#and she doesn’t care much for fuzzy creatures

[octoooo]

Pov: you meet a pet-haver in the wild

& she shows you this

(Masterlist)

[little-emerald-snake]

Kinktober

Sex Pollen - Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

🔥NSFW🔞MDNI

Warnings: non canon plant because I made that shit up, I wrote and edited and posted this while I was drunk oops, aphrodisiac, sex pollen, dry humping, getting freaky in the forbidden forest

1938 words

(banner made by me)

“Damn Garreth and his damned potions always making me trudge out to the damned forbidden forest for ingredients. Who does that boy even think he is?!“

Sebastian rolled his eyes, pushing a branch out of his way. “He’s a potion prodigy who’s paying you for a service. A service you said yes too. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

She whipped her head around causing him to stop in his tracks, standing to his full height and crossing his arms with a ‘try me and I’ll leave you out here alone’ look on his face.

She huffed, turning back around and continuing to climb through bushes, shuddering at a thick mass of webbing as she steps around it. “Why does there always have to be spiders…why can’t his blasted ingredients be near a niffler den or some other creature that doesn’t have eight legs.”

Sebastian chuckled, stepping out behind her into a clearing with no trees or bushes, only loose dirt. “That’s why you brought me isn’t it? To fend off all the spiders for you.”

He could hear the smile in her voice as she glanced around the clearing, looking for a specific purple flower that looked strangely identical to purple spun sugar. “Perhaps it is. But I’d still like to avoid coming across a den of acromantulas if it’s all the same to you.” She looked around again and gasped at what she saw along the edge of the clearing a few feet away. “There it is! That's what we need for Garreth!”

She lifts her skirt and trudges over to a whole patch of them, opening her bag and pulling out a glass jar. “Now we have to be careful, Garreth said picking these can leave you with some strange…side effects…but he wouldn’t give me any other details.”

She set the jar to the side and pulled out a pair of brown leather gloves, pulling them on and reaching for the first flower. Sebastian walked up and stood beside her to watch as she plucked the first flower, the tiniest bit of the strange cottony fluff fluttering off to the ground.

She took her time carefully plucking more and more till she had a whole jar full of them. She put the lid on and set it inside of her bag, reaching for another jar and beginning to fill that one too. Sebastian’s brow lifted curiously. “I thought Garreth only wanted one jar of this stuff?”

She nodded and kept at her work, diligently. “He did. But I know what he’s trying to make with it and I know in a week he’ll come asking for more. I might as well stock up on it now and be prepared the next time he asks.”

Sebastian nodded, understanding her reluctance for heading out here to pick up ingredients again so soon. As much as she loved getting into places she wasn’t supposed to be, the forbidden forest did not hold the same sentiment.

She finished filling the second jar just as her nose and throat began to tingle. Nothing drastic but just enough to notice a difference. She chose not to say anything, capping her jar and stuffing it into her bag before pulling off her gloves and sending the fluff that was stuck to them flying as she beat them against the stalk of a tree to ‘clean them’.

Sebastian wrinkled his nose and backed up as the fluff immediately began to irritate his airways. “What the hell. He tells you to be careful with this stuff and all the sudden you’re getting it all over the place!”

She rolled her eyes and stuffed her gloves into her bag, standing and turning back to Sebastian. The first thing he notices is her pupils are blown crazy wide, enough so to concern him. She speaks as if she’s completely fine though which intrigues him. “It just makes your throat and nose feel a bit funny. I doubt Garreth would send me out to collect anything dangerous without a fair warning.”

Sebastian begins to feel a bit warm and…fuzzy? “Yea, and makes your pupils bloody massive! You look like a cat who just tossed about in a huge pile of cat grass.”

She looks up into his eyes and notices the same thing about his own pupils, just as the strangest thing happens, a heady swirl of arousal settles in her lower abdomen. “So do you. Maybe this stuff has some sort of…drug-esque effect. Do you…feel anything strange?”

Heat was quickly flooding his body making him suddenly feel all too warm. “Er, yea. I suppose you could say the feeling is strange. Are…you experiencing anything strange?”

She nodded, clearing her throat and kneeling down to the soft dirt below her. She pulled out her wand, summoning her huge leather bound Herbology book from the castle. “I suppose I should have researched this stuff before coming out here but…Garreth has never led me to gather anything dangerous before.”

She quickly flipped through the pages as Sebastian stood off to the side, shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously. He couldn’t help his gaze lingering on her thin fingers as she flipped through pages, arousal now being a clear side effect of whatever strange plant this was.

She flipped and flipped through pages, repeating the small portion of the word she remembered till finally she found the inky sketched photo of the plants she’d just picked.

Eyes zooming across the page frantically, she read about the plants and its uses, eyes finally slowing as she read the ‘harvesting’ section. “While harvesting this plant, herbologists recommend wearing gloves as well as a fabric such as a scarf over the mouth and nose to prevent inhalation of plant spores. Breathing in spores of this plant can cause irritation of the airways, tingling sensations, heightened sensitivity, intense arousal, and mild euphoria…”

Sebastian’s eyes went wide, letting out a nervous chuckle as he scratched the back of his head and looked anywhere but at her or her book. “Er, yea. That seems about right…what the fuck, Weasley.”

She snaps the book shut and sends it back with a flick of her wand, remaining hunched on the ground with a look of disbelief spread across her features. “What the fuck it’s right. Well now what do we do?”

His arousal was spiking by the moment and the urge to reach down and sooth the building desire was almost too much as he cleared his throat. “Well, I say we hustle back to the closest floo and get back to our dorms before this fully kicks in.”

She makes a barely audible sound that Sebastian swears he wouldn’t have heard if he wasn't so keyed up. “I don’t know about you and Ominis but I typically don’t fancy wanking in a room full of my classmates.”

Sebastian chuckled but it came out much huskier than he intended, the pressure between his legs making everything much harder than it needed to be. “Well obviously me and Ominis don’t talk about having a wank. We…er…well at least I just use a silencing charm and close the curtains.”

She audibly groans but it comes out as more of a moan. Sebastian sees her hands fisting on her thighs. “Merlin, please stop talking about you fucking having a wank.”

He scoffs, beginning to pace behind her in an attempt to get blood nothing anywhere but to his cock. “To be completely fair, you brought it up first, darling. I was only giving my two cents.”

She could hear him pacing behind her and even though she couldn’t actually picture him watching her she shivered at the idea that he was watching her as he paced, waiting to see if her devious hands wandered the way her mind wanted them too.

Would he say anything? Simply watch? Would he even react at all if she let this strong lusty feeling sweep over her and take control of her hands. “I-is this not affecting you?”

Sebastian lets out a breathy laugh. “You’d be wrong to assume I’m fine, darling. This plant has me hard as fucking stone.”

She shivered and something within her finally won out as she turned, watching him pace, her eyes raking down from his messy curls where he’s clearly dragged his fingers through it, over his button down shirt to the bulge tenting the front of his trousers. Sebastian smirked. “Did you really think I was lying, love? Had to check for yourself?”

She swung her head back around, blushing furiously. Why had she done that? Why had she looked? This plant was fucking with her. That was the only thing that made sense. The intense wave of desire that held her captive and had her thinking about what the taste of his skin would be like was, all due to this blasted plant.

She heard him kneel down beside her, and felt his hot breath ghost across his ear. “You know…we could solve this problem in a very simple way. We lay out here where nobody can disturb us and we let this plant work its way out of our system by giving in…” His hand caressed her side. “…use each other to seek out this pleasure and hang on for the ride. What do you say?”

Nothing had ever sounded so good in her life. She was nodding and before she even realized what was happening, he had her on her back against the soft earth, a strong leg on either side of her thighs, caging her in below him.

He bent down, his unruly brown curls tickling her face as he kissed her neck, gently at first before adding a nip here and there. If she had any sanity left she would have found the sounds she made to be rather undignified but honestly all she could think about were the surges of pleasure currently zipping like a lightning bolt straight from his teeth on her neck to her groin.

His own sounds had her arching and gasping against him, shocked that he seemed just as worked up as she was, especially when she arched and her thigh brushed his solid erection, eliciting a groan all the way from deep in his chest.

One big hand came up, groping her breast, fingers finding her hardened nipple through fabric and pinching in a way that had her crying out again. “Oh fuck, Sebastian!”

Her hair would be caked with dirt by the end but it was the furthest thing from her mind as he groped and grinded against her, hips rocking against that sweet pressure between her legs, faster and faster.

She wasn’t going to last long and they hadn't even taken off a single piece of clothing. His breaths and groans against her ear were driving her crazy, his rigid cock against her clit was even more intense. “O-oh shit Seb I’m gonna come!”

Sebastian groaned, moving faster, pinching her nipple just a bit harder. “Good…come for me, gorgeous. You feel so fucking good I’m gonna come too…”

That line within her that electricity traveled through pulled taught and she cried out into the still and misty air of the forest, clenching around nothing with Sebastian rutting away between her legs like his life depended on it till he stilled and grunted with his release.

They both laid there panting, waiting for the arousal in them to cease and their bodies to become their own again. Yet it never came, and they spent not one, not two, but three more hours tangled up together on the earthy floor of the forest.

Kinktober prompts

[cattofwatt]

The Headcanon’s! Part 1

Guess what I finally have these headcanon’s ready. Now these will be in a more “what they would do” headcanon’s rather than “what they are” headcanon’s. As I’m better with the former and I’m too basic to do much with “what they are”, and these will only be the party members and basically just anything that can be in Sam’s apartment.

Starting with the man himself!

1-he really really wants to get away from the term NEET, and will absolutely deny it whenever it’s even implied.

2-listen this apocalypse is the most he’s brushed his teeth and showered in weeks, look at him

3-he isn’t constantly upset his face just kinda looks like that, and his voice, and his demeanor, and-

4-I like to believe he’s just absolutely unaware (or in denial) about his stalker Lyle. He had no idea any of this was happening until this all started. Up to you to say if this upsets him or turns em on-

Ah the woman who everyone I’ve seen play the game go “that’s a woman?!” And change their entire demeanor to her

1-Imagine being the first person ever to see a creature in space yeah she was not quiet about it to her friends at all

2-she and Jasper both are/were ignorant to their feelings, in a comical way

3-she tried to ignore the changes in her in the months of viewing the visitor

4-I like to believe now she’s mainly just the pink sludge and it’s just in the walls everywhere in the apartment (she did say she didn’t “feel” the apartment change when Henderson did his ptsd thing. Implying that normally she would feel it)

Our child!

1-it just loves life and living in it. Look at that dumb grin nothing could ruin that

2-even when it was still a baby it understood completely what was happening in the room with the hole who wanted to eat it. It now doesn’t trust Sybil that much because of how she’s in a wall.

3-that hat and backpack is old stuff Sam used to wear when he was a little kid

4-In the denial ending it is living a very good life with its new Eldritch dad

Teeth boi!

1-fuzzy was a toy Ben (or even the little sister doesn’t matter) got for him and it’s his most precious item

2-he does still have that urge to bite but luckily he just does it to bad people. And counters, and anything chewable

3-he was already best friends with Sophie before all this, he was there for her at school when all of her dad stuff was happening

4-when he grew up he worked to help other cursed who have mutations that are infectious in nature and aren’t exactly controllable

5-he still thinks there is hope for his little sister

MY GIRL!- sorry this gal just loves this freak

1-she was always kinda twitchy and “weird” even before all this. She was the type to do the knife hand game for fun

2-her cursed form is basically just all her pent up store clerk anger let loose

3-her love of fighting and competition comes from never being good or better in her eyes, always seeing herself as lesser for some reason

4-that grin is permanent now but she doesn’t care one bit

5-only friends with Morton because he has sharp things

6-admires Hellen in the “crush me” way. But only to then try to win whatever situation that would be

Jason looking motherfuck-

1-she is a amazing gardener obviously

2-has no romantic feelings for anyone else, her plants have already taken that role-

3-she didn’t grow in size because of being cursed, it was really only the face thing, she was always built like this

4-(as we know) she is the type to answer a paragraph of text with “k”

5-nowadays (denial ending) she just gardens like regular,

6-oh this is a good one. The plant apartment may just be hers and she left it when it started becoming like it is now

Little rascal

1-is the type to say “ah crud” and then say something absolutely disturbing

2-if you give her to her cursed mother she just kinda ends up in a catatonic state being “forever held” by her mom (someone draw that)

3-nowadays she’s friends with everyone and tries to keep up with them, still close with Joel and helps him with whatever he wants

The..*gag* streamer

1-had a bad experience with Sam (because Sam identifies him as “creep” even before really talking to him. That could just be judging his appearance but that’s boring)

2-he is the type to do controversy videos on absolutely nothing.

3-he isn’t cursed (unless you get the random chance of course) he just kinda looks like that

4-is the kind of person online of when any female character exists he has to make a hot joke

5-his life has not changed after all of this

Grasshopper

1-minor kleptomania but he can resist it good enough

2-he can hop like a grasshopper but he finds it deeply embarrassing to do that so he never does

3-deeply unbothered by everything going on, he just wants his spoons please

4-he does what salad fingers does to spoons, just less in a creepy way more of a fidget way

5-can say some really offensive stuff but it’s never on purpose, likely just stating what he observes

6-he just explores nowadays getting junk

I’ll be honest he’s not that interesting to me for some reason

1-dnd lover. He has to be the dm though

2-also a LARPer, and he’s fucking amazing at it

3-he hates Roaches so much. Like just actual despair and distraught seeing it. The hate is not mutual

4-he was the best janitor on the job and the fungal area did mess with him more than he wants to admit

I will continue this soon!

[beenbaanbuun]

Can we please have more interactions between darling and yeosang 😭 they’re so cute wtf I love the whole addams matz universe so muuuuch! Like when they hang out while mommy and daddy are busy or when she’s cuddling him and he’s annoyed but not annoyed lol or even them eating snacks together

you can tell yeosang is fed up by the way he keeps sighing. the ears atop his head twitch every so often, and his tail keeps flicking in agitation. you can’t lie, you actually find it rather amusing, watching him so desperately try to keep his annoyance to a minimum as you play with the hem of his sweater. you wonder how far you can push him before the switch in his brain flips.

“cant you go and bother someone else?” he grumbles after you ‘accidentally’ scrape your nails against the bare skin of his side. it doesn’t tickle him like you hoped it would, but the irritated grumble you get from him is satisfying enough. you’re about to do it again when he slams his own hand down onto yours and shoots you a glare. “i’m serious! find someone else to annoy before you push me too far.”

you scoff as you let yourself relax fully on top of him. such a boring little mutt, you think as you snuggle the side of your face into his fuzzy jumper. at least he’s good to cuddle with, even if it doesn’t help you release all that mischievous energy that’s been building up inside of you since hongjoong and seonghwa left you to your devices first thing this morning. you could’ve really done with a little help from mommy and daddy to release it all, but since they’re both busy…

you groan into yeosang’s stomach, “who else am i supposed to annoy, hm? daddy is out and mommy told me not to disturb him for another—” you spare a glance at the clock, “—3 fucking hours? please, sangie! i’m going to die of boredom if you expect me to just lie here and do nothing…”

“at least i’ll get a little peace and quiet,” he jests, earning a glare from you. the look on your face only makes him grin, sharp canines glinting under the flames of the candlelit chandelier. it’s such a pretty smile for such a rude creature; you almost wish you could wipe it off of his equally pretty face. you hope the harsh slap to his shoulder with your free hand will do the trick.

“you’re mean, yeosang,” you grumble as you pull your other hand free from his grasp. it’s harder than it looks—damned werewolf and his weirdly muscular body—but you’re more determined than yeosang gives you credit for. sure, it hurts a little as you finally tug your fingers loose, but you still give a cheer of celebration, wiggling them in his face to antagonise him. “i’m sure seonghwa won’t appreciate it when i tell him just how mean you’ve been to me.”

the threat is empty and the both of you know that. seonghwa would turn you away if you rushed to him now. it’s hardly like it’s an emergency, and your lover is far too busy to deal with such trivial matters as yeosang teasing you a little. you wouldn’t get much more than a side-eye and a slap on the thigh before being sent on your way. of course you could wait until seonghwa is finished, but by then you’ll have probably forgotten the whole ‘i’m going to tell on you,’ schtick you have going on right now.

“be my guest, little lady,” yeosang smirks, hands lifting up in a gesture of surrender, “go have a chat with your precious mommy and see where that gets you. but don’t come crying to me when you get saddled with a punishment later, yeah?”

honestly, a punishment sounds nice right about now. something to get all this annoying energy out of you. it would tire you out, make you all floppy and docile like yeosang clearly wants you to be. you’re almost tempted to do as he says; to go and bother seonghwa until he gives you that familiar look that means you’re in deep trouble. maybe he’ll take care of you right there on his workbench…

although probably not. the greenhouse is a sacred space for seonghwa, not to be desecrated by any sort of sexual deviancy. sure, you might be slapped with a punishment, but you’d almost certainly be forced to wait for it. those three hours would be painful for both you and yeosang, and you’re not sure the wolf would put up with your anxious fidgeting for too long. he’d probably abandon you in the living room, taking himself up to his room to do whatever the fuck he does in there. you’d be left and anxious mess, waiting for a punishment that would take entirely too long to come.

you give a dejected sigh before relaxing against the werewolf once more. the low chuckle he gives you rumbles deep within his chest and you can’t help but press your ear against his rib cage in the hopes of hearing more of the pretty sound. a hand finds it way to your head, petting and stoking you as if you’re the pet in this situation. if you weren’t enjoying the feeling of his claws scraping against your scalp, you would’ve scoffed at him and moved away. it really does suck that he’s managed to learn all of your soft spots from all the hours spent watching you with seonghwa and hongjoong. he really does know how to make you submit.

“that’s it, pup,” he chuffs, “just relax for now. you can get all that energy fucked out of you later, hm?”

“yeosang!”

[synthetickitsune]

Hello! I don't know if your requests are still open, but if they aren't just ignore this. May I request some romantic, fluffy & emotional content for Gwi (Scholar Who Walks The Night) with a human s/o who loves him deeply and is always gentle, caring and kind towards him? Like she genuinely respects him, and treats him with so much love? Cause look, I have theories about Gwi and affection. Namely that he was always treated like a beast and basically betrayed by his loves. But I think he is both touch starved and affection starved. Legit I feel like he'd melt for someone who gives him their heart sincerely, and sees him as a wise ancient being worthy of respect, rather than a monster to be destroyed.

PLEASE i could go on and on about my takes on gwi and affection and everything, he literally deserves so much more than he got </3 tbh i definitely will write more about this prompt because i want to give him at least some sort of happiness

Gwi (Scholar Who Walks the Night) | Affection fluff | 1k | (kind of implied) f!reader

Their voices join the water and blood dripping in the expanse of the cave, so do their faces, all of them just the background. If you were told they’re only another rock growth in the underground palace, you’d accept it without a second thought. So insignificant they were. Maybe not for the palace, for the grand scheme of things, but it’s always been easy to detach yourself from the world.

You’re not really looking at them, perhaps through them would be a better word. But when he speaks, your eyes surely find his profile and you pay attention. Most of what he says is mocking the humans standing before his throne. He’s sneering at them, taunting them. They can’t do anything about it. They can’t do anything to him. Everyone in the room knows it. So they come after the obvious easy prey.

“Gwi, isn’t it about time you got rid of the toy?” you know without looking at them that the official speaking is pointing at you. You’ve heard them mutter about him playing with his food before. And if you heard, he heard too.

“What toy?” the vampire asks, and you know that to them his voice is nothing but amused. But you don’t need his enhanced hearing to take precaution. When the backs of his fingers brush against your cheek, it must look to them like you’re motionless. You lean your body towards him just enough that he takes notice of your weight shifting on his lap. Just leaning into his touch isn’t enough. He’s a creature that deserves more respect than that. “Which one should I get rid of?”

If he only could look at both you and the subject before him, you know he would. Jealousy was never your strong suit. Even less so in the face of Gwi. Sometimes you’d get the feeling he doesn’t appreciate that. Other times you think he seems relieved. Either way, he was not for you, or any human, anyone, to own. You keep your eyes on him. The officials are predictable enough, all of them plotting, trying to figure out how to get their daughters involved, how to get closer to power. 

They sputter and back down as they always do. Trying their most to stay in Gwi’s good graces while crossing every boundary clearly set. It’s pathetic. And the vampire is as predictable as them, so you don’t flinch at all when the gentle caress turns into a death grip on your jaw while his fangs bury into the flesh of your neck.

They run away. Of course they do after the vampire’s mocking. They take it as a threat to their family, so you don’t blame them for closing their eyes and turning their back. It is a threat. Not a fully empty one either. But the officials and their petty palace drama and power struggle are irrelevant and definitely not the thing your mind wants to focus on as it grows fuzzy. Your body is getting weaker but you don’t panic. You hear your heart in your ears and it’s beating steadily.

“Your blood tastes so sweet,” his voice graces your ears, his bloodied lips gently pressing against your cheek not a second later, leaving a mark, “I never tasted anything like it. Is it because you’re not scared of me?”

It’s not the first time Gwi wonders aloud about your blood. Perhaps that truly is the reason, maybe panic ruins the blood, just like when hunters try to catch their prey unaware. It wasn’t always like this, and you entertain the thought of your will and desire overrunning even your instincts and biology. Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, so you can’t respond and he doesn’t force you to. Instead he guides your head to rest against his shoulder, allows your body to lean on his.

You feel a sense of guilt for being so weak. You wish he could feed from you all the time, drink your blood until he’s sated. He’s tried that in the past. He kept feeding from you day after day - as a desert, he’d claim - kept feeding from you right until you were on the verge of death. The doctors barely saved you. You never asked how did it happen that you were nursed back to health. Then again, did you need to? It was about that time that you started noticing that the officials despised you.

“Should I get rid of you?” he muses, and yet his arm is wrapped around you so tenderly it’d make you sleepy with comfort if it wasn’t for your desire to listen to him, “Should I set you free?”

You don’t think he’s playing with you, but then again Gwi is unpredictable at the best of times. Either way, it’s all the same to you. Your answer would always be the same.

“I’d worship you still,” you whisper, gathering your strength only to be shushed by the vampire holding you. There’s a smirk on his lips. Proud. But it softens. He knows. He knows. And maybe that’s why you get to be held by him.

“Worship is not a word many would use,” he sounds amused, and you enjoy how freely he converses with you. Not too long ago he’d be much more guarded. He’d snarl at you, make you feel like he’ll attack any moment. It’s a little surprising he allowed you to stay alive. You meet his eyes with a questioning look that he answers with a curious smile before he shakes his head. So you stay quiet.

He picks you up and carries you to the space he made for you, where your bed is hidden away from sight. You know once you wake up there will be a meal waiting for you to get your energy back. He lays you down and covers you with a blanket. He strokes your hair, reassuring you that you’re allowed to rest now. 

And so you slowly, obediently, fall asleep.

[asher-agere]

had a thought. The Hinomori siblings being the tiniest littlest guys ever when regressed.. and it’s especially present when it’s involuntary. I think they’d maybe both regress bc of stress to some degree? I’m not entirely sure but I think for Shizuku it’s more a result of sadness and for Shiho it’s more because of stress or frustration.. something of that kind. They do feel better eventually with the help of their cgs (an example maybe being Airi and Ichika) and from there the Hinomori’s are content to just. lie together and sleep. no energy left for either of them, but that’s okay

Hinomori sisters… I must capture them in a jar and admire them. The creatures ever. I love them they’re so precious to me

Little Hinomori’s

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✮ Starting off as usual with age ranges! Honestly they’re really similar in age ranges, Shizuku is 1-3 while Shiho is 2-3! This makes it so that neither of them needs to feel like the big sibling, though Shiho will take on the role if she’s feeling 3 and Shizuku’s feeling extra itty bitty at 1. Honestly they’re both just trying to clumsily take care of each other! Emphasis on clumsy because… Baby regressors do most things clumsily honestly. Plus neither of them are fully used to taking care of each other since they don’t do it in a very forward manner

‏𖦹 When Shizuku regresses it’s drawn out across the entire day. She wakes up feeling floaty and gloomy, her body feels heavy and difficult to move, but her head doesn’t feel fuzzy, so she’s not regressed, so she still has to do her idol work. She only fully drops when she’s at home, alone because Shiho doesn’t want to be around her. Shiho however gets no warning. She can be having a perfectly normal day and run into one inconvenience and she drops. Depending on the severity of the situation it might be accompanied by a panic attack. Usually she locks herself away in her room, which only makes Shizuku feel even more apart from her sister ૮���◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

✮ Shizuku is usually the one to reach out! Yeah she’s a little scared Shiho will just ask to be left alone, but she can only go so long crying on her own before she needs to reach out (Bonus points to caregiver Airi who encourages her to knock on Shiho’s door! She also coaches Shizuku to use a paci and hold a blanket and a plushy to look extra cute because who can turn down a cute little baby?). Shiho almost never reaches out, always terrified that Shizuku will judge her or hate her or any number of unreasonable things. However if she’s really stressed about things separate from Shizuku she will on occasion be the first to reach out!

𖦹 Shiho can turn Shizuku down approximately one time, if Shizuku knocks again then the baby bassist just lets her in. However also if Shizuku doesn’t knock again Shiho starts wondering if something is seriously wrong and calls Shizuku back. Shizuku will usually sit right outside of Shiho’s door after being turned down, or if she’s feeling closer to the toddler age range she’ll slip a peace offering under the door. Usually a badly written note along the lines of “Me Lov Shi :( :( :( <3”, accompanied by a snack offering! Just something. Flat? Usually a pack of gummies!

�� Once they’re together Shizuku just wants cuddles (o̴̶̷᷄ ᯅ o̴̶̷̥᷅) But Shiho, especially if she’s overstimulated from a bad drop, can’t stand the contact. There’s ways around it though! For example wrapping Shiho into a blanket burrito muffles the feeling of Shizuku clinging to her. She’ll also instruct Shizuku to change into clothes that are more sensory pleasing to her. But if it’s still too much she’ll just give Shizuku her biggest plushy to hold! Though she won’t admit it Shiho snuggles those plushies every night, so they smell like her which helps Shizuku, plus if she gives Shizuku a human sized plushy it’s still comfy! Then they watch a movie to let Shiho finish calming down

𖦹 Eventually Shiho will warm up to the idea of snuggling! Though she’s not overly thrilled about it. Shizuku as soon as she’s given permission latched onto her sister, and she absolutely has that baby death grip, so Shiho can’t get away even if she wants to. Shiho is very protective over her plushies though! However they’re cuddling it can’t be in a position that pushes any of her Phenny’s off the bed or she’s instantly brought into an absolute meltdown

✮ Sooo much matching bunny gear you have no idea… Blue and green bunny gear. Pacifiers, blankets, plushies, anything and everything! Shiho has her stuff hidden away out of shame meanwhile Shizuku refuses to be parted from her stuff and pouts if Shiho isn’t matching with her. While Shiho acts annoyed she honestly loves this because it gives her an excuse to use her gear without feeling ashamed. Honestly in general Shiho would do better regressing with someone to help her deal with the shame she feels associated with it. Like they’re doing this, so she can to! She looks for social cues and clings to them like a lifeline trying to fit in

𖦹 I feel like Airi and Ichika, unbeknownst to their littles, absolutely chat. Airi usually reaches out and is just like “Hey is Shiho home? I can’t be with Shizuku right now” Just basic checking in stuff like that. Also when the sisters actually manage to get to relaxing together the two caregivers are both like “You lose contact too?” Because if they both lost contact it probably means the girls are cuddling. This one’s especially Ichika because Shiho has the habit of ignoring her phone out of self sabotage, Shizuku is usually more than happy to attempt communicating but there is the constant threat that she somehow got a million viruses

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Ultimate agere writing hack, listen to Disney instrumentals. I’m writing at the speed of Yaminabe

[DNI ID: A grey box with a blue border. Shizuku to the right and Shiho to the left. Blue text reads DNI if your blog isn’t child safe. I will block NSFW accounts” End ID]

[littlejuicebox]

Mindwinter Carol 6 / The Affliction

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 2.7K

Story navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Summary/Setting: Based on the prologue/premise from my OneShot "A Midwinter Carol."

Astarion and the OC broke up after his ascension. She left Baldur's Gate for fifteen years, only to return just recently. Following the events of "A Midwinter Carol," Ascended Astarion has been convinced to pursue a new beginning. Will he be able to change who he has become, with the help of his ex-lover? Or will he ultimately fall victim to his pride and desire for power?

Preview:

He’s weak, slow, moody… and above all, he’s hungry. His hunger makes it difficult to sleep.  Eirianwen knows this. She knows he’s struggling. So every night she traces her fingers along his scalp and hums an old Elvish lullaby until he’s fallen into a trance beside her.  When Astarion wakes in the night his hands always search for her, desperate to pull her close. And she is always there.  * He remembers how easy and instinctual it had been to reach for Ani all those years ago.  But now, the Ascendant cannot even bring himself to hold her hand as she trances through the worst parts of the poison’s wrath, forced into a slumber by Jaheira.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore

-----

“You don’t remember anything about your family, Astarion?” 

Nighttime seemed eerily quiet in the Shadowlands; no animals or insects rustle in the barren woods and even the breeze is stunted in this horrifying, lightless place. The low, constant hum of Karlach’s snoring is the only background noise in camp. 

Eirianwen is perched in Astarion’s lap, facing him, her warm limbs coiled around his torso like vines around a tree trunk as he rests his head in the crook of her neck and breathes in the scent of her skin. She smells both crisp and sweet, like fresh fallen snow. The scent clings to his shirt even when they’re apart; a constant reminder of his attachment to the woman. 

Their nighttime activities have consisted of nothing more than cuddles and pillow talk for weeks and yet she’s still here. 

Astarion still doesn’t fully understand why. 

He pauses, searching through the blurred, fractured memories. Most are smattered with hundreds of faces he’s crossed along the way; almost all of the faces are discomforting.  He’s hoping, despite the answer he already knows, for any sign of someone that could be his mother. His father. A sibling, perhaps? 

Nothing. It’s always nothing. 

“No, Ani. I’ve told you before, darling. I don’t have a single solid memory from my past prior to… him. Just vague, fuzzy pieces I cannot associate with a time nor place.” He sighs, his tone betraying his frustration as he nuzzles his head into the sorceress’s nimble hand, searching for comfort. She idly trails her fingers through his silvery curls, lightly scratching his scalp. 

She hums softly but doesn’t say more on the topic. She knows when to stop pushing him. He loves that about her.

He thinks he loves her. He still hasn’t said it. 

“Ready for bed?” Eirianwen asks with a soft peck to his cheek, and Astarion simply nods in response. He’s often much quieter when he’s not in front of the others; when he doesn’t have to perform. 

She climbs off the male elf and quickly settles into the bedroll before patting the space next to her with an adorable, sleepy smile. He settles in next to the sorceress and she resumes running her fingers through his hair. Astarion is sure it’s incredibly disheveled by now, but in front of only Ani’s warm golden eyes, he doesn’t care. 

The Shadowlands have been torturous. The vampire spawn has yet to catch a single living creature out here, and he refuses to drink from Ani more than once every three days, despite her protests. He jokes they can’t both be operating at suboptimal levels or the group would simply fall apart.

They can manage without him, he knows this. He also knows that, like him, they can’t manage without Ani. 

He’s weak, slow, moody… and above all, he’s hungry. His hunger makes it difficult to sleep. 

Eirianwen knows this. She knows he’s struggling. So every night she traces her fingers along his scalp and hums an old Elvish lullaby until he’s fallen into a trance beside her. 

When Astarion wakes in the night his hands always search for her, desperate to pull her close. And she is always there. 

*

He remembers how easy and instinctual it had been to reach for Ani all those years ago. 

But now, the Ascendant cannot even bring himself to hold her hand as she trances through the worst of the poison’s wrath, forced into slumber by Jaheira. The average course of Delilah’s prior torture toxins had always been between three to five days. Most people give up their secrets after that. The ones that don’t undergo a second round of poison, and most of those unfortunate souls die; their bodies simply give up on them. 

He’s sitting in a plush wingback chair not more than a few feet from Eirianwen, staring at the old metal ring he’d slipped onto her finger before rushing her to the Palace. True Love’s Caress and True Love’s Embrace. Two physical symbols of twisted, tainted love. 

How fitting. 

Though, this time around, he’s the shield and she’s the ward. 

In the Shadowlands, when they first found the rings, it had been the other way around. Ani had insisted upon this particular arrangement because without regular sustenance, the vampire had been weak and sluggish. In his mind, he’d been useless. And the sorceress had refused to wear the matching rings otherwise, ultimately forcing his hand. Despite the fact Astarion hadn’t yet told her he loved her, he wanted everyone to know she was well and truly taken.

Fifteen years ago she was his. He was hers. 

Now the vision of the beautiful, silvery-blue haired elven woman in his bed is entirely unfamiliar and he attempts, and yet consistently fails, to sleep in the adjacent office. 

*

The Ascendant lounges idly on a velvet upholstered bench in a well-appointed room of Sharess’ Caress. A golden goblet dangles through his slender fingers as he surveys the salacious scene in front of him. 

The Drow twins are there, as well as three other workers, all engaged in different aspects of bacchanalia. It’s been just over six months since Ani’s been gone; he rents this room and pays for this show nearly every weekend, mostly as a distraction. Astarion only watches, never engages.

He isn’t sleeping well, if at all. He thought performing the rite would make the nightmares cease, but the moment Eirianwen packed her bags and left the palace he was haunted by the visions. Many of them were of Cazador; many were of Ani. Both were tortuous in their own ways.

Every time the Ascendant looks at his still-unfamiliar visage in the mirror, the bags under his eyes appear deeper than before. 

Delilah enters the room with another bottle of wine and a sumptuous spread of mixed fruit and chocolates on a platter. Her straight silver hair is twisted into ornate braids and she is nowhere near as skimpily dressed as the other workers. The half-elf elegantly places the tray in front of Astarion and then pauses to watch the debauched scene before her with mild interest. Sorn is in the middle of performing his Menzoberranzan Love Trick. 

“I don’t pay you to stand there and stare.” Astarion warns snidely as he pops open the second bottle of wine and assesses the woman through judgmental scarlet eyes. 

Delilah emits a haughty laugh in response as she turns her hazel gaze to examine the elf, wholly unphased by the Ascendant in front of her, “You don’t pay me at all, my Lord. I assure you, I’m far too expensive for you to have had the pleasure.” 

She saunters away before the vampire can counter, and he stews at the insult for the remainder of the night, far too distracted by Delilah to appreciate any of the worker’s finales. What a waste.

A few days later, he enquires Mamzell Amira, the owner of Sharess’ Caress, about Delilah, intending to purchase her services solely to prove a point. He’d been ruminating over the insult for days. 

Astarion is informed that the half-elf is a shapeshifter and her lowest rates for different experiences are already three times as high as the next highest paid employee of the brothel. Now that, the Ascendant mused… that was interesting. He could use her services.

Perhaps in more ways than one. 

*

Edmund is held in the dungeons underneath the palace; convincing Wyll to leave the bastard here had been no easy task. But shortly after downing Edmund, the Duke had been called off to another emergency in the lower city, a riot of some sort, and he’d ultimately relented. Nowadays, the Blade’s dedication and loyalty always remained directed at the city. Even his closest friends, his precious Eirianwen, came second to duty.

Astarion is quite aware he has to interrogate the foreign, piece of shit spawn, but he cannot be more than sixty feet away from Ani or the enchantments on the ring cease to work. Plus, a few days without nourishment makes one more inclined to spill their most disgusting secrets. He knows this far too well. 

The silver-haired Lord is signing some documents for his steward, Pascal. The love of his life is in a forced trance the next room over, and yet business must go on and money must be made. His control over the city had already slipped since he and Delilah went their separate ways a few years back; he cannot let past-due documents be his final undoing. 

The rules of bureaucracy are asinine, but in many ways – far more than he likes – Astarion is still forced to follow them. What is the point of being an all-powerful Ascendant when you still have to dance around nobles and patriars, relentlessly pretending you’re part of a society you do not give a single shit about? 

The elf sucks in a sharp breath and abruptly clenches the quill in hand as a burning sensation courses through his system. It feels like pure acid in his veins. The pain emerges from the thin band on his index finger and shoots up his arm in an arc before circling itself around his body, as if following the course of his blood circulation.

It’s truly agonizing. But as the Ascendant, neither a surge of fire through his veins nor the effects of Delilah’s poisons are as potent as they would be on a mortal. He’s certain the rings are not completely doing away with Ani’s suffering, he can see the discomfort strewn across her face, even as she trances. But between the forced slumber and the ring’s enchantments, they’re saving her from the worst of it. 

He hopes. 

Pascal collects the newly signed piles of scrolls and then hands a small folded note of parchment, sealed with red wax, to Astarion. The Ascendant drinks a simple healing potion in order to combat the effects of the ring.

“This arrived just now, as well, my Lord.” The human male, with eyes just a bit too wide and a scar running along his face murmurs. Pascal had been the elf’s first hire when he took over the palace fifteen years ago. Back then, the man had been a spry thirty-something; now Pascal is a graying human approaching middle age. He’d unfortunately rejected Astarion’s offer to become a spawn.

Seems immortality is not as alluring as one might think. Pity, though. Pascal had proven to be quite useful over the years.

Jaheira appears in the doorway of Astarion’s office. It’s clear she’s quite uncomfortable within these walls, but she’s continuing on for Eirianwen. The druid purses her lips and meets the gaze of the Vampire Lord, “There’s been a new development.” 

Astarion leaves the small folded piece of parchment strewn upon his desk and Umber curled sleeping on a cushion underneath it. 

*

“You will regret leaving me… more than anything else you live to regret.”

They are sitting across from one another in their old booth at the Elfsong, a few weeks after their break up. He’d been positive this meeting was called because the sorceress wanted to reconcile. The Ascendant thought he would make her grovel a bit, but then ultimately take her back. Astarion had to punish her, if only just, to ensure she never considered such a ridiculous stunt ever again.

But instead, Ani told him she was leaving the city and going to meet Halsin in Reithwin. Astarion is convinced this is an intentional goad from the elven woman, some sort of manipulation on her end. He said what he did in a pitiful attempt to goad her in return. 

Eirianwen tips her chin up pridefully as she smoothly stands from the table and evaluates the Vampire Ascendant. He feels his fingers instinctively flex with nerves as he watches her. Ani is far too calculated and far too unemotional as she glosses her eyes across his face looking for… something, though he still doesn’t fully understand what. In this final, painstaking moment, the male elf realizes this is truly the end between them. She is done. He almost retches on the spot but his pride forces him to shove the visceral reaction down.

“You’re nothing like the man I fell in love with anymore. I don’t know who you are. I hope you find the pieces of him still within you, someday.”

She would regret leaving him, that much was true. But Astarion would regret letting her go far more.

*

When Jaheira and Astarion enter the room, Ani is drenched in sweat and speaking in strings of broken Elvish as old memories flicker through her mind. In the moments Astarion had spent sitting at her side, the sorceress mentioned someone named Calinion more than once. The Ascendant assumes it’s a lover from her travels and the thought makes his skin crawl; he desires to know nothing more about the man and therefore ignores most of her mutterings.

Astarion’s garnet-colored eyes immediately notice the marred flesh of Eirianwen’s right hand. Small pinprick ulcers are beginning to form along her inner arm; parts of her smooth, vitiligo-patched skin are turning black. It’s starkest against the spots on her arms where her depigmentation has made the skin almost as pale as his own. 

Her vitiligo was beautiful. The appearance of this affliction was anything but.

Astarion had never witnessed this from any of Delilah’s previous concoctions. But the changeling was known to experiment with new tinctures quite often; she excelled at torture and seemed to delight in finding new, innovative ways to inflict pain. It had been one of the many reasons the Ascendant had remained involved with her for years; she’d been an excellent informant. 

“Necrosis.” Jaheira explains, her voice clinical but grave, as she brings a plush towel to Ani’s face and dabs at bits of sweat along the sorceress’s brow, “I suspect that, despite the rings, this poison — or curse, perhaps — isn’t targeting you because as an undead, nevermind an Ascendant, you are highly resistant. Try as it might, it cannot touch you. But it has to enact its damage somewhere.” 

“There must be something you can do.” Astarion responds, brow furrowing as he takes the cloth from Jaheira’s hands and gently resumes the task, mostly to distract himself. He’s angry, and frustrated, but he tempers all of it down because Jaheira is his — their — only hope. 

As the vampire blots along the sorceress’s face, his eyes focus on the small patch of vitiligo underneath her left eye. He wants nothing more than to bend over and press a gentle kiss atop it.

If true love’s kiss were more than a silly notion in a child’s fairy tale, he would have kissed her already. 

“If there were anything I could do, I would have done it by now. But as you said yourself, Delilah’s concoctions are unlike anything we have seen. The remnants along Eirianwen’s wound contain highly unfamiliar ingredients; your old paramour must source them from quite far.” Jaheira murmurs and then sighs dejectedly, “The most I can do is try to limit the spread. But even my magic and medicinals are struggling to compete against this… atrocity. The poison should be out of her system in another day or two; the most we can hope is that it simply runs the rest of its course with minimal damage.”

Astarion twitches his fingers as he assesses the ill elven woman in his bed. 

“I would not think about turning her now, Astarion.” Jaheira warns, reading the Ascendant’s mind as his eyes roam across the sleeping sorceress’ face, “She would never forgive you, and you’re risking Eirianwen remaining frozen, damaged like this for all eternity. Is that what you want? And more importantly, is that what she would want?” 

Astarion inhales a slow, contemplative breath. Moments of silence pass between the two conscious beings in the room and then the male elf simply responds, “No.” 

Jaheira isn’t sure which question he’s answering. She hopes it’s both.

He leaves the bedchambers without another word. Enough is enough. The Ascendant may not be able to travel down the several flights of stairs to the dungeons, but Edmund can be brought to him. Some of the worst things that ever happened to Astarion occurred in the many halls and rooms of this palace, rather than in the dungeons themselves. Cazador found ways to torture and punish his spawn no matter where they were.

Astarion is certain he can do far worse than Cazador ever did to the bastard responsible for Eirianwen’s affliction in the first place. Because unlike Cazador, the Ascendant has little reason to keep this fucker presentable. Or alive, for that matter.

Edmund will not remain tight-lipped for long. 

*

Special thank you to my friend and lore queen @chickywickers for telling me the owner of the brothel is, in fact, not Sharess. Edited to fix. 😊

[oddsandends-dirt-to-dust]

The World Ender

Masterlist - (chapters, link to ao3 post, moodboard, and spotify playlist.)

I’m The World Ender, baby, and I’m comin’ for them

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings (for part7): bombs, mass murder, hallucinations, descriptions of mental illness, fire

——————————

PART 7 - Those Warring Creatures

You never much thought of God anymore. 

You’d heard his stories, and his words parroted by the faithful. But you’d never heard from him. Never seen him in-between the shadows, or in the cradling light of the sun, or in the reflections of time and memory.  

You weren’t sure you’d ever believed in God. 

Still, they’d spoken of your creator. Your ruler. Your father. 

The merciful, the all-knowing, the savior. 

You thought of him now, as you splayed out on a dusty desk – your back to its ragged surface and face hanging over its edge to watch the city awaken through the windows. The upside-down buildings reached down for the empty air, where the morning pooled with pink and gold. A rare sunrise over a city long stagnant – until you’d arrived to bring rapture. The hospital still writhed with black, leaking its defeat into the clouds. And as your head pooled with blood, you wondered what he thought of his world. What he thought of you. 

He dealt in water – had used waves to cleanse the world of bad. It was the other – the evil – who dwelled in fire. And if water was life, then you thought fire must be death. And if heaven was an ocean, then this place must be hell. 

But fire cleansed too. Because if fire was death, and death was an ending, then it must also be a rebirth. 

God was a lying thing, like most fathers were, and it took you until your head was spinning to realize you didn’t care what he thought. Because you were a person long stagnant until she had dawned on you, and now...  

Ellie had driven back to the office building – you knew the layout and the exits, it was far enough from the hotel, but still had a good view of the streets. She said she needed to check some things in the truck, find gas and a map to plot your escape. 

Her words had been clipped and cold, like her face. And she hadn’t looked at you. She’d taken off to the garage and left you to climb. 

And you had, but not as far up as before – you didn’t pass that tomb again. 

You sat up, felt the blood drain down from your face. But your head didn’t clear, it was still fuzzy and full like it had been all night. 

The room was silent. Too silent. 

You sat on the edge of the desk, twirling your knife, watching the crimson smears on the blade catch the dim light. Your foot tapped out an uneven rhythm against the muffled floor – just something to fill the quiet.  

The adrenaline had already faded, leaving behind that hollow ache in your chest.  

You hated this part. When the chaos settled, and there was nothing left but you and the world. You flipped the knife again, harder this time, let it clatter onto the desk. The sound echoed. Still too quiet.  

You stood, pacing, tried to summon the storm back into your head, but it didn’t come. Just the faint whisper of laughter skittering across your mind like a splinter.  

“I did try to warn you.”  

His voice was smooth and heavy like oil.  

He was always there – in the empty moments, his words winding through your mind like smoke, choking out your resolve. Giving you everything and taking you apart at the same time. 

You shook your head, scrubbing at your temples. 

“I don’t need you.” You muttered. “Don’t need anyone.” 

The ghost of his voice lingered anyway. 

“You know that’s not true anymore, don’t you?” 

You paused. Something sickly prickled up your spine, knotted your stomach. 

“Maybe... that’s not so bad. Maybe it’s time for a change.” You said, fighting the buzzing wracking your skin. “And she’s good, she’s important.” 

“She doesn’t understand you. She won’t.” 

You laughed even as your throat tightened. 

“Yeah, well, who does?” 

“I do.” 

Your mouth soured. You continued your pacing, let your boots carve prints into the carpet. 

“It’s too late.” You spat. 

You shook your head, that writhing blur clawing at every inch of you, threatening to pull you apart – pull you under. You hummed an old tune, focused on your song as his parting words rattled against your bones. 

“You’ll see. You’ll see.” 

You heard footsteps then, thudding up the distant staircase. You pulled your gun into your palm, eyes on the doorway. Eventually Ellie came into view – decorated with dried blood and some inky substance you assumed was oil. Her face was blank as she made her way to you. 

She slapped a map onto the buckling desk ahead of you. 

“Got gas. Pick a route and we’ll go.” She said, slumping into a torn office chair. Her gaze was trained on the floor. 

You bristled, retrieving the map and letting your eyes dance over the streets. Your pulse pounded heavy in your ears in the silence. You moved your eyes to Ellie. Her face was shallow but her eyes weren’t. Her arms draped lazily over the arms of the chair; her feet planted apart firmly on the floor.  

She’d hate you now, you fucked up again. What were you supposed to say?  

Her gaze flicked to you, firm and vast. Her lips pressed together, face hardening, before she spoke. 

“Yeah,” she tilted her head. “I’m pissed at you again.” 

You trailed back to the other desk, leaned against it. 

“I didn’t leave you.” 

“No?” She raised her brows.  

You shook your head. 

The chair squeaked as she stood, started to pace behind it with a huff. 

“Ellie, obviously I was coming back-” 

“Why the fuck did you leave in the first place?” 

Your guts twisted painfully. 

“I...” 

Her verdant eyes scorched into you, unrelenting. So intense and so endless you shrank. Her gaze was like a brand, trained on you like she could see the things lurking beneath your skull. 

“Go ahead, I’m waiting for another one of your bullshit spiels about how you were protecting me. Explain.” Ellie said, throwing a hand your way. “Fucking explain.” 

You curled your fingers onto the edge of the desk. She scoffed at your silence. 

“You know, you give me so much shit when I try to take care of you. Take a look in the mirror, y/n.” 

You still couldn’t find words in the mess – couldn't decide what you should let slip and what should stay unsaid. 

You let out a trembling breath. 

She pressed her lips together, took a step forward. 

“You don’t need to run off on your own, I’m right here. I need you to start trusting me because I’m starting to think I made a mistake following you out here.” Ellie shook her head, brows furrowing in frustration. 

“I had it.” You said, finally. 

“You’ve been fucked up since yesterday - since whatever that room reminded you of.” She bit out, ignoring your attempt to feign. 

The words in your throat were still wrong, still shadowed. Your body shook with weakness, it built up in your chest like a shivering whirlpool, begging for escape.   

“I was fine until you got there. You distracted me.” You told her, your focus stolen by the icy hands roving up to your shoulders, pressing down hard. 

You stood, loosed a breath. Ellie just stared for a minute; you felt her gaze in your peripheral as your eyes locked onto the broken desk ahead. It’s painted edges splintered; it’s legs giving way under the weight of time. 

“Yeah, well, that’s all I’m good for, right?” Her voice came drained now, a droning of defeat. 

The thing in your chest tugged, clawed at your ribs and up your throat. You turned back to your own desk, put your hands on its steady surface and leaned onto them. You heard Ellie turn to leave.  

“My dad… died.”  

Your tone was quiet, a fragile outpouring of truth from the deepest ends of your conscious. The things you’d never spoken, never laid bare for the world to see. It hurt. 

“What?” 

You stared down at your ruined hands, your hands that ruined, your hands still covered in blood. 

“My dad died… in a fire. When the community I grew up in fell.” You admitted, feeling yourself slipping away from the room – like these words weren’t yours, this story wasn’t yours to tell. 

Ellie took in your truth for a moment. The silence didn’t help the quiet sinking of you. But then she walked over, leaned against the desk beside you. You felt her warmth from here, the blood that beat in her body, the breath that changed the air – filled the dust with the remnants of life – as she sighed lowly.  

“Okay, it’s kind of getting harder to be mad at you.” Her words were smooth, the kind of tone you knew was a bid to lighten, and a confirmation she was listening. She was here; she was ready for you.  

You turned, mirrored her actions to rest on the desk with her. You weren’t sure if you were ready for her to see you – you'd never thought about it. You’d never thought this day would come, or this person. You’d dragged yourself so far from humanity your body was still trying to run now, still trying to disappear, numbing out your skin and the thoughts that floated through your hazy mind. 

“I thought I was fine. But I had a bad dream and… I guess I lost control.”  

Her eye twitched into a squint.  

Your tongue fought for purchase, fought for understanding of the spinning hours gone by. 

“I just…” You sighed. “I freaked out. My brain was stuck there, I couldn’t think. And I thought they were going to hurt you. Like the- the bodies, up there. Like him.” Your words came out jumbled and spasmodic. 

But your heart was beating in your ears again, and you could feel the breath soothing your lungs. You looked to Ellie. 

She licked her lips, teeth snagging on her bottom one. She sighed through her nose, turning her face up. Her eyes latched onto the ceiling, and you couldn’t figure out if it was an action of exasperation - or if she was thinking of those blackened, mangled bodies that lay floors above.  

“I can’t keep doing this.” She said, softer now.  

Your stomach clenched.  

“You…” 

She dropped her face back to you. 

“I can’t keep doing this.” She crossed her arms. “So, you get one more chance. You leave me behind again, we’re done. You don’t factor me into decision-making, we’re done.”  

Relief bloomed in your chest. It made you sick.  

“Okay.” You agreed. 

You would try, you would learn, you’d get used to having a... partner. Ellie had cleared the whole parking lot; she’d saved your ass more than once by now. And her presence was comforting. It terrified you, but you were too far gone to flee now. 

“Okay?” She raised her brows. 

You nodded.  

“You can take care of yourself, I got it.” 

You stood, made to walk but she grabbed your hand, pulled you to sit again. 

Her thumb tapped your fingers, her eyes locked on her movements. She seemed hesitant, fighting with the words on her tongue.  

“The community… you grew up in?” Her words were testing. 

Your teeth buzzed. You ground them together, jaw clenching.  

Memories fled behind your eyes. Buildings more robust than what you’d found in Jackson – reinforced with metal – metal that had turned the houses to cloistering furnaces in the fire. Great bridges and walkways made from dark wood that made the whole place smell like trees. The giant fences surrounding the settlement were the same wood, reinforced with the same metal, and stuck with hefty guns. The men that manned the guns were big too, stone-faced and rough-looking but... welcoming.  

You could still feel the heat at your back from long nights settled in front of the fireplace. Your mind tangled in a book, those hands stroking your head. Cold, those hands were always cold but your head was warm from the flames and the warmth leaked into his fingers eventually.  

Your mouth was always sweet with chocolate, or cookies – things hard to come by, but he always found them for you. And his own mouth would glow white with a smile at your joy. 

You remembered pain too. Pain everywhere, your hands and your face and your legs. From exhaustion, and injuries you’d won while training in the wide, circular building made of glass. The pain that faded away when replaced with the burning of his pride.   

Ellie’s eyes flicked up to you, tender.  

You dropped your gaze to your legs, where you rubbed your free hand against your thigh. You grappled with the unbearable electricity roiling in your gut, took a breath, started easy.  

“The Order of Mercy.”  

She hummed like she was impressed by the name, squeezed your fingers. You resisted the urge to frown.  

“It was meant to be a place of hope. A place of safety and protection.” You paused, chose your next words carefully. “That bit him in the ass… in the end. No one got out of there. The place was a wreck.” 

“But you did?”  

You paused, shifted to combat the tension in your tightening muscles. 

“Yeah, I did.” Your lips quirked. “I got lucky.”  

Her face tightened. She tilted her head. 

“What happened?”  

“The fire drew infected, the guards started shooting. They couldn’t see who were people and who weren’t in the smoke. I ran.” Your voice grew shaky as you tried to fight those memories. The memories of the end.  

“Infected go for people, screaming people, people in groups. I was kind of a loner, and I was small - so I managed to slip out.” Your words grew clipped and rough as you finished, unable to fight the way your shoulders stiffened as the grating feelings surged through you. Your nails bit into her fingers.  

“A loner, huh?” She said, sarcasm dripping from her tone.  

You shrugged, unable to find humor in her teasing. 

“The others were nice but…” You shook your head. “Sometimes it felt like it was just me and my dad.”  

Maybe because that was what he’d always said. That he was the only one you should trust, because he was yours and you were his. Those ties meant something, they weren’t a thing bred in useless promise. They were marked in blood.  

He was right in what he’d taught you – don't trust frilly words or innocent faces. Find actions, find movement – and you’ll find truth.  

“What, you were the weirdos who lived on the edge of town - never spoke to anyone?” Ellie asked, thumb soothing your taut hand.  

A smile broke the tension of your face.  

“No, we lived in the middle of town, in the big house. People didn’t think we were weird. I thought they were… weary of us. But he said it was respect.”  

Her brow arched.  

“Your dad was the leader?”  

You hummed.  

“He was a high-ranking official in the executive branch - before things went to shit. He knew how to run things.” 

Yes, he knew where to find important supplies, knew how to bring order. He knew the best defensive strategies, and how to let in the people who needed a home – he knew how to sort the greedy and the cruel from the decent.  

Your stomach turned. He was a warring thing, your father. A thing half-there.  

“Executive branch?” Ellie shuffled closer, pressed her shoulder to yours. 

“The assholes who worked under the President, made up bullshit laws and enforced them.” You explained with practiced efficiency, and only the smallest amount of resentment. Your skin prickled.  

“Shit.” She breathed. “That explains a lot.”  

You looked to her finally, narrowed your eyes. She smiled amusedly, but there was something deeper beneath her easy expression. Acceptance, maybe. It made your heart quiver.  

“It wasn’t like a military zone. He wanted it to be a refuge.” You continued. “Still, he trained us- me, like a solider. Told me stories of the world before, the order, the right and wrongs…” You trailed off, brain latching onto an old memory.  

Most ghosts of your past were fuzzy. But this one… you remembered the colours, and the thrill. The journey you’d taken to that bigger house he’d spoken of, the things you’d found inside… Something galvanic opened a bleary eye in the pit of your chest.  

Ellie’s eyes flickered over your face.  

“I’m sorry. About your dad... and your town.” She said, softly. 

You sucked in a breath, shook your head. You didn’t bother speaking the words that swarmed your brain, she’d heard enough. 

“Coward.” 

You bit your cheek, considered your plan. 

“Actually, I... it reminded me of something.” You began, shifting yourself her way. “I think I know how to stop the rest from coming after us.” 

“Like, another one of your bombs, or something?” She asked. 

You quirked your head, unable to stop the heady smile twisting your lips. 

“Yeah, I guess. I just need a minute to get it ready.”  

She blinked, paused to consider your words. Eventually she nodded, a quiet relief smoothing her face. 

“Okay, sure. I wouldn’t mind leaving those fuckers a parting gift.” 

Your smile grew at Ellie’s approval. Your plan clicked into place as you tied its ends together in your mind. There’d be a generator on the roof of a building like this – right next to the withered disk that hung over the edge. Shining bright in the sun like the beacon it was, high-powered and long-range to support the workings of the clever people who’d inhabited this place.  

Life brought opportunities like this right to you, like you’d always been meant to find them, always been meant to enact them.  

“I just need a little gas.” You told Ellie as you stood, dropping her hand.  

She stood with you, fingers moving up to tangle with her backpack strap. 

“Sure, I’ll bring some up. And I’ll plot a route while you... work.” She said, tilting her head. 

She took off then – back to the truck, while you scoured the room for a computer. The desks held many, most smashed and bent. But there was one in the corner, its screen dark and waiting. 

You caught your face in its reflection as you approached, looking more yourself than you ever had, and still grinning. 

- 

You shuffled into the truck, dropped your bag to into the footwell. The door shut smoothly; a sleek click so different to the vehicles you’d fixed up around Jackson. The doors on those rusted things had rattled and boomed – their sharp edges would probably take off a few fingers if you weren’t careful with your hands. But this truck, it reminded you of the ones from the place you’d grown up in. Dark and elegant, their engines humming effortlessly – didn’t choke or sputter.  

You didn’t like it. Things like this truck, and its true owners, lacked character. No battle scars won, no gentle reminders of age. 

“We’ll go south.” Ellie said, breaking your line of thought. She leaned over the map she’d spread across the console, two fingers tracing a thin line through the mass of green. “There’s a country road cutting through the forest back there.”  

“What if it’s grown-over?” 

She shook her head, tapping the paper. 

“I found this map in the glovebox; they marked the roads that are too fucked to drive down.” She explained, before throwing the map onto your lap. 

You picked it up, the paper crinkling under your fingers as you looked it over again and grimaced. 

“What?” 

“They marked the rooms.” You ground out. “The bodies.” 

The noise she made in response mirrored the disgust rippling through you. 

You dug into your bag, brushing past scraps and junk until you found what you were looking for – a paint pen. It was pink. You shoved a boot onto the dash ahead, rested the map on your knee as you ripped the cap off with your teeth. 

“So, what’s the plan if we run into any trouble?” Ellie asked, her tone dripping with faux optimism. 

“Kill ‘em.” You mumbled, putting your pen to the paper and relishing in the glossy lines it left in its wake.  

“That’s comforting, thank you.” Ellie said snidely. 

“The lazy pricks probably aren’t even awake yet.” You replied. “And their patrols are garbage. Just drive fast.”  

You finished up your additions to the map, holding it out to admire your art. Ellie leaned in to take a look, her brows furrowing. 

You’d drawn a cartoonish heart around the hospital, accompanied by some diamond-shaped sparks, and a skull and cross bones over the hotel. 

“X marks the spot.” You trilled. 

Ellie’s lips quirked into a smirk. 

“You’re weird.”  

“I’m just completing their map.” You shrugged, passing it back to her. 

“Guessing your gift’s ready, then?” She prompted, taking the map and draping it over her thighs. 

“Almost.”  

You reached into your bag again at her puzzled expression, pulled out the little black device you’d coded and the radio you didn’t remember swiping from Mike’s belt. You plopped them in the cup-holder to your left.  

“Detonator?” 

You quirked your head. 

“Kinda.” You didn’t elaborate, instead drumming your hands on your thighs. “Let’s move, time’s a-wastin’.” 

Ellie puffed out an amused breath, twisting the key in the ignition. The leather seat beneath you hummed as the truck started up gracefully. She peeled out of the underground lot, guiding the truck through the exit she’d propped open. 

The street beyond was clear – aside from the stray grass and plant – but the bigger roads had been cleared of broken-down cars and other large debris. Ellie took a right, her hands sliding against the gleaming steering wheel as it spun beneath her grip. 

“So, you know I grew up in a military boarding school?” She broke out, gaze fixed on the road ahead. 

You nodded. She’d mentioned her upbringing a few times with enough quiet resentment for you to grasp how shitily she regarded the place she’d been raised in. What she referred to it as varied, sometimes a school, sometimes an orphanage, sometimes a cage.  

“I thought they were bad. I can’t imagine living under one of the dudes who created their stuffy-ass rules.” 

You sighed, gliding a finger over the edge of the window beside you. 

“Yeah, but I guess it was little different for me – he was my dad; they’re meant to order you around, right?” 

Ellie shot you a sideways glance. 

“You don’t strike me as the obedient type.” 

The truck jerked as it ambled over a crack. The buildings lining the streets beyond the window were just as ridden with age and devastation as the rest of the world, but there was a gentleness to their disaster. The moss and dust covered them like blankets and you couldn’t help but feel like they were resting.  

“I said he ordered me around, I didn’t say I obeyed.” You smiled. “We’re not soldiers, you and me.” 

“You got that right.” Ellie chuckled. “You should’a seen the shit I got into in Boston.” 

You hummed, flicking your gaze to her. You’d been all over the place, but never Boston. You tried to stay away from militant zones, they were far more trouble than they were worth. 

“I bet it sucked. There are hardly any QZ’s left anymore, their regime must’ve been strict for them to stay standing so long.” You said. 

“Yeah... but I guess it wasn’t all bad.” She licked her lips, eyes growing softer. “I had a friend there, you remind me of her sometimes.” 

“Really?” You leered. 

“Yeah, sometimes.” Ellie’s brows flicked up. “She was hard-headed, badass,” she shook her head, “and annoyed the shit outta me.” 

You scoffed a laugh, trying not to squirm at the quiet tenderness that wreathed her voice despite her combative words. 

“So, you think we would’ve gotten along – me and your friend?” 

“Hell no.” She grinned. 

You smiled, turning back to the window. The words didn’t sting – you didn’t get along with most people. You weren’t sure you’d ever had a friend, a true friend. Apart from Ellie... and maybe... 

Your heart ached as your mind was, again, pulled to the past. Conversations rang through your thoughts, formed a lump in your throat. 

“What do you think it looks like outside?” 

“My dad says there’s nothing out there. It’s all ruins, hardly any people left at all.” 

“Really?” 

“He finds things, people’s belongings. They’re like ghosts.” 

“My mom says there are monsters.”  

“They’re not monsters, Jezzie. They were people once.” 

“What happened to them?” 

“My dad says I can’t tell you. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, you can’t handle it.” 

“Because they’re scary?” 

“Not as scary as the people that are left. They’re sicker than the sick. They’re crueller than the earth. But my dad protects us from them.”  

“I bet there’s trees as big as the statue of liberty. And cities full of oceans.” 

“No, my dad says there’s nothing. God cleared it all to nothing, and left us behind to rebuild – take down the evil that’s left.” 

“Well... I guess that makes us the lucky ones.”  

The truck lurched up, caused you to thump back down onto the seat with a huff. 

You blinked, rubbed a hand down your arm.  

There wasn’t nothing outside the windows. There was soft, fluttering green, and powder-blue skies. There were buildings, remnants of life everywhere you turned. Things that inspired roving dreams of old days. Days spent trailing around bustling streets, sitting on outside-chairs and eating a meal cooked just for you, walking through a park and seeing dozens of strangers you’d never know – never see again. Not a fleeting thing, no, strangers would be everywhere – and only sometimes would you find someone who would become more. 

Days spent with family – some families so large they couldn’t all fit in one home. Days spent with little animals you claimed and lived with and took time to print pictures of to frame. Days spent buying things with printed strips of glorified paper, and so many clothes you could wear a different item each day. 

And there were scary people in this world, but there were good people too. People trying to regain some semblance of those old days – but only the nice parts. Only the parts that focused community, care, joy. None of the inequality, or privileges, or injustice. 

Good people, like the girl sitting beside you. 

You swallowed thickly, hoped your voice wouldn’t waver, as you spoke. 

“I had a...” You shook your head, the words catching like barbs in your throat. You didn't deserve to call her a friend, anymore. “She wasn’t like you.” 

“I thought you were a loner.” Ellie’s chided, her voice tinged with curiosity. 

“I was. But I spoke to her, sometimes. Only her.” The hint of a smile started on your lips. “I’d sneak into her room to do it.”  

Ellie puffed out a strange-sounding breath, a thing caught half-between humor and disbelief. 

“Man, you really are like Riley.” She mumbled, so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. 

You turned to her once you could trust your face again. She had an elbow resting on the window frame, her hand curled on her chin. Her other arm shot straight out, fingers tight on the wheel to ease the truck around cracks and corners. 

“What was she like, then? Like you?” Ellie asked, glancing at you briefly. 

“No.” You shook your head. “She was fragile. Too soft, too kind. I tried to toughen her up but,” your face found that smile then, “it never stuck.” 

She hummed, her thumb tapping the wheel. The air within the truck began to heat as the morning sun soaked through the windshield. 

“I couldn’t spend time with her around town, or at training.” You added. “But in her room, we were... something.” 

Ellie smiled, the same bittersweet glint clouding her eyes as you felt in yours. 

She paused, before a question passed her lips. 

“How old were you – when the shit hit the fan?” 

“I was,” you tried to force the memory forward; dragging out the answer like a half-buried relic. “I was almost fourteen, I think.” 

Shock slathered her features at that. 

“Shit.” She breathed, her gaze flicking over to you. “And you survived out here alone?” 

You pressed your lips together, ignoring the uncomfortable tug in your gut. 

“I hid. I’d lurk around the edges of communities, steal what I could – but I never went inside. Never let them see me.” You explained. “Took me a while to realize I was strong enough to fight for myself.” 

And cruel enough.  

When the voices had grown too loud to ignore, you’d let the death rip from you like a tsunami of dark. It came too easy, the injuries you’d earn only spurring you on. One ending eddying into one beautiful beginning. 

Though... the beauty you found in death was beginning to wane in the wake of Ellie. Her presence, her words, her face that was swimming with the smelted, amber light of the fresh morning – like even the sun was admiring her. She made you ache. 

“That’s... pretty fucking impressive.” She raised her brows, hand falling from her chin to perch on the steering wheel lazily. 

You weren’t sure impressive was the word, but couldn’t find it in you to argue as your gaze roved from her glistening, beryl eyes to her pouty lips that looked as plush as a peach. 

Then her face changed – first scrunching up before her eyes widened and those lips parted invitingly. 

“Fuck.” She breathed. 

You tore your eyes from her face reluctantly, following her own to find the thing concerning her. 

A dark truck, turning onto the street far ahead. 

“Just keep driving, don’t stop.” You told her. “Take the next left – we're in one of their trucks, they might not notice we aren’t with them.” 

Silence stretched as tension sewed itself deep into the air, wrenching your muscles taut and your breaths shallow. 

That truck roamed closer as Ellie nudged the wheel left. You began to turn into the side-street, sinking in your seat a little as your window paralleled with their dark windshield. 

You palmed your gun as the wheels bounced over scattered rocks – debris from the half-collapsed building on the corner. You made it into the cover of the next street and out of view, the other truck didn’t speed or honk. 

But then, a jerking crackle spat through the air. The noise sounded like it wished to be a fire, but was cold and disingenuous – not alive or burning like a fire, no, the thing was robotic. 

“Yo, juliett-nine-bravo-echo-five. You winged?” 

The voice was low and warbled. The had man listed the start of the license plate nailed to your rear-bumper, and you flicked your gaze to the wingmirror to find the truck inching onto the street behind you. 

You ground your teeth as screaming annoyance shoved itself into every inch of your bones. You reached into your bag. 

“Winged?” Ellie whispered. 

You shrugged, screwing your silencer onto the pistol in your grip. 

“Think the hospital’s emblem was angel wings.” You sat up, rolled your window down. “Fucking losers.” You huffed, twisting your upper half out of the window and snapping your wrists up. 

The bullet you summoned hissed from the lengthened barrel and into the driver too fast for him to swerve. You knew you’d hit him by the way the truck jerked and sped. You couldn’t see through the smashed windshield, but the truck began to weave back and forth before it crashed into a building beside the street – the passenger had tried to wrangle it and failed. 

The collision hadn’t been loud, which meant it hadn’t been hard enough to prove fatal. You sent more lead for the window the crash had offered up, steading your aim when the truck beneath you wobbled against a crack. You allowed yourself four shots, knowing you’d get the job done with at least a couple of them. Then you sank back into your seat, righted the window. 

Ellie’s eyes glanced from the mirrors back to the road ahead, which ambled up slightly as it carved a path through buildings. Trees beckoned on the far end, but more connected streets than comfortable jetted off the sides of the one you climbed. 

“Well, that solves that.” She mumbled. 

“I had to get rid of them before they called us in. Speed up, if there are others we might lose them in the trees.” You said, hand reaching back to tangle with your seatbelt.  

You paused, gaze trailing to Ellie. You leaned over to her, opting to push your face into the side of her head instead of blocking her view of the road as your fingers searched for her seatbelt.  

Her hair was soft beneath your nose, and she didn’t balk from your closeness. You heard her breath puffing in and out, felt the warmth of her body leaking onto yours. You almost didn’t want to, but eventually found the slippery thing. You tugged it out and held it there for her to thread her left arm through. She did, shifting her hips a little as you brought it down and over her, clicked it into the socket. 

“Thanks.” 

You nodded, returning for yours and fastening it. It snapped against you, rubbing uncomfortably at your neck.  

“Don’t let it restrict you.” You reminded her. “Keep an eye out, remember to pull it loose if you’re ducking or aiming.” 

“Yes, mom.” She droned, turning her head to peer down a side-street as you passed it. It was clear. 

You tutted, cradling your gun in your palms again and latching your eyes back onto the street. 

-- 

“That was easy.” Ellie muttered; her voice low as she eyed the thinning edge of the city. 

The truck rumbled through the forest, the road beneath its tires had shifted from cracked concrete to loose, uneven dirt. Trees framed the path, their tall, leafy canopies blotting out some of the sunlight and casting shadows over Ellie’s face. But even here, the city lingered – its jagged, crumbling peaks visible over the left-hand treetops. 

“Told you. Shitty patrol-men.” You said. “Men like them are all brute and brashness.” 

Ellie hummed. 

“Can you pullover here?” You asked, nodding toward a spot where the road widened slightly and the trees cleared up. The perfect little gap to nestle the truck in. 

She slowed the truck to a crawl and pulled in. You took the two devices from the cupholder, clutched them in your hands. 

Ellie snapped the truck off and you stepped out, your boots crunching softly against gravel and dirt. You walked around the front and perched against the other side of it. Ellie popped her door open beside you, shifted to stick her feet out and rest them in the dirt. 

The faint scent of damp earth and pine wafted into your nose. A few distant birds chirped somewhere in the canopies above. 

The hill the truck had climbed offered a breath-taking view of the land ahead. Rolling green hills dipped into the golden fields that wreathed the city, dotted here and there with clusters of trees and the occasional skeletal remains of buildings. Farther out, a jagged mountain range rose to meet the horizon, their peaks piercing the blue sky like forgotten gods. The city loomed to the left of them, smaller now but no less haunting, like a poor attempt to imitate their beauty. 

You gave the button of the radio a sharp hits, lifted it to your mouth. 

“Any of you little pigeons hear me?” You asked, mocking lilt twisted into your tone. 

The crackle of static was your only response at first, until finally, an answer.  

“Been waiting to hear from you.” The voice said, scratchy and gruff. 

“You’ve heard from me plenty.” You shot back. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you.” 

“Suppose that’s right.” The voice was taunting. He chuckled darkly, the sound fizzing through the speaker like insects buzzing in your ear. 

“Those guys in the mall, they were the first of my men you slaughtered.” There was a loud confidence in the man’s tone – an easy, authoritative sway that caught your attention as he continued. “You left one living, he got out by the skin of his teeth. He saw those pretty tats you got on your arm. One of my men saw them again yesterday, called it in before you ripped them to shreds in that hospital. How many of my men you think I’m gonna let you get away with takin’, girly?” He asked. 

You considered his spiel, rested a hand on your hip. 

“I’ve been through a ‘lotta places, ‘lotta men. Don’t be flattered, sweet-cheeks.”  

“That so?” He ground out another unsettling, graveled laugh. The radio spat with static. 

“Oh, yeah. Most of the states. My favorites were rainy ones.” You told him. “Found plenty of monsters like you out there. Plenty of other things too...” 

“I don’t have time to get to know ‘ya, darlin’. I’m a busy man, got plenty of groups to order around, plenty of bullets to organize. Wonder which’ll be the lucky one that gets to cleave that clever head of yours apart – after I’ve had my fun with ya’, that is.” He spoke to you smoothly, like a lover. 

You tilted your head. 

“Don’t you wanna know what I found?” 

Ellie leaned forward, her arms pressing onto her knees. 

“You don’t got time for talkin’ neither. We’re gettin’ ready here. I’m comin’ for you.” He said. 

“No.” You crooned. “You definitely wanna know.” 

No reply came – you’d piqued his interest, and you took the opportunity to give him a spiel of your own. 

“I found stars here, in Montana.” You told him, pulling the little black device from your pocket. You rubbed a finger over the button in its center. 

“Raging oceans in Oregon.” You looked back up to the city, eyes straining for the buildings raised in the distance. Your stomach danced. 

The radio crackled. 

“I visited the White House in Washington, always wanted to see the inside. My dad was big on order. He served this mighty country, under that house, the man who lived inside. The prospect intrigued me, how one man could hold so much power. Rule a whole country, decide the fates of so many. Decide the deaths of so many more.” 

You paused, eyes narrowing. 

“Don’t much care for your life story. I’m more focused on its end. You can try to run, darlin’, but I’ll find ya’. I got your scent now.” He promised. 

“You know what I found? In that man’s house?” You asked, kicking at the dirt beneath your feet, fighting a smile. “I found his birdies.” 

Ellie stiffened. You felt the heat of her gaze on you. 

“You know, the missiles don’t need much tinkering to be launched. This country was selfish. Wanted to make sure they had the last blow, no matter what happened. They sent the big ones out when something did happen, but that’s okay. The few left are still big enough for your little house.” 

You waited for his words to bite through the stuttering radio, mind spinning. 

“You’re a liar, girl. And you can’t get to Washington before I get to you, I promise you that.” 

“I don’t need to be in Washington.” You simpered. “I just need the codes. An itty bit of power to reach the pointy things. I’m pretty incredible with that stuff, you know.” 

“You’re lyin’.” He tried again, but you heard that confidence cracking like brittle glass. 

The device in your palm buzzed, flittering a weak green light above that carnal, little button. Sparks rumbled through you. Anticipation and glee settled onto your shoulders like a warm blanket. 

You lifted the radio to your lips.  

“You can’t even try to run.” 

The sky above seemed to still as your thumb pressed down on the button and your heart flipped and swayed. The forest held its breath for a single, weightless moment. 

Ellie stood, edged closer to you. Her warmth breathed into your side. 

“Dude, are you kidding?” 

You dragged your eyes from the open. 

“Why would I be kidding?” 

A shrieking cleaved the earth – a shrill, whistling sound that tore through the green like a living thing. Violent, raw, unstoppable. Fire streaked across the sky to the left, slinging for the city, brilliant and blazing, leaving a thick trail of smoke in its wake. It curled and twisted like black veins against the blue, the blaze it leaked from glowing brighter than the sun. The sky itself seemed to shatter under its wrath, the world rumbling, leaves shaking from the trees like they were weeping. 

Your shooting star hit its mark – a crashing, resounding boom you couldn’t see but could feel. Deep and visceral, the earth clenched and shuddered beneath its force, sending loose pebbles and dirt skittering down the hill. The noise consumed everything, reverberating through the steeps around and echoing back in endless waves. It filled your body to the brim, and you felt like you were exploding too as flaming exhilaration surged up your throat and filled your brain with color. 

Laughter burst from your lips, loud and bright.  

Then came the whoosh – the hot wind sweeping through the forest. The dying breath of your bomb bent branches of the trees and tore at the loose fabric of your clothes. It hit your face, warm, carrying the acrid scent of burning – but you didn’t balk. It was a cry of freedom, a roar of triumph – ashes back to ashes, dirt turned to dust.  

You could almost feel the fire's sputtering form from here, almost hear it crackling and churning and cleansing. Devouring the ghosts of the murky souls you’d claimed, devouring their evil and their sins with a relentless hunger. And the smoke rose high in the air, bright, blazing blue like a flame so hot it was cold. Blue like raging ocean waves, like the deep, electric sky of twilight. Blue like your father’s eyes. 

A grin split your face as pride swelled within you. 

You’d had to do a little tweaking when you stumbled upon the things, had to leave your signature. And your color wove itself into the sky above the trees and the buildings, smattering the world with the most beautiful gravestone – fit for those vile creatures who tortured and maimed and stole. 

A long, shaky breath broke through your haze of atonement. 

You turned your head, your glee dimming a little as reality bled back into the moment. 

Ellie’s face was pale. Pale like the whites of her wide eyes. She wasn’t smiling like you. She wasn’t admiring. She looked quite horrified, actually, much to your chagrin.  

Her lips were parted, trembling faintly as her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Her gaze was stuck on the calamity in the distance, her body frozen like she still hadn’t regained the ability to move, speak, react. 

Your smile dropped, your eyes narrowing as apprehension simmered in your bones, unease coiled in your chest – the exhilaration ebbed, replaced by the cold knot of realization. 

Shit. 

You thought you’d given her enough warning. You’d told her you’d stop them, it was a bomb, and it was big. 

What the hell was she expecting? 

You bit your lip, shifting on your feet. Your boots scuffed a restless pattern into the ground.  

“We gotta move. Infected will’ve heard that for miles around.” You said, voice hard – trying to cut through her stupor. “Stick to the scenic routes, we shouldn’t run into too many in the country.” 

Ellie’s mouth clamped shut. Her eyes snapped to you. She looked sick. No, she looked at you like you were sick. Her face was bewildered, appalled – looking so unlike herself you felt jarred. Her mouth popped open again, then closed. She blinked. 

Finally, she shook her head, her lips curling into a round shape as she blew out a sharp breath. 

And then she turned, walked rigidly to her open door. She dropped into the seat within before slamming it closed, the truck rattling into your back harshly. 

You clenched your teeth, a low groan rumbling in your throat.  

The taste of smoke lingered on your tongue as you pushed off the truck and rounded to your side. You slid into the passenger seat. Ellie’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her eyes locked piercingly on the road ahead. 

What the hell were you expecting? 

-- 

You liked to think the imperfect, dirt road below you lead to nowhere. You couldn’t see the end of it, as it wove its way through the amazingly tall, verdant trees - a path of harsh, russet reality cutting through the lush fog of green. You liked to think it would never end. You and the girl beside you would chase its turns forever, side by side, as the days and nights rolled around you, and your whole world just stayed all serpentine and chestnut. 

You ignored the part of you whispering that everything had an ending. You ignored the part of you that bristled in the coated silence wreathing the truck. You ignored the thoughts curling into the edge of your mind, listing every stiff move Ellie made, listing each twitch of her features and the firm set of her jaw, her eyebrows, her mouth. 

You brought your attention back to the road, and its turns, and the way your stomach tingled and hollowed out as the truck ambled down a short, steep hill. Ellie normally took less care while driving. She’d normally speed around corners, sometimes so quickly the opposite wheels would lift and then bounce back down against the ground. She’d lurch over bumps and cracks, would have to screech to a sharp stop when debris would arise ahead. But now, she slowed gracefully for rocks and fallen branches half-in the road. She took turns carefully, she didn’t speed. Like she was putting a lot of effort into keeping her thoughts on the road too, keeping her thoughts on controlling the vehicle beneath her.  

You rolled your lips, shifted your legs to lean your knees onto the door beside you. 

Trees made Ellie smile. Trees, and birds, and pretty skies. Stars made her smile, so did the moon – and shooting stars made her beam. They weren’t really stars; stars didn’t fall, they collapsed. It was space-junk, but you didn’t ever correct her because of the glee in her voice when she’d exclaim it. And music made Ellie smile. Gentle, earthy songs with hearty, resonant voices.  

You found yourself achingly jealous of those soft things. Things that were natural, moveable, changing but still constant. You wondered what it was like, to be moved. To belong. You were jealous of the things that lived, blew in the breeze, belonged to the earth. Belonged to her. Made her smile.  

You wished you could make her smile. 

Sometimes it seemed like all you did was make her stiffen and sigh. 

Being this dark and dreary thing was starting to wear on your conscious. You wished you were an easy thing to love, like the trees, and the sky, and the gentle collision of voices and instrument. Like her. 

And... you were supposed to be focusing on the road.  

The road that was winding and bumpy, and disappeared again around a curve – tangled in pillar-like trunks and graceful greenery. The road you hoped would never end, because if it did Ellie might tell you that she was done, and she was leaving to find her own way home. 

The truck found that curve, arced around it, and ahead, the russet ground stretched so long and far it fled right into the horizon. The forest stayed cradling it all the way forward, and those slaty mountains arose again in the distance. A great wall of stony promise, a jagged taunt of future surroundings. 

Who would you be when you reached those mountains? Because you were a changing thing, but not constant. Not soft, not natural. You were hardened and rough and ragged, you were pointed and sharp and leached of colour. 

Did Ellie like mountains? Did they make her smile? 

You shifted in your seat again, turned your face to the window embedded in the cold door you leaned into. A tangle of branch, trunk, and leaf promised beyond it. So serpentine and so chestnut it made your chest ache and stomach burn. Your eyesight warped, gaze honing in on the reflection in the glass. Your face all hollow, not-living – and her behind you. Stiff like rigor-mortis, like you were leeching the living from her too. 

The radio crackled in the cup holder. 

“Little killer. Where have you got to, coward? Killed us from the trees, couldn’t even look me in the eyes as you ripped us apart. Where can you run to, coward?”  

The words sputtered out, scratchy and forgotten. Your gaze dropped to the side-mirror outside the window. It angled up tauntingly, gave you the perfect view of that towering, blue plume of smoke way in the past. Taller than the happy trees, darker than the peaceful sky around it. 

The smoke seeped from a tomb near the beginning of your never-ending road. Sometimes it would disappear as you rounded a curve, or ambled down a hill. Until it would return to the mirror, like a storm cloud, or a tornado, or a...  

No, all those things were natural – belonging. The mark of your assault hung in the air, a pariah, a path of swirling, smoky reality cutting through the easy, untamed sky. 

“There’s nowhere for you to go, no place you can hide from us. Little killer.”  

Your head felt heavy. You pressed it into the head-rest, tried not to writhe in your seat as it fizzled and burred. 

fight fire with fire. bad knows bad, wrong knows wrong. this is what you’re made for 

You regretted leaving your CDs in the factory. You’d thought you wouldn’t need them. 

As your heartbeat began to pick up, and something icy like dread clamped down on your guts, an echoic sound drifted through the truck. Ellie was tapping her thumb on the wheel. 

Your eyes squinted, your face forced itself into a grimace, and it became glaringly apparent to you that you could no longer lose yourself in the road and the forest. Your hands tangled together on your lap, squeezed as you tried to steady yourself. 

“Fucked up again that quick, huh?” The words slipped out, quieter than intended. You heard the pain in them more than you felt it. 

You couldn’t feel much of anything right now – just the familiar hissing blur that buried.  

A sigh answered you, low and stiff, cutting through the heavy air between you. As you'd expected. 

“You dropped a bomb on them.” 

You quirked your head. 

“I use them all the-” 

“A missile?” Ellie interrupted. 

You drew in a slow breath before turning to face her. 

Ellie didn’t look angry. Her posture was sharp, her shoulders tight, but her expression lacked the fire you’d expected. Taut and prickled, but not burning – not trembling with heat.  

“All that talk about the old world, how much you hate it.” She mused; her voice steady, almost monotone. “And then you use their weapons to take out an entire group?”  

You didn’t bother reminding her that that group were the same kind of monsters as the ones who made those weapons. They were murderers. They were egomaniacal fucks who thought themselves gods. Instead, you settled on something simpler.  

“I avenged more innocent lives than the bad ones I took.” You said, your tone clipped. 

Ellie’s eyes flicked to you, her brow furrowing. 

“That’s how you're choosing to justify it?” She asked, and her tone was genuine – not biting, not scathing. A genuine question, though rough around the edges. 

It sparked something sharp in your veins. 

“What do you want from me? You chased me out here after I put a bullet in the back of a guy’s skull.” You splayed your hands. “I kill. Surprise.” 

Her lips pressed together as she blinked heavily, hands tightening on the wheel. 

“It’s not about them.” She murmured. “It’s just... the way you do things. So fast, so brutal. It’s an annihilation.” 

Your eyes narrowed. 

“I make it quick, which is more than they deserve.” You spoke. “Would you rather I snuck in, ended them all with my own hands?” 

“You’re not some grim reaper - you don’t need to chase them down, exterminate them the way you do.” Ellie said, shaking her head softly. “I thought you were giving them a warning.” 

“A warning?” You scoffed; the sound bitter. “You don’t get it.” 

Warnings were nothing to things like those men. You’d walked into one of their rooms smothered in blood and they’d laughed. You’d blown the roof off one of their compounds and their leader had promised to chase you to the ends of the earth. 

They didn’t see warnings – they saw challenge. 

“I travelled across the country, I saw bad.” She protested. “I ran into fuckers like them.” 

Her words dragged claws down your chest. The way her voice grew thick and ghostly made your throat tighten. Fuckers like them – you knew what she was saying. And it brought such a blazing rage to your chest you almost choked.  

Any apprehension fled from your mind. You were glad to have freed the world from the grip of those festering, consuming, depraved, slanted men. Your spine steeled.  

“Yeah, and how did you escape them?” 

“By killing the threat in front of us, not doubling back to kill more.” Ellie replied. 

Her words felt like they were circling you, refusing to land. You couldn’t find her angle – couldn’t understand her problem. 

It’s not about them, she’d said.  

It’s about you. 

The way you do things, she'd said.  

Efficient. Practical. Brutal yes, but so were the things you ended. 

Fire with fire, bad with bad. Killers with killing. 

“Well, if you had, maybe we wouldn’t be running into so many of the fuckers right now.” You told her, voice icy. “Cause they would’ve been wiped off the map already.” 

The truck jerked beneath you. You wrapped your fingers around your seatbelt, pulled it away from your neck a little. Your gaze drifted over the console ahead, the frilly buttons and ports. Had people really thought they needed all that?  

“Listen, I get it, okay?” Ellie tapped the wheel, mindlessly. “I get it. I just think you enjoy it too much.” 

The accusation sank into your chest like a blade. 

There it was. Her problem. 

You swallowed thickly. 

Something was wearing her face. Some sickened, weary thing was wearing Ellie’s face as she looked at you – looked through you. You felt too light, like you could fall through the seat at any moment, through the world. Your body buzzed. 

“More shame, sweetheart? Hmm.” 

Enjoyed it? No, you... you liked cleansing the world of bad because it made you feel safer. It made you feel proud; it made you- 

Did you enjoy it? 

you're sick like them, you caught it. a murderer, a killer, and you like it. you know who- 

“Don’t you think they enjoyed it when they tortured a whole city full of stragglers and infected?” You snapped, cutting through the static in your head. 

Ellie licked her lips, her gaze hardening. But she didn’t argue, she knew you were right, she knew they deserved it.  

“You know why they say to fight fire with fire?” You continued, pinning her with your stare. “Because things can’t burn to the ground twice.” 

She nodded, tilted her head. 

“Fire spreads.” Ellie said, simply. 

You grit your teeth, felt your brows upturn as you let out an exasperated laugh. 

“I never claimed to be the bigger person.” You muttered. 

Her face softened at that, her shoulders loosening. She leaned back into her seat, swayed her head. 

“No," she took a breath, eyes shuttering as she seemed to gather herself. “I get it, y/n. I guess... I’m just not used to being so loud.” 

“I know. You’re used to having to creep through the world like a mouse because of things like them.” You spoke. “But I don’t fear them, I don’t feel any obligation to do things fairly, and I don’t hide.” 

Something shifted in her expression, something you swore almost bordered on respect, threading through the weariness of her features as your words sank in. 

“Can’t argue with that.” She said, finally, her voice gentler now. 

The tension in the cab waned, the air growing lighter around. But your mind refused to settle. 

You bit your cheek, tried not to give into your brains begging questions. What did she think of you now? What did this mean? How was she feeling? Why was she so confusing – why were the things she made you think and feel so confusing? 

You sucked in a deep breath. 

“Is this gonna be a problem?” You managed. 

Ellie leaned her head back against the head-rest, stretching her neck. Then her chin dipped again, her eyes found you. 

“No.” She said, simply. “Different strokes for different folks, right?” 

You squinted. It was an absurd thing to say in response to your behemoth question – and the tumbling void of your actions which dragged along behind the truck like cans tied to the bumper. Though maybe she hadn’t caught the agony beneath your words. You quirked a brow. 

A small laugh rumbled from her lips in return. 

“I told you – I understand, alright? I was just kinda blindsided, that’s all.” Ellie said, lifting a hand to her face, swiping at her nose. “Still kinda am, that was pretty fucking surreal.” 

You sighed, throwing your hands up. 

“Sorry.” 

She shook her head, laughing again.  

The sound made you smile. 

You fell into silence again after that, went to find the end of your road. 

[snoozingredpanda]

Lmao I’ve had this in my drafts for months and forgot to post it. I really like the idea of yandere!reader lol might do something like this as a series on my other blog when I’m finished with Fenix’s little story

—

Benni Winters — The Hunter

GN!Reader

Warnings: yandere!reader, human!reader, werewolf!benni, reader is slightly larger/stronger than benni, violence, mention of death (minimal), kidnapping/forced captivity

—

• Benni had never met anyone that wasn’t a werewolf. Isolated from the rest of the world, her pack were diligent that all non-werewolf entities were cruel and sadistic.

• Despite this, Benni had always been curious. She’d seen small groups of humans before, and they didn’t seem that harmful, often eating sandwiches on a blankets and smiling and laughing. She’d always hidden in the bushes during her observations, not wanting to be ‘hunted down and put on a wall’ as her father had said.

• Benni didn’t know why werewolves were hated so much. Apparently, another type of creature — vampires — were completely accepted, even though they sucked human’s blood for food!

• It was all so strange to Benni. Why did werewolves deserve this? What did they do?

• She knew to be careful when she finally left her pack to start her own. She crept around the woods, trying not to be seen, but unfortunately, she stumbled into a village on the night of a full moon.

• She never meant to cause such destruction. She never meant to throw three men into a house, killing two. She never meant to knock over a torch, setting fire to a haystack. Her mind just gets so fuzzy when she’s shifted. Her limbs are just so heavy, they knock into everything!

• She roars out in pain as an arrow thuds into her shoulder blade. Her flailing claw smashes into a tree, making it fall down, landing on a hut.

• She tries to get out, but men are flinging rocks at her, just making her angrier and more destructive. She wants to go home! She wants to go back to her pack! She doesn’t like being an alpha all on her own!

• Just as she saw an exit, something small and sharp hit her on the bicep. She instantly whimpers and falls onto all fours, her head swimming. Soon, she’s out cold, laying on the ground in a heap of bloody fur.

• You smirk and stride over to her. You were the town’s best hunter, and most desired spouse. A big, beefy person, you had the strength of an ox and the intelligence of an owl. Everyone loved you, but you were yet to find that special someone.

• You’d saved your village. As the cleanup started, you dragged Benni to your house, not sure what to do with her. A lot of nearby villages loved to butcher the werewolves they caught — apparently their meat was great for the winter — but you… didn’t want to.

• She was sleeping so soundly, curled up in the spot you put her, a large heap of bones and flesh. You kneel down next to her, gently stroking her matted fur. God, she was a magnificent creature. So strong yet so adorable.

• You spend all night washing her unconscious body and combing her fur, bringing her back to the fluffy thing she once was. You fall asleep next to her, cuddled into her poofy chest.

• The next morning you wake up to squirming. You’re still hugging the werewolf, but she’s returned to her normal state. She’s a little shorter than you, but not by much, her hair cut to the shoulders and tied back messily. She’s got beautiful silver eyes and pretty pink lips. The only recognition of a werewolf was her gorgeous russet ears and tail. She was just utterly brilliant. And also naked and terrified.

• You coo as you stroke her hair, trying to calm her but she manages to get out of your hold, sprinting to the other side of the room, crouching and cowering.

• As you try and approach, she growls as a warning. Back off! She wants to leave!

• “I’m not going to hurt you,” you say sternly. “What’s your name?”

• She just snarls in reply.

• “I won’t hurt you. I promise…” You say softer.

• “Benni,” she mumbles. You smile at her.

• “Hello, Benni. I’m Y/n.” You move closer, and she gives you a disapproving glance. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that last night.”

• Benni fiddles with her tail, before murmuring, “My shoulder hurts.”

• “It will. You got shot with an arrow. I took it out and cleaned it for you, and patched it up,” you explain.

• She nods gently, but it’s clear she’s extremely uncomfortable.

• “Let me get you some clothes,” you smile, standing up.

• As you’re walking away she asks hopefully, “Can I leave after?”

• You’re silent as you rummage through your closet for clothes. You sigh. “No. You’re staying with me.”

• Before she can protest you glare at her. “Don’t make me tranquillise you again.”

• Your sudden change of demeanour makes her flinch. She whimpers softly, curling up tighter. “But—“

• “Don’t talk back to me. You’re mine. I claimed you the moment I defeated you.” You narrow your eyes, walking towards her with one of your shirts.

• Her pout is adorable, and you swore you’d keep her safe no matter what. This was your werewolf now. Your pet. Your alpha… omega. She was an omega, you were her alpha. Biology meant nothing.

• You pretty much had to wrestle the shirt onto her — and it looks very good on her.

• Licking your lips you pet her ears, as she’s biting and squirming, trying to get away. She’ll get used to it. She’ll have to.

[somerocky-dork]

You know what. You guys are getting a treat, here’s a sneak peek from the fic I’m writing ! One of them anyway!

This one focuses on Rocky, a Black Arms hybrid found in the city by Shadow after detecting a weird bio signature.

This snippet in particular doesn’t have any content warnings so this bit should be good for general audiences!

I’ll post the full chapter eventually I just gotta get back into writing LMAO

Shadow continues to stare at the pink hedgehog as she blinks, she stands in the doorway in a light pink robe with a red rose embroidered into fabric, a bit shaken up from the situation. She also wears a pair of soft fuzzy slippers that match. The dark hedgehog doesn't really care about her appearance, he just wants to talk. His ears stand confused as she looks around the area then, she suddenly grabs him dragging him into her warm home closing the door behind them. Shadow stumbles in over the welcome mat, eyes wide and narrow carefully holding onto the fragile life in his arms, whipping his head around he shoots a soft glare followed by a faint growl. "I said it was urgent but not that urgent! "

Amy sighs as she closes the door but she smiles after locking it and she looks at the dark hedgehog. "Sorry Shadow.. I stepped ahead of myself!-" she gestures out to the cozy home, there's a love seat and a small couch with a coffee table and a nice throw rug. The shelves against the wall are neatly organized with books, old and new. Along with nicknacks and treasures from her own adventures. "Make yourself at home, Shadow? You're welcome here anytime! Sorry for my appearance— I wasn't expecting company so late!" she grins a bit walking over looking at the small creature between his arms, "Aww what a cutie! Is he yours? When were you gonna tell me you had—" "he's NOT my child." Shadow suddenly interrupts with venom in his tone, the pink hedgehog's ears stand as she's cut off, but she smiles anyway and gives him a warm smile. "Well... can I at least get you guys a towel? It's bitter out there! I don't want anyone catching a cold now- I'll be right back, okay?" She holds one finger up then she walks off a bit quickly to find a towel. Shadow looks down at the creature in his arms, he huffs a little and makes an attempt to dry his fur off with his gloves. His ears point back and he freezes with bristling fur as the creature pushes against his hand, not in protest but...with affection? "Wh-what the hell— " he thought, "…I’m not a towel. You’ll only make yourself miserable?" The dark hedgehog lets out an annoyed sigh, the little one only looks up at him with a slight smile and his long tail waves contently. A small trill escapes the kid's lips but not much else follows. His large ears stand and he turns his head as he hears Amy walk back into the room. Shadow pulls him closer to his white chest fur absent mindedly as she approaches.

"Sorry- I had to find a towel small enough for him and one for you too? " she smiles sweetly and holds out the cream colored towel and washcloth. She doesn't wince to the opposing hedgehog's side eye as he takes the towels and he steps away setting the larger one down then he instantly starts to dry off the kid. There... “better than the wet gloves and fur I'm sure." He mumbles softly, the child's ear twitches to his speaking then he looks at the pink hedgehog as she starts her conversation again, she sounds concerned. "What happened... all I've gathered is you've shown up to my door in the pouring rain- late at night with a child you claim doesn't even belong to you resting in your arms! Not to mention you're tending to the little guy?" She sits down on the love seat resting her hands in her lap, she gestures for Shadow to walk over. The dark hedgehog doesn't seem like he wants to stay any longer. In fact the only reason he's there at all is a request for help. Which NEVER comes from the ultimate lifeform. His eyes roll, "damn hedgehog... “ he thought, “ her hospitality will get the best of her. " The hybrid sighs, walking over and he sits down at a distance from Amy, holding the child in his arms as he continues to dry the fur. Doing so reveals the bright red coloration in his dark grey fur, resembling many of Shadow's looks and colors but in his own style. The child flicks his head a bit quickly as Shadow wipes any remaining dirt and water from his fur.

Shadow lets out a sigh, "I don't know... " he closes his eyes as he starts to answer her, " I just found him in Westopolis... alone, by himself under a bunch of human junk in the rain.” He looks down at the small alien hybrid as he pulls the towel off his head, his large ears bounce up. Shadow's head tilts slightly as they make eye contact, the little guy tilts his head mimicking him curiously, looking up at Shadow. The dark hedgehog stares into his little eyes, the one on the right is a similar ruby red to his own, though it's slightly darker. The left iris is a slightly dull icy blue. He hums softly to himself, "hmm, Heterochromia... but in such odd colors... just what ARE you? " He ponders, he continues to stare completely ignoring the owner of the home for a moment before finally answering. "I'm just as confused as you?" He looks up at her his eyes slightly narrow and he frowns a bit clearly uneasy. "Sonic tried to leave him to die. He wanted me to take him back to the city!" He shakes his head as he hugs the child into his soft white fur. Amy watches Shadow carefully with his mannerisms, attitude, and his natural posture. She taps her chin a bit and frowns, "what?— but Sonic loves to help others? Why would he want to cause harm to such a small creature?-" she gasps softly as Shadow suddenly lets out a deep growl before speaking. " oh I'll tell you WHY. It's because he's not mobian like you and him! He doesn't trust him because he's a Black Arms spawn! A spawn mixed with a mobian of some sort!" Shadow continues to growl as he stares at the pink hedgehog, his eyes narrow and a faint glow starts to fill his red irises. He hugs the small child to him,  causing a small distressed whine to escape the small life  as he sinks into Shadow's chest fur from the protective mannerisms.

Amy blinks for a moment clearly a bit surprised by Shadow's sudden aggression but she hums softly to herself as she stands up thinking it over, "interesting...how long have you kept him around?" She could tell something was wrong, she knew Shadow- probably more then most people do. The hedgehog was tense, balling up any feelings he has.

The hedgehog huffs to her question glancing away from the other, shaking his head slightly, "not long... maybe an hour? As I said—" he looks up at the pink hedgehog with narrow eyes, though behind his aggressive aura he feels uneasy. "I found him in the city... all alone, in the middle of the rain..." Shadow pauses in his words, looking down at the small creature in his arms, who's made himself at home in his white chest fur. Curled up in the small towel and nudged into Shadow's long white fur that covers part of his chest. "He just... I looked at him— i don't know what I felt? He felt outcasted by his own kind and abandoned. All alone..? I don't know how I connected but— I made eye contact and just.. heard everything." The dark hedgehog stares as the kid has fallen asleep in his fur, he shakes his head before sitting back down on the couch. The pink hedgehog watches him with a faint frown contorting her face, "poor little guy... seems like he's had a rough night? " she folds her arms as she pauses her words, she hums softly before smiling faintly at the two " if you need to stay here for the evening I wouldn't mind? You look like you need a break from Sonic anyway- " she stands keeping her welcoming smile, Shadow's eyes follow her as she stands. He doesn't seem sure about her offer, all of this seems a little too good to be true- but.... He doesn't really have a choice. The dark hedgehog glances away before looking back at his pink friend giving her a small nod "only for the evening. "  he sighs closing his eyes holding the small hybrid close in his fur, his ears fold back a bit, he stares off with his eyes half lidded, "I don't know why Sonic acted the way he did. It's bothering me... I've never seen him so aggressive."

Amy glances back frowning slightly as she finishes her task on getting some blankets down from a nearby closet. She walks back towards the hedgehog as she speaks "maybe he had a misunderstanding? If he truly dislikes the little guy he's going to be getting a talking to. It's unacceptable! " she sighs and sits the neatly folded blankets down on the couch then she sits on the chair across from the love seat Shadow's currently resting in. "Look... I'll go talk to him about it- he shouldn't be so mean to you no matter what.. he loves you? I'd argue the way he's acting almost makes him a bad boyfriend.. " she sighs though she seems serious about it, her smile comes back and she stands, "for now- you and the little angel need some rest? You can sleep here on the couch or I have a spare room. Whichever works best for you, Shadow! " she grins happily wagging her tail slightly before she waves at him walking off to another room.

Shadow watches her leave intensely with his eyes following her. his ear twitches to the door closing and he looks down at the sleeping life in his arms. He sighs softly lifting his hand off his head, the large ears gently twitch up as he sleeps. The hedgehog gently drags his fingers across the little one's head, pulling the little ears and fur tufts as he pets him. Where did you come from? He starts to think to himself, stuck in the constant curiosity of how this little creature ended up alive at all, and why he CALLED to him.

[janethepegasus]

(The rewrite of the event Toys Galore)

Jane brings home a toy box from a thrift store to see what's inside, but upon opening it, she and the brothers are magically whisked away into a world made out of toys, even they turned into toys too! But they find themselves in the middle of a crisis as the toys panic and wonder where their "beloved friend" is, even accusing them of taking this friend! How will they solve this AND get out?

So basically, instead of them getting onesies, they actually turn into toys! (which are based off of what kind of animal their onesie was :P)

Lucifer turns into a brushable pony figure, resembling a G4 My Little Pony toy. He’s shocked and embarrassed that he turned into a “My Devil Pony” of all things

Mammon turns into a dinosaur toy that can shoot harmless magical fireworks, he’s bummed that he doesn’t shoot fire

Leviathan turns into a small shark bath toy, being able to shoot out water when he’s IN the water. Meaning he has not much use on land other than crawl around on his tiny plastic fins

Satan, unsurprisingly, turns into a cat plushie. This plushie closely resembles a Beanie Baby, due to him feeling the weight of the plastic pellets inside of him

Asmodeus turns into a bunny doll, the kind you dress up with. He was happy that it was still fashion oriented, but he was a bit upset he didn't turn into one of those play dolls (like Barbie or Monster High)

Beelzebub turns into a teddy bear, resembling a Care Bear down to the mark on the stomach. He calls it a Cuddle Bear, a kind of teddy bear that has special scents that help children sleep. His scent is honey, which makes him craving for Lava Honey Pancakes.

Belphegor turns into a strange fuzzy cow-like creature that resembles a Furby, referred to as a Moomie. He recalls not liking them due to them being scary looking, though he says the modern versions don’t look that bad.

Jane turns into a fluffy sheep plushie with a bell attached to a bow. Essentially, she turned into her plushie named Sheepy

[altarfates]

Whoops! Busted.

In Lynx’s defense, there’s certainly worse things an older brother could catch his younger sister doing than playing with a wild animal. The small creature has a chubby body covered in cream-coloured fluff, with dark leathery paw pads & equally dark eyes, head tipped with two round little ears. The geomarrow heater in her room was off, which was itself a terrible idea & now it made sense.

Sitting in a bathtub full of ice water, the Snow Plains bear cub munches away happily at the hazelnuts she’s provided while getting its fur carefully brushed out by a pet brush, collecting the downy fur it’s been shedding.

“G-Gepard! I can explain, it’s not what it looks like!”

The cub whines & drops its snack before scampering into the teen’s arms, apparently intimidated by the sudden appearance of a much larger human. “Shh, it’s okay, Orion. My big brother won’t hurt you, I promise he’s not scary at all once you get to know him!” She soothes, hugging her quadrupedal friend close. “I found him in the Snow Plains. He was all alone, I don’t know what happened to his mother. I can only assume the Fragmentum creatures…” she trails off. “He needed someone to look after him.”

Orion whimpers sorrowfully.

The inhospitable bite of belobog’s winds might encircle the city, corralling those grand structures in a niveous white but the warmth that kept the city sustained remained a potent force. That wasn’t to say it the temperature no longer held its proclivity to plummet to a punishing, glacial chill only that the people within had acclimated to it. That same, familiar cold that swept across the frontlines slid beneath the closed door, provoking both a sense of disquiet and intrigue within him. That was the reason the segments of his gauntlet shifted to accommodate drawing the door open, the exuberant splashing confined to the tub inconsistent with what he’d come to expect from Lynx. That was initially why his gaze lingered, met with a pair of fuzzy ears and dark, inquisitive eyes, staring at him as if it was a transgression on his behalf to witness this scene unfolding. He doesn’t respond with immediate reprimand, considering it was his prerogative to enforce belobog’s laws this was a rather lenient reaction. Gepard knows his sister expects his commanding voice to cleave open her excuse, dismissing any explanation with terse efficiency, however, for a moment that seems to extend beyond that initial expelled breath of disbelief, he permits her to be the first to speak. His brows, however, furrow involuntarily, for he knows kind intentions alone are not enough to provide shelter, sustenance and all else this cub might need to thrive. Lynx is by no means irresponsible, in fact, even when his own mind leaps towards admonishment he knows that usually she has some semblance of a plan in place for her long ventures into Belobog’s most belligerent regions. 

Reluctantly he smiles, it isn’t quite genuine nor wholly reassuring but he has yet to launch into a diatribe about how this was no place to be harboring a cub. He merely strides into the room, casting a long, imposing shadow, before hesitating a step or two behind her. “ You know, saying this isn’t what it looks like does not negate the fact that there is a bear-cub taking up residence in your bathtub.” Slowly, he crouches down until he’s at her height, taking in the cub’s pristine white fur contrasted against the flaxen hue of her hair. “ Lynx.” he warns, but it holds no weight, after all, if he intended to interrupt her in earnest he wouldn’t currently be resting his elbows on his knees, a precarious balancing act merely to take in the sight of his sister and her companion. “ Do you have the supplies you need to take care of him ?” this was the question that mattered, was she prepared for the consequences of her actions, that this kindness was tethered to things she would have to be held accountable for. Returning him to the bleak snow-plains did not seem advisable given the circumstances, so he merely asks her this, allowing her to determine how she might go about taking care of it now. “ Orion.” He trials the way the name feels, the impression of it and finds it satisfactory. “ Have you told Serval ?” After all, when it came to bending the rules for situations like this their sister was far more capable than he was, even if he were begrudging to admit it. “ As long as you have the things necessary to take care of him, I cannot advise you to take him back, so long as we don’t know the whereabouts of his mother.” Upon closer inspection he could discern the reasons why she’d grown so attached, it wasn’t merely that the cub was cute but empathy tended to inspire people to protect those weaker than themselves, that was a sentiment he understood well enough. “ If there’s anything you need, allow me to help you, I’m not needed on the frontlines and my patrol doesn’t start until dawn tomorrow.” 

[zei-ord]

Ok, let’s explain this bc why not

Kall Tabris

Colour: blue

a deep, solid blue that’s pretty similar to grey warden blue, but darker. once Kall joined the grey wardens, they more or less left behind their old identity and became a warden - nothing more, nothing less.

Flora: deathroot

Kall has a strong connection with death, but this plant is also a connection to both her mother, and her lover. Their mother taught them about the plants properties as a child, and they spent a lot of time finding and harvesting the plant for Zevran to use.

Fauna: griffon

once again, Kall’s identity is strongly tied to that of being a grey warden. but griffons, as well as being a symbol of the grey wardens, are (believed to be) extinct, a sacrifice as part of the grey warden’s legacy. Kall too, is a sacrifice.

An object: wedding ring

although the blood has long since been washed off the ring, it is a physical reminder of the life she left behind, and the lengths she had to go to to protect those she cared about. Kall isn’t the sentimental type, and tends not to hold onto objects, or find value in them. this ring is the only exception to that rule.

A song: blood//water by grandson

tbh, this song was chosen more so for the vibes than the lyrics. saying that, there is a sense that the lyrics align with Kall’s perspective as a city elf, and her feelings towards those in positions of power and authority - humans more than other races, because of their own personal experiences.

A feeling: duty

Kall is driven by a strong sense of duty. they do what is expected of them, what they believe to be right. they dont factor what they want, or would prefer, into their decisions.

Mae Hawke

Colour: red

A deep red with hints of purple, hinting at Hawke’s humorous personality.

Flora: rose

Hawke’s favourite flower - she saw her dad give them to her mother as child, and she in turn gifted numerous to Fenris

Fauna: mabari

Hawke loves mabari. She especially loves her mabari, creatively named Dog. They’re also deeply loyal, as Hawke herself is.

An object: hair ribbon

while now old, tattered, and slightly stained, Hawke always wears this hair ribbon. her sister tied it in her hair the day they left home because of the Blight.

A song: the past has passed away by des rocs

Hawke is haunted by her past, but refuses to properly acknowledge it. she keeps going, keeps moving forward, staying upbeat, yet with aggressive undertones. i think this song captures those vibes

A feeling: loss

Hawke’s life is just a long string of loses, first losing her father, then her sister, then her mother. her brother joins the templars, and actively hates her, despite everything Hawke did to ensure his safety, and in doing so lost him too. after the events of da2, her found family also quickly dispersed, and Hawke found herself alone with her ghosts

Trilan Lavellan

Colour: green

green was Trilan’s colour before the mark branded his hand. but it was a less vibrant, sickly green, instead something deeper and murkier, matching the shifting greens of the forest. his green is a deeper, saturated, and lighter green to also represent his hope and compassion

Flora: forget-me-not

Trilan has memory issues, everything blurred and fuzzy in his mind - even his memories of those most important to him. he also loses himself in the mantle of Inquisitor, forgetting himself, but also being forgotten by those around him, and those who tell his story

Fauna: halla

Trilan was a halla rider, and spent most of his time before the events of da:i exploring the free marches with his halla, a sense of freedom in those moments he never felt again. halla are also gentle creatures, much like Trilan himself, not prone to violence

An object: poorly carved wooden wolf

with his memory problems, Trilan relies on physical objects as cues. although he doesn’t remember the exact story behind the object, it was clearly carved by a child, small enough to fit in the palm of the hand. the imagery evokes the memory of a story of a wolf - a lone wolf abandoned by their pack, looking for a new home. Trilan often runs his thumb over it while sitting around campfires on expeditions. all his companions know about the small item.

A song: haunt by bastille

Trilan is constantly haunted by memories he can’t quite recall. he is haunted by a past and an identity he can’t acknowledge, and the mantle of herald/inquisitor he can’t shake off. there’s a sense of nostalgia and longing to this song that Trilan felt especially after the end of Trespasser, with his friends all going their separate ways, and Trilan leaving them all behind.

tbh, ‘we three (my echo, my shadow, and me) by the ink spots) is also a really good one for Trilan. the slightly hopeful, cheery tone matches his temperament, while also demonstrating the sense of loneliness and isolation he felt during da:i and afterwards.

A feeling: compassion

Trilan is driven by compassion. he just wants to help other people. although not always perceived to be the best political or efficient move, he does what he can to help others, and to show kindness where he can

my dragon age protags in symbolism!

(template) (also inspired by @dungeons-and-dragon-age’s post)

[blossom-hwa]

the things we lost along the way | k.th

remember when I was crying over rewriting lavender mist for my writing workshop? this is the rewrite that nearly killed me. hope y’all enjoy this as much (read: cried as much) as I did writing it

Pairing: Taehyun x Beomgyu (can be read as romantic or platonic, it’s up to your interpretation really)

Genre: angst, apocalypse!au

Warnings: cursing, character death, mentions of blood and guns, zombies

Word Count: 5.9k

As the world around him falls, Taehyun keeps moving on.

Lavender Mist | TXT Masterlist

The end of the world isn’t as barren as Taehyun thought it would be.

Every apocalyptic movie he remembers—and to be fair, his memory has gone a bit fuzzy after years of trudging along cracked sidewalks and empty streets, not a single movie to be seen—painted the world as something gray, dusty, bleak, as though with the collapse of humanity, the earth would collapse too. Taehyun would watch, heart in his throat as survivors did everything they could to continue living even though the warm embrace of Mother Earth had long turned cold as marble. With the loss of her favorite children, the human race, it seemed she had lost the will to live as well.

Taehyun thinks about this some nights, staring up at the glittering expanse of stars in the dark sky. In the absence of artificial light spilling through the abandoned cities, they sparkle playfully, cheerfully, a milky expanse of jewels against the blanket of night, oblivious to the destruction that haunted humanity just several years prior.

And that’s how Taehyun knows the Earth doesn’t care.

Which makes sense. The Earth survived perfectly well on its own for millions of years before humanity decided to encroach on its territory. One glance around at the overgrown grass and flowers and trees, greenery shooting up from sidewalk cracks and tangling around abandoned cars and homes, tells all. As soon as humanity was ruined, Mother Earth took her territory back with a vengeance.

She never needed humans. Probably never wanted them either.

The few stragglers left in the disasters’ wake bow to her will and turn their attention to survival—slogging through the vines that choke the streets, hiding from the predators who have grown bold at the sight of their mother’s beckoning hand, fending off the creatures of their own creation, cannibalistic flesh-eating monsters with no way to satiate their hunger. They forge on, trying to survive and perhaps trying to live, but the two are not equivalent and the Earth has certainly tried to make the latter more difficult than the first, so more often than not the first comes without the second and the remnants of humanity become zombies of another kind—jaded, weary, husks of what they once were.

And yet day by day, night by night, when Taehyun wakes from his slumber under a blanket of diamond stars, he only rubs the aches out of his neck, slings his bag over his shoulder, and continues trying to live.

. . . . .

There was a time when he wasn’t alone. When he was not one but one of a group of what felt like many, those who’d survived the initial outbreak and banded together in the beginning. It was a long time ago but Taehyun remembers it anyway, a time when he could still pretend things might be okay.

But as the weeks passed, their numbers grew fewer and fewer. People set out to search for food and disappeared. Sometimes they returned as the undead. Others left of their own accord while even more became sick, and without the aid of hospitals and medicine they wasted away. Slowly, the group dwindled, until Taehyun remembers being one of three—him, and two boys he’d known in the time before. Beomgyu, a boy he saw at school. Kai, his best friend since they were four.

It’s Kai who leaves first.

Taehyun remembers him clearly—for his bright, wide smile that never failed to cheer Taehyun up, for his dolphin laugh that had helped him through many a bad day in class. For the way Kai’s fingers could waltz across piano keys in the most enchanting dances, serenity painted in every feature of his face.

For their close friendship even before the apocalypse took everything from them, and for the bullet hole Taehyun shot into his forehead when he finally died.

It happens like this. Kai grows close with two boys in the days when they number more than three, Yeonjun and Soobin. Taehyun likes them. So does Beomgyu. Together, when they’re five, it sometimes feels like things won’t always be this bad.

But Soobin falls ill one day, racked with fever and chills they can do nothing to get rid of. Yeonjun sets out to find something, anything to help—some water in a ruined supermarket, a can of soup from someone’s pantry, a yet unexpired bottle of ibuprofen—and promises he’ll be back in a day.

He never returns.

Soobin goes soon after, his forehead burning in the last moments before he turns cold under the unforgiving night sky. And for a while, it feels like—betrayal, almost. Soobin’s terrible fever, easily treatable in a hospital but deadly in the then-wasteland of an earth. Yeonjun’s broken promise, spoken with so much certainty but disavowed anyway. It’s bullshit, obviously. There was no betrayal there. Soobin and Yeonjun would have stayed if they could. They just…couldn’t.

But then Kai leaves, and that’s real anger. Real betrayal.

I’m sorry. But everyone’s leaving, and I can’t take it anymore, so I have to leave first. Don’t look for me.

That’s it. That’s all he leaves behind, familiarly messy handwriting scribbled in pencil on a scrap of dirty paper. Taehyun doesn’t have the note anymore, having crumpled it up and thrown it as far as he could once he could process the words, but he couldn’t forget those three sentences if he tried.

Taehyun wonders, sometimes, if things would have happened the same way if he’d been more observant. Less consumed in his own grief. Able to see Kai, really see him in the days after Yeonjun and Soobin left, if the emptiness of Kai’s silences had been able to permeate the dull gray of his thoughts. Would Kai have come to him? Would he have been convinced to stay?

Would Taehyun still have had to kill his best friend, been the one to hold the smoking gun as a bullet bore a hole in Kai’s brain?

It had been a month or so since Kai left. They looked for him in spite of his plea not to, combed the neighborhood for days as the undead roamed and the sun burned fiercely overhead. But then Beomgyu had a close call—too close—with a zombie, and Taehyun forced himself to clear his sight. Kai chose his path. He wouldn’t be coming back. So they moved on—as five minus two minus one.

And then, on a day as hot as an inferno, a shadow moves in the corner of Taehyun’s eye.

For a moment, he almost marks it off as a hallucination, as a mirage in the heat shimmers rising from the ground. Not real, not worth his attention. But then Beomgyu gasps.

“Kai.”

Taehyun whips his head around, and there’s his old friend in the shadows, staring back at them with shattered eyes.

Everything in Taehyun screams for him to sprint forward, to grab Kai and shake him and hug him and maybe punch him a few times. Say a garbled mix of something like fuck you for leaving and how did you find us and I’m so glad you’re back and what happened to you—

But from the black veins creeping up his neck, Taehyun knows exactly what happened to his friend.

“Taehyun.” Kai’s voice cracks on the syllables of Taehyun’s name, but his shattered eyes are clear, so clear. He doesn’t step forward, but Taehyun has to fight the urge to step back. “Please.”

Please. His head spins. Please. Please what—

Kai’s eyes drop to the gun at his side, and Taehyun understands.

“No.” He shakes his head wildly, finally taking the step back. “No, no—Kai—I can’t—”

“Please.”

The word pierces Taehyun’s skull.

“For me.”

Beomgyu puts a hand on Taehyun’s shoulder. He barely feels it, but he does hear when Beomgyu’s whisper flutters past his ear. “You don’t have to.”

In a way, Beomgyu’s right. Taehyun doesn’t have to—in the strictest definition of the word. He doesn’t have to raise the gun, put Kai out of his misery the way Kai wants him to. The world will move on if he doesn’t. He could turn around and walk away and nothing would be any different. Besides, Kai was the one who left first.

But—he does, though, in a sick, twisted sort of way. Because Kai’s been bitten and if he doesn’t die, he’ll live forever in the worst way possible. Because if Taehyun does turn away, he’ll be condemning Kai to a fate they’ve both agreed is worse than death. Because Kai is still his best friend, no matter what, and who is Taehyun to resist a dying boy’s last wish anyway?

Taehyun’s hands are cold. He doesn’t shrug off Beomgyu’s grip, the only true warmth on this blisteringly hot day, but he does manage to shake his head. “No,” he replies, numb fingers wrapping around the barrel of the gun. “No, I do.”

Kai stares up at Taehyun as he readies the weapon, shattered eyes almost whole as a little smile glimmers on his face. “Thanks,” he whispers, and for a moment, Taehyun can’t do it. Won’t do it. This Kai looks too much like the old one, the one with a bright smile and a dolphin screech laugh and dark eyes that glittered with mischief—

Dark eyes marred, now, by blackened veins crawling across his pale, burned skin.

Almost on reflex, Taehyun pulls the trigger. Bang.

What remains of Kai slumps over, blood and brains pooling in a deep red puddle on the dusty ground.

Taehyun stands there for a while. A second, a minute, an hour—he’s not sure, even now. All he remembers is feeling cold, so cold despite the sun burning his skin, unable to tear his gaze away from the remnants of his best friend.

“Taehyun.”

When he finally reacts to his name, Beomgyu has definitely said it more than once. His grip has tightened on Taehyun’s shoulder but when Taehyun twitches, the warm hand slides down to his wrist. “Come on,” Beomgyu says quietly, tugging slightly. “We need to go.”

Blood and brains, still open eyes. Taehyun doesn’t move.

“Taehyun.” The grip tightens. “Let’s go.”

Go.

Let’s go.

“Taehyun.”

Taehyun forces his eyes away from the bloody hole blown into Kai’s head. Vaguely, he feels the gun being peeled out of his hand, hears the safety clicking back on. Beomgyu tugs at his arm again and with a final whisper of his name Taehyun follows, numbly, Kai’s bloody face all he can see.

. . . . .

How do you remember the dead?

Even now, Taehyun isn’t sure of the answer. The internet is gone along with electricity—pictures on devices are inaccessible, phones useless without their chargers and cameras useless without a battery. Photos are easily crumpled and ruined, soaked by rain or marred with dust and grime, and the time it takes to properly sketch and color a scene to remember is a luxury no one can afford anymore. It’s not as if Taehyun ever had the skill for it anyway.

Memory, then. But the brain is a fickle thing, impermanent and messy compared to the printed photos he once held in his pocket, the pictures he had saved on his phone. It remembers what he wishes it wouldn’t, and it lets go of what he holds most dear. The voices of his family, his friends. Their smiles, their laughs. Ghosts, all of them—so faint, so pale compared to the horrors that haunt him now. These are the things that leave.

Kai’s bloody face is one of the things that stays.

It haunts him in the days after, the vision of blood and gore. The gun barrel between his hands. The broken look in Kai’s eyes. The trigger beneath his finger, the shot exploding through the air, Kai’s body falling in an almost graceful arc before it thudded to the ground. Beomgyu’s shaking fingers wrapped around his wrist as he pulled Taehyun away. It’s so vivid in the way Kai’s last smiles aren’t. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair.

Which is why—why, when Taehyun’s ears finally stop ringing, when he finally starts breathing, when he stops seeing Kai’s bloody face in every one of his dreams—why he can’t take it when Beomgyu finally tells him how.

Beomgyu. It’s hard to believe he’d barely known the boy before everything fell to pieces—just another kid he’d seen hanging around at school, loud and playful and endlessly kind in an almost careless way as though he didn’t realize he was as thoughtful as he was. He’d scared Taehyun a little, so brash and cheerful all at once, sweet chaos personified in his lightning sharp smile and laugh. Never did Taehyun think they could become close—he was quiet, reserved, a little cynical, nothing like Beomgyu’s joyous raucousness and optimism. At least not until Kai died, and there was no one left.

It had been five days. Five days after the gunshot, five days during which Beomgyu kept their one gun wide out of Taehyun’s reach despite the fact that he was probably a better shot than Beomgyu would ever be. It didn’t matter. He barely remembers those five days, but he does know he wasn’t thinking much. Just seeing. Feeling. Reliving. A faint smile, a whispered thanks, the trigger beneath his finger…

He’s lucid. He had to have been or he wouldn’t have heard Beomgyu’s words, the words he’d probably been saying for several days to unhearing ears. But he hears this time. Hears it when Beomgyu says—

“They’re still with us.”

Anger. Or something. Taehyun remembers that much. Anger isn’t the right word, but whatever it was it took hold of him and wrenched the grief from his chest and he remembers thinking how dare you, how fucking dare you try to say that now when there’s nothing left to substantiate your stupid hope—

“How do you know?” He had Beomgyu’s dirty shirt collar in his grip, the older boy looking up at him with eyes wide in confusion, surprise, burgeoning anger of his own. “How do you fucking know? How could you say that to me, how could you try and say that after I killed him with my own damn hands?”

And then he was crying, and his grip on Beomgyu’s shirt was gone, and every single tear he hadn’t been able to shed over the death of his best friend apparently decided it was the perfect fucking time to release itself, and he was crying, and crying, and crying—

Beomgyu’s face swam in his vision. It’s one of Taehyun’s clearest memories now, that blurry view of Beomgyu’s face drawn tight with a pinched expression Taehyun recognized from his own few encounters with a mirror since it all started. Because that was when he remembered that Beomgyu was grieving, too. That he wasn’t the only one in pain.

Yet despite that grief, Beomgyu’s eyes had turned soft. No longer angry. And Taehyun didn’t understand. Because he’d killed someone, killed someone they both knew and loved, so why was Beomgyu still here and trying to comfort him of all things when he was still in pain?

“He’s dead,” he’d sobbed. “He’s dead, and I killed him.”

“He asked you to,” Beomgyu had said quietly.

It’s true. Kai’s eyes had been so clear, so lucid when he asked, despite the blackened veins. Nothing like the glazed grief when Yeonjun and Soobin went. Nothing like the empty silence he’d held the night before he left. But even then…

“It wasn’t fair of him to,” Beomgyu continued, just as quiet. “But he did.”

Not fair. Not fair—not fair not fair not fair not fair—

“None of this,” Taehyun had gritted out, “is fucking fair.”

“It isn’t,” Beomgyu agreed. “And they know that.”

Clear as day, unsaid words had hung in the air.

None of this is your fault.

Then Beomgyu’s words, quiet, carrying like a gunshot through the silence.

“That’s why I think they’re still with us. And that’s why I dare to say it.”

. . . . .

So maybe it isn’t remembering, then. Just…a sort of knowing. Knowing that they were there. Knowing that they lived. Knowing that he loved them, and knew them, and that they loved and knew him too. Because he was touched by them when they lived, and so long as he lives too, a part of them will still be alive.

That’s what Beomgyu says, anyway, when Taehyun asks. It’s a dark night and they’re lying in another abandoned house, desperately trying to ignore the picture frames of a happy family haunting the walls. Some of them have fallen to the floor, probably knocked over by some ransacking survivor too worried about food to care about a few smashed picture frames and panes of glass.

Or maybe the photos just unsettled them as much as they unsettle Taehyun, and they actually gave in to the urge to throw them on the ground.

“How can you think that?” Taehyun asks, and there’s no venom this time. He wants to know. Because he still sees Kai’s face whenever he closes his eyes, blood and a smile and stifling smoke rising from a gun in his hand, and he needs it to stop. He’d like to think that way. He just needs to believe in it.

“I don’t know,” is Beomgyu’s first response, voice almost snappish and uncharacteristically sharp. He softens, though, as he looks back at Taehyun. “I just…” He swallows. “I don’t think I’d be able to live if I didn’t believe in it.”

They sit in silence for a bit as Taehyun mulls over Beomgyu’s words. I don’t think I’d be able to live if I didn’t believe in it. He relates. It feels like if he doesn’t believe in something, the grief will drown him alive.

But for some reason, he still isn’t convinced.

“I feel like I’m dying,” Taehyun says quietly. “Every moment, even when I’m not.” Drowning in what was, what is, what could have been.

“So do I,” Beomgyu replies. “But believing it makes things easier.”

“How?” Taehyun asks again, because for all he tries he can’t seem to understand. “I just—”

Beomgyu nudges his shoulder, cutting him off. “Look at the stars.”

Taehyun looks out the window. The black night glitters with little diamond stars, so bright and so beautiful that his breath catches for a moment. How had he never noticed them before?

“Sometimes, when it’s my turn to watch, I look at them. And I pretend.” Taehyun follows the line of Beomgyu’s finger as he points to the sky. His eyes glitter in the starlight, soft and shining, all-knowing, so full of a lovely foreign hope. “Like, maybe that’s my mom. And my dad, and my brother in that little cluster over there. And maybe Yeonjun and Soobin and Kai right…there.” His finger shifts slightly before it lowers. “That’s how, Taehyun.”

Taehyun keeps staring out the window, at the glittering expanse of starlight streaking across the night. He stares, and stares, and tries to summon the hope that sparkles so beautifully in Beomgyu’s eyes.

Instead, all he can think is that the stars shouldn’t shine so bright when everyone he loves is dead.

. . . . .

It’s not the only fancy of Beomgyu’s that Taehyun doesn’t understand. Beomgyu sees so many stars in the sky, finds hope in weird little things—a tiny flower by the side of the road, a single whole lollipop in a dusty convenience store, wind breezing past his face at night as it sweeps through his long, unkempt hair. It’s fascinating to Taehyun, really—that Beomgyu can go through so much, can see Kai’s bloody face in his memories every day, and still find something in nothing and believe it matters. Patient, relentless optimism, even as the world grows harsher and more unforgiving with every day that passes.

(“We still have good in this world,” he says one night under the moon and stars. “We’ve survived this long, Taehyun. I have to believe that someday, things will come back.”)

There are so many strange things Taehyun remembers about Beomgyu, so many of those twinkling stars in the night sky. Humming melodies of old songs to empty air. Breathing in the scent of flowers so deeply he choked. Making bracelets of five colors of string braided together one night as Taehyun slept, then looping one around his wrist when he woke.

“I found the stuff in a random room and remembered making these when I was a kid,” he says by way of explanation when Taehyun asks, shrugging almost carelessly as he ties off the braid. “Got bored when you were sleeping.”

It feels strange, the soft, thin braid tickling Taehyun’s wrist, shifting against his skin as he turns it this way and that. Five threads messily twisted and turned together. Five colors, five boys, five friends…

He looks at Beomgyu, raising an eyebrow to hide the lump welling in his throat. “You sure this is a braid?” he asks, and neither of them says anything about the way his voice catches on the last word.

Beomgyu sticks out his tongue and Taehyun has to hide a smile at how ridiculous the older boy looks, eyes narrowed and glinting with mock hurt and mischief. “You don’t need to wear it if you don’t want to, jerk.”

Even as Beomgyu says the words, though, Taehyun knows that nothing could induce him ever to take it off on his own. Because for all he doesn’t understand Beomgyu’s stars in a dark, dark night, there’s still something about the stars in Beomgyu’s own eyes that makes Taehyun want to listen to everything the loud-mouthed boy has to say. A candle lit in the dark, a rope thrown to the drowning.

A single star in Taehyun’s black night, the only one he could ever say was truly beautiful.

Which is why, perhaps, when the bracelet falls apart several months later, Taehyun feels like something in his chest has been ripped open and torn out. It was bound to happen, he knows—the strings were already thin and faded before Beomgyu found them, and the dirt and dust and grime of every day under the hot sun couldn’t have helped in any sort of way. But still, when the broken braid falls from his arm to the dust on the ground, he tries to pick it up, to tie it back where it belonged against his skin, dirty and faded as it is.

It's Beomgyu who stops him, a hand on his wrist. “Leave it,” he says quietly, his fingers wrapping gently around Taehyun’s arm. “It’s done what it can.”

Taehyun cries that night, tears running hot and silent down his cheeks as Beomgyu breathes softly in his sleep next to him. And when Beomgyu wakes up to his quiet sobs, he doesn’t stop the older boy from wrapping his arms around him, bringing Taehyun’s head down to his shoulder, and letting the tears soak into his shirt.

Because for all it seemed Taehyun never understood Beomgyu, it had always felt like Beomgyu understood him.

. . . . .

Material things don’t last. It’s one of the first things Taehyun learned in the days since his world fell to pieces—when the photos he carried of his family fell apart, victims of dust and rain and his sweaty pockets, when the mementos of home he tried to take became more burdens than memories and he had to leave them behind. When Beomgyu’s bracelet broke, leaving his wrist too naked, too bare, as if he’d lost a layer of protection against the weapons of the earth.

Beomgyu knew this. Taehyun was there when Beomgyu’s own photos became too crumpled and torn to salvage, when the braid he made for himself disappeared beneath the dust and dirt of the earth just days after Taehyun lost his. For all his sentimental nature, Beomgyu knows the world around him, knows that despite the hot sun, it is cold and unforgiving to those who have wronged it. There’s no space in their bags for luxuries, not anymore.

So when Taehyun finds the empty can of lavender Febreze in Beomgyu’s bag, he feels like he should be surprised. The last of the scent has long since been dispersed into the air, memories of the smell relegated to the back of his mind, so when it comes out in his hand he blinks a little and for a moment there is some surprise—he’d thought Beomgyu tossed it when it emptied. But then he blinks again, and Taehyun has to wonder how he ever could’ve thought Beomgyu would even think of throwing it away.

It had been a rare cool day when Beomgyu plucked the can off a barren supermarket shelf and shoved it in his bag, despite Taehyun’s raised eyebrows and obvious concern for the state of his remaining sanity. Taehyun hadn’t asked questions then, but when they found shelter for the evening, he’d raised a pointed eyebrow as Beomgyu produced the can from his bag.

“Don’t interrogate me!” Beomgyu had yelped, hands raised in mock indignation as Taehyun fought to hide a smile at his antics. “I’m innocent!”

“I wasn’t going to interrogate you,” he’d replied, giving up on hiding the smile. There was no point anyway, not when Beomgyu looked so carefree, so happy, so unchanged despite the cruelty of the world around him. “I just want to know.”

The hands came down, but Beomgyu’s smile stayed. “I don’t know,” he’d said, shrugging. “It was just there, so I took it.” Taehyun had snorted at that (the most Beomgyu reply ever), but he wasn’t done. “I guess I just…didn’t want to leave with nothing at all.”

Despite the previous levity, Taehyun remembers a tightness in his chest, a pricking behind his eyes as he stared at the almost garishly purple can in Beomgyu’s dirty hand. That was something he could understand.

“Do you even know how it smells?” he’d asked, ignoring the stupid lump in his throat. He’d never quite given up on that habit, not even long after Beomgyu proved he could read Taehyun no matter how he tried to keep his tears quiet.

But Beomgyu didn’t say anything, just looked at the can with a guiltily mischievous expression on his face. His finger rested on the valve as he looked back up at Taehyun, ready to shrug again as he grinned. “Look, it has to be better than everything we smell outside.”

It was better, but mostly because it’s hard not to be better than the stench of rotting corpses mixed with the tang of dried blood and coupled with the scent of blooming flowers in the hot wind that somehow makes it all worse. Strong, too—clearly a year of sitting unused on a shelf hadn’t done much to dampen the can’s scent. When Beomgyu sprayed it, more on accident than anything else, they had to stifle coughs and sneezes for too many minutes as the mist tickled their noses.

And yet they kept it.

Which is weird, because most useless things that Taehyun and Beomgyu, despite his inner child, would put in the same category as questionable year-old Febreze get left behind. It’s a luxury, and there’s no space for luxuries in their bags—not phones, not photos, not dingy string bracelets braided with threads of five different colors. Things like Febreze weren’t supposed to have held a place in their lives.

But as the days pass, Beomgyu carves a place for its too-strong flowery sweet scent. A tiny puff in the air nearby when they’re finally safe from a zombie attack, a small spray to freshen up their latest shelter after sweeping one too many piles of dirt out the door. And as they keep struggling through their barren world, emptying the can on their way, Taehyun begins to wonder—when humanity has completely fallen and another race takes up the earth, what will they be remembered by? Will it be the broken braided bracelets threaded in five different colors fallen by the side of the road? Will it be photos of the dead left in abandoned frames in abandoned homes, or stuffed in dirty bags and soiled by dust and rain?

Will it be an empty can of lavender mist at the bottom of a survivor’s bag, the strong, sweet scent of home still a wisp in the air?

Because for all the tickle of lavender mist grates on Taehyun’s nose at the start, slowly, subtly, it does begin to smell of home. Of rest. Of respite. Of Beomgyu’s comfort on the days when Taehyun can’t hold the gun for fear of seeing Kai’s bloody face in front of him, when Taehyun can only see death and disaster in every street they pass, when he can’t stand without the world crashing down on his shoulders. On these days, there’s always the weight of Beomgyu’s hand in his, the press of his body against Taehyun’s during sleepless nights, the brief dusting of lavender mist into the air…

And one day, the scent isn’t too strong. It isn’t too sweet. It’s a break, a respite, a piece of the old world that miraculously wasn’t lost even in the wake of disaster.

When Taehyun looks at Beomgyu then—really looks at Beomgyu—as he spritzes small bursts of mist into the air of their new makeshift shelter, it only takes him a minute to realize that Beomgyu feels this way, too. That he’s probably felt it for a long time.

So when Taehyun finds the empty can in Beomgyu’s bag, after the momentary surprise, he blinks once, and twice, and remembers the scent. Remembers the sentiment. Remembers this reminder, however, small, of home.

How could Beomgyu have thrown this away?

He tries the valve, even though he knows it’s empty. Nothing comes out.

It’s been three days since Beomgyu went. Three days since he showed Taehyun the bite festering black and red, three days since he drew the gun at his belt and weighed it in his hand, three days since he smiled at Taehyun, lips trembling, and raised the muzzle to his temple.

(“I won’t ask you to do it. I can give you that much.”)

Only then, with the empty metal can in his hand, does Taehyun finally cry.

For his parents, who were at work when the outbreak got to them and never managed to get out alive.

For his friends who passed first, three of the five strings that frayed over the years until the knotted bracelet fell off his wrist, one ill, one disappeared, one shot.

For Beomgyu, the fourth string and his only family left, his last thread of hope in this heartless world.

For him, Taehyun, the fifth string and the last one alive, so far from home and never to return.

Taehyun cries for the hope Beomgyu carried that was destroyed three days ago with a bullet Beomgyu shot with his very own hands. A bullet that took the last of everything he had, leaving him with—

Nothing.

(What will the world remember him by when he goes?)

When Taehyun wakes the next day, eyes red and cheeks sticky with tears, something in him begs to stay still. What use is there in forging on, in living when everything else has been lost, when there’s nothing and no one left to survive for?

(A crumpled family photo dissolved in the rain?)

Is there even a point?

(A broken braid of five frayed strings, buried under the dust by the road?)

Taehyun stares at the gun by his side. Loaded. Always within arm’s reach. So easy to lift, so easy to position, so easy to use. It would be so simple to mimic Beomgyu’s actions from three days ago. Lift. Point. Pull. Bang.

(Or the trail of bodies left in his wake, one ill, one disappeared, two shot with the very gun by his side?)

But he only rolls over. Stands. Places the empty can back in Beomgyu’s bag, picks it up along with his. Slings them over his back.

And starts walking.

(Perhaps a can of lavender mist at the bottom of a beaten-up bag, the remnants of a scent that came from home.)

In a world lost to monsters and the extremes of the earth, following the base human instinct to survive is all that is possible, sometimes. The dead litter the earth—bodies in the streets, memories in the air. To think of it all is madness. To try and comprehend it might be suicide.

But to forget, completely and entirely…

Many do. Many try. It is easier to shut off the part of the mind that loves and cherishes and remembers, to wither into a dry husk of what once was. But Taehyun remembers, bits and pieces. His mother’s gentle voice. His father’s booming laugh. Yeonjun’s reassuring grip, Soobin’s soft smile, Kai’s musicality woven into everything he ever did.

Beomgyu’s hand in his own under a night sky full of stars, fingers loosely intertwined with a promise of hope he will never understand.

So as others forget, Taehyun remembers, fiercely. Because while there is nothing left for him, there is still something left for those who have gone. A hope. A dream. A wish. A prayer whispered on lavender scented air, too sweet and too strong and smelling so much of home—a prayer that things will be okay.

And if they are, even if it only becomes true in the last moments of Taehyun’s life, he has to see it. For them.

It isn’t easy. It isn’t fair. Some days, his chest constricts so he cannot breathe. Some days, he can’t lift himself from the ground, so he tries to give up. But every day, when the sun sets and the moon rises and the stars come out to play, Taehyun remembers a hand held in his, starlight dancing in a pair of dark eyes. He remembers a cackling laugh beautiful even when it was hushed, the easy weight of a body pressed against his, the warmth of a smile that meant safety. He remembers an empty can of lavender mist at the bottom of his bag, its faint scent still perfuming the air.

He remembers a boy whose smiles never made sense, who found things beautiful Taehyun could never dream of comprehending, but whose hope was perhaps the most beautiful thing of all.

So when morning comes, Taehyun stands. Breathes.

And continues on.

The sun beats harsh on his brow. Branches catch on his clothes. The snarl of animals and the undead alike whisper faint in his ears. But day by day, Taehyun fights his way through the strangling embrace of Mother Nature, slogging through overgrown grass with sweat in his hair, cuts on his skin, tears in his eyes…

And the scent of lavender mist in his nose, no matter where he goes.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 huge hug for Taehyun, and also a hug for me because writing this actually made me fucking cry several times)

[wafflesinthe504]

The Dragon Prince Headcanons

Lemon Tea: What are mornings like with them?

Janai/Amaya

After they finally admit they like each other and start dating mornings between the two of them are gentle even if communicating in the beginning is rough. In the beginning of their relationship Amaya often has to write to talk. She often leaves teasing notes for Janai in the morning as she gets up to check on her troops. Janai usually wakes up a few minutes later once the sun has fully risen and gets a good laugh at whatever note Amaya has left her.  After they’re both done with their morning duties and responsibilities they’ll sometimes go back to their tent and have some breakfast together before facing the rest of the day ahead of them. In the beginning either Kazi or Gren would accompany them sometimes to make communicating easier.

Rosehip tea: How romantic are they? How do they show affection?

Rayllum

Callum truly is a romantic at heart. His romance style ranges from traditional to very cheesy. As soon as Callum and Rayla start to date he finds himself constantly drawing Rayla in different poses and situations. One of his favorite drawings of Rayla is one that shows Rayla sitting in the meadow in Silvergrove with the moonlight shining down on her with two fuzzy creature sitting one her shoulders. Its one of the moments where Rayla looked truly peaceful.

Rayla tries to be romantic, but things doesn’t always go as planned. She finds that she’s better at the more spontaneous moments of romance than trying plan something out weeks or months in advance. She likes to bring Callum to new spots in Xadia, different festivals, and back to her village. Rayla knows how much Callum loves learning about and experiencing different cultures so she always tries to make sure includes interesting tidbits of information while showing Callum around. Additionally, she starts carrying around a magical lantern that originated from the Sunfire elves that lights up with a bright flame at night. This is to help when Callum decides to capture landscapes and portraits of people at night. It doesn’t hurt that it also gives off enough heat to keep warm during the winter.   

Janaya

Janai is extremely romantic. She loves planning dates and excursions for her and Amaya. For the wedding proposal Janai planned it out nearly down to the minute for months in hopes of getting everything right. Janai knows that Amaya doesn’t need all of the wining and dining but she just loves doing these types of thing for her fiancée because of how deep the fire of her love runs. Sure Janai has dated before but none of them have made her feel as loved, safe, and cared for like Amaya does. So Janai does her best to make sure Amaya knows how much she loves her.

Amaya isn’t nearly as romantic as Janai, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t show her love for her fiancée everyday, it just happens in the quieter moments of their lives. Such as in the mornings when she wakes Janai up with a few kisses anywhere and everywhere she can reach or at night when she drags Janai to bed when she’s burning the midnight oil with no end in sight reminding her even a queen needs sleep. On the nights when Janai simply refuses or can’t sleep Amaya brings her a few snacks and offers any help that she can give.

Rooibos Tea; What’s their favourite thing to do with their s/o?

Callum and Rayla’s favorite thing to do together is traveling around to different parts of Xadia and Katolis along with the other human kingdom. Rayla loves to show Callum all of the rare and interesting places in Xadia. She loves teaching him about the different customs and traditions that are apart of the moonshadow elf culture and Callum loves learning about it just as much. Rayla loves that Callum is always willing and ready to learn something new whether its some part of history that Rayla thinks is particularly interesting, to learning about the different creatures and plants, or even just something as mundane as a book that she read as a child. It’s the same vice versa Callum loves teaching Rayla about traditions and customs in Katolis and the traditions and customs there. He really enjoys explaining how humans manage to do certain tasks without magic. Callum also enjoys telling Rayla about the different sports that they have. They also find themselves in much funnier discussions talking about what a pinky is for and what having horns is like.

chamomile tea; what is their sleep schedule like? does it change around their s/o?

Rayllum Both Callum and Rayla have terrible sleep schedules. Its a simple fact. Callum often finds himself drawing and reading late into the night. Rayla is restless and has a hard time getting herself to stay still long enough to really allow her body to relax enough to fall asleep. Oddly enough though they both start to have a semi regular sleep schedule when they find themselves going on adventures. This is at least partially due to the fact any of their adventures tend to include a lot of running away from things or having to trek extremely long distances. It doesn’t hurt that during these trips that they sometimes find themselves on other side quests helping people they encounter along the way. As a result, by the time they are finally able to slow down and find a safe place to rest for a while their bodies are ready to give in to the appeal of sleep.

[unicyclehippo]

Hi! If you're interested and have the time, would you write what the first natural 20 or first death saving throw for the Hellfire club dnd campaign with the older teens? Really love that whole interaction with Robin and Will by the way, I hope they get to talk more as the game progresses.

eddie hadn’t expected it, that much is very clear from the brief horror that flicks across his face.

‘i’m dead?’ nancy says, and her voice shakes.

steve’s pencil breaks in his grip. the snap makes robin jump and he mutters an apology but can’t look away from nancy. he looks about as bad as robin feels; her heart is gonna get bruises from slamming so hard against her chest and her jaw aches from biting down so hard on her words.

‘you’re not dead,’ eddie says. ‘you’re just unconscious.’ his storyteller demeanour drops as easily as a cheap mask and he gives her a reassuring smile that quickly expands to all three of them. ‘talk it out, guys—harrington, you’re a cleric, buckley, you’re a ranger, i know you guys have healing spells—‘

‘yeah but she’s forty feet from robin and i’m even further back and cure wounds is a touch spell. we can’t make it, not this round,’ steve points out.

robin scowls at the map.

they’re fighting a pack of not-dogs. steve had gone pale when eddie first mentioned dogs around the ruins they were exploring; that was two weekends ago and robin had lingered afterwards, ostensibly to clean up but really because eddie didn’t know all the shit steve had gotten into in the years before. robin didn’t know much more than eddie, but she knew enough that having them fight dogs would bring back bad memories for him, and robin has been getting used to sleeping through the night again. so she stayed and told him about demodogs and no-faced man-things who drag people through portals and he had quietly added those to the list of things none of them wanted to talk about underneath vines and guns and clocks. which was why, when it came time to fight, eddie had been so fucking careful to describe something that wasn’t a dog. the creatures were blue and fuzzy and had stupid looking antenna instead of ears. bluffbears, eddie had called them—blue fluff bear monstrosities—and they had all laughed. steve especially hard.

they were stupid creatures and easily killed but nancy hadn’t rolled above a seven in hours and now her fighter was surrounded by three of them and unconscious. and robin is too far away.

a familiar pressure closes around her throat. the henderson living room kinda. flickers. everything goes hazy and bleak and desolate for a second—she’s alone, she’s alone, they’re gone, she’s alone—and robin swears she tastes ash. just as quickly, she’s back in her seat. she doesn’t think any of them noticed; steve is unfurling his hand from a too-tight fist, nancy is frowning down at her character sheet like she can make it work if she only frowns hard enough, and eddie is turning his skull ring over and over and over on his thumb, eyes flickering nervously over the map and their minis and his notes hidden behind the screen.

‘okay, okay, i can get within sixty feet to do a healing word next turn—‘

‘they’re going to try and eat her, steve, that’s not fast enough.’

‘but not a bad backup,’ nancy says, voice a little distant. she’s got a calculating glint in her eyes. ‘i have a healing potion.’

‘but we have to be next to you to give it to you,’ steve points out. the end of his pencil taps a frantic beat against his notebook.

robin scowls at the map. steve is down the other end from her—they had emerged from the ruins onto the rampart and nancy had insisted on scouting ahead of them as usual, and robin had lingered because frenchfry (her hyena) had smelled something weird—and now they’re staggered along this wall and nancy is on the ground in the forest and she’s too far away and dying and if she dies, the party will fall apart because they’re only here for him, for nancy’s character and his stupid noble lovely quest for redemption and—

‘i’m on a wall,’ robin blurts.

eddie nods. points with his marker. ‘yeah, the x’s mark the edge of the wall. you’ll have to get to the ruined part to climb down.’

robin looks him dead in the eye. ‘and if i jump?’

eddie blinks. robin doesn’t. all the way from the other end of the table, she can feel nancy’s eyes shoot up. boring into her.

‘robin, no,’

‘that’s a hell of a jump, buckley.’

‘how far?’

‘thirty feet.’

she doesn’t need to look at her health to know she’s doing bad. ‘okay.’

‘wait, wait, wait.’ steve plants his hands down, pushes nearly to standing. he’s scanning the map like there’s some secret on it, or way that he can do what she’s doing instead. ‘you can’t, dude! you got hit by those octopus things in the last room, you’ve gotta be hurt, right?’

‘i do it. i jump.’