#so far it has felt like a balm on my heart

[tempobsessdom]

How is it possible that every single episode of 23.5 Degrees fills me with warmth and fuzzy feels I feel insane

[turvi]

Hi, i really love your ss x reader. MASTERPIECE ✨✨. Can i request this, young severus accidentally shout and slap reader because he is not in the mood to deal with reader after he got bullied by marauders, reader's feeling kinda hurt and she didn't get to tell him she is going to be transferred to other school (beauxbatons) and her feelings. She graduated and become a astronomy professor there after 10 years, then albus wants the reader back to teach at Hogwarts. She then came across into severus, he shocked at her but she just give cold shoulder because of the past. After a few months, Severus then realized what he did to her then says his apologise and his feeling towards reader, he regrets what he did to reader and reader accept it. Kisses and hugs and gazing stars together. You can ignored this if you dont want to or the request is closed😀🔫

TRIGGER WARNING: SLAPPING

She placed her palm on her cheek. It felt warm. But not the one that would comfort her. Tears threaten to spill from her eyes but she closes closes her eyes. She heard him immediately repeating the words sorry but the voice that used to feel like a balm on her pain felt like it was clawing her soul now. Y/n walks away not looking behind, letting her tears fall.

Severus stood there watching the one person who had accepted him turn her back on him. The worst part is that there is no one else to blame but himself. He let the marauders get to him and finally snapped and took it out on Y/n. Part of him wanted to go after her but he knew he didn't deserve her forgiveness.

The following days were hell for Severus. Hogwarts had already been hell for him and Y/n his warm sunshine that helped him get through this hell. But he doesn't have anyone else to blame except himself for how her eyes avoid him as if they were strangers and had not shared their secrets under moonlight far away from everyone. What makes it worse he has not seen her at all. He has looked for her everywhere but no trace of his beloved.

That was until one night he was walking in the corridor and bumped into Dumbledore. The headmaster of Hogwarts felt his heart break as Severus seemed more pale than usual. "Severus, what are you doing here so late at night."

"I don't feel like sleeping" his voice was hoarse

"Are you unwell?"

Severus huffed, he just wanted to have one glance at Y/n. "No...I". Severus couldn't even gather the courage to look into Dumbledore's eyes. He was ashamed of what he had done.

"Severus...what is the matter," Dumbledore asked calmly

Severus groaned, admitting defeat to his inner demons "I can't find Y/n. I messed up....well that is an understatement. I....." He felt tears threatening to leave his eyes but ultimately he couldn't stop the tears when he felt Dumbledor's walk palm on his arm.

"I raised hand at my Y/n....I slapped her." he acknowledged it. Severus couldn't understand if that made it better, but he hated this feeling. He couldn't stop the tears falling down his cheeks. He expected Dumbledore to yell at him, scream at him but he put his hands on his arms.

"Why?"

Severus gulped "The marauders. They got on my nerves. I didn't mean to-" he clenched his eyes "It doesn't matter. I can't find her. I have to talk to her."

"Severus..."

His heart drops. Severus could feel an uneasy heat in his body. "you know where she is"

"She has been transferred to Beauxbatons. She asked me to do so."

Severus sinks down to the floor. He had lost her and now all he could do was stay in darkness and watch time pass by. Dumbledore walks away after all time heals all wounds.

---------

Time didn't heal Severus' wounds. As each year passed he couldn't care less about living. But he lives...he lives for his duty, he lives for the slight hope that maybe he will see her again. Perhaps he will get to hold her in her arms and let her know that he will spend the rest of his life and the lives after that just to let her know how much he loves her, he lives for her.

Just as Severus begrudgingly made his way to the great hall he heard a familiar voice. No. No, it can't be.

He has never run so fast recently, maybe just in youth to escape Potter and his friends. Severus saw her. There she was standing, with warm sunshine bathing her. Y/n L/n. His hand clenched when his eyes fell on her cheeks. Severus is familiar with the feeling of self-hatred, but he loathes himself forever raising his hand to her. So even if his heart was screaming to run to her and take her in his arms, he knew your love for him ended right here in this corridor.

Y/n's eyes fell on him. His heart breaks as her smile drops. Severus knew he deserved it. Suddenly there is a familiar burn on his arm, he endures it. It's a risk he is willing to take to let her know he regrets what he did. "Y/n" his voice boomed across the corridor, she ignores the familiar chill that ran down her spine.

"Severus?" He immediately stopped. It was like she had control over his body. Her eyes. Severus wished he could stop time just so he could look into her eyes, hoping to find a sliver of love for him.

Severus didn't know how to win your heart back. She was about to speak up when he got on his knees, looking at her defeatedly. For the first time since becoming a death eater, Severus looked weak as he looked for mercy from the woman in front of him.

"Severus! What are you doing?" she immediately ran towards him

"Please forgive me." he folds his hand

"Severus...get up"

"There was not one second where I did not regret my action. I love you Y/n...I really do. I shouldn't have raised my hand on you. I don't ever want to raise my hand at you. Please even if you will never love me...please forgive me...I can't live like this." his voice cracks

Y/n looks at him. Even though she missed him, he still broke her heart.

"Say something, please," Severus asked desperately. "I can tolerate anything but not this silence. I have hurt you my love I know. But please give me one chance. One chance to prove how much I regret breaking your heart...how much I love you."

Y/n wipes tears from his cheeks that Severus didn't know were there. "one chance"

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

Severus held her hands as he gently tugged her towards the Astronomy Tower.

"Wasn't it enough that I have to spend my day here now you bring me here at night?"

He softly smiles, his velvety voice feeling like a warm blanket to Y/n "I am here making an effort to earn your apology. It doesn't matter how many years it takes but I will do everything to show you how much I mean it."

Severus' breath shuddered as he felt her lips on his forehead. He held back his urge to hold her. Not now. There will be time for that. For now, he was happy to sit beside her and listen to her talk as the stars glimmered in the night sky.

A/N: I am so sorry for the late response I have a big dissertation going on. REBLOG AND COMMENTS APPRECIATED

[inupibaldspot]

Curse Me If You Must

Character: Geto Suguru x Reader

Note: Angst! With also major spoilers. I was about to write a Yuta fluff but then I just saw a Geto edit and led me to write this.

You nervously stared at Gojo who was standing confidently with a smile on your face while you held a combination of stationaries; Pens,erasers,a book and a compass while Shoko stared with an amused yet curious look.

“Ready?” You asked but then you didn’t wait for a confirmation from Gojo as you threw them at him; a real battle field would be so much less merciful and you guys learned it the hard way after the star plasma, Amanai Riko was killed. That definitely left a hole in everyone’s heart, everyone who had a heart to care at least.

You let out a sigh of relief as the eraser was the only one who was able to reach Gojo and the other which was much sharper was held at a distance. Shoko let out a impressed whistle. “Me next but then I won’t be telling you when I’m gonna throw ‘em at you.”

“Go for it!” Gojo smirks.

You took a step back and another one before you finally completely turn away and walk towards a figure who was sitting in a bench a distance away. A person who , in the past at least ,always had a ego centric sharp look yet would speak with a teasing tone, a person who you would do everything for. “Suguru, you good?”

Geto finally looks up as if he had been called from a trance. He gives you a small smile as he raises his hand and reaches out for your as he ever so gently he takes your hand and gives your hand a kiss. “Just…” His voice was low as if all the energy was drawn from him. “Thinking…”

You hum. “Gojo seems as if he has mastered his technique. Quite impressive.” You wait for a reply but then it never comes as you peer over to Geto. The last mission seemed as if it took a huge chunk of damage to especially Geto; ever since the failed mission he seemed so distant, his head seemed to be jumbled with thoughts he’d never share to any of them…even you.

“Say Suguru… What does a curse taste like?”

Geto’s posture straightens as he looks at you, his tired eyes widened before a smile from you manages to let the tension leave his shoulders. “It’s fucking disgusting…” he lets out a laugh. “As if a rag had been used to clean up vomit; I have to eat it over and over and over again…”

You look away.

Geto wonders if what he said made you disgusted with him but in truth you were guilty . You said you loved Geto but it took an embarrassing long time to notice how whenever Geto were to swallow a curse call he would hesitate and when he did swallow would have his eyes shut.

When you did notice it , you were scared to ask him as if you were scared that you’d be stepping far too deep into his comfort zone. “Did you swallow one in the morning mission you had to go on?”

“I did…”

You look at Shoko was now fed up on trying to throw things at Gojo and now blatantly trying to break his limitless barrier with the compass; the duo completely distracted. You turn swiftly as you place your hands on either side of Geto as it rests on the bench as you let your lips rest on his. As you back away, he lets in a sharp inhale. “Would this help?”

Geto felt his eye burn as his heart seems to surrender its self; he tastes bit of the lip balm you used on his lips. “It does…” It doesn’t, the disgusting taste was so far deep down that the taste and stench seemed to have made itself home. “Thank you, my love.”

“I’m worried,Suguru…” You intertwine your pinky with his which was resting on the bench. “You’re simply just too kind so I’m worried your filled with guilt and regret. The incident wasn’t your fault, remember that.”

It was though. He thinks. Riko was with him yet she was killed in-front of his eyes not even a step away from him.

“You don’t have to give anything back, Suguru.” Your voice seemed weak and unsure, you were treating him like a ticking time bomb. “Use me, Suguru. If you think I can do anything for you, use me; suck me dry for every part of me is yours…it doesn’t matter if I get hurt in the process or if what you want is something simple as a kiss after you eat a curse.”

Geto almost trembles as he looks at you but you were still looking away,no… you were looking up at the sky but the way your eyes were glistening with tears was obvious. “Let me love you if you must…curse me if you must but please… don’t leave me alone…”

Don’t leave me alone you said. Geto thinks but then now here he stand unmoving; a strong stench of the morgue overcomes his senses but he pays no heed. A mission you had been sent to was a mistake, a curse which should have been to taken down a measly second grade curses escalated into a special grade unregistered curse.

His eyes remains focused on you who now rest unmoving on the morgue, your eyes closed mouth slightly open with the rest of your body covered in a white fabric. Behind him he feels the stare of Gojo and Shoko waiting for a reaction but he gives none. Geto Suguru was simply too tired. I should have also told you weren’t allowed to leave me. A binding vow should have been made. Another drop of regret falls into a bucket which was already too full which makes a ripple.

It was then and there Geto makes a choice; a choice which stirs the jujutsu world for years to come.

[ghostchems]

sacred blasphemy - catholic priest!copia x f!oc

chapter one: blood!

in another world, copia has become a catholic priest after being drawn to it during his childhood in an orphanage. he is content with his life, finally feeling grounded and like he belongs -- until a new face in his flock captures his attention.

author’s note: this is the project i’ve been talking about for the past few weeks! eventual smut, my friends, but nothing too spicy here. this story came about because a lot of fic i’ve read and also written have the papas as the seducers, the ones who draw “innocent” people to join the satanic church with their charm and sexiness so i thought what if i did it the other way around. about 4k words. ao3 link!

The young boy stood motionless in the schoolyard, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest in a protective embrace. He remained there, a still figure amidst the bustling playground, his heart pounding with anticipation. Time seemed to slow as he waited, knowing full well what was coming but powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, the air was split by the unmistakable sound of rubber against skin. A dodgeball, thrown with cruel precision, struck the boy squarely in the face. The impact was immediate and intense, causing his nose to erupt with blood. As it trickled down his face, a strange sense of relief washed over him. The nuns, alerted by the commotion, rushed to his aid, their habits fluttering as they escorted him swiftly to the infirmary. Despite the pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the boy felt a small spark of triumph. His plan had worked – he had successfully escaped the dreaded dodgeball game, just as he had hoped.

He found solace in the quiet sanctuary of the infirmary. The gentle care he received there was a balm to his battered spirit. The nun tended to his injury with practiced hands and he felt a sense of peace wash over him. Seeking further comfort, he reached for the Bible that lay nearby. It really should have been his by now. He opened its well-worn pages. The ancient words spoke to him, offering wisdom and solace in equal measure. He immersed himself in the sacred text, allowing its timeless messages to soothe his troubled mind and provide a temporary escape from the harsh realities of his daily life.

Every trip to the infirmary ended with wondering when this would all be over. When he would be free of this place. The thought both terrified and excited him. The infirmary, with its antiseptic smell and quiet atmosphere, had become a strange sort of sanctuary. Here, at least, he was safe from the chaos of the playground and the cruel taunts of his fellow orphans. he'd always felt like an outsider, never quite fitting in anywhere. His appearance didn’t help. He was a gangly child, oddly proportioned child and his eye certainly didn’t make people want to be friends with him.

But he knew he couldn't stay here forever. Sooner or later, he would have to face the world outside these walls. He turned another page of the Bible, his eyes scanning the words without really reading them.

***

This has been a long time coming for the priest.

He surveyed the parking lot as members began to arrive for mass, a content smile on his face.

Copia's journey to this moment had been a long and winding one. The sense of displacement he felt as a child led him to seek solace in faith, eventually finding his calling in the priesthood. The path hadn't been easy - there were moments of doubt, struggle, and loneliness that echoed his childhood experiences. But now, standing before his congregation, he felt a sense of peace and belonging he'd long yearned for, a stark contrast to his rootless beginnings.

As more people filed into the church, some stopping to shake his hand, Copia reflected on how far he'd come. The hardships of his past had shaped and guided him here. He felt settled, grounded in a way he never had before. This small church, this community—it was home. Though it had taken some getting used to on their part. He was the strange priest with the ghostly white eye. The one who sometimes had dark circles around his eyes, rumored to be from any number of things. Definitely not your typical priest. His appearance had initially raised eyebrows and sparked whispers among the congregation. Some had even questioned whether he was fit to lead their church in the wake of beloved Father Acosta’s retirement. But Copia's genuine compassion and unwavering dedication to his flock had gradually won them over. Very gradually. Still, he couldn't help but notice the occasional curious glance or startled reaction from newcomers, though that wasn't very often.

He shook the thoughts off, focusing on the message he was about to deliver. Copia was excited to share his homily today, having worked on it for the last few days. The message he had prepared felt particularly poignant, addressing themes of acceptance and unity within the community, drawing inspiration from Ephesians 4:2-3: "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." He hoped his words would resonate with the congregation and foster a sense of belonging for all members - a belonging that he would gladly provide after being deprived of it for so long in his own life. The irony wasn't lost on him; the outsider now creating a space of inclusion for others.

“Father Copia!”

Copia spun around at the sound of his name, a warm smile spreading across his face as he recognized the pair approaching him. Mark, a single father who had become a regular at the church, was gently guiding his daughter Maisie forward.

"Ah, good morning, Mark! And hello there, Maisie," Copia greeted them, his voice softening as he addressed the shy little girl. Maisie, usually hesitant to make eye contact, was clutching something in her small hands.

"Go on, sweetheart," Mark encouraged, giving her a gentle nudge. "Show Father Copia what you made."

With a deep breath, Maisie stepped forward and held out a piece of paper. Copia knelt down to her level, his mismatched eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What's this, little one?"

Maisie's voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I drew you, Father."

Copia carefully took the offered drawing, his heart swelling with emotion as he examined it. There in bright crayon strokes, was an unmistakable portrait of himself. Maisie had captured every detail - his black cassock, his graying brown hair, and most notably, his distinctive eyes. One was scribbled a deep green, while the other was left white.

"M-Maisie," Copia breathed, genuinely touched. "This is beautiful. Th-thank you so much." He looked up at the girl, who was now beaming with pride. "This is, ehm… this really is me."

Mark chuckled, resting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "She's been working on it all week. Wouldn't let me see it until it was finished."

Copia stood, still holding the drawing carefully, almost unable to tear his eyes away. “This is going straight to my office. I'll treasure it always, piccolina." The little girl's shy smile grew wider, and Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest. He was so touched by Maisie's gesture that he felt a lump forming in his throat. He tried to mask it with a cough, urging them to get to their pews. "Thank you again," he managed, his voice slightly rough. "Please, take your seats. We'll be starting soon." As Mark and Maisie moved away, Copia took a moment to compose himself, touched by the unexpected kindness. He carefully folded the picture and tucked it into his pocket.

The last few congregants entered the church with Copia watching, taking a deep breath to center himself. The moment had arrived. With a final glance at the sky—a calming ritual he'd long practiced—he turned and strode towards the entrance. His mind was already racing with anticipation. He could feel the weight of his responsibility, the trust his congregation had placed in him. As he stepped into the church, the familiar scent of incense and old wood enveloped him, grounding him in the present moment. Even so, the chasuble always felt heavy on his shoulders. It was green today — to represent the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time. He let it drape over him, heavy yet calming. Copia took his place at the altar, ready to begin the service.

His eyes swept over the congregation. The familiar faces of his flock brought comfort, but a new presence caught his attention. A nun he hadn't seen before sat in one of the back pews, her head bowed in prayer. Something about her struck him as... different, though he couldn't quite place why. His gaze lingered on her as the words to his introduction fell effortlessly from his lips until a sudden, sharp pain flared behind his left eye — his white eye. The sensation was entirely new, a stinging that made him blink rapidly. Copia faltered for a moment, taken aback. He'd never experienced anything like it before, especially not during a mass.

He recovered quickly, his hands flying into motion as he continued his sermon. His fingers danced through the air, emphasizing key points with dramatic gestures. The congregation seemed to lean in, captivated by his animated delivery. His Italian heritage shone through in every sweeping motion and expressive flick of the wrist.

"And so, my dear brothers and sisters," Copia proclaimed, his hands spread wide, "we must remember that our faith is not just words, but actions." He brought his palms together. "It is in our deeds that we truly show our love for God and our fellow man." As he spoke, Copia found his natural rhythm, his earlier discomfort fading into the background. His hands continued to paint pictures in the air, bringing his message to life with each gesture.

Throughout the service, Copia found his gaze drawn back to the mysterious nun. Her posture, the way she held herself during the hymns, it all seemed slightly off-kilter for a woman of the cloth. He shook off the feeling, chiding himself for being distracted during mass. As a priest, his focus should be solely on the service and his congregation. Yet, there was something undeniably intriguing about this newcomer. Copia silently admonished himself, refocusing his attention on the sacred rituals at hand. He took a deep breath, centering himself in the familiar rhythms of the mass.

When it came time for communion, Copia's heart rate inexplicably quickened as the line of parishioners moved forward. The new nun approached and he felt an odd tension in the air. She raised her head, and their eyes met. Copia's breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, almost luminous in the church's dim lighting.

"The body of Christ," Copia intoned, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.

"Amen," the nun replied, her voice a low, melodious whisper that sent an unexpected shiver down Copia's spine. To his surprise, she opened her mouth instead of raising her cupped hands as most parishioners did. He exhaled slowly, steeling himself, momentarily thrown by this deviation from the usual practice.

He placed the communion wafer on her tongue, his finger brushed it ever so slightly. A jolt of... something... passed between them, leaving Copia momentarily stunned. The nun's lips curled into the faintest of smiles as she turned away, leaving Copia almost shattered. Shaking himself mentally, he continued with the communion, but his thoughts kept drifting back to those piercing blue eyes and that enigmatic smile.

The last of the parishioners returned to their seats, Copia moved back to the altar, a place of safety for him. He carefully cleaned the sacred vessels, his movements deliberate and reverent. The familiar ritual helped to calm him, pushing away the lingering thoughts of the nun. He felt like he was in autopilot for the rest of Mass, not his favorite feeling in the world but he was at least able to get through it. He raised his hands, inviting the congregation to stand for the prayer after communion. “Let us pray," he intoned, his voice carrying through the church. He recited the prayer, asking for God's continued blessings and grace upon those who had received the Eucharist.

After the prayer, Copia shared his usual weekly announcements with the congregation. He reminded them about the upcoming parish potluck and called for volunteers for the food bank drive. The attentive parishioners responded with nods and murmurs of agreement. These community events and opportunities to give back were truly Copia's favorite aspects of his role—even more so than having an audience for his sermons. Such initiatives held a special place in his heart; after all, he'd benefited greatly from them during his own upbringing.

Finally, it was time for the Concluding Rite. Copia spread his arms wide, his voice warm as he spoke the familiar words: "The Lord be with you." The congregation responded in unison, "And with your spirit." He then gave the final blessing, making the sign of the cross over his flock. Mass drew to a close, members began filing out of their pews and Copia felt a mixture of relief and lingering unease. The service had gone well, despite the unexpected distraction. Yet as he watched the congregation file out, his eyes couldn't help but search for a glimpse of blue eyes and a nun's habit among the departing crowd.

He lingered in the pull for a moment longer then made his way into the crowd, exchanging warm greetings and engaging in light conversation. He found himself particularly drawn into a chat with Margot, a cherished elderly parishioner who never missed a Sunday service.

"Father Copia," Margot beamed, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "I can't wait for the potluck! I'm planning to bring my famous lemon tarts. Everyone always seems to enjoy them so."

Copia's face lit up at the mention of Margot's renowned dessert. "Ah, your lemon tarts are truly a blessing, Margot. I'm looking forward to them myself." He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm thinking of making pasta for the event. I, eheh, got the new Martha Stewart cookbook and..."

Their pleasant exchange was interrupted by a gentle tap on Copia's shoulder. He turned to find Sister Laura, one of the regular nuns, standing beside the mysterious newcomer he had noticed earlier.

"Father," Sister Laura began, her voice warm but formal, "I'd like to introduce you to our newest member, Sister Veronica."

Copia's breath caught in his throat as his eyes met those striking blue ones once again. Sister Veronica offered a small, shy smile. He took her in, trying to be discreet. She was petite, with wisps of dark hair escaping from beneath her habit. Her posture seemed self-protective, arms wrapped around herself. Copia couldn't help but notice how her blue eyes sparkled with an inner light, a contrast against her pale skin. He quickly averted his gaze, reminding himself of his position and the impropriety of such thoughts.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Father Copia," Sister Veronica said, her voice carrying the same melodious quality he remembered from communion.

Copia reached out to shake her hand as he felt a familiar stirring within him - a temptation he had grappled with before. The touch of her hand sent a jolt through him, reminiscent of their earlier encounter during communion.

"Welcome to our parish, Sister Veronica," Copia managed, his voice steady the discomfort that warred inside him. "I hope you'll find a home here with us."

Sister Veronica's smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you, Father. I already feel welcomed." She glanced around the church, her gaze lingering on the ornate stained glass windows. "It's a beautiful parish you have here."

Copia nodded, his eyes following her gaze. "Indeed, we are blessed with such beauty. Perhaps… I could, eh, give you a tour sometime, show you some of the hidden treasures?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he felt a flush creep up his neck. Sister Veronica's eyes widened slightly, a hint of something unreadable flickering in their depths.

Sister Laura, sensing the tension, cleared her throat softly. "Father, perhaps you could tell Sister Veronica about our upcoming potluck? I'm sure she'd love to contribute."

Copia blinked, grateful for the interruption. "Ah, yes, of course," he replied, his voice a touch higher than usual. "We'd be delighted to have you join us, Sister Veronica. It's a wonderful opportunity to meet the congregation."

Sister Veronica nodded, her blue eyes sparkling with interest. "That sounds lovely, Father. Perhaps I could bring my grandmother's secret recipe for cannoli?" She glanced at Sister Laura, who nodded approvingly. Copia felt a flutter in his chest at the mention of the Italian dessert, one of his favorites.

"That's perfect, Sister Veronica," Copia said, his tone polite but brief. "I look forward to trying it." He nodded to both nuns. "If you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Sister Laura can help you with any other questions."

With that, Copia turned and walked briskly towards his office, his mind spinning with frantic thoughts of what he was feeling. In almost a blink of an eye, he had arrived, quickly seeking the solace. He leaned against the closed door, his heart racing. A panicked laugh escaped his lips, echoing in the silence of his office. "Why?" he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel this way?"

The image of Sister Veronica's piercing blue eyes flashed in his mind, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the thoughts. This wasn't right. He was a man of the cloth, dedicated to his faith and his congregation. These feelings... they were inappropriate, forbidden even.

Copia pushed himself away from the door and paced the small confines of his office. His hands fidgeted restlessly, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken. "Get a hold of yourself," he muttered, his Italian accent thickening with his distress. He paused by his desk, his eyes falling on the worn Bible that always sat there. Guilt washed over him in waves. Copia sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He needed to pray, to seek guidance and strength. But for the first time in a long while, he felt off kilter.

Copia shook his head, trying to dismiss the worry. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper - Maisie’s drawing. A deep sigh fell from his lips.

This was why he had chosen this path. This was his purpose - to guide, to protect, to be a beacon of hope for those who needed it most. The innocence and trust reflected in that simple drawing grounded him, reminding him of his vows and responsibilities.

"I will stay the path," Copia whispered to himself, his resolve strengthening despite the lingering worry about his eye. With renewed determination, he clasped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer, seeking the guidance he so desperately needed - not just for his spiritual dilemma, but now also for this unexpected physical concern.

As Copia he began, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through his eye. He winced, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the affected area. The world around him began to blur, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Panic rose in his chest as he struggled to make sense of the plan.

He felt a warm trickle from his nose. Copia lowered his hand, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the crimson stain on his fingers. Blood. He was bleeding. In a daze, he fumbled for a tissue, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He pressed the cloth to his nose, his gaze fell upon the drawing in front of him. His entire body went rigid, a mix of anger and despair welling up inside. Droplets of blood had fallen onto the paper, marring the innocent crayon strokes with stark red splatters. Copia stared at the ruined drawing, his heart sinking. With trembling hands, he carefully folded the bloodstained paper and tucked it into his pocket.

More blood spilled from his nose, splattering on his desk. Panic ripped through him, his head feeling light and heart thundering in his chest. He stumbled to his feet, his vision still blurry, and rushed out of his office towards the restroom.

He collided with someone on the way because of course he did. Looking up, his heart skipped a beat as he recognized Sister Veronica's concerned face. The sight of her caused another surge of anxiety, and to his horror, he felt a fresh gush of blood from his nose.

"Father Copia!" Sister Veronica exclaimed, her blue eyes widening with alarm. "O-oh goodness! Here, let me help you."

He wanted to protest, to tell her he had it handled but the words refused to leave him. Sister Veronica gently guided him to a nearby alcove, away from prying eyes and he followed silently. She produced a clean handkerchief from her pocket and began to dab at the blood on his face with a tenderness that made Copia's heart race even faster.

"Tilt your head forward slightly," she instructed softly, her warm fingers on his chin sending an involuntary shiver through him. "It'll help stop the bleeding." Copia complied, feeling a mixture of gratitude and unease at her proximity. The scent of her - a subtle mix of incense and something floral - filled his senses, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

"Thank you, Sister," he managed to mumble, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. "I... I don't know what came over me."

Sister Veronica's eyes met his, filled with genuine concern. "It's alright, Father. These things happen. Just take deep breaths. Are you feeling any better?"

Copia nodded slightly, acutely aware of her gentle touch as she continued to tend to him. The bleeding seemed to be slowing and he was grateful. He took a deep breath and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The gentle care and the clean scent of the handkerchief transported him back to his childhood days in the infirmary. He remembered the kind nuns who had cared for him then, their soft hands and soothing voices a balm to his young, troubled soul. The memory brought a bittersweet ache to his chest.

"It's... it's been a rather strange day for me," Copia finally spoke up, his voice slightly shaky. He met Sister Veronica's concerned gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and unease. "I apologize for troubling you with this, Sister."

Sister Veronica's expression softened, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "There's no need to apologize, Father. We all have our difficult days. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest at her kindness, even as he struggled with the conflicting emotions her presence stirred within him. He shook his head slightly, careful not to dislodge the handkerchief. "Your assistance has, eh, been more than enough, Sister. Thank you." Copia gave a deep sigh. "I'll make sure this is spotless when I return it to you, Sister." He tugged at the handkerchief.

Sister Veronica shook her head gently, her blue eyes warm. "Please, keep it, Father. Consider it a small token of welcome to your parish."

"Thank you again, Sister," he whispered, raising his hand to hold the handkerchief to his nose. As their fingers brushed, Copia felt a familiar jolt course through him.

Sister Veronica's expression softened further. "I'm here if you need any assistance, Father. Please don't hesitate to ask." She lingered for perhaps a moment too long, then turned to leave, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

As Copia watched her retreating figure, he felt a twinge in his chest - a mixture of gratitude, confusion, and something else he dared not name. He took a deep breath, relieved to find that the blood flow had finally stopped.

Lowering the handkerchief, Copia leaned against the wall.

A strange day indeed.

[happyhauntt]

if my wish were granted — nikolai lantsov

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: anya likes teasing nikolai. it’s far too easy to get under his skin. this time, enjoying some peace aboard the Volkvolny, anya claims that she prefers sturmhond’s rugged looks over nikolai’s princely features.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: fluff, a lil angst if you squint, this is steamy with sexual references but no actual smut, i'd still put it as 18+ just in case, pre-established relationship, this might be the closest to smut i've ever written and i need validation so please tell me i did a good job even if it's a lie, mentions of past injury. oh and krysa = rat.

─── word count: 1.4k.

     The gentle rocking of the ship is a soothing lullaby to Anya. Curled up and warm beneath silk blankets, she feels like she is small again and her mother is humming a sweet Old Ravkan song in her ear, familiar and strange all at once.

     Her mother, of course, did no such thing in Anya's youth — all those nursemaids and nannies — but the rhythm of it is still a balm on her soul. The rocking of the ship, the steady beat of Nikolai's heart beneath her cheek, the scent of saltwater on his skin. This is home, she thinks. She has never felt contentment like this before. She fears she never will again.

     Nikolai stirs beneath her. He toys absently with the loose locks of her hair, curling honey-coloured strands around his fingers. A soft smile stretches over his face, and when he speaks, his voice is low and husky with the remains of sleep. "What are you thinking about?"

     She looks up at him, so close she can feel the warmth of his breath on her face. His lips brush her hair as he speaks, and something lights up inside her chest. A spark she prays will never go out. A sense of safety that settles over her only when he is near.

     She doesn’t respond at first. She raises her hand, draws a gentle line down his face, from his brow to his chin. Nikolai shivers beneath her touch. Her finger lingers on his nose for a few moments, brushing lightly over the tailored crookedness of it. Nikolai tilts his chin and kisses her fingertip.

     “Not much,” she says, finally, and it’s the truth. Her mind feels fuzzy and warm, and the air in the cabin smells like candle wax and salt. Though their country is wartorn and her thoughts are forever occupied with other, more pressing matters — here and now, her mind is quiet. Anya will savour this bliss, these fleeting moments of peace between them, for as long as she can. It is the only time he belongs to her, and nobody else.

      His grin is wide and smug and edged with lovesickness. The tips of his fingers draw abstract shapes on the bare skin of her shoulder. “That’s quite an achievement. I must have done a fantastic job, if you’ve managed to lose your thoughts. I had worried it couldn’t be done.”

     Anya scowls mockingly at him, but she cannot fight the smile that curls at the edge of her lips. “Alright then, sobachka, you asked for it. I was just thinking that I quite prefer your nose like this. All rugged and handsome.”

     He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that makes Anya’s stomach do somersaults. Muddy green eyes rove over her, as familiar to her now as Nikolai’s usual hazel. “I think I prefer when you used to call me krysa.”

     “Ah,” she says, “but I didn’t kiss you then, did I? I’d call you krysa and push you into the nearest puddle. And you certainly weren’t this handsome then. You were still a boy, prim and proper and clean-cut.”

     "But I was a soldier, darling, and you did manage to fall madly in love with me.” A muscle jumps in his jaw, and Anya feels like she’s won some kind of prize. “Is that not ruggedly handsome enough for you?"

     "I'm in love with you, am I? That's news to me."

     A low growl rolls through Nikolai’s chest and suddenly she's beneath him. He hovers over her like a Saint of all things unholy, propped up on his palms with a wicked grin slashed across his mouth, and he kisses her deeply, tongue lashing over hers before he trails lower, peppering open-mouthed kisses over her jaw, her chest, her stomach.

     A calloused hand wraps gently around her thigh. The rings studding his fingers are cold against her skin. He kisses her broken knee, softly, reverently. Looks up at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "How is it now?"

     "Much better." It had never healed right, but the pain of it doesn’t bother her much anymore. Anya is a soldier, after all. The salty breeze and the warmth of the air have eased the brittleness of her bones. Ravka's cold will be the death of her someday, she's sure.

     The scar that remains is little more than a puckered white line, disguising the sort of damage that will never go away, not completely. She had a cane made for when the pain is at its worst, when the chill makes her bones feel like knives beneath her skin and she can no longer put on a brave face. For the most part, it remains hidden out of sight. She despises feeling weak.

     "We're about an hour out from port," Anya murmurs, as Nikolai trails another line of kisses up her body. He ignores her for a moment, choosing to wrap her leg around his waist instead, humming against the column of her throat. "We should get dressed."

     His heart sinks at her words, and he buries his face in her neck. He feels her hand curling into his hair, stroking idly through tailored-red strands, and he wishes there was some way to stop time.

     He wants to press his lips to hers and kiss her until she's breathless. Wants to fuck her hard into the mattress until the rest of the world melts away and there's just this room and him. Wants to make her come so many times she can't remember her own name. Anything to keep her for a moment longer, soft and safe and happy, where the hell of reality can't touch her.

     But Nikolai has no such power, and in the next moment Anya is pushing him away, shimmying out from under him until she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. He reaches out with desperate hands, tries to latch them around her waist, but Anya merely casts an apologetic glance over her shoulder.

     The battle is lost, Nikolai knows, and so he sighs. Settling back on his elbows, he watches her retrieve some of their discarded clothes from the floor.

     “You look better in my clothes than I do,” he tells her as she tugs his shirt down over her head. She turns to face him, silhouetted against the golden light as it spills through the window. His shirt is long and loose on her, gaping at the chest where she’d pulled the ties undone. The hem just brushes the top of her thigh, leaving the rest of her long legs exposed in a way that leaves him breathless.

     She reaches up and sweeps her hair out of the collar, allowing it to fall in tangled curls down her back. “That’s because I’m wearing them, and you’re not. Up now, Kolya. Procrastinating will not make me stay longer; we both have schedules to keep.”

     When the Volkvolny finally docks in the port at Os Kervo, Nikolai kisses Anya just before she reaches the gangway. He keeps a tight grip on her waist but his lips are soft, tender, and Anya knows that if kisses could have a flavour, this one would taste of sadness.

     Saying goodbye is always the hardest part.

     When he pulls away, finally, he keeps her close. Their foreheads press together and his eyes are closed, as if he can keep her that way, as if the secret to making her stay is pretending she will always be there.

     She runs her thumb over the bridge of his nose, over the knots of ill-healed bone that Tolya put there, to disguise Nikolai’s true features. When he opens his eyes, they are green and not hazel, and a bolt of grief streaks through her. She misses them. She misses him, so much, and he is still here.

     She wonders if there will ever come a time when one of them isn’t always leaving.

     Two weeks after she leaves, a letter from Tamar appears, delivered with the rest of Anya’s correspondance. Her laughter peels out of her office and if her employees wonder what has made their boss, usually so stern and sober, sound so utterly giddy, then none of them mention it.

     Please tell the captain that you think he’s handsome as-is, Tamar writes. He keeps goading Tolya into actually trying to break his nose. Anya laughs until tears drip from her chin and the ink smears across the page. And if her next letter to Nikolai is a little more complimentary than usual, well, that’s a sacrifice she is willing to make.

[siriuslylu]

constellation - wolfstar microfic - word count: 2055

Remus entered the room looking down, deep in thought.

“Moony! What’s with the face?” asked James, he got to the room a little bit before him and was heading to his bed.

Remus looked at him, really looked, James, one of his best friends, gigantic heart, patient like no one else, he was always on the front line for his friends, always a kind word, a soft look, a good ear. Figured if he could talk to anyone, it’d be him, and found out he was actually itching to get it out of his system.

So, he sighed and walked his way.

“Prongs, actually, can I talk to you for a minute? Where you going somewhere?”

“Oh, sure Moons! I was looking for my gloves before heading to the Quidditch field, but it’s only me practicing so I got time, what’s up?”

He took a moment, he was actually gonna do it, it seemed easier in his head, but right now, he felt suddenly nervous. James encouraged him to sit on the bed with him.

“Well? What’s on your mind?”

“Prongs, I-“, he licked his lips.

His friend frowned, “Remus, should I worr-“

“IlikeSirius”

A moment of silence.

“What?”

He took a deep breath again, closing his eyes and sighed heavily while opening them

“I… I like Sirius”

“O…kay? Me too?”

“No, Prongs… I… like him. As in… I’m a little bit in… love with him”

“You… WHAT?!”

He panicked, has it been a mistake? Should he backtrack and say it was a joke?

Seeing Remus’ face, James hurried to clarify

“Wait, no, I, sorry Moons, I didn’t mean to be rude, it just… took me by surprise I guess, umm, wanna tell me a bit more?”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t all lost, he could do it.

“I don’t really know when… I just…” he couldn’t find the words, hasn’t thought this far through honestly, and what exactly did he feel for his friend? How could he explain? “I really don’t know when it changed, one day he was just my friend, the next day I realised I was somehow upset? whenever I saw him with girls or whatever, figured it was because I didn’t want him to spend less time with us, and then, suddenly one day, I saw hip applying lip balm and thought ‘huh, how would it feel to kiss the strawberry off his lips?’ And stilled, because you just don’t think things like that about your friends; after that it all went down, I saw him everywhere all the time, and it… it wouldn’t stop, every normal thing he did was suddenly huge, I couldn’t stop staring at him, watching his hands gesticulate when he talked, his cheeky smile when he thought of a prank, the length of his bloody eyelashes, it was so frustrating, I started to blush whenever I heard him laugh, I think I’m going insane” he looked up to find his friend gaping at him with wide eyes “oh, sorry, I guess it was too much?”

James got out of his trance and looked at him softly smiling that warm James Potter smile “no Moons, not too much, just surprised you… felt that way, I can see you really need to get it out”

“I feel like vomiting, both literally and figuratively, are you… weirded out?”

He saw his friend think for a moment before shaking his head

“No, not really” he frowned a bit and relaxed “it actually makes sense, you two are very close, I know how people usually feel about umm queerness, but you’re my friend Moony” he grabbed his hand and squeezed it “you’re my best friend, how could I be weirded out by you? I know you, it’s not typical, yeah, but who am I to tell someone who should or shouldn’t fancy or love?”

Remus sighed again, he felt a huge backpack off his shoulders “thanks Prongs, you’re an amazing friend, you knew that?”

He saw him shrug confidently “so I’ve been told” and looked at him again in that soft way he had reserved for his friends “Moony, are you going to tell him?”

And there it was, his biggest fear, she shook his head sadly

“No, I don’t think so, how would you feel if suddenly your guy best friend confessed?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want him suffering in silence, I mean, I’d prefer to know I guess”

“Is not that easy, I don’t wanna ruin our friendship”

“You don’t think he can feel the same way?”

He snorted, yeah sure, as if Sirius Black could like him

“No way, first of all, have you seen how many girlfriends he’s had? And second of all, have you seen me?”

That put a deep defensive frown in his friend’s face

“What do you mean have I seen you? What’s wrong with you?”

“How much time do you have” he said rolling his eyes

“Moony, you’re amazing, and handsome, even I can admit that, don’t think so low of you”

“Well, still, I don’t think he likes blokes so…”

“Have you asked him?”

“Of course not”

“Then?”

He sighed “it’s… complicates Prongs, I’d rather keep his friendship intact, I really don’t know how could he react or what he could think of me”

“Give him more credit, he wouldn’t push you off”

“It’s easy to say when the feelings are not towards you”

A moment of silence, then James broke it looking at him

“Okay Moons, tell me then”

“What?”

“Whatever you want to, everything, take it off your chest, tell me everything you feel about him, what would you tell him if you could”

“That might really freak you out”

“It won’t, I promise, you need to let it out”

A moment

“Okay, I-“ he felt suddenly a bit shy, but he stared at his hands, it’d be just like talking to his journal, he thought, James was giving him the space he needed and maybe it’d help him, maybe if he wasn’t full of it he could actually look at Sirius and not feel like a ticking bomb. “You know summer evenings? When you’re just laying on the grass watching the water in the lake as still as it can get, feeling the warm breeze caress your hair, the last rays of sunshine in your face? Right in that golden hour when everything’s at peace, when the world stops for a minute and you feel the happiest you’ve ever been and will ever be, that nothing can go wrong and life is wonderful?”

“Yeah”

“That’s how I feel when I look at him, he feels like a summer evening every time I see him smile, I feel like I could do everything in life if say or do something that makes him laugh, like I’d trade everything I own for him to throw his head back and explode in laughter without other care in the world, he feels… safe, like home, like I could sleep in the curves of his curls. Watching his eyes go from blue to gray in cold days is like getting to know the best kept secret, I could trace by memory every mole, I could chart all his freckles and create the most beautiful constellations, I could listen to him talk about anything and everything like he’s my favourite record, I- as you can see I can become the sappiest idiot, I swear, the girls wouldn’t rival me” he chuckled.

A minute and he looked up to find James looking at him with the saddest smile.

“Moons…” he said in a whisper “that’s… you’re… that was beautiful. Are you absolutely sure he wouldn’t feel the same way?”

He opened his mouth to refute again, when the wardrobe door beat him, opening slowly. Everything stilled, the world paused, he was pretty damn sure even time stopped, because there, inside, was Sirius Black himself, looking fragile, face unreadable full of feelings, Remus thought he was going to die right then and there, he could barely speak

“Si-Sirius, I-“

A hand on halt and he closed his mouth instantly, next to him James held his breath

“Padfoot? What were you doing there?”

“Did you… mean all that?” Said ignoring James and holding Remus’ gaze

“I-“

“Did you?” Said hurriedly

There was no point in lying now, cards where on the table apparently, and if he was lucky, at least he might even instead of losing

“I- Yes Sirius I- I meant all of it” said closing his eyes “but you don’t- please I can’t-“ he opened them up again and grew wide when he saw tears in the corner of his friends eyes “Siriu-“

“I would…”

Silence

“I would feel the same way… just so you know”

“You… what?”

A chuckle

“I didn’t think you could feel the same way I did”

“You…?!”

“Padfoot you like Moony back?” Asked James excitedly, both friends looked at him then and he felt out of place “oh I umm, sorry, got carried away, of course you can talk about it without me here, I’ll just, uh, go” he went for the door when he heard Sirius calling

“Prongs”, as he turned, a pair of gloves flew to him, caught them just in time, “I was actually hiding to scare you the moment you came looking for them, I was about to jump when moony came in.

“Oh” he snorted, “well, thanks, I’ll be on the field if you guys need me, yeah?”

“Sure pal”

James left the room and suddenly, the air thickened

“Remus, look at me?”

He did, and oh he was doomed, those eyes held the entire universe in them

“Moony, my Moony” Sirius approached carefully and sit on the spot James left “how… how long?”

Remus took a breath “I really don’t know… Way too bloody much though” he chuckled “you… you really…?”

“Yes”, no hesitation

“How? When? How? I mean…”

Sirius shrugged, “I don’t know, I guess since the beginning but I didn’t notice until we grew up a bit more, I always found you handsome but… liking you? A while ago, I wanted to be with you all the time, and you’re the first one I wanna show a new song, or talk about my day, I think of you every time there’s chocolate cauldron and save one up in case you get late for lunch, it’s happened since forever. I just didn’t think you….”

“Yes”, his turn to be firm about it

A minute

“Could you really map a constellation from my freckles?”, Sirius joked, because of course he could

“I can”

“Show me”

“Well”, he started drawing lines in his face, slowly, softly, actually enjoying the fact that he could touch him this intimately “it starts with this one here, under your eye, right to this one on the top of your nose, up to the bigger one on your cheekbone, and back to the centre of your lower lip”

He stopped there for a second, and when he was about to move away, Sirius kissed his finger softly, Remus’ breath hitched as he looked at him, then Sirius grabbed his hand, opening it fully and kissing it

“Moony”

And that was it, he wasn’t about to wait any longer, Remus cradled his face, got closer but stopped an inch away, looking into Sirius eyes for something that’d stop him, he couldn’t find anything, just saw him closing his eyes and a second later the distance there was left.

Kissing Sirius Black felt like nothing he’s ever experienced before, his lips were soft and moved carefully around his, felt him open his mouth, and the moment he tasted his tongue knew there was no going back, he’d never feel this again with anyone, it was as if a supernova exploded in his chest, he felt like crying, and laughing, and breathing, and dying and living all at the same time, actually, he was probably doing all of it.

They separated a little bit, Sirius moved forward again and pecked him, and pecked him, and pecked him again, as if making sure it was real, Remus giggled and pecked him back, just because he could, and when their eyes met, they smiled

“If I’m your summer evenings, to me, you’re the rest of the days and nights”

And oh, he loved summer

———

English is not my first language, so please forgive grammar mistakes, also idk if 2000 words count as “microfic” lol but thanks for reading 🌻

[icallhimjoey]

YES! yes hurt me won with 82.4% and i cant WAIT to cry over bookstore joey once more! he has my full heart and i need him to violently sob over me whilst clinging on and telling me he loves me: bitch, do you worst!

HURT ME!

fine, bitch. just know that i hurt my own feelings writing this, and none of you will be eligible for compensation :) here's the bit of when bookstore!joe and you had the saddest fight you'd ever had with him from the series A Whisper Away - enjoy Wordcount: 4.1K

---

But, I Love You

Date night.

You weren’t meant to be screaming at each other on date night. You rarely ever had date nights to begin with... maybe that was why you weren’t any good at them. But this disastrous? Neither of you had seen it coming.

Joe’d decided to mark a random Friday night in July in both your calendars as date night. With the store and the apartment empty, tidied up, and void of any immediate responsibility, you took a lot longer to get ready than you’d usually take.

Put some music on and took time to slowly do your make-up and to blend properly for once. Not that you looked any different in the end. You’d just been slower. Hadn’t rushed yourself until Joe said, “I’ll wait downstairs,” and you saw him walk past the opened bathroom door in a black trench coat.

You were going to look far too casual next to him in what you had on, so you quickly rushed your lip balm, sprayed your face with setting spray and went to find something else to wear. Something more sleek, and shinier, and... more black, for easy elegance.

You still looked casual.

Knew you’d look it especially next to Joe.

Didn’t know how to match Joe in smartness, even if you tried.

It wasn’t really a fair race if you were honest – fancy actor on a steady climb to more exciting things and bookstore owner that relished in the silence and comfort written words brought.

When you made your way down the stairs, out of the clouds of scents that hairspray, bodylotion and perfume left lingering, it was nice to step into the scent of books. Of old paper, and wooden shelves and old leather armchairs.

You weren’t going to lie, you amped that shit up by placing strategic scented candles around – never to be lit without supervision. Obviously.

Stepping into the store front, you expected Joe to maybe be tidying a little, like either of you would often do if you were in there for a little longer than a minute after closing. Straighten some shelves, pile some stray books that were left near the till, or even sweep the walkways a little.

Instead, Joe was just sat in one of the armchairs and seemed lost in thought. Not on his phone. Not holding a book. Just, looking up and around, but eyes quickly found you once you stepped into view.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he smiled, pushed his cheeks up and turned his eyes into slits.

“Sorry for making you wait,” you said, going to collect your keys from one of the drawers.

“That’s ok, we’ve got some time ‘til the reservation, we could even walk if we wanted,”

Rummaging, you noticed the keys to the front door weren’t where you thought you’d left them.

“Have you seen the–”

You heard them jingle in Joe’s hand before you looked up and smiled. Joe was already standing by the door.

“Walking’s fine, although, maybe not for the way back,” you said, revealing your heeled ankle boots when you stepped around the counter. “Or you’d have to be all right with holding me upright the whole way back,”

“Hmh, sounds romantic,”

“We’ll have eaten; you’ll be sluggish, and I’ll be extra heavy,”

“Yea, maybe not,” Joe said around a laugh, doorhandle in hand.

“Where are we going, again?” you slung an arm into a jacket. Sure, it was July, but it had been abnormally cold for the time of year. Felt more like autumn. Looked more like autumn too – grey skies, wet streets, wind.

When you mentioned the restaurant he picked, you froze.

Made eye-contact.

Dropped your shoulders.

Groaned as you tilted your head.

“Are you joking?”

Joe gave an awkward chuckle, looked confused. “Why would I be joking? You know I know Maurice,”

The head chef.

“Yea, but that’s like... that place is one big room with window’s all ‘round. Can we not go? Not there, anyway? You’ll be stared at all night.”

You would both be stared at all night.

Joe just shrugged. Scrunched his nose up a little.

“So? Let them stare. I’ll only have eyes for you anyway.”

And you knew it was meant to be cute. Meant to make your stomach twist and have it flutter with butterflies, because your boyfriend just said he wouldn’t even notice people paying attention to him because he only wanted to pay attention to you. It should have made you smile, giggle, blush a little, but instead, it made you grimace.

“Joe,” you pleaded. “It’s Friday as well.”

“It’ll be fine,” Joe said, voice carrying humour as he wildly beckoned you towards the door that he was still holding open, hoping that you’d step through already so he could lock it behind you.

You didn’t move, though.

“No, please, I’m seriously not... I don’t want to go out with Joe Quinn,”

Joe sighed. Let his head drop.

“Have my family group chat fill with photos of us with our mouths half open shoveling pasta in – that’s not,” you sighed. “That’s no fun for me, I’ll be on edge all night eyeing for girls who secretly have their phones out... can we just...” you looked around the store. “Can we maybe get take out and have a meal in here? Do a cute picnic?”

Joe grew more annoyed by the second and slowly closed the door. Turned to stand in front of it, both hands in his pockets, and then was quiet for a bit as he looked at you. After a few seconds he shrugged, and you knew he meant, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?

“We don’t have to have it in here,”

The bookstore had been a touchy subject for a while now. But you’d changed the opening times for Joe – you were now closed on Sundays, and you opened late on Monday morning. And Anne worked the most hours she’d ever worked, because financially that was easy to manage now, and that also it meant that you didn’t have to work late every day.

You hadn’t wanted to change the opening times initially. Felt like Joe was forcing you out of your job, what with him wanting to move out of the apartment above it as well and all. But two weeks in, you had a whispered conversation in bed in which you confessed that it was nice to be able to stay in bed a little longer on Sundays. Have slow breakfasts together. Have Anne do the things you’d normally do after opening hours during her shift. Joe’d only made fun for a second, made you tell him he was right and wouldn’t stop poking you in the ribs until you squealed the words out.

“We could also... go someplace else?” you were the one to shrug this time, but yours was more unsure, more hopeful because you wanted Joe to smile and say, “Sure, of course, whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”. That wasn’t what you got, though.

Before Joe said anything, he pushed both heels of his hands into his eyes.

Fuck.

You were going to have a fight. You didn’t know if Joe knew, but pushing his palms into both eyes was his tell.

“No, never mind,” you quickly backtracked.

You’d sit in a restaurant on edge all night if it meant evading a fight.

“Let’s go,” you stepped closer, wanted to reach for the door behind Joe, but he didn’t move. Instead, he grabbed the arm that reached and stilled you.

“What is it...” Joe started, eyes still closed. “What is it about– why can’t we...” he searched for the right words.

“We can,” you tried, but they were the wrong words if you were to go by the grip that strengthened on your arm.

“Clearly we can’t, I’m not... I’m not going to take you somewhere you don’t want to go,” he looked at you then, eyes all sad but definitely annoyed. “It’s just, it's the reasoning is what gets me, doesn’t it?”

Not a question for you to answer.

“It’s like you don’t want to be seen with me, so, then what? We just never go out for a meal ever again?”

That’s not what you meant.

“That’s not what I–”

“Can’t go out with Joe Quinn on the off chance that someone recognises me,”

Joe said it like that had never happened before. Like there weren’t still people visiting the bookstore on the daily in the hopes of running into Joe. Like there weren’t girls who walked past the windows and peered inside to make sure Joe wasn’t in before they’d look away again. Like every conversation you had with a stranger didn’t at some point suddenly turn into a question-and-answer session about Joe that you didn’t know how to politely get out of.

“Joe,” you tried for the door again, but Joe was the one to step further into the store now, signaling he wasn’t planning on stepping out with you just yet.

“I’ve been out, had dinner at lovely restaurants like... six or seven times this past month, and, I’ve not been bothered by anyone. No, I did, maybe once, but it was fine, it’s always kind people, nothing bad,”

“No, I know,” you didn’t know, but you wanted this to stop just as quickly as it had started.

“Never mind what I said, you’re probably right, let’s get going,” you gestured at the door, but didn’t step closer. You needed Joe to give you an inch before you’d do so.

Joe didn’t give you an inch. Sighed deeply instead and stared out the window a second.

“Sometimes... sometimes I think you don’t want this,”

Joe was right. You didn’t want to go out with your boyfriend and have people ogle all night. You didn’t want Joe to be all glossy and clean shaven and styled in a coat worth two grand, no matter how good he looked. You didn’t like Joe gone half the year, and didn’t like Joe growing in his success because that only meant more of all the negative things.

You wanted Joe soft and scruffy, with a book in his lap, sat in one of the armchairs in the window on a slow Tuesday morning when you’d get to make coffee for him and when Anne would tell you to stop staring at him because it was weird.

“That you don’t want to still do this with me,”

Oh.

No. No, you did want that.

“No, I do want that.” You were quick to state. Had to let Joe know that you did want to be with him.

“Yea, but,” Joe gestured. Meant, then what the fuck is it with you not wanting to go out for dinner with me?

You sighed a long breath, one that turned into a grunt at the end.

“It’s just that... I’m not in the mood to go for dinner with the whole world, you know?” because pictures would get taken and would circle the globe in TikTok videos where they’d zoom in and out set to music. “I just want to have a nice meal with you...”

“Which is what I planned for,”

“Yea, but...” you tilted your head. Gave Joe a face with scrunched up eyebrows. Joe knew you meant that that’s not how things worked out there. Going out in a busy area where Joe had had his picture taken in the streets before was the opposite of going for a quiet meal together.

It was quiet for a bit, and you hoped that maybe the cogs in Joe’s mind would guide him into making a decision. You’d go with either one. Would sit in a popular restaurant with him. Would have your picture taken by a sneaky phone badly hidden behind a music. Would much rather go somewhere where they could hide the two of you in the back somewhere, but, whatever Joe’d choose, you decided you were just going to go with it.

Was easier that way.

But Joe stayed silent. Stared at the floor a second.

“Remember that first year of us knowing each other?” you suddenly said, hoping to shift the mood. “Where you’d come in and would just... be around? Before we even had Anne working here?”

It was the weirdest but also the best time you think you’d ever had in the store. Of course, memories involuntarily got romanticized – your brain left out half the bad shit that happened, made you forget about the hardships and stressful days, but made you remember Joe and his fluffy hair, in his wrinkled linen shirts of which the buttons sometimes strained a bit around his chest and some skin would peep through.

You hadn’t even introduced yourself to Joe, but had learned how he liked his coffee and would give him a steaming mug of it whenever he’d been sat reading in one of the chairs for over an hour.

“No one ever recognised you in here,” you reminisced, couldn’t help but look over at the chair that was now Joe’s chair, even though he barely sat in it anymore.

“If I’d asked you to go for a meal then, you wouldn’t have gone either,”

Ouch.

Your neck almost cracked with how fast it turned to look at Joe. He seemed unimpressed.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not like you were that different back then,”

He was right. You hadn’t changed much at all, but, that wasn’t the point.

“No, but... it was nice to be around you and have it involve no one else,” and you willed a small smile onto your face, because you hoped maybe Joe would copy it. Would agree with you. Would stop this path towards more mean words and would just tell you what was going to happen for dinner because you were getting hungry and felt the itch to get out of there in your feet.

“I’m not going to put on a show and play myself but four year ago,”

“That’s not what I’m asking!”

“Then what? What are you asking?”

“I’m asking for us to go have our date night... we can still make the reservation, see Maurice, have him cook us beautiful food, I just... let’s go, I want to go,” with a little more confidence, you touched the door handle like Joe had done before.

Joe narrowed his eyes a little at you, as if suspicious, and deep in thought.

“Do you think that was when we peaked? When we wouldn’t even talk to each other properly?”

For a second you didn’t believe you heard that right.

“What?”

“When I didn’t know you lived upstairs and you googled me every night?”

“Oh my God,” you scoffed, offended. You did not google Joe every night, and Joe fucking knew it.

“When all I knew about you is that you ran this store? And you wouldn't fucking tell me anything else about you, ever? Was the fantasy of being with me better than–”

“Stop!”

You were surprised by the sudden volume of your voice.

“Stop it! No! Of course not! Jesus Christ, Joe, is that what you think?”

Joe looked pissed off as he breathed through flared nostrils, brow all furrowed in your direction.

“Is that what you think I think?”

“If that’s not it, then what is it?”

Yea, all right. This was just going to be a fight then. Fuck dinner.

You let go of the door handle and stepped away from it, more towards the counter. Further away from Joe who was stood nearer the windows, closer to the armchairs.

“It’s what I just said! It’s...”

There was more. You stopped by the counter, placed your hands on top and hung into your shoulders, head hung down. You were already regretting saying what you hadn’t said yet but decided to go for it anyway. Now seemed as good a time as any.

“It’s that... I can’t remember the last time I didn’t actively miss you, with your work, and your–”

“I’m right here. Right now. I’m here.” Joe held two arms out wide to demonstrate.

“And still!” you exclaimed, eyes all wide, slightly bent at the hips to get the words out closer to him.

Joe’s facial expression immediately softened yours – no one needed to see the hurt they’d caused reflected back at them through someone else’s eyes.

“I miss you, I’m missing you right this very second and I don’t...” you faltered, exhaled through flared nostrils and tried to pick the right thing to say from all of your swimming thoughts.

“Remember when we used to be apart for like four weeks and be fine?”

“I’d still miss you,”

“And I’d miss you too, but, I’d get things done, I’d still see my friends all the time, I’d still have fun, and then we’d call and I’d have all these things to tell you about, and then you’d tell me about the place you were at, and the people you were meeting and, yes, I would miss you, but it was never the gut-wrenching sort of missing you I do nowadays,”

What had changed?

You knew the answer.

“Now, when you’re away, I don’t even feel like I can function properly – everything is overwhelming and,” you winced at yourself before you said, “And I get so jealous that you just get to step out of all of this for a second, and I don't want to resent you for anything, I truly don't,”

“You want out?”

Joe didn't mean the relationship. He couldn't mean the relationship. He probably meant the store, referenced the thing you said about everything being overwhelming - that had to be what he meant.

“No, I don’t want out, but it feels unfair that you’re constantly leaving me to deal with all of it by myself,”

“You don’t have to deal with it by yourself,”

“I know I don’t! Doesn’t change the way I feel, though, does it?”

Another silence fell where Joe let himself fall into his armchair.

You want out?

Joe could not fucking mean the relationship.

Couldn't.

The silence was deafening, but you didn't want to be the one to break it. Joe asked if you wanted out. Was staring out the window now, after having just asked you if you wanted out.

What if you were out?

Just... for a second?

It was not like Joe's fame was going to stop growing all of a sudden. All of this was already hard enough as it was, but it was only going to get more difficult, wasn't it?

You tapped an impatient fingernail on the counter and saw how Joe turned his head more away from you.

Out.

The careful door that word had opened in your mind was scary. It creaked on its hinges and behind it, everything was a little dark, but, it felt like an out was exactly what you needed.

Out.

Just for a second.

You inhaled a sharp breath and let it out slowly, cheeks puffed out.

Out.

“Maybe I’m not made for this,” you repeated what you’d told Joe when you’d started the relationship. When you’d voiced your fears of making this a serious thing, and he’d been so reassuring, had told you that you’d be fine. More than fine.

Yet, look at where you were now.

Joe was in a ridiculously expensive coat and to measure up you pretended that your all black outfit was good enough.

It wasn't fucking good enough.

“I don’t think I can do this with you,” you were nearly whispering, afraid to hear the words come out of your own mouth.

They were vulnerable, made the area behind your eyes prickle, and you needed Joe to handle them with care.

“Of course you can’t fucking do this with me, what, with all the trouble it’s giving you,”

You got snappy sarcasm from him instead, insinuating that all of your worries and fears were unreasonable. Stupid. Not real. The thing you’d been scared of from the start was still looming over you so threateningly, and you were done with it.

Didn’t want that anymore.

Joe had said himself that you'd get to be with Joe. Not with Joe Quinn. You'd both known what that meant. You'd both been on the same page about that.

You were no longer with Joe.

You'd not been with Joe for a while now.

Had instead gotten to be with Joe Quinn, and you didn't want that.

And now, Joe was being mean about it.

The snarky sarcasm you got from Joe shot the last little bit of courage you needed into your system. They’d also shot tears into your eyes, and a weird numb feeling into your fingertips. But the courage was important, because the courage had been just enough for you to say,

“I think we need to take a little break from each other for a little while,”

You hadn’t been able to finish the sentence without tears escaping both eyes, and now each cheek felt a burning hot path being carved right down to your jaw where you wiped at them with a clammy hand.

It was like Joe’s mind registered what you’d said in slow motion.

You saw how his face fell. How his brows went from being impossibly low on his face, to knitting together up high. How his eyes went from narrow slits to big rounded wet ones. Ones that reflected those stupid Christmas lights that you’d put up that one time and then had never taken down again.

Joe tried to find a little hint of humour. Of this being a joke.

Instead he found trembling lips that tried to hide their shaking and eyes that were somehow both scared and determined at once.

“No,” Joe got up, waited for you to take the words back. Hovered near the chair with his mouth slightly open, face reading nothing but sheer shock that turned into desperation when you didn’t say anything.

You couldn't be fucking serious, could you?

You just stood there, by the counter, leaning into your shoulders whilst tears ran down your face.

“No,” Joe said again, making his way over now.

Out.

Joe had spat the question at you, but had never even considered the thought of you actually taking it there.

“Take it back,” Joe pleaded, now next to you, an elbow leaning on the counter to round out and face you. But you’d let your head fall forwards, had closed your eyes, made tears fall onto the counter in little drops and tried to deal with the overwhelming feeling of relief at getting the words out.

“Take those words back, we’re not–”

You shook your head and let a sob escape.

“No, stop that, we’re not going on a break, you take those words back,” you heard Joe's throat close up as he spoke, voice sounding more constricted with every word.

Joe was crying too now, and as much as you wanted to turn and hug Joe, you didn’t.

You weren’t going to take the words back.

“I think I want out for a little while,” you managed to squeeze out, head lifted and looking Joe in the eye.

You wished you hadn’t.

Hadn’t looked him in the eye.

Seeing the person you loved – and you did love him, so much, almost an unbearable amount – break right down the centre right in front of you was the worst thing you’d probably ever seen.

Joe ripped in half.

Broke down.

Fell apart like a book would do if you ripped off the spine. Pages everywhere. Front and back cover useless now.

“No,” Joe cried, voice hoarse, and he sunk.

His knees hit the floor hard, and you were pulled into a hug around your hips. Around your waist. All anger was gone now, no more snarky comments or risky questions left in him. Just sad desperation that tried to hold onto what the two of you once were together.

You knew that you hadn’t been that in a while, now.

Out still sounded good when Joe started murmuring things into your hip.

Out still sounded good when Joe’s grip grew stronger, and his sobs got louder until they got violent and hurt his throat.

Out still sounded good when Joe pleaded and begged and said the same things over and over as you cried silent tears above him, the only tell being the way you had to sniffle on every inhale.

“But I love you,”

You loved him too, but couldn’t say it back. It’d send the wrong message.

“Take the words back,”

You couldn’t. Didn’t want to take them back.

“I love you, I’m sorry, I,” Joe paused for a wet sob, “I love you, I love you, take the words back, take,” a deep inhale, “take them back, we can’t, I love you.”

Date night.

“I love you.”

Out.

“I love you.”

Out still sounded good.

---

The Taglisted

@05secondsofsexgods, @a-time-for-wolvess, @adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @luvrsbian, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @yelyahcardella

(taglist currently full, sorry)

[schneiderenjoyer]

Have you finished Chapter 6? Reverse is 2/2 with the doomed yuri stabs on my heart in the EN server so far..

Green Lake rerun was the closest balm 😭

I just started! It's hard to find time to sit down and go through it in one sitting. I even had to skip event stories just to get the rewards these last two events... But it's interesting so far!

Like how this graph pretty much confirms more on the fact that the Storm has a radius (It was only mentioned once by Sophia, but that was in a character event story that nobody would have access to until blupoch makes event story archives a thing). The Storm has an upper and lower radius (seen at upper left corner) with an estimation of how large the starting "Eye of the Storm" is to how large it became by the end of it.(seen at lower left corner)

They even have a list of information they need graphing from geographical location all the way to the current location of its travel like predicting an actual storm's development and movement pattern.

I'm happy that they've confirmed this theory that I made all the way back in the Greenlake days. I felt like I was losing it, hahah

[daenysthedreamer101]

Youngest Original ~ TVDU

Elijah Mikaelson x sister!OC

Christmas Eve with Elijah (Oneshot)

Warnings: none, it's pure fluff, so much fluff🥺, Kassie missed her big brother and he missed her too. They spend Christmas together, a bit of angst at the end, sorry, I had to 😭

This is set in 1995 so it's before the prologue where Kassie gets daggered.

TVD Masterlist

1995, Geneva, Switzerland

As Kassandra sat alone in her house on Christmas Eve, a sense of melancholy weighed heavy on her heart, the solitude of the holiday season serving as a stark reminder of the years she had spent alone. Rebekah, Finn, Koll - all daggered. Elijah was God knows where and she didn't even want to know where Klaus was. "Hopefully as far away from me as possible," She thought bitterly as she downed another glass of red wine.

For over 50 years, she has been living in relative solitude. Her only human companions were her ever-changing maids and chauffeurs. She rarely ventured into town, preferring to keep a low profile, lest Klaus decided to pay her a visit. Her mansion was on the outskirts of the city of Geneva, secluded by a small grove growing around it. Her other companions were animals, mostly dogs or cats and over 5 decades she has adopted and nurtured hundreds of pups and kittens.

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled by the sound of a knock at her door, a sudden interruption in the quiet of her home. Too overwhelmed by her emotions to face whoever stood on the other side, Kassandra instructed her maid, Lucia, to answer the door in her stead.

"Buongiorno. Kassandra è a casa?" (Good morning. Is Kassandra home?) Then, as if in a dream, she heard the unmistakable voice of her older brother, and her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she dared not believe her ears, the mere thought of seeing him after so many years too surreal to comprehend.

With trembling hands and a racing heart, Kassandra rushed to the front door, her steps echoing through the empty halls of her home. And there, standing before her, was Elijah – tall, dignified, and resplendent in a black, tailored suit, his presence commanding yet comforting. His dark eyes gazed softly at her and a small smile danced on his lips.

“Elijah?” Kassandra whispered, her voice barely above a breath, her eyes wide with disbelief as she beheld her long-lost brother.

"Hello, angel," Elijah greeted softly, his deep, calming voice washing over her like a soothing balm. At that moment, as their eyes met across the threshold of her home, Kassandra felt a flood of emotions wash over her – relief, joy, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the unexpected gift of his presence on this sacred night.

As Kassandra stood before him, her heart overflowing with emotion, she found herself unable to tear her gaze away from her brother, the sight of him after so many years leaving her breathless with disbelief and longing.

"È mio fratello. Fallo entrare." (He's my brother. Let him in.) She instructed Lucia to allow him entry, her voice trembling with anticipation as she awaited his arrival.

As Elijah stepped over the threshold and into her home, Kassandra could no longer contain the overwhelming rush of emotions that threatened to consume her. Without a moment's hesitation, she threw herself into his arms, her embrace so fierce and desperate that it momentarily took his breath away.

Staggering slightly under the weight of her embrace, Elijah quickly recovered and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she clung to him with all her strength. For a moment, they stood locked in an embrace that transcended time and space, the years of separation melting away in the warmth of their reunion.

Eventually, with a gentle chuckle, Elijah managed to pry Kassandra's arms from around him, though the look of reluctance in her eyes made it clear that she was not quite ready to let go. As he met her gaze, he found himself captivated by the depth of emotion reflected in her large, blue eyes – the tears that glistened on her lashes, the wide pupils that spoke of her overwhelming relief, and the look of disbelief that lingered in their depths.

"It's good to see you too, sweet sister," Elijah murmured, his voice soft with affection as he reached out to brush a stray tear from her cheek. "It's been too long."

At that moment, Kassandra knew that no matter how many years had passed, the bond between them remained unbreakable.

As Kassandra buried her face in Elijah's embrace, her tears soaking into his suit, she felt a floodgate of emotions release within her. For years, she had longed for this moment, the chance to be reunited with her beloved brother after so many decades apart. And now, as they stood together in the quiet sanctuary of her home, she found herself unable to contain the overwhelming rush of joy and gratitude that swelled within her heart.

For hours they talked, their voices mingling in a symphony of shared memories and long-held secrets, each word a precious thread that wove together the fabric of their shared history. With each passing moment, Kassandra felt the weight of the years melt away, replaced by a sense of belonging and connection that she had feared lost forever.

But as the evening wore on and the shadows lengthened, Kassandra found herself overcome with a desperate plea – a plea for just one more day, one more moment to spend in the company of her brother, to savor the warmth of his presence and the comfort of his love.

"Please! Just one more day, please!" she begged, her voice choked with emotion as tears continued to stream down her face. "I can't spend another Christmas alone with no family! I haven't seen you in so long! Please, Elijah!" She hasn't seen Elijah since 1919 - she won't be letting him go so easily.

After a moment's hesitation, Elijah's expression softened, his resolve giving way to the depth of his sister's plea. With a gentle nod, he agreed to spend Christmas with her, his own heart stirred by the depth of her love and the sincerity of her longing.

And so, with tears of gratitude still glistening in her eyes, Kassandra led Elijah to one of the spare bedrooms, her heart overflowing with joy and relief at the prospect of sharing this sacred holiday with the brother she had thought lost to her forever.

~

As Christmas dawned, Kassandra and Elijah found themselves enveloped in the warmth and serenity of the holiday spirit. After attending the morning mass together, they embarked on a day filled with shared laughter and cherished memories, each moment a testament to the bond that had brought them back together after so many years apart.

In the evening, they ventured out onto the ice, the crisp winter air filled with the sounds of laughter and the soft swish of blades against the frozen surface. As Kassandra glided across the ice with effortless grace, her movements fluid and elegant, she couldn't help but glance back at Elijah, a playful twinkle in her eye.

"Come on 'Lijah! Join me!" she called out, her voice echoing across the ice as she urged her brother to join her in the joyous celebration of the holiday season.

But Elijah, ever the dignified gentleman, remained seated on the sidelines, content to watch his sister's exuberant display from afar. With a polite refusal, he declined her invitation, his eyes following her every movement with a fondness that spoke volumes.

Kassandra responded with mock sadness, her bottom lip jutting out in a playful pout as she teased her brother for his reluctance to join in the festivities. But Elijah's gentle chuckle only served to deepen her resolve, and she continued to skate with abandon, her laughter ringing out in the crisp night air.

"You're no fun..." she teased, her words laced with affection as she twirled gracefully across the ice, her heart overflowing with joy at the simple pleasure of spending this special day with her beloved brother by her side.

~

Once Kassie got her fill of skating on ice, they walked through the park back to her car. Night had fallen, the air was cold and crisp and in the distance church bells could be heard.

The park was mostly empty, save for a person here or there. Kassie put her arms around Elijah's forearm as they walked. It started snowing and after a few minutes, Kassie's long dark curls were covered with hundreds of snowflakes, her nose and cheeks rosy from the cold winter air.

She looked like an angel, Elijah thought as Kassie giggled. "What?" he asked curiously. She shook her head adorably.

"Remember when we were little and Bekah and I used to chase you around the village, trying to throw snowballs at you, and then all of a sudden Kol hit Bekah right in the face?" Kassie recounted, the joyful memory vivid in her mind even after a thousand years.

Elijah smiled. "She was furious. She would've ripped his head off if allowed. Thankfully, Mother stopped her."

Kassie giggled once more, the sound echoing in Elijah's ears. Under the light of the moon, covered in snow, she reminded him of the normal human childhood they once had. At that moment, an image of a little girl happily chasing after him popped up in his mind.

He was so deep in thought he hadn't noticed Kassie moving away from him and grabbing a handful of snow. What brought him back to reality was a dull hit to his right shoulder.

He turned around only to be hit again, this time right in the chest. Kassie looked at him, her hand covering her mouth to prevent herself from laughing. He gave her an unamused look and she burst out into giggles.

Elijah couldn't help but laugh as well.

As the day came to a close, they went back to Kassandra's house. After dinner, Elijah stood by the fire and watched as the wood burned. "I don't want you to go," Kassandra's voice, filled with desperation, shattered the silence that hung heavy in the air, her plea echoing with the depth of her longing and the fear of losing her brother once more.

Elijah sighed softly, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this moment had been inevitable from the start. "I don't want to either," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret as he turned to face his sister. "But if Klaus finds out..."

He trailed off, the unspoken implications hanging between them like a dark cloud, the threat of their brother's wrath casting a shadow over their fragile reunion. For Klaus, ever vigilant and possessive of his siblings, discovering Elijah's presence would surely lead to dire consequences for them both, consequences that neither of them dared to contemplate.

"But you're my brother as well!" Kassandra argued, her voice rising with a fervor born of love and desperation, her eyes pleading with Elijah to reconsider his decision. In her heart, she knew that the bond between them was stronger than any threat Klaus could pose, stronger even than the passage of time itself.

But Elijah knew better than anyone the dangers that lurked in the shadows, the ever-present threat of their brother's unpredictable temper, and the lengths to which he would go to maintain control over his family. And so, with a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, Elijah made his decision, knowing that it was the only choice he could make to keep them both safe.

"I'll find a way to come back and I will avenge our siblings for what he had done to them," he promised, his voice soft but determined as he reached out to squeeze Kassandra's hand in reassurance. "Until then, stay safe, my dear sister. You'll always have a place in my heart, no matter where I may be."

And with those words, spoken with a solemnity that belied the depth of his love, Elijah turned away from the fire and the warmth of his sister's embrace, steeling himself for the journey ahead as he prepared to face the uncertain future that awaited him beyond the confines of her home.

Little did he know, Kassandra too would fall victim to Klaus's temper.

***

Hi lovelies, just wanted to say I've decided to put this series on a bit of a hold. College is kicking my ass and the second semester is harder than I thought.😭 I won't be free until the end of June so until then I'll only be posting one-shots or headcanons since they're easier to write.

For my HOTD fanfic, I have four chapters prewritten so that won't be a problem but for this one, I already posted all the chapters I wrote lol. Hope you can understand and have patience until I free myself from the shackles of the exam season💀

Love you and thanks for reading! ❤❤

If you have any opinions feel free to comment.

[orqheuss]

Stamped on these lifeless things

(Human!Alastor meets Demon!Alastor - A character study)

Summary:

Its lips curled, revealing gum in a daunting sneer. “How could I be anyone else?” Clenching Alastor’s hand again, it pulled him closer until they were nearly touching noses. Its breath smelled like carnage. He was helpless under its gaze, stuck staring into its eyes as they shifted into what looked like radio dials. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw its antlers growing again. “I’m you.” *** With his final moments quickly drawing near, something approaches Alastor that has him questioning everything.

Word count: 3.9k

Tags: Blood, Gore, Discussions of murder, Discussions of abuse (child and spousal), Mentions of cannibalism, Religious themes, Character death, Morally grey characters, (possible) hallucinations, Death by animal

A/N: Based on a TikTok I saw by @domdrawsanimation about Human Alastor meeting his demon self.

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

The dogs were coming for him. 

He could hear their constant howls, snarling teeth nipping at the wind whistling through the trees and at the skin of his ankles as he ran faster than he had ever run before. Tree branches whipped against his face, neck, arms, any inch of skin they could reach, dripping his blood against the cold, unforgiving forest floor like he had done to so many before under his knife. The rush of the water to his right laughed at his panic, jovially wishing for his demise after all the horror it had seen. The willow trees mourned for the bodies that had been piled against their roots. It was only fair that he would die in the place where he felt that he truly lived, deep within the forest he deemed his personal hunting ground of all things living. A selfish creature in all aspects of his life, even in the choice of souls taken. Ridding the world of what he saw as filth was well and good until he found solace in the act of bloodshed. Until he felt the warmth of his first victim under his hands as he squeezed the life from another. Until he saw the face of his father in the eyes of his dead. Selflessness only went so far; it did not condone brutality in the name of righteousness. 

He believed himself something reverent before this night— untouchable by the unseen forces of the universe. Vermillion chested like a cardinal against the first snow of winter, and canines sharp like the ridges on his blade. Not a soul dared walk the streets at night, lest they fall victim to the Bayou Butcher. Little did the people of New Orleans know, the Butcher only hunted the most vile beasts— too hideous for even the wilds of nature to swallow. 

Monsters who hurt for money.

Monsters who hurt for power. 

Monsters who hurt for fun. 

It could be construed that he would fall under the latter category— the hunt was exhilarating, and the flesh between his teeth more bewitching than like anything before. He took joy in their pleas for mercy; pleas that they had heard many times before from the mouths of their loved ones. Loved ones who walked around town with makeup caked on their faces, hiding the evidence from the world like they should be ashamed of the behavior. Like they were at fault for all this wretched chaos. It was pleasure turning in his gut at night, the thought of warm ichor pouring from between his fingertips like a soothing balm— aloe against his scorched and blistered hand after his father held it over a burner. It was personal for him. Personal in all ways something could be deemed personal. 

He believed himself holy. Sacred. Divine. At his knife fell multitudes of souls, undeserving of mercy far past their last breath and deep into the putrid hereafter. They did not get a heaven. If it was up to him, they would not get a hell, either. They would float, stagnant, undeserving of pity, in the darkest pit of the metaphysical. 

Too devilish for heaven. 

Too cruel for hell. 

Too important for purgatory. 

A secret fourth thing of his own creation. 

His high horse carried him up and down the streets, its skeleton legs strutting against the cobblestone paths and puffs of hedonistic smoke cascading from its barren skull, for he was death incarnate. Holy sacraments overflowing with his name grew inside of his chest and bloomed out of his ribs like the thorny spires of a bramble bush, its bittersweet fruit growing in the cavity where his mother carved out his heart and took it to her grave. 

He didn’t need a heart anyway. What was love to a god? 

What was a god to a murderer?

What was a murderer to a man? 

What was a man to a god?

Now, that was the question under all of this— these lifeless things at his feet— the steps to his savage throne. 

What, truly, was the life of a man to the whim of a god? 

But, of course, he was no more a god than a raindrop was a flood. In the end, he was hardly even a man, just a soul with something to prove to no one else but himself, paving a path to his own downfall. The path had to end eventually. 

It ended in a clearing of trees. 

His feet left skid marks in the once untouched earth as he stopped, breaths panting heavily from his chest and hands resting on his knees. His lungs heaved for air, somehow gaining none of it even when surrounded by the purest form of oxygen. It was only a matter of time before the dogs caught up to him— the stench of blood heady and thick on his clothes. Where he once found a sick comfort in the copper was now nothing but regret. 

It was only fair that the tragic hero of this sick fairytale had his moment of revelation near the end of the story. 

In this moment of clarity, he chastised himself for being so careless. It was newly spring— a new hunting season for those who did not fear the bayou. Curse him for believing he would still be safe within the trees while staring directly at their flowering leaves. Of course there would be others in his woods; he did not truly own them, after all. Public ground attracts the public, and while the Bayou Butcher made his claim on the land, that did not stop the fearless from traversing the haunted landscape. He racked his brain for a solution, anything that would get him away from the metaphorical pit he was edging closer to and closer to the solace of his home. There was nothing in his brain besides the desire to flee, and the hope of survival. His breaths were shaky when he finally stood from his laurels, the coolness of the night nearly turning it to vapors before his eyes. If he could see it, that is. His glasses had long ago fallen from his face, leaving the world around him nothing but a hazy blur of greens and the blackness of true night. He couldn’t go back for them, even if there was a chance that they were still intact. It didn’t matter, anyway. He was trapped at the moment— nothing around him but empty air and the brush of trees. No sights to be seen before him. No warmth to be felt against his chilled skin. No weapon to his name. No way to defend himself against a force stronger than his will to live. 

And how he wanted to live. 

He was not a religious man, no matter how much he pretended he was for his mothers sake. But, for the first time in a while, he considered prayer. 

Alastor.

The wind whispered his name, the syllables like ice against the back of his neck. He whipped his head around, head nearly tumbling from his shoulders at the owlish-ness of the behavior, eyes wide and searching for the source of the voice. Finding nothing around, he focused again on thinking of a way out of the situation he placed himself in. 

“Alastor!” 

It was hissed this time— a snake in the tall grass of his backyard. This was not the wind, there was no mistaking it. Someone knew his name. Someone was speaking to him. Someone saw what he had done.

Fear clouded his better judgment, releasing his voice from the confines of where it had been lodged under his quaking jaw. “Who’s there?” 

A shiver inducing chuckle seemed to fill the space around him, drowning out any and all sounds other than the sickeningly malicious voice. “Take a guess.” 

Petrifying terror filled his veins like never before. Was it his time? Was this a divine intervention? “God?” 

The leaves shook for him as another laugh was released into the air. “Oh, no. He doesn’t make house calls.” The mysterious voice paused. Alastor could hear its smile everywhere. “Not for sinners like you, at least.” 

Anger festered in his gut at the teasing lilt. It was a struggle to not shout into the night. “What do you want from me?” 

The voice got louder now— closer. Radio static blended with each word, and the hairs on his neck stood at attention. “Everything,” it said. “And also nothing.” 

Alastor growled, hackles raised like an animal cornered. “What are you playing at? Why are you here?” 

“Ah, that’s the word. ‘Playing.’” It came from his right this time. He flung his neck in the direction, ignoring the sting it caused in his muscles. There was nothing but darkness among the thick trunks of the trees. 

Then, the voice came from his left. His neck cracked against the velocity of his movement. “Playing is often associated with games. Would you say we’re playing a game?” 

Alastor’s anger grew stronger, fire burning in his blind eyes. “No, this isn’t a game! Tell me who you are!” 

He could hear a quick swishing through the leaves as the mystery person ran through the thicket. They— it— moved at inhuman speeds. No dog could run that fast; no bird could fly at that speed. The smell of fear-drenched sweat permeated the copse. He remembered something that he had read in a book once, long before he decided to try his hand at hunting humans. Animals can smell fear. Even though this was definitely not an animal, it was worth every penny to try his damndest and seem strong— resolute. Nothing could truly frighten him. At least, that’s how he tried to look on the outside; there were other emotional tells than his body language. 

The thing seemed to go even faster now, laughing at the panic shimmering in Alastor’s eyes— mocking him for his desire to know who, or what, he was dealing with. Its terrible, scattered cackle was coming from all directions. This couldn’t be a human, there was no possible way. But, if it wasn’t human, then what was it? 

No, Alastor said to himself. This has to be human. There’s no other possible answer. 

Now was not the time to lose his sanity. 

He tried to hold onto logic for as long as it would allow, his nails digging into the solid base of fact and truth before it could be ripped away from his clutches.

But, there was no logical explanation for this. Logic was not his friend anymore. 

“No, I suppose there isn’t time for a game right now.” 

It sounded like it was coming from directly in front of him. Or behind him. Or to his left, or his right. It was everywhere. It was nowhere. It was somehow all of the above. 

“They’re close now, you know. It would be best to run.” 

Alastor didn’t need to be told twice. With all the strength left in his boneless legs, he bounded for the outskirts of the circle, intent on getting away from whatever the hell was with him. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t good. He was not one to believe in anything spiritual before, besides a small dabble into voodoo on occasion, but if he made it out of here alive tonight he would hold a new respect for everything of the sort. 

Too bad he wasn’t getting out of there alive. 

As soon as he crossed the treeline, an imaginary force pushed him back into the clearing. Alastor landed hard on his back, sending a new tremor of pain through his body. He hissed at the spasm that shocked up his spine. 

The voice laughed again, getting more deranged by the minute. 

Terror bubbled in his stomach when he realized that it was beginning to sound familiar. 

He stood from the ground, pushing all of his weight onto the fronts of his feet in case he got another moment to run. As of now, he was truly cornered. Something shimmered along his path of escape, the material giving the black night a starry quality. Whatever this being was, it had some form of magic, and it was toying with him. 

Alastor summoned every ounce of bravado he had left in his trembling body, determined to remain brave and undaunted until the very end. He was the Bayou Butcher. He didn’t get scared. Gods did not fear gods. 

But, something whispered in his mind. You are not a  g o d.

Shoulders squared, he shouted into the night. “Enough games! Tell me who you are before I gut you like a fish.” 

A screech of feedback assaulted his ears. He pressed his hands desperately to the sides of his head, gritting his teeth at the pain spiking through his brain. Wind whipped at his face, pushing his fringe into his already semi-blind eyes and stinging the cuts lining his cheeks. Before him, a shadow emerged from the darkness of the forest, its form nothing more than a trick of the light but still tall and imposing. It was taller than a redwood, the silhouette of a person taking shape before his very eyes. Antlers stretched from what Alastor assumed was its head, each piece of blackened ivory reminding him of the mangled tree branch outside his childhood bedroom window. Long claws grew from its hands, each sharp and pointed perfectly for slaughter. The most horrible thing was its mouth. Wide and stretched across its face in a smile, teeth bared and serrated— like taking damascus steel to a whetstone. Alarm bells rang frantically in his head. Horror cowered in his eyes. It loomed closer to Alastor, towering over his shaking form. 

This thing was a nightmare, and he was in its domain. 

Then, as if nothing more than an illusion, it shrunk. 

In front of Alastor now, instead of the colossus demon that once was there, was now a form quite close to his own height. Everything about it was the same besides the size. It still stood quite close to him— if they both reached out a hand they would touch fingertips. It was lanky in shape, thin arms and legs bracketed by a slim waist and wide shoulders. Its hands, if they could be called hands, were clasped behind his back, its spine straight and taut with tension. Somehow, the smile it was sporting was much more menacing at this size. 

It chuckled darkly, reaching a hand outwards and presenting it like a handshake. “Shake my hand, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.” 

It was a terrible decision— the farthest thing from wise than Alastor had been in quite some time. But, my God, he was scared. It was such an encompassing feeling, like spiders crawling across his skin, scratching at his scars until they reopened and biting at his skin until it was red and blistered. He could feel the cold touch of his father closing in on his neck, ready to squeeze the life from his tiny body before doing the same to his mother in the other room. He hadn’t been older than twelve when he committed his first murder. Memories flashed across his mind like a moving picture show, and if he had the strength to push them away he would do it in a heartbeat. 

His hand was clasped in the shadow’s before he realized what he had done. 

The thing squeezed tight to him, holding on like it was the last thing it would ever do before cackling once more into the night. Alastor struggled against its hold, but all of his efforts were futile. It was not budging. Color began to bleed through its form, starting from the large, red ears atop its head and moving downwards quickly. Everything about it was red and black. Red eyes with red pupils. Red and black hair. Red suit, not much unlike his own. Red nails digging into the skin of his hand and refusing to let go. Its voice began to take on a more static quality, the frequency buzzing in the air and filling Alastor’s ears to the point of flinching. It grated on all of his nerves. The more that was revealed of the thing before him, the more he realized that it was a man. The beings eyes were trained on his own, staring him down like a predator hunting the best possible game. The demon, because that’s what it was, he realized, drank in his obvious fear like the richest wine money can buy. 

Its voice was no longer warbled when it finally spoke, a transatlantic accent heavy in its words. “Hello, Alastor. Pleasure to be finally meeting you, quite the pleasure.” 

Alastor stared into the red abyss of its eyes, refusing to blink lest it bite off his head with its ravenous yellow teeth. “What are you? Who are you?” 

It tutted, squeezing his hand tighter in its vice grip. “Oh, come now, Alastor. Surely you’ve realized who I am by now! I remember being so much more observant at this age.” 

The air around him screeched to a halt. 

No. 

No. 

All of the blood in Alastor’s body fled from his head and pooled in his feet, the limbs feeling like lead had been injected directly into his bloodstream. His mouth had the distinct taste of bile and dread. He wanted to hurl himself to the ground, let the earth swallow him whole and never let him dig his way back to the surface. He wanted to hunch over and expel everything from his stomach until he was nothing but bone and skin and ligaments. He wanted to do anything to get his damn body to MOVE. Everything in him prayed to the Fates that what was hinted at wasn’t true. This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. 

Alas, the Fates had never been kind to him before; why would they start now?

Anguish clouded over his expression, a plea dripping from his lips like the moon bled across the night sky. “Please, no…” 

The demon stretched his smile ruefully, each point on its elongated teeth catching on what light remained above. “Yes.” 

Its lips curled, revealing gum in a daunting sneer. “How could I be anyone else?” 

Clenching Alastor’s hand again, it pulled him closer until they were nearly touching noses. Its breath smelled like carnage. He was helpless under its gaze, stuck staring into its eyes as they shifted into what looked like radio dials. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw its antlers growing again. 

“I’m you.” 

It finally released him, then, shoving him into the dirt and glaring down at him with malice in its eyes. Blood began to drip from the corner of its stretched lips. Alastor could do nothing but stare. 

“I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully.” It said, wiping its hand against the front of its blazer before tucking both behind his back again. Its ears twitched atop its head. 

“I am you. You are me. This is what lives inside of you— what you will become quite soon—”

“No—”

“DO NOT—” It moved with that inhuman speed again, leaning down until it was eye level with him and grabbing his jaw in its claws. “Interrupt me.” It snarled— animalistic— feral. 

“I don’t remember being such a sniveling welp. Accept the truth, Alastor. I am as much of you as you are of you— we are two sides to the same, sadistic coin. The sooner you accept this fact, the sooner you can achieve your full potential in the afterlife.” His smile somehow became more ferocious. “And you will achieve it. I am the best you will ever be. Your puny murders on this plain are nothing compared to what I have done in the depths of hell. People will fear your name like never before, and you will relish in it.”

It released Alastor roughly, standing back to its full height and leering down at him. 

“I have come only to give you a taste for what’s to come. This was for my enjoyment, not as a warning. Do not get this twisted. My reasons are my own; you will come to realize that soon enough. Even still, this was quite enjoyable, I assure you.” 

Alastor attempted to find his voice again, his words leaking out feebly and choppy with fright. “You— you aren’t real. You can’t be real.” 

It chuckled to itself, looking down at him with something almost akin to pity. “Real or not real, you are seeing me now, you have seen me before, and you will see me again.” 

Flashes of red hair and yellowed teeth scream across his memory— things that his mother told him were just nightmares— things that hid in his closet or under his bed. He shivered. It has been with him for quite some time. 

A thin microphone appeared in the demon’s hand seemingly out of thin air, and with a swish of the stick green magic began to buzz around its form. It smiled down at him, one last time, and for the first time Alastor realized that its grin actually met its eyes for once. True, demented happiness buzzed in the air with its residual radio static. 

“That’s all the time I have, I’m afraid. I will be seeing you very soon, Alastor.” It paused, glee dancing in its eyes. “Or, more accurately, you’ll be seeing me.” 

With its final words, the demon vanished once again into a mass of shadow. Its form breathed through the air, bringing back the soft spring wind and the sound of cicadas chirping through the night. Even the trees seemed relieved to have the demon gone, like nature sighed with relief after being trapped for so long. Everything seemed to be back in balance at last. 

Alastor released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He could only revel in his own relief for a moment before the sound of a twig snapping drew his attention to something moving in front of him. Where the demon was once standing was now the hazy image of a prowling dog, haunches raised and ready to attack. An aching dread curled around his ribs at the sight. His heart leapt into his throat. The animal's teeth were bared at him, eyes narrowed and twitching with each step closer. The smallest pink hue could be seen against its teeth— flesh, as Alastor quickly came to realize. Fear squeezed at his throat once again, and his mind ran wild. 

Please no, it can’t end like this.

I’ll do better. I’ll be better. 

God don’t let me die like this. 

I don’t want to die.

Mama, help me.

I’m so scared, mama. 

And then the dog leaped.

Like what you read? Here's more!

[alexanderlightweight]

I just read prompts are still open soooooo....

A tiny little update on pray to the hunters?

Maybe a flashback to the first time Alec succesfully called the weapons to him?

Thank you my friend. (Also i just read Nightshade got into a fight with a bee, i hope he is okay now and give him many cuddles from his fans😁)

here we go! little alec figuring out his path in life!

it's not quite the weapons but its the first time alec reaches out and it opens the path for him

aw thank you!!! i am giving them to him and he is a sad little pupper with droopy eyes going 'i need more cuddles and treats i feel awful'

he is doing much better! besides stopping to try and guard from every flying insect when he goes outside to potty. he also tried to drag me away from a bee because 'oh no! an attack! run baba run!'

he loves cuddles though so i assure you he's very appreciative. sometimes he just lays inbetween saeth and i with all four paws in the air snoring and he only wakes up to grumble in protest if one of us hasn't petted him recently enough

<3 hope you enjoy

lumine

pray to the hunters

— Alec hides in the embrace of a stone angel, curled into the cracking base and tucked under a veil of weeds as he sits and waits. The nephilim searching for him pass him by not once, but three times and even as they use tracking runes, they’re unable to find him.

Alec gives a silent, grateful prayer, not to Raziel but to the dead shadowhunters of his line who must be protecting him.

Raziel is an absent sire and all know that he is far too busy to waste his time on the broken hearts of his children. Alec wonders if it would be different, if any of his dead kin would speak softly to him or help him tend his wounds.

What cuts the deepest is the harsh disregard of both his parents and the responsibilities they continue to place on his shoulders. Alec knows the burden he bears is an honorable one, but that doesn’t change the fact that sometimes he feels his spine crumpling beneath the weight, rather than growing like it should.

His blood mixes with the gravedirt as another patrol passes by and Alec holds his breath until he’s almost dizzy with it, desperation in every line of his body because it’s too much, too soon.

Alec’s only just born his first rune and his parents think that means he’s now a full fledged shadowhunter. Reprimanding him when he can’t keep up with older hunters twice or nearly three times his own age. It’s gotten to the point where even the hunters who loathe his family are starting to send Alec sympathetic looks.

Alec hates them all the more because nothing has truly changed. The only thing different is that his parents are being more obvious about it, since not a single hunter is going to speak up for a Lightwood.

Not even one young enough to not bear runes.

It makes Alec hate them. All of them.

His parents and the hunters and Alec is proud of who he is but he hates who he’s becomming when hammered and filed till bits and pieces of him are breaking off so his parents can forge him into what they want.

A whisper starts up in the wind and Alec shudders without knowing why. He’s not cold — even as his breath crystallizes in the air — he feels content and relaxes, the pressure fading as his heartbeat slows and his blood pumps sluggishly in his veins.

There is something powerful about it, the balm to Alec’s many open wounds and Alec feels the most gentle embrace he’s ever felt, as cold, bony fingers harshly cup his heart.

“Please.” Alec murmurs tiredly as he falls asleep without really knowing why and when he wakes up, there is a strange rune shining silver on his forehead.

No one else seems to be able to see it, but there is a wariness that Alec is treated with that he prefers far more to the recent sympathy.

For once luck is in his favor and his parents are both called to Idris before they can find and discipline him for ‘failing to complete all his training’ the day before. Alec could probably make it up, go and throw himself into training until the hunters who let the Lightwood name be all they see beat him to the ground.

That’s normally enough for his parents, but Alec doesn’t want that. He wants to know what happened, the strange connection that feels more like home than anything other than the Institute’s core ever has.

It’s with soft, purposeful footsteps that Alec lets himself into the deepest and most obscure of the Institute’s archives. A place where traditions have been left to gather dust and be forgotten and Alec, well… he’s going to find and remember them all.

[moonstrider9904]

Passacaille

Chapter Seven of Half-Moon Glow

Pairing: Crosshair x Female OC (Aurora Dawn)

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Summary: After Aurora and the Batch’s encounter with Sobeck and the 104th division on Christophsis, Aurora and Crosshair enjoy a night alone on Coruscant.

Tags/warnings: Explicit (18+, minors begone). Soft smut oral and vaginal sex, and overall just a dreamy, romantic date night chapter. Some PTSD. Hurt/comfort. Brief alcohol consumption.

A/N: My loves… I know I’ve said “I’m back” like four times this year. It has been over one year since I last updated this fic, and a huge reason for that is having moved out of my childhood home where writing just comes naturally. I am writing this as I have returned for Christmas, and being able to write a softer, light-hearted chapter in my current Crosshair fic seems so fitting that a part of me feels it has to be fate. Thank you to everyone who’s remained even while I’ve been away. This blog and writing are a form of a home I can always come back to. I really hope I still got it and that this chapter lives up to what my writing has been in the past. 

Also, not me projecting my dream date in some far-fetched fantasy world lol

Word count: 5.3k

No new assignments had come in.

In the rare peace that came with nothingness—no missions, no wounds to clean, no running for her life—Aurora lay on her bed contemplating the dim gray ceiling above her in silence. She let the sounds of steps and chatter outside her room come and go like the thoughts forming in her mind, basking in the mix of relaxation and tension.

The longest she could go without thinking back to Christophsis was just under five minutes, as she confirmed by tearing her eyes from the ceiling to the clock at her bedside as a way to distract her from the memories. Aurora wanted more than anything else to simply not think of that anymore, and even focusing on Crosshair’s heroic rescue of her didn’t put balm over the wounds. She’d been held hostage while facing heartbreak and her own demise, hurt when she was the one supposed to do the healing.

She’d never felt weaker than she had at that moment.

Aurora sat up on her bed, knowing that lying down wasn’t doing her or her spiraling mind any favors. With a heavy sigh, she tried grounding herself; her hands clenched the bed’s comforter underneath her, the fabric fuzzy and soft against her cold fingertips, and when she let go of the fabric, it didn’t go back to its original state. Her gaze focused on a point between the line where the door met the floor, separating her bedroom from the hallway, and she took a deep breath in while closing her eyes.

It’s okay to still get memories. It’s okay to feel sad at what happened because it was a terrible thing to go through. From being taken hostage to getting a blast wound on her thigh, to believing she wouldn’t see the man she loved ever again, a man who at that point she was convinced she had broken up with for good regardless of whether they saw one another again, all of that had made up the cloud that still loomed in her mind. But I’m not on Christophsis anymore, I’m on Coruscant. I’m healing. I’m safe. I’m wearing part of Crosshair’s armor.

Aurora looked down at her forearm, covered by the gray and black piece of armor he’d given her, and the corner of her lip curved up.

He wants me here.

With her next exhale, Aurora felt tears pooling in her eyes, tears she didn’t bother holding back. After taking that moment to reflect, she felt a weight being lifted off her shoulders, and the hole in her chest seemed to lighten up as well. The point she was staring at seemed to materialize in front of her as she finally returned to the real world, to the safe walls of her temporary room at Coruscant, escaping the cell she was held at on Christophsis. When the tears stopped coming, Aurora wiped her cheek dry and stood up from the bed.

Perfectly timed, her wrist comm began to beep.

“Come in,” Aurora answered.

“You sound more like yourself,” Hunter said from the other end of the comm—he’d be the only one able to pick up on the most subtle signs Aurora could give in regards to her emotions. “Got any plans tonight?”

“I… I think?” She raised a brow, doubtful. “Your brother left me a message earlier to meet him.”

“Are you sure you want to go with him?” Hunter sounded like he was teasing. “You could always bail on him and I’ll make sure to annoy the shit outta him.”

Aurora chuckled. “No, I think he’s apologized enough.”

“So you’re not mad at him anymore?”

“Crosshair’s one of those men you’re always mad at,” Aurora replied.

Hunter laughed heartily on the other end of the comm. “Good answer.”

When Hunter quieted down, Aurora felt her features soften.

“I think…” she began. “I think he really does want me to be here.”

“For the record, we all want you here with us,” Hunter replied. “But you’re right.”

Aurora smiled into the comm. She was confident that Hunter knew his brothers better than anyone else did, and hearing that coming from him warmed her heart.

“So where are you meeting him?”

“He’s actually going to come here—”

“So it’s that kind of date,” Hunter interrupted her; she could hear the wink in his voice.

“To pick me up, and then we’re going out,” Aurora finished as she held in her laughter. “He hasn’t given me more details. You know him.”

“Oh, I see,” Hunter dragged the words out, teasing her.

“You know all about it, don’t you?” Aurora raised a brow.

Hunter chuckled. “Have fun.”

And then the line went silent. As she became aware of the smile that had formed on her lips, Aurora realized it had been a while since she’d had such a sweet comm call. Her attention was eventually drawn to the present moment when a golden ray of sun reflected off a distant building outside, making the warm light land on the walls of her room. The sun was going down, and it was about time she got out of her uniform and into something worthy of a night out.

The nights were getting colder on Coruscant, and with that in mind, Aurora picked out a long-sleeved A-line black dress; its skirt reached halfway down her thighs and flowed gracefully over her hips. The top had a round neckline that went deep enough for the start of her sternum tattoo to be visible, and she had adorned her neck and collar with a dainty chain with a moon pendant. Her legs were covered by black tights thick enough to keep her from freezing—the tights and the skirt fully concealed the fact that her thigh was wounded, but her brief limp while walking would still give her away—and she finished her outfit with a pair of dark brown boots with a small, manageable heel.

Aurora put her lavender hair in a messy bun, perfectly balancing elegance with softness. For her eyes, she coated her lashes with mascara just to give them a subtle lift and added some shadow to her crease for more depth, and her lips were tainted with a berry-wine colored lipstick that made a striking contrast with her blue skin and the golden marks along her cheekbones. And when she looked at herself in the mirror, not only did she feel pleased at how beautiful she looked, but it dawned on her that the last time she’d gotten that dolled-up was on Naboo.

An urge to change the past hit her suddenly. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to change the way things had happened. If she and Crosshair hadn’t fought during Naboo, maybe Christophsis wouldn’t have turned out so terrible.

Or perhaps you should stop burdening yourself with that, Aurora thought.

She took another moment to look at herself in the mirror hoping with all her heart that despite the events of the previous days, that night would be wonderful. With a sigh of resolve, Aurora walked away from the mirror and went to fold her uniform neatly over her bed. The pile of folded clothing was crowned by Crosshair’s forearm pad on top of it, a place where it would safely wait for her until duty called again. She then looked out the window to a dark sky with more city lights shining than stars.

Aurora sat on her bed and waited as she continued to stare at the city scenery, until at last a knock came at the door of her bedroom. Her chest fluttered, suddenly nervous at the first real date she’d have with a man who’d spent so long driving her crazy in more ways than one, and nevertheless, she felt heat rushing to her cheeks and her full lips becoming a smile. Aurora got up from the bed and went to open her door, and there stood the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, dressed in a black suit and holding a single pink peony out before his chest.

Crosshair’s brown eyes glided over her figure before they finally met hers, and in that gaze was a flood of emotions he’d never dream of speaking out loud.

“Hey,” was all he managed to say.

Aurora gave a soft chuckle. “Hi.”

The sly, snarky sniper found himself at a loss for words. For Aurora, it was her first real date with him. For Crosshair, it was his first real date, and he found himself in uncharted territory where he couldn’t rely on the scope of his rifle to get a better visual of.

“I…” his voice was husky. “I brought you this.”

Aurora looked at the peony and took it from him, her fingers delicately brushing his as she grabbed the flower. She held it up to her nose and took in its scent, and she met eyes with him on her exhale.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you, Crosshair.”

Her words allowed most of the tension to leave Crosshair, and he felt the muscles of his body relaxing as Aurora went to place the flower neatly on her nightstand. She then turned around and stared silently at Crosshair, her big eyes widening with expectation.

“What is it?” She asked him.

Crosshair smirked. “You look incredible.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Aurora replied. “Now where is this sharp-dressed sharpshooter taking me tonight?”

Crosshair chuckled and he held out his bent arm for her to link her arm in it. “This way.”

With a smile, Aurora turned off the lights of her room and walked up to him, taking his arm as he’d offered. As Crosshair began leading her out of the room, closing the door behind him, and into the hallway, he noticed the way she still had to limp between her steps.

His heart sank. Aurora felt his gaze hardening and looked up at him, her gaze soft and reassuring.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Really.”

“Are you sure you can walk?” Crosshair asked.

“I’ll be fine as long as you don’t let go of me,” Aurora smiled.

She’d meant those words literally, but seeing the result of the blast wound on her thigh reignited feelings of regret and of fear within Crosshair. He stopped walking and looked at her, and he used his spare hand to gently lift up her chin and leaned down to kiss her lips.

“I won’t ever let you go again,” he whispered.

Aurora’s cheeks gained a purple tint as she smiled up at him, and she perked up to give him another soft peck before resting her weight on his stable figure again.

“Aurora, I meant what I said when I told you how sorry I was,” Crosshair said. “I fucked up harder than I ever have—”

She cupped his cheek, her eyes softening with the remnants of her sadness.

“Crosshair,” she spoke his name with unimaginable kindness. “If I was still angry with you, I wouldn’t be going on this date with you now. My leg will heal eventually, and as horrible as Christophsis was, it’s already happened.”

He grabbed her waist and pulled her closer. “You and I both know war memories stick.”

“It’s a part of the way we live,” she answered. “And yes, memories of that day do flood me frequently, but I’d rather be here with you now than keep succumbing to them.”

“You make it sound easy,” he smirked.

“It’s easier with you here.”

Crosshair smiled at her response and rested his forehead on hers for a moment before he continued to lead her down the hall and into the elevator that would take them down. When they emerged, they were at the main level of headquarters, and Crosshair walked Aurora over to the transports. As they walked, Aurora began asking herself what Crosshair could have planned for her date, what Hunter could have been so excited about that he had to call and tease.

The first question regarding the date was answered when Aurora spotted Wrecker standing in front of a compact, four-passenger speeder, suited up and holding up a board that read Ms. Dawn.

“Wrecker?” Aurora giggled.

“I do not know of whom you speak,” Wrecker answered eloquently. “I am the driver taking my unknown clients to their destination.”

Aurora laughed as Crosshair gestured for her to step into the vehicle, helping her so that she wouldn’t feel any pain while she did, and then he got in after her.

“Does the plan stand, my good sir?” Driver Wrecker asked Crosshair.

“It does,” Crosshair replied, giving a subtle yet playful roll of his eyes.

“Off we go then,” Wrecker stepped in the pilot’s seat. “No making out in my speeder.”

Wrecker drove off with the couple on the rear seats, and as soon as the speeder got in movement, the city lights caught Aurora’s attention. She watched them as they glided past her gaze and enjoyed the breeze on her cheeks—despite being in the middle of the biggest city in the galaxy, the air felt fresh and even clean. She would barely blink, eyes wide with wonder, and as she stared at the scenery, Crosshair’s ever watchful eyes would only focus on her.

Looking at her that way, Crosshair couldn’t decide if Aurora looked more stunning or endearing.

Slowly, Crosshair reached out for her hand. Aurora looked away from the city landscape the moment she felt his skin come in contact with hers, and with a tender smile, she locked her fingers with his. They didn’t say anything, though Crosshair was about to tell her to turn back to watching the city lights, which he now knew she loved so much. Before any words left him, however, Aurora carefully scooted closer to him, her body pressing to his side, and she leaned on him as she continued to bask in the city’s nightlife.

The ride was shorter than Aurora had expected, and before long, the vehicle came to a stop. Wrecker remained in his chauffeur character and gallantly opened the door for her and Crosshair, only breaking his role to remind his youngest brother to “send food to his loyal driver before he took off”. Crosshair nudged his brother before walking off with Aurora by his side, and he led her into the building.

Aurora couldn’t help but feel out of place. Though they weren’t in the building yet, Aurora recognized the part of the city they were at, one of the most high-end zones of the Coruscant capital. Around them, people of all races dressed in luxurious clothing and adorned with heavy accessories went about their night, some alone, some in couples, some in groups—it made sense why she’d received prior instruction to use her best outfit that night. It was the opposite of being in a war zone or even in GAR headquarters. Heck, the war didn’t even exist in that place.

But a night away from the war and anything to do with it was all Aurora wanted.

They approached the building that towered before them, tall and covered in glass panes that made it appear star-studded in the middle of the city skyline. At the top of the entrance, the word Passacaille was written in large, golden letters beaming with warm light to make them stand out in the night setting.

They were about to enter one of the fanciest hotels on the planet, possibly in the galaxy.

“Cross…” Aurora said, breathless. “Is this for real?”

“Yes,” he answered bluntly.

She let out a chuckle. “You didn’t have to go overboard—how can you even afford this? The restaurant, the speeder, what’s next? Are you going to take me to another planet?”

Crosshair chuckled. “We’re not leaving Coruscant’s atmosphere tonight. As for how I could afford this, call it a mix of my own Sabacc savings and a couple of returned favors.”

“I knew you were good at gambling, but… Returned favors?” Aurora raised a brow.

“Our squad takes on some unforeseen missions, some of them not entirely backed by the GAR,” Crosshair said. “Not exactly dirty work, but we’ve gotten enough members of the high-society and fellow clone squads out of a number of problems to earn their respect.”

The revelation paired with Crosshair in a full black suit and tie made Aurora’s blood flow to hidden corners. She snapped out of how much of a turn-on she found that to be when they reached past the building’s lobby and to the entrance of the restaurant, and Crosshair was greeted by the host to claim his reservation.

“This way, sir,” said the host, and he guided Crosshair and Aurora to a table near the center of the restaurant, placed right under an opulent chandelier that appeared, at least to the untrained eye, to be made of diamonds. Crosshair pulled out a chair for Aurora to sit, and then he took the seat in front of her. The host handed each one a menu and gave a faint bow before leaving them to it, and as hungry as Aurora was, she couldn’t help but gawk at the restaurant itself while listening to the soft piano music in the background and the faint chatter and clanking of dishes and glasses of the people around them.

Even the table where they were sitting was high-end. Made of a dark wood and covered by a dark red cloth, it was adorned at the center by a cylindrical container made of thin glass, filled with beads that looked like precious stones, with enough space inside it to hold two small candles. On top of each placemat, there was a cloth napkin folded into what Aurora felt resembled the peony Crosshair had given her earlier, and there was a set of more cutlery than Aurora could deduce use for.

She knew she’d use the wrong spoon for whatever she ate that night eventually.

“What do you think?” Crosshair broke the silence.

Aurora finally met his eyes again and couldn’t help but let out another breathless laugh. “This is wonderful, Crosshair…” Her chest heaved up and down before she forced herself to keep her feet on the ground. “I don’t want you thinking you always have to spend this much—”

“Enough of that,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”

“Well, that I can do,” she smiled as she opened the menu and looked at everything the place had to offer. “Do you think they sell choccy blue milk here?”

Crosshair chuckled. “Come on, darling, that’s a joke Wrecker would make.”

“I had to,” she giggled.

Putting jokes aside, Aurora had to hold in a gasp at how delicious everything on the menu looked. It would be hard to only choose one thing, but by the time the waiter came around to take their order, she had decided on the plate of dumplings bathed in a five-cheese and herbs sauce. Crosshair went for a similar choice, except his plate had a spicy sauce. Once their order was taken, the waiter left them a bottle of white wine to enjoy in the meantime.

With their glasses full, Crosshair and Aurora clinked their glasses together and talked. Though they told stories of battles, it didn’t feel like they were talking about the war, and before Aurora even realized, her cheeks were sore from all the smiling. Soon, the subject morphed from wartime tales to Crosshair retelling his many Sabacc victores, which he eloquently disclosed as his foot rubbed Aurora’s calf under the table.

Soon, the plates were empty and the wine was gone. Crosshair paid for the dinner while Aurora watched him, her cheek resting on the palm of her hand with glistening eyes. Had she been less discreet, a dreamy sigh would have escaped her. She managed to hold it in, but not without its difficulties—the sight of Crosshair being a complete gentleman was all she didn’t know she needed.

After a lovely dinner, Crosshair got up from his chair and helped Aurora up from hers. He led her out of the restaurant and across the Passacaille’s lobby, and though Aurora was still mesmerized by the decor, her concentration broke when she realized Crosshair was not leading her to the exit.

“Where are we going?” Aurora asked. “Wrecker must be waiting for us by now.”

“Our chauffeur is long gone, darlin’,” Crosshair answered and made a gesture towards the elevators.

Aurora blushed. “Oh…”

“Is everything okay?” Crosshair asked.

“Yes!” Aurora blurted. “Oh, stars, yes, I just didn’t expect to be spending the night here as well.”

“Believe it,” Crosshair purred, pulling Aurora closer. “Come.”

They got into an empty elevator; Crosshair pressed the button for the penthouse and closed the door before anyone else could get in. As soon as the door closed and the elevator began moving up, Aurora pressed her body to Crosshair’s and wrapped her arms around his upper back. He kissed her without hesitation and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her gently so as to not hurt her. Time seemed to disappear as they sank into one another, hidden from the world and the war and from prying eyes. Their hardships were irrelevant if only for that moment. All that mattered was what they felt for one another, whether they spoke it aloud or not.

The couple felt the pull of gravity as the elevator came to a stop, and with a delicate ding! the doors opened to reveal a small, warmly lit hallway. Crosshair regained composure and walked Aurora out of the elevator and up to the single green door that was framed by glass panes, allowing for a tease of the penthouse behind it. He got the door open and Aurora couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her.

The walls were made of glass, and the edges were all lined with plants, from flowers to herbs, even succulents from different arid planets. Entwined in the plants were a series of warm fairy lights, adding a touch of coziness to the luxurious penthouse. On one of the corners there was a small fountain made of rock—water sprouted from the middle of a spherical black stone and fell onto a bowl of grayish marble, and the sound of spluttering water contrasted with the crackling of the fireplace on the opposite side of the room. There were two long couches made of black velvet in front of the fireplace, and behind them was an embroidered carpet made of black and silver threads. Beside the fountain was a nightstand, a large bed covered in a black fluffy comforter, and another nightstand, above which was a small lamp along with the controls to the rest of the lighting of the penthouse, including the artificial fireplace.

“I…” Aurora tried to recover her breath. “I feel like a princess.”

Crosshair gave a low chuckle as he closed and locked the door behind them. “So you like this place?”

“What a question,” Aurora smiled as she walked deeper into the room, examining every detail. She walked past the couches, brushing her fingers over the velvet, and felt a typhoon of emotions forming within her. As she took them all in, she turned to look at Crosshair again, who was already staring at her every move.

“What is it?” He asked her.

Aurora felt the blast wound on her hamstring begin to tingle. “Just a few days ago, I thought it would be over.”

“Hey,” Crosshair removed his coat and set it on the rack beside the door, walking towards her with his hands ready to take hers in them. “You’re here now, with me. In this place. You deserve no less than to feel at home in a room like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Aurora took his hands, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, this is absolutely beautiful, Crosshair. More than I ever could have imagined. I don’t want to ruin it with my laments.”

“You aren’t ruining it,” he said, taking hold of her waist.

She looked at him with twinkling purple eyes and then gazed out the glass walls of the penthouse at the Coruscant skyline. Slowly, she unwrapped herself from Crosshair’s grip and walked over to the edge to better take in the sight, and Crosshair followed, positioning himself beside her.

“It’s like the war doesn’t exist here,” Aurora said. “And yet…”

“And yet, you and I just had the shittiest mission we can think of,” Crosshair completed for her.

Aurora gulped. “Yeah, that… that about sums it up.”

He turned to face her. “Aurora.”

She looked up at him, his features hardening the way they would when he would struggle to get words out.

“I…” he began. “I really thought I was going to lose you. I was willing to do anything to keep that from happening, but there were moments when…”

“I know,” Aurora said. “Believe me, I know.”

“I never want to feel that way again,” Crosshair admitted. “I had never been more afraid of anything in my life, and that scares me.”

“Cross…” Aurora sighed.

“Do you have any idea the hold you have on me?” He asked her.

“I can only imagine it’s the same as the one you have on me,” Aurora took his hands. “The war scares me too. Losing you scares me too. Losing you to anything, it’s unthinkable.”

Silence fell between them, and Crosshair cupped her warm cheek, tilting her face up to meet her gaze as he pulled her close.

“I wish we could stay here,” Aurora whispered. “I wish we didn’t have to go back in the morning.”

Crosshair acknowledged her words, but then he was the one to look at the city landscape.

“I want what you want,” Crosshair said. “But… don’t get me wrong, but war is my purpose.”

“It was your first one,” Aurora agreed. “But you could find another one.”

Crosshair met her gaze again, and her purple eyes gleamed with hope.

“Right?” She whispered.

His lips curved into a hint of a smile before he took his hands up to the back of her head, undoing the bun her lavender hair had been tied into. Once her hair fell in graceful waves down her shoulders, Crosshair found himself leaning down to kiss her. As she kissed him back, Aurora ran her hands up and down his back feeling the fabric of his black shirt. Crosshair began to lead her towards the bed, stumbling, refusing to break the kiss for longer than was necessary. When they reached the bed, he reached up her back and undid the button and zipper of her dress, and before undressing her, he swept her off her feet to place her gently on the bed—he relished in the soft whimper she made when he did that.

Crosshair climbed on the bed after undoing and removing his tie, as well as his shoes. He kissed her lips again as his right hand reached for the room’s controls, dimming the lights and making the glass walls opaque to conceal them from the world outside. Crosshair broke the kiss to remove the clothing on her, item by item. Her shoes, her tights, with more care than he ever thought he could muster as he gently revealed the bandage on her thigh, her dress. She was left in a black lace bra and panties, and basking in the sight of her, he removed his shirt.

Aurora couldn’t help but moan at the sight of him taking off his shirt and revealing his torso, marked by tattoos and battle scars. The light of the fireplace behind him seemed to make him glow, but the thought escaped Aurora when he leaned back down to kiss her again. Her breathing became heavier and a gentle moan left her as she entwined her fingers delicately through his silver hair.

Crosshair then made his way down to kiss her neck and her collarbone, obliviously bringing a fingertip to brush over the necklace she wore. He made his way farther down, and the lower he went, the more Aurora’s chest heaved. She felt his touch over her skin, shivers dancing wherever his fingers went. Sensations covered her belly, her hips, her inner thighs, and finally he was down between her legs wrapping his fingers around the black lace of her panties and pulling them down.

He didn’t beat around the bush. Aurora gasped and moaned the moment she felt his tongue over her clit, and she couldn’t help her eyes rolling back—he was just that good with her. As Crosshair kept eating her out, one of his hands snaked up Aurora’s body up to her belly, where her hand met his. She moaned deeper and deeper the more he flicked and sucked on her delicate skin, and she was so aroused that it took her no time to fall into bliss. Throwing her head back, Aurora squeezed Crosshair’s hand, her body squirming at wave after wave of pleasure, hearing Crosshair moan as her legs inevitably clenched towards him.

“Please,” Aurora whimpered. “I need you inside me now.”

Crosshair emerged from between her legs and crawled up to be at eye level with her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said, mindful of the bandage around her thigh. “I trust you.”

Crosshair was already struggling to hold into more control, but as his dark gaze looked into Aurora’s blissful eyes, he couldn’t keep holding back. He removed his trousers and his boxers and positioned himself above her once more, looking deep into her eyes.

“If it starts to hurt, let me know,” he said.

Aurora nodded frantically, biting her lower lip.

“I need you to promise,” he added.

“I promise,” Aurora replied, pulling up to kiss his lips.

Crosshair eventually settled his weight down and kissed her with more fervor as he inserted himself into her walls, shuddering at how tight and warm she felt around him. Aurora moaned at the fullness inside her, with a hint of relief escaping her voice. Crosshair’s pace began slow, luscious, always careful not to add too much pressure onto her legs. He didn’t need to go any faster—they were already so lost in one another that they were already in heaven with each other. Aurora moaned into Crosshair’s kisses, holding him tighter with every thrust he gave.

Her moans became high-pitched whimpers, and Crosshair increased his pace ever so slightly, enough to send her over the edge. He delighted in the rich moaning that came from her, and he felt the way that she tightened around him as her silhouette squirmed beneath him. He grunted at the tightness, dangerously close to the edge himself, until one last tug of her hand at his silver curls ended him and he spilled thick, white ropes of cum inside her.

Moaning in unison, the two collapsed onto the bed under them and caught their breath, merely enjoying the presence of one another after some long awaited, much deserved loving. Crosshair moved up to meet her gaze, inquiring with his gaze if she had felt any pain, any discomfort.

Aurora smiled in response. “I told you, you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Crosshair kissed her forehead. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Never again.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, but with the strength he had, Crosshair picked her up again and carried her over to the couch in front of the fireplace on the other side of the room. He gathered the bed’s comforter and went to sit next to her, placing her body leaning on his before covering them both in the tick, fuzzy blanket, softly kissing her temple when they were finally settled.

“Thank you for tonight,” Aurora said.

Under the blanket, Crosshair’s hand found hers and interlaced fingers. “I’m glad you like it.”

They looked at each other and perked up for another brief kiss before settling on the couch and letting the fireplace lull them to slumber.

{Next chapter} {Back to series masterlist}

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Thank you so much for reading!

[jellymaple]

I wanna make u guys cry 😈 pt.3

The queen walks serenely, aimlessly

Heart dancing with sorrow seamlessly

Eyes moving through silhouettes soullessly

As curiosity catches her cautiously

A man’s view catches her gaze abruptly

He charms and entertains the palace guards

Striking their hearts with every chord

Bard rhyming his wants word for word

The hollow heart is swayed with charm

A fly going closer to the fire's harm

Is what she is when it comes to the bard

The prey was seen, so he played a card

“Oh the blessed you by Aphrodite,

My lyrics never compare to such beauty,

Forgive me oh gorgeous enchantress

for I am lost within your thy walls”

The queen, though wary, felt her heart stir

At words so sweet, they seemed to blur

The line between what’s true and lies—

She dared not trust, yet couldn’t deny.

The bard took steps, both slow and sure,

His voice like honey, smooth and pure.

"Your beauty, my queen, could blind the sun,

In your presence, I’ve already won."

She felt the fire, though faint at first,

A spark within her heart’s dry thirst.

The prince had tried, but could not ignite

The flames that now began to light.

"I sing of stars, of skies above,

But nothing rivals you, my love.

No throne, no crown, no gold, no name

Could ever dim your sovereign flame."

Each note, each word, like threads they spun,

A web of love, till she was won.

Her hollow heart, so long confined,

Began to beat in time with his rhyme.

"Oh queen, so lost in winter’s hold,

I see the warmth beneath the cold.

Your heart’s a treasure, locked away—

Let me be the key, if I may."

The court was distant, the world a haze,

As she stood lost within his gaze.

No prince, no duty, no cruel chain

Could hold her now; she felt again.

"Your sorrow, deep, I cannot mend,

But by your side, I will defend.

No more shall you face nights alone—

My love, my life, I make your own."

The walls she'd built began to fall,

A queen no more behind them tall.

Her heart, once bound by grief and fear,

Now beat for him, her bard so near.

Each word, a promise, sweet and sure,

And in her soul, a growing cure.

The garden blooms, the flowers rise,

And she, at last, saw through love’s eyes.

"Take my hand, dear queen of light,

And I shall make your burden slight.

With every song, with every vow,

Your joy, my queen, I will allow."

Her heart, now free from sorrow's chain,

Reached for his, in sweet refrain.

No longer hollow, cold, or torn

For in his words, she was reborn.

As her majesty's hand reaches his

A fly has dwelt closer to fire

Pathway to go back blocked by desire

A predator closer to his empire

The queen, now swayed by tender words,

Had let down walls as hope returned.

Her hollow heart, once bound by grief,

Now trembled with a soft belief.

The bard, so charming, took her hand,

A prince of nothing, not of land.

His eyes, like embers, warm with fire,

Yet masked beneath, a darker desire.

In stolen moments, far from court,

He whispered sweet, his love a sport.

"Dear queen," he breathed, "you make me whole,

Let me now possess your soul."

Her heart, still healing, fragile, weak,

Could not see the wolf beneath the meek.

She thought him love, a tender balm,

Not knowing she’d walked into calm

Before the storm, before the pain

A love so false, a liar's gain.

One night, beneath the moon’s pale light,

He led her further from the sight

Of palace walls, where shadows grew,

And whispered words that chilled her through.

"Your beauty, queen, has bound my heart,

But now I’ll claim the greater part.

No need for vows, no need for lies

I’ll take what’s mine beneath these skies."

His voice, once soft, now cold and clear,

A predator who smelled her fear.

She froze beneath his tightening grip,

Her heart now sinking, her mind adrift.

"No!" she cried, though lost, confused,

Her love, her trust, both so abused.

The hands that played her tender song

Now gripped her hard, where they did not belong.

He forced her close, his breath like fire,

A twisted echo of desire.

"Did you think," he laughed, "I loved you so?

A hollow queen, too blind to know."

His words, like daggers, pierced her soul,

And with each one, she lost control.

"I sang for lust, for power's gain,

Not love—your love was in vain."

The queen, now trapped, no voice to speak,

Felt her strength begin to leak.

Her crown of grief, her heart so torn,

And now, by him, her soul was worn.

He claimed her body, forced her will,

And in that night, the world stood still.

No stars, no light, no gentle breeze

Just endless dark, and silent pleas.

When it was done, he left her there,

A broken queen, her soul laid bare.

The fire he’d kindled turned to ash,

Her heart, her spirit, now a flash

Of what once was, of what could be

Now lost within a cruel sea.

She lay beneath the heavy sky,

And with each breath, she wished to die.

For in that night, beneath his hand,

She’d lost herself, she could not stand.

No crown, no throne, no sword in hand

Could save her from the bitter sand

Of time that swept her love away,

Leaving her in disarray.

The kingdom slept, the court unwise,

But in her heart, the darkness thrived.

Her soul was crushed, her hope undone,

And in that place, no light, no sun.

The bard had taken all she was,

A queen who’d loved, now just because

She’d thought she’d found her heart once more—

Now left to grieve upon the floor.

The echoes of his laugh remained,

A bitter sound, her trust profaned.

And as she wept, alone, in night,

Her love had died without a fight.

The queen, now hollow, more than before,

Walked the halls with blood still sore.

A heart once broken, now destroyed,

By lust and greed, by cruelest ploy.

And in her silence, shadows crept,

The queen who once had laughed and wept

Now stood a ghost, with empty eyes,

For love, in her, had met demise.

No vengeance could restore her flame,

No crown could wipe away the shame.

For in that night, beneath his power,

She lost herself, the final hour.

[foxblood]

The Threads of Memory: IX The Surgeon's Call

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25

Trigger Warnings - Graphic depictions of birth and pregnancy - Miscarriage and pregnancy loss - Fetal deformity and fetal death - References to self surgery and SA

Between the warm crackling of the fire and the rustle of yellowed paper spread on the coffee table, Velim forgot the chill sense of something watching them through the windows even though it was well past midnight.  They unfolded an unsent letter, addressed to Morena in quick slanting handwriting that ran together, same as all the others.  The paper revealed its contents with a dry crinkle.

Morena, my heart,

Each morning without you beside me is colder than the last.  I count the days until our child is born, and with each gray sunrise I hope they never find themself on these marshes.  At times, I am closer to the Hells here in the cold than I was when we stood at the lip of Mount Dis and felt the heat of the lava upon our skin.  Do you remember how it took a year for my eyebrows to grow back?  I drew them on with charcoal for six months, and you were ever-patient with me even though I looked a fool in my vanity.

With every bleak sunset over the moors, I wish I could have taken you with me.  Gods know being alone and laden with child is no easy task.  May your mother forgive me for leaving you so, wherever her soul has landed.  I’ll answer to her someday, I’m certain.  I will return as soon as I can, but I hope you’re being well cared for.  When winter recedes, I’ll send all these letters with a courier.  I hope you don’t mind a flood of words.  I write you every day because I think of you every day.  The thought of building our family is the single bright spot I have in this vast dark place.  With luck, I will return to you by spring, abashed with these letters gathered in my arms.  

In the evenings, I take comfort in the thought of you.  The peace that you are to me, in the warmth of your body and…

Velim folded the letter and held it out to Gale.  “Written just before you were born, more smut.  Written in Uktar or Nightall.”

Gale unfolded it, and Velim watched his face for the telltale flush as he scanned his father’s handwriting.  He cleared his throat.  “Yes, a comfort to know they were very much in love.”

Gale set it on the pile closest to the far corner of the coffee table, a neat stack rising based on the year each was written.  The first pile already contained twenty five letters, sprawling scrolls and hastily written notes, more than half pornographic in their descriptions of what Gale’s father would like to do to Morena or vice versa.

Velim plucked another note off the pile, this one less delicate and written on coarse seed paper with a graphite stick.  It had no date, no indication of when it was written, I miss you scrawled in thick black lines.  They set it at the end of the table.  Gale reached across Velim and picked up another letter for himself, this one four pages of parchment folded together.  Velim leaned against his shoulder to read alongside him.  Gale shifted his weight into them and tilted the letter toward them.

Dearest Morena,

Mother passed today.  She babbled nonsense until the very moment of her death, begging me not to forget her son.  I think she believed I was my father, but he never came to her deathbed.  He is still up in his room.  He keeps demanding to know where his wife is, and the only person who seems to calm him is Alexandra.  He believes she is our mother, and keeps asking why she’s lightened her hair.

The situation is dire here.  I celebrated Gale’s birthday with Alexandra not two days ago.  Thank you for sending me those letters, they were a balm to me this summer.  I understand why you write me no longer.  Alexandra wishes to meet you, but I couldn’t bear to subject my son to this place.  Alexandra asks me every day when I intend to move you in with us, how long I intend to let you suffer as a single mother in Waterdeep.  I do not tell her I intend to return, I fear that leaving her alone here may break her.  Alexandra never wanted the title of Mistress, she never sought a spouse for that very reason.  Not that I would encourage her to, at her age, but we are known for marrying young.

A large swath of the text was smudged and unreadable, marred by some unknown substance.  Gale carefully pulled the parchment apart, but only fragments of text could be picked out of the red-brown staining.

… place unravels the mind… precarious as though my very proximity… corrupting influence…  

… grows madder by the day.  Believes me to be his brother… 60 years dead…. return him to the womb, and he will waste away…

… I cannot leave Alexandra… terrified that… when my father speaks to me like I am his brother, he asks if I’m forgetting things again…

Morena… devours us… death is listed madness, madness, mad… key fall into your hands… your name on th…

…

Oliver Devon

Gale’s lips pressed into a thin line.  Velim plucked one of the pages from his hand and smelled the stains, the sharpness of iron without the animal stench of meat.

“Not blood,” they said, replacing it in order.

“Small comfort,” Gale set the pages on the pile near the edge of the table, “things seem to have gone wrong within months.”

“I wonder if his father was the one tearing pages out of books,” Velim suggested, remembering the bestiary.

“What do you mean?” Gale asked.

Velim patted his shoulder and hopped up from the couch, the speed of their movement rustling the papers spread on the table.  “I’ll show you.”

They disappeared behind a bookshelf, their passage silent except for the creaking of the bedroom door.  He flipped through the stained letter again and held each page up to the firelight, trying to see the imprint of the pen through the smudged ink.  He wondered if the black ink his father wrote in was iron-based -- spilled water might make it spread into the red-brown stain.  He sniffed it himself, and it smelled of coins to him.

The door creaked again, and Velim swept onto the couch with the bestiary in hand.  They filled the empty space beside him, and Gale’s body ached with relief.  He leaned over their shoulder as they flipped to the ripped pages, resisting the urge to inhale the scent lingering on their hair -- the faint sickly-sweet of carbolic underlying the sharpness of the herbal oils that clung to their clothes and skin.  They tapped their claws on the first page of the guide to flumphs.

Gale passed his finger over the six ripped pages, his knuckle brushing the note marking their place in the book with a twinge of satisfaction that they kept it.  Velim flipped back to the beginning of the section, declaring “Creatures of the Underdark: Ilithid and Psionic Origin, of the Creatures that Feed on Mentality and Memory”.

Velim’s brow creased.  “Hand me that letter again.”

A faint wail of pain echoed through the empty spaces of the manor, and Velim dropped the letter and sped from the room before the paper fluttered to the floor.  Gale reached for the empty space where they had been, the bestiary dropped to the ground.  He put the book and the dropped letter on the table and followed them.

Velim stopped at the landing, looking down into the foyer from the top of the stairs.  The pregnant woman wailed in animal pain again, her knees buckling.  Another gush of blood soaked her skirts, pulling them tight around her swollen belly.  Shur reached out and caught her as the man with her almost dropped her weight.

“Shur,” Velim called, their voice clear and echoing in the wide space.

The woman screamed again, rattling the glass.  Shur looked up at them, his yellow eyes pleading in the dark.  The man followed his gaze and again nearly dropped the woman, fear turning his long features evil in the low light.  Before anxiety overtook them, Velim felt the warmth of Gale at their back and the surge of the orb as his heart began to race.  They slapped their hands down on the railing, and the noise snapped all in the room to attention.

“Gale, get my coat.  It’s on the back of the desk chair in my room,” Velim ran down the stairs and slung the woman’s arm over their shoulders, shifting her weight to rest on them and freeing Shur from the job, “Shur, get a bed ready in the servant’s quarters.  We’re not getting her up the stairs.  Clean bedding, clean towels.  Set a pot of water on the stove and get it heating.  As fast as you can.”

Shur sprinted down the hall ahead of them.  The man on the woman’s other side came to and shouldered more of her weight as they sped through the darkened corridors.  Her feet dragged, drops of blood trickling behind her.  Shur threw a clean blanket over a threadbare mattress and stepped aside for Velim and the man as they laid the woman down on her back.  Velim shoved a table from the wall closer to the bed, so they could turn around and reach what they needed.  The woman writhed and moaned.  Blood soaked through the blanket.  Shur stared.

“Towels, Shur!” Velim snapped, rolling their sleeves above their elbows.

Gale rushed into the room and handed Velim their coat, his newly free hands clutching his chest as though he could force the swelling of the orb back down.  They nodded at him and plunged their arm deep into the bag of holding sewn in the lining, drawing out their heavy doctor’s bag and surgical kit.  They dropped both on the table, unrolling the surgical tools and digging in the bag for a vial of clear liquid.

Shur returned with an armful of towels and set them on the table.  He stared at Velim, desperate for further direction, his face pale at the stench of blood and urine that crowded the room.

“Boil water,” they dismissed him to the kitchen with a flick of their hand, “Gale, go help him.  When it’s boiled for five minutes, cool it.”

“As you command, doctor.” Gale followed Shur into the kitchen with an easy nod, trying to hide the nausea twisting in his stomach.

Velim dug in their doctor’s bag for the bottle of high-proof alcohol and dumped it over their hands.  It stung the places where the cold had cracked the skin between their scales and they hissed, forcing themself to hold still until the pain abated.  They dried their hands on one of the towels, and realized the man had gone pale and still, staring at the surgical instruments laid out on the table.

“Easy,” Velim warned, and the man looked up, “lift her skirts, I need to take a look at her stomach.”

He did as he was asked with shaky hands, pulling the blood soaked fabric up to her chest.  In the low light, the pale skin of her belly marred with smudges of clotted blood looked like some rotten moon.  The woman pleaded wordlessly with him, trying to push the skirts back down.  Her abdomen seized with another contraction, and blood soaked into the blanket.

Velim rested their hand on her stomach. “I’ve got you, it won’t be long now,” they promised, their voice rough.  They turned to the man who came with her, “make yourself useful and hold her hand.  This is traumatic enough without you standing there and gawking.”

He closed his mouth and looked down, taking her hand into both of his and kissing the knuckles.  He stroked away the strands of hair stuck to her forehead with sweat.  Velim drew some of the clear liquid from the vial into a syringe and clenched it between their teeth.  They crawled onto the bed and pushed the woman’s knees apart.

“I’m checking how dilated you are,” they explained around the syringe, enunciating carefully while they probed her cervix with a finger.  They felt none.  Their hand came away bloody.

Her pulse raced, the veins in her inner thighs standing out.  Not losing too much blood, then, they thought.  Velim steadied her leg with their bloodied hand and plunged the needle into her vein, emptying the syringe.  They massaged the pinprick of blood that rose in its absence.  The woman’s eyes rolled back in her head.

“Ma’am, I need you with me,” Velim rested their hand on her stomach again and her bleary eyes rolled to them, “can you count to five?”

She nodded.

“Count to five with me.  On five, you push,” they nodded with her, “one, two, three, four, five.”

She groaned loudly as she bore down.  The man winced, his hand crushed in her iron grip.  The fetus shifted beneath Velim’s palm.  The woman panted.

“Again.  One, two, three --”

“-- Four, five!” the woman wailed the last number, counting along with Velim.  The fetus shifted another few inches.

“Great, keep going,” Velim encouraged, waiting to hear her count again before turning to the man, “how long has she been pregnant?”

“I don’t know,” the man winced as she crushed his hand again, “six months?  She hid it for a long time.  Dunno the father.”

“I could not care less about the father,” Velim hissed in annoyance, “when did she start bleeding?”

“Twenty minutes ‘fore we got here,” he mumbled, cowed, “just a little at first.”

They sighed in relief.  At least she had that going for her.  “You’re almost there.  One more good push.  One, two, three, four --”

She screamed with the effort, her face going purple-red as the fetus and afterbirth flooded out of her in a flush of blood.  The flow slowed.  Velim’s heart sank, cold dread washing over them at the sight of the fetus’ two tiny faces. They packed the woman with towels to sop up what trickle of blood remained and scooped up the unmoving fetus and viscera, turning their back to her to hide the sight as they laid it on the table.  

Shur returned with the pot of water, just warm, with Gale at his heels.  Shur opened his mouth to ask a question, but the answering glare from Velim silenced him and he left the pot on the table.  Gale glanced at the fetus and his tense expression deepened.  Velim flicked their eyes to the woman, and he nodded almost imperceptibly, pulling a chair up to the opposite side of the bed.  Velim cut and tied the umbilicus, then gently washed the fragile limbs and strange bloated body.  It seemed to slumber, all four bulging eyes on both its purple faces closed with swollen lids.  Both mouths hung half-open, one palate slightly cleft.  Fine blond fuzz covered its lolling head.

“Why isn’t it crying?” the woman asked, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Gale touched her shoulder and leaned in to murmur something soft to her, drawing her attention away.  Velim swaddled the dead fetus in a half-clean towel and motioned for the man to follow them into the kitchen.  Shur quickly replaced him at the woman’s side, and Gale assured her of Velim’s skill with soft and certain words.

In the light of the kitchen, the man’s face lost its frightening quality.  He became drawn, twisting his warm hat in his hands and looking away from the bundle in Velim’s arms.  He licked his dry lips.  “It’s dead, isn’t it?”

“It was never going to live,” Velim tipped the bundle towards him so he could see its two faces and his eyes went wide, “even without the early labor, this sort of deformity isn’t survivable.”

The man’s sad eyes brimmed with tears that spilled down his cheeks.  He wiped them away on his hat.  “What are we going to tell her?”

“We tell her the truth,” Velim said, “we let her hold her child for as long as she needs, and we let her cry.  Then you dispose of it, however you see fit.”

“The well,” the man breathed.

“The well?” Velim repeated.

He licked his lips again and reached for the bundle in Velim’s arms.  Velim handed it to him.  “A boy,” he murmured to it, “she would have named him Hyde.”

Velim stood there, blood drying beneath their claws.  They watched the man’s shoulders shake with silent sobs and felt they were intruding on a very personal grief.  They accepted that their question about the well would go unanswered.  In the other room, the woman whined hoarsely for her baby.

“I’ll take him to her.” The man swallowed his sobs to speak and turned to the door, marching slowly and unsteadily back to the woman’s bedside.

The wail of grief cut Velim through the door.  They scrubbed the dried blood out from beneath their claws at the sink and only startled a little when they felt Gale’s hand on their shoulder.

“I promise, I’ve told no one about you,” he said quietly, hand squeezing tighter on their shoulder.

Velim examined their claws, then plunged them back under the water and picked at a bit of dried blood.  “I believe you.”

“That poor woman, Gods,” he sighed, “how are you holding up?”

“The fetus has diprosopus, craniofacial duplication.  It was dead as soon as it was conceived,” Velim explained, rubbing the gaps between their scales until they felt raw, “the birth would have been worse, had she carried to term.  As it is, she’ll make a full recovery.”

Gale peeled them away from the sink as they dried their hands and held their shoulders the way he had in the warehouse.  Velim’s knees threatened to buckle, clutching the hand towel tightly.

“I’m relieved she’ll recover, but Velim --” 

Velim didn’t lean into him and cry until the dread weight on their mind dissipated into a throbbing headache.  They didn’t tell him about the relief they felt for the woman in the bed, that she wouldn’t have to raise a child alone, that it was better the thing was dead and her life remained her own.  Instead, they swallowed the lump in their throat and shrugged off his hands.  “I’m fine.  Do you know where Shur keeps the linens?  We ought to set her up with a clean bed and make up another bedroom.”

“For her brother, yes,” Gale’s forehead furrowed in concern, “I’ll go talk to Shur and see if we can summon a bit of hospitality for the night.”

“Did you happen to catch their names?” Velim asked, subtly flicking away a tear that beaded in the corner of their eye.

“No, but I’ll ask Shur when I find him,” Gale assured them, slipping out of the room and averting his eyes from the grief gathered at the bedside.  

The darkness of the halls pressed in around him and he held a hand against the wall to guide him through.  He stumbled on an uneven plank in the floor and it creaked.  He caught himself on the opposite wall and found the turn, breathing deeply when it finally dumped him out in a wider hallway lit by a single wall sconce.  He made a note to rig up some lighting on the servants’ passages, wondering why they’d been left in darkness in the first place.  He caught Shur at the door into the dining room, carrying a bundle of pillows in his arms.

“Gale,” Shur adjusted the down comforter slipping from his grip, “something the matter?”

“Shur, just the man I was hoping to see.  Can you direct me to the linens?  I had a thought to make up another bedroom for our guest,” Gale gathered the fold of the comforter and tucked it beneath a pillow in Shur’s arms, “I was also hoping to discuss a small matter with you, now that the chaos has resolved itself.”

Shur grimaced.  “‘Course, Gale, let me bring these down and I’ll show you.”

Gale followed him down and helped dress a fresh bed and move the woman from one to another.  She clutched the bundle in her arms the whole time, unwilling to relinquish it to her brother when he offered.  Shur hovered over her for a moment after she clambered into bed, pulling the down comforter up around her.  Her brother rested a hand on Shur’s shoulder and thanked him quietly.

“We’re setting up the bedroom for ye,” Shur explained softly, “Marla’ll be fine down here.  Doubt the doctor’s going to leave her on her own.”

“Thanks, Shur,” the brother pulled a chair close to Marla’s bed and sat back down, “‘M good here for a while.”

Shur nodded at him once with an affirmative grunt, and left him to his vigil.  Gale joined him once more in the claustrophobic hallways, both of them silent under the weight of the dark, and breathed a sigh of relief when they finally broke into the dimly-lit dining room and he followed Shur up the stairs.

“Shur,” Gale began, annoyance flaring around the hard space of the orb, “It was my understanding that you were to tell no one who was living here.”

Shur’s eyes flashed wide with fear.  “That’s true, ser,” he admitted.

“Why, then,” Gale closed the door of the linen closet behind them and the oil lamp mounted above the door flickered, “did you disobey the one rule we set for you?  Do you understand what you’ve done?  The kind of danger you’ve placed Velim in?”

Shur shrunk from Gale as his voice rose, despite being a full head taller than the wizard.  The tales of scorned weavemasters played in his head.  “Please, Mr. Dekarios, I like my guts on the inside where they belong.  I meant no harm, I swear it.”

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a breath through his teeth.  “I don’t intend to harm you, I just believe you’ve been misinformed regarding the stakes of our misadventure in Waterdeep.  While I’m sure Marla and…”

“Kenneth,” Shur filled in.

“Kenneth,” Gale repeated, “I’m sure they mean well.  Velim is not to be disturbed.  I was very clear on that point in our correspondence, as was my mother.  This kind of stress is terrible for their health.  Any further exposure could be dangerous; and while I’m quite sure you’ve never encountered another draconic sorcerer, I assure you that Velim is a cut above the rest --” he rubbed his chest where the orb seemed to swell, “suffice to say that exposure poses a great danger to them.  I’d ask that you stress this to Kenneth and Marla when you see them off.”

“I will,” Shur pulled a set of linens off the shelf, “I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Master Deakrios.”

“Oh, enough with that,” Gale grabbed a clean robe from a shelf for Marla, “come on, we’ll get the room set up and you can apologize to Velim yourself.”

“Is it really that bad?” Shur asked once the bed was made.

“Yes, it is,” Gale leaned on the bed post, his anger abating into cold exhaustion.

Marla snored softly in the bed, the bundle cradled against her chest.  Her hair stuck to her forehead in clumps and her face bore the purple pinpricks of burst capillaries.  Velim studied the stains in the straw mattress, a pile of soiled linens at their feet.  The room still stunk of blood and urine.  Kenneth returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea and handed one to Velim.  

They cupped it in their hands, cold and dry from the scrubbing.  “Can I ask what brought you here?” 

Kenneth dropped into the chair at Marla’s bedside, and Velim pulled a second one beside him.  The weight of the hour finally settled on the both of them, and Kenneth waited some time to speak.  “Pregnancy’s been hard on her.  Since our pop left, Shur’s been keeping an eye on us.  Said he knew a doctor, just in case, but we couldn’t tell anyone ‘bout it,” Kenneth nodded at Velim, “I see why.”

Velim swiped the back of their hand over the scales at their jawline.  “No doctor in town?”

“Not for a year,” Kenneth sipped his tea, letting the bitterness warm him, “surgery’s still there -- all the notes inside.  I’ve got the key, if you ever had the thought to take up residence.  Pop’s the mayor.  Was the mayor, got keys for lots of the abandoned buildings.”

Velim shook their head, trying to dislodge the feeling of bugs crawling along the inside of their skull.  “Afraid I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Handled this well enough,” he gestured to his sister, “we’d get used to you, y’know?  We’ve had stranger folks in residence.”

“What are you going to do with the fetus?  The ground’s frozen,” their mind slid over the vacant surgery, even though they wanted to ask questions, “you mentioned a well?”

“There’s an old well in a grove near the town.  You got a stillbirth or miscarriage, you send it down the well and it won’t happen again.  If you got a sick kid, you tie the branches of the trees together with their old clothes and they get better,” Kenneth leaned forward and pulled the towel away from the fetus’ two faces, “you ever seen anything like that?”

“In livestock, sometimes.  Never in a human before.” Velim’s eyes wandered to the door as Shur and Gale entered again.  Shur approached them looking shaken, and Velim wondered what Gale said to him.

Shur cleared his throat.  “Made up a bedroom for you, Ken,” he gestured to the door, “oughta get some rest, if you’re going back in the morning.”

Kenneth looked to Velim, and they rolled their shoulders with a sigh.  “She’s fine to go when she wakes up.  The birth itself went smoothly, I’ll get her some medication for the ride home and after.”

“I don’t want to leave her alone,” Kenneth protested.

“I won’t,” Velim said quickly, “I won’t leave her.  Get some rest.”

Kenneth reluctantly followed Shur to the bedroom, though Velim doubted he would sleep.  They drank the rest of their tea, now cold and bitter, and held the cup in their hands as an anchor.  Marla’s chest rose and fell slowly, prompting some grim satisfaction in their work.  Gale dropped into the vacant chair beside them.

“You should get some sleep, too,” Velim told him, their voice flat with exhaustion.

He waved his hand dismissively. “I can’t sleep with all the commotion.”

The gulf between them stretched, Velim singly focused on the smooth rise and fall of Marla’s chest.  

“I spoke with Shur.” Gale’s voice barely rose above a whisper, nearly drowned by the howling wind outside.

Their grip tightened on the cup.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I simply informed him of the danger,” Gale explained.

They cocked their head to one side, then leaned forward and tugged the blanket over Marla’s shoulder against the cold.  “I’d rather they had come.  She needs people around her right now.”

“Vel,” Gale said when they sat back, “are you sure you’re alright?”

Tears pricked at their eyes and they wiped them away.  “Yes, I’m fine.  Births aren’t my strong suit,” the memories rose like bile in their throat, “I was engaged to my master’s son when I turned 16.  They would have turned me out otherwise, I thought I would just drag the engagement out until my apprenticeship finished and break it off once I had the capital to go my own way.  He had no interest in me but he still --” their breath hitched, but the words came anyway, “when he discovered I was pregnant, he locked me in the basement so I couldn’t terminate it.  Kept me down there, and I had to wait until I was showing to…” their chest heaved as they swallowed a sob, “I cut it out.  Ortheon didn’t find me for a week afterwards,” their voice faltered, “I can’t leave her alone.  Not after something like that.”

Gale pulled his chair closer, closing the gulf between them and gathering them into his arms.  They leaned into his warmth, horrified by the intensity of their own sobbing muffled against his shoulder.  He stroked the nape of their neck with his thumb, his hand hot on their skin, his breath soft on their hair.

“I’ll stay with you,” Gale pressed a kiss to the top of their head and hoped they wouldn’t notice, “I’ll stay.”

[harryedwardtris]

Hey guys let me know what you guys think of this story so far

I started this as a joke and as a way to get my mind off of things. Im going to be honestl i dnot reeally think i am the best writer btu i have been wanting to try it for a while.

this is heavily based off of lovely runner

Tw: Suiside, dark thoughs?? uhhh i cant really think of anythign else to tw but if you guys think i should add somthing let me know

WC: 1201

Y/N sat on her bed, staring out the window at the world bustling by. Sunlight poured in, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, but it felt like a distant glow, one she could no longer reach. The accident had changed everything—her life, her dreams, and most painfully, her ability to walk. A car veered into her lane one fateful evening, and in an instant, everything she had known shattered.

Months passed, but the emotional scars lingered. Y/N felt trapped in a body that refused to cooperate, and with each passing day, the weight of despair pressed heavier on her heart. She was devastated and humiliated, grappling with a reality that stripped away her independence. Once vibrant and full of life, she now found herself isolated, a shell of her former self. Friends who had once surrounded her began to drift away, unsure how to navigate the changes in her life. The echoes of laughter and joy from her past haunted her, reminding her of the vibrant life she once led. Isolation became her only companion, and she withdrew from social gatherings, afraid of their pity and her own vulnerability.

In this dark period, the only thing that brought her solace was Jungwon’s music. His songs resonated with her pain and hopes, painting vivid landscapes of emotions she could scarcely articulate. Whenever she listened, it was as if he were reaching out through the speakers, urging her to hold on to hope amidst the darkness. His voice felt like a lifeline, a reminder that there was still beauty in the world, even if she couldn’t fully participate in it.

One particularly dreary night, when the shadows in her room felt especially deep, she turned on the radio, hoping to escape her thoughts. Jungwon’s voice broke through the static, filling her room with warmth. “Hey, everyone! We’re live tonight, and I just want to remind anyone listening that it’s okay to feel lost sometimes. Life has its ups and downs, but you have to hold on to hope.”

Y/N felt a flicker of connection, but the weight of her sadness held her back. Just then, her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. Hesitantly, she answered, half-expecting a prank call.

“Hey! Is this Y/N?” The familiar voice sent chills down her spine.

“Um, yes? Who is this?” she stammered, her heart racing.

“It’s Jungwon. I know it sounds strange, but I wanted to talk to you. You’ve been feeling down, right?”

Her breath hitched. How did he know? “I… I don’t really want to talk right now,” she mumbled, fighting back tears.

“Listen, it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his voice soothing and sincere.

Those words washed over her like a balm, igniting a flicker of hope in her heart. For the first time in a long while, she felt seen. She didn’t want the call to end, but reality soon crashed back in, and she hung up, her heart racing with a mix of gratitude and longing. She had never imagined that she would be speaking to someone who had become such a significant part of her life, even from a distance.

In the years that followed, Y/N found herself drawn deeper into Jungwon’s world. She became a devoted fan, attending fan meetings and following every update about him. His music became her escape, a lifeline that kept her tethered to the world. With each new song, she felt as if Jungwon was speaking directly to her, acknowledging her struggles and encouraging her to keep fighting.

Finally, the day came when she managed to get tickets to his concert. She was ecstatic, counting down the days like a child waiting for Christmas. The excitement filled her with a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in years. She meticulously planned her outfit, wanting to look her best, even if she couldn’t walk unassisted. She imagined the energy of the crowd, the thrill of being close to the stage, and the joy of seeing Jungwon perform live.

But as the concert approached, work obligations loomed large, and Y/N found herself buried under deadlines. The pressure mounted, and she felt the familiar grip of anxiety tightening around her chest. Each day that passed felt like a countdown to disappointment, and despite her best efforts, she couldn't shake the feeling that something would go wrong.

The night of the concert arrived, and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t make it on time. Heartbroken, she stood outside the venue, the sounds of the concert spilling into the street. The vibrant energy around her felt like a cruel reminder of her isolation. She watched as fans rushed past her, their faces lit with excitement, and felt a deep sense of loss. The world seemed to move on without her, and she felt like a ghost, haunting the edges of a life she could no longer participate in.

In need of air, Y/N wandered to a nearby bridge, seeking solace in the cool night breeze. She leaned against the railing, staring down at the water below, contemplating the what-ifs that haunted her. The stars above felt distant, just like the dreams she once held close.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she was startled to see Jungwon emerging from a van, flanked by his security. Her heart raced as he approached, a concerned look on his face.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, genuine worry etched in his features.

“I… I missed your concert,” Y/N confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of disappointment pressed heavily on her chest, and she felt tears welling in her eyes.

“Life can be overwhelming sometimes. But remember, every setback is a setup for a comeback. You’re not alone in this,” he encouraged, stepping closer.

His words wrapped around her like a warm embrace, and for a moment, all her worries faded away. She felt an undeniable connection to him, one that transcended the boundaries of fan and idol. They talked for what felt like hours, sharing laughter and stories that made her forget the pain of her reality. Y/N found herself slowly falling for him, captivated by his kindness and warmth. In that moment, she felt alive again—not just as a fan, but as a person worthy of love and connection.

As she left the bridge that night, her heart soared. She couldn’t stop smiling, replaying their conversation in her mind. The world felt a little brighter, and she was ready to embrace it again. The connection they had formed filled her with hope, and for the first time in years, she believed in the possibility of a future.

But when Y/N awoke the next morning, her heart sank as she scrolled through her phone. The news headlines screamed at her: “Idol Jungwon Falls from Balcony, Suspected Suicide.”

Shock coursed through her veins, and she felt as if the ground beneath her had crumbled away. No, it couldn’t be. Memories of their conversation echoed in her mind, and she struggled to comprehend the tragic reality.

Y/N sank to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. How could this happen? She had just started to believe in hope again, and now it felt ripped away. The joy she had felt just hours before was replaced by an unbearable weight of grief. The light that had briefly illuminated her life was snuffed out, leaving her in an abyss of despair.

Her mind raced with questions. How could someone so full of life and kindness be gone? The irony of their last conversation gnawed at her; he had told her she was strong, but now she felt weak and helpless. The world outside her window blurred as she sobbed, each tear a testament to the dreams that had just begun to blossom.

As she cradled her phone, the weight of grief settled heavily on her heart. She felt the walls closing in, the isolation returning with a vengeance. The very source of her hope had been cruelly taken from her, and she was left to grapple with the harsh reality of loss.

But amidst the darkness, a flicker of determination sparked within her. Y/N recalled the moments of connection she had shared with Jungwon, the way his words had lifted her when she felt lost.

“I won’t let this be the end, Jungwon,” she whispered into the silence of her room, determination rising amidst the sorrow. “I will find a way to save you.”

AN: tbh i dont think i really portrayed the emotions very well but for a first drat it don thin its to bad.

if you guy think i should edit it and post the rest of the sotry let me know

[crimsonedquill]

hello there! i’d like to request a fic where amit finds himself head over heels for mc and has to control himself for the sake of keeping up his Good RavenclawTM image (but MC makes that difficult with their boldness/fowardness)

have a good day :)

I love Amit he's too precious for this world lol

Thanks for the ask 🖤

Craving (Amit Thakkar x gn!MC)

Tags: Spicy fluff (SFW), bold MC

“Good,” Amit said as they walked down the corridor, his voice laced with his usual energy, “so I planned for us to have drinks in Hogsmeade on Fridays –”

“Wait, just Fridays?” MC interrupted, their eyes widening as they quickly glanced at the schedule in their hands. “Why not Saturdays too?”

“Because that’s when you need to be studying for Ancient Runes. I’ve seen your marks, you really shouldn’t be neglecting your electives –”

“But that’s all the more reason for us to spend time together!” MC laughed, their voice filled with playful defiance, before their gaze turned mischievous. “I like to think that you keep me… motivated.”

Amit swallowed, looking around him to make sure the other students in the corridor weren’t listening in. “Well… I suppose I could come over to quiz you –”

“Hmhm,” MC purred, leaning closer until their lips brushed against his ear. “And then, you could reward me for being such a hardworking student…”

Amit’s cheeks flushed crimson, his heart racing at the tone of their voice. “Are we still talking about your academic performance?”

MC chuckled, a sound that sent a delightful shiver down his spine. They were so effortlessly charming, even when they weren’t trying. Imagine the amount of self-restraint they had to exercise when they actually were.

“Amit, you’re adorable. And I think it’s adorable that you’re making all of these schedules, but… sometimes it’s good to cede control and just lose yourself in the moment, you know?”

“The moment?” he asked, looking confused. “I’m not certain I understand what you –”

Before he could finish his sentence, MC yanked him into an alcove by his tie, their lips crashing against his in a passionate kiss. Time seemed to stand still as Amit’s senses were consumed by their intensity. He froze up, any chance he ever had at resisting melting away in their kiss. MC handled him with a fervour that made his head spin, giving him every chance to taste their desire, and it left him gasping for breath as they finally let go, flashing him a big grin. “See, you’re learning already.”

Amit struggled to find his words, his mind still reeling. “You really... I cannot…”

MC chuckled, their laughter a soothing balm to his overwhelmed senses as they tugged him along by the hand. “Don’t lose your head now, handsome. We’re going to be late for class.”

— — —

They had Astronomy class together later that evening, which meant Amit could finally immerse himself in his favourite subject, or so he thought. He had been diligently making changes to his star chart when MC waved them over. “Amit, could you help me adjust my telescope?”

In hindsight, he should probably have noticed that they had set up their telescope a little too far away from the other students, but his eagerness to assist overshadowed any inkling of suspicion. “Allow me,” he smiled at them, quickly moving behind the instrument as his experienced hands went to work.

“You’re my saviour,” MC’s voice came from somewhere to his left, their tone light and playful. A chuckle accompanied their words, causing Amit’s fingers to momentarily falter. “Where would I be without you?”

“With everything I know you to be, I find it slightly difficult to believe that you’re not mocking me right now,” he retorted, his focus still fixed on adjusting the telescope.

MC laughed. “No, I do mean it! In fact, I would like you to know just how grateful I am to have you…”

Before he could ask what they meant, his breath hitched in his throat as he felt a pair of lips brush against the sensitive skin of his neck. He struggled to maintain composure, his knees weakening under the intoxicating touch of MC’s teasing. “O, o Merlin –” he gasped.

MC temporarily withdrew their lips from his neck, their mischievous chuckle filling the silence. “Try to maintain your composure, dearest. Professor Shah might be looking.”

He would have liked to ask him why they wanted to remind him of that while they were busy sucking on his neck, but before he could even respond MC was back at it, placing open-mouthed kisses on his nape. He was having a very hard time controlling himself now, the urge to grab MC’s wrists and pin them against the railing washing away whatever rational thoughts he still had. They truly had the power to unravel him completely, a fact that both thrilled and terrified him.

“Mr Thakkar!” a stern voice suddenly bellowed, piercing through the haze of desire. MC’s lips swiftly abandoned his neck, and he nearly knocked over the telescope in his haste to stand up straight. Professor Shah strode toward them, her posture radiating disappointment as she planted her hands on her hips. “Would you care to explain the meaning of this?”

“MC had some trouble adjusting their telescope, Professor,” he hurriedly explained, “I was simply offering to help –”

“Aha, and I am probably to assume that what you have on your neck there is just a mosquito bite?”

“Well, as a matter of fact –”

“Detention, the both of you!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the crisp night air. “And I would like to express my deepest disappointment, Mr Thakkar. I expected better from you.”

Amit stood there, flabbergasted, as Professor Shah marched away, leaving him speechless and uncertain of what to say or do next. Eventually, he turned to face MC, who was still sporting a mischievous grin despite the reprimand. “No need for such a long face,” they said. “I already have some ideas on how to pass the time.”

— — —

They reported for detention the next day in the Transfiguration classroom. Professor Weasley seemed more than a little surprised to see Amit. “Mr Thakkar, are you feeling all right?”

“Uh, yes, Professor,” Amit answered, feigning a cough as he slightly adjusted the scarf around his neck. He wished MC would stop snickering behind him. “It’s just a simple cold.”

“Well, I must say I wasn’t quite expecting to see you here today – or ever, for that matter. You must have committed quite a heinous transgression.”

“I… I apologise, Professor. It certainly won’t happen again.”

He was grateful when Professor Weasley finally averted her gaze and told them to sit down. He walked over to the table closest to the teacher’s desk, but suddenly felt himself pulled along as MC dragged him to the back of the classroom. “What are you…?”

“She won’t notice,” MC assured him. “Now, come sit down with me.”

Remarkably, they turned out to be right as Professor Weasley only instructed them to keep quiet and start on their homework. Amit did as he was told, continuing his essay on the various applications of Dittany, but it wasn’t too long before he felt MC’s foot against his. They slid him a note: want to continue where we left off?

He gave them a sideways glance, the confusion clearly readable on his face as they had to stifle a chuckle. He frantically nodded his head in the direction of Professor Weasley.

“You’ll just have to keep quiet then,” MC chuckled, pulling down his scarf. He never stood any chance to stop them, but he noticed he didn’t really want to either. Soon, MC had him at their mercy again, lightly nibbling at his neck with an intensity he would call bold, even for them. He tried to focus on his essay, if only it was just to give the impression that he was working, but his mind was completely occupied by MC's playful advances. The sensation of their warm breath against his skin sent shivers down his spine, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Amit stole a quick glance at Professor Weasley, who seemed engrossed in grading papers. He knew he should put a stop to this, that he should focus on his punishment and behave appropriately. But the mischievous sparkle in MC’s eyes was hard to resist, and the allure of their moist lips even harder.

With a mix of both guilt and excitement, he finally turned and leaned closer to MC, their lips barely grazing each other. The tantalizing taste of forbidden pleasure sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins. He knew the danger they were in, the punishment they would risk if they were caught, but it was like none of that mattered anymore. His heart raced with a heady mixture of fear and exhilaration, his body craving more of MC’s intoxicating touch.

As his hand trembled, he cupped MC's cheek, feeling the warmth of their skin beneath his fingertips. A soft sigh escaped into his mouth as MC's tongue gently pressed against his lips, seeking entrance. The world around them faded into insignificance as he parted his lips, inviting them in. Their tongues met in a fervent dance of desire and longing that only fueled their mutual hunger. The sensation was overwhelming, each touch and taste filling him with a dizzying euphoria.

Just as things reached a fever pitch, a sudden cough from Professor Weasley shattered their moment. They hastily pulled apart, both quickly looking down at their parchment. The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing.

Professor Weasley remained quiet, however, and after a few more moments she signalled that they could leave. Amit was almost sure he could see her eyebrows crease above her glasses when they slipped out of the classroom, but he wasn’t eager to find out whether she knew.

Outside, MC laughed as their hand slipped into his. “Well, that was certainly… interesting.”

“I feel like I have never been closer to certain untimely demise,” he sighed as he wiped his forehead, feeling his heart still throbbing in his chest.

“But you did kiss me back. Tell me, didn’t you find it at least a little exhilarating?”

He looked at them, taking in their pretty features, the unmistakable cocky grin that always made his heart flutter. In spite of their recklessness, he couldn’t deny he was utterly in love with them. “I do admit there’s something about you that brings out a certain… side of me.”

“Is that so?” MC giggled, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. “Well, let’s continue to explore that side, then. I can’t wait for you to tell me unsavoury things in Gobbledygook.”

He could only imagine his face as their laughter echoed through the corridor.