Why hadn’t Elena or Alaric told her?

She felt abandoned, lost in a web of secrets and deceit. Where was Rebekah? Could she be involved in this madness? The uncertainty gnawed at her. And then, the most pressing question of all: Was Tyler okay? The idea that he could be in danger, possibly under Klaus's influence, was nearly unbearable.

Nicolette hugged her knees to her chest, feeling utterly alone. She had always thought of herself as strong, but in this moment, she felt anything but. The tears flowed freely as she grappled with her swirling emotions, hoping for some sign that everything would be okay.

Nicolette was nearly asleep when a sudden knock on the door jolted her awake. Heart racing, she peered through the peephole and felt a rush of relief at the sight of Tyler. Without thinking, she flung the door open and jumped into his arms, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You're okay!" she cried, the weight of her worries lifting for the moment.

Tyler kissed her passionately, but the tension in his body was palpable. He gestured for her to step back inside, but she hesitated. "I would invite you in, but I can’t. Plus, inviting vampires into other people's homes is kind of shitty," she explained, her voice shaking slightly.

“It’s okay, Nicolette. I just wanted to check on you,” he replied, his voice gentle but laced with unease. “And Klaus asked me to deliver a message to you.” He shifted nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the task he had been given.

At the mention of Klaus, a frown crossed Nicolette's face. “What did he say?”

Tyler took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “He said to tell you that Mikael is dead. Like dead dead. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Nicolette let out a sigh of relief, the burden of fear she had carried lifting slightly.

“But he also said,” Tyler continued, frustration evident in his voice. He was wrestling with himself, torn between loyalty to Klaus and his feelings for Nicolette. “He said to tell you that you looked beautiful tonight.”

Anger surged within her, boiling over. “I actually despise him. So, so much,” she groaned, clenching her fists. The power play was infuriating, a cruel taunt designed to unsettle them both. She didn’t want to be a pawn in Klaus’s game, and the fact that he wielded so much influence over Tyler only deepened her frustration.

“Look, he went out of his way tonight to make sure you would be safe,” Tyler said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know why. Each reason I come up with is worse than the last, but… I don’t care why he did what he did. As long as he continues keeping you safe, I don’t mind being his little bitch.”

Nicolette met his gaze, her heart heavy. “Klaus never does anything just out of the goodness of his heart, Ty,” she breathed out, trying to quell the fear rising in her chest. “This is probably only so that you feel even more indebted to him.”

Tyler nodded slightly, his expression a mixture of guilt and resignation. “I know,” he admitted, his voice low. “But he’s still my responsibility now. I just wish it didn’t come at such a cost.”

“I don’t need his protection, Ty. I can take care of myself,” Nicolette insisted, crossing her arms defiantly. “Plus, I have you. My very own hybrid,” she added with a teasing smirk.

Tyler couldn’t help but smile at her confidence. “I will always protect you,” he replied, his expression turning serious again. “But that doesn’t change the fact that nobody can protect you as well as the Original Hybrid.”

Nicolette rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the flutter in her chest at his words. “I get that. But I refuse to be a pawn in Klaus’s game. I won’t be someone he can just manipulate whenever he wants.”

Tyler nodded, understanding the weight of her determination. “I admire that about you, Nicolette. But just promise me you’ll be careful. Whatever Klaus’s plans are, they’re bound to be dangerous.”

“I promise,” she said, her voice steady. “But I’m not backing down. Not now, not ever.”

“Wait for me! I’ll grab my stuff, and we can crash at my place,” she said with a bright smile.

Tyler frowned. “Klaus told you to stay inside and not come out.”

Nicolette chuckled, brushing off his concern. “Since when do I listen to Klaus? Besides, Mikael is dead. I’m safe.”

He nodded softly, albeit with a hint of hesitation, as she dashed inside to collect her things. For a moment, the weight of her troubles faded away, replaced by the thrill of being with Tyler. She was just happy he was alive, and the thought of the night they were about to share filled her with warmth and anticipation.

As she gathered her essentials, she couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

Next chapter

[atopvisenyashill]

@transdimensional-void

don’t apologize, i love hearing people’s thoughts! especially on this one, i was kinda nervous about posting it bc while it’s generally accepted that jae is terrible to saera (altho i’ve seen people excuse his treatment of saera smh), i also have alarm bells ringing about his potential relationship with viserra, daella, and gael, and i was worried accusing jae of csa was gonna be considered super spicy as a take lmao.

the "there has to be something lurking beneath the surface" is basically where i come down as well. i’m not sure if he necessarily meant to imply csa in the strict definition of the term (ie, jaehaerys actually does rape or otherwise sexually assault his daughters) instead of “just” the creepy control of & obsession with their sexualities, but i do feel grrm meant to comment on the fact that even “good” kings are hiding this really evil side of themselves and can get away with it because they have unlimited power at their control (and also dragons). the drinking in particular + aly & alyssa’s use of language that targ women are “for” a man, and this language almost immediately being used to harm them (with jae’s rape of aly & alyssa’s death in childbirth) was really what made me start to suspect grrm might want to call our attention to a deeper layer of abuse going on.

the fact that both twoiaf and f&b start with in character “notes from the author” about the political landscape they’re writing the book in makes me think he wants you to take note of gyldayn’s biases and the biases of his sources as well. that’s the main reason i think a lot of people (specifically fans of aly & jae) came away from f&b confused. they felt like jaehaerys isn’t written as the good king he’s supposed to be and “is this what grrm feels a good king is when jae is so relentlessly misogynistic?” but a) gyldayn is wildly sexist as well, i think he posits a lot of stuff as being positive that our main characters wouldn’t [like cersei, the based baelor the blessed hater] and b) i do not think jae is meant to be a “good” king lol and he never was! like we can definitely argue over whether grrm got lazy wrt some aspects of ruling in jae’s reign (jae is often just super lucky in battle ya know) but when it comes to jae needing to be talked into all of his famous “good” decisions by aly & barth or his general treatment of his family, i think it’s very much on purpose that he is a menacing figure in their lives.

ALSO...tbh yeah that makes a lot of sense re: them marrying back into the family. If Viserra had lived and had children with Theomore, any daughters could have married Daemon without much pushback because Theomore has six goddamn children to find matches for, he doesn't need his seventh for any political alliances the way a firstborn daughter would be treated. And of course, if he really wanted, any sons could always marry back into the family but that seems to happen way less than girls marrying into the family (altho tbf we don't have a lot of second and third sons that live long enough to marry lol). It definitely means that his daughters and granddaughters are still basically under his control (they're "for" him) even though they've left home; he still gets to have control over their sexuality and marriages like he does his daughters.

on a more sinister level, there's something about him not just finding husbands that are old and ugly with heirs already but also a kind of weird fixation of like, making sure his daughters don't like their husbands, almost. like, it stood out to me that alysanne considers theomore a good match because he was a hot shot when she was a child, never mind that she's a grown ass woman right now!! to me, it almost reads like jaehaerys saying "oh if you think i'm an old creep i'll show you an old creep" as a way of trying to reclaim his youth, when he was still a promising boy king and not an aging old man who butchered peasants emotionally tortured his daughters. it also means he still has access to young girls even after alysanne reaches menopause :(

patterns of abuse with jaehaerys

this post made me deeply depressed and i reread f&b which was my first mistake.

tldr i’m making the argument that jaehaerys definitely sexually abused saera and alysanne, and likely viserra and gael, and also i hate this man. if you disagree and want to say so *nicely* that’s cool but if you hardcore love jae and don’t want to hear criticism, maybe just scroll past bc i’m not nice to him at all (obviously, i’m accusing him of csa lol).

breaking this down by each woman, so there’s 6 sections: saera, viserra, daella, gael, alysanne, and alicent.

saera targaryen

If she were the king’s firstborn, or better still his only child, she would be well content. Instead she finds herself the ninthborn, with six living siblings who are older than her and even more adored. Aemon is to be king, Baelon most like will be his Hand, Alyssa may be all her mother is and more, Vaegon is more learned than she is, Maegelle is holier, and Daella…when does a day go by when Daella is not in need of comfort? And whilst she is being soothed, Saera is being ignored. Such a fierce little thing she is, they say, she has no need of comfort. They are wrong in that, I fear. All men need comfort.

that’s septon barth’s opinion on her and barth is always right. simply put, she’s a deeply neglected child who acts like a brat to get her parents attention because she’s learned the only way they’ll pay attention to her is if she’s causing a problem.

Before she was eleven, she was stealing wine and ale instead. By twelve, she was like as not to arrive drunk when summoned to the sept for prayer.

The king’s half-witted fool, Tom Turnip, was the victim of many of her japes, and her unwitting catspaw for others. Once, before a great feast where many lords and ladies were to be in attendance, she persuaded Tom that it would be much funnier if he performed naked. It was not well received.

stealing alcohol at 10 and being a committed alcoholic at 12 is not normal behavior. it is a sign of something deeply at wrong at home. also, the way she kind of, sexually humiliated tom, someone who is too “innocent” to even realize she’s sexually humiliating him…gives me the ick re: how she views sex.

Saera had learned the art of getting anything she wanted from her father: a kitten, a hound, a pony, a hawk, a horse (Jaehaerys did draw a firm line at the elephant). Queen Alysanne was far less gullible, however, and Septon Barth tells us that Saera’s sisters all misliked her to various degrees.

i don’t like this. nothing wrong with giving your child gifts (see ned going above and beyond to get arya not just instruction on how to fight but also a specific style that would gel with being smaller than your average opponent) but in conjunction with “jaehaerys ignores saera unless she’s pressing him for an expensive gift which he immediately gives her and alysanne doesn’t get why he caved so quickly” its an alarming dynamic.

also speaks to how isolated saera specifically was, that the only siblings that like her (aemon and baelon) are usually out and about, and there’s a clear wedge between saera and her sisters, even viserra.

The screams were coming from Tom Turnip, who was lurching helplessly in circles trying to escape from half a dozen naked whores, whilst the patrons of the house laughed uproariously and shouted on the harlots. Jonah Mooton, Red Roy Connington, and Stinger Beesbury were amongst those patrons, each one drunker than the last. They had thought it would be funny to see old Turnip do the deed, Red Roy admitted. Then Jonah Mooton laughed and said the jape had all been Saera’s notion, and what a funny girl she was.

again with sexually humiliating tom.

it continues with her friends. it’s not unusual for a 15 year old girl to want to fool around with other 15 year olds but alys and perri are all guilt ridden and upset and alys is with child. it reminds me a lot of cersei sexually abusing taena in affc. when she’s caught (now, mind you, she’s been marched in front of her parents sitting on the throne and not brought to them in their private rooms. she’s being treated right off the bat as if she’s guilty of a crime and not guilty of being a shitty teenager):

“She went from denial to dismissal to quibbling to contrition to accusation to justification to defiance in the space of an hour, with stops at giggling and weeping along the way,” Septon Barth would write. “She never did it, they were lying, it never happened, how could they believe that, it was just a game, it was just a jape, who said that, that was not how it happened, everyone likes kissing, she was sorry, Peri started it, it was such fun, no one was hurt, no one ever told her kissing was bad, Sweetberry had dared her, she was so ashamed, Baelon used to kiss Alyssa all the time, once she started she did not know how to stop, she was afraid of Stinger, the Mother Above had forgiven her, all the girls were doing it, the first time she was drunk, she had never wanted to, it was what men wanted, Maegelle said the gods forgave all sins, Jonah said he loved her, the gods had made her pretty, it was not her fault, she would be good from now on, it will be as if it never happened, she would marry Red Roy Connington, they had to forgive her, she would never kiss a man again or do any of those other things, it wasn’t her who was with child, she was their daughter, she was their little girl, she was a princess, if she were queen she would do as she liked, why wouldn’t they believe her, they never loved her, she hated them, they could whip her if they wanted but she would never be their slave. She took my breath away, this girl. There was never a mummer in all the land who gave such a performance, but by the end she was exhausted and afraid, and her mask slipped.”

What does Jaehaerys ask after all of this? “Have you given any of these boys your maidenhead?” Her response:

“True?” said Saera. It was in that moment, with that word, that the contempt came out. “No. I gave it to all three. They all think they were the first. Boys are such silly fools.”

Now mind you, Alyssa and Daella have both died of childbirth recently and her parents are mad she had sex as a 16 year old bordering on 17 year old, and not the fact that she like, at best peer pressured her besties into having sex and now one of them is pregnant. jaehaerys has only asked if she’s still a virgin.

“I will be married,” the princess said. “Why shouldn’t I be? You were married at my age. I shall be wedded and bedded, but to whom? Jonah and Roy both love me, I could take one of them, but they are both such boys. Stinger does not love me, but he makes me laugh and sometimes makes me scream. I could marry all three of them, why not? Why should I have just one husband? The Conqueror had two wives, and Maegor had six or eight.”

i keep trying not to give my opinion and just lay it all out but the thing is i’d just be reposting the whole scene because it’s just filled with so much weird sex stuff. if you don’t remember it, go reread it. it doesn’t feel (to me) like regular “george is bad at writing sex” vibes but “george is purposefully trying to skeeve you out” vibes but i am willing to admit i could be wrong and he really just doesn’t understand what he wrote.

anyways remember how i said saera acts out to get attention from her parents? all she’s done here is act out, her “crimes” are basically nonexistent; beyond how alys feels about being pregnant, saera consensually had sex with boys around her age who aren’t married, and then blithely compared herself to some asshole relatives. if your teenager idolizes dick cheney that’s probably worrying but not a crime! this is not how jae treats it however.

When the princess heard his words, she rushed toward him, crying, “Father, Father!” but Jaehaerys turned his back on her, and Gyles Morrigen caught her by the arm and wrenched her away. She would not go of her own accord, so the guards were forced to drag her from the hall, wailing and sobbing and calling for her father.

The king was angry and unyielding, for his shame was deeply felt, and he could not forget Saera’s taunting words about his uncle’s wives. “She is no longer my daughter,” he said more than once. Queen Alysanne could not find it in her heart to be so harsh, however. “

saera tries to escape.

This time the princess was not allowed to return to her own chambers. She was confined to a tower cell instead, with Jonquil Darke guarding her day and night, even in the privy.

Princess Saera watched from the window of her cell. Jonquil Darke, her gaoler, made certain that she did not turn away.

that’s as her dad is murdering stinger btw. is he a creepy 19 year old? yeah. but like, making your 15 year old watch you murder her 19 year old trust fund baby stoner boyfriend sure is something.

so then they sent her to the silent sisters where she’s beaten all the time and has to pray all the time and she runs away, becomes a sex worker and literally never looks back.

The truth did not come out until a year later, when the former princess was seen in a Lysene pleasure garden, still clad as a novice. Queen Alysanne wept to hear it. “They have made our daughter into a whore,” she said. “She always was,” the king replied.

“You need her as a Dornishman needs a pit viper,” Jaehaerys said. “I am sorry. King’s Landing has sufficient whores. I do not wish to hear her name again.”

but before we move on, let’s look at one more related ick, when saera’s sons show up to the great council:

From Essos came three rival competitors, grandsons of King Jaehaerys through his daughter Saera, each sired by a different father. One was said to be the very image of his grandsire in his youth.

after her drinking, acting out, and jaehaerys’ focus on calling her a whore, explicitly pointing out that one of her grandsons looks just like jae is a choice. i know they’re super inbred. it’s still uncomfortable in context.

viserra targaryen

alysanne makes no sense here but i’m just gonna quickly explain instead of lay it out or we will be here all day bc viserra’s engagement is completely nonsensical. theomore manderly is old, ugly, has a shitton of heirs, and viserra clearly doesn’t want to marry him. also if she wanted to be queen, why is she going after baelon, aemon is still alive. anyways jaehaerys is no help here, then she goes to baelon for help, but she’s also super drunk.

Frustrated, Viserra next turned to her brother Baelon in hopes of rescue, if court gossip can be believed. Slipping past his guards into his bedchamber one night, she disrobed and waited for him, making free with the prince’s wine whilst she lingered. When Prince Baelon finally appeared, he found her drunk and naked in his bed and sent her on her way. The princess was so unsteady that she required the help of two maids and a knight of the Kingsguard to get her safely back to her own apartments.

she gets drunk with some friends again, goes riding, breaks her neck. i wanted to point out this pattern of drinking and acting out at a young age. as well as this pattern of targaryen daughters who aren’t “meant” for a brother and are promised to men who are old and with heirs

daella targaryen

i wanted to add daella because her getting married at 15 makes as little sense as viserra, and her match to a old man with several heirs is equally nonsensical. but also this:

“I would never marry her,” the boy said, in front of half the court. “She can barely read. She should find some lord in need of stupid children, for that’s the only sort he will ever have of her.”

where did vaegon get that mouth.

Daella was not clever, even her septa had to admit. She learned to read after a fashion, but haltingly, and without full comprehension. She could not seem to commit even the simplest prayers to memory. She had a sweet voice, but was afraid to sing; she always got the words wrong. She loved flowers, but was frightened of gardens; a bee had almost stung her once.

Jaehaerys, even more than Alysanne, despaired of her. “She will not even speak to a boy. How is she to marry? We could entrust her to the Faith, but she does not know her prayers, and her septa says that she cries when asked to read aloud from The Seven-Pointed Star.”

The queen always rose to her defense. “Daella is sweet and kind and gentle. She has such a tender heart. Give me time, and I will find a lord to cherish her. Not every Targaryen needs to wield a sword and ride a dragon.”

so daella is 12 at this point.

Her sixteenth nameday was fast approaching, and with it her womanhood. Queen Alysanne was at her wit’s end, and the king had lost his patience. On the first day of the 80th year since Aegon’s Conquest, he told the queen he wanted Daella wed before the year’s end. “If she wants I can find a hundred men and line them up before her naked, and she can pick the one she likes,” he said. “I would sooner she wed a lord, but if she prefers a hedge knight or a merchant or Pate the Pig Boy, I am past the point of caring, so long as she picks someone.”

i just don’t like this. other “simple” targs are not required to marry, like vaella and aelora, two of daeron ii’s grandfaughters so i don’t get why daella is pressured into marrying before she’s even of age. at least jae 2 forced rhaella and aerys because of a prophecy? what is jae’s reasoning for so sexualizing his daughter?

gael targaryen

this one is definitely a reach but i’d like to point out that this is basically all we know about gael:

Princess Gael, a sweet, shy child of seven, became the queen’s constant shadow and support, even sharing her bed at night.

and our information on how she dies is so shady:

A sweet-natured girl, but frail and somewhat simpleminded, she remained with the queen long after her other children had grown and gone, but in 99 AC she vanished from court, and soon afterward it was announced that she had died of a summer fever. Only after both her parents were gone did the true tale come out. Seduced and abandoned by a traveling singer, the princess had given birth to a stillborn son, then, overwhelmed by grief, walked into the waters of Blackwater Bay and drowned.

how does gael get pregnant by a traveling singer when she never leaves her mother’s side? why doesn’t anyone in court know gael got pregnant and killed herself until after aly and jae both die and how was this even found out?

am i implying that jaehaerys sexually abused all four of his daughters? yes because he literally sexually abuses his own wife.

alysanne targaryen

“I am forty-two years old,” she told the king. “You must be content with the children I have given you. I am more suited to be a grandmother than a mother now, I fear.”

King Jaehaerys did not share her certainty. “Our mother, Queen Alyssa, was forty-six when she gave birth to Jocelyn,” he pointed out to Grand Maester Elysar. “The gods may not be done with us.” He was not wrong. The very next year, the Grand Maester informed Queen Alysanne that she was once more with child, to her surprise and dismay.

he uses the birth that killed their mother and that is condemned by rhaena and alysanne as reckless and cruel of rogar to force on her. that birth.

at this point as well, he had abused saera and daella, then they’re gone, then viserra starts drinking and dies, then jae marital rapes aly into having gael, giving him access to another young girl to abuse…i’m aware this is a very uncharitable reading of him but…

alicent hightower (and kind of alyssa targaryen)

Ser Otto’s precocious fifteen-year-old daughter, Alicent, became his constant companion, fetching His Grace his meals, reading to him, helping him to bathe and dress himself. The Old King sometimes mistook her for one of his daughters, calling her by their names; near the end, he grew certain she was his daughter Saera, returned to him from beyond the narrow sea.

saera is the one he fixated on yet again but notable that he’s fixated on his daughters as he dies and not his sons, despite jaehaerys turning to drink after aemon died bc he was so upset.

He announced his intention to wed Lady Alicent of House Hightower, the clever and lovely eighteen-year-old daughter of the King’s Hand, the girl who had read to King Jaehaerys as he lay dying.

The Hightowers of Oldtown were an ancient and noble family, of impeccable lineage; there could be no possible objection to the king’s choice of bride. Even so, there were those who murmured that the Hand had risen above himself, that he had brought his daughter to court with this in mind. A few even cast doubt on Lady Alicent’s virtue, suggesting she had welcomed King Viserys into her bed even before Queen Aemma’s death. (These calumnies were never proved, though Mushroom repeats them in his Testimony and goes so far as to claim that reading was not the only service Lady Alicent performed for the Old King in his bedchamber.)

i know it’s just mushroom being a perv but a rumor that 15 year old alicent “serviced” jaehaerys existing besides rumors that he mistook 15 year old alicent for the daughter he last saw when she was 17 - and viserra was 15, gael 19, and daella 15, all around alicent’s age and all died before age 20. all the targaryen girls that weren’t born “for” a brother exit the narrative after some sort of sexual abuse that centers around jae, as teenagers; daenerys was born for aemon, alyssa for baelon, and maegelle for vaegon before they both fucked off and maegelle was too pious (and too old). this idea of being “for” a brother leads directly to alyssa’s death before 30:

“You were made for battles, and I was made for this. Viserys and Daemon and Aegon, that’s three. As soon as I am well, let’s make another. I want to give you twenty sons. An army of your own!” It was not to be. Alyssa Targaryen had a warrior’s heart in a woman’s body, and her strength failed her. She never fully recovered from Aegon’s birth, and died within the year at only four-and-twenty.

and alysanne being “for” jaehaerys is how he excusing sexually abusing her into a risky pregnancy. essentially what i fear is that because saera, daella, viserra, and gael aren’t “for” someone, jaehaerys gets it into his mind that that are for him. even without him raping them tho, that subtext is there! he is entitled to saera’s virginity and calls her a whore multiple times, even decades after she’s left, and murders her boyfriend in front of her. he claims a weird sexual ownership over his neurodivergent daughter daella and his alcoholic, depressed daughter viserra, and we get zero information on gael’s pregnancy or his reaction to it. but jaehaerys deciding his daughters are “for” him certainly has a basis in canon just judging from the erratic and worrying behavior of his younger daughters.

jaehaerys is a creep and i hate him and i don’t know how much of this is on purpose (like, will aegon vi or dany find out jaehaerys was a shady pedo and it shatters their world? will dunk and egg find it out and it affects their plot somehow? did george just put it in there to make a comment on power and monarchy and misogyny, similar to aegon iv raping the bracken women? or is just there for window dressing creepiness, like “i will pepper in the fact that jaehaerys is sexually obsessed with his daughters” thing?) or if george just made jaehaerys sexually obsessed with his daughters on accident?

on the one hand, it seems out of character for george. he romanticizes drogo thru dany’s eyes but it’s clear he’s meant to be seen as a creep (dany talking about being pregnant followed by “she had just turned 14” is sickeningly jarring for a reason) and also, drogo dies bc of his own pride. sansa doesn’t like any of the old dudes touching her; she is at least marginally freaked out by her wedding night, the unkiss, and lf & dontos taking liberties with her, and rightly. the story that’s told about the mountain raping a girl and making the father pay him is meant to disgust us. the walk of shame is a harrowing chapter to read, because whatever cersei’s crimes, this sexual humiliation is not something she deserves. on and on. yes, we all hate the way arya is sexualized in the mercy chapter, but crucially, she’s not blithely and happily seducing these pervs, she’s going hard candy on their asses. is this just messy set up for something like that?? i think, given how little dany knows about her family’s crimes that somehow learning jae sexually abused (and maybe even impregnated) his own daughters after she herself experiences sexual abuse would be huge. the same goes for aegon vi learning that sexual abuse runs rampant in his family tree; would he empathize with saera hiding out in essos to escape the sexual abuse of her father, see some of elia and his own plight in her? in gael?

or did george really just. not realize how sexually obsessed jaehaerys was with his daughters?

idk how to end this. where’s the winds of winter george i need answers.

[cheeseybeans8]

The Human and the Raurgar Chapter 1

Frightful Encounter  

It was a perfect day for a walk in Siliniez Forest. The sky was clear and bright, birds were chirping in the branches high above and leaves danced in the gentle breeze. Everything was so wonderful, so peaceful.

A warm smile graced Hector’s face as he patted a nearby tree’s rough bark. He loved it here. To him, it was a quiet, calming place where he could disconnect his mind and relax. But other people weren’t so fond. While most were realistically afraid of getting lost or happening across something dangerous, others stayed away because it apparently had a foreboding atmosphere, often likening it to those spooky woodlands from grim fairytales or horror stories. Although he didn’t believe this place was sinister, he did agree that it was best not to wander too much.

For the next hour, he went on with his leisurely stroll, pausing every so often to examine any interesting plants or fungi. After taking a slight deviation to get past a branchless fallen tree, he stopped to check the time on his phone. It was quarter to twelve, a bit early for lunch, but he was starting to feel hungry and there was a vacant clearing just up ahead for him to sit in. Slipping the device back into his pocket, he headed towards his chosen location.

Crossing the treeline, he was about to sling off his backpack and retrieve his lunch, when he unexpectedly slammed into something. Yelping in shock and pain, he stumbled back, only just managing to regain his footing. He grumbled under his breath as he rubbed his sore face. He thought this clearing was supposed to be empty, what could he have possibly crashed into?! Thoroughly annoyed, he turned a scowl towards what had obstructed him. His expression melted into a look of surprise.

There, resting in the centre of the clearing, was an absolutely colossal boulder, its surface covered in a strange, lush moss. He swept his gaze over it, arching a brow as he did. That’s odd, he’d passed this area several times before and never noticed this. Did he not pay enough attention in the past to see it or had he mistaken this clearing for different one? After a little more contemplation, he just shrugged. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t something worth worrying about.

Unfortunately, thanks to boulder’s size, there wasn’t a lot of room for him to sit down and its awkward shape meant he couldn’t use it as a perch. As he debated what to do, his eyes were drawn back to the moss. He grinned. It looked so soft, he just had to touch it.

After checking there weren’t any insects crawling on it, he extended a hand and brushed his fingers across it. He couldn’t help but chuckle. It wasn’t just soft, it was also pleasantly fuzzy… and warm.

He frowned. Why was it so warm? Sure, it was a lovely sunny day, but the moss certainly shouldn’t have been this temperature.

He continued to ponder, still stroking the moss, when the surface beneath his hand suddenly twitched. He gasped and recoiled as if he’d just been burned. Did the boulder just… move? No, it couldn’t have, he must have imagined it. But then it began to shift again as a low, tired groan vibrated the air.

Hector’s blood turned to ice.

This was not an enormous moss-covered boulder. Whatever it was, it was alive and it was waking up!

For a brief moment, he just stood there, completely paralysed with shock and terror, until something within him screamed to run. Snapping out of his trance, he spun on his heel and darted back into the trees.

Overwhelmed with fear, Hector blindly ran for dear life, haphazardly dodging thick roots and tearing his way through the undergrowth. As his feet pounded against the ground, his mind roiled with questions. What was that?! Where did it come from?! How and when did it get here?! Could he have been visiting the forest with that thing lurking about?!

He furiously shook his head to rid himself of these thoughts. Now was not the time for that! Right now, he only needed to worry about getting to safety! Summoning all the resolve he could muster, he sprinted through the forest as fast as he dared.

Hector didn’t know how long he’d been running, but he didn’t care. All that mattered right now was his survival. He was laser-focused, scanning the area for any sign of the exit or the monster. Unfortunately, his destination was nowhere in sight and his physical exertion was beginning to take its toll. His body burned with agony, he was struggling to breathe and his heart felt like it was going to explode. But he refused to give up. He had to escape!

He became so distracted by his suffering that almost failed to notice the large stone barring his path.

After slamming on the brakes, he whipped around to get his bearings. It seemed that he was in another clearing, one which led to some kind of cave, blocked by the same stone he nearly broke his face on. His stomach dropped. It was a dead end! He had to go back!

He tried to leave, but his pain and fatigue were so intense that he was practically immobilised. If he wasn’t so deprived of energy, he would’ve screamed in frustration. He could hardly move in this condition! Now what was he going to do?!

It took a great deal of effort, but he managed to take a few slow, deep breaths to calm down and clear his mind. As inconvenient as it was, he needed a short rest. Hopefully, with the distance he’d put between himself and the monster, he should be harder to track down or at least have plenty of time to heal before it could find him. Not only that, but given its huge size, stealth should be exceedingly difficult. If he heard or felt anything suspicious, he’d quickly vanish.

Moving gingerly, Hector lowered himself to the ground and stretched out his legs. While he waited for the aching to dissipate, he was on high alert, straining his senses to pick up any hints of the beast’s presence. He couldn’t believe how appalling his luck was. Out of all the places he could have gone in this vast forest, how did he manage to find the one place where there was a sleeping monster?! He should have left the moment he became suspicious about where the “boulder” came from, but in all fairness, he couldn’t be too hard on himself. There was no way he could’ve predicted what it truly was.

Well, at least he could have the morbid satisfaction of knowing he was right about that clearing’s previous vacancy.

A few minutes into his hyper-vigilant recuperation, he found himself studying the barricaded cave. It was a pity there wasn’t a way to gain access to it. With the huge stone obscuring the interior and the entrance possibly being too narrow for the monster, it would’ve been a good place to take shelter. If only there was some kind of opening —

Wait, what was that on the right side of the cave?

He narrowed his eyes, zeroing in on his point of interest. There was a cluster of small rocks piled up between the stone and the cave wall. Upon closer inspection, he realised that they were wedged into a slight gap that led to the depths within. He hummed and tapped his chin. So if he wanted to, he could use this place as a safe haven. Then again, now that the opportunity had presented itself, he really questioned whether or not it was actually wise. He had no idea what was in there, for all he knew, it could be filled with potential hazards. Plus, even if it was relatively harmless, the monster could trap him inside and without a guaranteed way out, he’d be in serious danger. He couldn’t take that chance. Thankfully, since the monster wasn’t currently threatening him, he wouldn’t be tempted to risk it.

Having rested an adequate amount of time, he slowly rose back to his feet, his soreness now mostly gone. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. Now he had to resume his escape from the forest, while also evading the monster. He was not looking forward to this.

He was about to begin his daunting trek, when an unpleasant sensation suddenly crawled across his skin. He was being watched. The colour drained from his face. It was the monster! No wait, it couldn’t be, he would’ve been able to detect its approach. It was probably just some ordinary forest critter. Oh please let it be an ordinary forest critter.

Swallowing nervously, he turned around, but much to his surprise, nothing was there. He looked everywhere, yet still couldn’t find anything. But that awful feeling wouldn’t go away. He wasn’t alone, he just knew it.

Then he spied movement just at the edge of his vision. Immediately, he snapped his gaze towards the source, but he only managed to catch a brief glimpse of something before it disappeared. Something covered with… grey skin… and… moss…

Hector’s heart nearly stopped.

No… the monster… it was here… but he should have noticed it… how did it manage to evade his detection?

He… he needed to get away... he needed to do something… anything…

But before he could think of a solution, before he could move a muscle, before he could take a breath, a bestial vocalisation resonated through the area, freezing him to the core. Transfixed, he watched in absolute horror as a gigantic hand gripped the side of the tree in front of him and the monster he’d been trying so desperately to avoid emerged from its hiding place.

It took every last ounce of his willpower to keep himself from passing out.

What stepped into view looked like a hulking, grey-skinned woman, with wild green hair reaching its collarbone and that moss-like substance growing on its back, shoulders, chest, stomach and thighs. Flesh-rending claws tipped its digits and its eyes were bright orange, like a blazing fire. But by far, its scariest trait was its sheer immensity. He knew it was going to be big, but seeing it in its entirety was a completely different matter. It was gargantuan, so much so that its size was comparable to even the largest of whales.

Immeasurable dread flooded his entire being. He was done for. Making it out of this situation alive would be nothing short of a miracle.

—————————————————————————————————— Hector’s peaceful forest trip goes awry when he finds something unexpected and terrifying within the trees.  This story and the raurgar species were inspired by @redcoaster‘s “Attack on Titan” fanfiction, “Rogue”.

Next Chapter: 

[voiceless-terror]

I mean, I don’t believe in the predictive power of dreams, obviously, but still, it’s a deeply unsettling thing to find. I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. - Episode 11, Dreamer

Jon stares down at the paper in his hands.

He’s had many an unkind thought towards Gertrude, his predecessor, the woman responsible for this mess and the current bane of his existence. She’s been the topic of most of his grumbling as he sorts through piles of nonsense and decaying cardboard boxes. He’s got no love lost for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy she’s dead. Or, specifically, to have a statement apparently predicting it through the medium of some prophetic dream. Ridiculous. He wants to feel detached, unaffected, but he can’t help the sickly sense of dread that creeps up his spine and lingers in his throat. 

It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.

Jon doesn’t know Antonio Blake and has no reason to believe him. But he’s known something’s wrong for a long time now.

He’s never admitted it aloud, never within his assistant’s hearing range, but he can feel it, as foolish as that sounds. This miasma of wrong, of being watched, of becoming...something else, that happens every time he records a statement. Despite the academic detachment he aspires to, he does attempt to empathize with each statement-giver and get into their mindset. But what he’s doing here...it’s different. He can visualize it so perfectly, the terror in their words sticking in his throat and setting his own heart pounding, as if he were the one experiencing it and not just regurgitating it to an ancient recorder. He’s always had an ‘overactive imagination,’ as his grandmother would say, but this is relentless in its manifestation. The fear is real, not imagined. Each statement draws him further and further away from the safety he used to cling to, where the only real cases were few and far between and the most sinister things lurking out there in the world were books and the monsters within them.

And as much as he wants to linger on the false accounts and take comfort in tearing them apart, his hands automatically seek the real ones, the right ones. It’s frightening, the ease with which he finds them nowadays. Perhaps he’s a better archivist than he thinks. 

She died and you’ll be next, something whispers to him. He’s being dramatic, as he’s wont to do, but it feels true. Every statement that doesn’t record correctly, every follow-up he has to qualify with an ‘I would dismiss this, but-’ is starting to add up. His nights have become restless. He often lies awake regretting that he ever took this job, that he left the relative safety of research for a position he’s not sure how to fill, his only reassurance Elias’s occasional emails that he’s ‘moving in the right direction,’ whatever that means.

Jon assumed he’d be more removed from the dangerous aspects of the job that research entailed- following up, going to locations, field work. And it’s true, he has assistants to do that for him now. Dependable, for the most part. And while he should feel safe in his tiny office with nothing but dust and paper and cobwebs (good lord, the cobwebs) he feels more unsettled and exposed than ever. He once joked he’d die of old age before getting the archives in order. But now a stroke sounds much more pleasant than whatever happened to Gertrude. If it’s true.

Perhaps it’s a joke, he thinks. Planted by one of the others, designed specifically to unsettle him. Well, it worked. 

It wouldn’t be surprising. He’s...not had the best start. The promotion was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected; he knew he’d been on Elias’s radar, though he wasn’t expecting it quite so soon. He’s young and unfortunately, it shows. The way he stutters through department meetings, talking about digitization while the others, all of whom have at least a decade on him, shoot pitying looks. He stays later and later, the desire to show some sort of progress even as he discovers more mess by the day. The permanent scowl that now graces his features becomes his armor as he walks the halls and feels himself becoming the uptight, unlikable curmudgeon everyone believes him to be. The one time I measure up to expectations, he can’t help thinking.

A joke. There’s a comfort in that. At least it’s familiar.

But it didn’t record to the laptop, his traitorous mind supplies. It's a bit sad he would prefer it to be a mundane attempt at bullying rather than a real expression of the supernatural, but he supposes it’s par for the course. There were many nights as a child he wished for the same thing, for that boy to go back to taking his lunch money and the occasional beating or two instead of…still, he dismisses it from his mind. You don’t know there’s a correlation. Follow up. Disprove it. 

He’s interrupted from his musings by a knock on the door and the vague outline of Martin through the frosted glass. “Come in,” he calls, attempting to inject some irritation in his voice to cover up the shakiness. “Did you need something?”

“Ah, I finished my write up for the Herbert case, was wondering if you had anything else for me?”

His hand hovers over the statement on his desk. He opens his mouth but then closes it, thinking better.

“Can you send Tim in, actually?”

______

“Sorry boss, I couldn’t find anything on this Antonio Blake fellow- well, at least with the details he provided, which were next to none. Proper spooky, though.”

Of his assistants, he trusts Tim the most with this sort of thing. 

On a surface level, it wouldn’t make sense to some. Tim can be loud and gregarious: the typical, charming extrovert. But he’s not unkind and he’s a hell of a researcher, especially when something grabs his interest. He digs into statements and doesn’t let go- not unlike Sasha, though he’s a bit better at empathizing and handling things...sensitively. Easily attuned to Jon’s moods, Tim’s always been willing to lend an ear whenever he gets too in his head about cases, helping him talk things through or on several memorable occasions, go down the rabbit hole with him. He’d taken the statement from his hands with an easy smile, though his face grew serious with the nervous look Jon shot him.

And if Tim couldn’t find anything, well. Maybe it was a prank after all.

He sort of wanted it to be true, frightening as the implications were. Because then it would mean this terrible, heavy feeling on his shoulders was real, and not just the byproduct of his own mediocrity. He doesn’t want to be scared, he doesn’t want to be in danger, but at least it would provide a real reason for panic, and not just his own inability to measure up.  He doesn’t want to prove them all right, collapsing under the stress of a job poorly done and so easily crumbling at a stupid, made-up statement, targeted as it may be. 

“A joke, then.” Jon says, rubbing a hand at his temples, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice. Tim makes a commiserating noise.

“You know how people are, the institute isn’t exactly popular. You remember last Halloween, when-”

“Yes, I don’t need a reminder.” Jon sighs. He’d rather not relive that day, stressful as it was. “But that wasn’t quite what I was thinking.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Jon continues, attempting to make his hands busy as he pointlessly shuffles papers.

“It’s rather pointed, isn’t it? I doubt someone off the street would create such a detailed account of the death of an...archivist as opposed to the usual ghostly drivel.”

A look of pity flickers in Tim’s eyes and Jon has to turn away. “I don’t really think anyone here would-”

“Really? You don’t?” Jon lets out a mirthless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face as he stares down at his desk. “I’m not blind. Or deaf.” The derisive snorts if he goes off on ‘needless tangents,’ how Rosie pretends to be busy whenever he approaches Elias’s office, the way his name badge still reads ‘researcher’ after months of asking for a new one. He’s basically become a pariah.

“Jon, did someone say something to you?” The words are carefully chosen and he’s leaning forward now, making as if to stand up and god forbid, do something comforting. It’s not that Jon doesn’t want the comfort; he craves it more than anything. But he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t trust himself not to break at the gentlest of touches. Being on the receiving end of Tim’s protective streak is nothing new, but he shouldn’t need his assistant looking out for him like he’s some sort of helpless infant. 

He snorts derisively instead, covering up the insecurity and hurt with a sardonic, self-effacing smile. The kind he knows Tim hates. “They don’t need to. I’ve walked in on conversations, I’ve seen the way people go quiet, the looks they give me-”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. Jon wonders how he looks, if Tim’s going this soft. “Don’t listen to them, alright? You inherited a mess, we all did- but we’re doing our best, yeah? Study and record, like Elias said.” Jon doesn’t dodge the hand that finally lands on shoulder, and he’ll deny to anyone that he leaned into it. 

“Study and record.” He repeats listlessly, slumping back down into his seat. He’s let himself get too worked up, acting like a child instead of a boss. He’s not sure when he started wearing his heart on his sleeve, but Tim’s always been good at reading him. Though he’d rather people think him an arrogant ass than the seething mess of insecurity he truly is. 

“Atta boy.” The pat to his shoulder is purposefully light, devoid of Tim’s usually friendly force that sends him stumbling forward. “Now get out of here at a normal time, alright? We can grab lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us, if you like.”

Jon makes a noncommittal grunt, though the thought is nice.  He entertains the idea for just a moment, remembering their occasional outings back in research. Tomorrow he’ll make his excuses. He hasn’t been much of a friend as of late, and he’s not sure he deserves the kindness of company.

“And if there’s anyone that needs a stern talking to from me, I-” Tim wags a finger and Jon rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang of warmth the words send through his chest.

“Don’t, please. It’s fine.” It isn’t. “But...thank you, Tim.”

“Course.” A wink and a sloppy salute to lighten the mood, and Jon feels the tension in his posture ease minutely as Tim shuts the door behind him. 

He lets out a breath and reaches for the tape recorder. He’s wasted too much time already.  

Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.

Good luck.

He fights a shiver as the man’s voice leaves him and the last vestiges of that twilight world fade back to his dimly-lit office. In his follow up, he tries to play it off as a joke. A bit of hazing for the new boss. And yet the uneasiness still creeps into his voice, and he ends another tape on a stilted, half-believed note.

If this is genuine…

Jon prays that it isn’t. 

And like most of his prayers, it goes unheard and unanswered.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32165071

reblogs > likes

[bladesalvation]

Nihil would be lying if he said he didn't jump a little at the sudden shouts of goblin, trying to stop his shock from clearly turning into amusement on his face as he watches the poor little goblins stammer and stumble over themselves in his colleague's presence.

Gods, this woman was delightful to watch in any kind of action, and something more sinister lurking just under the surface of his skin seemed to agree, the tingle up his back and along his shoulders as he tried to hold in an unhinged giggle of glee.

He had re-collected himself by the time Rakatak turned again, hands folding before him as he considered her request for his opinion on punishing them-- as if it was really a question.

"Of course. Failure is such an ugly thing. It's only right they see punishment."

"I have a feeling that far more than pause will greet me through that gate."

The hobgoblin closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then couches the Tooth under her arm and steps forward. Her stride is steady, purposeful, and she crosses through to the town "proper" without hesitation... not least because the booyagh she locks eyes with on the peak of the roof looks spooked.

(14 + 3 + 3 = 20 intimidation roll!)

What spurts forth from the paladin's mouth is a sharp staccato of Goblin, weapon pointing first at the booyagh, then back at the bridge. Then, over at some of the other goblins, who have hurriedly stopped their previous activity of "goofing around" at the unmistakable sound of a hobgoblin on the warpath.

Rakatak thumps her chest - specifically the black handprint in its centre - and the object of her ire manages to stammer out most of a sentence before she silences them with a gesture.

The pause stretches onward for a few seconds. She speaks again, in a slower, much more particular tone. The goblin, overeager to answer, almost treads on the end of her sentence in reply, and she nods once. Relief shudders through the booyagh, she draws herself up, and looks back to Nihil.

"The situation is contained. I have not yet decided whether to decree punishment for their dereliction of guard - what do you think?"

[restlessfandoming]

campfire in the snow (chilumi)

hey friends back again with that fanfic writing :^)

this is my headcannon that childe absolutely suffers during the colder winter months as a hydro user (based on this post here) so SOMEONE’s gotta take care of him

in other words, a chilumi...chilumine? lumichilde? CHILDE X LUMINE sick fic !!!

thanks for reading as always <3

[Fic Masterlist]

“campfire in the snow”

“Ahchoo!” 

Lumine glanced at Childe, watching him sniffle miserably as they walked through the woods towards Mondstadt. 

The sky was overcast, giving the land the hazy gray glow of winter, and the chilly temperature felt stiff against shivering bodies—their coats only warming them slightly. Their shoes crunched in the snow from last night’s snowstorm; the promise of another snowfall hung in the air. 

“Are you sick?” Lumine asked. 

Childe gave a weak smile. “Of course not. In top shape as always.” Then, AHCHOO! Another sneeze. 

Paimon popped up in front of the Harbinger’s face, staring directly at his red nose. “You don’t sound so good to me. Paimon thinks you’re sick!”

“Hate to say it, but I definitely agree with Paimon,” Lumine said, ignoring the guide’s flailing arms of anger. “I think we need to get you somewhere warm.” 

The orange haired man playfully scoffed. “All I need to do is speak with the Grand Master of the Knights. Easiest mission of my—sniff—life.”

The traveler stopped in her tracks, and took off her own scarf, holding it out for Childe. “Then at least take this. I think you need this more than me.”

He looked at the scarf, eyes almost glazing over from yearning. He shook his head. “I’d never take something from a lady in need.” 

Lumine almost threw the scarf at him. “I’m not in need.”

“And she’s not a lady; have you seen her eat?”

“Paimon.”

“Paimon only tells the truth!”

“Thank you, really, but it’s just a little reaction to the colder weather. No big deal,” Childe assured, walking past Lumine’s offering. 

“What’s his problem?” she muttered, as he walked ahead. She heard him coughing in the distance. Why won’t he just take it? 

“He doesn’t seem so threatening now, does he?” Paimon said. “Paimon’s never seen him so weak…”

“Weak…,” Lumine echoed. 

Of course. 

Childe was a member of the Fatui. A Harbinger. A deadly fighter. Someone who used a bow despite it being his weakest weapon. 

He would never accept help like this, not when it made him feel weak. 

Lumine groaned in frustration. Stupid, stupid man. She continued on the path, picking up her pace to try and catch up to him. 

Except he was nowhere to be seen. The cold set into her body a little more. 

“Childe?” she called out. She ran down the path, eyes scanning every inch of the snowy road and fields. Then—

“Lumine, look!” Paimon shouted, speeding over to Childe’s body laying in the snow. 

The blonde traveler quickly scrambled to his side, flipping him over so his face wasn’t buried in the snow. He was drained of color, and his body felt ice cold. There was barely air leaving his nose. 

“Childe!” she called, shaking him. Wake up; please, wake up! 

He didn’t move. Lumine cursed. 

“What should we do?” Paimon asked frantically. 

Lumine took a deep breath in, then took off her own coat and scarf, placing it on Childe’s shoulders. She shuddered as the winter air nipped at her skin. 

“Now you’re gonna freeze to death!”

“It’s okay, Paimon,” she said, beginning to pick up the unconscious man. “We need to find somewhere to stop and start a fire.”

Paimon nodded worriedly, trying to (unsuccessfully) help Lumine shoulder Childe. The traveler eventually had his arm slung across her shoulders, and her arm gripped his waist. 

The three shuffled down the path, searching for any sort of shelter or firewood. As time went on, Lumine felt colder and colder, her whole body beginning to ache under the weight of Childe. Every so often, she would call out his name, hoping to hear a response, but there was nothing. 

As she crested the top of the hill, she spotted a tiny cabin at the base. Her ragged breath became concentrated as she mustered up the last of her energy to drag Childe there. 

“Almost...there…,” she strained out. No response. 

“Come on! You can do it!” Paimon cheered, though her scared expression betrayed her positivity. 

Lumine was mere feet away from the door when she heard a familiar high pitched and distorted laughter ring out behind her. 

An Abyss Mage! 

She turned to see it prancing around in its bubble, icicles swirling around it. 

Great, a Cryo Mage at that.

She set Childe down gently, then drew her sword. The blade shook in her hand, her teeth chattering. And she still felt winded. But I have to protect us. 

“Try to wake him up,” she told Paimon. The tiny fairy nodded and started tapping his shoulder.

Lumine charged the mage. Her blade scraped against the frozen barrier. She slashed frantically, making miniscule scratches. Around her, icicles fell as the mage chanted spell after spell. It took all of her will to continuously dodge the attacks. Charging enough energy, she unleashed a Palm Vortex. The shield cracked considerably. 

I can do this. She leapt at the mage, striking a few times, then casted a Gust Surge. The bubble crackled. A few more hits and the shield will be down. Then, it’ll be a piece of cake. 

She started concentrating, trying to summon another Palm Vortex, when an icicle came unexpectedly from the side, slamming into her. She crumpled to the ground. 

Nononono. She tried to get up, arms shaking, fighting the exhaustion in her body. 

The sinister laughter drew closer as the mage floated towards her. It raised its staff, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

“Hey!” 

Lumine looked past the mage. 

There stood Childe, hunched over, gripping his side, but standing. She almost cried out in relief. 

The mage made noises of anger, blinking away, then reappearing closer to Childe. 

The Harbinger raised his hand, droplets forming from his palm. 

No, Childe wait—! His Hydro elements didn’t stand a chance in this battle. 

The beginnings of his spear formed. But then, the water quickly crystallized, turning into shards of ice, and dropping to the ground. Childe winced painfully. 

Lumine jumped up on her feet, her energy renewed, and raced towards the mage. 

The mage raised its staff again, forming a huge icicle above Childe. He wouldn’t have enough time to move, especially in his condition. The shard started falling. 

“Childe!” Lumine screamed. 

He closed his eyes. The mask sitting atop his head began to glow. It crackled with purple electricity, and spiraled out, creating a barrier. The large icicle shattered on impact. The mage shrieked in confusion. 

Lumine took the distraction, and destroyed the Abyss Mage’s shield, then stabbed its critical point: right through its head. It vanished into the air. 

“Good job...traveler…,” Childe said between heavy breaths. His voice sounded distorted, his eyes and expression darker than before. The electro-shield came down, and Lumine watched as he fell to his knees, before rushing over, and catching him before he fell down completely.

She felt his forehead on her bare shoulder. “You’re burning up,” she whispered. 

He laughed weakly, before descending into coughs. “I hate to say it, but I think you were right,” he murmured. 

She saw Paimon opening the door to the cabin. “Okay, c’mon, we only have a little bit to go, then we can rest.” She felt him nod. 

When the three finally got into the cabin, Lumine laid Childe down, folding their scarves to make a pillow, and covering him with their coats. Paimon helped carry some pieces of wood to her, and soon a small fire was started. The guide disappeared back into her world to let Lumine rest. 

Lumine finally let out a sigh of relief. She looked over Childe, making sure he didn’t have any injuries she didn’t notice before. Her eyes fell on his mask, the mask that created the electro-shield earlier. 

Two elements? That shouldn’t be possible. Was he different, like her? Not of this world? There was certainly something dark about the mask, lurking beneath the surface. 

She reached for the mask. Childe’s hand weakly sprung up, catching her before she could touch it. His eyes were still closed.

“Now, now, we don’t touch things that aren’t ours—isn’t that right, girlie?” he teased quietly. His voice was hoarse, strained. 

“Even on the verge of death, you love teasing me,” Lumine responded. He still hadn’t let go of her wrist. “And anyways, I dragged you all the way here. You could at least tell me what that thing is.” 

He opened his eyes, narrowly. “Sorry, sweetheart, Fatui secret.” Lumine tried pulling her wrist away, but he held onto it, then shifted it so he was holding her hand. “Thank you, Lumine.” 

She blushed. “I couldn’t just leave you out there to die.” She looked at their intertwined hands. “Why did you take this mission anyways? You know it’s dangerous during the Cryo months for a Hydro user like you.” 

There was a long pause of silence. She almost thought he had fallen asleep. 

“It was for Mondstadt,” he finally replied. “I knew you would be here.”

She was feeling warm. Too warm. Is it the fire? Am I getting sick too?

“You should get some sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up,” she said, completely avoiding what he said. He nodded and closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. 

Lumine observed his sleeping face, how harmless he seemed right now. None of his antics. None of the mystery surrounding him. None of that lurking darkness. Just a sick, lonely boy. A sick, lonely boy completely vulnerable to the world. 

She started to get up, maybe to go cook some stew for him, but to her surprise, Childe held tightly to her hand. 

“Stay,” he said, hazily. His eyelids were fluttering, like he was struggling to open them. 

“...Okay.” Tired herself, she laid down next to him, tucking herself under the coats as well, glad for the warmth. 

He pulled her closer, letting go of her hand, and instead wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking his head under her chin, like he was listening to her heartbeat—a heartbeat that was surely beating way too fast right now. This sickness is making him delusional…

She was about to start protesting when he started speaking. 

“No one ever stays,” Childe whispered. It had been no louder than a small leaf rustling in the nighttime wind; Lumine might not have heard it if she wasn’t listening. Her heart broke a little. 

She wrapped her arms tightly around him. You’re not alone.

“I’m here,” she whispered back. “I’m right here.”