#hope you don't mind that I just took your ask and than mangled it to servce my own purposes HAHA

[high-voltage-archive]

ouugh that must be so scary. knowing that right infront of each eye is something sharp. something that is a part of you. woahggg,,,,, and did the others not notice? as the points that make You up come closer and closer to stabbing you?? to blinding you? to a point of no return????? They do not notice as you are blinded by yourself. not intentionally though,, but simply through your own inaction??? and to know they do not care enough. that they will not see. perhaps you're yearning for someone to help and that is why you stayed your hand but. no help comes. and the points come ever closer.

sorry askdjfhaldgsg got thoughts about that image ko;l;klagf;lg

got a bit silly with this one

Extra under cut!

also sorry if it's not that readable/understandable. The gist of it is that Terminal is kinda delirious [injured for days on end and trapped in a pit] and when it sees Signal, it thinks that Signal's actually Whole [again, very much... not in his right mind]. Signal freaks out and books it cus... he's not dealing with that.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Ghosts

Written for @steddieangstyaugust, inspired by Dead Boy Detectives if you couldn't tell.

Steve should have seen it coming, really. Despite dating, driving the gang around, and being silly with Robin, he'd known for a long time he wouldn't live long enough to amount to anything. Everyone had plans, had a future. But Steve? He'd be lucky if he could give his imminent death a meaning.

Turns out, he couldn't. Or at least, not in the way he wanted.

It didn't matter if it was the guilt he'd been feeling ever since Eddie died and Max ended up brain dead, poor judgment, or simply wanting for the wait to already be over. Whatever the reason, he pulled "an Eddie" in August 1986. He didn't even ask, he just ran out as a distraction while the rest of his friends were trying to evacuate Max from the overran hospital. He got a few swings in, they got a few chomps. Then more than a few. In the end, he way lying on the ground, bleeding out, but his efforts didn't seem to matter. As soon as he took his last breath, the monsters just turned around and went back to Max's room. Steve didn't even have enough time to pray he'd bought them enough time.

"Oh shit. Stupid. So stupid."

Steve froze, or at least got startled. Which was something, you know, for a dead guy. If this was the voice of an angel welcoming him to the afterlife, it sure sounded like-

"Did I look this dumb when I died? I hope not. Why the fuck would you do that, Harrington, huh? Thought they no longer needed you? Can you imagine what it's going to do to Dustin when he finds out?"

Munson.

Steve opened his eyes and sat up. Nothing hurt. Weird.

What was even weirder? He came face to face with Edward Munson, recently deceased.

Eddie shrieked and fell back on his ass. He'd probably been crouching over Steve, but now he was splayed on the hospital floor, gaping at Steve as if he'd seen a-

Oh. Okay.

Steve turned around and grimaced. He was sitting in his own mangled corpse, which he wasn't too thrilled about. He sprung to his feet and, after giving his bloodied face one last look - they didn't get the hair, phew! - turned to Munson. "Fancy meeting you here. Are you, like, my afterlife welcoming comittee?"

Eddie made a vain effort to close his mouth. "Uh, no. Not really. I mean, there probably is someone coming to get you, but if you don't mind, I won't stick around for that. I don't think Death likes me very much, after I bolted on her."

Steve blinked in confusion. "Death…is a woman?"

"Oh yep. Very nice. Didn't even chase me when I freaked out and ran. Um. But you might want to wait for her. I will stick around for a bit longer." Even in death, Eddie hadn't changed. He pulled a strand of his hair in front of his face, and Steve wondered if he could chew on it, now that he was a ghost.

"But why? What is there to do?" Steve paused, thinking. "Wait. Is there something we can actually do? To help?"

That made Eddie laugh, although it was weak and incredulous. "Uh. Harrington. You've just died in like, a pretty painful and sadly heroic way, and your first thought is that you haven't done enough?"

"Doesn't feel like I have. Look," he said, offering Eddie a hand to pull him up, "if Death is coming, I'd rather not be here. Can we go and check on the others?" He wiggled his fingers at Eddie when he didn't respond.

The wiggle must have jolted Eddie's brain awake because he took Steve's hand. It was weird - he could feel the pressure where Eddie's hand met his, but there was no warmth, no texture. Possibly no pain, he thought. Useful.

"Right," Eddie cleared his throat. "Let's go. Just a bit of a warning - I think Will can see us. At least he looked very suspicious when I tried to sneak into your house when you all were staying there, and when I told him to just pretend he didn't notice anything, he nodded. So, uh. I guess he's special or something?"

They would learn quite a few things in their new existence. First of all, Will wasn't special. He just fit the criteria of "nearly died in the Upside Down or the newly merged realities", not just by being in danger, but being so close to death he almost didn't make it. Turns out, Hopper could see them too after his near death experience under the mall, and Hopper couldn't just be shushed.

Half-corporeal hugs were exchanged. Tears were shed, especially by Dustin and Robin. But they were all still together, for now. The danger was near and their grief had to wait.

By not quite so safe experimentation, Steve and Eddie found out that only two things could hurt them - other ghosts and iron. Luckily enough, none of the Upside Down creatures qualified as either. And so the party gained an invisible and indestructible vanguard - Eddie and Steve, both wielding their weapons of choice (Steve was overjoyed that he could just pick up his nail bat, and maybe that was a bit of a giveaway, seeing the bat floating towards the party with no body to hold it). They scouted ahead and reported back, either to Will and Hopper, or just by angrily scribbling in a notebook provided by Nancy. They couldn't sleep, so they would watch over the party in the night, allowing them the so much needed rest.

The months dragged on. Eleven kept her promise and saved Max, and when the pale redhead saw Eddie and Steve even with her damaged eyesight, no one was surprised. And as Upside Down crept further into their world, there were more injuries, more near death experiences, more tearful reunions. After being bitten by a demodog and almost bleeding out, Robin flung herself at Steve the second she could move and babbled about him being the absolute biggest idiot there ever was. He didn't dispute it, but hugged her tighter.

They were making progress. Still not enough to fix things, but they were getting there. And Steve's brain started another countdown to his and Eddie's potential second demise.

"Do you think we'll still be around, when the portal is closed?" he asked Eddie during one of their night vigils. "What if it's just the Upside Down that's keeping us here?"

Eddie, scribbling in a notebook, shrugged. "I don't know, and for the first time in my life - well, death - I don't have enough information to panic about that." He chewed on the pencil, meeting Steve's eyes with caution. "Might be nice though," he said slowly, "to stay. Do some more good, make sure everyone's safe. If you're in."

Steve laughed. "Wait. Are you, Eddie Munson, the mortal enemy of jocks, asking me to join you? Even when we're not neck deep in shit?"

"Mortal enemy…I mean, I lost the mortal part, and it felt so mundane to just keep the enemy. So yes, one position if Eddie Munson's afterlife has just opened up. Will Steven Harrington join me in it?"

Steve thought about it, and maybe he should have thought longer. Maybe he should have considered that eternity is a pretty long time, but his infrequent visits to the church taught him that heaven would mean being with his loved ones. He'd still be around if the party needed him. He'd see Robin off to college. And then, when everyone left…it would be just him and Eddie.

Him and Eddie. What a thought.

He winked at Eddie who, for a ghost, looked like he was sweating bullets. "Take me to the movies first, Munson, and I'm all yours." And then, even if he know neither of them would feel it, he covered Eddie's hand with his. He might have been imagining the gentle spark of warmth, but he decided it was real. He knew it was real.

Eddie smiled at him and interlaced his fingers with Steve's. "I can work with that, big boy."

And for the first time in so many years, the countdown in Steve's head stopped.

[henriiiii-1001old]

September of 1992, and Ode to Ruth Weaver

September of 1992, 17 years ago. We did a lot of stuff during that time.

The first thing I remember of that month was when we were promoted. The lights were blinding, and we were set to go up on that stage and show the entire county who we've become. Who we were supposed to become — responsible heads of the entire department of the whole county may I remind you — was what everyone expected, but deep down you and I both knew we'd just fuck around like we always did until we were given something to do.

Then, I got busy. So busy I could barely see you during the day. Everything just became so blurry at that time, hours running by so quickly I barely registered any time you came in to check on me. I was so drowned in case after case that I couldn't think straight anymore, couldn't think of you. I still feel so guilty for that.

The Heathcliff case still lingers in the back of my mind as I remember seeing the poor kid dead in his own room, the scars of fighting against monsters beyond his comprehension filling the air of that damned room. I almost wanted to cry seeing him, half of his face covered in his own blood and dead skin caused by the explosive collision of the bullet and his fucking head. Thinking about that makes me wanna throw up all over again.

And then came the Murrays, a family of which I had somewhat known before Lynn' death and Jude's disappearance. Adam seemed like such a good kid, and then he disappeared too. Thank god for the orphanage that took him in, because if they ever asked me to take care of him. He has no other family from what records showed.

That house... I can feel it still haunted by those damn things. I've tried to go back and brave myself through the layout again, but I can barely get a step through the front door without sprinting back to my car and crying. As soon as I open the door I keep seeing you there, your mangled body hung by a string, your eyes dull as they stare straight into mine. I know it's not really you, they removed your body ages ago. But I can't help but imagine you there, taunting me from beyond the grave.

I don't know how much longer I can take of this life without you. You were the one thing holding me up above the ground. You're the only reason I still continue to live other than spite towards the thing that lurks in the darkness of my own home. I can only hope you're still watching over me, my guardian angel.

I love you. You were my best friend, and I never could have done anything without you man...

I miss you. I miss you so much. I'm sorry.

[papercherries]

I've been having strange nightmares recently. I've always been cursed with them, runs in my family. My sister takes medication for hers. My mum believes it's because we can commune with the dead, mediums. I think it's because we all have genetic bipolar disorder and/or crippling depression. We don't talk about this though. We don't talk about anything sensitive. It might be because we are incapable. We all silently know what we all are. Besides me but that's because they haven't found out about my outbursts and my depression. They think I'm just autistic and bisexual. They don't know about the depression, violence, bipolar, therapy, alcoholism (though they must have an inkling of that one) and being gender queer (though they probably have reservations about that as well). We're all fucked up and we continue to fuck up whoever's next.

I don't say this because I hate my family. I do love my family, though it is mostly due to the fact they are my family. I'm very independent, physically and emotionally. I'm always broke but I'm a scrounger. I refuse to ask for money, unless I am truly and utterly desperate. Plus my family doesn't have any money to begin with.

My sister has recently had a baby. I can't stand children and for a long while I couldn't stand my sister. (For context, I have two sisters. One older and one younger). After my mum cheated on my dad and left us, she took up a lot of the "maternal responsibility". The issue was, she had no reason to do this. She would disagree, but I was old enough to do my own stuff and so was my younger sister. She took on way too much responsibility, not to mention her workaholic nature. Her mode of existence truly depresses me. She is incredibly smart, yet I have never met such a fool in my life. I don't mean it in the "smart person has no common sense" sense. I mean it in squandered potential, she could've had a life. Got out of that shithole of a town, (our shithole of a town) she could've experienced the world. However, she has now chose to settle, with someone she will divorce/break up with in a matter of less than a decade. (If they make it further than that though, I'll be genuinely impressed). Because, whilst I believe that a relationship can flower and bloom despite political beliefs. She is a steadfast feminist, not a ground-breaking one mind you but a supporter of the women's liberation movement and the procurement of women's rights in general. Her fiancé is a military man trump supporter. His achievements in the military are impressive, I'll give him that. But it's impressive in the same way that a punching bag can only take so many punches. He is strangely timid and shy. He is also an idiot. You could replace him with any fool. I hear he's quite good at chess though. I've been advised not to get into political conversation with him. My dad said I'd "wipe the floor with him". Which I'm not sure how to take as I believe political discussion should be lead with empathy in mind. The feeling for your fellow human, the replacement of numbers with faces. Does he truly not understand what he stands for politically? Follow masked men with faceless crowds?

The point being, this baby is being birthed into this incredibly complex situation. It will grow around this mangled set of people with destroyed brains and warped ideas. Is it up to me as a human being to teach this child about different perspectives? Am I the queer relative that has to be awkwardly explained about? We haven't had that yet. Must I teach this child about media literacy and how to truly enjoy life? Or do I only feel this responsibility because I know the environment to which it will grow. I know it is cruel and callous. I hope it is different, because my mind is just as warped as theirs, if not more. We have no scale. It is incredibly scary, I won't be around to do it anyway. I always have to be away, I can't deal with that town for more than a couple days anymore. It was once hell, I now see faces I used to know wandering the streets. People who went away, failed and came back. I refuse. I cannot commit to such a thing. I will fail. It is certain. But I will not return, I will scrounge and steal till my last breath. But it will not be on those spiked streets, where the local government is stealing and thieving. With no help from the major government as they continue building their concrete, brutalist jungles.

I hope the child at least misses out on the nightmares. It seems like a thing only me and my younger sister get but I don't know my older sister well enough to have that information. I got used to mine, my sister clearly didn't. I'm not sure my sister sees things though. I imagine she does sometimes but I dare not ask her. I'd sound crazy, "hey, do you have hallucinations as well! No way! Must be a genetic thing". My most recent nightmare was quite silly, I was at a music festival. The whole crowd got up on stage to dance and sing with the performers. Afterwards, I went and sat on a hill. As I left, a guy who was sat next to me tried to mug me. I woke up, laughed cause I had got a text saying I'd entered my overdraft. and went back to sleep.

There's always periods where I have strange and vivid dreams. There's usually a theme, this weak they're nightmares. Next week they could be otherworldly sexual fantasies. Though I never hallucinate anything other than ominous things. Dark figures and haunting sounds. Though, there is one sound that I hear everywhere. A small bell. This one has nothing to do with horror but rather conditioning. I had a cat in my hometown (she's still my little baby) and she used to wear a collar with a bell. I'd always hear it and it always would set me off. It's the same reason I'm a heavy sleeper, till I hear the meow of a cat. Then I'm up immediately. It's like a babies cry to me. However, the bells have gotten worse after Christmas. This is due to me getting a cat for where I currently live. A lovely little black kitten, fitted with a red collar and bell. Mostly because you can't see her in the dark so it's best to be able to hear her. My dad's girlfriend had slippers with bells on them and every time she'd walk or even nudge her feet. I'd hear a bell and my head would snap to wherever it came from. It was almost instinctual.

Anyway, my film rant and emotional rant are done for the day. I am tired. It is past my bedtime. I must sleep, though it's not my fault the clocks went forward an hour.

[blushstories]

hello ! your writing is so amazing ! are your requests open? i would love a geralt x reader where the reader is injured and close to death and geralt is angry but just because he was so worried he’d lose the reader? maybe they’re in a relationship or smth and extra points if it’s because the reader was protecting him 💗💗

hi hello lovely anon!!thank you! okok i can absolutely do this ! i don't really do requests (long story) but because i haven't been posting as much as i'd like to be and you're so lovely i simply cannot say no to you <33 please enjoy!!

calm before the storm - geralt of rivia

summary: see above ask!

word count 2.8k (~10 mins)

warnings; made up creature entirely, i'm so sorry. ANGST! but because he cares. love makes people stupid. injury to reader, not toooo graphic. gn!reader, no y/n, swearing (light)

Geralt knew a lot of things. He knew how to slay innumerable beasts, make the most complex potions, barter for the lowest price in whatever inn you were forced to stay in - but by God, was he an idiot.

He had been reckless before, whether it was shoving you out of harm's way as a mangled creature's teeth got closer and closer, or picking a fight with whichever slimy drunkard that dared to stain your honour. Every time, you would scold him with a smack to the base of his neck telling him to think, but it was obvious that none of it was sinking it. Anyone else wouldn't dare dream of laying a hand on Geralt, but you were the one person who could try and succeed. Geralt's soft spot for you only deepened when you confessed that you returned his affections, on a night where the sky was clear and the constellations were bright.

You wondered whether it would take Jaskier singing it on loop for a week before he even began to consider looking after himself.

The soles of your boots scuffed the dirt path beneath your feet as you walked with Geralt under the cover of night. It was a night away from Jaskier and the hustle of the town; a night with your Witcher alone. The moonlight draped over the features of his face like an ethereal veil, highlighting the tip of his nose and his cheekbones. You frowned when you saw the short, shallow gash stretching from his forehead to his temple that was certainly healing, yet it was slower than you would have wanted it to.

"Pick your feet up," Geralt chided gently, giving you a gentle push between your shoulder blades. The momentum forced you to lift you feet up higher to avoid tripping, making you land a few paces in front of him. You whipped around to mock offence, but the boyish glint in his eye melted your painted on expression in a second. It was comforting to see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, to finally see him relax after weeks of torturous terrain and torrential rain that had carried a chill that seeped through your skin and settled in your bones.

While the day with the rain was arduous, that night held a fond memory for you; one that you signposted in your mind as another reminder of the kind heart that Geralt possesses. It was the first time you had truly seen how much he cared for you, and only made you more determined to return the favour one day. As you entered the inn, a shivering wreck due to the rain clinging to your clothes, not only did he find you dry clothes to sleep in, but offered to help warm you up as your own personal heater. When you slipped under the covers and felt his arm drape around you, you were certain that you had never felt so warm in your life.

"Geralt. Darling. Light of my life. If you push me one more time, I'm taking you down with me," You said, poking fun at how often he would do so. "I'll stop pushing you once you learn how to walk." "You drive me crazy." "In more ways than one, I hope."

Heat flooded through your cheeks. Flustered, you tried to form another sentence, but Geralt's fingers gently pushing up your fallen jaw redirected your train of thought to a loving smile.

You took his heavy hand in yours and began to run your thumb across his knuckles that you knew were tender, shielded by the darkness that surrounded the both of you. The gentle squeeze of his calloused hand in response flooded your heart with warmth. You smiled to yourself, looking up to the sky with delight when you noticed the brightness of the stars. "Hey, do you remember..." Your voice trailed off when the Witcher stopped walking, his posture stiffening. His grip tightened around your hand while the other reached over his shoulder to retrieve his sword. Your heart gave a loud thump against your chest as you noticed his unflinching stance.

"What-" A sharp yank to your arm cut sliced through the roots of your voice as Geralt pulled you close behind him. His eyes were wide and unblinking, scanning the environment around you. Drawing slow, precise breaths, Geralt released your hand to grip his sword with both of his.

You followed his gaze but couldn't see more than a few feet in front of you, including the front row of trees in the forest next to you. You supposed that it was silly for you to try and match Witcher senses, seeing as all you could hear was the blood rushing through your ears like a stampede of horses, but there was nothing else you could do. Your breath caught in your lungs as you brought a hand up to your chest to calm yourself.

But nothing came.

A bird cooed somewhere to your left. The crickets hummed in the tall grass around you.

"Geralt, are you sure there's-" Your words were replaced with a shriek, a sound that you didn't initially mark as your own, as something barrelled into the pair of you. Dirt swirled around you after you landed against the base of a tree, invading your nostrils and coating your eyes. You coughed, rubbing away the corrosive dust from your eyes.

Every muscle in your body contracted when you heard the heart-shattering cry echoing through the space around you. Sounding both worlds away and right in your ear at the same time, it was unlike any creature you had ever heard. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, your eyes searched for Geralt, mortified to see him in the same position as you across the area. His elbow buckled once as he tried to  push himself up, sword lying near his feet. And the creature...

It was far too dark to identify any distinguishing features, moving around like a splotch of shadow that obscured the paintings of stars in the sky behind it. Its eyes burned a bright blue, like sparks in the empty hollows of its face. Like most creatures, it was larger than any average animal, with movements that seemed both lighting fast yet also oozing its way through the air at the same time.

But Geralt must have been hit harder than you, because he wasn't getting up. You heard him cough dustily, but it was the wet undertone that alarmed you, as the shadow closed the gap between it and Geralt. You couldn't think straight as a sharp hiss burned your ears. You were no expert in monsters, but to you, it sounded angry. Shoes slipping slightly against the earth, you picked yourself up and sprinted towards Geralt's sword.

He specifically told you never to touch it, or to mess around with a tool so dangerous. He had scolded you once; flames danced behind his golden eyes as the tone of his voice scratched at your heart. Geralt had never raised his voice at you before that moment, which helped you to understand how important it was to him that you would steer clear. But at this point, with teeth capable of shredding you both glinting in the moonlight, you figured it was life or death. The gap between the two was getting smaller, and part of the shadow separated into a shape that looked like an arm, the blue flames focused on Geralt's struggling figure - his leg was trapped underneath a slashed tree trunk, and he was struggling to pull it free. He had probably underestimated the strength of the creature while you were still gathering yourself. Silly.  As you approached, the timbre of the screeching changed dramatically, becoming louder if possible, as it turned in your direction.

As he collected himself, you picked up the heavy piece of silver, arms almost buckling themselves under its weight. Up close, the several limbs of the monster were clearer, slashing through the air with no intention. And one heading straight for Geralt’s back. Without thinking, you hurled all of your weight behind your swing. You were not prepared for the shrill scream that came from the creature as it lost a limb, an unknown goop spilling out of the joint that you managed to slice through. It recoiled, making a sound that sounded like a broken human sob - if you didn’t know any better, guilt would have swallowed you whole at the sound of it.

Dropping the weapon, you joined Geralt in shoving the rough, broken tree off of his limb while breathing heavily. It was exhilarating, saving someone. Maybe that’s why Geralt did it so often. An anvil squashed the light feeling inside of you as you noticed the way Geralt’s fist was curled up, the glob of blood soaking into the earth next to him, and the way he roared, with his eyes fixed on your body. A searing pain ripped through you, extracting a scream unlike the one you had a few minutes before. Geralt’s gut twisted over and under itself when he heard the shattered, frightened sound.

Your hands flew to your side as if it were magnetised. Falling to the floor was like falling onto a pile of bricks when your knees buckled, and a hazy murmur fell over your hearing. The hot liquid oozed between your fingers, and each effort to press against it made your breathing stutter and tears spring to your eyes. A distant thud of the tree finally lifting off of Geralt went unnoticed by you, as a pair of sturdy hands prevented you from hitting the floor straight on. He placed you against the tree gently, casting the sign of Aard upon another impending limb. The vibrations of the spell ran through your body due to the physical contact with Geralt, making you cry out in pain. You noticed his silence. He immediately bolted from your side to deal with the creature, with a parting gesture of pushing your hand harder into your wound.

Your head fell back, hands grasping at your torn flesh but only causing more pain. It was a white hot itch that would never go away, and with every passing minute your hands felt more slippery and your breaths were becoming more ragged. You weren’t sure how long it had been when the white hair of the Witcher appeared once again with splatters of a dark substance splattered across his neck and cheek. “Fuck,” He breathed, roughly shoving your hands aside and replacing them with a thick wad of cloth. The bottom of his shirt had been unceremoniously ripped. He put one of his hands onto yours to secure the fabric, before turning his attention to you properly. A hand on your cheek, roughly stroking as if he were making sure you were still alive, still here. That you hadn’t dissolved into the fabric of the universe just yet. “Fuck,” His fingers tapped the side of your face firmly to encourage your eyes open.

“Don’t you ever think?” He was muttering now, trying to manoeuvre your body into his arms where he still could hold your side. You groaned at his jolting movements; his clumpy walk never did anyone any favours, especially now. “Don’t shout at me, Geralt.” Your voice grated against your eardrums as fatigue caught up to you.

Your eyelids were heavy when you woke up, and your limbs felt stuffed with wool: unable to move, weightless. Despite the soreness building in your back and, to be honest, butt, you didn’t dare move off of your back. Feeling your way to your waist, your fingertips met the damp bandage that was secured around you, accidentally encouraging the dull ache that throbbed there. The room in the inn was warm, and the sound of wood crackling on the fire matched the toasty atmosphere that brushed against your cheeks.

Scanning the room, you spotted Geralt leaning forwards on a chair that looked as if it were struggling underneath the weight of the Witcher. The moment he saw you move, he was up and at your side, clamping a hot hand over your forehead for a few seconds. He didn’t say a word. You reached up to touch his hand, but he retracted it quickly, moving to pull the chair he was to sit on just out of your reach. The pain from his rejection was almost as sharp as the wound in your side. Looking closer, you could see that his jaw was set, the lines on his forehead were prominent as he stared you down in the same way you imagined he intimidated his enemies.

You swallowed. “Are you alright?” You asked.

No answer, just the roll of his jaw as he looked away, hand tugging at his hair. The fire continued to pop, and a smaller log tumbled down the pile of wood. Creeping creaks nudged at the old wooden walls that surrounded you; only your breaths carried themselves through the room.

“Do you ever think before you act?” He finally said, voice low and controlled when he looked back at you. To anyone else, he would sound tired. But you had seen this version of him before. This was the calm before the storm. “What do you mean?” “How could you be so rash? You don’t usually act like a halfwitted chicken,” His tone was poisoned: what was once a sound dripping with honey was now infused with a dangerous crimson anger. “Geralt! You were trapped, you would have died!” The humiliation sparked by his words slammed into your chest hard enough to wind you, as tears pricked the back of your eyes. “You almost did. Our kind are not fragile, you are. You know better than that.” His words struck you bluntly and you recognised the way he was distancing himself from you through his words. “I was trying to save you, idiot!” You were trying to keep your voice quiet but firm, not wanting to provoke your injury. “I didn’t ask you to! If you ever do that again-” “Geralt, please. Stop.” “-I will leave you in the nearest town. I won’t return.”

Breathless, you allowed a few tears to escape due to not being able to expel the emotion through your voice. “You wouldn’t do that.”

Silence. You looked away, uncomfortable under his heavy gaze. A sob crawled out of your throat, which you tried to catch by covering your mouth with a hand. But they kept coming. As they wracked through your body, your stomach contracted sharply, causing you to let out a string of “ow”s as you clutched your wound.

Within a few moments Geralt was at your side, pulling away the blankets on the bed to reveal the bandage holding shade of crimson that was darkening by the second. His hands cupped your face, thumbs swiping at the rivers of tears. His expression was noticeably softer as he shushed you quickly, but gently. “Of course I wouldn’t, you know I wouldn’t. Hush, now. Stop this,” He needed to calm you down before fixing the bandage. His kit was left on the table beside the bed, which he pulled over with one hand. It scratched against the floor in an ugly fashion. Your state remained unchanged, the searing pain and Geralt’s warm breath at the side of your face overwhelming you. “Hurts.” “I know. Let me fix it.”

He tried to be gentle, he really did. But every touch to the wound rekindled the pain, no matter which herbs Geralt pressed into it or the bandage. His eyes were glassy as he worked, lips pressed into a thin line when he had to hold your shoulder down to stop you from flinching away. You grabbed at his arm. “Stop. I can’t.” “You have to.”

You closed your eyes for the remainder of the time it took for Geralt to wrap your wound in clean bandages, opening them at last to catch his fierce yellow eyes on yours. His hand held one of yours gently, the other resting on the pillow somewhere above your head. “Do you promise?” You asked quietly. He looked at you, puzzled. “Do you promise never to do that?” Geralt swallowed, blinking slowly before taking a deep breath.

“Yes. But you must promise to never do this again, to save yourself first.” Your eyes began to flood again, making you tighten your grip on Geralt’s hand. “I will always survive these attacks. I always have. But you… I will never survive losing you.” Your mouth ran dry. “So you must listen to me. If not for your sake, then for mine.” You nodded, bringing his knuckles to your lips. “I apologise for what I said. I didn’t mean it.” “I know. You’re fine, I understand. But you do understand that I feel the same way about you? So if you ever break your promise and leave me, I will resurrect you and berate you myself.”

Geralt chortled, leaning forward to softly kiss your forehead. “I know you will.”

hello!! im actually so so happy that this request sparked an idea for me, im usually not very good at writing people being mean to each other because i don't tend to practice meanness in my everyday life, but i hope this was satisfying to read anyway!! as always, every tag, comment, reblog, or message means the absolute world. thank you for visiting my little house!

if you'd like more geralt, head to his masterlist! or, visit the hub for more characters!

[erwinsvow]

𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.

summary: he wasn't always alone. in fact, there was a time when levi had you.

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions/description of injury and patching up, levi needs sleep

author's note: been in the works for a while because i couldn't figure out what i wanted to do, but this takes place after levi & zeke's conversation and there will be an angsty part two, i hope everyone likes it! it doesn't really make much sense but bear with me :)

listening to: don't let me go

“I bet you’re not popular with the ladies. Don’t act like you know about someone’s feelings.”

He pauses, feeling his heart skip a beat.

“I know. And I was… popular enough.”

He lets his mind take him back, back a time before everything in the world was so messed up. When he knew what his responsibilities were, and when there were clear orders to follow. He can’t seem to recall when everything went straight to shit. It feels like it’s been a long time coming.

He knew he was screwed years ago, when he was trying to stitch up the deep gash on his shoulder by himself, sitting in his quarters with a bowl of warm water and bloody bandages. You had been helping the others, a traumatized recruit with a concussion and broken leg, courtesy of the fifteen meter that had overwhelmed him.

There were a few others too, especially a familiar face that seemingly always needed your assistance after a mission. He wondered just how many times the boy—because that’s all he is, a boy, and that’s all you are, a girl—could get away with the same old ruse.

Regardless, he wouldn’t be visiting you tonight. Never mind that the cut he’s trying to nurse by himself is nearly impossible to properly reach, and that he feels dizzy from consistent bleeding and lack of energy in his body. The alcohol he ingested to calm his nerves doesn’t really do anything, either, since there isn’t nearly enough of the stuff in his room to actually have an impact.

He’s going to crash soon, he knows, and even though sleep always evades him, he just wanted to get this wrapped up and lay down without making a bloody mess everywhere. He releases a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. The very thought of you is enough to tense up every muscle in his body, and the idea of you being alone with that idiotic, improper recruit makes his fist tighten around the needle. Sewing himself up tonight is a lost cause. He finally decides a bandage, no matter how bloody it might become, will have to do.

He stands up, slowly because he doesn’t want to pass out from a head rush, when there’s a knock on the door. He groans a little too loudly at the sound of it. He doesn’t feel like talking to anyone tonight, especially in this condition, wearing a torn scrap of a shirt and blood trapped underneath his nails.

“Who is it?” he calls out harshly, wondering if maybe they’ll just leave if he sounds scary. The other scouts knew he didn’t like to be bothered, and wouldn’t have come unless there was an emergency. If it was Hange she would have barged in already, and he would have recognized Erwin’s heavy footsteps from down the hall. No, he knows who it is. He just wishes that he’s wrong.

“It- It’s me. Petra said you were hurt earlier and that it looked bad. I just wanted to make sure it was okay…” Your soft, hesitant voice trails off, and he knows how much courage it took for you to knock on his door.

What he doesn’t know is that there was no way you were falling asleep tonight without making sure Levi was okay, no matter how angry he would get at you for bothering him at night.

You’re bracing for that reaction when the door opens, but when your wide eyes meet his tired grey ones, you feel yourself melt and all the words in your head disappear. There’s only one fragment of a thought left, the fact that Levi’s bleeding, and a lot, at that. You don’t even wait for his permission to step inside, suddenly energized by anger and mumbling to yourself as you set down your supplies and rummage through them.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” he questions quietly. He tries to line his voice with steel like he always does, but the facade is fading with every passing minute.

“I have to clean out your wound, captain, before something festers. If you had told me about this, say, right when we got back, it would have been fine by now, but now I have to rush because you’re too proud to ask for help-” You still and silence yourself.

It was out of line to enter without permission, but this is something else all together. Caring too much is one thing, you know, but insubordination is not tolerated, especially not by Levi.

You pick up a clean needle and thin silk thread that you need to patch up the wound, while searching for the jar of boiled water you need to clean it out first. Alcohol would work too, and you can smell it in the air, but you can’t find the words to ask for it.

Levi’s hands are unusually still, you know because you always notice them, and it’s a stark contrast to the way you’re shaking right now. It’s strange, because you stitched up a handful of others earlier today, and you were completely fine. Even Gunther, who you had always thought was handsome and could make you blush with an off-hand smile, never incited this kind of reaction from you.

You’re silently praying that Levi doesn’t comment on the tremor, but since you’re about to dig a sharp point into his shoulder to tie the skin back together, it would be idiotic if he didn’t say something. You turn to look at him, but it feels like he’s not even there.

His head is hanging down, propped up by the single functional arm, as the other one continues to bleed. You know it’s painful and that he should be saying something, something that makes you stutter and stumble over your words like he always makes you, but he’s just silent.

“Well, get on with it then. If that’s really why you came here this late.” His voice makes you tremble even harder.

There’s so much you try hard at. You try to be the best soldier you can be, even though both you and your superiors know you weren’t meant for this. Sometimes you can fool your fellow soldiers, and the handful of people you can call your friends, and with a few years under your belt, it seems like it’s getting easier to live this life. But you know deep down that it’s not. The one person who always sees right through it is Levi, though.

It’s part of the reason why you’re such a damn mess around him, because there’s no reason to present a false veneer if he knows the truth. You’re not a real soldier, not a real fighter, and you’re more useful as a medic stitching people up than anything else.

And yet, it’s always him who saves you. Him, who makes sure that any threat in between you and the scout you’re trying to rescue from the brink of death is eliminated. Him, that keeps one eye on the target and one eye on your back just in case. And every time, every goddamn time you need to be rescued, he rescues you.

But now, with his head hanging low and any semblance of not knowing why he always saves you gone, it feels your chance to repay him has finally arrived. The shaking stops when you go to sit down near him. Maybe it’s the sudden rush of energy in your body, but you find yourself unbuttoning his shirt to remove whatever remains of the cloth.

His body tenses further, but he doesn’t stop you, and he doesn’t say anything. You’re as gentle and careful as you can be, and once you’re successful, you drop the mangled shirt on the floor. Taking the water, you pour it over the wound as Levi releases a soft hiss at the feeling, for which you’re apologizing before you can even realize the words have left your mouth. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulder relaxing encourages you to keep going.

You take your time, trying to clean off all the blood you can. You think he’ll protest when you pick up his hands, and wash those too, but he doesn’t. It’s not until you run your own hand over his softly, squeezing the top of it because you don’t have any words to express the thoughts going through your mind, that he finally speaks up.

“Thank you.”

It’s so quiet, you could swear that you had imagined it. He doesn’t look up to meet your eyes like you wish he would, but a smile forces its way onto your face regardless. You focus on the hard part now; stitching up your captain and making sure your work doesn’t leave him with any scars. You focus on your technique, fingers working nimbly and mind focused on this, and for a short time, it doesn’t feel like you’re with your captain, your superior. It just feels like being there with Levi.

All the while, his brain is working overtime to figure out why you’re like this. Why you’re treating him so carefully and gently, when you have no reason to. He doesn’t pick favorites, and even if he did, you wouldn’t be anywhere near that list. You’re not the fastest, you’re not the most lethal, and in fact, he could count on one hand your titan kills and assists. You help people. You save people. But most of the time, you’re just recovering a half-dead soldier so that their body can be buried at home and not forced to remain out there, alone. You’re just there so that parents can have a grave to mourn at, instead of an empty tomb.

He doesn’t treat you better than anyone else, and most of the time assigns you more cleaning duties than the others. You always take it and never complain, something else that he always wonders about. He had come to the conclusion it was because he’s saved your life countless times, and the fact that he isn’t going to let up soon. So you take everything he gives you with a polite smile. And for some goddamn reason, he can’t get that smile out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. You don’t even know how you make him feel; like he’s special and that he deserves these attentions.

A particularly painful turn of the needle makes him flinch, and brings him back to reality. You’re apologizing again, murmuring how you’re almost done, but he doesn’t want you to leave yet. He lets his mind flicker over how you’re always apologizing, and how much he just wants to tell you that you don’t have to, not for anything. Not for having to come and save you, not for stitching him up, not for trying to fix him.

You let out a sharp breath once you finish, getting back up to fetch a dressing, but his hand grabs yours before you can get too far. Levi looks up, grey eyes full of an emotion you can’t exactly pinpoint, one you have never seen before from him.

“Will you stay a little longer?” And just like that, everything in the world seems to fall into place.

“Of course. Let me just wrap it up, first. I’ll stay as long as you want.” You’re surprised at yourself for finding the words so quickly, because your heart has never pounded so fast in your life. You fumble around, trying to find the right thing, hands shaking again, and you can’t seem to get them to stop.

You go back to Levi, wrapping the cloth around his shoulder and securing it around his arm, suddenly hyper aware of the feel of his skin. It’s softer than you had imagined it would be. Both of you sit in the silence for a while, your hand finding a place over his and rubbing soft circles on his knuckles with your thumb.

You want to say something, anything, but there aren’t any words that seem right. His fingers deftly work their way around yours, and you honestly wonder if he can hear your heartbeat or the blood rushing to your cheeks. It’s past midnight now, and you have a feeling dawn will be approaching before long.

“You should really sleep now. It won’t get better until you rest a little.” You’re speaking because his actions gave you a little bit of confidence, but he interprets it wrong almost immediately.

“Of course. You’d like to go now?”

“N-no! No, I just thought that, that you would be tired now. I can go if you want, I-”

“I don’t get much sleep anyways.” He doesn’t even mean to sound so dejected, but it comes out before he can stop himself. He’s spent too, too many nights laying awake, sleep ever-evading him, wondering how it might be to sleep besides you. Would he get some rest? Would he be able to close his eyes and not open them an hour later with a pounding chest? He can’t remember the last time he was able to fall asleep, and stay asleep. You don’t make any movement to get away, and he notices your hand twitch and wonders why.

You have to fight yourself internally to keep your hand down, and not wrap your arms around your captain as you process his words. Your heart feels strangely heavy at the thought of Levi laying awake, all alone, exhausted but unable to succumb to the ease of rest. He’s on guard, all the time, every minute of every day, and half the time he’s expending his energy on saving you.

You’re not confident, like some of the others. You never have been. But in this moment, you feel something rushing into your body and coursing through your veins, something close to confidence but slightly different. The feeling makes you release Levi’s hand and shed your sweater, and crawl into his bed. It’s almost exactly as you expected, and not nearly as soft or warm as your own. But you think about Levi sleeping soundly beside you, him peaceful and content, and it doesn’t matter how comfortable his bed is. You just want him to fall asleep.

He looks at you with a mix of emotions, surprise being mixed in with them. He hadn’t been expecting that, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it.

You’re sitting under the covers now, waiting expectedly for something. A part of you fears that this wasn’t what he meant, or wanted, but your racing heart calms down a little at the sight of him coming in to get settled beside you. He releases a sigh when his shoulder hits the mattress, at ease finally, and so exhausted that every muscle in his body is about to give out.

He sleeps on his back, you note, before shifting your gaze to the ceiling quickly. You certainly don’t want him to notice that you’re staring, or that you keep fingering the soft sheets between your fingers to remind yourself this is real and really happening.

“Stop fidgeting.” His voice is quiet, and even, and stills you instantly. You finally lift your head to look at him, letting out a breath at how he looks. Eyes closed, almost peaceful, laying on his back with his hand resting right near you.

You’re not sure if it’s the confidence from earlier, or something new entirely, but you adjust the sheets to cover him more, pulling them and letting them rest on his chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, but you notice the way he jerks a little at the motion.

“Sorry, Levi,” you whisper, trying to remain as quiet as possible. You lay your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and letting your own eyes close. You can hear his every breath, the scent of his skin taking over and clouding your mind as every sense slowly focused on one thing; him. “Let’s sleep now.”

[witch-city]

AYYY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTS may we please have protective!yelena comforting the reader after the reader had a successful but unfortunately very traumatic mission? thank you so much 😘😘

the mission

marvel masterlist | marvel headcanons | navigation

wife!yelena belova x avenger!reader

word count: 1.1k words

a/n: y'all keep spoiling me with these yelena requests (not that i mind at all, of course). i might have something special coming soon (not completely sure though, so don't get your hopes up). enjoy :)

warnings: violence, gory imagery, mentions of implied kidnapping, supposed murder, guns…contains adult themes, read at your own discretion

requests are open!

malysh – (baby)

milyy – (darling)

Usually, your missions went smoothly, and you came out mostly unscathed, physically and emotionally. However, there was the occasional mission that left you a bit more hurt than the others. None had been too bad, but that all changed in the Julian Alps mission.

At first, it seemed like just any other reconnaissance mission: get in, survey the area, get out–nothing out of the ordinary for you. However, as you explored further into the HYDRA base, you came across more unsettling things. You saw horribly mangled bodies, which you had to assume were that of humans as it was unclear. They were strewn around a cave-like room, faces and limbs horrifyingly warped and even missing.

You walked through the base, nearly having to swim a some points due to the massive amounts of rain that had destroyed the building. It took you a while to notice that, at some points, you were practically wading through pools of blood. All of that was quite gross, but that wasn't what really messed you up.

As you wandered through what seemed to previously have been a laboratory, you came across a metal surgical table. On the table was a person. Whether they were male or female, you were unable to tell since their face was covered. As you approached the table, the person struggled to be released from their bonds which held them snuggly to the table. Suddenly, you felt an ice cold hand on your wrist. Startled, you pulled the trigger of the pistol in your hands. You were only supposed to use it in case of emergency. You weren't completely prepared for that though, which you only found out once you realized what you had done. You dropped the gun, raising your hands to your face as you stared at the now lifeless body.

"What have I done," you whispered as a single tear ran down your cheek. You didn't know what to do, so you just ran. You ran as far as your legs would take you. You saw blood spatters and bodies which you hadn't seen earlier. Maybe it was just your distraught mind playing tricks on you, but how could you be sure? Eventually, you found yourself back in the small town in which you had been lodging in until the mission was completed. At this point, you were so shaken up about what you had done that you considered the mission completed enough to return home. So, after boarding a quinjet and setting it to autopilot so you could quickly complete the mission report, you were flying home.

As was protocol, you flew directly to the SHIELD headquarters to turn in your mission report to Director Fury, then, went home.

Once you arrived at the house you shared in the suburbs with your wife, Yelena Belova, you stayed in the car for a while, which turned out to be nearly 30 minutes. How were you supposed to face your wife after what you had done? You knew she had done that and more many times before you, but that was somehow normal. You, on the other hand, were not an assassin. Nor were you a killer. Well, technically, you were, but it's not your norm.

Questions raced through your mind as you sat in silence. Was this how Yelena felt every time she killed someone? How many people has she killed? What will happen if SHIELD or any of the Avengers find out about what you had done? Who was that on the table? Did I put them out of their misery?

You couldn't stop asking yourself questions until you looked up and saw your wife standing in the doorway of your home. You stepped out of the car and walked over to her, just wanting to be in her embrace.

"Why are you crying? Are you alright?"

"I'm not. It's just the rain."

"It's not raining, malysh. What's wrong? What happened?"

You pushed past her, not wanting to unpack everything outside your home. You would much rather do it in the comfort of your bed or on your couch with a blanket, tea, and your wife. She followed after you, trying to get you to talk to her about whatever was going on.

"Please, tell me what's going on. I want to help-"

"I think I killed someone."

Her lips parted slightly, not expecting that response. "You...you 'think?' You aren't sure?" As she spoke, you began pacing the room, going from one side to the other as you thought about everything.

"I-I don't know. I just felt a hand, and I shot." You stopped pacing, unable to bring yourself to look at her for a moment. With tears in your eyes, you took a shaky breath and turned around. "What am I gonna do? What if they find out?"

"Who finds out?"

"HYDRA? SHIELD? The other Avengers? I don't know."

The two of you stared at each other, searching for something to say and coming up with nothing. What were you supposed to say at a time like this? Neither of you knew. Yelena looked away, trying to think of what to do. Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft sounds of your sobbing, which immediately made her wrap her arms around you. Her touch made you feel better, but only slightly.

"Hey, it's okay. Everyone makes-"

"But it's not okay, Lena! I'm a killer. I killed someone! I murdered someone for no good reason!"

"No, you're not. This is not who you are...I know you better than that."

"How could you know me if I don't even know myself anymore?"

Again, neither of you knew what to say. You both were so confused and scared. It was debilitating. Despite that, Yelena's touch, no- her presence just made everything better, even if it only helped slightly. Leading you to the couch a few feet away, you and the blonde sat down together, waiting for the other to say or do something. Finally, you couldn't stand the silence anymore and spoke up.

"I'm scared, Yelena. And tired, and guilty, and weak, and...I just don't know what to do."

"It's okay to be scared sometimes. And you don't have to be strong all the time. You showed me that. I don't know what we'll do either, but I do know one thing: we'll do it together. Wherever you go, I'm there."

You smiled, a tear gliding down your cheek gracefully which your wife wiped away with her thumb. Feeling incredibly fatigued, you rested your head on her chest, needing her embrace to feel comfortable and safe.

"Close your eyes, milyy. I'll be here when you open them again."

That seemed to be all you needed to hear because shortly after, you were fast asleep. Once Yelena knew you were asleep, she slowly chased you to a peaceful slumber.

[yandere-wishes]

MONSTERS

👹 Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

👹Summary: Monsters aren’t born they're made, but Sukuna stumbles across the rare exception...

👹Warning: dehumanization, mention of gore, blood, slight dub-con mentioned in passing, death, past trauma, and abuse

👹 Edited: By the lovely @tealyjade-libran !

👹 Wordcount: 2,480

👹Alternative Tittle : If Roxanne ( from the Police song) lived in ancient Japan.

👹First Jujutsu kaisen fic! I hope you guys like it, please let me know your thoughts! Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Monsters were made. 

Slowly created as once blazing ideals, withered and died under harsh strokes of reality. Stitched together with broken promises and the ashes of rotting memories. 

Monsters were made

whisked into a role they once dreaded, once feared. Beaten into the role of the villain, the reprobate, the sinner. 

If anyone ever asked Sukuna when was the exact moment he turned his back on the laws of "good" and "evil", shedding his human skin to regrow a pelt of hate and destruction,

He would simply answer, "Never".

Because skin is skin no matter how much it decays. Even if the epidermis turns into a rotting orange shade, littered with eyeballs and teeth that shouldn't grow there.Even if the blood from all those he's slain has finally stained his dermis, tainting it in a permanent crimson that all the waters of Lake Biwa could never wash off. Even if his hypodermis is no longer made of fatty tissue but rather spiritual energy sucked from the atmosphere. It's still skin, the same old skin he was born with.

Sukuna had never shed his skin, he'd only perfected it, enhanced it, molded it into its perfect form, until he was no longer held back by foolish human limitations.

He'd never been "reborn" only recreated; only perfected. 

Spike, talon and teeth covered arms sprouting from oozing, bleeding scars, charred over by begriming infections that burned worse than the strikes he'd endured as a child. Knuckles and bones cracking over and over and over again until they grew as solid as the rocks that were thrown at him when he was all too little to understand the malice behind the insults and threats. Breaking until they could break no more, until they'd become strong enough to split a boulder with a mere flick.

There had come a time when he'd given up licking his wounds, leaving them to be kissed by the mold-covered worms who left an urticating sensation he'd soon come to associate with victory. Rotting flesh growing covered in thick layers of black tar tattoos that hid every cut he'd endured when he'd once been too weak. 

Monsters were created from quarter truths buried neck-deep in fables that snipped like red-eyed scorpions. 

Until the blood dancing through their veins was as black as the void they now called home. 

Sukuna knew the exact moment he realized he was a monster. The day he realized he liked the crunch of skulls beneath his feet, the pitiful spark in mortified eyes staring at the heavens for a scrap of mercy. Mangled mouths barely held together by fractured jaw bones, uttering prayers and pleas that died in the scorching air. 

Sukuna knew he was an abnormality, patched together by broken heirlooms and shattered family traditions. Sitting on a throne made from skulls of those who thought they could ever kill him. 

You can't kill a monster, for you can not kill that which was never born. 

You can't slay something made from good intentions with malevolent methods, something so vile that it might actually be pure. At the end of the day, no monster really admits that it is a monster, a nightmare that should have never existed. 

Yet...

Tattered hearts and cruel orbs are never quite enough. No monster is complete until they dive off that last edge, plummet into the sea of nothingness, and finally, finally break their souls on the spiked soil. Monsters, spirits, curses any malicious being that had been mended together like a half-done ragdoll was not complete until they truly let go. Until they erased all the former humanity that they had been born with. Until their eyes reflected nothing, no emotions, no malice, no want, no need. Just the absolute emptiness. 

The void in all its glory.

that was the symbol, the true markings of a real monstrosity. The void that took over their existence, that had replaced every inch of their former self. Only then could it be said that you were above all other beings, the true perfection of this world. 

There are worse things created than monsters, things that are made from nothing and everything. Things above "Yin" and "Yang". Things that have no scrap of humanity, monstrosity, or anything in them.

Things that are just empty.

So maybe -just maybe- that's why when Sukuna's rotting orange eyes landed on the epitome of emptiness, a...girl, whose face was sculpted to disreflect emotions and intents. Someone who was the void of darkness itself. The true personification of nothingness. 

His heart -for the first time in countless centuries- began to throb.

a truly dead face swarmed by a sea of buzzing ants, chasing their routine happiness. Smiles of delight and carelessness carved on their aging faces with sunlight knives and the melody of golden coins. The lust for life leaking from every pore of their bodies. 

With every face being a carbon copy of each other it was no wonder yours stood out.

There was a silver chain of attraction, dragging Sukuna towards the village girl. Not love, never love, the king of curses was beyond certain, that neither you nor he could feel such a honey-laced sensation. It was more like....something. Something paranormal, inexpiable. Some magnetic force outside of everything's control. 

It was easy enough to explain why he liked you. Why you stood out from the other insects of this middle-of-nowhere-village. 

You had dark matter for blood and dead seas for brains. 

Your eyes radiated an endless abyss. Making others shy away from your lifeless gaze. Scared to look into the void in fear that it may respond. 

You were a thrown away doll,

A living dead,

A dying star,

You were the daughter of the number zero,

The monster that had no maker nor mother. 

Something not born nor created. 

Just an entity that roamed the earth, with no desire nor hope, no wish nor dream. Not leaving, not dying, just existing in the space between today and tomorrow. 

There'd been no need for pleasantries, for hiding behind ghostly tree branches and frozen windows. There'd been no need to kill or ravage for you. No competition to eliminate, because no one ever came near you. Humans don't like what they can't explain, Sukuna knew that all too well. 

Sukuna watched from a close enough distance to almost touch. Lingering around like a phantom begging to be noticed. Orbs trailing over you, but never approaching. Until one day he'd just stood still. Waited for you to turn your head just a fraction to the left, just to see him in all his menacing terror. To finally notice the clawing, crawling sensation that had been creeping up your spine like a hoard of spiders. 

And when your dead eyes did finally land on him. Sukuna could swear that his breath hitched in his throat for the first time in his seemingly endless life.

You weren't human. Humans didn't have hollow faces or marbles for lips. 

You weren't a curse. Curses didn't lack venom dripping from their souls.

You were something better than a monster. You were the divinity of monstrosity, the void itself. Black holes for eyes, answerless paradoxes for hands, and an endless maze where your torso should have been. 

 Exploding suns danced around you, burning, burning, till they died out, leaving behind no trace that they once lit up the universe. 

The space after the end, that's what you were.

Perfect, to Sukuna you were perfect.

You hadn't run, hadn't screamed, hadn't even bothered to talk. You didn't care about him, couldn't care about him. That's what made him want you, made his mouth salivate with the thought of your flesh between his teeth. 

That night the world stood still, as Sukuna's claws penetrated your flesh like twirling needles. You were as light as a feather. You weighed nothing, were nothing. All so easy to pluck and throw about. You never made a noise when your body collided with the bamboo walls, just letting gravity and Sukuna play a twisted ball game with your lump of a body.

You hadn't protested when he violated you. As his lips bit every inch of your body raw. For some unearthly reason that even the gods couldn't understand, would never want to understand, you had found the Curse's violent actions rather...adoring. Taking every slap and slash with the earnest pride of a small child getting praised for a day of relentless chores. letting the dawn-tinted-haired monster adorn your body in blue and purple jewels. It felt right, in a  pathetically, nauseating, twisted way...it just felt right.

 It was disastrous, sure, but it was right. Like two universes crashing. Destroying each other with every kiss and every bruise. 

But...

For the first time in your meaningless life, you had truly understood what "happiness" felt like. 

For the first time in his endless life, Sukuna had truly understood what "intimacy" felt like.

///

Was it wrong to kiss you? For a fraction of a second Sukuna hesitated, blood tinged lips hovering millimeters away from your own stone-set ones. The moon's cursed rays acting like an unnoticed barrier, keeping two things out of each other's grasp. His lips curled back revealing two rows of knife-like teeth. The last resort, a final hope that you'd run away, that you'd act somewhat normal. The king of curses, the evil among men, didn't mind your lack of regularity. He didn't mind how you leaned into every bitter strike, every painful display of fading affection . He adored how you merely giggled as he slashed open your uncharged skin, creating slits for your blood to spill through, onto his waiting tongue. He admired your lifelessness, the way you radiated death. 

Oh, how you filled him with a startling aftershock every time he touched you. Every time his tongue lapped at your bleeding skin he'd feel the sort of electric shocks that came after the storms had passed. Your body had no shape, it molded to his touch, turning his favorite shades of red, with just a little pressure. 

But sometimes, in fleeting, endless seconds. He wished he had a name for what you two were. You weren't his per se, you could never be his. Being his would indicate that he cared about you, or heck even loved you and that could never be true. The king of curses did not love, nor care. He merely tolerated you; you fascinated him, that's all. 

It had been many moons since he first found you in that no-name village. Months upon months since you'd been by his side. You'd watched as he'd destroyed cities, helped him even. Eyes never shedding a single tear. Mouth never uttering a single protest. 

The two of you had become the best, the King of curses and the Queen of nothingness. With the dying speed of laboring bees, Sukuna had carved himself inside of you. Twisted emptiness into flower-covered destruction. Into molten gold lava. 

Leaving you with wounds that were stuck in a cycle of healing and opening. Until they began to harden like his. Until the need for spilled blood lingered on your tongue like the burn of boiled tea. Until under your nails were coated in a decaying crust of dried blood. Sukuna hadn't turned you into a monster, he'd simply showed you the powers that came with your apathy. With a heart as torn and cold as yours, it was a shame to let it go to waste. 

"You're not half bad," his tone is never approving. It's always laced with a strictness that keeps you nailed into place. His words are oxymorons sounding like praise, but once you peel back the lather layers they're just taunts in disguise. 

You don't answer, words die on your tongue as quickly as they are born. Sukuna can't even remember what your voice sounds like outside of small whispers in heat filled nights. 

 However, to the two of you, things like that didn't matter. Your lack of being even semi-alive and Sukuna's endless abuse had become a norm for the two of you. Where else were a two-faced monster and a lifeless girl going to find love anyway? 

Sukuna was all you had, all you ever had. You'd die for him, kill for him, turn into anything for him. Because he gave you life. 

A purpose to life, made out of raging fires and endless screams. A life fabricated from the pain and suffering of others. That was what the king of curses had given you, all wrapped in a human skin parchment. Maybe that's why all logic withered away the first night he kissed you, maybe from the first second that you sensed his presence you had finally gained a reason to be alive. 

///

Whoever said the end of the world was beautiful? Whoever said the final days would be bright and glowing and pure? 

It's just a blaze of stray flames and red crystal droplets that may or may not be your blood. Funny, Sukuna had always thought that your blood would be as black as the moonless sky, not a mundane red like everyone else's. He'd expected a grander death from you. Some sort of black hole opening to swallow the world whole. Not just another corpse motionless in a pool of their own blood. 

Although he's not one to talk. His own 'death' is lingering on the horizon. Sukuna's head tilts back looking for the flashing jujutsu sorcerers. 

"S-sukun-a..." 

He smirks, fangs sticking out at odd angles. Your voice is sweet, for the first time in forever he'd even dare say it held some semblance of emotion. 

What that emotion is, he doubts he knows or even really cares. He'd long since stopped trying to identify all those "feelings" and their associated names. 

His orange eyes lock with your fading orbs, one last time. No, not the last time, just the final time in this lifetime. He's sure he's going to see you again. In any other life, Sukuna knows he'll be able to recognize you despite whatever flesh suit you'd be wearing. 

"Shh little one," he's halfway gone before he finishes his sentence, leaving you to relish in his memory in your final moments. "We'll see each other once more, someday in another life..."

His four eyes lock on the approaching sorcerers. He finds it humorous how desperate they look. How alive and ready they seem, such a stark contrast to your ever lifeless face and dead eyes, it repulses him. 

"Or maybe in one of the circles of hell." 

The flames encircling his fingers remind him of the heat your body radiated in the dead of night. The crack from bones hum as they meet his knuckles, flash memories of your days wasted together doing nothing and everything. 

The two of you will meet once more, he's sure of it. After all...

Monsters never die. 

How could something that was never even born in the first place, ever die?

[cyncerity]

Hi. So when I read your giant!techno nom fic. The protective vore one. I actually thought that it was one of the best fics of vore catergory that i ever read. So is it alright if you can write some more like one about g!techno playing hide and seek with the other sbi but with noms? Or it can be nap time and techno nommed them for better sleep. Or you don't have to use these at all, or even write it. This is my first time asking for something on tumblr so im not expecting anything. But it would make me squeal if you do.

Thank you.

more giant techno noms more giant techno noms more giant techno noms more giant techn-

I’m also gonna put this in the same universe as the last one because screw it I like that au-

((I’m so sorry this took so long I’ve been in a funk lately where all I do is eat, sleep, and rewatch Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood an eighth time))

tw: vore

It had been a long few weeks for the tinies. Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy had been left alone in the house to fend for themselves as Techno went out to do…whatever Techno does. He had left some food out for the three tinies and said he’d be back in a week, but it was starting to be closer to two and a half. The small hybrids had run out of the food Techno had left them a while ago, which wasn’t a huge problem since there was other food in the house, but the real problem was that the food was far less accessible than they had hoped. None of them had borrowed in so long that they all almost completely forgot how to do it. And the fact that there was almost nothing to help them move from place to place didn’t help much, either: Techno had always carried them from place to place, especially after Philza had lost use of his wings.

By the time Techno got home the trio was exhausted. Every muscle ached from overuse and their bones felt like they would collapse any second. But despite the pain, the joy they felt as Techno walked through the sort was immeasurable.

Techno didn’t look much better than the tinies. He hobbled through the door with an array of new bruises and scars, looking ready to collapse. Yet despite this, his mind went to the borrowers he lived with. His family. He had to make sure they were ok before he would let himself relax. Thankfully, it wasn’t that hard to find them. Literal seconds after he closed the door behind him he heard the all to familiar shriek of the youngest borrower screaming his name from the kitchen counter.

He ran to him and found Phil and Wilbur nearby, carefully scooping them into his hands. “I’m so, so sorry I was gone for so long. I honestly thought it would be a week, but shit hit the fan and I couldn’t get home that fast, believe me, I tried. I’m so sorry.” The tinies nodded, believing Technos words wholeheartedly. They couldn’t be sure what Techno did as a “job,” but if it was anything similar to what he was doing when he met them, they could excuse him for being a little late.

Techno could’ve cried tears of joy seeing the borrowers again. Though it had only been a few weeks since he had last seen them, he missed them. Before he met them he had gone years without contact from other people, but after being with them he couldn’t imagine being alone again.

The giant piglin hybrid brought the three to the couch with him, along with a plate of food for the tinies. It was no use hiding how hungry they looked from Techno. Sure, they hadn’t starved to death, but food hadn’t exactly been abundant. So the next hour was spent with the borrowers eating on the couch and Techno asking about how the borrowers were doing physically and mentally, and eventually it led to Techno telling them all the cool things he saw on his trip.

Techno eventually began to fall asleep sitting there. He was exhausted from his trip, and wanted nothing more than to just fall asleep. The tinies apparently noticed this, too, though, as they began to climb up his clothes and rest on his chest as he laid back. As he was closing his eyes, though, Philza hesitantly walked closer to Technos ear.

“Techno, can I ask for a favor?”

One of Technos eye peek open to look at the tiny bird man, who was standing nervously next to his head. “Sure, anything.”

“Can you swallow me…?”

Techno…honestly should have been more surprised. The last time he had done it was when they were kidnapped in that alleyway, and it honestly still stung to bring up, especially to Phil, whose mangled wings served as a constant reminder of the event. But Techno and the tinies talked about what it was like to have someone inside you, and what it was like to be inside someone else. Even if they teased each other for it near constantly, it had come to the point where none of them were afraid of admitting how much they enjoyed it at the time. So instead of responding, he glanced quickly down to Tommy and Wilbur to verify if they were asleep or not. Neither were, and both were staring up at Techno and Phil as if waiting for something, which the piglin hybrid figured out pretty quickly.

“You two wanna go with your dad?” Techno asked. His response came in the two scrambling off his chest as quickly as their tired bodies would let them and running over to Phil, who laughed at the sight. Techno sat up on one of his elbows and laid out a hand for the three.

They all got on, Phil looking especially relieved since he was sure that his request would backfire. They all just wanted, or more or less needed a comforting and warm place to sleep after all their struggles and wanted the reminder that Techno was back and cared about them.

Techno slipped them off his open palm over his open mouth and felt the three fall into his maw, carefully avoiding his boar-like tusks. He closed his mouth and began lathering the three in warm saliva so their trip down would be as painless as possible. The tinies immediately began feeling the tenseness in their muscles fade as the natural heat from Techno’s mouth surrounded them and made them feel drowsier than they already were. Phil, upon seeing the exhaustion on his sons faces that he was sure mirrored his own, pat Technos tongue as a sign that they were ready. Almost immediately they felt their surroundings shift and clung close together as the esophagus dragged them deeper into the giants throat. They felt Technos fingers push against the bulge they made in his throat as a deep instinctual purr rang out around them. Techno would always deny that he could purr or that he had ever purred around them, but all three of the tinies knew better.

Soon enough they dropped into Technos brood pouch, the giants purring becoming immediately louder as he rubbed them from outside the stomach. The second Wilbur felt Techno massage them, he was out like a light. Tommy laughed at him before walking over to his older brother and curling against him, falling asleep shortly after.

Phil looked towards his sons before going to where he felt the front of the second stomach and was and rubbed circles in the organs walls, hearing Techno sigh in contentment above him.

“Thank you, mate.” Phil said, feeling himself start to fall asleep in the warmth of his friend. “Anytime, Phil.” Techno responded. The small avian felt a final pat at him before falling into a deep and comfortable sleep.

[plant-flwrs]

i just read house unity and i am in tears!! it's so beautifully written, you must be an author bc that is pure TALENT 😭✨ if you don't mind can i request george x soft hufflepuff reader? she's kinda pure and george is like ily let's be together. thx!!

budding romance // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: um UR TOO NICE!!! thank you so much!!! I do not mind in the slightest, so I hope you like it hehe! um i also love hufflepuffs so much they are like the best house (coming from a ravenclaw) my sister is a hufflepuff and like three of my good friends are hufflepuffs so y’all are the best and i have a major soft spot for u. 

i’ve always found something about botany and plants incredibly romantic, so if this just sounds like a fanfiction for plants, you know why lol. I also made George a bit soft in this so i hope you don’t mind that either <3 n e ways, i hope you enjoy this! thanks for requesting! also sorry this took so long :( i had a bit of a hard time finding a solid idea but i think it worked out :) like, reblog, or leave any feedback if you’d like!

summary: George needs a tutor for Herbology, but has no plans on learning.

(3k)

--------

The back of your neck was particularly warm, and you hadn’t decided if it was because of the blazing sun shining through the Herbology classroom glass ceiling, or the fact that George Weasley was staring at the back of your head.

Your delicate fingers traced the back of the Dittany plant, feeling the bumps and lines of the veins that trailed to the stem. You wrote down some observations in your worn notebook, before glancing back at the plant. You picked up a pair of garden scissors, prepared to cut the plant at the stem.

“George Weasley is looking over here,” your friend whispered to you, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“I know, he does it often,” you replied, using a pair of tweezers to pull apart the Dittany.

“Do you think he needs something?” she asked, returning back to her own plant.

“I just figured he was copying what I was doing,” you wiped a bit of moisture off of your hand and onto your apron, taking the opportunity to look over your shoulder.

George’s eyes met yours, and his face flushed with an embarrassed blush. You offered him a kind smile, your eyes falling down to his mangled Dittany plant. You looked back up to his eyes, this time sympathetically smiling at him.

You returned to your own plant, jotting down a few more notes in the stained journal next to you.

Herbology was a strong suit of yours, you had always found it relaxing and simple. The plants offered so much to people, and all you had to do was understand how to care for them properly.

After your eventual dismissal, you rubbed the back of your neck and felt a sunburn, cursing yourself for not bringing some sort of sunscreen in your bag.

You heard an awkward cough from behind you, followed by a weak “hello”. You turned to face the noise and was a little surprised to see the tall redhead it came from.

“Hello,” you said kindly, closing your bag.

“Hi,” he repeated, and you waited for him to continue.

An awkward amount of time passed before he realized he had already said hello.

“Oh, right, um” he coughed again, clearing his throat, “well, I just wanted to introduce myself.”

He paused, holding his hand out for you to shake.

“I know who you are, George,” you replied before he had the chance, smiling at his sentiment, “we’ve gone to school together for 6 years.”

“Yeah, I just usually say it formally,” he retracted his hand after he held onto yours for what he felt was too long, “you know, with an identical brother and all.”

You nodded your head, still smiling at the nervous boy.

“Well, I wanted to ask you something,” he said, his hands gripping the leather straps of his bag nervously.

“In addition to the introduction?” you said, trying to make him less nervous.

He laughed lightly, shifting from one leg to the other.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” you pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, finding it impossible to wipe the smile off your face.

“I was wondering, since you seem so good at it, if you would help me out in Herbology?” he spoke fast, and you nearly missed what he said.

“Oh,” you were surprised by his question. He and his brother had a bit of a reputation at this school, and tutoring didn’t seem to align with it.

“I get if you can’t or something, I know you must be busy with your own studies,” he began, but you waved your hands, cutting him off.

“No, no, I don’t mind,” your smile widened as he let out a relieved breath of air, his chest deflating.

“So you’ll tutor me?” he asked, a crooked smile dawning upon his lips.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” you replied easily, nodding your head.

There were many reasons not to tutor George, you found later. For one, you fell in love with him. Not that you could be blamed, he was incredibly charming and adorable. The other reason was that he actually had very little interest in the plants, and his efforts seemed more geared towards you.

You had asked Professor Sprout if you and George could meet in the Herbology room every Wednesday after her classes. She was skeptical, but she trusted you and allowed you access as long as you promised to keep George in line.

This particular Wednesday seemed no different than the others, besides the growing crush you had formed on George. You waited for him at a stool by the door, a textbook open in front of you, along with your Herbology journal, a few quills, your apron, your gardening equipment, and a dying Dittany plant you planned on showing George how to save. You had been waiting for a while, but George was usually late. You had pulled some Arithmancy homework from your bag and worked on it in the meantime.

“Sorry!” George burst through the door of the greenhouse, a book falling from his fumbling hands, “Sorry, I got caught up with Fred, I’m sorry I’m late.”

More and more apologies flooded from his mouth, like they did most days, as he made his way to the stool next to you.

“It’s alright,” you put away your homework and pulled your textbook to rest on the table between the two of you.

You stood from your stool and began putting on your apron, and moved over to the cabinet with the spare aprons. You got one for George and his hands fumbled behind his back, his focus on you. He watched the side of your face as you peered into the textbook, your fingers tracing the words as you read. You lightly tapped it, pointing it out to George.

“We’ll start here,” you said, sitting back down in your stool.

Your wand hovered over a watering jug on the table, and you cast the Aguamenti charm. Water poured from your wand, filling the jug.

George watched you, nervously turning his fingers over in his lap. He glanced down, noticing the habit, and smoothed his hands over his legs. He brought his hands to his hair and raked them through the red locks, rolling his shoulders back, trying to relax in your presence. He never was able to, and he knew this, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

George couldn’t care any less than he already did about Herbology. He thought it was boring and useless. Not many of his pranks required extensive knowledge about plants, and when they did, the plants were already in use. But, when he saw you from across the room, your glasses teetering on the edge of your nose, your fingers tracing over the lettering in the textbook, hair falling into your face, and that wonderfully sweet smile etched onto your beautiful face, he had to talk to you.

It took him a week or two of staring at the back of your head before you even noticed him. The first time that beautiful smile was for him, he could only think of you for the rest of the day. Fred was tired of it, honestly, George was desperately infatuated with you. George had worked up the tutoring plan with Fred, with the promise that he wouldn’t actually study anything. “We have a reputation to uphold, Georgie!”

“Okay,” your sweet voice pulled George from his thoughts, and his eyes flickered from your face to your hands on the book, “so this is a Dittany.”

Your hands moved from the book to the dying plant. Its previously green leaves were now brown and wilting. Your fingertips moved over the delicate leaves, to the stems, and you raked your fingers through the dry dirt.

George leaned forward on the table, putting his chin to rest in his palm. He listened to you talk about the plant, describing just about everything there was to know. He wondered how you knew all of this from memory, and admired you even more than he thought possible.

You reached over the table to grab the garden scissors, but they were just out of your grasp. George leaned forwards and picked them up, turning them to you. You hadn’t retracted your hand, so when he pulled them from the table, they slid open and you felt a sharp pain on your fingertip.

You pulled your hand away and nursed it in your lap. A red stain appeared on your apron, and soon it spread as your fingertip was flowing with blood. You heard the scissors clatter on the table and George turned to you, already spouting apologies.

“Shit!” he cursed, his body turning towards you and he slouched to become eye level with you in your seat, “I’m so sorry!”

You whimpered involuntarily, bringing your finger to your mouth to suck away some of the blood. You removed your finger and wiped it on your apron, only for the blood to continue flowing.

George was panicking, he felt absolutely awful.

“Can I see it?” you looked up to see his creased brow and guilt- flooded eyes.

You swallowed hard and nodded, offering him your hand timidly.

He gently placed his hands over yours, they were so large they nearly covered them completely. His hands were warm and calloused on the palms from years of gripping his Beater bat. He brought your hand to him, holding it close to his chest as he looked at the small cut.

“I am so sorry,” he repeated, and he rubbed his thumb soothingly on our palm.

He pulled out his wand and looked at you for wordless permission, which you granted him curiously. He hovered over your finger and mumbled a spell you hadn’t heard before. The broken skin on your finger began to mend together, and the stinging had been replaced with an odd numbness. There was still the remains of blood, but George brought his apron to your finger and wiped it away. He still held your hand, looking at your face.

“How did you know that spell?” you asked, surprised when your voice came out as a whisper.

“You learn a lot when you have siblings like mine,” George responded in a whisper, looking at you sheepishly.

His hand was tightening around yours, and his palm rested against the back of your hand. You wrapped your fingers around his thumb, squeezing it lightly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

George’s eyes flickered down to your lips, and it was so fast you had thought you might have imagined it. Your eyes moved to his lips, noticing that his bottom lip was trapped between his teeth.

“Well, it’s the least I could do,” he responded coolly, dropping your hand back into your lap and straightening his tie as if it had become too tight.

You looked down at your aprons, each stained with small drops of your blood.

“Ew,” you said, trying to wipe off the dried red stain, “Sprout will kill me!”

Pulling his wand back out, he placed it on the table.

“Here,” he moved close to you and wrapped his arms around you. You stiffened, breathing in deeply as his mouth was inches away from your ear. You felt him fumbling with the bow that tied your apron, and his hands grazed your lower back.

Soon the bow was untied, and George hovered for a moment, and he couldn’t help but smile as he smelled your wonderful perfume.

Your apron became lose and he pulled back, his hands moving to your neck as he pulled it off. He did the same with his own and laid them both on the table.

“Tergeo,” he said, pointing his wand at the aprons.

Your apron was as good as new, and so was his, all the dirt and blood removed from the cloth.

You swallowed hard, trying to push the moment of intimacy from your brain. You forced a smile at him, thanking him as you took the apron from him.

“You’re a much better student than you let on, George,” you said, holding the apron loosely in your lap.

He made a scoffing noise, but a genuine and flushed smile fell on his face.

Neither of you felt inclined to nurse a dead plant back to life, in fact, you had no idea what to do. George just stared at you, as if he were waiting for something.

“Um-” George spoke at the same time as you, and you closed your lips.

“No, you go ahead,” he said, bowing his head to you slightly.

You laughed and insisted that you weren’t going to say anything important.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to take a walk around the grounds,” he said, already standing from his stool, “it’s awfully warm in here.”

George was right, the greenhouses seemed to be particularly warm. You thought some fresh air would be nice.

“Not very interested in the Dittany?” you teased, standing from your stool and moving to clear the table.

“Oh no!” George said nervously, hoping he didn’t offend you, “No, its wonderful-”

“I’m only teasing George, I know Herbology can be boring,” you smiled at him and laughed to yourself when you saw him visibly relax.

He was always so nervous around you, no matter how hard you tried to make him comfortable.

The two of you put away all the supplies, cleaning the table off for Professor Sprout. You had used the water left in the watering jug on any dry looking plants. George watched you going around the greenhouse, the sunshine making you seem like you were glowing. You held your hair behind your shoulder, peering into each pot.

“Alright,” you dusted your hands and tucked away your apron, “let’s go.”

George held the door open for you, and you ducked beneath his outstretched arm as you crossed the threshold. You followed his lead as he led you down a hallway.

“So you like Herbology a lot, right?” George asked you, casting a glance down at your side profile.

“Yeah, I do,” you replied.

“There’s a boy in my house, Neville, he’s great at Herbology,” George spoke fondly, his eyes turning to look out the tall windows.

“Sprout has talked about him,” you said, looking at George’s side profile, “says he’s quite talented.”

“Yeah, he’s great,” George said awkwardly, feeling quite uncertain in your presence.

“What’s your favorite class?” you asked, still trying to make some conversation.

George raked his mind, trying to decide if he should make up an answer to sound smart or be honest. He decided to be honest.

“I quite like lunch,” he said, casting a smile down at you.

You giggled, rolling your eyes playfully. He bumped his shoulder against yours, and you giggled even more.

You were eventually able to fall into a comfortable conversation, walking around the castle with ease. His hands tucked themselves into his pockets, and you crossed your arms over your chest. You eventually stopped in the courtyard, and George led you over to a bench under a large tree.

You sat close to each other, and he was painfully aware of the way your leg rubbed against his. He looked down at the spot where your skirt ended and your tights began, a lump forming in his throat. He looked at the side of your face, you seemed wonderfully content. Your eyes scanned the array of plants in front of you, looking at each of the vibrant flowers that were beginning to bloom.

“I really am sorry about your hand,” he said, partly as an excuse to pick up your hand and pretend to look at the healed cut.

Your felt tingles shoot down your arm at the unexpected touch. You looked at the hair that fell over his forehead as he peered down at your hand, holding it delicately.

“Oh, it’s alright,” you said reassuringly, “accidents happen.”

He smiled at your kindness, your eyes meeting. This time, you were sure he was looking at your lips. Your eyes danced around his face, and you felt your lips curling into a smile as he watched them.

“Would you mind if-” he croaked out, but the words seemed to be caught in his throat.

You giggled, and he dropped your hand, his head rolling back as a bought of laughter came from him. He suddenly seemed the most relaxed he had ever been.

Suddenly, when his head came to face yours again, his hands snaked up to hold your cheeks. Your eyes widened, and your smile did too. He brought your face to his, and you had realized what he was going to ask you just a second ago.

His hands were warm, and the callouses felt nice against your soft cheeks. His kiss was soft and gentle, and he waited for you to reciprocate. Your hands traveled up to wrap around his neck, and the second your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, his kiss intensified.

One of his hands traveled down to your neck, and his thumb grazed your jaw. The other slithered to your hair, and he lightly pushed your face even closer to his. Your nose pressed into his cheek and you leaned closer, your shoulder bumping into his. His tongue trailed over your bottom lip, and you sighed, opening your mouth to his.

“Ew! Get a room!”

You heard two voices shouting towards you. You pulled away, much to George’s dismay, who stayed in the same place with his eyes closed.

You looked over George’s shoulder and saw his brother and his friend.

“George,” you nudged him, casting your blushing cheeks and sheepish smile down at your lap, “I think you’re needed.”

George groaned, opening his eyes slowly. His hand was still tangled in your hair, and he slowly removed it. You felt chills as his hand raked over your neck and down your yellow tie, attempting to keep your close.

“What?” he said so poisonously, that your eyes widened.

“Keep it in your pants!” the younger redhead called out, shoving his shoulder against his friends, laughing.

“I swear to-” you heard George mumbled, already moving from his seat next to you and off to his brother.

The smaller redhead shoved his books into Harry’s chest, setting off in a run. Harry laughed loudly as George chased after his younger brother. George pulled his wand from his waistband, pointing it at Ron and easily casting a spell that bound a rope at Ron’s feet. Ron fell to the ground with a thud and George stood over him, smiling evilly.

He looked back at you, watching as you covered an entertained laugh with your hand. His face melted into pure admiration, and he abandoned Ron, leaving him tied up in the grass. George broke out in a jog, determined to hear your sweet laugh.

[herald-divine-hell]

Could you do this prompt:

“ it's just... i'm worried, about kissing you. “ “ why? “ “ i just... i don't want you to be disappointed. “

For Alexandra? I imagine it'd be towards a crush or, at the most, at an s/o at the start of the relationship. Regardless, someone she already has some serious feelings for, even if it's not love. Yet.~

Sorry for the long wait! I hope this is good! This is dedicated to my lovely friend @yourfriendlyneighborhoodmeme. Happy birthday you lovely piece of shit!

This is pre-Inquisition, during the Mage Rebellion.

~

Worry was something you never associated with Alexandra. Charm and summer, and fire and anger. The anger was always there, blazing within those golden-flamed green eyes—dawn spilling light upon an emerald sea. Anger and sadness and shame, tangling sickly with her charm; and when that failed, flaring cheeks and soft murmurs. Never worried, though. Something hard and wicked twisted in your stomach, churning so wildly like a boat in a storm at sea.

But it was there, almost fleeting for a moment, strengthening at another. Most often it happened when she stared at your eyes—truly stared, rather than glance at either the top of your head or something else entirely. The joy within dimmed, and the little smile she would have or the hard grimace that seemed to accompany her outside of your presence would falter for a moment. The worry always mangled with the flame in her eyes, that heated passion that brought awe and strength to men and women, and dimmed it; and yet the darkness was still there. An older darkness, pained and cold, always hiding within the very edges of her eyes, away from the flame. And yet it strengthened, as that fire dimmed. You could not read her thoughts, but you saw memories flow across her eyes, dazing her vision.

Your hand found hers before you could even stop yourself. Fingers wrapping around the length of her pale hand, squeezing the sides gently. That took her out of her thoughts, jumping a little, and her cheeks flared, even as she smiled faintly. An embarrassed Alexandra was something you could deal with, you thought with a smile.

“Was the food good?” she asked, her voice coming in a soft and tiny whisper. Her dark hair fell in soft curls at her shoulders, framing her thin face, with its wide jaw, narrowed chin, and gaunt features. You tried not to think about where that gautness had come from, and why it was still prevalent, or what it could mean in the future. None of that you wanted to think about, but it still surfaced, bubbling up without any regards to your desire. You tried to push it down with a hard push, focusing on stroking her palm with your thumb. It helped, in a manner of speaking.

“Yes,” you replied, a grin breaking upon your face, and your eyes narrowing. “But I’m more glad you ate.”

That got you a chuckle, and pleasure burst in your heart at the sound. “That you did.”

Silence descended between you, your thumb never ceasing in its drawing of circles against Alexandra’s palm. A candle burned at the center of the wooden table at where you and Alexandra sat, throwing orange light upon the wooden lengths of walls, and glinting off the silver empty tankards. Tucked in the corner of the tavern, no one was able to see either of you. Alexandra had probably picked it out for just that, knowing her. The sight of a mage from the rebellion openly sitting at a tavern would warrant confrontation. Plus, you liked the seclusion of it.

Suddenly, Alexandra said, “I got you a present.”

The words bled out before you could stop yourself. “Oh? Is it a kiss?” You wanted to slam your head against the wall just as you uttered it. But you just keep your gaze upon her, even as your cheeks redden and sweat gather at the back of your neck, heart squeezing up and stomach churning this way and that.

“I...you...I mean, if you want that, I could…fuck me.” Somewhat pleasantly, you watched as Alexandra’s face grew red as the fire-lit candle, riding up from her neck, to her cheeks, and swarming across her forehead. Idly, you began to count the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and over her high-perched cheekbones. Most likely trying to ignore your own embarrassment.

Shifting a little in your chair, you said, “And if I did want you to?”

The worry fanned out in her eyes, shadows and smoke thickening as tendrils as it swallowed that lovely fire you so adored. “I will...it’s just...” She swallowed, eyes darting away from your gaze, as if in shame. Alexandra’s words came out little more than a murmur, so faint that you could barely catch it. “I’m just worried about kissing you.”

Your heart ached at that, as if it was being tarnished and left to tethers. You have seen Alexandra sad, seen her when her anger builded so bright and strong, and seen her joyful and laughing until she could not breathe and snorts erupted; you have seen all of that, and more. But the worry was something unfamiliar, foriegn, and strange. It took immense effort not to jump from your chair and crash a long and tight hug around the woman. You instead squeezed her hand harder.

“Why?” you asked, guilt building in your chest. Was there something wrong with you? Was she afraid that the rebellion would move on from your village and such your budding relationship would be cut short? You decided well before that you would not be leaving her, not staying restrained in this small, quaint, and boring town where everyday was the same mundane as the last. No, you were going with her, and that was final.

What she said hit you harder than when Alexandra had first smiled at you. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

She rushed it out so quickly, you barely caught that, as well. But as you processed it, you could not help from chuckling and raising an eyebrow. “Really? That’s what you’re worried about? That you won’t be a great kisser.”

Cheeks reddening even more, Alexandra nodded, though she did narrow in a way that meant she thought she was being made fun of. Squeezing her hand again relented the stare, albeit slightly.

Giggling softly, you rested your forearms on the table, pushed the candle away from the center, and leaned forward. “Well, I don’t care—not one bit. Plus,” you said, winking at her in an obvious show, “you’re always been a fast learner, I heard.” Lowering your voice into a faint whisper, you murmured softly, “You can never disappoint me, Alexandra Trevelyan.”

That got a smile on her lips; the softest curling at the corner of her lips. And within her eyes, in those eyes you could fall into for thousands of years, drifting upon those waves, warmed by the sun, the worries flashed out, as if it was snapped at by a whip of flame. Hesitantly, Alexandra leaned forward, cupping your cheek with one hand, brushing her thumb softly over your skin. Her eyes searched, gazing long within your gaze, glancing down at your lips, while wetting her own, and drawing it in with a nibble of her teeth. “May I kiss you, ma amour?”

Your breath was stolen in that soft whisper, and you had to fight through a clogged, dried throat to speak. “Yes, please.”

At first, it was a mere brush of one another's lips, and Alexandra hovered over yours, as if calculating what would be the best option to go about this. You were about to snap at her and tell her to hurry up, or grasp the back of her head and press your lips fully against hers. You were about to, but cannot—not when Alexandra’s lips returned, more heated and fiery as before, stealing your breath once again. Her hand slipped to the small of your neck, drawing you in as her lips melded against yours, pressing here and there, tilting every so often her head. She obviously did not know what exactly she was doing, going off instinct. But as were you. And you found you quite enjoyed the plushness of her lips, the eagerness that Alexandra seemed to be fueled upon. It was overwhelming, and any thoughts you might have, any quip or jab, bled away against her lips.

When Alexandra pulled away, it took a few moments before you opened your eyes again. Words failed to come out as you opened your lips, your mind mushy and foggy, as if a mist had fallen and shrouded it beyond a sea of grey. “That was...fuck, that was great. You’re fucking great,” murmured Alexandra, her cheeks red and her eyes darken. “Was it great?” There was a slight raised pitch to her voice.

You could only really nod. “Yeah...it was.” Maker, your cheeks felt as if they were as hot as the candle.

“Can...can I kiss you again?”

“Yes.” Grappling with your thoughts was a hard effort, but you found a semblance of your old self within. “What about my gift?”

Alexandra giggled as she drew you back by your neck. “We’ll get to that when we get to that, no? After one more kiss...or three.”

You could only remember that flash of a smirk on her lips, the one you so adored and so hated, and the flaring golden fire twining through that sea of emerald green within her eyes; and your gift was soon forgotten. To you, Alexandra brought something better than any material thing. She let you slip into her heart, and rest there for a little while, handling her trust, her pain, and her love with such care—to you, that was the greatest birthday gift you could ever ask for.

[little-writings]

Hi! I LOVE your writing and you're my fav writer for jumin 💖 Can you do a continuation of your fic 'Before I go to sleep' ? Where MC finally woke up remembering who jumin is? My heart aches for jumin and I would really like to see what happens. You don't have to if you don't want to ><

I think it’d actually be really fun to write a prompt of this sort! Especially since the ‘Before I go to Sleep’ is one of my favorite that I’ve written! Anyhow, I hope you enjoy and have an amazing day, thank you!

‘Before I go to Sleep’ Prompt

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You’d never quite realized how easy it was to start a fuss. After all, the only thing you’d done was say a name. 

You’d only just begun to wake when you felt a rise and fall pressed against your back -- a breathing body, comfortable and steady. You were in a room you didn’t entirely know, but you recognized. And when you turned your head with groggy, heavy eyes you saw a man you didn’t entirely know, but you recognized. Like the fuzziest memories of childhood, a fondness brimmed at your chest. 

A name even came to mind. 

“Jumin...” 

The man beside you shifted at the mention of his name. His sooty curls of hair brushed against your cheek before he raised his head lazily. His eyes flickered open, revealing a soft, velvety grey full of drowsiness. He looked down at you, brows furrowing in confusion as if he thought he might’ve imagined something. 

“What was that? Did you say something?”

You raised a hand to press your palm to his cheek, the edge of your fingertips brushing his hair and the warmth of his face sinking against your skin. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Jumin...?” 

He made a sound almost like a laugh were it not for the disbelief that was so strongly entwined with it. “Yes it is -- how did you-” He took in a sharp breath. “How did you know that?” 

You paused, thinking. “Well, why wouldn’t I? We look close enough for me to know your name.” You chuckled. “Unless I’m wrong?” 

“No... no!” He blurted out the last bit in a rush, his words stumbling out with a fumbling mind. “Would you come with me?” 

You nodded and Jumin hurried from the bed in an instant. He took your hands and led you out from under the blankets and the sheets. The sunshine spilled over your bare limbs and your feet stumbled onto the carpet, but Jumin was practically whirling. He guided you to the bathroom where a mural of photos was on display -- some featuring just the two of you with hands interlocked and smiles engraved upon your faces. Others had a small white cat with the most beautiful coat of fur you’d ever seen, and others featured a group of people with shades of red, yellow, and white among them, and happiness splayed about every one of them. 

‘Jumin Han’

‘Your husband’

‘Elizabeth 3rd’

‘RFA’ 

For each photo, you only had the faintest inkling of who they were and why they were important, but you had a feeling that was more than usual. You could almost make out names and places. 

“These are... our friends aren’t they?” You asked, fingers tracing over the photos. 

“They’re our life,” Jumin answered softly, just a few steps behind you. “I tried to get as many photos as possible to show all that we’d been through.” 

You found the wedding quickly. It must’ve been a grand event because your heart tugged at the very sight of it. 

“How long have we been together?” You asked. 

“Almost ten years now, coming next month. You’ve had this... condition for four years.” Jumin let out a deep breath, and as you turned to see him you noticed just how much he fidgeted. He tapped his knuckles, anxiously grappled with his wrist. Perhaps it tethered him, kept Jumin grounded. “But never once have you remembered anything.” 

“Not once? Not even the accident?” 

Jumin’s eyes widened like saucers. “You remember the accident?” 

The question had slipped without you truly knowing just what it meant. 

The accident. 

Something flashed in your head, deep within those memories that’d been locked away for so, so long. Chatter and laughter between you and Jumin as you sat close together in a car. The beaming sights of the city and the flickers of the traffic lights -- green, yellow- 

And red. Red. 

An eighteen-wheeler ran a red light when it slammed into your car and despite everything Jumin did to save you, it wasn’t enough. The vehicle still slammed into the remaining traffic and your head still careened through the glass. 

“I nearly died.” You muttered. “I was dead at the hospital for a few seconds -- wasn’t I?” 

All it took was that confession, that realization, for the tears to flow. All those thoughts and feelings flooding back in a horrifying break of pressure. Like the crashing of a dam, it was wholly and entirely uncontrollable. You remembered the pain of the glass smashing against your head and the shards that cracked on your skull. Jumin, hovering over you where the brunt of the metal of your mangled car stabbed him. His leg crushed beneath it all, and still Jumin protecting you. 

“Oh god-” You cried, tears flowing and a weight pressing against your chest. 

Your brain had spent so long coping how it knew best, how else could you withstand the onslaught? 

Jumin raced to catch you, but hesitated at the last moment, arms outstretched and worry painting every inch of him. “Can I...?” 

And then you remembered the first mornings after the mechanism began. How you looked at him and saw a total stranger. You’d screamed and clawed your way with all your might granted to you to the corner of the bedroom, and Jumin just as confused and bewildered as you were. In a moment he’d reached out to you, to explain, or just to offer the slightest bit of comfort and your panic reached a breaking point. You hit him. You hit him and locked yourself in the bathroom, clawing at your trembling body and searching for a single ounce of safety where none could be found. 

Only after had you counted to one thousand through shaky whispers did you feel secure enough to step out. 

There, in the living room, you saw Jumin and despite the fear that’d overtaken you minutes before, at the sight of him, what remained was pity. You couldn’t hear a sound and yet could still tell tears had been shed. 

How could you have done that? No matter the years that’d passed since then the pain and guilt was now. 

When you looked up at Jumin, arms outstretched, all you could muster was, “I’m sorry,” before falling into his arms. 

You stayed like that for a good while, even when you fell to sniffles and shivering. Jumin drew gentle fingers over your spine and pressed you close to his chest. His heartbeat was the only thing keeping you grounded, a gentle thump against your ear to remind you that you were here, and so was Jumin.

It was only interrupted by a knocking on the front door, and you knew just who it was.

“Are you okay if I leave?” Jumin asked quietly. “It’ll only be a moment.” 

You gave a weak nod, but that did little to convince him. 

“Are you sure?” 

Another knock. 

“Yes,” You reassured, sputtering a whimpering that was incredibly embarrassing. “Yes, go get V.” 

“V... you remember him too.” 

You heard hushed whispers between the two of them as Jumin brought V inside. He’d only aged a little, thicker frames for his glasses and a tighter grasp upon his cane. But you recognized him in an instant. 

You sniffled, rising slowly. How much his vision had further faded mattered little for you still offered him a smile. “Hi.” 

V gave a gentle grin, moving closer to take your hand in his own, ever so kindly. His heart only softened over the years. “Hi. How’re you feeling?” 

Your chin quivered despite your best efforts. “Not great.” 

V chuckled and gave a squeeze to your palm. “That just won’t do, will it?” 

Your therapist was given a brief call where for as much explanation Jumin attempted, confusion was ridiculously apparent on both ends. She fumbled for rescheduling the next day and wished you both the best but the pauses between every few words told you enough. 

And instead, V called the RFA. 

They’d come in a rush and one by one you recognized them like light bulbs flickering on. Yoosung. Zen. 707. Jahee. If only in the simplest, tiniest flecks you knew them.

“Are you sure they remember us?” Yoosung whispered to Jumin. “They seem... nervous.” 

Zen elbowed Yoosung’s side, his white hair tied up high and tight. “Wouldn’t you be? It’s like waking up from a four-year coma? Or something like that.” 

“It’s not quite like that,” Jahee remarked. “But the poetic sentiment is surely appreciated.” 

You couldn’t stifle the snicker that brought out of you. Jahee’s eyes brightened. “Did you think that was funny? D-Do you remember me?” 

“I do. You’re Jahee -- Jahee Kang. You’ve always helped me and Jumin, always.” 

Jahee adjusted her glasses so that sunlight could hide perhaps the faintest shine in her gaze, the ends of her lips turning upwards. “Yes, I uh -- I suppose I have.” 

“Well, what about me huh~?” 707 chimed, lazily drooping over Jahee’s shoulder. He soon found himself stumbling as Jahee stepped away, staggering to a stop just before you. He hadn’t lost his silliness, but he had steadied himself in his own way. “Remember me?” 

You nudged his shoulder, scoffing. “Of course I do! You talk too much for me to forget.” 

707 grappled at his chest in mock hurt but the boyish grin never left his face. “Ah! Try to have some compassion, I’m sensitive!” 

Jumin approached you and set a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t overwhelm them. I’m sure this is a lot to take in already.” 

“It is.” You answered. “But I want this, I really do.” 

The next few hours could only be akin to opening up a scrapbook that hadn’t been seen in ages. The stories told between you livened up both the room and your mind -- like holiday lights brightening everything in their wake. RFA parties,  anniversaries, and birthdays all those times that brought you together closer than family. 

Each member of the RFA had waited just as patiently as Jumin for you to come back. The whole day they couldn’t stop reminding you of even the most ridiculous of things you’d done together just so you could erupt into giggles and for all the sorrow and pain that’d arose in the morning you could feel joy at that moment. 

Only when night replaced the day and stars decorated the sky overhead did they leave -- and even then it was reluctant. The RFA refused to leave without a hug at the very least. Yoosung, Jahee, and Zen promised to come by in the morning, 707 promised more than a few calls, and V assured you he’d come by at the drop of a hat if you asked. 

Of course, just as the morning began, it was just you and Jumin. 

“How’re you feeling?” He wondered gingerly as he closed the door behind him. 

“Is there a word for when you’re excited but also overwhelmed?” 

Jumin laughed. “I think you described it perfectly. May I?” 

You nodded and he pressed a kiss to your temple, whispering sweetly. “You did so well, if it helps.” 

You sat down on the sofa with Jumin only falling behind at the sight of the television. He eyed it carefully. More specifically, he eyed the tapes beneath the television. “Would you like to watch one of these?” 

You pointed to the one you knew best. “How about the wedding?” 

The smile that brought Jumin made your very heart swell. He started the video without a word and sat down beside you. Your hands brushed beside one another and slowly enveloped like you’d done so many times before. 

The wedding followed just like you remembered. The music that filled the room and the two of you -- a surprisingly small ceremony with only your closest family. Even through the screen, one could see nothing but absolute adoration between the two of you. You practically hurried down the aisle. 

“Are you... afraid about tomorrow?” Nervousness began to bubble up inside of you, digging your feet into the floor. “About me forgetting in the morning?” 

“I’d be lying if I said no. Something like this -- it just seems too good to be true.” 

In the wedding, you’d begun exchanging vows. You could hardly make it through your beginning sentences without bursting into sheepish snickering. You couldn’t quite remember what Jumin murmured to you when you buried your head in the crook of his neck but you’d both laughed. 

“But I do know, that if something does happen, and you do forget -- we’ll take it one step at a time like we always have.” He softened. “It won’t change a thing.” 

Your eyes grew heavy as you watched the last few minutes of the video, Jumin’s vows as devoted and tender as words could possibly be. Your heart threatened to burst just listening to them all over again. 

“Well, in case I do forget,” You rested your head on Jumin’s shoulder, soon resting his own head against you in return. “I love you.” 

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation from Jumin. It was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep, and it quelled all of your fears for the morning. It was going to be okay, no matter what came. 

You’d do your best to say good morning when the next day arrived. 

“I love you too.” 

[slasherwife]

I see that the requests are open 👀 I don't have a specific scenario in mind, but I just want to read something with a Geralt x Witcher!Reader where reader is a badass for everyone but just all soft with Geralt, if you don't mind of course ♥️✨

“I thought you were dead...”

GeraltxWitcher!Reader

By Jena Marie

Summary:

Y/n, a formidable and reknown Witcher hasn’t heard from her lover Geralt in several days. Word says he was thrown from the cliffs to his death, but she refuses to give up hope and goes to find him herself 💕 Warnings: swearing.

This fic is for @seutarose !! Thank you for requesting! I hope its what you had in mind 💕💕

“What if it’s true?” Dinah asked, her voice small, like she was afraid.

“What?” The woman replied in a harsh but thick voice, obviously upset.

“What if Geralt is dead?”

There was a long silence. She turned her head away from Dinah, clenching her hands in her lap. She was breathing deep, like she was trying to calm something inside of her.

“This is because of what Ciri said, isn’t it?” She finally snapped, her voice deep like it was on the edge of breaking, sadness and despair taking over as tears welled and she whipped her head around to look Dinah in her eyes. Dinah was unfazed, still gentle with her friend.

“Why wouldn’t you believe her?” Dinah asked, and Y/n let out a deep and slow breath. She sniffed, wiping her eyes furiously, cursing herself for the weakness that seeped through her. Cursing Geralt for making her act like this.

“Because Ciri wasn’t there when it happened!”

The woman rose from the bed, tall and with strong stature, and started towards the door. She grabbed her hilt and strapped it on with her long and thick-bladed sword still attached. She grabbed a tie from the cloak-hanger and tied her hair back almost aggressively. It hurt Dinah to see her good-spirited and strong friend to be so shaken. When she was like this, she was always snappy and angry, but Dinah was understanding, and never held it against her.

“Where are you going?” Dinah asked expectantly, rising from the bed and almost racing for the door. The woman turned to her, giving her an incredulous look that a teenager gives to their parent. “Y/n you know it’s not smart. We have to stay out of trouble!”

“You really think I care what John says?”

“He’s our uncle.”

“And a drunkard. I’ve had to break him out of more bar fights than I can count.”

Dinah sighed, “I— look, it’s obvious I can’t stop you, you’re Y/n L/n for God’s sake,” she said, and the witcher stepped out of the door, turning her back to Dinah as she started to her horse.

Dinah stepped out of the doorway into the night. “But don’t let anyone hurt you!” She shouted, a hint of care still leftover for her sister.

“Who do you think I am?” She yelled back, as she mounted her horse and started on the path leading into the thick forest, kicking up dirt behind her.

It was morning when she found him. He had clawed from the ravine he had fell into and used his energy elixirs to keep himself awake.

She would never forget the way she felt when she saw him. He had mangled, so torn-- unlike anything she had ever seen happen to him. She screamed his name, thinking he was dead. Jumping off of her horse, she raced down the cliff which seemed to take forever, and collapsed on the rocks in front of him.

She was so sure he had met his unlawful end, as expected of every witcher, but she thought it was too soon. She didn’t have enough time with him. She never thought she had enough time with him. And now he’s gone.

Her heart stopped when she heard his labored breaths.

“Y/n.” He whispered through a labored, scratchy voice. Y/n cupped his stubbled face and looked into his eyes. Her hair dangled on the sides of his face, and he tried to reach up to hold her, his face softening against the pain he felt when he recognized her voice.

“Let me see your eyes, hon.” She said sweetly but her voice was still thick with emotion, trying to keep it all in as she checked his pupils. Geralt had always told her to stop bottling emotions and to let them flow, he always hated it when she kept things like that from him. As much as she didn’t want tears to flow, she was still so rattled after seeing how injured and vulnerable he was. The dragon he was attempting to keep Ciri from ended up somehow throwing him off of the tall cliff and into the ravine. Ciri said that even a witcher couldn’t survive that long of a fall.

“What did they do to you?” She whispered through tears, her voice shrill as she spoke in sharp tones. Geralt only grunted in response as he sipped on the last few drops of his whiskey he always carried with him.

“Come on. We got to go now.” As she helped him to his wobbly feet, he dropped his whiskey.

“Fuck’s sake.”

“Geralt, you can’t stay here.”

He only winced and clutched his ribs as she led him away from his hiding spot, and onto a long path that led to the top of the ravine.

“I thought you were fucking dead, Geralt. What were you thinking?” She demanded, voice threatening to wobble, but she swallowed it.

“Duty called in the east. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.” Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes as her hand reached out to grab his in a caress. The noisy bar filled their ears, but it was like it was only the two of them at that moment. Geralt looked deep into her eyes, and she thought she could just melt at his gaze. She missed him infinitely.

“I wish you never left the farm.”

“I know you do.” He sighed, leaning in slightly, looking at her lips. Y/n’s eyes darkened.

“We don’t have to live like this anymore. We can start again.” She cried softly.

“Mm.” Geralt said thoughtfully, his eyes warming at the thought.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Her voice was vulnerable. She was vulnerable like this, with him. It was the only time she let herself open, because he was her safety.

Geralt looked back into her eyes at the sound of her voice, searching for something he didn’t know he was looking for, finding the inevitable… home.

“It’s all I want.” He said softly against her lips, and she took up the remaining space between them, pressing her soft lips to his for the first time in several days.

[gayregis]

Talk to me about Regis, please; headcanons, why/what you like about him, etc. I love him, but there's not a whole lot of (book-based) content about him (That's probably for the better actually, just look at what twn did to Dandelion; there's a bunch of content but it's all ooc or just straight up infantilizing him because uwu innocent baby - gosh I hope twn fandom don't get their hands on Regis)

this is such a great ask ;w;

committment to principles, breaking of tropes

let’s get the deep and emotional parts out of the way. i love regis for being a good person. “epitome of humanity” and all of this. i love how he was an incredibly cruel and violent man and has become a kind person and someone committed to helping others. i find this a very comforting fantasy to be close to and think about. i like how this process was not instantaneous, it took more than 50 years and a good amount of time after that... i love how sapkowski used the idea of an immortal/extremely long lifespan for an arc of redemption and becoming a better person. regis is only a vampire because sapkowski needed him to be able to survive death and reconsider his actions... for most people, death would be the finality... and i like how regis, when recounting his backstory, doesn’t ever make excuses for himself or dwell upon his behavior. he doesn’t speak of consuming guilt, he doesn’t make useless apologies. he has accepted the past and is not looking for attention when he says all of this, it’s merely for context. so he doesn’t seek validation from others, he has already validated himself because he knows that he has become a better person.

i love how regis is an inversion of the vampire tropes... not the ones that are like “vampires can’t touch sunlight/be around garlic/enter houses without invitation, etc.” but the ones that concern vampire origins and what being alive for hundreds of years does to a person’s mind. the “traditionally accepted vampire lore” would have some human losing their humanity over many years, becoming distant from human morality and ethics. regis is a complete inversion of this. instead of being a human who has lost their morality, he is a monster who has gained his morality. he made a committment to learn and understand, and how he sincerely works for good.

hinting and character reveal

i LOVE the buildup to his character reveal. from the moment the company meets him in a cemetery during the dark of night, it should be apparent that he is not what he seems. this added to the fact that they then meet peasants who were searching for a vampire in the very same cemetery, and regis somehow knows all of these accurate facts about vampires... it’s simply entertaining to read or listen to how it all unfolds. 

the dramatic reveal is brilliant. i love how it occurs in a scene where regis was doing absolutely nothing but healing dandelion. i love how only regis and geralt knew what this was about, so we received narration in milva’s point of view because milva is the most observant of the other three that were in the company, and she slowly noticed all of these little features about regis that she didn’t notice before... his eyes glowed in the low light with an eerie catlike quality, he didn’t cast a shadow...! it’s good writing because there was significant buildup behind it. we already thought we knew regis, we got all of these hints towards his true identity, and now he’s being revealed as just that, but slowly, slowly... sapkowski doesn’t have geralt immediately yell “HE’S A BLOODY VAMPIRE!” ... it’s a very drawn out conversation. i love how regis doesn’t react much when geralt rests the sword on the hollow of his neck. he says, “well, geralt, i’m all yours,” as if geralt was beckoning him to a conversation and not standing above him with a glistening sword in his hand. and then regis just smiles and challenges him to “go on, thrust it in!” ... just entirely casual and smug. it’s creepy and yet so funny!

and i love how everything about his character seems to make more sense once his backstory is revealed. especially the part where he says he never drinks, not even a sip... after you read the part where he describes his backstory, you realize that this is a nice nod to what is revealed later on.

ability to challenge geralt

i’ll segway the last point into this one: i love how regis is just a straight up bitch to geralt in baptism of fire after he is revealed. during the reveal scene he starts mocking geralt, asking him if he’s going to let him get away, asking him how high he would value a contract on him. geralt tells him to never come back TWICE, and TWICE he returns. he appears to geralt, sits down right next to him, begins to deliver him a great monologue of advice. geralt tells him to fuck off, he just sighs “as you wish,” and continues to give advice.

regis acts on his OWN terms. geralt does not control the speed at which lobsters die vampire. regis acts like a c*nt because he simply can because he knows that geralt can’t fight him on it. what’s he going to to, kill him? ha!

regis came in at exactly the right time. dandelion is geralt’s best friend, but this means that dandelion knows geralt and knows what he’s like, and geralt knows what dandelion’s like. geralt sees dandelion’s unwavering loyalty to him as dangerous, because he doesn’t want to lose dandelion, so he blocks out whatever dandelion says about “i want to go with you, i need to go with you.” geralt knows that dandelion’s only saying this because they have such a deep relationship, and isn’t willing to risk that relationship when he thinks that it doesn’t need to be risked (i.e., that he can handle this without anyone else’s help). milva doesn’t have this long friendship with geralt, but she is his friend, and she’s known him for a few months. she knows that geralt is acting stupidly, and tells him this to his face. but geralt can sense that because she’s also his friend and because she is acting out of some sense of penance, he can’t accept her company, either. geralt is able to push both dandelion and milva away, because he can. he can tell them he doesn’t want to be bothered, he wants to be alone. 

enter regis, who simply will just not take “go away” for an answer. regis has been compared to other sages and philosophers in and out of the text, but i think this is very socrates of him. he’s the gadfly to geralt’s sluggish horse. he is able to rouse him simply by annoying the ever loving shit out of him, returning when geralt has told him to leave, giving advice when geralt has told him to shut up. and it’s for good reason, regis doesn’t do this to harm geralt, but to help him. and because he’s regis, he literally has all of the time in the world and the power to be able to annoy geralt like this. he can’t be swayed by stern petulance because it just is like nothing to him, water off of a duck’s back. he has this unbearable attitude of knowing that he’s right. this doesn’t make regis a perfect character - far from it, i would say that this is one of his biggest flaws in fact - but in this situation, it works.

optimism, kindness, healer class

i thoroughly enjoy how the immortal member of the company that has lived for over 4 centuries is such an optimist in everything he does. “it is simply a matter of positive thinking” and all of this nonsense... he’s very content and cheerful all of the time. i made a post counting every time regis is mentioned to be smiling... and it’s a lot. he is also always mentioned to be spekaing softly, calmly, gently... he has a very gentle nature!

regis is a very placating force in the company, he tries to resolve arguments between different parties (milva and the peasants who wanted her horse, milva and angouleme at the kitchen table). he assumes there’s always a good resolution that can be reached.

and the fact that he’s a healer ties it all together. i love how sapkowski actually describes everyone’s profession with detail and length, it makes the fantasy medievalesque setting more immersive, since one’s profession is extremely significant to one’s whole character in a setting like this. regis gets that short monologue about how dandelion is lucky to have gotten this head wound and not an abdominal wound, what with the liver, guts, feces mangled and spilling out... peritonitis... regis actually being described as healing people makes it feel like his character is useful and is actually a surgeon (unlike in the games where he doesn’t ever heal anyone). 

he sincerely cares about the human condition and expresses regret and pain when he cannot do anything to cure someone, even though he can sense their sickness. he describes this as literally being “a curse,” that demonstrates how difficult it is for him, and it’s only difficult for him because he cares.

blending in with human society and the quirks that come with it

i love the precautions regis has to take to continue blending in with human society. he smiles with pursed lips as to not show his fangs, but when he is with friends he ends up smiling fully. he has to continue to mask his presence with the blend of herbs. he has to avoid mirrors, dogs, and sorcerer/esses. horses dislike him even with the herbs he carries, and fulko artevelde mentions that “horses and dogs brisk at [the] company’s approach.” these small details are fun and keep reminding the audience that it’s not simple to blend in with human society, and there always IS something off about regis. hell, just shine a bright lamp on all of the company together, and you’ll see that their barber-surgeon doesn’t cast a shadow. the probably reason that they didn’t notice he didn’t cast a shadow was because of how overcast it is around that area of brugge. when they get into beauclair, i headcanon that regis doesn’t tend to walk on the sunny side of the street because of wanting to hide the fact that he won’t cast a shadow. 

there’s a lot of different conditions that are necessary to consider in relevance of keeping his identity hidden, and regis does a pretty good job at navigating all of them. i appreciate that these details were written in because it makes it more realistic... even though sapkowski broke multiple vampire tropes with regis, so you know, he won’t burn in sunlight or have adverse reactions to garlic, but there’s still all of these odd ends that he needs to take care of. it makes him seem a lot less overpowered, because it continouslly reminds the audience that he doesn’t blend in perfectly.

“benevolent ominousness”

regis has a very fun supernatural presence, and he only ever uses his powers for good.

things like saving the girl from the refugee camp by sticking his hand into flames and holding a white-hot horseshoe with absolutely no hesitation... saving geralt and dandelion by materializing out of shadow... also appearing out of nowhere to milva and cahir in the forest and milva trying to choke out a grateful sob at his presence... saving ciri at castle stygga by absolutely wrecking the entire lab, with blue flames dancing on the countertops, and then turning around in that chair and saying “don’t be afraid.”

it’s things like this that i have dubbed “benevolent ominousness” - these demonstrations of power would be extremely unsettling, if you didn’t know him and know that he was there to protect you. the embodiment of “you may rest now, there are monsters nearby.”

humor and lighthearted nature despite dark themes, great lines

this isn’t the same humor that sapkowski uses elsewhere... it’s mostly funny due to the line delivery and context. some regis dialogue is just funny, especially when peter kenny voice acts them. 

things like regis telling geralt his travel plan is very well-concealed after dandelion gets done telling him everything about it (”and ingeniously concealed, no one would ever suspect the direction of your journey”), regis lifting the horseshoe from the fire and then challenging the priest to perform an exorcism on him, regis appearing to geralt and sitting next to him and during his monologue he’s mocking him and saying “it should be your exclusive right,” geralt saying “shut up, vampire!” during the fish soup scene when regis begins to give him unsolicited advice again. regis’s entire backstory being a blatant metaphor for alcoholism and the equivalencies to human culture (”driving while drunk” = “flying while drunk”), though macabre, are hilarious. regis telling angouleme "i’m not your uncle, dear child,” and she replies, “and i’m not your dear child, uncle!” WHILE ALSO riding on his mule as well. even to the very end, all of his lines and presence at stygga were brilliant. like “i feel such strength inside me, i could probably lay waste to this entire castle,” as he loses it. “beware? i didn’t come here to beware!” as he just charges vilgefortz absolutely unhinged.

honorable mentions

his liking of philosophy and sociology and discussions about all of this

you could argue that regis talks a lot because he probably doesn’t feel how long he’s been talking for. if half a century is “the blink of an eye,” then what’s 10 minutes of monologue?

all of the vampire powers are very cool and come on. i could have literally answered this ask with one word and that word would have been “bat.” he’s a fucking giant bat. that’s epic as hell

fun and tragic potential for his backstory.

meme potential in the fact that he is modest and calm by default. can you imagine regis saying “bitch” ??? or burstin out enthusiastically in song lyrics?? it cracks me up to think about him being out of character for a split second, just for humorous effect.

also yeah if twn and/or its fandom gets their hands on regis i wont know whether to laugh or cry

[thebrotherssalvatore321]

Keeping Secrets Ch. 23

Keeping Secrets Masterlist

“What are you going to do to me?” Katie asked angrily from the chair that she was tied to with vervain soaked ropes. Jonas, Luka’s father, brought her to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

“Elijah told me that you once had a mental block put up on your old memories.” Jonas told her as he looked at the grimoire in his hands. I’m going to attempt to do the opposite.”

“Attempt?” Katie asked with wide eyes, afraid of what would happen to her mind if he failed.

“Don't worry. Elijah made it very clear that I am not to harm you.” He told her and she looked down at the bindings on her wrists then back at him. “Mentally.”

“Elijah is dead, Alaric killed him. Why are you doing this?” she asked, confused.

“Alaric also removed the dagger after stabbing him. I’m guessing your boyfriend didn’t know it has to stay in for Elijah to stay dead. He woke up shortly after and came to me. I located you and Elena. He went after Elena. I am taking care of you.” he answered.

She groaned and let her head fall back. “I wouldn’t call giving me memories I don’t want taking care of me.”

“I’m sorry you don’t want them, but I can’t go against Elijah.” He informed her.

Katie lifted her head back up and rolled her eyes. “You want your daughter back, I get it.” She sighed. “But I am begging you. Do not do this to me.”

“Let's just get this over with.” Jonas walked over holding the grimoire in one hand as he placed the other on her forehead. He started chanting something that sounded similar to what she remembered Sheila chanting, but she wasn't able to think about it before memories from another time started flooding her head sending a searing pain through her temples.

She screamed out, fighting the ropes that bound her. “Please, please stop. It hurts, please!” She screamed, but Jonas kept going.

~1827~

“Ronan has asked for your hand in marriage.” Hannah’s father, a harsh and abusive man, told her from where he sat behind his desk. “In two weeks you shall be his wife.”

“But I do not love Ronan.” Eighteen year old Hannah argued, earning a scoff from her red headed father, his mean, green eyes framed by bushy eyebrows glared down at her.

“Love is for children and fools.” He scolded her. “Ronan comes from a respected family and for some reason he has taken a liking to you.” He informed her, making her frown deepen. “I have no earthly idea why. It's not as if you are a rare beauty to be sought after.” Hannah, had she not been accustomed to such insults, would have felt a punch in the gut from his statement. “You will marry him.”

“I have no say in the matter?” She asked, standing from the chair across from his desk in anger. “It is my hand he asks for. I should have the right to accept or reject him.”

Her insolence caused her father to stand from the chair and backhand her across the cheek before he grabbed her chin in his strong hand and got in her face. “Ronan may very well be the only chance you have to marry. I can not for the life of me see why he would want to wed an atrocious, ill mannered woman such as you. I refuse to have you under my roof for the rest of my life.” He practically threw her away from him with a growl. “You will marry him.”

Later that night she caught her mother alone in her bedroom, sitting in a chair at a vanity combing her wavy brown hair. "You know you are not allowed in here, Hannah." Her mother chided her not looking at her.

"Mother, please, I do not want to marry Ronan." Hannah pleaded with her beautiful mother.

"What is so bad about him?" Her mother asked dismissively. "He is handsome and he likes you."

"But I do not love him, Mother." Hannah argued.

"Pish posh." Her mother answered with a shrug.

"Mother, please, talk father out of making me marry him." Hannah begged.

"Get out of here before your father catches you." Her mother told her with a wave of her hand to the door. "No sense in both of us catching a beating."

Instead of going to her own room she slid into bed with her sister. “So you are to marry Ronan?” her fifteen year old sister asked as they both stared out into the darkness.

“Yes.” Hanna answered sadly.

“I know you do not love him, but you are lucky.” Her sister told her, the innocence in her young voice brought tears to Hannah’s eyes. “He is nice, unlike father. You will be getting out of here. You will be free.”

“Do you know what men expect of their wives?” Hannah asked knowing she shouldn’t taint her sister’s innocence with talk of consummating a marriage.

“You will have to have sex with him.” she answered, shocking Hannah with her knowledge. “Think about it sister. Is having sex really worse than thrashings from a cat of nine tails?”

“It is if I do not love him and do not want to be with him.” Katie answered, getting sick to her stomach at the thought of her wedding night.

“Do you love another?” her sister asked and Hannah shook her head before realizing that her sister couldn’t see her in their dark room.

“No. I simply wish to die an old maid.” She answered with a lie. What she really wished for was a love like no other. She longed for butterflies, adventure, a spark that would ignite something in her and consume her.

“Perhaps you will grow to love him.” her sister suggested sounding hopeful.

Tears silently slipped down Hannah’s cheeks, soaking into her bright curls. “Perhaps.”

Hannah’s sister had been right. She did grow to love Ronan and they lived a comfortable life together away from her father and mother. However the love they shared was that of friends and didn’t hold a flame to the life that Katie longed for. A year after they married Hannah gave birth to their son, her only source of true joy. A year after Jonah was born, Hannah’s sister married Ronan’s younger brother. However yellow fever took him from her leaving her a childless widow. Hannah and Ronan opened their doors to her to keep her from returning to their abusive father.

~1835~

Ronan took a job on a trade ship, leaving Hannah and seven year old Jonah alone. Three months after his departure, Elijah found them in the forest near her house.

~1836~

Jonah sat at the head of the table since it was his eighth birthday, Elijah and Hannah sitting on each side of him, eating the dinner of deer stew and burned biscuits. Elijah had been with them for eight months. “Fiona could have directed me to someone who could cook.” He told her with a smirk at the burned biscuit he held in his hand, examining it for any bite that wasn’t charred.

“I don’t think anyone else would have accepted you.” Hannah countered. “Besides, it is not like you actually need food to survive.” She pointed out with a smirk of her own.

“True.” He told her as he set the biscuit back in the bowl.

“Mother may I be excused?” Jonah asked, eager to pay with his new toys.

“Yes, you may.” Hannah told him and the boy bounced down from his chair and over to the fireplace to play quietly.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to his father?” Elijah asked, watching Jonah play.

“He uh…” Hannah started twisting her plain gold band. “He left on a trade ship a year ago and has yet to return.” She told him as she continued to play with her ring as she looked over at Jonah and noticed the fire was getting low and the temperature in the cabin was dropping. “I need to get more firewood.” She announced as she stood from the table and headed to the door.

“I will get it.” he offered as he stood.

“No, I…I could use the fresh air.” She told him then went outside. She was stacking logs in her arms when she saw them…glowing yellow eyes that caused her heart to stop. The last time she had seen them was when her sister was attacked and killed by a wolf.

Elijah was sitting at the dinner table, finishing his stew when he heard Hannah’s ear piercing scream. “Stay inside.” He told Jonah as she ran out to the wood pile to see Hannah on the ground as a wolf tore into her shoulder.

“Elijah!” she screamed as he sped over and grabbed the wolf. It bit him on the arm as he threw it off of Hannah. It ran off into the woods.

With the wolf gone, Elijah kneeled down next to her, wrapped his arm around her back and lifted her up as he bit his wrist and placed it to her lips. “Drink, please.” He told her with fear in his eyes. Hannah did as told and swallowed the blood that filled her mouth. He swept her wild curls to the side and watched as the massive spot of mangled flesh healed leaving just a bloody spot behind. Still shaking in fear she stared at him with tears on her eyes. As relief washed over him he pulled her into him. “You are okay. You are safe.” he sighed as she swayed her side to side as if she were a frightened child. Still slightly in shock Hannah wrapped her arms around his neck and he picked her up standing her on her feet again. “Let’s get you inside.” he wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to the cabin.

He left her in her bedroom to get cleaned up while he got more wood to keep them warm. When he got back inside and started stoking the fire back to life Jonah asked, “Is mother okay?”

“Yes, she will be fine.” He told the young boy as she finished with the fire. “For now it is time you went to sleep.” He motioned over to the small bed in the corner of the living area.

“Can I play with my toys just a little bit longer?” the boy begged, but stood from the floor as he did.

“Your toys will still be there in the morning.” Elijah told him and the boy set the toys down then went to his bed. Elijah followed him, and tucked him in the way Hannah did every night.

“I’m worried about Mother.” Jonah told Elijah as he pulled the covers up to the boy's chin.

“She will be fine, she’s just scared of the wolves.” Elijah assured him.

“That is not why I am worried.” Jonah told Elijah as he stood up. “I hear her crying when she thinks I’m asleep.”

“I am sure she just misses your father.” He replied and the young boy shook his head no.

“She cried even before father left.” The boy’s words made Elijah frown and looked at Hannah’s bedroom door.

“You have no reason to worry. Now,” he pulled the covers up a little higher and patted Jonah’s shoulder, “go to sleep.”

“Yes, sir.” Jonah replied then closed his eyes.

Elijah blew out the oil lamp then went to Hannah’s door and knocked. She opened it and gave him a questioning look as she watched him tap absentmindedly on the doorframe. “I just wanted to make sure you are okay.” He told her then looked up from the doorframe to meet her eyes. She jerked her head for him to come in and stepped aside. He came in and she closed the door behind him. “I am okay. Thank you for healing me.” She told him as she set down on her bed and motioned him to the chair that sat at her roll top desk.

"You are welcome." He told her with a polite nod as he sat down and propped his elbow up on the desk.

"That wolf that attacked me...they only come around on a full moon." Hannah started. "They’re not normal wolves."

"They are lycanthrope." He informed her.

"You have seen them before?" She asked with a curious head tilt.

"Yes. They are shape-shifters. On any given day they appear to be human, but they are not." Hannah had grown to love listening to him speak. "They are fast, strong, quick to heal, but on a full moon they transform into wolves. While in wolf form they only have one thing on their mind, killing whoever they come upon. However their prey of choice is vampires." Hannah watched him as he spoke, becoming relaxed by the sound of his voice. "I am afraid it is my fault they found their way here and attacked you." He told her with remorseful eyes.

"It is not your fault. They have been terrorizing us since we moved here." She told him as she looked down at her hands in her lap. "I am glad you are here. If you hadn't saved me my son would be alone, left to fend for himself in this cruel world." She then noticed that the bite on his arm hadn’t healed and he looked pale and clammy. "That wound," she pointed at the bite that could be seen through the tear in his white sleeve, "Why has it not healed?"

"I'm afraid it will not heal for some time." She gave him a questioning look. "A lycanthrope bite is like that of a snake. It releases a toxin that is fatal to vampires." He pushed his sleeve up revealing the ugly bite.

"You are going to die?" She asked, saddened by the possibility.

"If I were any other vampire, yes, but I am an original. It will make me sick and delusional, however as soon as the venom is out of my system I will be fine."

Hannah stood and tentatively pressed her palm to his forehead. "You are burning up." She observed. "Lie on the bed. I will get a wet cloth for your head."

"You do not need to make a fuss." He told her in an attempt to stop her.

"You saved my life. The least I can do is make you more comfortable." She told him as she grabbed a cloth from under the wash basin and poured some cool water over it. She expected to see him lying on the bed when she turned around, but he was gone. "Or not." She tried to stay awake until he returned, but she ended up falling asleep.

When she woke up she went into the living area to see him asleep on his makeshift bed across the room from her son’s. Jonah was awake, sitting at the dining table eating one of the biscuits. "He came in right after sunrise." The little boy informed her. "Is he okay?"

"Yes. He had a bad night is all.” She told him as she set her hand on top of his head. Hearing them talking, Elijah began to stir. Katie walked over and kneeled down as she placed her hand on his shoulder making him open his eyes. “Why don’t you take my bed so Jonah and I won’t keep bothering you?”

“I am fine here.” He told her then closed his eyes again.

Katie left her hand on his shoulder as she looked at Jonah. “Take your toys outside, fresh air will do you good.”

“Yes, Mother.” The boy replied and as soon as he was out of sight Hannah turned her attention back to Elijah.

“You haven’t eaten since noon yesterday.” She pointed out and Elijah opened his eyes again.

“I assure you I am fine.” He insisted, but Hannah wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

“You look like death warmed over. You need rest and no one can rest well on an empty stomach. Please, eat.” She told him as she held her wrist out to him.

“You are a stubborn woman.” He complained as he sat up and took her arm in his hands.

“Only when I care.” She told him right before he sank his teeth into her wrist making her wince in pain. When he released her she flipped her hand over to look at her wrist only to see the bite heal before her eyes. She gave him a small smile as she reached up and brushed his long wavy hair out of his face, taking in his improved color. “There, that’s better.” He took her hand from his head sending butterflies through her from the skin contact, as he gave her a small smile of his own. “Now,” she stood up taking her hand from his as she jerked her head to the bedroom, “off to bed with you.”

After the wolf incident something about their relationship changed. They saw each other in a new light, as companions instead of strangers helping each other survive. They started talking more, sharing their lives and getting to know one another. He made her smile and laugh more than anyone ever had before.

A few months later the three of them sat at the dinner table. As usual Jonah sat at the head of the table while Elijah and Hannah sat across from each other. Hannah glanced up from her dinner to the man sitting across from her to see him already looking at her. A blush warmed her cheeks as she turned her eyes back to her bowl. A few seconds later she felt his foot touch hers. She thought it was an accident, but when it happened again she looked up to see him give her a small smile. She blushed again and nudged his foot with hers. “Mother, are you feeling well? Your face looks funny?” Jonah asked, making both she and Elijah laugh awkwardly at the boy’s observation.

Yes, Jonah, I am feeling just fine. If you are finished you may be excused." The boy nodded and hopped down out of the chair, putting his empty plate in the wash basin before he went to the coffee table that Elijah had built and started playing. "Are you ever going to tell me why you are hiding away here in the woods with a married woman and her son?" She asked as she pulled her feet out of his reach.

"Perhaps after Jonah turns in for the night." He answered quietly.

Soon they settled in the living room. She knitted while Jonah read a book and Elijah whittled away at a small piece of wood. "What time is it?" She asked then watched as Elijah looked at his pocket watch.

"Five after ten." He answered then set his whittling aside.

"Alright Jonah. Off to bed with you." She prompted earning a whine from the boy. "Don’t complain." She scolded him gently as he put away his toys and headed to his bed.

"Will you sing to me?" He asked. Hannah looked at him with a sigh then to Elijah.

"I would like to hear as well." Elijah told her with a small encouraging smile.

Jonah had asked her to sing every other night, but she hadn't been able to make herself with Elijah as an audience. "What would you like to hear?"

"Father's favorite please." He answered with an excited, but sleepy smile.

"Very well." She told him with a smile as she laid her hand on him and started singing The Parting Glass. By the time the song was through Jonah was asleep. She pulled the blanket higher up around him then stood and turned to see that Elijah had fallen asleep as well. She smiled to herself as she placed her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it, waking him up gently. When he opened his eyes and they found her face, she jerked her head to her bedroom.

He got up and followed her, watching as she shut the door behind them to keep from waking Jonah. "I Apologize. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I find your singing voice to be very comforting."

"I feel the same about your voice." She admitted with a coy smile. "So please, tell me what brought you here." She sat down on her bed and he sat on the stool in the room.

"My mother was a witch, she cast the spell on all of us, making us what we are, including herself. She died. My father…lives on, trying to kill my siblings and me. He believes us monsters that need to be removed from the world. Out of the seven children my mother bore Niklaus, Rebekah and I are all that remains." He answered not looking at her but at the wooden floor of the room. “We split up to make it harder for our father to track us.”

"So that is why you are here?" She asked with a frown. "To hide from your father?" Elijah nodded, still not looking at her. Even when she slipped from the bed and walked the few steps over to him he did not look up. She tentatively reached out and placed her hand on his cheek. "Elijah." She whispered his name and he finally looked up at her with a hardened reserve in his chocolate brown eyes. "I know what it is like to have a father that despises you. You are welcome here as long as you'd like."

"You are too kind." He told her as he reached up and gently grabbed her wrist talking her hand from his face as he stood up. "Good night, Hannah."

The whole next week Elijah became distant, all smiles and flirtations stopped. Growing more worried Jonah found his mother hanging the wet laundry on the line while Elijah went out hunting. "Is Mr. Mikaelson mad at us?" He asked Hannah to stop what she was doing to look down at the young man.

"He is only mad at me." She replied not knowing that Elijah stood off in the distance listening to them.

"Why?" He asked.

Hannah kneeled down to be eye level with the boy. "Some people...they don't like getting too familiar or too close to others. They stay away for fear of caring too much."

"Why would someone be afraid of caring?" Jonah asked, confused.

"Because when you care about another person it means that they can hurt you, even if they do not mean to." She told him.

"I don’t understand." He told her with confusion in his young innocent eyes.

"You will one day." She assured him as she stood up. "But for today why don't you go milk Millie?" The boy nodded and ran off to milk the cow.

Later that night Katie laid in her plush bed, tears of loneliness slipping from her eyes, wetting the feather pillow beneath her head.

Elijah in turn laid awake listening to the rain beating down on the wooden roof of the cabin. "She's crying again." Jonah's sleepy voice pulled Elijah from his thoughts and made him tune his ears into the bedroom where he heard Hannah's quiet sobs.

"She will be okay." He told the boy as he sat up and looked into Jonah's eyes. "Go back to sleep." Compelled to do so, Jonah laid down his head and closed his eyes.

Elijah knocked softly on Hannah's door, then listened as she came to it and opened it just a crack. "Yes?" She asked, keeping her eyes down cast so he couldn't see the redness of them.

"May I have a word?" Hannah nodded and stepped back letting him inside before she shut the door and turned to see him tapping the corner of her oil lit writing desk in thought. "I apologize for my behavior here of late." He said while looking down at his hand.

"I should be the one apologizing." She replied, making him look up at her, confusion. "I...overstepped and made you uncomfortable... I'm sorry."

"You did not make me uncomfortable or overstep." He told her as he turned to her and tucked his hands into the pockets on his trousers. "You showed me kindness and I shut you out. I am sorry."

"It's quite alright." She assured him as she sat down on her bed.

He sat down on the chair at the desk. "I would like to get to know you better."

"What would you like to know that I haven’t already told you?" She asked as she brought her feet up onto the bed and tucked them to the side.

"How did you come to know your husband?" He asked as he leaned back in the chair with an interested look on his face.

"My family and I met him at his family's barn raising. They were new to the community. My sister was taken with Ronan from the start, but he was taken with me. Said he knew from the moment his eyes landed on me that he would ask for my hand one day. So when I came of age he did." She answered as she watched him rest his arm on the desk, listening to her with a slight squint to his eyes. "I did not want to marry him. Not just because my sister fancied him, but because I didn't." She let her eyes fall to the thick cream quilt on her bed. "I know it broke my sister’s heart when I told her he had asked for my hand, but she never said so. She told me I was lucky to be getting away from our parents."

"If you didn’t want to marry him, why did you?" He asked with a frown.

"Because... while my father was harsh his words were true. He informed me that love is for children and fools. And I would be a fool to pass up Roman's generous offer because it would be my only one. No man would want an atrocious, unattractive, ill mannered woman like me."

"What a cruel man to speak such a way about his daughter." Elijah said with a frown.

"Like I said. I know what it is like to be despised." She replied, still looking down at her hands.

Things got quiet between them as she got lost in thought and Elijah let her words sink in. After a while he broke it. "It is late. I should turn in for the night."

He started to open the door, but Hannah spoke up, "Elijah?" He turned back to her. She wanted to tell him he could have the other half of her bed, but she knew it was improper to share a bed with a man you are not married to. So instead she said, "Goodnight."

He gave her a small close lipped smile and a "goodnight." as he pulled the door open and walked out.

Winter turned to spring and with spring came school. Since they lived so far from town Jonah stayed the week days at the trading post in town with Fiona. It was an arrangement that the two women had worked out right after Ronan left. With every passing day Hannah started to lose hope that Ronan would ever return and in doing so started letting herself develop feelings for Elijah.

One late spring night a loud sharp howl sounded causing Katie to shoot straight up in bed. "Elijah?" She called shakily hoping he was awake to hear her.

He came into her room and saw her standing beside her bed, looking right at him even though she couldn’t see him. "I'm right here." He told her as he slid his arm around her waist using the fact that she was scared as an excuse to hold her close.

Her heart rate increased, at his touch that sent a spark of pleasure through her sending the butterflies in her stomach into a tizzy. When another howl sounded Katie jumped closer to Elijah out of instinct. Without thinking she pressed her hands to his chest. "Is it the lycanthrope?"

"No." He answered confidently.

"How are you so sure?" She asked. He let go of her, went to the window and pulled the curtain back. He motioned to the crescent moon with his hand held out to the side. She walked over and ducked her head to look out the window and saw the bright crescent in the clear sky. "Oh." She answered with a blush as she stood up straight and looked at him in the very dim moonlight. Not feeling like going to bed just yet she felt her way to the oil lamp and lit it, brightening the room so she could see him plainly. “I guess I look silly now don’t I?” she asked as she brushed a lock of curls behind her ear.

“Perhaps just a…” he held his pointer finger and thumb up in a pinching gesture, “little.” He gave her a smile that told her he was picking with her.

Hannah laughed at herself in embarrassment and scratched the back of her neck. “I…” she wanted to tell him how much she liked him and that he made her feel things she had never felt before, but the only man she had ever been with was Roman and it was simply for procreation, never for fun. She didn’t know how to flirt or even how to touch a man in a way that conveyed how she was feeling. “I don’t know how to say what I wish to.” She told him then lifted her eyes from the floor to watch his eyes that squinted at her then relaxed when he realized what she was trying to tell him. Deciding it would be easier to show him what she wanted, rather than tell him, she closed the space between them to just a few inches and placed her hands on his chest.

Elijah could hear her heart start racing from the contact and as soon as she looked up at him through her lashes he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into him, catching her top lip between his. The sensation his kiss sent though her to her core pulled a sound from deep within her that she had never made before, a pleasured moan. A trail of kisses left tingles along her jaw to her neck pulling another moan from her. “You are trembling.” He observed as he pulled back and slid his hand that wasn’t cupping the back of her head over her thin sleeping gown covered shoulder.

“I have never felt like this before.” She admitted with a whisper as she opened her eyes and looked into his.

“And how do you feel?” he asked as he gazed back at her.

Her eyes dropped to her hands on his chest as she slid them up to hold each side of his neck. “Alive.” She answered as she looked back up at him as a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “Your touch sends a spark…like lightning through my skin.” With a look in his eyes she’d never seen before and couldn’t identify, he slid his hand down her arm and grabbed her hand off his neck to hold it in his, causing her heart to start racing again. “Do you feel it too or am I going insane?” she asked with worried eyes.

Elijah kissed the palm of her hand, making her eyes flutter then placed it back on his neck. “I feel it too.” Those four words were all she needed to hear to give into what she was feeling and she threw herself into him, kissing him with a hunger that she couldn’t control. In two swift movements her human eyes barely caught their night clothes were gone and he pulled her back into him. With another swift movement he grabbed her curvy waist and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around him out of instinct.

They kissed as he walked over to the edge of the bed, laid her back then stood up, slipping his hand over her neck and down her chest between her breasts. She watched his face as he admired her for a quick moment then lowered himself over her, sliding his hands into hers that were laid out to the side then brought them above her head. He attacked her neck with kisses as he sank into her, “Elijah.”

Afterwards they laid in her bed, covered only by a thin sheet. His arm around her shoulders held her to his side while she stared at her hand resting on his nude chest. In that moment everything in her was relaxed and her thoughts were quiet for the first time ever. Being with Elijah was like nothing she had ever felt before and she doubted she would ever feel with anyone else. “You are quiet.” Elijah pointed out and she didn’t respond. “Having regrets?”

“No.” she answered, but he could hear sadness in her voice.

“Hannah, look at me.” He told her quietly, but she couldn’t. “Talk to me.”

“If my life has taught me anything it’s that men do not like it when a woman speaks her mind.” She replied, still staring at her hand on his chest.

Elijah hooked his pointer finger under her chin and eased her head up to look at him. She pushed herself up on her arm to be able to look at him comfortably. “I am not your average man and I would very much like to know what is going on in that beautiful head of yours.” he cupped her cheek in his hand and her eyes slipped closed for a moment.

She took a deep breath and let it out as she opened her eyes. “I am a terrible wife.” The calm she had been feeling suddenly turned into a tornado and tears started quietly slipping down her cheeks. “I should feel terrible about that, but I don’t.”

“Then why do you cry?” he asked as he wiped a tear with his thumb.

“I do not know.” She answered honestly with a shake of her head that caused her messy curls to sway, then laid back down with her head on his shoulder.

“You told me that you married Ronan because your father told you that no other man would want an atrocious, ill mannered woman like you. Do you honestly believe these things to be true?”

She rubbed his chest absentmindedly. "Yes."

"Hannah," he rolled over, and propped his head up with his elbow and hand as he looked into her eyes, "you are the most stunningly beautiful, kind hearted, open minded woman I have ever met."

"The bad stuff is easier to believe." She replied not meeting his eyes.

As the days passed Hannah, Elijah and Jonah became a family. Hannah accepted that Ronan had either abandoned them or died at sea, and took off her wedding ring. For the first time in her life she felt true happiness. The loneliness that had kept her up at night as she cried into her pillow vanished.

Three months later Hannah stood in Fiona’s trading post. “You and Elijah are getting along well?” the dark haired woman who radiated strength and power, asked with a knowing smile.

“Yes.” Hannah answered with a blush as she looked at a beautiful gown hanging on the back wall of the shop. “It would be safe to say that I have fallen in love with him” Her friend made a scandalous sound that made Hannah laugh and turn to her. “The only problem is…” she paused and looked around the shop seeing that it was empty as she walked over to Fiona who stood at the front counter, “he is immortal. I will grow old and die while he lives on.”

“You could always ask him to turn you.” Fiona suggested not looking up from the imported fancy shoes that she was stocking behind the counter.

“As much as I love him I don’t think I could ever convince myself to be what he is.” She answered with a frown. “Is there anything you could do to make me live longer?” she asked looking up from her hands that tapped the counter.

“No, but…” the bell above the door rang, stopping their conversation. They waited patiently for the customer to get what he needed and leave. “I have a solution to your problem.” Fiona told her about the linking spell and that as long as Elijah lived she would return to him and vice versa.

“What do you need?” Hannah asked hearing all she needed to hear to know she wanted Fiona to work her magic.

“Are you sure about this?” Fiona asked with skeptical eyes.

“I am sure.” Hannah answered with a nod.

Fiona placed her hand over Hannah’s heart and started speaking in another language. After a few minutes she stopped and dropped her hand. “It’s done.”

“Will he know what we’ve done?” she asked.

“He will be able to feel you call to him, as well as any extreme feelings you may have. If I were to stab you, he’d be able to feel it.” she explained. “You will figure it out with time.”

Elijah figured out what Fiona and Hanna had done, but they never talked about it.

~1838~

It was a bright spring day. Hannah attempted to hang laundry on the line, but Elijah kept teasing her dress covered sides and kissing her neck, distracting her from her work. They were so wrapped up in their toying around that they did not realize they had company until they heard someone clear their throat. Hannah laughed as they both turned to see a man on a horse, a small child on the saddle in front of him. It took Hannah a moment to recognize the man, but when she did her heart stopped and her smile faded. "Ronan?"

"Surprised to see me, Dear?" He asked with an angry look at Elijah who still stood behind her. Ronan got down off the horse then grabbed the child and walked over to her. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"What are you doing here?" She asked, still in shock.

"Last I checked I live here with my wife and son. Though I see you no longer wear my ring." He glanced over at Elijah then turned his attention back to Hannah. "Where is Jonah?"

When he realized that Hannah was unable to answer Elijah spoke up. "He is staying with a friend closer to town so he may attend school regularly."

"I don’t believe I was speaking to you." Ronan snapped.

"I don’t believe I care who you were speaking to." Elijah snapped back as he took a challenging step toward the raven haired man holding the child on his hip.

Hannah stepped between them and looked at Elijah. "Give us a minute?"

"Of course." Elijah stepped back a few feet and motioned for them to talk.

"You have been gone so long I thought you had died." Hannah explained with a look between him and the toddler.

"My journey took longer than expected." He told her then looked down at the child on his hip. "Her mother died on the ship, just before we docked." He explained then looked back at Hannah. "I hoped we could give her a home, raise her and Jonah as brother and sister."

"You have been gone for four years. You can not tell me you expected to just pick up where we left off and raise an orphaned child together." She argued back quietly.

"I expected my wife to be faithful. Not whore herself out to another man." He told her with wide eyes.

The sharp crack of skin on skin filled the air as she backhanded him across his cheek. "I am not the weak, dutiful to a fault woman you left behind and you will not speak to me in such a manner!"

Having seen enough Elijah walked back over and looked at Ronan. "Why don’t you tell her the truth?" Elijah asked, making Hannah look at him as Ronan glared at both of them. Elijah wrapped his arm around Hannah’s waist holding her to his side. "The child has your eyes." He looked into Ronan's eyes and compelled him. "Tell the truth."

"I met a woman...we fell in love...she got pregnant and I could not let her raise the child alone. We were going to have a second child, but she and the baby died in childbirth. I did not know what to do so I came here." Hannah’s eyes turned glaring and her freckled nostrils flared. Ronan blinked in confusion. "Why did I just tell you that?"

"Get off of my land." She told him as she stepped out of Elijah's arm to stand in front of Ronan. "Leave this town and never return."

Elijah looked him in the eyes and compelled him. "Do as she says."

Hannah never told Jonah that he had a half sister. Instead she let him believe for his sake that his father had died at sea. A few months after Ronan returned Klaus found Elijah and killed Hannah. Elijah left Jonah with Fiona who located Ronan and brought the young man to his father who raised him alongside his half sister.

~Present Day~

“Please tell me you are done.” Katie panted as she weakly looked up at him.

“I am done.” He told her as he untied the ropes on her wrists and ankles. “Elijah told me to take you home when I was done. Is your home with the Salvatore brothers or the house you own?” he asked as he helped her stand up and she was too weak to bother protesting.

“Bring me to my house.” She answered and started walking. They were almost to the door of the warehouse when a sharp pain shot through her chest making her cry out and she would have fallen, but Jonas caught her. “No, no, no.” She cried as she placed her hand over her chest knowing that Elijah was dead and would most likely stay that way this time.

“Care to explain what that was about?” Jonas asked with wide eyes.

“Elijah is dead.” She panted through the pain. “Something tells me they won’t make the same mistake twice.” She watched as Jonas’s face turned angry.

[c-atm]

Dance in the pale moonlight

 "So Seer, How things went?" Steven leaned back in the cushioned crimson marble chair, looking at Garnet from across the table in the center of her workshop. His arms were crossed and while his face was the picture of calm, the reflexively silent snarl from his upper lip left side told a different story.

"It went..Not as smoothly as I hoped." The witch ran a hand through her afro. "That said, there has been some gossip being passed along the magic and demon scene."

Steven said nothing as he folded his hands on top of the table, he nodded for her to continue.

"There's been a demon familiar hunting down and capturing demons for a few months now, indiscriminately. The attacks were random enough in terms of time and place...but their victims were always found in the same way. Completely drained of their magic and spirit, a mangled mess of flesh..and in some cases, their gem dimmed, crushed and powdered over the corpse. "

"That's...horrendous." Steven's face twisted in disgust at the thought of the victims. Pity filled his heart as his hand went towards navel. "For what reason would they need to go that far?"

"To gain infamy, what else?"

Steven groaned as a slightly  more demonic and distorted voice chimed through from behind his chair.

"Violet." Garnet greeted evenly as a ghastly  more demonic looking version of Steven hovered from behind the chair into her view. 

The aptly named specter, chuckled at the tone of the witch  "Been a while, Tri-sight. Look up any good lottery numbers, spoil any good movies, give any fortunes that may or may not be beneficial to others."

"Violet." Steven growled. "Now, is not the time for your normal characteristics."

"It's alright Steven. It's just how it is. He's in his right. "

"You're damn right I am." Violet grinned a little more at the small bit of guilt in her voice. "But that can wait for another time."  

"I agree."  The hybrid offered with a hard exhale from his chest. "Garnet, is he right? They are doing all this for something as foolish as attention." A surge of magic radiated from the demon hybrid at the thought.

"It's a high possibility...though it's more like they wished to be feared." She suggested. "When you asked me to look into the attack and the possibility of any other ones happening in the city, I stumbled upon something that may be related to something I've been looking into previously." She sat up and folded  her hands on the table, a slightly cool glare in behind her glasses. " What do you know about puppetry spells?"

"Come on...Don't glare like that, a bewitching beauty should always be smiling, right?"

Connie kissed her teeth at Azurite’s teasing smile. "So, I can assume that was your doing a few days ago?"

"A few days ago?" 

Connie ire rose as she watched the demoness playfully tipped her head to the side, as if she was trying to recall an event.

"That was so long ago." Azurite mused, before snapping her fingers, before pointing at the witch. "You're talking about that musical glutton of an annoyance in the middle of the burner street." She chuckled "Sorry, I know It was your demon's prey, but well.I couldn't resist such a fear-filled meal. Besides ” Azurite patted her stomach “Lady’s got to eat right.”

“What are you after?" 

"Sheesh..You're really all business..Well except  for your hybrid." 

Connie snarled as her eyes took on a bit of purple to go with her black. "Keep him out of your mouth." The witch warned.

"Heh, you really are a passionate one."Azurite  complimented. "Explains why you are so well versed in fire and offensive artes." She sighed as she crossed her legs. "The hybrid's lucky..His partner is someone who could actually support him in battle. Not a coward like my master-Woah!" Azurite leapt from her perch, dodging a purple fireball from the witch. "Damn," Azurite complained as she watched the metal bar melt "You are quite protective over what's yours, huh? Get me a little jealous, when compared to my master."

"You're complaining all about your partner." Connie observed. "If you're trying to get on my team. I'm not looking for another troublemaker, happy with my current partnership." She gave her a grin that was drenched with danger, before it fell to an even neutral stare. "You said you wanted to talk, but it seems like you're stalling..And you don't  seem like a fighter...So," She pointed her index  finger at the demon, a flame of purple igniting at  the tip. "I'm going to do my job, my real job."

"Hey hey.. hold on.. I really do wanna talk." Azurite lifted her hands up in peace.

"Really, don't  have much to say to manic demons. Definitely, one with a stalker complex."

"That was on my master's orders, my human master!"

"You're point?"

"It was supposed to be an offering of affection. A sacrifice of love to you..The one who saved him from death six months ago." Azurite announced dramatically, before she snorted " He's such a fool and a coward, not made for battle, kind of like me." She chuckles " But he does have a vast amount of magic, a vast amount of ambition, has the making of a saboteur and a synergist...Manipulative little man he is...I respect that." She almost voiced in praise.

“I...Have no idea who you are talking about..And you’re officially wasting my time.” Connie answered.

“Then let’s stop wasting time. My master wants your heart...I want your strength.” Azurite clapped her hands and from the shadows more people, like the one before appeared. Soulless and tormented eyes upon neutral line lipped faces. Their clothes torn and ragged with splatters of blood. Bruised and cuts on various places of their bodies. The magic...Azurites magic leaking of them. 

 “And I am willing to exhaust a lot of my resources to get you.”

.“What did you do to these people?' Connie raged, hand clenched fist as her flame engulfed them. 

"Them..I did nothing, but made them my champions." Azurite smirked. "I'm not a fighter, something we both established...So I had to get some protection." She twirled her blue hair around her finger, "Though, the process did break them. That's experimentation for you."

"You…"Connie stepped back, caution and repulsion  in her voice. " You brainwashed them?"

Oh..ohoh!" Azurite  snickered into her left palm. " No no...Nothing like that...They are quite aware of what they are doing." Azurite's manic and seductive smile nearly split her face. "They just have no control over their lives, period."

"That's..for what reason?!"

Azurite sniffed the air and shivered almost euphorically. "That's why?" She turned to Connie biting her lip. "That emotion...The unsettling weight, the desperate struggle, the chilling grip on your heart and spine…" Azurite gushed. "Fear!  The emotion that drives the magic of 'Pale Moonlight!'.  

"Puppetry magic...Spells that utilizes the emotions associated with fear as its conduit. It takes away the target reasoning, control, but leave and at times heighten their awareness.”

Steven seemed confused at the prospect.” What..What’s the point of keeping the target aware?”  

“To build  fear, discord,  and agony within the target.” Garnet  offered. “It keeps the spell active  feeding off the fear of the target.”

“But wouldn’t it be easier to just brainwash them?”

“There's no brainwashing spell, Steven.” Garnet chuckled  “The closest one would get is an emotional manipulation spell based on lust and wanton emotions. They are actually much easier to break than puppetry, since they are only used to enhance a target's affection  or change the receiver of such.” Garnet sighed “While both spells weaken and burns out after a while,  Emotional manipulation spells, unlike puppetry spells  leave your soul and mind intact for the most part and the user of the spell has to provide the emotion to keep it intact for long periods, they have to make the love real or at least make their target believe it’s real.”  

“It’s not the same for puppetry spells?” Steven inquired.

“It is similar, but a lot more easier.”

“How so?”

“Really?” Violet growled as he folded his arms. “ Imagine being forced to attack and murder your love ones in cold blood in the most brutal way possible...Flesh against your knuckles, blood on your claws..Their screams of confusion and torment as you ended their lives without fail...Without intention..Without any form of reason, you could explain.”  He sneered at his fleshy half. “A prisoner in your own mind, literally; not even with the ability to scream and rage... I imagine It’s enough to drive a person to utter despair, for them to willingly give up their sense of self.  Anything to rid the guilt of their actions, that load on their psyche.”  

“That’s hellish..” Steven revulsed.

“ You won’t hear a disagreement for me” the tri-clops nodded. “The length some would go is just as hellish, even more so at times.” Garnet gave a dead stare at the two. “You were right to be concerned about the city... During my investigation, I found out about a local club being the scene for a massacre.”

“ A demon doing?”

“That or a skillful spell-caster.“ Garnet suggested with a shrug.”The place itself was ransacked like a brawl took place. It still hadn’t been completely cleaned..The bodies were recently removed  at the time so they had some lingering emotional  and magic signatures.”

“They were all witches and warlocks?” Shock present on the hybrid voice.

“No..but that experience could have opened up their potential to be. Instead.. They were all driven to kill by fear based magic...Or most was,” Garnet folded her arms, “ I have a hunch that at least one or two people walked out of that place.”

“The caster and it’s champion.” Violet concluded. “ Or, puppet would be more appropriate.”

“A testing ground, perhaps?” Steven bit his lip and rubbed his wrist. “It was a testing ground for a wide range puppet spell?” Steven looked towards Garnet .”Is that possible?”

“Most spells like that are single target, but with enough magic and something to use as a transmitter..or amplifier, it’s a possibility..” Garnet eyes widen. “ The disco globe,” she whispered. “ It was doused with magic and while most of it disappeared, it did have some wisp of fear added to it.”

“Which means they could be planning to use this spell on an even larger scale.” Violet surmised. “Maybe even a city wide scale”,  Violet kissed his teeth “Ambitious.. I give them that...” 

“Don’t.” Garnet warned.

"And someone like that is targeting my lady.” Steven growled as he clenched his fist. His pinkish irises squeezed into pin thin slits and his horns grew a bit more as his magic flared. “ The city is no longer safe. I told her that.” His voice trembled in tandem with his bouncing left leg as  his foot caused a small crater the size of his print..

“Steven, calm down.” Garnet eased grabbing the boy's clawed fist.” Connie’s strong enough and smart enough to handle something like this.” she pulled her down her glasses revealing her three eyes. “ I assure you.”

  “Ok I had enough of your master madness.”The witch ground her feet into the sand as she took her ready stance.

"You think i’m doing this for him?,” Azurite gave a murderous smile “No, no, no! This.. this is for my benefit, my objective.” I had time to tune this spell, Witch and soon this city will become my very own fear filled domain, “Azurite stood to her feet” and all it’s residence; male, female, young, old, human and not.” and spread out her arms looking up. ” Will all become my toys, baptized in my horrifying light!”

 Connie could only stare, nerves rattling as the demon in front of her, laughed into the sky, insanely, "You're really completely unhinged."

Azurite looked down at the witch with under half-lidded eyes.”You think me insane? That's fine...Soon, you won't be thinking anything.” With murder in her inhuman blue eyes,  Azurite snapped her fingers and her hoard attacked.

‘Connie’s flame fist collided with the sand below her,  creating  a small explosion of heat and flame. 

Azurite shielded her eyes from the heat and flame as she was tossed back into a pole. “ From so far!? Feel like a bomb just went off!” The demon grunted. When Azurite uncovered her eyes all that was left was liquefied steel, humid suffocating air, tossed and slightly burned bodies,and scorched earth in the pattern spell glyph.

“Slick little witch!” Azurite grumbled. Anger flashing in her eyes as she saw her champions rose to their feet like zombies, teary eye zombies.

“It hurts..:”One managed to state, a teenage witch, which now bore a burn on her face. “It hur-”

“Claw out your throat.” Azurite interrupted emotionlessly, she smirked at the horror in the girl's features as she reached for her own throat and with strength a normal human couldn’t possess,started scratching at her own flesh uncontrollably. Tearing into the flesh after a few scrapes

“I‘m scared.. It hurts..  “

“I know, “She took out a small icy blue pocket mirror with a crescent glyph on its surface holding it to the girl, “and I need you to be.” She  watched as little by little grayish wisp of magic came from the victim into the mirror slowly making whole as the girls youthful tan skin slowly turned a moon gray as the crescent became a full moon. The girl fell to her knees as she continued to scratch trying to beg for help. Fear still in her face. “Hel-

“Plunge.”

The young witch plunged her fingers into her throat choking on her own blood as she died, despair on her face. 

“Her strength would have been useful” Azurite sighed, clamping the mirror close. “Her fear infused magic will suffice.”  She turned to the other seven, who remained silent. ”The rest of you fledglings,” She inhaled. “GET ME MY WITCH!!!” She roared as she spread her wings, blue eyes  blazing with the promise of death if they failed.