#yawning grave chapter three

[write-and-wander]

Yawning Grave | Three: Dwindle

Astarion x Ayzora (F!OC)

Description: New faces, old memories, and internal battles. The party at last finds Halsin and begins to move closer to answers, all the while Ayzora and Astarion dance along the balance between the head and the heart.

Warnings: N/A | Word count: 7.1k

| One | Two | Three | Four | ...

Read on Ao3

Streaks of red ridges carve sharp pathways into pale plains.  Lines interrupt the curve of great circles, punctuated with bug-bite dots.

Ayzora’s scars are like a waving Van Gogh variation on her own skin, carved out in a reminder of the life Orcus forced upon her; a contrast to Astarion’s, which are an intentional pattern drawn by the hand of another.  Because the marks made by a master upon their slave are a promise:  “I own you.  I will use you as I please.”   But of all the ways to brand a slave…

“Why Infernal?”  Ayzora asks aloud.

Astarion, standing tall in leather slacks, does not turn to face her.  He faces the rising sun, arms spread, as if embracing the Dawnfather himself while he basks in the golden glow.  He does, however, tense at her question.  He rolls his shoulders ever so slightly, as if allowing the sudden tension to roll off his back, and ignores her question.

“You sleep light…  I thought you’d be exhausted after last night.”

She decides not to push, stands, and reaches for her clothes, beginning to dress herself in silence.  He seems reluctant to look at her, only turning his head towards his shoulder enough for her to hear his words.  He seemed… distant last night, too.  Even when he did look at me, his eyes seemed… empty.  Am I so unbearable to look at?   Her spiraling thoughts only speed up her process as she rushes to cover her horrid, scarred body.

She almost believed him, when he called her beautiful.  She desperately wanted to.  But reality is swift to settle in.  

It’s over.  Astarion is not holding her; caressing her; kissing her.  He is cold and distant.  He let go of her the second it was finished.  He stood as soon as she fell into trance.

She is not a lover, but a monster.  She is an orphan and an outcast.  She cannot be anything else.

She takes a slow breath, exhaling until her chest is hollow, and holds it there as she finishes dressing.

Astarion sighs in concession as he realizes the conversation isn’t going anywhere now, and at last addresses Ayzora’s first words.

“I don’t know why that bastard wrote the poem in infernal,” he admits, watching her.

Her back was turned to him as he spoke, preparing to leave.  She stops just short of the edge of the clearing, eyes remaining on the trees.  “Poem?��

“A gift from Cazador.”

Ayzora turns to face him.

“He considered himself quite the artist, and used his slaves as a canvas.  He composed and carved that one over the course of a night.”  He bows his head, his voice lowering.  “He made a lot of revisions as he went.”

Her eyes flicker in sudden recognition as it clicks:  that searing pain I felt when we first connected.. .  She opens her mouth to offer her sympathies, but he’s quick to interrupt.

“It seems yours are much more meticulous, though.”

“It’s a necrology,” she says, wrapping her arms around her abdomen as if it protects the mosaic that hides beneath her dress.

His head tilts to the side in sudden piqued interest.  “That’s quite the list you’ve compiled, then…  Trophies?”

She shakes her head quickly.  “No, reminders.  If I don’t forget them… I can make up for it all.”

“Well,” he responds in surprise.  He tilts his head, examining his nails.  “A little cliché, don’t you think?”

She shrugs.

Astarion’s shoulders slack.  She’s impossible!  How in the hells does Gale, of all people, get her to talk?   

“You seem to like cliché, if your words are anything to go by.”

His eyes widen.  After all of this passivity, she’s… flirting?  It seems my work paid off after all.   A smile settles on his features.  “It’s always a pleasure to find like-minded people.”  He grabs his shirt from the tree branch it hung from.  “Now let’s go, we’ve wasted enough time already.”

Ayzora feels something flutter in her stomach, and bashfulness immediately follows on its heels.  Shit .  The smile is already on her face- the mask has already slipped.  She turns and walks back to camp in hurried strides.

Astarion watches his newest plaything leave as his confidence swells.  I’m almost disappointed.  This was certainly easier, but I think blackmail is always so much more fun .

He put the pieces together last night.  Her skin is pale, and cold.  Her heart did not pound beneath his touch; it was still.  Her breath is a natural habit, sure, but clearly unnecessary; her chest never moved while she tranced.  Her patron, Orcus, is the god of undeath himself.  She tries to hide it, and manages well enough, but Astarion knows death better than most.

Ayzora is undead.

She’s no vampire, but she reeks of death as much as her lover.

And no one else knows.

A surprise for later, then. 

“I owe thanks.  I am the druid Halsin.”

Ayzora’s stomach drops.

What once was a bear now stands tall before the group in a humanoid form.  His ears are pointed like an elf’s, but instead of the lean frame of Ayzora and Astarion, his defined muscles nearly double his size by comparison, dwarfing even the white dragonborn that stands before him.  He maintains nearly a full foot of height over his elvish counterparts.  He wears brown and green leather with golden filigree and leafy detail, signaling his druidic background.  Covered in the viscera of slain goblins, his introduction makes waves amongst the group as a flurry of emotions rise.  Most breathe a sigh of relief.  Shadowheart whispers thanks to Lady Shar, while Lae’zel, still offended by the group’s general disinterest in her creche, remains quiet.

“Glad we could be of help,” Dark Urge, ever the confident leader, responds as he steps forward.

“I must admit,” Halsin continues, “I didn’t expect anyone to come to my aid…”

His voice fades into the background as Ayzora glances over at Astarion, who is watching the druid with an uninterested expression.

Feeling eyes on him, he meets her gaze.

She smiles and drops her eyes back to the floor.

The tadpole in her brain writhes for a moment as Astarion mentally prods, asking for permission.

She allows their minds to connect.

“Yes, darling? ”  He asks.  Despite the conversation being utterly silent, only existing in their minds, his tone is lighter than usual, as if he’s smiling in light of her attention.

“You seem bored.  Aren’t you… excited about this?  We found the healer.”  She tries to keep her feelings concealed: the worry about the healer’s ability to truly cure them, the fear of her nature being revealed to the group, and above all, the solemn concern that she will be alone and without chance at redemption if Astarion- the elf she is rapidly garnering affection for- goes his own way; but the emotions translate to Astarion as clearly as her words through the mental pathway.

“We’ve also met two other healers who did nothing to help.  I’ll be impressed when one of them manages to prove themselves useful.”

Ayzora shifts her attention back to Halsin, who is still in the middle of sharing his knowledge about the tadpoles.

Hope begins to wilt away as the druid speaks, until the damning words at last confirm what she had feared: “I can’t cure you.”

Astarion scoffs.

Ayzora turns and begins to leave.

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t help,” Halsin adds.

Gale catches the necromancer’s arm.  “Wait,” he whispers.  “Please.”

She pulls her arm out of his grasp, but concedes.  Back still turned to Halsin, she turns her chin towards her shoulder and listens.

Halsin explains that while he did not find a cure for the illithid tadpoles, he did find their source: a place called Moonrise Towers.  On the heels of his information is a request- help him, and he helps them.  If the group kills the three leaders of the goblin camp here, the tieflings in the druid grove could finally travel safely to Baldur’s Gate.  With the grove taken care of, Halsin can join the journey to Moonrise.

“What can I do to help?”  Dark Urge asks, immediately accepting the new quest.

“Another favor,” Astarion notes mentally, his tone chock-full of exasperation.

Ayzora takes a deep breath.  “More blood to spill,” she adds, matching his tone.  

In her youthful naïveté, she started her travels to make ends meet.  She walked herself down a dark path because her god and her friends demanded her to.  All the while, so much blood was shed it could create her own ocean to drown in.  Each new kill feels like another gasp for air that only fills her lungs with gore.  Watching over the temple of the Raven Queen was supposed to be the ladder out of the eternal fountain of death Ayzora was baptized in, and yet her head is still under bloody waters.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Astarion’s voice breaks through her guilt.  He smiles, the thrill of bloodlust dripping from his bared fangs.

Before she can respond, the tadpoles’ connection snaps.  She is alone, again.

It’s frustrating, how Astarion’s absence stings.

“Come with us,” Dark Urge insists.

Astarion rolls his eyes.

Ayzora looks back at the muscular elf.

Though his form is towering and his words speak of a gruesome fight, his eyes are as soft as the tone of his baritone voice.  A sense of recognition pricks the edges of her thoughts.  He’s familiar to her- like a few notes bringing a long-forgotten song back to the forefront of her mind.

Halsin looks over the party, assessing his unlikely companions.  While Wyll and Karlach remain at camp, the rest stand before the archdruid, anticipating the confirmation of the group’s newest addition.  His eyes linger on Ayzora.

Meeting his gaze, suddenly, it clicks.  The now-remembered melody sings.  Memories flood back to her.

“So be it,” he says at last, and looks again at the white dragonborn.  “May Silvanus lend us nature’s fury.”

The series of fights that follow are hard won.

Halsin, shifted back into a bear, leads each battle with the fury of the scorned.  He is a child who fights for his god’s creation, and a leader who fights for the safety of his people.  His prowess is noble.

Astarion loses himself in the joys of bloodshed, dashing between goblins and running daggers through various kinds of flesh and furs.  With his secrets at last exposed, he can indulge freely in turning his fanged rage against Cazador towards his temporary opponents; and none stand long once they are made his target.  The blood that splatters on his chest and drips down his cheek mixes with sweat, turning translucent and catching the torchlight like glittering ruby dust.  His passion is contagious.

Ayzora is elsewhere.  Her movements are made with practiced precision, proving effective even in close range of her enemies.  Her mind, however, is trapped in the purgatory of her present situation, drifting down the river styx with a different sort of hell beckoning her on either side.  If she tries to anchor herself to the present, she drifts away from goblins in a dark ruined tower and washes up on a great battlefield facing the people who she betrayed.  If she reaches towards another place or another time, the faces of angry gods flood her mind with anxiety.  So instead, she chooses… nothing.  Her eyes drift between opponents only to aim a spell.  Her mouth only moves to vocally command the flow of magic through her.  Her scythe swings and slashes with ferocity.  All the while, Ayzora is absent, locked away in the recesses of her mind.  Her state is unnoticed.

When it’s finished, Halsin, Dark Urge, and Gale enter a quiet conversation.  Lae’zel cleans her blade while Shadowheart cleans her armor and Astarion makes a beeline for the treasure hoard.  Ayzora turns Messorem from scythe to cloak and sits, clasping it back onto her harness while she stares a thousand yards away, into nothing.

“We’ll see you back at the grove, then,” Dark Urge says as Halsin takes his leave.

Lae’zel promptly stands to return to camp on her own, and after a beat, Astarion returns to the group, pockets full of gold.  Ayzora quietly stands, shrugging off Gale’s gentle concern with a smile and a quip about their poor luck with healers.  Shadowheart and Dark Urge begin their walk back to camp, and Gale and Ayzora start to follow a few paces behind.  She turns back to Astarion, checking to see if he’s coming with them.

Astarion meets her gaze, and for a moment, his heart sinks.  He recognizes the emptiness behind her green and gold eyes.  He’s felt it before, choosing nothing as a means of escaping that which he refuses to experience.

It was the expression he wore last night, as he ravished her in the woods.

For the first time in decades, there’s a pang of guilt in his chest.  Guilt.  Why?

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m coming,” Astarion chirps with a wink, jogging to catch up with the group and taking his place alongside her.

That evening, Gale and Dark Urge recount the day to Karlach and Wyll, even making a point to introduce them to Halsin when he stops by the camp.

Ayzora sits in front of the fire, slowly plaiting her hair into a clean braid, and carefully watching Halsin as he greets the others.  His eyes occasionally flicker to hers, feeling her stare fixed on him, but he maintains his focus on the newly met companions.

She stands and walks to the nearby shore, staring out at the lapping waves of the Sea of Swords.  She wraps her arms around her frame, a chill running from the base of her neck, down her spine, and dispersing in her legs.

“It’s a beautiful view,” Halsin says softly.

Ayzora jumps, glancing back to see the Silvanic druid standing behind her.  She nods, turning back to the sea.

The moonlight dances on the surface of the waters, casting an oblong silvery reflection against the distant ripples of the lively ocean.  Stars sparkle across the mirror of the horizon, turning the sky and the sea into a glittery gossamer blanket of indigo over Torril.

Sand softly crunches until warmth radiates against Ayzora’s back- he stands close, but does not touch her.  Slow tears trail down her cold face.

“I remember everything,” Halsin says low, his rumbling voice trailing hot breath that lands on her skin.  “And it seems,” he continues, moving to stand beside her, “you remember as well.”  He glances at her briefly, but moves his eyes to the sea as she continues to stare forward.

“71 years,” she whispers.

He hums.

The salty-sweet ocean breeze fills the otherwise silent air.

She breathes in deep, letting her watery eyes flutter closed.

A large, calloused hand reaches for hers in an offer of comfort.

She takes it.

He speaks again at last: “I’m so sorry.”

Her voice is breathy and broken, barely carrying over the waves crashing into the shore.  “It’s alright.  You tried.  It meant a lot.”

“We all tried.”

“It never matters.”

“It does,” he insists, turning to face her as he wraps both hands around hers.  “You must not give up, Ayzora.  You will find an answer.”

“This isn’t a curse, Hals.  I can’t cure what I am-”

“Not by normal means, but there may still be a way.”

She looks up at him, tilting her head in a despondent plea.  Please, don’t.

“You convinced me with the Shadow Curse.  I have yet to give up on healing the lands again- and the longer I search, the more certain I am that it can be done.”

“I am, too.  For you.”  She lifts a hand to his cheek.  “I’ve made peace with it.  I need to focus on recompense, now.”  She pulls her hands away, dropping them back to her side.  In another life, she would have loved to journey with him.  To have searched together for a cure to her state, and healing for the shadow-cursed lands.  Perhaps to have even grown to love him.  But when she met him, he loved another.  The lands had been cursed for decades.  Her life was permanently shrouded by undeath.  There was no light amidst all the darkness.

If only I had told her then, he thinks as he looks upon the face he loved and lost all that time ago.  Maybe it could have been different.

“You tried; and when you failed, you gave me Droop.  You’ve done enough.”  It’s a closed chapter, she means, let’s not try to open it again.   She sighs, and mutters: “I’ve only started.”  My story is far from finished.  No rest for the wicked.

“Ace,” he begins.  But no words follow.  The moment he saw her again, his heart stirred, as hope and love rekindled.  Now, it only aches.

She nods.  She knows.  And that is enough for her.

Halsin watches as his once-companion- who could have been so much more- walks away, leaving him standing on the shore with the same defeat he had felt 71 years ago.

Silently, she returns to camp.

Astarion watches her walk through the camp like a ghost, drifting over the cool grass with hollow eyes that only look forward.  He knows what drives him to that place- but what has driven her there?   He stands and begins to follow, but stops in time with her as she freezes just in front of her tent.

She takes a deep breath, shifting her posture, and turns.  Seeing Astarion, she blinks a few times in surprise- clearly too preoccupied beforehand to have noticed him following her.  “Astarion,” she greets.

“Hello, darling,” he responds, shifting his weight onto one foot.

She looks around the camp.  “Has everyone else gone to bed already?”

“Yes- you just missed an exciting little tiff between Shadowheart and Lae’zel.”

Ayzora sighs, “of course.  Did they resolve it?”

“Unfortunately.”  He looks over his nails.  “Dark Urge talked them down.  A shame, really,” he whines, glancing over at the other tents, “a fight certainly would have been more interesting.”

“Shame I missed it,” she says flatly.  “Do you need to feed on me, tonight?”

His brows twitch together for a moment in confusion.  “Well, I don’t need it, seeing as we’re due for a party tomorrow.  But I wouldn’t say no.”

“A party?”

He sighs, resting one hand on his hip while the other gestures along with his speech.  “The tieflings from the grove offered a night of celebration to thank us for saving them.”

She hums, “Tomorrow might feel more like home for you, then.”

Astarion’s head tilts, silently questioning her.  He’s no hero.  What about this would feel homey?

“You know… the ‘bustling taverns’ and all?”

“Oh, yes,” he chirps.  “It might not be so bad after all… at least, with the right company.”

She looks down.  He didn’t really want me… did he?  He just seemed so-

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?”  Her head snaps back up.  “I’m fine.  Why?”

He scoffs.  “You may be one of the quiet ones, darling, but you’re never this standoffish.”

She shakes her head, “It’s… a long story, and I need to get some rest.”

“Well, in any case, if you ever need to… talk ,” he strains, clearly… out of his comfort zone, in this sort of conversation, “I’m all pointy ears.”

His joke, corny as it is, manages to make Ayzora smile.

He feels relieved at the sight.  It catches him off guard.  Why does it matter, anyway?

“Thanks, Star,” she responds quietly.

Star.  Like a light in the darkness.

He smiles, ever so slightly.  It’s small, barely noticeable, but it’s a feeling he had nearly forgotten.

“Goodnight,” she whispers before slipping into her tent.

“Goodnight, Ayzora” he responds after a beat, so quiet she probably didn’t even hear him.  His smile lingers.

He turns away from the closed tent.  Tomorrow, the journey is put on hold, taking a day of rest as the tieflings come to celebrate with their… heroes.  A title that, for the first time in his two and a half centuries, includes him.

He can ponder his feelings all he wants tomorrow, then.  Maybe I just need reassurance in our… alliance.  Perhaps another night of passion would make it feel a little more secure.   Then, everything can resume as planned.  Walls go back up, feelings are pushed out of the way, and a target is carved onto Cazador’s back.  The perfect plan carries on.

So long as he continues to deny himself the genuine connection he somehow desires still, despite everything.

The navy night shifts to a soft, sourceless lavender light emanating around her as she trances.  A bright blue glow flashes from the other side of her eyelids, and the chilling sensation of a presence hovering over her body forces her eyes open.

“I came just in time,” the voice greets, “you are transforming.”

Ayzora jolts back, shrinking away from the looming figure.

An elf in gold and red armor kneels beside her, holding a gentle hand near her sweating forehead.  His eyes are the rich brown of a wood elf’s- almost bearing a distant resemblance to Ryon- but his features are softer, less angular.  His face, and even more so, his voice both feel familiar.  

When the nautiloid crashed… and I lived…

He shifts back, granting some space between them.

‘Transforming.’  Into a mind flayer.  Is he the reason for our lack of symptoms?

“You…” Ayzora begins, but no other thought comes to mind.

“I saved you before.  You remember?”

Ayzora nods. 

“I’m here to save you again.”  He smiles warmly.

It does nothing to disarm her.  Her head shifts sideways as her expression shifts from confusion and curiosity to a defensive threat:   Why?  What are you doing?

“Don’t worry,” he continues, holding up a hand to signal his passivity.  “You will not become a mind flayer.”  He stands.  “Not while I’m around.”  His hand extends towards her, offering to pull her up to her feet.  “I’ll protect you.”

Watching him with the expression of a cornered animal, prepared to lash out at a moment’s notice, Ayzora scoots back to add a couple extra inches to the space between her and this… dream visitor… and slowly rises on her own.  The last person to come to me in a dream was Orcus.  He, too, made a promise that seemed too good to be true.  Who is this?  What the hells does he want?

“Independent,” he notes, twisting her defensive behavior to a positive light with a smile that is beginning to unsettle her, “good.”

Now standing, she looks around.  Stars litter the lavender skies, but there is no movement to them, as if time stands still.  The ground beneath her feels less like a promise and more like a suggestion, something she could easily leap from without the resistance of gravity.  Rocks of various sizes float around the small, airborne island she finds herself standing on.  Weathered pillars hold up a stone gazebo- one that could be an independent structure, or part of something much grander and much older than this floating piece of land could allude to.  What is this place?  

“We haven’t much time, so listen closely.”  He pensively paces towards the edge of the island, staring out into the sparkling purple abyss.  

Ayzora remains in place, watching his every movement.  But, she listens.

“There is great potential within you.  It comes from that parasite.  Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it, nurture it.”

So you protect me from its evil transformation, but sing the praises of its power?  Convenient.

“I will keep it from consuming you.  But for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it.”

If it consumes us both, I still come back in less than a tenday.  I could take my chances…

But… Astarion.

Fine.

She nods.

The stranger gestures towards the space that lies beyond, and at last, Ayzora takes a few hesitant steps closer.  Distance still remains- enough space to give her time to react- but she can see the vast skies that stretch beyond this small sanctuary this elf has brought her to.

It’s a stunning view.

Until another distant island- shimmering with magic, surrounding some sort of… great skull, it seems- comes into focus.  Glowing figures, basking in a light that renders their humanoid form otherwise unreadable, engage in a battle in the air.

“A fight for the fate of Faerun,” the visitor clarifies.  “A fight we are losing.  For now.  You can change that, but only if you embrace your potential.”

If only you knew where my ‘potential’ got me.

“I have to go.”  His voice is suddenly lower.  Less pleading.  More grave.  He turns to her.  “The enemy is closing in.  I will be back.”

Ayzora looks back to him.  She has felt many things on this journey- but the instinctual fear that rises in her stomach surpasses all of it.  This is wrong .  He is not what he appears to be.   She doesn’t know how she knows, but she’s certain of it.  No.  Not another one of you.  I can’t do this again.  

Before she can even begin to express anything, a bright light pulsates out from the distant battle-ridden skull.  It floods her view, drowning out the sparkling purple sky.  She lifts her arms in front of her face, bracing herself, when the visitor steps directly in front of her.

Holding out a hand out towards the other island, the growing light is contained; but only for a moment.  “Wake, now,” he urges, telekinetically forcing Ayzora backward, away from the explosion, with just the gesture of a hand.

As she flies into the space beyond, bright white light fills her vision, forcing her eyes to screw shut.  When she drifts, all she sees is that light, while his deep voice echoes in her mind:

“You’ll feel better- I promise.”

His promise is broken the moment her eyes open again.

The air turns cold and thin as the white light is swiftly drowned in dark night.

“My harbinger.”

His voice fills her body with a dread she has gone decades without.

Ayzora, already on her knees, beholds the Demon Lord of Undeath.

His eyes glow red beneath the deer skull he wears over his face.  Two massive horns protrude from matted black fur and curl outward with his stretched gangling wings.  His blood red skin is half-covered in black leather armor, adorned with black iron spikes.  His clawed right hand clenches The Wand of Orcus, a black obsidian and iron rod shaped like a human spine, and at the top is a mount for the glowing human skull- an eternally cursed memorial for a hero that dared stand against him centuries ago.

A weapon she used to wield, in what feels like another lifetime.

“Orcus,” she acknowledges with a nod.  

“Your companion,” he begins.

“Which one?”

“The vampire.  He, too, belongs in my domain.  It seems he has captured your attention, as well as mine.”

Her body jolts towards him, but her movement is quickly halted by the hands that grasp her shoulders.

“Has it been so long that you’ve lost your respect?”  His left hand flicks outward, ordering the others to release you.  “Come now, Ayzora.”

Claws retract from her flesh, leaving symmetrical trails of blood on her collarbone.

She stands, posture straight, face devoid of emotion.  Masterfully, she draws open the slit of her dress and drops her head in a low curtsey.  “What do you require of me, my lord?”

Orcus smiles as she straightens.  “You’ve found us quite the gift.  Fitting, that it is borne by my domain.”

She bites her tongue.

“Am I correct to assume your affections for the vampire outweigh that of the others?”

Her teeth dig into its flesh.  Stale blood mixes with saliva.

“I only ask for certainty that you will not be swayed by the druid, nor the wizard.”

Enough.  “When did you start watching again?”

His head tilts to the side in interest.  “I am always watching over my champion,” he answers, as if the question were trivial.

“We had a deal-”

“And I have maintained it perfectly, despite your failure.”

“You should have told me we were contending with Shar!”

He clicks his tongue.  “Nevermind the past.  Though you failed to harness it completely, your aid in the shadow curse still harvested plenty for your phylactery.  My armies grew, and I have left you alone.  As agreed.”

“Until your need for me becomes too great.”

“So you do recall our deal.”  With a wave of his wand, undead creatures swarm behind him, gasping and moaning as they clamber over one another until a throne of bones and rotting flesh forms beneath him.  He lowers into his undead seat.  “Your dear elf has the key to the next great expansion of my domain- one that, I assure you, will be to our mutual benefit.”

“What do you want with him?”

“Tsk, I care not for the vampire.  I care for what he can grant me.”

At least he’s honest about these things now.

“You’re smart, Ayzora.  You will know when you discover it.  All I ask is that you follow through.”  He extends a hand to her.  A deal is offered.

Ayzora instinctually begins to reach for his hand, but stops herself.  Gathering every bit of the courage she’s built for the last seven decades, she lifts her chin and looks into the eyes of her patron.  “Call this our last deal.”

His hand retracts to his side.  He leans forward.

“If I ‘follow through,’ then you end our pact.”

“You will lose the chance to make a deal with the Seldarine, and you alone will be responsible for your phylactery.  Are you certain?”

The Seldarine.  Even after all I’ve done, would Corellon accept me back into his hands?  Will I ever return to the Feywild?   Long ago, Ayzora dreamed of paying off enough debts to make a plea with Corellon.  She would be accepted back into elven society.  She would belong.  She would finally be redeemed.  And after serving his people for the centuries that could follow, she would at last return to his embrace in the Feywild; perhaps he would even send her back to Toril, allowing her to reincarnate and live a life free of the pain she could not escape in this one. It’s been over a century and a half since Orcus tempted her with the idea.  Inspiration has long since withered.  If I don’t escape now… when will it be over?

Closing the gap between her and the hulking demon lord, she offers her hand.  Orcus’s symbol, still magically carved into the back of her hand, is revealed at last as it begins to glow a dark blue.

“You’ll get what you want.  I’ll get my freedom.  Then you can find someone else to do your bidding.”

“Very well.”  Orcus extends his hand, grasping Ayzora at the forearm.

One last deal.

She wakes with a jolt.  The cold sweat upon her brow is gone, along with the pain of the beginnings of ceremorphosis, and so is the nightmare.

But the churning anxiety in her stomach remains.

A being, clearly of some sort of great power, coming to her in a dream.  Offering to protect her, while also granting her power of her own.  All the while, placing the proposal against the backdrop of some great war that only she can help with, so long as she embraces whatever it is he offers her.

It’s all happened once before.  It turned her into something else entirely.

She can’t do that again.  

She won’t.

And the demon lord responsible is making a request on the heels of this stranger.

She prefers the Raven Queen’s nightmares.

“Breakfast is served!”  Gale calls out.

Her head snaps towards the door of her tent as people begin to shuffle around the camp outside.  The sun is rising, and with it, her companions.

And, rumor has it, there’s a party to be had today.

Lovely.

When she leaves her tent, she hears the tail-end of Lae’zel’s ���call to action” (a githyanki’s version of a request) to head north and at least scout out the path that will guide the group to the creche that she guarantees has the cure they’re seeking.

Wyll, Karlach, Gale, and Dark Urge agree to go with.  Astarion takes the opportunity to “get some beauty rest,” and Shadowheart… seems to have wandered off a while ago.

“In that case,” Dark Urge pipes up, “I will go search for her.  Traveling alone may prove to be dangerous.”

“Don’t need an excuse, D’Urge,” Karlach chimes in, “go find your girlfriend.  We’ve got it.”

With a smile- and a glare- he takes off.

“What about you, Ace?  You could come along,” Gale offers, shifting the group’s attention to their yet-silent companion.

She dismissively waves a hand, “no, I’ll stay.  Someone still needs to watch camp.”

“And start a fire?”  Wyll asks.

“Sure,” she agrees with a nod.

“Then it is decided,” Lae’zel confirms.  Turning on her heel, she promptly begins the walk north.

“Be back soon, soldier!”  Karlach yells back with a wave as the rest of the group disperses.

Footsteps fade behind the gentle breeze.

Exhale.

Glancing around to confirm she’s alone, Ayzora’s tears fall freely at last.  Silent, but free.

A few quiet hours pass by.  The sun has passed by the top of the sky and is beginning its descent back to the horizon as the afternoon settles in.

The sunlight warms Ayzora’s cheeks, which are still drying from intermittently crying.  She sits on a log by the fire pit, placing down a few pieces of the wood Wyll had freshly cut the day before and littering them with kindling. 

Near-silent footsteps appear behind her, catching her attention.

Astarion. 

She wipes her face of any remaining tears as the footsteps stop.  Determined to talk about anything other than what weighs on her mind, she speaks first:  “Do you think you’ve adjusted to it yet?” Ayzora asks as the now-revealed Astarion sits down on the log behind her.

The dry leaves finally catch, quickly consumed by flame.

She moves to sit and take up the unoccupied space beside him.

His eyes follow her, head tilted just an inch. “To what?”

“The sun,” she answers, turning her face upwards with closed eyes to bask in the warmth. Silently, she thanks the Dawnfather for allowing her under his light, even if Corellon never will.

“Gods, no,” he scoffs. “200 years of habits aren’t broken so quickly.” He sighs, and continues with a low voice, “especially with a… temporary change. But I’m never one to turn down gifts.” His eyes flicker to her neck. As wonderful as the light of the sun is, its warmth hardly holds a candle to the gift of warm blood filling the mouth of a hungry vampire.

“Gifts?”

“Oh, yes,” he says, as if suddenly remembering something, “I had the strangest dream last night.  There was a visitor promising me protection, and all sorts of delicious powers from the parasites in our heads.”

Her expression sobers as she looks at him.

“Given our shared affliction, I suppose you had a similar dream…?”

She says nothing.

“No need to be shy about it, darling.  This is a good thing.  Now we can see what these tadpoles can do for us.”

She hums, rolling her head back towards the sky.  “Enjoy it while it lasts. The scales will always balance in time.”  Her mind wanders to Orcus’ first promise- the one she sold herself for- as her stare drifts to the distance.

“Oh, I plan on it,” he purrs.

But there is no response from Ayzora.  She is returned to the fog of her mind.

The fire crackles.  Astarion watches the blaze consume the wood, turning brown bark to white ash.

And Ayzora’s mind wanders.

He came to her in a dream. “A life for a life,” he said. If she destroyed the Raven Queen and her temple, he would grant her the power to bring back Laz. Ayzora could finally give her adoptive father, Zedd, the wife he had missed so dearly; she could finally pay him back for everything he had done for her.

So she accepted his offer. Ayzora, Remus, and Ryon- The Shrouded Triad, he called them- infiltrated the temple and tore it to the ground, taking the goddess of death with it.

Laz’s body laid in a tomb beneath the temple. Ayzora resurrected the woman, introducing herself briefly before bringing her home to Zedd. The reunion was- still is- the happiest day of Ayzora’s life. The family she had so desperately craved was hers at last.

It wasn’t until Ayzora had seen Orcus’ symbol glimmer and fade with necrotic magic on Laz’s forehead that she questioned what she had done. She suddenly wondered about the conditions of his gift of resurrection; the hidden cost of the deal beginning to surface.

If only she had stopped there.

“You were there, that day,” Astarion notes softly, “when the nautiloid reached Baldur’s Gate.”

Ayzora is wrenched from her thoughts, jarred by the sudden shift in topic.  Shit .  “You remember?”

“I remember your gods-awful cloak.”

Ayzora laughs breathily.

Silence returns to the air.

Astarion shifts, his eyes still trained on the orange glow of the dying campfire. He tosses in a few more bits of kindling, encouraging the flames to grow a couple of inches taller.

“You stopped,” she finally says.

“Hm?”

“When you saw me. You stopped.”

“As did you, if I’m not mistaken,” he quips, lifting his head to look at her.

“Well-”

“Why were you there?”

Every muscle in Ayzora’s body snaps to attention, tensing together and leaving her frozen.

The expression she wears is almost identical to the one he saw that morning. He’s seen her flustered, sure- hells, she could hardly keep her cool the first time he offered her a night of passion- but this was… different.

Her mind buzzes through about a hundred variations of an answer, ranging from blatant lies to softened truths.  She would twist her story, somehow, into something that paints her as far less desperate, but…  He wouldn’t buy it for a moment.  With a deep breath, she gathers her courage and manages to finally speak: “You prayed.”

“What?” His eyes grow wide beneath raised eyebrows.

“To the Raven Queen.  I heard you.”

He shoots up to his feet, taking a step back to gain some space in a suddenly intrusive conversation.  “You were there?”

“No, I-”

Everything crashes down on her at once.  Orcus.  The tadpole.  Astarion.  My damnation.  It’s all falling apart at the seams.   Her perfect posture crumbles before him as she doubles over with her face buried in her hands.

“I used to scry on the temple, and answer prayers on the Raven Queen’s behalf.”

It’s all too much for Astarion to take in- how dare she see him like that, in all his naked desperation.  “Odd choice for the chosen of Orcus,” he digs.

“I am his no more than you are Cazador’s,” she spits, looking up at the elf. Her arms cross over her midsection, clutching her sides in an attempt to soothe the guilt twisting knots in her abdomen. “I-” … wanted to be good again, she finishes silently. She swallows, forcing back tears.

Astarion clenches his jaw at the mention of his master’s name- but he stops himself.  If he snaps now, he loses her.  Good things come to those who wait.   So he waits.

“I wanted to help you.”  It’s a half-hearted admission- there’s so much more to it- but it’s an admission regardless.

He sits back down beside her in a near-collapse.  So someone did hear me.  Someone did come for me.  All this time, Astarion knew he would rot away in the bitterness of his utter abandonment; but now… his heart could rot no longer.  Suddenly, he isn’t alone.  Suddenly, he isn’t invisible.  Suddenly, he isn’t abandoned.

Suddenly, he’s completely screwed.

“And I left,” he whispers in disbelief.  “To think, I almost brought you to…”

“Why didn’t you?” She interrupts, the question burning in the back of her mind all this time finally making its way into words.

He’s taken back by her bold question.  If his heart could still beat, it would race.  “W-Well, it… I thought I’d play savior.”  His eyes darken as he tries to retreat back into the comfort of theatrics.  “Chaos makes for easy prey.”

“The frozen elf wasn’t easy prey?”

“You were-” Astarion begins, but falls silent.  How can anyone reason with the kind of things I was forced to do? How can anyone make sense of what I did to stay sane?   He sighs.  They can’t; so he answers honestly: “You… looked like me.”

Ayzora’s words fall into the abyss.

Her skin is just about as pale as his; her heart just as still.  Her long hair, though straight, is the same silvery white as his curls; her eyes as bright of a strange hue.  He looked at her, and saw himself.  He couldn’t bear to watch Cazador kill him again.

It was a selfish reason, sure, but she couldn’t hold it against him.

It was the same reason she chased after him.  To free a slave from an all-too-powerful master.  To save herself.

All this time, in chasing each other, they were chasing after some distorted echo of self-preservation.

But now, she sees so much more than herself when she looks at him.

She’s terrified.

And gods be damned, so is he.

They both continue to stare at the fire in silence.  What else is there to say?

His prayers didn’t go completely unheard, after all.  And the one who tried to answer them nearly lost her life in the attempt.  Here he was, attempting to lure someone who was already running to him.

She only ever wanted to save herself.  That was all that drove her to this place.  Yet, she finds herself caring more for his future than her own.  No matter how this ends, she would try all over again.  For him.

Her left hand shifts.  Slowly, carefully, it slides just millimeters closer to him.  Reaching for him.  Asking to be held.  Just for now.  Even if it’s all a lie.  She’s okay with that.  He can lie about everything, as long as she can be honest now.

His eyes glance down while his head remains in place.  He watches as her hand turns, exposing her palm.  A hand to hold, if he so chooses.  Small, innocent touch, offering comfort.  It feels… alien.

It’s all a lie.  A plan.

His right hand lifts off his lap.

A plan I perfectly carried out.  A plan she walked right into.

It gently lands atop hers.

It’s a lie.

She squeezes.

Right?

This is cross-posted to my Ao3, @ write-and-wander, so be sure to subscribe to the fic there if you want to see it first and be notified when it updates!

Chapter Four: Decompose

[gullemec]

Lion's Den

Golden Cage - Chapter Three

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: A late-night stake out with Butcher turns into something unexpected. You and Hughie embark on your highest-stakes mission yet.

Warnings: mentions of death, depictions of grief, language, alcohol use, smoking, Homelander is his own trigger warning, needle injection, body horror/gore, blood, murder, explosions

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7k

A/N: This chapter contains one of the first scenes I ever came up with for this fic and I'm super proud of how it turned out. Thanks for reading <3

Your chest heaves in fits of laughter, the sound escaping in gleeful bursts that ripple through the warm summer air. Hair floating behind you like the tail of a comet, catching the light as it swirls and dances. The soft fabric of your dress billows around you, its folds fluttering with every swing. Your toes stretch forward, daring to brush against the edge of the sky. For a fleeting moment, a hint of fear creeps into your belly. 

Too high, too fast. 

But then there are hands at your back, firm and steady, guiding you. A gentle push, a quiet assurance. The embrace that follows is warm and full, carrying the familiar floral scent of comfort, safety, and love.

Nothing can hurt you now, not while I’m around.

Your high school prom. A shimmering haze of hairspray and perfume, your gown a vibrant turquoise that catches the light like sunlit waves. Awkward poses frozen in the flash of cameras. Corsages pinned with trembling hands. Laughter and whispers shared between girlfriends as music thrums faintly in the distance.

And then her voice, soft yet full of pride, as she peers at you from behind the lens. Her eyes crinkle with warmth, her smile radiating maternal joy.

So beautiful. So special. I love you so much. 

Later, a university acceptance. The email you read over and over, half in disbelief, and the student visa that followed. A one-way plane ticket tucked carefully into your carry-on. At the airport, the crowd swirls around you in a blur of movement and sound, but all you feel is her arms wrapping tightly around you, her lips pressing a kiss to your temple. You promise to call every weekend, visit every holiday.

You're so smart. I'm so proud of you. You can do anything you set your mind to. 

And you believed her. You always believed her.

The fatherly absence always stung. The missed recitals, forgotten birthdays, the empty chairs at family dinners. He was a phantom presence, his love expressed through impersonal checks and extravagant gifts, always with a neatly written card promising: Next time. When things aren't so crazy at work.

But she was enough. More than enough. Her laughter, her warmth, her unwavering belief in you filled every void he left behind.

Until the night it didn’t.

A phone call at 1AM, shattering the quiet of your dorm room. Your heart lurching as you fumble for the phone, squinting against the harsh glow of the screen. The voice on the other end is jumbled, nonsensical, the words bleeding together.

There's been an accident. I'm so sorry. 

Mourners clad in black gather under a colorless sky, their umbrellas dotting the cemetery like wilted flowers. The rain is steady but light, just enough to soak through the fabric of your dress and chill your skin. A closed casket sits before you, a hollow, unyielding box you can’t bring yourself to approach. You really shouldn’t see her like this. It’s for the best, the funeral director told you. The six foot deep trench yawning before you, her new home. Your father stands beside you, his hand resting awkwardly on your shoulder. His touch feels foreign, unwelcome, but you don’t shrug him off. You don’t have the energy.

It's okay. You'll be alright. Don't cry. 

But how can you not? How can you not cry when the one person who made the world feel safe, who saw the best in you even when you couldn’t, is gone?

You stare at the grave, your vision blurring as raindrops mingle with tears, and you wonder if you’ll ever feel whole again.

~~~

The sticky heat of the laundromat clings to your skin like a second layer, oppressive and inescapable. The hard plastic of the school chair you’re perched on digs into your thighs, leaving faint indentations every time you shift your weight. You adjust your tank top, its damp fabric sticking stubbornly to your back, and glance at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time.

The rhythmic hum and occasional clang of the washers and dryers should be soothing, but it only grates on your nerves. Across the aisle, an elderly woman works on a crossword puzzle, her lips moving soundlessly as she taps her pen against her chin. She’s utterly oblivious to the undercurrent of anxiety rolling off of you.

You’ve been here nearly half an hour.

Where the fuck are the Boys?

Your mind begins to spiral. Had they changed their minds about bringing you into the fold? Decided it was too risky to work with someone so closely tied to CytoGenix and Vought? It wouldn’t make sense—Starlight works with them, after all. Starlight, who comforted you when you were on the verge of breaking, who fought on your behalf, who insisted you call her Annie.

No, they hadn’t forgotten about you. They were just being cautious, you reason. But the nagging thought lingers. Maybe they’ve written you off after all.

You’re startled out of your reverie by movement behind the abandoned front desk. A familiar head pops up. It’s Frenchie, grinning and offering a quick wave to follow.

You jump to your feet, abandoning the chair with such urgency that the crossword woman glances up, giving you a sidelong look. You don’t care. You follow Frenchie through the hidden doorway and down the creaking staircase to the basement.

The Boys are gathered in their usual disorganized fashion. MM leans back in a chair with his arms crossed, Hughie paces idly, and Kimiko sits cross-legged on the floor, her sharp eyes scanning the room with quiet intensity. Butcher, as always, is the picture of brooding discontent, his trench coat draped over the back of the couch.

Annie is the first to notice you, her face lighting up as she waves you over. “Hey, you made it! Just in time for the riveting sixth hour of our surveillance party. So far, the highlights include... absolutely nothing. But hey, fingers crossed for the next six.” Her words are drenched in sarcasm, but her grin is infectious, and you find yourself laughing despite yourself.

“Ah, don’t listen to her,” Frenchie says, gesturing grandly as he flops into a chair. “It is not nothing. We are detectives, uncovering the truths of the universe!”

“Yeah, well, the truths of the universe are boring as hell,” Hughie mutters.

Butcher throws him a sharp look. “You’d think babysitting a couple of blinking dots was rocket science, the way you’re whining about it.”

Your attention shifts to the screen dominating the far wall, where two red dots move steadily across a digital map of Manhattan.

“Who are we watching?” you ask, curiosity overtaking your nerves.

“Your dear ol’ dad and his ball and chain,” Butcher says without looking at you, nodding toward the screen. “Been swannin’ around the city all bloody day. No idea where they’re off to next.”

You squint at the map, noting the dots’ meandering paths through Manhattan. “Yeah, they’re networking,” you say, rolling your eyes. “That’s what they call it when they spend hours sipping $500 bottles of wine with their friend and patting each other on the back for being obscenely rich. My dad swears it’s ‘essential for business,’ but it’s just an excuse to indulge.”

Butcher huffs out a low chuckle. “Sounds about right. It’s all bollocks, anyway. Rich pricks just finding new ways to circle jerk each other.”

You snort, caught off guard by the crude but accurate assessment. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

Butcher starts filling you in on the day’s surveillance. You sit beside him on the couch, leaning in as he explains the patterns of movement they’ve been tracking, the occasional stops your father and Monica have made, and how they’ve been prioritizing intercepting conversations with the bugs. His voice is low and steady, and for a moment, you forget everything else, your nerves, your exhaustion, even the slight embarrassment of sitting so close to him.

For the rest of the evening, the group takes turns monitoring the screen, scribbling down notes about the movements of the little red dots. The mundane nature of the task feels a little silly considering the high-stakes world you’ve stepped into, but you don’t mind. You feel like you’re contributing, even if only in a small way.

At one point, Hughie grumbles, “You know, we don’t have to watch this in real time. Everything’s being recorded. We could just check back later.”

Butcher doesn’t even look at him. “And if they do somethin’ worth jumpin’ on? You wanna miss it, do ya?”

Hughie mutters something under his breath, and Annie shoots you a knowing grin. “He’s been like this all day. Hyper-focused and grumpy as hell. Don’t take it personally.”

You glance at Butcher, his jaw tight as he studies the screen, and feel a pang of understanding. It’s not just determination driving him; it’s something deeper. Something raw and unresolved. You’ve seen that look before—in the mirror.

The grief radiating from him is palpable, even if he hides it well. You don’t know the details, but you can sense it. Loss has a way of marking people, leaving a shadow that never fully fades.

It draws you to him.

Misery loves company, you suppose. 

~~~

The clock reads just past midnight, and the room hums with the kind of stillness that makes every creak of the old laundromat basement feel loud. The dim light casts long shadows over the haphazard mess of wires, surveillance monitors, and makeshift furniture. It’s just you and Butcher now. The others have drifted off to sleep or left for the night.

MM had slipped out hours ago, muttering something about tucking Janine into bed. Hughie and Annie left together not long after, their quiet farewells fading into the night. Frenchie and Kimiko are sprawled together on a cot in the next room, limbs entangled in quiet comfort.

The audio transmitters have been silent for hours. The dots on the tracker map haven’t moved, signifying the cars have both come to rest at the CytoGenix office. Your father and Monica must be asleep in the office quarters. You glance at the dormant monitors, feeling the weight of the lull settle in your bones.

“Think you’ll stay awake much longer?” you ask, stretching to ease the stiffness in your back.

Butcher, leaning against the armrest of the couch, shrugs. “Suppose so. Don’t usually sleep ‘til mornin’.” He watches you with a detached air, like he’s trying to gauge why you’re still here. “You can head home if you like.”

You nod absently but don’t make a move to leave.

The truth is, you don’t want to go. The long hours of surveillance have been uneventful, sure, but there’s something about the waiting, the anticipation, that grips you. Every crackle of static, every blip on the tracker, feels like it could be the moment everything changes.

And the alternative? Returning to your empty loft, with its hollow silence and the weight of your own thoughts? No contest.

You hedge your bets with William Butcher. 

“Mind if I stay?” you ask, careful to keep your tone light.

He gives you a sideways look, one brow quirking upward. It’s a look that says, Why the hell would you want to do that?

You respond by flopping back down on the couch next to him,  pretending the blank computer monitor is the most fascinating thing in the room. You can feel his stare lingering on you, his skepticism practically radiating.

“So,” you say, assuming an air of casualty about you, aloof and haughty. “How many people have you kidnapped?”

Butcher snorts, leaning back with his arms crossed. “That’s usually a second date kinda question.”

You smirk, meeting his dry humor with your own. “So you make a habit of kidnapping young women, then?”

He rolls his eyes. “No.”

Feigning shock, you gasp and place a hand on your chest. “I’m your first? I’m flattered.”

For a moment, his face contorts into genuine bemusement. “Hardly,” he mutters, shaking his head.

Your laughter bubbles up, filling the room with a warmth you hadn’t expected. There’s something oddly satisfying about getting under Butcher’s skin, peeling back layers of his gruff exterior.

When your laughter subsides, he shifts the conversation. “How long you been workin’ for your dad?”

“Six months. Six long months.” You inhale deeply. “I moved home after graduating university. Cambridge, actually. Started interning at his company pretty much right away. It wasn't really my choice, you know? But I do it because…” 

Shit. What do you say? Because having your father's approval means regaining some small shred of self-confidence? Because Monica's preoccupation with your wardrobe, despite her infuriating mannerisms and less than ten-year age gap with you, feels just enough like motherly love that you're willing to entertain it? Because you're so goddamn desperate for love and belonging that you'd lick it off a knife at this point?

“Because it's the right thing to do,” you say finally. And really, is there a better answer than that? 

He nods, his expression softening slightly, though his eyes remain sharp. “And how’s that workin’ out for you?”

You hesitate, tempted to spill everything—the suffocating expectations, the desperate need for approval, the resentment simmering beneath it all. But you settle for a noncommittal shrug.

“What about you?” you counter. “How long have you been in the Supe-killing business?”

His grin is slow and wolfish, the kind that sends a ripple of unease down your spine even as it intrigues you. “Too damn long.”

 Shit, he's charming. 

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, swapping stories that seem to stretch the hours until they blur. You tell him about your time at Cambridge, the interns at CytoGenix who annoy you, the monotonous ways you fill your free time. He lets you in on how the Boys were first formed, telling you all about a remarkable sounding woman named Grace Mallory. He offers you an abridged version of what happened to his late wife, Becca. The conversation, which began light and easy, takes a quieter, heavier turn as the night stretches on.

Butcher leans back, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the walls of the room. He swirls whiskey in a glass, the sharp lines of his face softened by the dim light. “You ever love someone so much it felt like they were the center of your whole bloody world?”

The question catches you off guard. You pause, searching his face. “Yeah. My mom.”

He nods faintly, the corner of his mouth pulling into a bittersweet smile. “Becca was that for me. She was my whole world. Smart, stubborn as hell… too good for the likes of me, if I’m being honest. But she had this way of makin’ you believe in yourself, y’know? Like you were worth somethin’, even when you knew you weren’t.”

There’s a softness in his voice, a vulnerability that makes your chest tighten. You don’t interrupt, sensing how rare these moments are for him.

“I thought I’d done it, beaten the odds,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “Found somethin’ good, somethin’ real. And for a while, I had it. We had it. Then one day, it’s just... gone.”

You don’t know what to say, how to respond to this sudden vulnerability in the stoic man.

“What happened after she was gone… it weren’t just grief. It was like someone ripped my bloody soul out and left me with nothing but rage. I didn’t know how to function without her. I still don’t, most days.”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away, as if the memories are too much to face. You see his fist clench, knuckles turning white.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “She needed me, and I failed her. And after that, I had nothin’ left to lose. So I made it my mission to take down the bastards who took her from me. All of ‘em. Vought. Homelander. Every Supe who thinks they can play god.”

You reach out hesitantly, your hand brushing against his arm. “Butcher… none of that was your fault. What happened to Becca… it wasn’t on you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe not directly, but I didn’t exactly make it easy for her, did I? I put her in the crosshairs just by bein’ me. She deserved better. Better than me, better than this whole bloody mess.”

You sit in silence for a moment, letting his words settle between you. “She loved you, though,” you say softly. “It sounds like she really loved you.”

He exhales sharply, his expression hardening as if trying to shake off the vulnerability. “Yeah. And look where it got her.”

You don’t know what to say to that, the weight of his pain pressing down on you. For all his bravado, for all his rage and resilience, there’s a part of him that’s still broken, still carrying the ghost of Becca with him everywhere he goes.

“You’re not just fighting for revenge, Butcher,” you say finally. “You’re fighting because you want to make sure no one else has to go through what you did. That’s worth something.”

He looks at you then, his gaze softening for a fleeting moment. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “But it don’t bring her back, does it?”

You shake your head, your throat tightening. “No. But it means her loss wasn’t meaningless. You’re doing something with it. And that matters.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The silence feels heavy but not uncomfortable, as if the words that needed to be said are enough to fill the space between you. Butcher just sits there, his expression unreadable, and you wonder if there’s anything more you can say.

So you offer him stories of your mother, warm pockets of safety and love tucked away in the otherwise chaotic mess of your childhood. You tell him about the way she’d hum old jazz standards as she folded laundry, the soft, lilting tunes filling the house with a strange kind of peace. You remember how Sunday mornings smelled of pancakes and maple syrup, her insistence on cooking breakfast herself rather than letting the kitchen staff take over. Those moments were hers, small rebellions in a life that otherwise wasn’t her own.

“She wasn’t perfect,” you admit, picking lint from the couch. “But she tried. She did her best to give me... something good. Something that wasn’t him.”

Butcher leans back, watching you with a quiet intensity. “Your dad?”

You nod, your lips twisting into a bitter smile. “Mom stayed with him for years, not because she wanted to, God knows she didn’t, but because she was terrified of what would happen if she left. He would’ve dragged her through every court in the state if she tried to take me. And with his money? His connections? She didn’t stand a chance. So she stayed. For me.”

Butcher nods, his expression guarded but attentive. “Sounds like she had some steel in her.”

“She did,” you admit, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “But steel can break, too. He wore her down, little by little. Made her feel small, worthless, like she was lucky to even be in his orbit. And then…” You hesitate, swallowing hard. “Then there was Monica.”

Butcher curses under his breath at the mention of her name and you can’t help but laugh.

“My dad didn’t even wait six months after my mom died before marrying her,” you say, your voice laced with bitterness and resentment. “She’s this perfect little trophy wife. Perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect clothes. She treats me like I’m some stray dog she’s graciously let into her perfect little world. Every look, every word, it’s like she’s reminding me I don’t belong. God, I can’t fucking stand her.”

“She sounds like a right piece of work,” Butcher says, his tone laced with disdain. “For the record, I’d never confuse you for her. Frenchie and Hughie are just idiots.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Thanks, I guess?”

It's comfortable, this dialogue between the two of you. He's sarcastic, sure, and rough around the edges, but he listens to you when you speak, never cutting you off or zoning out mid-sentence. But above all, you realize, you feel safe with the man. 

The two of you are engrossed in a heated discussion about just how deep the Vought rabbit hole goes when the crackle of the audio transmitter cuts through your banter like a blade, and you both snap to attention. Your father's voice hums through. You glance at the computer clock: 4AM. It's not unusual for him to get up this early to start his work day; his associates know to remain on standby to accommodate his erratic working hours. 

“Henry, it's Stanley.”

Your ears perk up at the name. You know Henry, having worked alongside him throughout your internship. 

Your stomach knots. You mouth quality control to Butcher, who nods, his expression sharpening.

“Listen, my wife wants to bring her friends down for a presentation on what you’ve been working on. I told her she could bring them Monday at ten.”

There’s a pause, then a heavy sigh from your father, the kind you’ve come to dread. A sigh that meant dissatisfaction, and god help the man who dissatisfied Stanley Morgan. You ground yourself, remembering that you are here in this laundromat basement with Butcher, safe.

“Look, Henry, I'm tired of you complaining about cutting corners. You're already way behind schedule, so just do whatever you have to do, and give my wife and her friends a good show, alright?”

You hear the phone receiver land in its cradle with a satisfying click. 

You turn to look at Butcher, finding a devious smile on his face. You return it, beaming at him. Finally, a lead. 

“Monday at ten,” he repeats, his voice practically dripping with glee. “How’s that work for you, sweetheart?”

You can’t help it. You beam back at him, the thrill of finally having a lead coursing through you. For the first time in a long time you no longer feel like you’re treading water. You’re moving forward.

~~~

Sunlight filters through your eyelids, prying you from a restful sleep. You squirm against the intrusion, desperate for a few more minutes of oblivion. Your hand reaches instinctively for your alarm clock, searching for the familiar plastic edge atop your side table. Instead, your fingers meet only air.

Your eyes flutter open, and the world comes into focus. You’re not in your room. The chipped paint on the walls and the musty smell of the basement remind you of where you are—the couch, the monitors, the remnants of last night’s vigil. And then it hits you.

You freeze, gaze snapping to the far end of the faded floral couch. Butcher.

He’s sprawled out awkwardly, face mashed into the armrest, one arm hanging limply over the side. The other, to your horror, is resting on your leg, his large hand curled protectively around your calf.

Shit. 

The memories flood back. You’d celebrated the breakthrough, the first solid lead since you joined. There was laughter, more than you’d ever expected to share with Butcher, and a quiet, companionable silence as the adrenaline faded. Somewhere in between, exhaustion had claimed you.

You’d promised him you’d stay awake. Promised you’d call a taxi as soon as the sky started to lighten. But here you are, wrapped in a scratchy blanket you don’t remember asking for, with Butcher asleep next to you like you’d both done this a hundred times before.

Heat floods your face, embarrassment unfurling in your chest. Embarrassment that you'd fallen asleep on the job, despite your protests that you were fine. Embarrassment that you'd let Butcher see you so vulnerable. But more than that, you feel embarrassed at how deeply and comfortably you’d slept, nestled on a decrepit couch with a man already too large for the shabby piece of furniture, more comfortably than you'd ever slept in your King-size memory foam bed at home.

But you're clearly not that embarrassed, because you give yourself several long, lingering moments to let the warmth soak into your bones. 

With great effort, you shift, slowly extracting your leg from beneath his hand. The warmth lingers as you pull yourself upright, and you let out a soft sigh of relief. The motion is enough to wake Butcher.

He jerks upright with a sharp inhale, eyes wild for a split second before they focus on you. His hair is a tousled mess, and his expression shifts from alertness to something resembling guilt.

“What’s all this?” he mumbles, his voice gravelly with sleep. His gaze flicks to the abandoned blanket, then to you hastily shoving your things into your bag. “Where you off to in such a rush?”

“I, uh…” You avoid his eyes, too flustered to form a coherent excuse. “I just—I need to get going.”

Realization dawns on his face. He glances back at the couch, then down at himself. “Ah, shit,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to... y’know.” He gestures vaguely, his expression unusually sheepish. “Thought you might be cold, that’s all.”

You freeze mid-step, one hand gripping the doorframe. His tone is softer than you expect, less of the brash bravado you’ve grown used to.

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, your voice tight. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” he counters, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees. His dark eyes are sharper, scrutinizing you even in his groggy state. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I just… I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep,” you say, a bit too fast. “I should’ve gone home last night.”

He snorts softly, leaning back against the couch. “You and me both, then. Not like I planned to kip here either.”

You glance at him, your rush to leave faltering at the casual way he shrugs it off.

“Don’t worry about it, love,” he continues, voice dropping into something softer, almost teasing. “Not like you drooled on me or anythin’. Far as disasters go, I reckon this one’s survivable.”

A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. He smirks, pleased with himself, and the tension in your shoulders eases.

“Thanks for the blanket,” you murmur, glancing down at it again.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies, waving a hand dismissively. “You looked knackered. Figured it was the least I could do after you went an’ pulled a late one with me.”

You nod, unsure of what to say, the warmth from his small gesture still lingering. You glance toward the stairs, bag in hand, ready to leave but no longer feeling the need to escape.

“Monday,” you say, breaking the silence. “We’ll need everyone ready. Let Hughie know?”

He nods, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Got it. You take care, yeah?”

With one last look at him, still sprawled on the couch, already reaching for his phone, you head up the stairs. The door creaks as you push it open, sunlight spilling into the hallway.

As you push the door open and head up the stairs, you hear him mutter something under his breath, probably a jab at your dramatics. You don’t turn back. The slam of the door echoes behind you, but his gravelly voice lingers, like the warmth of the blanket you left behind.

~~~

It's Monday. 

The air outside the laundromat is brisk, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of the city morning. You lean against the brick wall, one hand stuffed into the pocket of your coat while the other holds a cigarette between your fingers. The cherry glows faintly as you inhale, the smoke curling into the cold air like a soft exhale.

You really don’t try to make a habit of smoking, but your nerves are buzzing under your skin like live wires and the cigarette between your fingers feels like the only thing tethering you to reality right now.

The faint squeak of boots on pavement announces Butcher before you see him. He rounds the corner, a thermos in one hand, his coat hanging open like he couldn’t be bothered to button it up against the chill. His eyes land on you, and his brows jump just slightly, surprise flashing across his face like a flickering bulb.

“Didn’t peg you for a smoker,” he says, voice thick with that familiar edge of mockery. “What is it? Bit of rebellion against Daddy’s company policy?”

You exhale a stream of smoke, turning your head so it doesn’t blow in his direction. “Something like that,” you reply dryly. “Don’t tell HR.”

He snorts, stepping closer. “Secret’s safe with me.” He gives you a once-over, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Though I’ve gotta say, not exactly the picture I had of you. Thought you were more the yoga-and-juice-cleanse type.”

“I contain multitudes,” you say simply, flicking ash from the end of the cigarette.

“That you do,” he murmurs, his tone quieter now, less biting. He digs into his coat pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of smokes, shaking it slightly to reveal one lone cigarette. “Want another for the road?”

You glance at the cigarette, then back at him, arching a brow. “Didn’t think you were the sharing type.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he says with a crooked grin, lighting it with a battered silver lighter. He takes a long drag and lets the smoke curl out of his mouth slowly. “Just figured it might take the edge off before you head in.”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Alright.” You take the offered cigarette, lighting it with your own lighter. The shared silence that follows is strangely companionable, the kind you wouldn’t have expected when you first met him.

“You nervous?” he asks after a beat, his voice softer than usual.

“Would it matter if I was?”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze sharper than you’re comfortable with. “It’s good to be nervous,” he finally says. “Means you’re payin’ attention. It’s when you stop that you get sloppy. Or worse, dead.”

“Comforting,” you say wryly, taking another drag.

He smirks, tilting his head toward the laundromat. “Come on. Hughie’ll start wringin’ his hands if we’re out here much longer.”

You stub out the cigarette on the brick wall, tucking the butt into a pocket so it doesn’t litter the street. Butcher watches this with a faintly amused expression but says nothing.

As the two of you head inside, the air between you feels lighter, the tension from earlier diffused into the cold morning. Hughie looks up from the monitors, his face a mix of relief and nervous energy.

“Ready?” he asks, glancing between you and Butcher.

Butcher claps him on the shoulder, all mock bravado. “’Course we are. Let’s get on with it, then.”

You follow Butcher and Hughie out, a small ember of calm glowing within you.

~~~

Exiting Butcher's discreetly parked van, you nudge Hughie down the narrow alley, leading the way toward your old smoking spot. It’s quiet here, and the less attention you draw, the better. You swipe your ID pass through the scanner, tossing a glance down the fluorescent-lit corridor. The hall stretches in that sterile, clinical way it always does, but today, it feels like a goddamn maze. It feels like you’re on the other side of a mirror, like you're not supposed to be here.

You bite back the urge to whisper “All clear!”  to Hughie, but you quickly swallow the words. It’s too risky; you know Butcher’s listening. One slip-up, and he’ll be all over you like a fucking rash, reminding you of your amateur status. You bite your tongue just in time to avoid the barrage of shit he’d throw at you later.

Inside the building, you inspect your new “intern.” You ditched your monogrammed designer lab coat in favor of a plain, CytoGenix-branded one, lifted from a storage closet. Nothing flashy. Hughie’s got one on too, also stolen, one of the last clean ones in the closet. You’ve opted for business casual today, trying to blend in as best you can.  In an effort to obscure yourself further, you'd styled your hair differently and worn fake glasses. You want to look like just another office drone. Like you belong.

“You good?” you ask Hughie, keeping your voice low. He nods, trying his best to look confident, but you catch that little tremor in his fingers as he adjusts the collar of his borrowed lab coat. Poor guy’s barely keeping it together, and you’re not doing much better yourself.

The mission, should everything go to plan, is simple. You and Hughie disguise yourselves as nameless interns puttering around in the lab, eavesdropping on Monica's tour. Once you figure out what it is they're working on in the lab, you quietly slip out and report back to Butcher in the van parked outside. Butcher who you've been avoiding since your makeshift sleepover. Butcher who, in turn, has seemingly rebuilt the cement walls of his gruff exterior that he let slip that night. Today feels just as much like a test as it does a reconnaissance mission. 

Here goes nothing. 

You guide Hughie to the Quality Control lab. Thankfully it's only three floors down into the basement, as Hughie blanches when you explain just how deep into the earth CytoGenix’s headquarters go. 

When you get to the lab, you spot the small group of VIPs that’s gathered for the tail end of the tour. Perfect timing. 

“So, as you can see, thanks to the cutting edge technologies at our fingertips, CytoGenix is leading the way in pharmaceutical breakthroughs,” says the chipper tour guide. Monica stands with the group, preening under Homelander and Ashley Barrett’s attention. The gooseflesh on your arms prickle at the sight of the evil Supe and corrupt CEO. 

The tour guide gestures toward a large window at the back of the lab. “Now, if everyone could follow me,” she chirps, her voice grating, “we’d like to give you all a demonstration of V2’s first human test subject!”

Your stomach twists. Human test subject. You weren't sure what you were expecting from this tour, but it wasn't this. The lab’s always been about gene splicing and advanced therapies, but this? This is something else. Something darker. Was your father’s company involved in testing on people, or was this just the tip of a very fucked up iceberg?

The crowd gathers around the window, tittering with excitement. You and Hughie hang back, miming preoccupation with the lab supplies laying around. 

A light flickers on, illuminating the dark window. A two-way mirror. Inside, the room is featureless and blindingly white, save for a young man curled up in the corner, his face drawn and terrified. As the light flickers on, he jerks upright, eyes wide with panic. You feel your gut twist.

A woman enters the room, clad in the same branded lab coat that you wear now. She carries a syringe filled with green liquid that seems to emit a glow from within. She murmurs something to the young man, who hesitantly rolls his sleeve up, offering his arm to her. She injects the liquid, taking a long step backward. 

Then the screaming starts.

Purple veins spread from the injection site, skin rippling unnaturally, his body contorting in ways that aren’t human. Suddenly the arm that had been injected begins to elongate, stretching into a grotesque tentacle. You can hear the faintest squelching sound as his body twists. The man stares at his arm in horror, mouth gaping, before his face suddenly goes slack, vacant eyes lolling toward the female lab technician. 

The woman is scrambling toward the door she came in through, but it's closed now, flush against the wall with no handle for her to grasp. She bangs and thrashes against the door, begging for someone to open the door and let her out. 

Then the tentacle shoots across the room, faster than you can react. It wraps around her head and jerks back. The sound of skin tearing from bone echoes in the sterile white room as her face is ripped off like peeling wallpaper. Her face hits the two-way mirror with a wet slap before her body collapses to the floor.

The tour guide quickly steps forward, flicking a switch on the wall. You hear a soft hiss as the room begins to fill with gas, the man's eyes rolling backward as he loses consciousness, slumping against the wall. The locked door is suddenly thrust open, and this time a man clad in biohazard gear enters. He makes a wide arc around the faceless lab tech, reaching down to grab the tentacle man around his armpits, dragging his limp body out of the room. The lights finally, blessedly, go out. 

The tour guide smiles like it’s all part of the show, like she’s done this a thousand times. The group is dead silent, some swaying with lightheadedness. Monica's eyes flit around the crowd, desperate for a reaction.

You can feel the tension in the air. Your hand clenches at your side, but you don’t dare look around. Not yet.

Then, slowly, the applause starts.

Clap. Clap. Clap. 

Homelander starts clapping slowly, grinning like a predator.

“Bravo!” he says, his voice rich with mock sincerity. “Truly remarkable.” He’s fucking giddy, practically glowing at what he just witnessed.

You, on the other hand, feel ill. There's no way that woman can't be dead. And the man… He seemed so afraid. There's no way he knew what would happen to him once he was injected. Was he dead now?

But then the crowd picks up, clapping, cheering. It’s all a fucking spectacle to them. Monica beams, her fake smile stretched to the limit.

“Everyone, V2!” she says, as if she’s introducing the next big thing at a tech expo.

More cheers.

“More potent than Compound V alone, V2 more reliably gives recipients powers in the A-tier or above,” she announces, spinning the whole thing like it's some kind of miracle drug. “It also inhibits the prefrontal cortex, meaning the Supes it produces will be more... suggestible. Easier to control.”

Homelander chuckles darkly. “So, a Supe lobotomy?” His voice is casual, but the tension in the air spikes.

Monica blinks, taken aback, but then her smile returns—brighter, more fixed. She can’t afford to offend him.

“Exactly what we need if we're going to make a Supe army,” Homelander agrees. “Excellent work, Monica.”

The crowd erupts in cheers again, and you feel like you're suffocating. The air is thick with their sick excitement, and you’re drowning in it.

 There was so much blood, so many little pieces of muscle and tissue painting the paper-white room, like a fucked up Rorschach. The man looked like he could have been younger than you. There's no way he knew what was going to happen to him, no one would ever agree to that. 

Monica's inhumanly white veneers are bared in a painful smile, beaming like a mother at what she'd help create. Was this how your mother died? Had she spent her last moments in fear and pain? It was a closed casket… Was that to hide the damage? Your heart starts to race. The air feels too thick, too hot. 

You catch yourself just as your vision darkens, hunching over a utility cart carrying empty test tubes. The tubes jostle, glass clinking, drawing the crowd's attention to you. Your hair, having fallen around your face, acts as a curtain separating you from the prying eyes. Still, you can feel the laser eyes on you, watching, only a moment away from thinking, Doesn't she look familiar? Is that Stanley's daughter? What's she doing here, with that guy? 

The woozy feeling in your body is immediately replaced with intense, soaring adrenaline. Before you can think, you make a break for it, keeping your head down to continue obscuring your face. Hughie follows, his steps frantic behind you.

The crowd hesitates before you hear quickening footsteps and yells. 

The frantic voice of a lab tech rings out “Homelander, no! No lasers in the lab!”

“Fuck!” You yank Hughie forward, forcing him to move faster.

The sound of lasers tearing through the air is unmistakable, the pops of small explosions echoing out. You dive into the stairwell, barely avoiding the beams as they scorch the air around you. The heat on your back makes your skin crawl.

You hear the security team yelling, but you don’t stop. You push forward, practically pulling Hughie up the stairs, praying like hell that the explosions Homelander triggered are buying you enough time. The sound of blood rushing in your ears deafens you to the metal clattering your steps make as you race to reach the ground floor. 

You burst out of the stairwell back into those fluorescent lights, not bothering to look upward on the chance that an errant glance might get caught on security cameras. You head straight down the hall, not breaking speed, not letting go of Hughie until you're both careening down the alleyway. Butcher's white van is waiting exactly where you left it. 

Only, the door you just exited out of slams open, a chorus of feet smacking the cement twenty paces behind you. They're close, too damn close. 

The van is so close you can see the flecks of rust around the wheel wells, can almost read the vulgar bumper sticker barely clinging to the back door. But they're too close. You'll barely be able to close the doors behind you before the posse at your backs clamor around the vehicle, blocking Butcher's escape. 

You make a split second decision and pray to whatever greater being might be listening that it's a good one. 

You're vaguely aware of the van in your periphery as you speed past it, unable to see Butcher in the driver's seat, but knowing he's there nonetheless. What you don't see is his panic, the frantic foot on the gas pedal, the mental math trying to determine what the fuck you two dimwits are doing as you descend into the New York subway system.

@bluemerakis

@mystic-writings

@imherefordeanandbones

[frozenjokes]

THE TIME LOOP AU IS ALL WRITTEN!!!!!!!!!! MY GUYS!!!! I can not wait to share the rest of the story TY FOR THE SUPPORT!!!!! ao3 link

below, some snippets from the final chapters. the next will be up tomorrow :3

Cleo smirked, “Keep talking kitty kitty, your days are numbered,” Cleo started to twirl the lasso, and Scar scoffed.

“Keep dreaming.”

Predictably, the first three times Cleo attempted to throw the lasso she missed terribly; Scar had mostly been teaching her the tricks and this required a completely different technique! To emphasize his confidence, Scar tucked all of his limbs under his body, commencing his groom. The sad fwap of the lasso hitting nothing along with Cleo’s continued threats were music to his ears. He frowned as he nosed through his chest fur, coming across a small shard that had wedged itself into his skin. Gingerly, he plucked it away, spitting it back at Cleo before continuing to ignore her. Stubborn, silly creature. He licked away the remaining beads of blood without concern, eyed contentedly shut.

///

“I don’t think you understand how your violence affects other people. I’m still looking for snares every time I walk through a hall. I still feel it around my neck. Sometimes when I think about you it feels like choking.”

“That.” Cub paused, not quite faltering, but not exactly facing Scar with the same confidence. “That was a long time ago.”

“May as well have been yesterday.”

///

“If you want a story so damn bad, tell one yourself. That, or leave it,” Cleo huffed, and Scar mumbled a quiet agreement, moving to cuddle in with her as she finished settling down. Cub stayed where he was, sitting on the edge of the bed. Scar thought the conversation was over then, and the silence had lasted so long that he’d started to doze off when Cub spoke.

“Used to feed the crows in my backyard.” Cub paused for a moment before amending, “Birds. Small animals with wings. Anyway, before my cats died we still had a bit of food left, and my family never really threw anything away. I always took little baggies into the woods when I’d go. It was great. Whole flocks would follow me around, thirty to fifty birds.. I got in trouble for feeding them too close to the house since they figured out where I lived. Cawed all sorts of noise very early in the morning.” Cub nodded to himself, closing his eyes where he sat.

Scar waited for him to continue. The waiting grew increasingly more awkward until Scar couldn’t help but prompt him, “And what happened next?”

Cub yawned, moving to settle in under the sheets beside Cleo. “I stopped feeding them.”

Scar waited. Cub did not elaborate.

…

Maybe this is why Cub had never contributed a story before. He wasn’t particularly talented at telling them.

///

“True soldiers, born in blood,” Grian mumbled, turning away, “Battle forth ‘til his pads are raw, face grave. But never stop. Whether he is good leaves no relevance; however, he certainly is true. As for I.. I can not take his sword. But his family?” Grian sighed, “As long as he chooses to keep it, I will not interfere.” He left them without another word. Scar couldn’t stop staring.

[heedthetenofwands]

piratecaptain!johnprice x mermaid!femreader

in search for treasure, the 141 crew and the Shadow fleet finally land at their X on the map. But, where they expected gold, they find merfolk. And where Captain John Price expected just another mission, he found you.

tags: slowburn, angst with a happy ending, fluff, mutual pining (to yearn is to earn), pirate au

Chapter 1

The sun winked at the pirate boat as she peeked over the horizon and through the clouds. Price smiled at her arrival through squinted eyes; their routine was familiar, but the sight always left him awestruck. The warm tones that flooded the deck meant he knew the men who slept beneath would wake soon.

He put out the candle to his side as he assessed the map once more. This thing they were after – what lay under that X – would be the most valuable treasure they would find yet, or so says Shepherd. The bounty would mean more supplies for the crew and a helping of meat at the market. Gods knew the last time they had protein that wasn’t fish.

“Mornin’ Cap’n.” He heard his quartermaster grumble as he joined him. Price glanced over to see Ghost, a dark headband over his hair and temple, with black fabric covering the lower half in his face. The fabric was marked with a faded image of the lower half of a skull. He turned to Price, kohl smeared eyes narrowing in on the map, “We're almost there aren't we?”

Price nodded then furrowed his brows in thought, “It’s doing my head in that we’re still in the dark.”

Ghost hummed a sound of agreement. "You sent that letter to Shepherd. He should reply soon.”

A loud yawn suddenly draws their attention to someone walking up the stairs from the lower deck to join them.

“Morning.” Gaz greeted them while rubbing his eyes. The early morning wasn’t the boatswain's scene – ‘pretty boy needs his beauty sleep’ Soap would tease before an eyeroll from said pretty boy. He came to stand on the opposite side of the table to Price and looks down at the map too.

A beat passes before, “Where’s Soap?” Price asks. The Scot could get skittish when there had been little action at sea - it had been three months since any sign of another ship.

Gaz sighed. “Harassing the chefs, captain.”

Price laughed, “He realises that they have no control over bread for breakfast?”

Gaz chuckles, “Nope. Has a whole conspiracy that they’re keeping the meat to themselves.”

Price smiles slightly at that, before he registered the shouts of the lower crew. Cries of ‘land ahoy’ sounded and speculative whispers soon spread round the deck as he and the rest of his team stepped out of the upper cabin to find the island they had been looking for. Price instinctively reached for his telescope to scan the area further. Bringing the looking glass to eye-level, he could see tall forests that no doubt hid bountiful flora and fauna deep in the jungle of the island, but the mainland was not where they would seek. Instead, he moved to focus on the caves to the far left before he yelled for the men to prepare the anchors and boats.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The battering heat of the sun was blocked by the looming cave walls as the pirates and their rowboats were swallowed by the midnight tones of the cave’s depth. The men helped each other light their torches as the boats followed down further into the cave. Price was confident that this was what they had been looking for; it was a perfect cove to hide a treasure.

They followed the narrow confines of the cave’s walls until the stream ended and they arrived in the cave’s centre. Price decided that he and his team would scope the area that was located further into the cave before he would let Graves and his Shadows perform a wider search. He relayed this much to the pirate who responded with a nod leaving him to let Soap and Gaz row to get ahead of the boats and closer to the shrouded land.

It was only when Price stepped off the boat and help up his torch to scope the ground did his eyes widen as he took in the image. As far as he could see, were merfolk asleep along the shoreline, covering practically every inch of where the waves could lap at their forms as they slept on the sand.

Bloody hell.

He and his men had been led to a merfolks’ rest.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The history of the merfolk and humans was rife with bitter blood and violent encounters. Price vaguely remembered the fragile truce that had recently transpired between the two, and he wasn’t going to be the one to crush it all for the sake of whatever treasure they were sent to find. He stepped backwards to return to the boat, keeping his eye on the merfolk in case they awoke. The men must have seen them too – their hushed murmurs fell to a choked silence - but Price couldn’t help a startled grunt at his body being pulled from under him. A strong and swift form had grabbed his legs and was dragging him into the deeper depths of the waters: down, down, down.

You were not letting this man or his men near your people.

You had been awakened by the light of his torch, a small but immediate starkness to the cave’s shadows allowing your eyes to narrow in on how the glow of the flames danced across the man’s face. He had prominent dark brown facial hair, and a dark coat covered his large form; you could see his eyes widen at the sight of what he had discovered. You knew what you had to do if you wanted to avoid a massacre; it must be done, you tell yourself once more as you watch him struggle for breath in your grasp.

However, this wasn’t Price’s first mermaid encounter. Bringing his knees to his chest as quick as he can, he brings your form close enough to grab your head and slam it to his knee. The force of it is dizzying and the few seconds of disorientation it costs you steals your victory. 

By the time you open your eyes, you were being pulled from the water by a pair of large and rough hands, and a shocked gasp escapes you as the human lifts you so your back was held tight to his chest and his knife hovers above your neck. You keep your eye on the edge of the blade and attempt to calm your breathing. Your neck would be cut if it came any closer to your erratic breaths. Then, you lift your gaze to meet the horrified stares of your kind. You had failed so miserably. The knife at your throat was only a hint of the torture that would await everyone.

As you felt your mind resettling, you took note of how this human was holding your body up. He was strong, you could give him that. He shifts his hold on you to the side of his body so he could see the merfolk.

“We don’t want any trouble.” He spoke out. “We didn’t know you were resting here.” You clench your jaw at that, holding your tongue from saying something rash. It was obvious the others weren’t convinced of his words either as they started moving – he was in their territory right now - but he only narrowed his eyes, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He brings the knife too close - far too close - and as the panic rushes through your head you rear your face back, your arms push try to wrench his grasp on your but his grip remained strong. Your quickened and uncontrolled breathing lets his knife nick repeatedly at the surface of your neck. The growing trail of blood stops the merfolk where they are. They retreat from the human, and he mirrors their actions, pulling the blade away once more from you. The caves echo your last panicked gasps and you grit your teeth in frustration.

“Get on with it, human.” You seethe. You can feel his eyes narrow on the back of your head. You stare forward.

“Alright, here’s the deal.” His voice rumbles. “Like I said, we’re not here to cause trouble, you lot let us out of ‘ere, and I’ll release her at the entrance to return to you.” Your mouth dries up and your tail curls at his command. Liar.

The merfolk murmur at his words, many throwing you concerned and worried glances. Quickly, the talking stops and everyone is looking at you, waiting to see what you had to say. Closing your eyes, you know you had accepted your fate when you had been caught. You knew how men gutted creatures they hooked from the sea and still, you opened your eyes, looked at everyone for the final time and smiled as you nodded. You vaguely feel the human’s eyes watching you, before stepping backwards into the water. You keep your eyes on the surface of the water as he passes you into the arms of another human, he too hovers a knife over your neck, but it all came second to the numbing surrealness of the whole ordeal. This was it.

You hear your captor tell one of them to tie your hands. You grunt as a man you could only refer to as ‘skull-face’ drops you onto your stomach, you’re left winded by the sudden impact of the rough wooden floor of the boat. He ties your hands and when it’s over, he turns you to your side and leaves to join the captain.

You close your eyes.

You try to keep your head held up, so the side of your face wasn’t pressed into the sandy wet floor. The boat picks up speed and you hear the rush of water as the men follow the path to the cave’s entrance.

As if to comfort yourself before the end, you curl your tail inwards. But as you do, your fin catches the end of a blunt object. Tilting your head down and opening your eyes, you can see a small knife that lay at the end of the boat – it’s handle was close to your fins. If you stretched just enough, you could obtain it.

Your heart awoke with fervour at the chance to strike before they could put you down. You whip your tail towards the knife. It's just short that you have to absolutely stretch your tail's length to grip the end of the handle. With the blade in your tail's hold, you're worried that the men had heard your movements.  You glance at the four, but their backs are still to you. Quickly, you swing your tail backwards and you manage to wedge the knife at the ropes which tied your hands.

You feel your heart hammering against your chest as you slowly move the knife back and forth and, finally, cut the rope around your hands. With your hands free, you brace your hands on the boat floor to push your torso up and turn your body to have your back on the floor. The exhaustion leaves you careless as the sound of your exertion causes the men to turn their heads to the back of the boat. Seeing that you're free, skullface immediately draws a pistol.

At first, you freeze. But, remembering your limited time alive anyway, you brandish the small knife at him with one arm while the other pushes against the floor to help you move your body to the back of the boat. Quickly, you feel your back hit the wooden end of the boat and all you can hear is your shallow breathing as you hold your puny knife at gunpoint.

The two men beside him have stopped rowing too, their gaze upon the stand off, shoulders tense and eyes wary.

“Stand down.” Your captor – their leader - commands. Skullface stills at that, and moves aside to allow him to walk towards you. You only glare and tighten the two-hand grip on the handle as the captain walks and kneels on one knee in front of you. Something about his tired eyes and the escape of a small sigh stops you from lunging towards his neck with the blade.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you.” And it’s stupid, the way you could almost believe him. You blame the burnt exhaustion you find lacing his tone instead of the sharp edge you had come to associate with the man. You don’t move the knife away. He’s unfazed. “What’s your name?”

You don’t waver, “Let me leave. Right now.”

“We will. When we reach the cave’s exit.”

“Liar.” You fire back immediately.

You hear another human’s voice from one of the boats that had been trailing behind. "What are you doing, Price?” He shouts – an irritated bark.

“Nothing, Graves.” Your captor responds back in a raised voice, “Give us a minute.” He tells him before turning those blue eyes back to you. “Look, we had no idea you were here.” He holds a hand over your heart, a gesture you recognised to mean as one of sincerity on land but here, on the sway of the ocean surface, it fell flat. Recognising your unconvinced look, he sighs, “Your people, they seem to care for you. They would have never let me, or my crew leave unscathed if it weren’t for your safety." He sees your brows furrow a little. A curiosity of where he was going with this speech soothed your hostility. “And whether you believe me or not, it’s the same f'me. If securing your safety brings my men a safe passage out of ‘ere. I’m not risking it.” With that, he holds out a hand, palm up. You remove your gaze from his as you try to gather your thoughts.

When you reflected on earlier, it made sense. Considering everything, it genuinely seemed that these humans had no idea that they would meet merfolk. You meet his eyes and the stern, but calm, gaze holds your own as you seem to surrender the blade to his hands.

But you swore to never let your fate rest on humans again. And that is what drives you to turn the blade on yourself.

You ignore the captain's yell as you drive the blade towards your heart. But he's quick and is able to wrap his hands over yours. Not enough to stop you, but he manages to divert your path from your beating heart to your shoulder.

You gasp at the cut, but your shock transforms to fury at realising what he's done. You lock eyes with the human and try to pull the blade out. Perhaps you may get lucky and bleed out.

No such luck. The blade remains wedged, the captain keeping his grip. Before you realise it, he has his other hand grab your wrist before turning your body around and pinning you back down on the ground. He ignores your curses, effortlessly keeping you pinned to the floor. Instead, he shouts out to his men, you don't know or care what for but you figure it out nonetheless when you feel your hands being tied again and a blindfold obscuring your vision.

You don't stop resisting - if you're to die, let it be at the hands of the sea - but eventually, he leaves you alone and you feel the boat start up again. And whether it was the fear, panic, your wound or even being out of the water this long, everything fades to nothingness.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A frantic getaway from the cave and the swarms of raging mermaids and mermen leaves the pirates to regroup and reflect back on the ship. Price and his men look over the map once more, double checking and confirming their location, while some men are treated for their wounds and others start filling an empty crate with water for the mermaid.

Price hears a couple whistles from the deck. The questioning gaze he sends his men draws a somewhat awkward moment.

A beat passes before Gaz coughs, “The mermaid, cap, they’ve put her in the crate but she’s a bit exposed now that we’re in the sun.” Price narrows his eyes at that before turning away from the table and makes his way down the deck to the crate.

“Something interesting here, men?” He sternly asks the small group of pirates that had crowded around the mermaid. They straighten up and turn to face him.

One of them pipes up, “Nothing, cap, just not every day you see a mermaid.”

“Could say the same for a pair o’ tits for you, mate." Another cuts in with a smirk.

“Enough. Leave her alone until we figure out what to do.” Price orders and the men disperse. Price is about to turn to turn away and regroup with Graves and his men but catches your form still bound and exposed.

Your eyes were shut, and someone must have removed the knife to place bandages around your shoulder. Price notes and simmers at the unnecessary cruelty of leaving your chest uncovered. He begins to unbutton his waistcoat and, once he pulls it off, cuts free the rope on your hands. He doesn’t let his eyes wonder over the glow of your skin in the sunset lighting, instead, methodically slipping your arms through the waistcoat's holes. Price ignores the feel of the brush of his fingers over your skin as he fixes the buttons before walking away.

Approaching his men and Graves, he doesn’t miss the way Ghost narrows in on his missing waistcoat.

“Graves.” He says. This stops the man’s chatter with his shadows. “A word.” At that, the others leave their leaders on the upper deck. Graves is nonchalant, sharpening a knife as he waits for Price.

“What seems to be the problem?” He asks, the cadence of his voice gives the question a knowing tone.

“The problem is I have an injured mermaid on my ship Graves, that wasn’t part of the deal. We came here for treasure, not to stir up trouble with the merfolk.” Price can feel the pressings of a migraine settling so he tries to focus on the warm dying embers of the sky. “Now with us practically holding one of them hostage, we’re never going to be get back in that cave. It will be even worse when she dies. What do you suppose we do?”

Graves stops sharpening the knife, holding it up to see it in the final rays of the sun, “This is your problem, Price. You think our treasure is some kind of chest of gold but it’s not.” He walks towards Price, removing something from his pocket and then holds it out to him. A letter.

“This arrived for you yesterday, from Shepherd. Thought it was for me, sorry.” Graves commented, unapologetic. Price clenches his jaw but accepts the paper. He opens it up and there laid a single phrase: Keep it alive.

“He wants a mermaid?” Price says, taken aback.

Graves hums. “I suppose, how does that saying go? Not all treasure is silver and gold.”

At that. Price lets his eyes go back to you, the setting of the sun had you washed in a glow of warm tones, eyes still shut tight, head lolled to the side so he could see the crane of your neck and his dampened waistcoat clinging to your form.

You may not have been gold coins, but right there, you glinted in the sun like one.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Note: this was born from a hyperfixation/love for john price, the pirates of the carribean movies and mermaid aus, with that please forgive any inaccuracies with piracy and in general tbh (><). Hope you enjoy (^^)!!

Thank you sm for reading (^^) !! If you want to be notified for chapter 2, you can follow my page as I'll solely be posting fics <3 Much love for likes, reblogs and comments (><)

[ceo-of-sloppy-women]

No grave can hold my body down; I'll crawl home to her

chapter 7

Read it on AO3

Chapter 8

Sevika drags you out of bed far earlier than you appreciate. Once she’s certain you’re not going to fall asleep standing up, Sevika thrusts breakfast in your hands and drags you outside in pursuit of a local coffee stand. She has made (slightly burnt) scrambled eggs and toast, which you eat on your way to her bees as the sun yawns awake on the horizon. Once at the coffee stand, she buys herself two coffees – why on Earth she needed two was beyond you – and buys you the beverage you pick out (at her insistence). She is not persuaded by your argument that she shouldn’t waste her money on you. After all three drinks were finished being made, Sevika kept walking, trying to avoid the hustle and bustle of the early morning crowd waking up for patrols and important jobs.

Unlike yourself, Sevika is wide awake, fully dressed and walking as if she’s been awake for hours. You trudge behind her, rubbing your eyes and yawning, doing your best to keep up with her as the two of you reach the town’s perimeter fence. The guards let you pass through after checking you were armed, and you stumble out into the open valley. After spending the last few days enclosed by reassuring metal walls, the endless expanse of nature is almost daunting. You stop for a moment, gazing out across the rolling hills that meld into mountains on all sides. Scattered throughout the valley are several farms and ranches – they take up far more land than is available in the settlement, and the open fields of the mountains allow them to expand as far as they’d like. You can see goats, cattle, sheep and pigs scattered throughout the fields, along with various crops, mainly corn, wheat, carrots and potatoes. Though, none have human dwellings on them – all members of Zaun sleep inside the fence, safe from the infected.

“Come on, this way,” Sevika grunts, taking your hand and steering you off to the left.

“It’s very pretty out here – I didn’t expect there to be so much,” you comment as you follow after her, slowly intertwining your fingers with hers. She doesn’t pull away, but she does hesitate for a moment before relaxing her hand.

“Need it all, have to support everyone somehow. You’d be surprised how many cows you need for milk. Especially when almost half the population runs off of coffee grown in a jerry-rigged greenhouse,” Sevika says, her head on a swivel for any infected.

“Is the milk… pasteurized?” you ask tentatively. Drinking raw milk had been resurging before the world ended, and you are well aware of the many reasons it should be pasteurized. Pasteurization is an important process that removes deadly bacteria from the milk as the udders are rather close to the cow’s waste excrement orifices. You were not about to survive the apocalypse only to die to bird flu (or worse).

“Yeah,” Sevika grunts. She doesn’t elaborate more for a beat, as if expecting you to be well versed in the subject already. As if she’s already grown so used to having you in Zaun that she doesn’t give a second thought to the fact you have only been here for a few days. After a beat, she coughs slightly and continues: “We found this, er, councillor for Piltover trapped in the wastes a few years back, and we were about to leave him there until Jayce and Mel intervened. Apparently, he knew a lot about food safety, so he’s become our official food health and safety inspector. He helped us set up pasteurization equipment, as well as various animal diets. You’d never guess it from looking at the guy – a skinny little blond thing that could be carried off by an ant.”

“Sevika, I know you are aware I can hear you,” someone huffs from up ahead. You startle, gaze jumping from Sevika to a young man in a wheelchair holding a clipboard as he scrutinizes a cow pasture. Next to him stands a broad man holding a rifle with an exasperated look on his face. You know him: Jayce, he was with Sevika’s group.

“So what? You going to write a false report about my honey and get the only sweetener in this town banned? I know you like your coffee too much for that,” Sevika huffs, rolling her eyes as she passes one of the coffee cups to him. The man grins and takes a hearty swig despite the coffee still being too hot for even you to drink. Oh. That’s why she needed two (you thought she was just going to drink them both).

“It seems my hands are tied,” he giggles, scrutinizing you for a moment with a furrowed brow. “And who is this young lady with you, Sevika? Finally managed to scavenge someone from the wastes willing to put up with your boar-like nature?”

“You damn well know I don’t go out there to –“

You cut Sevika off by introducing yourself, holding out your hand for him to shake it. You did not need her to cause a fight this early in the morning.

“Ah, so you’re the one Silco and Vander mentioned – a pleasure to meet you! My name is Salo; please let me know if you have any further questions about food safety. I would be more than willing to exchange notes,” Salo says, shaking your hand firmly before letting it go.

“I probably don’t know as much as you do, but I appreciate the offer. Thank you. Knowing the milk is pasteurized puts me at ease,” you say politely as Sevika grabs your wrist.

“Yeah, yeah, come on; we’ve got some bees to tend to. You can rub elbows with Salo later; he’s always around doing not much of anything,” Sevika grumbles, trying to pull you away.

“One second, I have a question!” you protest. Sevika relents with a frustrated sigh, putting her hand on her hip as she waits. You turn to Jayce, who has been quietly petting a curious cow. “Jayce, I believe Sevika mentioned you have a forge?”

“That’s right!” Jayce confirms, turning to face you with a carefully practiced professional smile. The cow butts her head against his shoulder in protest.

“I’ve got a few bottles from the wastes that aren’t doing me any good sitting around. Is there a good time to swing by and get those to you?” It’s not entirely a lie – you do have a few from your wandering days that could be in better hands. Mainly, you want to give him all the empty bottles cluttering Sevika’s kitchen.

“Any time between ten in the morning and eight at night works. Except on Mondays – the forge is closed as I have a patrol route then,” Jayce informs you, giving the cow a good scritch behind the ear.

“And we inspect the food on Mondays!” Salo interjects, hastily swallowing a mouthful of coffee to do so.

“That too,” Jayce assents.

“I’ll swing by the forge when I get a chance then. Thank you,” you chirp, finally allowing Sevika to guide you away.

She does so immediately, all but carrying you off as she trudges through the tall grass toward the bee colonies. They’re not too far away from where you’d stopped – just out of earshot from Jayce and Salo. Each little hutch is painted a different colour from the others, in a variety of different saturations and luminosities. If you had to guess, you might think Jinx had a hand in painting them (the little smiley faces are a dead giveaway).

You reach for the fence, and Sevika quickly snatches your hand away.

“Gear first! Do you want to get stung?” she barks, glaring at you.

“Geez, sorry,” you shy away, pulling your hand back sharply.

A look as if she’s been struck flashes across her face for a brief moment before she shies away, taking a step back. Your heart crumbles as she bows her head like a puppy that’s been kicked off the couch one too many times.

“Shit – sorry. It’s just…”

“Don’t worry about it, Sev’ –” You squeeze her shoulder gently to reassure her.

She offers you a fake smile to try and look tough, but you can see the hurt bleeding into it. “No, it’s not – you can’t just brush it off,” she huffs, carding a hand through her hair. “The world is shit enough as it is. You don’t deserve me barking at you on top of it all.”

“Sevika, it’s the apocalypse. I’d rather you stop me from doing something stupid or dangerous than clam up and let me, especially when we’re outside of Zaun. You’re keeping me safe – how can I be mad at that?”

“Sorry,” she apologizes again, her shoulders hunching forward. “I just don’t want to hurt you or drive you away. Vander always tells me I’m too hot-headed, so I’ve been trying to be nicer...”

“You’re not going to drive me away by being yourself. Or by looking out for me. Frankly, you’re stuck with me. You’ve given me free room, food, a comfortable bed, and a hot shower – plus, I don’t have to constantly worry about dying every day. I mean fuck, I can actually feel safe knowing that you’re around. I haven’t felt safe in a very long time,” you reassure her, leaning up to kiss her on the cheek as you finish. “Now, show me where the bee gear is.”

Sevika stares at you blankly for so long that you think you broke her. If human brains could fry, you’re dead certain smoke would be pouring out of her ears right now. When she finally realizes she’s just staring at you, she blinks back into reality, mumbles out something that sounds vaguely like “follow me,” and trudges off to a nearby shed. You follow after her politely, feeling just a tad bit powerful after having caused her brain to error hard enough to shut her up.

The shed is small, with barely enough space for her to step inside and get out two suits. You wait outside, taking the gear she thrusts into your hands and pulling it on carefully, not wanting to get the mud on your boots on the inside of the pants. Your patrol gear is set off to the side for later (with the exception of your pistol). Once both of you are fully dressed, you hold your breath to not snicker at how dorky the two of you look. The mesh netting is absolutely not working for Sevika! Luckily, Sevika doesn’t notice how dangerously close to giggling you are (or, if she does, she refrains from drawing attention to it). Instead, she trudges back over to the fence and holds it open for you. You slip into the small, carefully guarded area where bees are quietly buzzing, coming and going from human-made hives. Following them, you slowly approach the hives and stop a few feet back, observing them as closely as you do the crunch of grass approaching you.

Sevika places her hand on the small of your back. The warmth of her hand radiates against your body, even with all of your gear in the way. You lean into it, smiling softly as you watch the bees. A few of them fly over to investigate you, landing on your outstretched fingers and assessing the danger before flying off.

“These little ladies saved our asses when we ran out of sugar a few years back,” Sevika says, breaking the silence gently.

“Hard workers,” you hum, giggling as one lands on Sevika’s mesh netting. Right in front of her eyes. “Looks like they want to say hello – maybe it’s to demand more flowers, Sev’.”

Sevika chuckles, blowing gently so the bee takes off and flies away. Her fingers scrunch in a little against your back as you render her nervous. Tentatively, she turns to you and asks: “You keep, er, calling me that. Why?”

“It’s just a nickname… do you not like it?” you backpedal quickly, scanning her face for any sign of discontent.

“No! No, no, I like it. It’s well… no one’s given me a nickname before –“ she scratches the back of her neck awkwardly – “It feels odd.”

“Good odd or bad odd?” you probe, trying to squash your swelling heart at her earnest honesty.

“Good odd!” she says quickly, clamping her mouth shut just as fast. She coughs and straightens up a little. “Pretty lady like yourself can call me anything you wish. Only wanted to make sure you weren’t insulting me – Jinx likes to mock me with names when she’s in a bad headspace.”

Your heart swoons before you can stop it. Now is absolutely not the time – you just met the woman, you can’t possibly fall in love so fast! Yet, it feels as if she’s the missing part of your soul, and now that you’ve found her, your soul sobs for its final piece.

“Well, I can promise I’m not doing it to make fun of you, Sevika. I just like how your name feels on my tongue,” you assure her, gently blowing a bee off of her shoulder.

Sevika gulps imperceptively, glancing at the rising sun: “We should head back now. Grayson will want to assign us a patrol route, and we ought to find you a horse. You can’t ride on the back of Duchess for this one.”

“Okay, let me say goodbye to the bees first,” you chirp, turning to the bees before she can stop you. “Goodbye, ladies, keep up the good work! If we’re lucky, Sevika will let me come back and help with a harvest soon!”

Sevika mumbles something to herself far too quietly for you to hear. When you turn back around and catch a glimpse of her face, it’s bright red, and her eyes are sparkling as she watches you with an intensity that rivals the sun. Even through the mesh of the beekeeper’s hood.

“Ready now, sweet thing?”

“Yup! Let’s go see Grayson!”

The bee gear is stashed in the shed once more, and you collect your patrol gear, readjusting your backpack straps. Sevika is quiet the whole way back, steering you through the blissfully empty streets toward the horse stables. You revel in the feeling of her hand on your lower back, keeping you safe and close to her side. Your heart hammers in your chest at her quiet, gentle way of taking care of you despite her prickly and blunt demeanour. As if she softens just as much as you when the two of you are together. The stables come into view far faster when the streets aren’t busy – standing proud and tall amongst the old buildings. You can hear various horses and their riders heading out for the day or being led in to rest for the night. A loud yawn draws your attention to Vi as she heads back into town for the night with Caitlyn. Both of them look absolutely exhausted – as if they’ve been out on patrol all night. Vi is barely able to keep herself from passing out in the street, and Caitlyn is leaning heavily on her shoulder.

“Run into any trouble?” Sevika asks as they pass by.

“Nah, it’s all clear up north – for today, at least. Uneventful and peaceful. Saw a few deer, rabbit or two, lots of squirrels,” Vi shrugs, kissing Caitlyn on the forehead. “You two heading out?”

“About to – got to talk to Grayson first,” Sevika grunts, flicking her gaze to Caitlyn. “You should take her home, or your cupcake’s gonna wind up smudged with dirt.”

“And you should take yours out – get some dirt on her. Just try not to run into a horde like yesterday. Don’t need to spook her on her first patrol,” Vi says, bending down and scooping Caitlyn into her arms. She walks off, tossing a “Have fun!” over her shoulder.

“Wait – horde?” you squeak, glancing nervously at Sevika. You frantically scan her for any injuries you have yet to notice.

“Relax, we can handle a horde out here. They’re smaller and weaker – not a lot of people lived in these mountains during the old world,” Sevika grunts, continuing on to the stables. “Vi just wants to scare you so we don’t get caught off-guard today… we got a little too sloppy yesterday – the horde showed up in the middle of our chat. We didn’t realize until they were on top of us.”

“… that explains why you were so upset when you found me at Grayson’s shop,” you breathe, a sad smile warping your face into sympathy.

“What do you mean by that?” Sevika questions gruffly, hardening her gaze at you.

“You were all worked up by the horde – when I wasn’t there, you must have thought I was in danger due to the excess adrenaline built up in your system. You could have just told me, you know? The whole silent treatment fiasco was unnecessary,” you huff, knocking her shoulder with a light shove.

Sevika stumbles a bit and huffs, scuffing her boots in the mud. “How are you so damn perceptive? Just – fuck, yes, okay, I was worried!” She spins around, cupping your cheek with her hand, tilting your head up and forcing you to meet her gaze. “We live during the actual apocalypse! When you run off like that, of course, I’m going to worry. So, keep yourself safe on this patrol today, okay? If I say run, you run. No arguing.”

“Sev’, you have to trust me. I’ve survived this long; I can hold my own against the infected. I’m not stupid either; if it’s a cocked situation, I’ll run, but I’m not leaving you behind,” you argue, firmly holding her gaze. You try not to think about her hand on your face, nor the way you subconsciously lean into it.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” she grouses, conceding.

“It’s my worst quality,” you hum, lifting your hand to squeeze her wrist gently in reassurance. “Now, should we get a move on?”

Sevika grunts, dropping her hand. This time, she keeps walking to the stables and doesn’t stop until the two of you are through the door. Stalls run parallel to each other, comfortably housing many horses with fresh bedding, water and feed. Their tack hangs on nearby walls at the far end of the bar. Duchess snorts as Sevika steps inside, growing restless in her stall – eager to stretch her legs. Almost immediately, Grayson spots you and hurries over. You swoon a little at her outfit – a straining blue plaid shirt that’s rolled up to her elbows, covering an old grey t-shirt that peeks out under a few undone buttons. Blue jeans frame her figure, tucked into cowboy boots, with a pistol on her hip and a lasso, too. There’s a tan folder tucked under her arm.

“Good to see that your dutiful attitude is rubbing off on our newest, Sevika. I expected you to at least be a little delayed today on account of the new, warm bed,” Grayson says, pulling the folder out from under her arm. “I’m assigning you to the Western patrol route. It has been fairly quiet for the last few days, so expect trouble. Silco wants the area fully scouted and cleared out for a new construction project. Be mindful of the old weather station – we still haven’t found anyone to clear it out since its discovery last year.”

“Got it,” Sevika grunts, taking the paper from her. You can see some old photocopy on the back – this is scrap paper. “Only need one thing before we can head out: a horse for our newest lady here.”

Grayson regards you for a moment with a furrowed brow. You squirm under her gaze, puffing out your chest and standing taller in order to look presentable – not quite sure what she’s assessing. After a tense moment, Grayson nods her head in satisfaction. “If you will humour an old woman, I have the perfect horse in mind.”

“By all means, lead the way,” you giggle nervously.

Grayson leads you through the stables and toward the back. You fold your hands behind your back, glancing in at every horse. Most of them are unbothered by your presence – a few of them snort at you or stick their heads out to see what you’re up to. Grayson stops at the third stall from the end, planting her hands on her hips and grinning at her own genius.

“This here is a morgan. She has refused to take a rider for the past few weeks – ever since Violet cleared her for one. Ever since she was a filly, she has been gentle, kind and intelligent. Show her no fear, and we’ll get our answer,” Grayson instructs you, gesturing for you to approach the stall.

Sevika leans on a post nearby, watching you with idle interest.

You take a deep breath and step forward, approaching the stall. Almost instantly, the head of a grey, speckled morgan whips out of the stall and stares you down. You freeze in place, willing yourself not to show her fear as you hold up your hand. She scrutinizes it for a long moment – until you’re worried if you should be afraid of her – and then butts her head against your palm. You laugh nervously, scratching her snout and raking your fingers through her white mane. She huffs and nuzzles your arm, searching for any treats. Behind you, Grayson chuckles heartily and pats your shoulder.

“Good girl – see? No reason to be afraid of these gentle giants. And every reason to trust my instincts,” she jokes, pulling a treat out of her satchel and giving the morgan a beet. “She doesn’t have a name yet, so that will be up to you – we let our riders choose their horse’s name as it builds a stronger bond. But she does come with tack. I’ll help you get her ready while Sevika handles Duchess – you two can learn to trust each other out on the trails.”

“Thank you, this is very generous,” you say, still scratching your horse’s face gently.

“It’s my job. I cannot send you out ill-prepared and on foot. Besides, everyone gets a horse around here; you never know when you will need one. Vander has a habit of sending people out on salvage patrols on a whim,” Grayson reassures you, giving you a few horse treats for later. “Now, let’s get you tacked up.”

[lincolndjarin]

Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 3

chapter three : we're all mad here

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : thank you to everyone who has waited patiently for this ily all. not much to say here other than that this chapter gets a lil buck wild so read the warnings. also this chapter is just a shitty whirlwind of things whoops

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

rating : 18+ mdni - explicit content, read all warnings

word count : 11.9k

summary : bunny and joel are in a tough spot but hey couple fight, i'm sure everythings super chill and normal

warnings, etc. : angst, language, smut, dubcon (reader and joels relationship is relatively unhealthy and mostly just sex at this point. basically sex is reluctant or angry most of the time), oral m!receiving, crying after sex, toxic relationship, these two aren't doing well, readers mental health isn't in a great place, gaslighting, grave digging, typical oh honey description of corpses, general sense of dread, fear, feelings of despair, violence, gore, body horror, just in general a lot of bad shit happens in this chapter and i definitely missed tags so proceed with caution. this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

“It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

The only thing that consumes your thoughts. 

The nightmare that’s still there after you wake up. 

Neither one of you moves, he just watches you as your chest heaves, your hands shaking as the dam finally breaks and you crumble entirely. The overwhelming fear that has plagued you for weeks now finally consumes you entirely. 

And you cry.

Not just a few stray tears, or some sniffling.

You cry. 

Big, salty tears and full body sobs because you are just so fucking afraid. 

Afraid of the woods, of the monster, and of Joel. 

And despite that fact, you let him hold you because you aren’t just afraid, you’re tired. You stop putting up a fight when he pulls you into his arms, and you let him soothe you because there is no one else.

You don’t have anyone here. 

(You don’t really have anyone anywhere else either.)

Except Joel. 

So you press your face into his chest and you let him lay down with you. 

You let him hold your ear against his sternum until your heartbeat matches his.

You let him kiss your forehead. 

And you let him rock you back and forth until you fall asleep once more. 

You don’t remember any more dreams that come your way but you know that you don’t sleep well after that, at least two more times you wake with a jolt. And you’re rocked back to sleep every time a fresh flood of tears threatens to rush from your eyes. 

“Can we talk about last night?” Your eyes are still shut when you feel the heat of the sunrise against your face, his chest rumbles against your cheek when he whispers. “I know you’re awake.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it Joel.” You mumble, your eyebrows furrow, eyes still shut as he rubs your back. 

“Please?” He sits up on his elbows, holding you to his chest still, the blanket sliding down his stomach and you’re suddenly reminded of the lack of clothing between the two of you.

You sit up with a groan, stretching your arms above your head before holding your comforter up to cover yourself, as you stare at the scene before you. The morning light is seeping in through the windows, turning his dark curls almost copper. Your eyes trail across the sheets until they settle on the large rips exposing your mattress. 

“I said no.” You grumble.

“Bunny-”

You grab the blanket covering him, yanking it down as you yawn. You crawl between his legs letting your own blanket drop as you take his soft cock in your hand, watching him swell against your palm. He gasps at the suddenness of it all but when he doesn’t push you away you keep going.

“Sugar, I’m beggin’, let’s just take a second to talk.” He puts his hand over yours, trying to slow you but you just slide down onto your stomach, pulling him between your lips, wasting no time to drag your tongue along his tip. A long, unbroken groan falls from his lips. You take him deeper, savoring the way your eyes water and your jaw aches. It keeps you grounded. It keeps you here. 

“Mmm.” You moan around him, god, why can’t he just be a normal man? If he was just a man he wouldn’t feel like velvet in your mouth, and he wouldn’t taste like sweet coffee first thing in the morning. 

You know that now. 

He isn’t just a man. 

You don’t actually know what he is, but you have a few theories. A lot of theories that don’t work because the monster you saw in the woods wasn’t Joel. 

His hips involuntarily rock forward and you groan as he hits the back of your throat. You smooth your hands over his bare thighs to push him back down as you relax your throat. 

“Bunny- ah-” He stammers out as you work yourself back down his length, trying to ease him in at your own pace. “Slow down gorgeous, m’gonna come too fast if you keep this up.” He runs his knuckle across your jaw but you just hollow your cheeks and push on, pulling a strained groan from him. 

You swallow around him, it’s on the verge of painful as you struggle a bit to breathe but you have no desire to stop. No amount of fear is going to change the fact that he soothes you. With his cock in your mouth it’s easy to forget about everything that’s happened to you this past week. It’s easy to just drink him in, and taste the warm caramel of his skin. You let one of your hands slip between your own legs, your fingers drag through the slick there before focusing on your aching clit. 

You concentrate on syncing up the movements. Running your tongue along the underside of his cock as you swipe your fingers against your bud, practically humping your own hand after a few minutes. You keep it up for a bit until you feel his balls tensing and you pop yourself off of him. 

You pull yourself into his lap, straddling his thigh as you wrap your hand around his twitching prick, both of you panting as you grind yourself against him. He grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his as you groan into his mouth, he grunts against you until you feel him pulsing against your palm, streaking his stomach with his cum. After another moment you feel yourself clenching around nothing, finishing against your other hand.

You collapse against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you catch your breath. You take a moment to briefly run your fingers through his spend before sucking them into your mouth. 

Just like frosting, a sweet vanilla taste coating your tongue. 

He watches you like he’s about to pick up where he left off before you distracted him but he shakes it off when you give him a desperate look. He pulls you into an embrace. 

“If you won’t let me talk about it, at least let me redress your wounds.” He murmurs before kissing the top of your head. You give him a small nod, too tired, and too afraid to object as he peels back the bloody gauze, carefully cleaning every cut before wrapping them once more. 

When he’s finished he goes through and gives each one a small kiss, as if that could erase the terror around their origins. 

“I gotta go to work, are you gonna be okay today?” He whispers as he leans forward to give you one last kiss on the cheek. 

“I’ll be fine.” You give him a weak smile, content to act as if everything really is fine for just a few more moments. 

“I’ll stop by for a few minutes after work, then I gotta go get Ellie.” He starts collecting his scattered clothing, dressing himself as you lay back down. “I’ll see you tonight.” He murmurs, giving you one one last sympathetic smile before he’s gone. Just like that.

And you’re alone with your thoughts.

What the fuck are you gonna do? 

There’s a monster loose in the woods and Joel is clearly going to be no help. And of course there’s the issue of not being able to break up with him, for several reasons, one of them being that you simply don’t want to. Anything that happened last night doesn’t matter because at the end of the day you really like Joel, but more importantly you don’t think you can break up with Joel. It doesn’t really seem like your body will let you, whatever the invisible, inexplicable force is that drives you two together might not allow such a separation to happen. 

So you’ll stay with him.  

And you’ll use him to your advantage, it’s clear he knows something about what you saw, why else would he have gotten so defensive about it? He can’t be perfect forever, eventually he’ll slip up. You just have to wait for it. 

You can wait. 

Turns out you’re not as okay as you thought you were. 

You spend the rest of your day cleaning up around the camper, just sort of taking care of things and everything seems fine. Joel texts you a few times, mostly just asking if you’re okay. And he comes to check on you after work, you’re just getting out of the shower when it happens, you had just stepped out of the bathroom in your robe, drying your hair with a towel.

His truck is old, he keeps it in good condition and he takes care of it but the engine is still pretty loud. 

That was all it took to send you under the table. 

Something about the roar of the engine just as it was turning off set you off. You closed your eyes, just for a moment and all you could see was the thing from the woods and you were curled up in on yourself, tucked away under the table with your hands over your ears. You didn’t hear Joel bust down the door and you screamed when he pulled you out from your hiding spot, thrashing and kicking at him. It took a while but eventually he calmed you down, sitting on the edge of your bed with you wrapped around him, trembling in absolute terror. 

When you finally calmed down enough to quiet down he continued to hold you close, humming a song softly as he rubbed your back until you decided to break the silence. 

“You have to go get Ellie.” Your voice was raw from screaming and he sighed. 

“I can stay.”

“Go get her, I’ll be fine.” It took a lot of insisting but eventually he relented, but not before making sure you ate the take out he had brought you. The two of you sat in silence until he couldn’t stall anymore and had to go. 

“Text me before you go to bed.” He mumbled, giving your hand a soft squeeze before he left. 

You did as you were told. 

That was when you became vaguely aware of just how bad things are right now. 

You thought you were up for this, monster hunting, mystery solving business. But you’re terribly afraid, almost to the point of being useless. You can’t just let innocent people die though, no one believes you, so you have to be the one to do this. The thought makes you sick but what else can you do? 

So you endure. 

You wake up from restless sleeps, haunted by monsters you cannot escape from even in your dreams, and you go to work. You let Joel pick you up each morning and you let him kiss your cheek and put his hand on your thigh as you drive. You work as if everything is normal, and you only work on bodies that have died of natural causes for the rest of the week. 

Night time is when things get tricky. 

Joel wants to talk.

He wants to ask if you’re okay and he wants to talk about what happened that night you saw the beast but you know that if you do that you’re going to fall apart all over again and you’re starting to worry that one of these times you aren’t going to be able to put yourself back together. 

So you do the one thing you know will distract him. 

You fuck him. 

He comes over after work each night, bringing food as if he knows you won’t eat unless he makes sure of it. He’ll ask you how work is and you’ll tell him the truth. That you’re busy and Maria’s busy with all the funerals. 

And every night he tries to talk about it, usually starting by reaching out to you and holding your face in his hands. But you know better than to let him get more than a sentence out, so once he starts you drag him to bed.

The first time you executed this plan you were a little worried about what was going to happen after the sex. You couldn’t fuck him again. (Actually you probably could, but that’s beside the point.) So you needed to formulate a plan for afterwards, but once you’d started you got a little lost in your efforts and by the time you were done you had nothing. 

It’s a good thing you solved your own problem when he pulled you against his chest and you suddenly burst into tears. 

So yeah, you aren’t really all that okay. 

You’ve developed a habit of crying after sex and you haven’t gotten any new information out of Joel. But at least you aren’t getting worse, at least it feels like you aren’t. For a week and a half the routine doesn’t change until finally on Wednesday he comes to pick you up after work. 

“Should we go to dinner?” He wraps an arm around your waist as he pulls you closer.

“Let’s just get takeout.” You rest your head against his shoulder as he walks the two of you out to the truck. 

“You don’t wanna go out?”

“I just wanna stay in tonight.” He hesitates for a moment, giving you a troubled look as he helps you into the passenger side. Once the engine hums to life you punch the number into your phone, ordering for the both of you, having it delivered to the camper. 

And you ride in silence.

For a brief moment you wonder if he’s mad at you. 

You can’t really find the will to care, it’s not like he isn’t gonna stay. He’s just as stuck as you are. You aren’t sure you can keep this up for much longer though, he knows what you’re doing at this point and he’s starting to use it against you. 

You want him to snap again. 

That’s sort of the goal right now.

To have him lift you as if it’s nothing. To tear something to shreds. You’ve been trying to make it happen all week, you’d think that with all the sex he’d lose control at some point. 

But he’s careful now. 

Somehow you always end up flat on your back and before you can gain any sort of semblance of control over the situation he’s got you coming your brains out. It’s clever really. Fighting sex with sex. 

You get him to stop talking by starting it and he keeps you from doing any real investigative work by playing you like a fiddle each and every time.

No one wins. And no one loses.  

You know you can’t do this forever but for now it works. 

Work, sex, cry, sleep. 

You decide you need to search his house, maybe find some evidence. You’re getting nowhere with your investigation and even though there haven’t been any mutilated bodies you know it’s only a matter of time. You need to take preventative measures. 

The only problem is you don’t know where it is, you’ve always stayed in the camper and you’re struggling to think of a way to invite yourself over without raising suspicion, after a few days it comes to you. 

“Can we talk?” You stammer out the moment you hear him pick up the phone, he doesn’t even bother hiding his sigh of relief.

“Of course we can, right now? Or should I just come over tonight?” 

“I was thinking maybe we could go to your house, I’m hoping a change of scenery might help me open up.” It’s a bullshit excuse but you know he’d do anything to have a conversation with you right now. 

“That’s more than fine, I’ll pick you up around six? We can have dinner and then we’ll talk.” He sounds so happy you almost wish this was real. That you could give him this thing he wants so desperately but you know that he won’t admit to anything he knows, so you just need to find proof, something he can’t brush off or ignore. 

“Sounds perfect, I’ll see you then.” You hang up before he can respond, staring at the wall in silence, barely noticing when the sun sets outside the window. You don’t snap out of it until headlights flood the interior of the camper and you stand, grabbing your bag before rushing out to meet him. He jogs around the front of the truck to wrap an arm around your waist and kiss your forehead before opening the passenger door.

“I hope you don’t mind, we’ve got a little company tonight.” He raises his eyebrows at you, closing the door before you can ask any questions, when he pulls himself up into the driver's seat you open your mouth to ask what he means but he speaks first, turning to stare into the backseat. “Do you know who this is, little monster?” He turns the cab light on and you see Ellie strapped into her car seat. She appraises you for a moment before all of her limbs straighten out as she yells.

“Girlfriend!” She shrieks and you can’t help but smile for the first time in a while as Joel gives you a lopsided grin. 

“We worked on that the whole way over, she was supposed to say your name but that’s close enough.” He gives her a mock look of disappointment that has her bursting into a fit of laughter as he turns the light off, pulling away from the camper and back onto the road. Joel turns up the radio, both of you sit quietly as Ellie sings along behind you, making up her own words to a pop song you vaguely recognize. “Hope you don’t mind.” He reaches over, taking your hand while the other stays on the wheel. “I haven’t been able to spend a lot of time with her recently.” He nods towards the back as you smile politely. 

“I don’t mind at all.” It’s more than true. You’re rather fond of Ellie. He gives your hand a small squeeze and when you look his dimple is prominently visible on his face. 

It’s about a ten minute drive to his house. 

It doesn’t even look like he has neighbors. He pulls into a driveway between the trees and tucked away is a small ranch style house. You don’t know what you were expecting. Maybe something a little more sinister? But this is quite lovely, lots of space in an outcropping in the trees, a pretty cream colored house with dark oak accents and a tire swing hanging from a nearby tree. 

Secluded. 

You step out, staring at the pretty little place as he unbuckles Ellie, who immediately breaks into a sprint when he sets her on the ground, running up onto the porch and jumping to grab at the door knob. 

“S’locked, honey.” He yells as he takes your hand, chuckling while he retrieves the key from his pocket. “She’s been excited since I told her we were gonna have you over, she loves showin’ people the house.” You both step up onto the porch as Ellie stares at him impatiently. 

“What a lovely house you have, miss Ellie.” You crouch down in front of her as she gives you a grin, she’s clearly much less reserved around her father. 

“Thank you.” She smiles proudly, when Joel opens the door she grabs your hand, pulling you inside as he flips on the lights. “We’re home!” She yells into the empty house. You give Joel a nervous look but he just laughs. 

“She does that everytime we walk through the door, it’s just us here tonight.” He whispers reassuringly as Ellie immediately drags you deeper into the room. 

It’s startlingly average. 

It’s simply a house. No claw marks or blood on the wall. Just a surprisingly well kept little place, a well lived in family home. The walls are lined with photos of Ellie and a girl you assume to be Sarah, the fridge is completely covered in drawings similar to the ones you’ve seen Ellie do before. It’s just a house, nothing more. 

Ellie pulls you into the living room before tugging your hand and pointing up at the wall until you scoop her up. Joel’s already working in the kitchen on dinner as you walk Ellie around the room. She’s more talkative then you’ve ever heard her be now that she’s got a clear line of sight to Joel, clearly more comfortable as she points out each framed photo, having a seemingly infinite number of things to say about each. 

She babbles on endlessly, you don’t understand her well, you can really only make out names in her mess of gibberish but it sounds like she’s telling jokes. She points at each photo, looking at you as she says something incoherent before pausing, when she speaks again it comes off like a punchline, a single short burst of words before a shriek of giggles. You feel truly happy for the first time since that night. You feel normal. 

You carry her over to where Joel seems to be putting toppings on a pizza. 

“I thought you didn’t know how to cook?” You set Ellie down on the counter.

“I don’t know if buying pre-made dough and putting things on top of it is cooking.” He chuckles, handing her a piece of pepperoni. You feel painfully normal. This feels normal. It feels good, holding Ellie, and sneaking her another piece of pepperoni. It feels good to listen to the music softly filling the kitchen from the radio in the corner as Joel puts the tray in the oven before turning to smile at the two of you. “Did you show her your room yet El’s?” He grins at you and Ellie urgently grabs the sleeve of your sweater. 

You pick her back up and she directs you towards the first door on the left once you turn down the hall. You set her down and she runs in, jumping up to turn the lights on as she scrambles to the toybox. 

“Oh wow…” You can’t hide your surprise as you look around. The walls and ceiling are painted a navy blue with constellations drawn onto them, each one is outlined and labeled. Her bedframe is a wildly detailed miniature spaceship, hollowed out to hold her mattress. You walk forward, running your hand along its outline. “You have a beautiful room Ellie.” She turns and looks between you and her bed. 

“Thanks, daddy did it.”

“Your father did all this?” You tilt your head as you carefully poke the solar system mobile hanging from the ceiling fan.

“Mhmm.” She’s still busy digging through her things until she produces a few plastic dinosaurs, seemingly forgetting your presence entirely as she begins smashing them together, growling and snarling. You watch her until Joel calls you back and she scrambles to her feet, running back out. You take a moment, looking at the other three doors in the hall. You can hear Joel talking to Ellie in the other room so you take the opportunity to look around. You try the door across from Ellies, pushing it open. It's a completely average bathroom, when you check the other two you find them both locked. 

You don’t get a chance to make any attempts to get into them before Joel is calling you. 

When you walk back into the kitchen they’re already sitting at the table, the seat next to Joel is pulled out and you take a seat. 

And you get to be normal for just a few more minutes. This is what you wish it was with Joel. You wish you didn’t have to shut him up with sex every time he came over. You want dinners with Ellie. You want to watch her scramble to pick out a movie and you want to relive the look of content on Joel's face when his daughter chooses to sit between you two instead of just beside him. You want to hear Joel laugh at shitty jokes in a Disney movie and you want to watch Ellie struggle to keep her head up, alternating between leaning against you and leaning against her father. 

But you can’t have this. 

At least not after tonight. 

Ellie yawns, her head slowly tilting to rest in the crook of Joel’s arm as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Joel taps you on the shoulder, nodding down at the sleeping toddler.

“I’m gonna put her to bed.” He mouths before scooping her up and carrying her down the hall. You sit by yourself for a moment, soaking in the quiet ambiance of the movie when you suddenly hear a tiny pair of footprints as Ellie runs up to you. She’s in her pajamas now, a pair of striped pants and what looks to be one of Joel's old shirts. You think for a moment that she might hug you as you give her a soft smile but she just pats your knee a few times.

 “Good night.” She mumbles before running back to her room. 

“Good night Ellie.” You call after her. After another moment you stand, curiosity getting the better of you as you walk down the hall as quietly as possible, leaning in the cracked open doorway. Ellie is in her bed with Joel sitting on the edge of it, he’s bent down to properly fit into the spaceship as he tucks her blankets in around her. 

“What can I get for you tonight, little monster, story or song?” He whispers as he hands her a stuffed dinosaur. 

“Song please.” She yawns, rubbing her eyes. 

“Comin’ right up.” He reaches outside of her bed, grabbing the guitar you hadn’t paid much attention to earlier, you had been enraptured by everything else at that point. He tunes it for a moment as she gets comfortable, pulling her blankets up to her chin as she stares at him, her eyes already struggling to stay open. “What song do you wanna hear tonight?”

“Hmm… the rabbit song?” 

“That’s a very good choice, Eleanor.” He nods as he slowly begins strumming a series of chords. 

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Bang bang bang bang goes the farmer's gun.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

You rest your head on the doorframe as he strums softly, looking up every once in a while to see if she’s sleeping yet, he repeats the song about two times until he finally looks up and her eyes are shut. You rush back to the couch when he stands. 

“Took her a while to calm down, sorry about that.” He rubs the back of his neck as he walks back into the room.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s more than fine.” He sits beside you, your thighs touching as he puts an arm around you.

“You’re really good with ‘er.” He whispers, turning to rest his forehead on your temple. 

“She makes it easy.” You run your hand along his thigh, trailing it up until he gently grabs your wrist. 

“We gotta talk first, bunny.” 

Absolutely not. You didn’t find anything so the next course of action is to fuck or leave. 

“Why don’t we go talk in your bedroom?” You roll yourself into his lap, straddling his waist and he frowns. 

“Let’s just talk for a few minutes.” You start trying to tug open his shirt as he sighs. You lean forward, kissing him but he doesn’t reciprocate, keeping his hands at his sides, when you pull back he’s scowling. 

“Come on…” You whine softly. 

“You can’t keep doin’ this.” His southern accent thickens as he starts becoming visibly upset. 

“Doing what?” You mumble. 

“Shuttin’ yerself away. Pushin’ me away. You can’t keep using sex to end conversations you don’t want to have.” You continue fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as he purses his lips, finally just grabbing your wrists, pinning them down. “Would’ja stop for one damn minute?” You can feel him glaring at you but you just keep staring at the buttons on his flannel, silent. 

“I don’t want to talk.” You exhale, pulling your wrists free. 

“Bullshit.” He grabs you by your jaw, no forcefulness behind the action but he makes you look at him. “I’m worried about you.” His tone softens immensely as he gives you a pleading look. 

“I’m fine.” You push his hand away but maintain eye contact.

“You aren’t. We haven’t had a conversation in weeks, and you cry everytime I see you, I don’t even know why you keep askin’ me to come around, at this point I’m allowed to be worried.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” You start to get out of his lap but he grabs you by your waist and pulls you back down. 

“Well I do. I’m serious, somethin’ is wrong with you, this isn’t normal.” When you try to get up again he doesn’t stop you, just putting his head in his hands as he groans. “There’s something seriously wrong with you bunny, we need to get you help.”

“I don’t need ‘help,’ I’m fine, now drop it.” He can’t do this, he can’t just call you crazy when he’s the one who drove you to this point. 

“You aren’t fine, you’re the furthest thing from it. You’re a mess, you’ve become a mad woman.” You’re about to just grab your bag and leave when he leans back. “Does it run in the family or something?” He mutters into his hand and you freeze in place.

“Excuse me?” You don’t conceal the hurt or the venom in your tone. 

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-” He gets to his feet but you put a hand up when he takes a step forward.  

“Don’t.”

“Please bunny. I’m just so frustrated I didn’t mean it, please.” His expression is full of desperation but it’s too late, the damage is done. 

“Fine Joel, you know what, let’s talk. Let’s talk about how you think I’ve got whatever ‘Ditsy Darlene’ had.” You raise your eyebrows at him, taunting him as you sneer. “Let’s talk about what’s wrong with your batty little bunny.” You hiss the end of the sentence and his eyes grow sad. 

He stares at you, silence ringing through the living room for a moment before you finally just grab your bag and make a beeline for the door, unfortunately he beats you to it just as the angry tears start pooling in your eyes. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going home.”

“Like hell you are, it’s miles away, and it’s the middle of the night, I’ll give you a ride.” He grabs his coat but you just shake your head. 

“I’m not getting in the truck with you. Besides, Ellie's already asleep.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath once more before reaching into his pocket, scrolling through his phone for a moment, you’re about to just push past him and leave when he brings it to his ear. 

“Can you come over? I need a favor.” He grumbles into the phone, you hear a rather irritated voice on the other end until Joel stops them. “You owe me.” There’s a beat of silence before he gets a response that has him nodding and hanging up, looking back at you. “Tommy’l be here in a few minutes, he’ll take you home.” He mumbles before leaning against the counter, you take the opportunity to sit at the table near the door. 

Neither one of you so much as moves until headlights illuminate the dim kitchen. When Tommy walks in he’s rather disheveled. His hair is pulled back but most of it still falls around his face, from the looks of it he’s only wearing sweatpants and a jacket. 

“This better be important, I haven’t seen Maria in days. So help me god if this is your way of getting back at me for-“ He immediately points an accusatory finger at Joel, sounding extremely irritated. 

“She needs a ride home.” Joel interrupts him quickly, nodding over to you before making his way over to Tommy rather quickly, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and yanking him back out the door. “We need a second.” He yells back in your direction and before you can object he slams the front door leaving you alone. 

Almost immediately you watch the blinds shudder as something slams against the kitchen window. You don’t hesitate to stand, rushing over and pressing your ear up against the wall, you don’t even have time to feel bad about eavesdropping. You haven’t found anything damning yet and this might be your only chance. They’re a bit hushed but you can hear them pretty clearly. 

“She’s perfectly fine, unlike some people I can control myself.” 

Tommy. 

“Perfectly fine? She’s a fuckin’ mess Tom. You’d have my head if it had been Maria.”

Joel.

“Maria never woulda found herself in that situation because she knows better, maybe it’s time for you to take care of that.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” 

“It is. I told Maria on our second date, you know why? Because it doesn’t matter. There isn’t a damn thing you could tell that girl that would make her leave you, I know it, you know it, hell, she probably knows it.”

Does Tommy know what the thing that plagues you is? The thing that keeps you from staying away from Joel? 

“She doesn’t know anything and it’s gonna stay that way.”

“She knows enough. You’re doing more harm by keepin’ her in the dark. What happens when you finally lose that famous self control a’yours?” Another slam against the window has you jolting backwards but you quickly lean back in when you hear Joel snarl. 

“I would never do anything to hurt her.”

You want so badly to believe that. 

“We both know I’m a hundred times more calm than you and Maria doesn’t even let me stay in the house most days. She needs to know so she can protect herself. What’s gonna happen when you don’t get outta town fast enough one of these days? You’ve been getting dangerously close these last couple of times, you’re gonna break her if she doesn’t know.” There’s a moment of silence and you worry they’re about to come back inside when Tommy speaks again, softer now. “What happens when she goes back into those woods? If she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Another beat of silence. “I’ve seen the two of you, you can barely keep your hands off of her as is, what happens when you catch a whiff of her in the forest and can’t help yourself?”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I didn’t say you’d hurt her. I said you’d break her. You can’t keep lying to her and telling her she’s crazy, if she finds out on her own she’ll lose it Joel. You want her to end up like our old man?” 

You already feel broken. 

“This is different.”

“I think it’s exactly the same.” There’s another beat of silence before Tommy speaks again, angrier than before. “If you don’t tell her I will.”

“You have no right-“

“Would’ja quit shovin’ me. She’s gonna come out here if you don’t stop. She has every right to know. I’ll give you a few more weeks but I won’t leave her in the dark forever.”

Maybe you should just ask Tommy to go get coffee or something. From the sounds of it he’ll sort it all out for you. 

“Fine.”

“Fine, I'm gonna have to deal with this?”

“Fine, I’ll deal with this.” You barely have enough time to run back to the table and sit before the door swings open again, only Joel comes back in, his expression goes from furious to apologetic when he looks at you. “Tom’s out in the truck, he’ll get you home safe.” The tone he speaks to his brother with is unrecognizable compared to the tone he uses with you. You nod before grabbing your bag keeping your head down as you rush out the door, he catches your arm as you cross the threshold. “What can I do to fix this?” His voice cracks on the word fix and you turn to stare into those brown eyes that threaten to swallow you whole. 

You take a moment just to fight the urge to forgive him all together, to act as if all of this is perfectly fine just so you can stay with him.

“You can stop lying.” You whisper before yanking your arm free and running to the passenger side of the truck. You strap yourself in swiftly, not so much as glancing at Tommy. 

“Ready to go?” He sounds chipper as ever as you nod, giving one last look to Joel, standing in the doorway watching you depart. 

A soft country love song plays on the radio as he heads back towards your camper, a part of you longs to ask him for answers, wondering if he’d actually give them to you. It sounded like he wanted to, a lot of that conversation left you more confused than ever but also rather worried.

You decide it’s better not to let him know you were listening. At least for now.

“You have fun with the little monster?” He breaks the silence, making you jump a bit. 

“Ellie? She’s a delight.” 

“She’s the cutest, I’m glad Joel has her. He was pretty broken up when Sarah went to college.”

“She still visits, right?” You do your best to not stare at the trees, focusing on the dashboard instead. 

“Oh yeah, on holidays and special occasions, she’s only a state away. But you know how it is when you’re in college. She loves her dad but she needed some space to find herself and Joel just got lonely.” He flips on his blinker, turning down your road. “Ellie’s good for him. She keeps him busy.”

“Do you and Maria get to watch her much?” You’re hoping to catch him in a lie.

“Quite a bit yeah.” Damnit. “Joel’s always busy doing Joel stuff and it’s good practice for us, we haven’t decided on kids yet so we settle on just watching Ellie.”

Well this is going nowhere.

You sit in a mostly comfortable silence for a moment. 

“She called me girlfriend today, Joel was trying to teach her my name.” You both laugh a bit until he speaks again. 

“I’ve been trying to get her to say ‘Uncle Tommy’ for months now, damn kids not sayin’ it just to spite me. She’ll say ‘Auntie Maria’ clear as day.”

You genuinely like Tommy. 

Outside of the fact that he wanted to tell you whatever truth everyone seems hellbent on keeping from you. 

He’s easy to be around.

“Then what does she call you?” You say with one last laugh as he pulls up towards the camper. 

“Most of the time she just calls me Tío.” He gives you a grin as your mouth goes dry, when he gives you a hug goodbye you’re acutely aware of the fact that he smells like cinnamon. 

You feel relatively sick the rest of the night. 

Tío.

You had almost laughed; it had shocked you so deeply. 

It had been Tommy in the woods that day. 

You’re sure of it now. It explains everything and fills in all the gaps. The Miller brothers are both haunting these woods. You’re left to stew with that the rest of the night.

You aren’t crazy. 

Joel isn’t just a man.

And according to your book that’s why you can’t get away from him. You’re mates. Something about finally knowing you’re right helps you sleep soundly for the first time in ages. You don’t even dream. 

You’ve got several notifications from Joel when you wake, a slew of apologies and missed calls which you ignore as you step into the shower. You manage to keep it together long enough to wash yourself, rinsing your hair out, tugging your fingers through the tangles. 

You pat yourself dry, wrapping a towel around yourself as you step out of the bathroom, pouring yourself a glass of water as you take a seat at the table, scrolling through your texts.

[ can i come over tomorrow night? ] 

[ i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. ]

[ we can do whatever you wanna do. ] 

[ bunny please. ]

You’re already feeling your Joel withdrawal, you should text him, does your body somehow know you plan on depriving it of him? You’ve only been without him for a few hours and you’re exhausted after a full night's sleep. You sit with your head in your hands for a moment, massaging your temples as a headache settles there. After another moment you pinch the bridge of your nose, standing up abruptly. 

“Fuck! Ah-” You catch your foot on the uneven board under the table, slicing your heel open on an exposed nail. “Dammit…” You mutter under your breath as you lift your leg, examining the cut. It's small, barely even bleeding but it irritates you wildly, your mood growing more and more sour. You sit on the floor, turning on your phone flashlight as you examine the floor, hoping to fix whatever the problem is, you realize quickly that the entire board is loose. “What the hell?” You pull it back completely, staring confused at the cubby. There’s a small space under the table, when you reach in you find a tote bag in surprisingly good condition. When you free it from its confines your eyes go wide when you see a laptop case. 

Darlenes. 

Everything’s in the bag, case, laptop, and charger. You set everything on the table, covering the floorboard and making sure nothing sharp is still exposed before taking a seat. You plug the charger in quickly, giving it a moment before opening the laptop and turning it on. You’re delighted when the screen illuminates, a small startup chime playing. Hopefully learning a bit more about your aunt will help you take your mind off things. 

Shit.

Password. 

You think to yourself for a moment, pondering and trying to come up with a few guesses before you start typing. 

Honey

West Virginia

ABC

Darlene Wilson

Ditzy Darlene 

You try your own name and your birthday and nothing happens, you stare for a moment, seemingly there’s no limit on guesses so you just keep going. Eventually you just start typing whatever you see, it’s better than nothing. 

fridge

shower 

laptop 

You glance down at your phone. 

Joel 

Nothing. 

You sigh for a moment, running your fingers across your scalp. 

Fuck it. 

bunny 

Your eyes go wide as you stare at her desktop. 

Fucking, bunny. 

You don’t dwell on that too much, too captivated by the mess of folders in front of you, you start clicking through things, confused by everything you’re seeing until you finally realize what it all is. 

It’s everyone in town, and from the looks of it, every adjacent town. 

She was keeping profiles on the townsfolk. 

It takes a bit of searching but after a few more minutes you find a folder within a folder, within a folder labeled Millers. 

Five documents are inside. 

Joel M. 

Thomas M.

Maria M. 

Sarah M.

Eleanor M. 

You open Sarah and Ellies first, both are pretty scarce, mostly just schools and such, a few dates in Sarah’s file are highlighted. Maria’s is the same except for a small section noting the increase in unexplained deaths when she officially changed her residence to Honey. 

Tommy and Joel are where it gets complicated. 

Endless pages of information, enough to fill a book. Most of it seems to be mundane information, more a diary than anything else. Notes on things she found out through the internet, a lot about how they moved around a lot as kids and kept up with that lifestyle up until Sarah, there’s no information on her mother but from the looks of it, the Miller clan settled in Honey six months before Sarah was born. 

There’s just too much on them, even simple things like how Darlene saw them in the grocery store, detailed calendars of their whereabouts were being kept by your aunt. You try to skim through a lot of it but there doesn’t seem to be anything highlighted until the last page. 

Not to be overlooked. 

Did she fucking know? 

Darlene may have been ditzy in some ways but this was clearly not one of them. A second highlighted sentence underneath that one catches your eye.

To be investigated in case of my untimely passing. 

Your stomach drops.

There’s no way. 

You close the files, trying to push away the implications of what you’ve read. But you can’t seem to keep it down. 

You never asked anyone how she passed. 

Work after the laptop incident is uneventful at best. 

With no bodies there isn’t much for you to do. 

You clean and you take care of the occasional elderly person you get but that’s about it, you spend a lot of time with Maria, sitting in silence and doing paperwork. It’s as if she knows that you aren’t exactly doing great and just doesn’t want to stir the pot. 

You haven’t texted Joel back.

And you feel like shit. 

Just in general things haven’t been all that great since you and Joel fought. Being away from him makes you feel shitty and it’s made your mood shitty, you’re irritable and impatient and by the time Maria finally breaks the silence two weeks later you’re ready to explode. 

“Are you feeling okay? You seem a little down, you know you can talk to me whenever you want.” It sounds genuine enough but you know better by now than to trust any member of this family. 

“I’m fine.” You can’t find it in you to care if it comes off as rude.

“Are you sure?” She’s filing papers on her desk, freezing in place when you speak again. 

“Did you do my aunt's service?” You look up at Maria.

It’s a terrible question.

You probably shouldn’t even be asking it but you need to know. 

She sits in stunned silence for a moment before clearing her throat. 

“I did.” 

“How did she die?” 

Somehow an even worse question, this is a terrible example of mortician etiquette. 

“They told me it was old age.” 

“Who told you?”

She swallows loudly.

“The police.”

“Why did the police declare the cause of death? Isn’t that your job?” This might cost you yours but what have you got to lose at this point?

“The police found her.” 

“Why were the police even at her house?”

“Christ, I don’t know! You sound just like her, with the questions and the accusations!”

“Accusations? I wasn’t accusing you of anything, what did you think I was accusing you of?”

“I think you should go home, take the rest of the day off.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re acting crazy.”

You aren’t crazy. 

Fine. You’ll take the night off. You’ve got some things to take care of anyway. You can’t keep doing nothing, you owe it to Darlene. 

“I’ll see you on Monday.” You stand, hastily grabbing your things. 

She calls your name as you’re leaving.

“Take care of yourself, please.” 

You don’t respond, closing the door as you step into the misty afternoon air. 

You aren’t crazy.

And you’re pretty sure Darlene wasn’t either. Something about Maria’s story isn’t adding up, maybe you should have started by interrogating her, she isn’t as good at lying as Tommy and Joel are. Nonetheless, you need to do your own research now. 

That’s what you tell yourself to justify what you’re doing as you walk into the police station. It’s tiny, as expected, there’s no secretary so you just let yourself in, approaching a woman with a name plate reading Sheriff.

“Hi, I’m Darlene’s niece.” You don’t bother giving a last name, everyone knows everyone in this damn town. 

“Oh! I’ve been meanin’ to stop by and introduce m’self.” She gives you a toothy grin as you nod. “I knew yer aunt pretty well, we used ta joke that I should give er a punch card fer the station.” You thought Joel had a thick southern accent but this woman is on a whole different level. 

“She was here often?”

“Nearly twice a week. She would come in ‘ere, poor thing, spewin’ about monsters in the woods. But she was harmless, I didn’t have anything better to do so I’d listen, y’know, ‘take ‘er statement.’” She does air quotes with her fingers and you fight the urge to frown. “Hell of a storyteller that one.” 

“Could you help me out with some information regarding her passing?” No sense in being coy about it, seems like this woman will talk for hours if you don’t interrupt. “Maybe I could talk to the officer who found her…” You look around the room at the empty desks before looking back at her, she has a sympathetic look on her face now.

“That would be me. I was first on the scene after we got the call.”

“Call?”

“Well yeah, it was the Miller brothers that found ‘er.”

What the fuck. 

“Joel and Tommy?”

“You’ve met ‘em? Who am I kiddin’ of course you’ve met ‘em, they probably knew her better than anyone else, real saints those two.”

“Darlene? You probably know her better than I do.”

That’s what he had said. 

“I didn’t realize they spent so much time together.” How much has Joel lied to you about?

“Oh yeah, they were over there several times a week, Joel even named his daughter after her, Darlene’s middle name was Eleanor.” There’s a sour taste in your mouth as you let that sink in.

“So… Tommy and Joel found her?” 

“Unfortunately, they had come over like they normally did on Sundays to help her with any house work and they found her in her camper, said she went in ‘er sleep.”

“Wait, they said she went in her sleep? You never saw the body?”

“I- I couldn’t bring myself to look… I cared a lot for Darlene, I considered her a very good friend. Joel and Tommy wrapped her up for me, I escorted them to the home and Maria took care of the rest. Declared cause of death and all that.”

That’s all you need to hear. 

Now you have to check, it’ll eat you up inside until there’s nothing left if you don’t. You mumble a goodbye before making a hasty exit. 

Tonight you’re going to the cemetery.  

Dig or leave. 

You need to make up your mind, you can only stand in a graveyard with a shovel for so long before you’re arrested. It’s already ten at night and you need to start as early as possible. 

There’s just a lot going on here. 

Darlene Eleanor Wilson

More important than the Eleanor of it all is the fact that you’re faced with two tombstones, Darlene’s clearly being a lot fresher than the one beside it. 

Benita Isabella Wilson 

Both tombstones are labeled the same, beloved wife, and friend 

Wife. You’d been told she’d never married.

There was no indication in the camper of such a thing yet here it is, clear as day. From the looks of it Benita passed nearly eight years ago. When you look closer you can see how well kept her tombstones have been. You make a note to pick up where Darlene left off and come back to clean both. 

After you do what needs to be done. 

You take a deep breath before finally driving the shovel down into the dirt. There’s no time to be squeamish about this, you know better than anyone how long this is going to realistically take to get done so you need to work fast if you want to be out of here before the sun’s coming up. 

So you dig. 

And you sweat, and you ache but you don’t dare stop. 

You dig, and you dig, and you dig. 

Until finally the sun is coming up, the sky is dimly lit when you finally hit something other than dirt. You work as quickly as possible to unearth the top half of the coffin and just as daylight breaks you manage to do it. You’re actually a bit thankful for the sun's rising, because you have no time to hesitate, you have to do it and you have to do it now before someone finds you.

So you grit your teeth and open the coffin. 

And you meet Darlene. 

Your poor, poor aunt Darlene.

Aunt Darlene, who’s cause of death was deemed ‘multiple organ failure, natural causes.’

She’s only been in the ground a few months. A normal person might blame her state on that fact but this isn’t decomposition. Decomposition doesn’t tear half of a person's face off. 

When she died she was missing over half of her face, from the looks of it her nose was torn clean off before she got anywhere near a casket. 

You swallow your vomit, not wanting to further desecrate her grave. 

Your brain is moving at a million miles an hour yet you’re also struggling to form a single coherent thought as you take in the sight of her until finally something just snaps. 

Staring at the corpse makes something shift inside of you. As if you’ve been pulled taut for weeks and you’ve finally split in two. Something deep inside of you that you’d never felt before, you sort of wonder if this is how normal people feel when they see a corpse. 

You don’t even laugh. 

There isn’t fear, or anger, or hate, threatening to burst from you, forcing that all too familiar laugh from your chest.

There’s nothing.

Just you and a corpse. 

A mangled corpse, with no one to mourn her, and no one to realize something was horribly wrong until long after she was dead. 

You don’t remember much after that. You don’t remember closing the casket, or covering it with dirt, but you know you did. You don’t remember walking to the hardware store, open surprisingly early, you don’t remember making any purchases, and you don’t remember going home. 

Yet you’re there when you come to your senses. 

You feel terribly hollow and suddenly you’d give anything to fill the camper with one of your nervous laughs but it never comes. You shake your head a bit, trying to focus. 

You’re in the camper.

The sun is up.

And you’ve got two rather heavy plastic bags in front of you. You  pour the contents out onto the table before methodically grabbing each one, tucking them into your empty backpack, making yourself a mental list of everything while trying to remember why you bought them in the first place.  

Several armfuls of rope, and chain, several rolls of duct tape, a new first aid kit, more padlocks than you could ever possibly need, paper towels, bleach, and a rather gaudy souvenir mug, scribbled on the bottom is some print telling you that it’s microwave and dishwasher safe, and shatterproof, it’s obnoxious and absurdly heavy, a decal on the front says ‘Sweet as Honey, West Virginia!’ 

You stare at your now full bag, blurry memories of your train of thought coming into focus as you slowly but surely remember your intentions. 

You were going to visit Joel. 

And sort out this whole mess. 

Finally have that talk he’s been wanting to have so badly.

If everyone is gonna keep treating you like you’re gone mad then you’re going to act mad. 

You wait two days to go visit Joel.

You’ve started to track your cycle so you know exactly when to go see him. When the day comes you tuck yourself into the trees adjacent to the funeral home. Deep enough in the woods that no one can see you but not so deep that you’re filled with the familiar dread the woods typically give you. 

It is tempting though. 

The concept of getting to feel something again.

Ever since you saw that corpse you’ve just been empty, there isn’t anything left of you. 

Joel's truck pulls in as you tilt your head to the side. 

You watch as he lifts Ellie out of her car seat, letting her run the distance to the house where Maria waits for her. They talk for a bit before Joel kisses the top of Ellie’s head, making his way back to the truck. The moment he begins backing out of the driveway you begin your walk towards his home. 

It’s about a three hour walk but you don’t get bored. 

You’d have to be able to feel something to feel boredom. 

So you walk, because there’s nothing else for you to do. You walk until you see the tire swing swaying in the cool night air. You walk around the house to the sliding door in the back, and you peer inside through the blinds to find the living room and kitchen empty, when you push the door it gives way immediately. 

No reason to lock a door when you’re the scariest thing in the woods. 

When you step in you hear the faint sounds of the shower running and you quietly make your way across the room once the door is closed behind you. You take your bag off one arm so you can reach inside, retrieving the novelty mug before zipping it shut and putting it back on. 

You don’t even feel nervous. 

Your skin buzzes as if you’re anxious and you tap your foot but the wave of anxiety never comes. You fill the mug with water, sipping slowly until you hear the shower turn off and you dump out the contents, tucking yourself behind the fridge and holding your breath. 

He moves around for a bit, you hear him moving throughout the house until finally the sound of his footsteps travel down the hall and into the kitchen, when you peek around he’s leaning against the counter, staring into the living room while drying his hair with a towel, dressed in only flannel pajama bottoms.

It’s now or never. 

“Could’a swore I shut those…” He grumbles as he tosses the towel onto the back of a chair, you know he’s about to close the blinds so you step out before he can even get off the tile, standing directly behind him as you inhale sharply. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, shutting your eyes tight just as he turns around and you slam the ceramic mug against his temple. 

Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

You pray silently to yourself as you finally kneel beside his crumpled form. After the initial strike you’d turned around with a small squeak, terrified of your own actions, hearing the sound of his body hitting the floor. It took you five whole minutes to finally turn and look. 

Still breathing.

That’s all that matters. 

You throw your backpack down on the counter before crouching down, rolling him onto his back. His chest rises and falls as if he were asleep but a small amount of blood is pooling from where you hit him, the skin split just below his hairline. You brush a curl away from his forehead to look closer, it’s a superficial wound, not too deep but still bleeding profusely. It could be worse, you tell yourself as you stand again, searching through your pack, eventually just grabbing it by the bottom and dumping the contents onto the counter. First things first you need to bandage his wound, this will all be easier if he isn’t bleeding everywhere. 

You grab the bandages you bought for this very purpose, along with the paper towels, dabbing up the blood now streaking through his hair.

This is fine.

Everything’s fine. 

It takes a bit of effort but once he’s all cleaned up you manage to get him into a chair and it’s easy from there. You know how strong he is so you’re rather generous in your use of each restraint. Using most of everything you’ve got securing him, rope, tape and chain. When you’re finished you take a step back. 

He won’t be able to get out of it. 

You’re certain. 

You aren’t sure what’s next honestly. There isn’t really anything for you to do until he wakes up so you find yourself just staring down the hallway. 

He was just in his room, it probably isn’t locked anymore. 

Curiosity gets the better of you as you make your way down the hall, Joel’s bedroom door beckoning you. You twist the knob, slowly pushing the door in as your hand fumbles with the wall beside it, trying to find the lightswitch. You stare into the darkness before finally finding it, flinching a bit as a single light fixture hanging in the center of the room flickers on. 

Huh.

This is what you were expecting to find the first time you came over. No wonder he always wants to sleep in the camper. 

It looks like a room you’d only see in a horror movie. The walls are mostly bare, the wallpaper is torn off in large chunks and against the far wall you can see a few polaroids taped up. The only furniture is a mattress on the floor in the center of the room. Your breath hitches as you walk to the closet, pulling open the door. It looks like he keeps all of his belongings in here, shoved into the small space, clothes, personal items, and boxes fill it entirely. You shut the door, you don’t have nearly enough time to go through all of it so you go to investigate the photos instead. 

Five polaroids are pinned up.

One is a photo of Joel holding a tiny baby with a shocking mess of brunette curls atop her head. Her big brown eyes are identical to Joels.

The second is a pretty recent photo of Ellie. A slightly blurry photo of the little girl holding the camera in front of a mirror, Joel is barely visible in the background, you can see his signature dimple as he holds her up. 

The third photo is of two people you don’t recognize. A man with a vacant stare sitting in a rocking chair with a woman perched beside him, kissing his cheek. Both look to be in their sixties, the man bares a striking resemblance to Tommy, the woman has the same frenzied curls as Sarah. 

The fourth was taken in front of the funeral home, Tommy and Maria are pictured standing underneath a ‘Grand Opening!’ banner.

The fifth, and clearly most recent photo is of you. You have no memory of it being taken, how could you, your eyes are shut. You look peaceful though. Happy. The morning light shimmers against your lashes, you’re tangled in the sheets with your arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen, from the angle he’s holding the camera at you can see his head turned down, giving you an infatuated look. 

You run a finger along the edge of the photo, lost in thought until you hear him coughing, you turn the light off, rushing back out into the kitchen, his eyes are glued to you immediately. 

“Bunny…” His tone is low and cautious. 

“Don’t do that, don’t talk to me like I’m crazy.” You make your way across the kitchen, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. 

You know how this looks but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be condescending. 

“Of course you aren’t crazy, I know that, I just need you to let me go.” His voice goes soft, as if he were speaking to a cornered animal. 

“Stop it.” You frown at him. “I’m completely coherent right now.”

“Okay.” He nods slowly. “Look, I know things haven’t been easy for you recently, just let me go and we can forget any of this ever happened, okay? We can just go to bed and deal with it in the morning.” The funny part is that you know he’s telling the truth, if you untie him right now he’d carry you to bed as if nothing happened and he’d hold you until you forgot about the whole thing. “Please don’t do this.” He speaks softer now. “Think about Ellie. Don’t leave her without a father.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not a monster.” The offense is apparent in your tone. 

“Then what’s the plan here, bunny.”

“We’re going to wait.” You sit back in your chair, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I should be getting my period tomorrow.” You tilt your head to the side a tiny bit as the color leaves his face. “We will wait here for forty eight hours, if nothing happens I’ll untie you.” 

His face suddenly turns to an expression of concentration, you’ve got plenty of time to grill him over the next forty eight hours, you decide to let him be for now. Neither one of you says so much as a word for well over an hour when suddenly his hand spasms. A nervous tick of sorts, his fingers flexing outward before his knuckles go white as his hand forms into a fist. 

“Let me go.” He whispers.

“In forty eight hours.”

“Now.”

You shake your head no.

Almost simultaneously you watch his jaw twitch in an almost inhuman way. 

“Then you need to get out of here.” His voice is strained now as he gives you a look of pure desperation.

“I’m staying right here.” You raise your eyebrows at him definitely but lose any of your bravado when he snarls, his muscles rippling briefly as you watch the tape tear, some of the ropes split in different places as he flexes. You tumble out of your own chair as you recoil.

“Iron?” He growls out, when he looks up at you now his eyes are bloodshot, you’re incapable of doing anything other than staring in horror as you hear the screech of metal as one of the chain links bursts. “Are these- are they iron?” His voice shifts down an octave halfway through the sentence and you shake your head frantically. 

How were you supposed to know they needed to be iron? You aren’t exactly experienced in holding eldritch horrors hostage. 

“You- fuck, you need to get out of here.” When he stares up at you there’s another groan from the strain against the metal but you can’t move. You’ve fallen flat on your ass as you stare at him with wide confused eyes, your legs splayed out uselessly in front of you while your arms prop you up just enough to watch the nightmare before you unfold. “Now.” You recognize the voice that speaks now as Joel’s, despite the fact that it isn’t his at all, it’s just a low bellowing sound now that shouldn’t be possible for a human to make. Your breath is starting to quicken as you tremble. 

You’re nearly hyperventilating when the chains all simultaneously break, the metal shrieking as it rips. But it isn’t anywhere near loud enough to cover up the horrific sound that echoes throughout the house. 

Bones, breaking. 

A sickening crunching and snapping as Joel's flesh ripples as if the ocean is just beneath his skin. Joel is big, he’s always been broad, sturdy, but this is something completely different. He isn’t just big, he’s hulking. His body twists and tears and it hurts to even look at but you can’t turn away. He’s falling apart, his flesh and bones tear and bleed as they reshape themselves into something beyond your comprehension. 

This isn’t what you came across in the woods. 

This looks like the kind of thing that eats what you came across in the woods. 

His body curls in on itself, crouching down onto all fours and he’s still taller than you. If he had been wearing a shirt you assume it would have torn when his spine realigned itself. Each vertebrae popping itself out, separating and lengthening until his body shudders, the skin pulled taut over his stretched out form. The entire process probably takes less than a minute but it feels like hours pass as you watch, your eyes wide. 

Until finally he stills, panting, staring at the ground before tilting his head up a bit. 

“Little… rabbit.” 

It speaks.

He looks at you like a meal and your breath hitches at the sight, there’s a burning in your abdomen as you stare into his eyes, he’s searching your gaze for something but he doesn’t find it. Almost as if you can read his mind a word comes to mind.

Repulsion. 

He’s searching for disgust, or loathing, but he won’t find it, after all this is what you wanted. You don’t hate him for this, you won’t look at him like he’s ugly because he isn’t, even if you’re afraid. There is something horrifyingly gorgeous about him, even if every one of your base instincts tell you to get as far away from him as you possibly can. 

He’s beautiful like this. 

The deep brown of his eyes takes over the whites as his eyelids pull back, his eyes must be the size of baseballs now. Enormous and dark, sparking with intrigue. The hook of his nose now stretches to fit his new face, halfway down it bends and breaks a bit. His hair looks a little longer, more appropriately framing his face now.

Does it hurt?

Is the question that comes to mind the more you take him in. Despite how large his maw is it still tears a bit at the cheeks, holes where it looks like the skin was pulled too tight, revealing the jagged teeth within.

A growl bubbles in his throat, pouring out and snapping you out of your assessment as he crawls forward a bit until he’s practically hovering above you, his head turns, shifting from side to side as he gives you several small sniffs, almost like a dog assessing a stranger in it’s home. 

It makes the hair on your arms stand straight. 

Run rabbit, run. 

“Bunny.” He rumbles out, almost as if he’s acknowledging recognition. 

And you fucking laugh.

With your entire chest. 

It’s the first time you’ve felt anything in days, it’s almost a relief. Everything comes bubbling to the surface as you burst into a fit of hysterical, nervous laughter. 

You have never been this afraid in your entire life. 

He exhales sharply, the force of it has your hair rustling a bit, your senses suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of peppermint. You don’t dare move, freezing in place when he leans down, only a few inches away from you now, his arms pinning you in. God, he smells so fucking good right now and you hate yourself for noticing. 

Curiosity killed the rabbit.

Is that a saying? It will be after tonight. 

You swallow loudly, and try to close your legs as subtly as possible but his gaze follows the movement immediately and you freeze once more. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your stomach burns so hot it’s painful as you stare up at him. 

His head tilts almost knowingly as he inhales deeply and his eyes darken.

Fuck.

Can he smell how turned on you are?

i no longer have a tag list !! if you want updates for this fic follow @lincolndjarinnotifs !!

a/n : have a love hate relationship with this chapter bc i hate that i love it. but like straight up lemmie know if this chapter was a bit scattered bc that's my big worry rn. i jumped around a lot but also these chapters are so long sometime i feel it's best to just expedite some scenes yknow? idk.

[keysorsomething]

Before the Sun Rises / Caught

1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | 7

The double feature chapters I wrote :) Just wanna say thanks to everyone who's supported these fics, it makes me very happy to see all the likes and reblogs !!

Cross-posted on ao3

Before the Sun Rises

You awake the next morning with no pressure on your chest and nothing in your arms. Still half-asleep, you look around the room. You’re disoriented, like when you take a three-hour nap in the middle of a weekday and wake up covered in sweat and unaware of the concept of time. One thing you catch is that the room is still dark, but you would guess that it’s always dark in here. You haven’t seen a window, after all. You start to rub the sleep from your eyes, fighting a yawn as you try to find the man who seems to have disappeared into the night. Melting into the darkness, as he had each time before.

“Nikto?” You ask, sitting up. Or at least you try, before strong hands meet your shoulders and shove you back into the pillow. You spot his blue eyes staring down at you almost ridiculing, clearly not pleased with your attempt to get out of bed. It’s almost startling, the speed and force with which you’re slammed back, not the hardest you had been slammed into something, but it was sure lacking any form of gentle grace you would expect from the motion. In this context at least. But you’re too tired to really think about the strength in him like you had before or to think about how he had seemingly teleported into your sight and personal space with no sign of where he was prior.

“Stay,” Nikto’s voice growls out. You look up at him, confused and groggy. He lowers himself back on the bed, and then back onto your chest. “I was not done,” He huffs, taking the sleeve of your shirt between two fingers. He pulls on the fabric, turning it over in his hand. His eyes narrow at it, as if your sleeve had offended him.

“Okay,” You mumble, letting your eyes fall back shut. You spend a while like that, enjoying it. Laying on your back with him on your chest, feeling the gentle pull of his hand as he busies himself with your shirt sleeve. It’s a moment of peace, expanded when he stops pulling at your sleeve - it was actually kind of annoying - and instead, his hand rests on your bicep, unmoving. He lets out a soft sigh, and you assume he closed his eyes too. Your breathing synchronizes, as your hand goes back to rubbing his shoulders like you had been doing the night before.

“You will come back tonight,” He states firmly, breaking the shared moment of silence. Your eyes shoot open and your hands pause, unsure how exactly to respond. You did want to come back again. Hell, you wanted to move in with him. You dare to even think you want the world to melt away, for time to be this moment and this moment alone, always and forever, but should you really let him boss you around like that? Should you just agree? Should you agree enthusiastically, with a ‘yes, sir!’? Or do you say no on principle?

“Can you ask nicely?” In a patronizing tone is what comes out of your mouth instead. Like a mom talking to a toddler who just demanded ice cream or something. You don’t have many references for modern-day parenting in the army. Maybe you shouldn’t compare those two things, that was kind of weird. But it wasn’t mansplaining patronizing - and you knew mansplaining, since that was the only thing that came out of Graves’ mouth - it was the other kind. You had no other words for it.

Nikto groans, presumably rolling his eyes, “You will please visit us again tonight,” He corrects, but he doesn’t seem all too happy about it. “пожалуйста?” He breaks out the big guns. How do you deny a masked man who’s speaking in his mother tongue? It may be your biggest weakness.

You sigh, conceding, “Okay. I will,” And he lets out a pleased rumble. A sound you could very much get used to.

“Now go back to sleep,” He huffs grumpily. “пожалуйста..?” You almost listen instantly, but then another thought pops into your head.

“What time is it?” You ask, the thought of being caught once more nagging at the very back of your psyche. He lets out another less-than-pleased huff of a breath at you, this time through his nose. But, hey, is he really blaming you for worrying about both your careers? His head shifts so his eyes meet yours better, and you see a small smudge of eye black left over from him watching it on his right eyelid, hugging the lash line. It almost looks like eyeliner. You also see the curve of his nose. That is skin that is clearly scarred, looking like it would be rough to touch. Healed burns, probably. Chemical burns that stretch over from the right of his face. You aren’t too sure how the mask is doing that, as all of the points where it attaches to the blast plate seem intact, and it’s only a small dip from where it normally sits. You decide not to comment on it, however.

“Early. Four-fifty or so,” He replies firmly. “I would not let you overstay your welcome,” His words are aggressive in phrasing but soft in tone. An odd combo he seems to use often, which you can’t be sure if that is just him or because he isn’t a native English speaker. But, his brows soften too, his hand sliding up but hesitating to make contact with your face or hair. It retreats away. When you look into his eyes, you feel like he wants nothing more than to touch you, and you feel he agrees that this moment is ever so precious. But he doesn’t want to touch you. Perhaps he’s afraid, or perhaps he doesn’t like his face being touched, so he won’t touch yours. The Golden Rule and all that. But you still smile softly down at him, gently rubbing his back. A silent encouragement to do as he pleases, one that is not listened too. After just a beat, you speak again. There’s no point in making the fleeting movement a whole ordeal.

“Well, wake me up when I have,” You tell him, trying to keep your voice low and comforting, the way he likes. He nods in response, eyes staring up at you warily. You both share for a moment the fear of being found out, but you don’t voice it to him. And he does not voice it back.

“Of course,” Nitko mumbles, sliding back into the position he was before your question. You chuckle, wrapping your arms tight around him as he matches the gesture, and lean your head into his. You take a deep breath, letting the whole moment sink into you. The warmth and weight of the man on your chest, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of the cold, hard blast plate against your cheek. It’s all the best thing to ever happen in this place, and you have a feeling it’s the best thing to have ever happened to him.

You sigh, it's nice to share this moment with him. Every moment over the past few days had been precious. You let your head fall back - you had been keeping it up to look at him - but keep your eyes on him as best you can. You still your hand on his back, letting your arm fall limp. He shifts his head slightly on your chest, fully committed to using you as a pillow. The image of him and his peacefully rising chest is wiped away by your eyes falling back shut.

---

Caught

You reawaken to a soft patting of a gloved hand on your cheek. Your eyes open to Nikto just a few inches from his face, his hand gently twapping your cheek to wake you up. You groan, your muscles stretching as best you can under the weight.

“It is time you leave,” He mumbles, but you can see the disappointment in his eyes. “You do not have much time to get back to the barracks before the rest wake up.”

You pout, blinking up at him, “…How come you get a room all to yourself? It’s not fair,” You mumble, closing your eyes. His bed was so much more comfortable than your cot. And it was so much better than sleeping in a room with multiple other people. Just you and him. There’s a moment where you desire much more of this. So much more of this, in a much more domestic manner, but that fantasy is short-lived by a second round of pats on your cheek that don’t relent until your eyes open back up.

“It was a specific request,” Nikto replied, eyes narrowed on you as he tries to keep you from falling back asleep. As always, they are an icy blue that doesn’t match the feeling of having them on you at all. But by now they feel so much cooler than before, like a warm hug or a heated blanket instead of a hot iron. “I told them I would not take the job if they did not accommodate me.”

You nod, rubbing your eyes with a huff. That makes sense, you think. He seems like the guy to do that. Your eye opens now that your hand isn’t over it, and he hasn’t moved. Something a part of you deep inside is grateful for. You don’t know how well you could cope if he was gone just like that. Like how he had appeared earlier. That thought doesn’t last long, none of them do. He was just so much to think about. His eyes are wide, wild as they look down at you. He seems to think that you’re a lot to think about too. Or perhaps you’re assigning that to him, like when people speak for dogs and cats. You’ve been doing that with him a lot more often since that night in the armory. His eyes get a little less wide, and then even less wide. Until his eyes look closed, but you can tell they’re still partly open. God, he has pretty eyelashes.

He then, all at once, presses his still-masked face into yours. The fabric of the mask covering his mouth is rough against your lips. There’s no movement under it, almost as if he’s just smooshing his lips into yours like he isn’t sure how to do it. You feel the cold metal of the blast plate pushing into your forehead like a headache. It almost hurts, but there’s no way it’s enough. Somehow being too much and too little, but not just right. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek, but you don’t get the chance too. You didn’t even get the chance to close your eyes or lean into the kiss. It’s gone all at once, the same way it came. The pressure on your chest where he was laying there, on your forehead where the protruding parts of the metal dug into your skull, the rough fabric almost painfully hot on the skin of your lips, all of it. He pulls away before you can fully process it, before you can take it in for all of its glory. He rolls off of you, laying on the bed next to you facing away, partly curled up. You have to take a moment before you can do anything. You just kissed the Nikto. No, you were just kissed by The Nikto.

“Nikto?” You ask, voice soft and wavering, like if you speak too loud you’ll create a rip in space-time and it will have never happened. He cuts you off before you get any more in.

“Go,” He responds gruffly, and you nod, pulling off the bed. You’re a little stunned, and you do have places to be. You’d be worried that he was upset with you, but you have a feeling he’s just processing it, the same as you. Maybe he’s worried you’re upset with him? You almost feel like you need to cover up, and are subconsciously pulling the covers with you as you try to. You notice when you almost trip, but you catch yourself and throw them back on the bed. You take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself before speaking. And before leaving. You had appearances to keep up once you got back to the barracks and you had the three musketeers riding your dick.

“Okay,” You squeak, backing away. Your voice sounds so much more pathetic than you wanted it too, and you really can’t be having that. “See you tonight,” You say very quickly, hoping he’ll know you aren’t upset with him. You then promptly spin on your heels, and swing the door open. You go to step out of the room when you come face to face with a chest. You look up with a soft curse, only to find judging blue eyes staring back at yours from under a makeshift mask. The eyes are hard, angry. You’re in trouble.

“Oh, good morning, Colonel,” You manage to get out through a panicked breath. His arm is raised, you had interrupted him mid-knock. He lowers it, and it’s easy to tell his scowling down at you, eyes narrowing further. He bends slightly at the waist, and you hear the fabric shift and Nikto starts to speak when the room behind you goes silent. König looks behind you, and then back down at you, inching ever closer.

Then, you hear your voice hissed through teeth, a heavy Austrian accent filling your ears.

[thebiggestfuckgiven]

How I DIDN'T Become a Villain

A Masterlist

This is a (mostly) comprehensive list of all the posts I've made about my dpxdc fic. I'll add any new story info i share on my blog here. Feel free to subscribe to this post if you want to check for updates :>

World Dumps:

Lore i - Infinite Realms

Lore ii - Infinite Realms

Who is Pariah Dark

Lore iii - the GIW (coming soon)

How To, a Summoning Guide (coming soon)

Story Hints/Process:

How it Started

Lore begun

the Title

the Diner

AU Curses 1, 2

little announcement after Months of Silence

Danny Curses

What's this damn Fic even about?

Pariah Dark has lore (woah)

Official Updates:

#1 Chapter length and briefest summary

#2 Chapter lengths adjusted and upload announcement

Chap 1, The Yawning Grave uploaded! (08/11/2024)

Chap 2, I’m Still Here uploaded! (08/25/2024)

Upload Announcement, Important

Chap 3, The Suburbs uploaded! (09/15/2024)

IMPORTANT - Holiday Hiatus

Extension...

Currently editing!

HIDBV Teasers:

Chap. 1, The Yawning Grave

Chap. 2, I'm Still Here

Chap. 4, In the Room Where You Sleep

Chap. 5, Pa Pa Power

Chap. 6, Sickly Suite Part Three: Gone

Chap. 8, Young and Tragic

[verya-gweinagar]

The Endless Ache

Boromir / Sedryneth (Original Character)

The Endless Ache explores what was and what comes to be of Boromir and Sedryneth’s love. Starting with their courtship, this story gives a glimpse into a young Boromir — an up and coming Captain of Gondor — and his rebellious nature toward his stubborn and abrasive father. Frolicking around the city with a nobleman’s daughter, dipping behind the white walls to steal a kiss occupies his time when he should be training to be a strong and skilled warrior. Despite his father’s distaste toward the idea of his son marrying, he agrees to arrange a marriage between the two young Gondorians not out of the grace of his own heart, but out of selfishness as he felt it may benefit him one day.

Years pass and the distinguished Captain of Gondor has a new title; da. Sedryneth gives her love the gift of fatherhood not once but three times. However, when the time comes for Boromir to run an errand to Rivendell for his father, he leaves behind a fairly pregnant wife anxiously waiting for his return.

News comes from the company of Rangers patrolling the shores of Osgiliath: Boromir has died. Sedryneth is driven to the brink of madness, grief weighing on her psyche as time passes. How does one continue on for her children when their father has left this realm? The roots of her very being have been ripped from her feet. With the help of her brother in law, she finds the will to move forward and carry on.

TLDR: This is an exploration of a young Boromir and his journey through love, marriage, fatherhood, and his wife’s experience handling the grief of his loss. I took some creative liberties with JRR Tolkien’s original story and Peter Jackson’s interpretation of the characters as well as guesstimating and alterations to timelines (ex: Faramir returns to give the news of his brother, then leaves to return to his company of rangers.) The only characters I “own” are Sedryneth, Naurmiriel and Ivandur, Ailiniel, and the three children. Everything else, obviously, belongs to the late and great JRR Tolkien (and sort of Peter Jackson but not really).

Things to note:

I (loosely) follow the timeline provided by Peter Jackson’s interpretation in the films and pull a bit from Tolkien lore, but there will be inaccuracies and liberties taken because I am but a simple human :’)

Boromir is 27, Sedryneth is 24, they met 4ish years prior when he was 23 and she was 20.

Character name meanings / pronunciations (according to their Gondorian roots):

Sedryneth (seh-dree-nehth): faithful

Giluen (gill-oo-en): pale star

Arathalion (ar-ah-thall-eyon): dauntless champion

Hirithelion (hear-ith-ell-eyon): lord of mists

At some point, there will be a character introduced that is linked to two other stories I *hope* to finish and post on here/ao3, I’ll link the works when that character pops up to reference but there will be some time until then. I’m so excited though!! I’ve never had stories web together like this before, so it’s been fun creating the connections!

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GIVE THIS OLD FANGIRL A CHANCE!!! I’m slowly dusting off the cobwebs okay :(

***

Chapter links :)

Chapter One: The Wild and The Noble

Chapter Two: An Arrangement of Sorts

Chapter Three: Of the Flesh

Chapter Four: Of Love, Of Life, Of Loss

Chapter Five: The Beginning of the End of All Things

[write-and-wander]

Yawning Grave | Three: Dwindle

Astarion x Ayzora (F!OC)

Description: New faces, old memories, and internal battles. The party at last finds Halsin and begins to move closer to answers, all the while Ayzora and Astarion dance along the balance between the head and the heart.

Warnings: N/A | Word count: 7.1k

| One | Two | Three | ...

Read on Ao3

Streaks of red ridges carve sharp pathways into pale plains.  Lines interrupt the curve of great circles, punctuated with bug-bite dots.

Ayzora’s scars are like a waving Van Gogh variation on her own skin, carved out in a reminder of the life Orcus forced upon her; a contrast to Astarion’s, which are an intentional pattern drawn by the hand of another.  Because the marks made by a master upon their slave are a promise:  “I own you.  I will use you as I please.”  But of all the ways to brand a slave…

“Why Infernal?”  Ayzora asks aloud.

Astarion, standing tall in leather slacks, does not turn to face her.  He faces the rising sun, arms spread, as if embracing the Dawnfather himself while he basks in the golden glow.  He does, however, tense at her question.  He rolls his shoulders ever so slightly, as if allowing the sudden tension to roll off his back, and ignores her question.

“You sleep light…  I thought you’d be exhausted after last night.”

She decides not to push, stands, and reaches for her clothes, beginning to dress herself in silence.  He seems reluctant to look at her, only turning his head towards his shoulder enough for her to hear his words.  He seemed… distant last night, too.  Even when he did look at me, his eyes seemed… empty.  Am I so unbearable to look at?  Her spiraling thoughts only speed up her process as she rushes to cover her horrid, scarred body.

She almost believed him, when he called her beautiful.  She desperately wanted to.  But reality is swift to settle in.  

It’s over.  Astarion is not holding her; caressing her; kissing her.  He is cold and distant.  He let go of her the second it was finished.  He stood as soon as she fell into trance.

She is not a lover, but a monster.  She is an orphan and an outcast.  She cannot be anything else.

She takes a slow breath, exhaling until her chest is hollow, and holds it there as she finishes dressing.

Astarion sighs in concession as he realizes the conversation isn’t going anywhere now, and at last addresses Ayzora’s first words.

“I don’t know why that bastard wrote the poem in infernal,” he admits, watching her.

Her back was turned to him as he spoke, preparing to leave.  She stops just short of the edge of the clearing, eyes remaining on the trees.  “Poem?”

“A gift from Cazador.”

Ayzora turns to face him.

“He considered himself quite the artist, and used his slaves as a canvas.  He composed and carved that one over the course of a night.”  He bows his head, his voice lowering.  “He made a lot of revisions as he went.”

Her eyes flicker in sudden recognition as it clicks:  that searing pain I felt when we first connected...  She opens her mouth to offer her sympathies, but he’s quick to interrupt.

“It seems yours are much more meticulous, though.”

“It’s a necrology,” she says, wrapping her arms around her abdomen as if it protects the mosaic that hides beneath her dress.

His head tilts to the side in sudden piqued interest.  “That’s quite the list you’ve compiled, then…  Trophies?”

She shakes her head quickly.  “No, reminders.  If I don’t forget them… I can make up for it all.”

“Well,” he responds in surprise.  He tilts his head, examining his nails.  “A little cliché, don’t you think?”

She shrugs.

Astarion’s shoulders slack.  She’s impossible!  How in the hells does Gale, of all people, get her to talk?  

“You seem to like cliché, if your words are anything to go by.”

His eyes widen.  After all of this passivity, she’s… flirting?  It seems my work paid off after all.  A smile settles on his features.  “It’s always a pleasure to find like-minded people.”  He grabs his shirt from the tree branch it hung from.  “Now let’s go, we’ve wasted enough time already.”

Ayzora feels something flutter in her stomach, and bashfulness immediately follows on its heels.  Shit.  The smile is already on her face- the mask has already slipped.  She turns and walks back to camp in hurried strides.

Astarion watches his newest plaything leave as his confidence swells.  I’m almost disappointed.  This was certainly easier, but I think blackmail is always so much more fun.

He put the pieces together last night.  Her skin is pale, and cold.  Her heart did not pound beneath his touch; it was still.  Her breath is a natural habit, sure, but clearly unnecessary; her chest never moved while she tranced.  Her patron, Orcus, is the god of undeath himself.  She tries to hide it, and manages well enough, but Astarion knows death better than most.

Ayzora is undead.

She’s no vampire, but she reeks of death as much as her lover.

And no one else knows.

A surprise for later, then. 

“I owe thanks.  I am the druid Halsin.”

Ayzora’s stomach drops.

What once was a bear now stands tall before the group in a humanoid form.  His ears are pointed like an elf’s, but instead of the lean frame of Ayzora and Astarion, his defined muscles nearly double his size by comparison, dwarfing even the white dragonborn that stands before him.  He maintains nearly a full foot of height over his elvish counterparts.  He wears brown and green leather with golden filigree and leafy detail, signaling his druidic background.  Covered in the viscera of slain goblins, his introduction makes waves amongst the group as a flurry of emotions rise.  Most breathe a sigh of relief.  Shadowheart whispers thanks to Lady Shar, while Lae’zel, still offended by the group’s general disinterest in her creche, remains quiet.

“Glad we could be of help,” Dark Urge, ever the confident leader, responds as he steps forward.

“I must admit,” Halsin continues, “I didn’t expect anyone to come to my aid…”

His voice fades into the background as Ayzora glances over at Astarion, who is watching the druid with an uninterested expression.

Feeling eyes on him, he meets her gaze.

She smiles and drops her eyes back to the floor.

The tadpole in her brain writhes for a moment as Astarion mentally prods, asking for permission.

She allows their minds to connect.

“Yes, darling?”  He asks.  Despite the conversation being utterly silent, only existing in their minds, his tone is lighter than usual, as if he’s smiling in light of her attention.

“You seem bored.  Aren’t you… excited about this?  We found the healer.”  She tries to keep her feelings concealed: the worry about the healer’s ability to truly cure them, the fear of her nature being revealed to the group, and above all, the solemn concern that she will be alone and without chance at redemption if Astarion- the elf she is rapidly garnering affection for- goes his own way; but the emotions translate to Astarion as clearly as her words through the mental pathway.

“We’ve also met two other healers who did nothing to help.  I’ll be impressed when one of them manages to prove themselves useful.”

Ayzora shifts her attention back to Halsin, who is still in the middle of sharing his knowledge about the tadpoles.

Hope begins to wilt away as the druid speaks, until the damning words at last confirm what she had feared: “I can’t cure you.”

Astarion scoffs.

Ayzora turns and begins to leave.

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t help,” Halsin adds.

Gale catches the necromancer’s arm.  “Wait,” he whispers.  “Please.”

She pulls her arm out of his grasp, but concedes.  Back still turned to Halsin, she turns her chin towards her shoulder and listens.

Halsin explains that while he did not find a cure for the illithid tadpoles, he did find their source: a place called Moonrise Towers.  On the heels of his information is a request- help him, and he helps them.  If the group kills the three leaders of the goblin camp here, the tieflings in the druid grove could finally travel safely to Baldur’s Gate.  With the grove taken care of, Halsin can join the journey to Moonrise.

“What can I do to help?”  Dark Urge asks, immediately accepting the new quest.

“Another favor,” Astarion notes mentally, his tone chock-full of exasperation.

Ayzora takes a deep breath.  “More blood to spill,” she adds, matching his tone.  

In her youthful naïveté, she started her travels to make ends meet.  She walked herself down a dark path because her god and her friends demanded her to.  All the while, so much blood was shed it could create her own ocean to drown in.  Each new kill feels like another gasp for air that only fills her lungs with gore.  Watching over the temple of the Raven Queen was supposed to be the ladder out of the eternal fountain of death Ayzora was baptized in, and yet her head is still under bloody waters.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Astarion’s voice breaks through her guilt.  He smiles, the thrill of bloodlust dripping from his bared fangs.

Before she can respond, the tadpoles’ connection snaps.  She is alone, again.

It’s frustrating, how Astarion’s absence stings.

“Come with us,” Dark Urge insists.

Astarion rolls his eyes.

Ayzora looks back at the muscular elf.

Though his form is towering and his words speak of a gruesome fight, his eyes are as soft as the tone of his baritone voice.  A sense of recognition pricks the edges of her thoughts.  He’s familiar to her- like a few notes bringing a long-forgotten song back to the forefront of her mind.

Halsin looks over the party, assessing his unlikely companions.  While Wyll and Karlach remain at camp, the rest stand before the archdruid, anticipating the confirmation of the group’s newest addition.  His eyes linger on Ayzora.

Meeting his gaze, suddenly, it clicks.  The now-remembered melody sings.  Memories flood back to her.

“So be it,” he says at last, and looks again at the white dragonborn.  “May Silvanus lend us nature’s fury.”

The series of fights that follow are hard won.

Halsin, shifted back into a bear, leads each battle with the fury of the scorned.  He is a child who fights for his god’s creation, and a leader who fights for the safety of his people.  His prowess is noble.

Astarion loses himself in the joys of bloodshed, dashing between goblins and running daggers through various kinds of flesh and furs.  With his secrets at last exposed, he can indulge freely in turning his fanged rage against Cazador towards his temporary opponents; and none stand long once they are made his target.  The blood that splatters on his chest and drips down his cheek mixes with sweat, turning translucent and catching the torchlight like glittering ruby dust.  His passion is contagious.

Ayzora is elsewhere.  Her movements are made with practiced precision, proving effective even in close range of her enemies.  Her mind, however, is trapped in the purgatory of her present situation, drifting down the river styx with a different sort of hell beckoning her on either side.  If she tries to anchor herself to the present, she drifts away from goblins in a dark ruined tower and washes up on a great battlefield facing the people who she betrayed.  If she reaches towards another place or another time, the faces of angry gods flood her mind with anxiety.  So instead, she chooses… nothing.  Her eyes drift between opponents only to aim a spell.  Her mouth only moves to vocally command the flow of magic through her.  Her scythe swings and slashes with ferocity.  All the while, Ayzora is absent, locked away in the recesses of her mind.  Her state is unnoticed.

When it’s finished, Halsin, Dark Urge, and Gale enter a quiet conversation.  Lae’zel cleans her blade while Shadowheart cleans her armor and Astarion makes a beeline for the treasure hoard.  Ayzora turns Messorem from scythe to cloak and sits, clasping it back onto her harness while she stares a thousand yards away, into nothing.

“We’ll see you back at the grove, then,” Dark Urge says as Halsin takes his leave.

Lae’zel promptly stands to return to camp on her own, and after a beat, Astarion returns to the group, pockets full of gold.  Ayzora quietly stands, shrugging off Gale’s gentle concern with a smile and a quip about their poor luck with healers.  Shadowheart and Dark Urge begin their walk back to camp, and Gale and Ayzora start to follow a few paces behind.  She turns back to Astarion, checking to see if he’s coming with them.

Astarion meets her gaze, and for a moment, his heart sinks.  He recognizes the emptiness behind her green and gold eyes.  He’s felt it before, choosing nothing as a means of escaping that which he refuses to experience.

It was the expression he wore last night, as he ravished her in the woods.

For the first time in decades, there’s a pang of guilt in his chest.  Guilt.  Why?

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m coming,” Astarion chirps with a wink, jogging to catch up with the group and taking his place alongside her.

That evening, Gale and Dark Urge recount the day to Karlach and Wyll, even making a point to introduce them to Halsin when he stops by the camp.

Ayzora sits in front of the fire, slowly plaiting her hair into a clean braid, and carefully watching Halsin as he greets the others.  His eyes occasionally flicker to hers, feeling her stare fixed on him, but he maintains his focus on the newly met companions.

She stands and walks to the nearby shore, staring out at the lapping waves of the Sea of Swords.  She wraps her arms around her frame, a chill running from the base of her neck, down her spine, and dispersing in her legs.

“It’s a beautiful view,” Halsin says softly.

Ayzora jumps, glancing back to see the Silvanic druid standing behind her.  She nods, turning back to the sea.

The moonlight dances on the surface of the waters, casting an oblong silvery reflection against the distant ripples of the lively ocean.  Stars sparkle across the mirror of the horizon, turning the sky and the sea into a glittery gossamer blanket of indigo over Torril.

Sand softly crunches until warmth radiates against Ayzora’s back- he stands close, but does not touch her.  Slow tears trail down her cold face.

“I remember everything,” Halsin says low, his rumbling voice trailing hot breath that lands on her skin.  “And it seems,” he continues, moving to stand beside her, “you remember as well.”  He glances at her briefly, but moves his eyes to the sea as she continues to stare forward.

“71 years,” she whispers.

He hums.

The salty-sweet ocean breeze fills the otherwise silent air.

She breathes in deep, letting her watery eyes flutter closed.

A large, calloused hand reaches for hers in an offer of comfort.

She takes it.

He speaks again at last: “I’m so sorry.”

Her voice is breathy and broken, barely carrying over the waves crashing into the shore.  “It’s alright.  You tried.  It meant a lot.”

“We all tried.”

“It never matters.”

“It does,” he insists, turning to face her as he wraps both hands around hers.  “You must not give up, Ayzora.  You will find an answer.”

“This isn’t a curse, Hals.  I can’t cure what I am-”

“Not by normal means, but there may still be a way.”

She looks up at him, tilting her head in a despondent plea.  Please, don’t.

“You convinced me with the Shadow Curse.  I have yet to give up on healing the lands again- and the longer I search, the more certain I am that it can be done.”

“I am, too.  For you.”  She lifts a hand to his cheek.  “I’ve made peace with it.  I need to focus on recompense, now.”  She pulls her hands away, dropping them back to her side.  In another life, she would have loved to journey with him.  To have searched together for a cure to her state, and healing for the shadow-cursed lands.  Perhaps to have even grown to love him.  But when she met him, he loved another.  The lands had been cursed for decades.  Her life was permanently shrouded by undeath.  There was no light amidst all the darkness.

If only I had told her then, he thinks as he looks upon the face he loved and lost all that time ago.  Maybe it could have been different.

“You tried; and when you failed, you gave me Droop.  You’ve done enough.”  It’s a closed chapter, she means, let’s not try to open it again.  She sighs, and mutters: “I’ve only started.”  My story is far from finished.  No rest for the wicked.

“Ace,” he begins.  But no words follow.  The moment he saw her again, his heart stirred, as hope and love rekindled.  Now, it only aches.

She nods.  She knows.  And that is enough for her.

Halsin watches as his once-companion- who could have been so much more- walks away, leaving him standing on the shore with the same defeat he had felt 71 years ago.

Silently, she returns to camp.

Astarion watches her walk through the camp like a ghost, drifting over the cool grass with hollow eyes that only look forward.  He knows what drives him to that place- but what has driven her there?  He stands and begins to follow, but stops in time with her as she freezes just in front of her tent.

She takes a deep breath, shifting her posture, and turns.  Seeing Astarion, she blinks a few times in surprise- clearly too preoccupied beforehand to have noticed him following her.  “Astarion,” she greets.

“Hello, darling,” he responds, shifting his weight onto one foot.

She looks around the camp.  “Has everyone else gone to bed already?”

“Yes- you just missed an exciting little tiff between Shadowheart and Lae’zel.”

Ayzora sighs, “of course.  Did they resolve it?”

“Unfortunately.”  He looks over his nails.  “Dark Urge talked them down.  A shame, really,” he whines, glancing over at the other tents, “a fight certainly would have been more interesting.”

“Shame I missed it,” she says flatly.  “Do you need to feed on me, tonight?”

His brows twitch together for a moment in confusion.  “Well, I don’t need it, seeing as we’re due for a party tomorrow.  But I wouldn’t say no.”

“A party?”

He sighs, resting one hand on his hip while the other gestures along with his speech.  “The tieflings from the grove offered a night of celebration to thank us for saving them.”

She hums, “Tomorrow might feel more like home for you, then.”

Astarion’s head tilts, silently questioning her.  He’s no hero.  What about this would feel homey?

“You know… the ‘bustling taverns’ and all?”

“Oh, yes,” he chirps.  “It might not be so bad after all… at least, with the right company.”

She looks down.  He didn’t really want me… did he?  He just seemed so-

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?”  Her head snaps back up.  “I’m fine.  Why?”

He scoffs.  “You may be one of the quiet ones, darling, but you’re never this standoffish.”

She shakes her head, “It’s… a long story, and I need to get some rest.”

“Well, in any case, if you ever need to… talk,” he strains, clearly… out of his comfort zone, in this sort of conversation, “I’m all pointy ears.”

His joke, corny as it is, manages to make Ayzora smile.

He feels relieved at the sight.  It catches him off guard.  Why does it matter, anyway?

“Thanks, Star,” she responds quietly.

Star.  Like a light in the darkness.

He smiles, ever so slightly.  It’s small, barely noticeable, but it’s a feeling he had nearly forgotten.

“Goodnight,” she whispers before slipping into her tent.

“Goodnight, Ayzora” he responds after a beat, so quiet she probably didn’t even hear him.  His smile lingers.

He turns away from the closed tent.  Tomorrow, the journey is put on hold, taking a day of rest as the tieflings come to celebrate with their… heroes.  A title that, for the first time in his two and a half centuries, includes him.

He can ponder his feelings all he wants tomorrow, then.  Maybe I just need reassurance in our… alliance.  Perhaps another night of passion would make it feel a little more secure.  Then, everything can resume as planned.  Walls go back up, feelings are pushed out of the way, and a target is carved onto Cazador’s back.  The perfect plan carries on.

So long as he continues to deny himself the genuine connection he somehow desires still, despite everything.

The navy night shifts to a soft, sourceless lavender light emanating around her as she trances.  A bright blue glow flashes from the other side of her eyelids, and the chilling sensation of a presence hovering over her body forces her eyes open.

“I came just in time,” the voice greets, “you are transforming.”

Ayzora jolts back, shrinking away from the looming figure.

An elf in gold and red armor kneels beside her, holding a gentle hand near her sweating forehead.  His eyes are the rich brown of a wood elf’s- almost bearing a distant resemblance to Ryon- but his features are softer, less angular.  His face, and even more so, his voice both feel familiar.  

When the nautiloid crashed… and I lived…

He shifts back, granting some space between them.

‘Transforming.’  Into a mind flayer.  Is he the reason for our lack of symptoms?

“You…” Ayzora begins, but no other thought comes to mind.

“I saved you before.  You remember?”

Ayzora nods. 

“I’m here to save you again.”  He smiles warmly.

It does nothing to disarm her.  Her head shifts sideways as her expression shifts from confusion and curiosity to a defensive threat:  Why?  What are you doing?

“Don’t worry,” he continues, holding up a hand to signal his passivity.  “You will not become a mind flayer.”  He stands.  “Not while I’m around.”  His hand extends towards her, offering to pull her up to her feet.  “I’ll protect you.”

Watching him with the expression of a cornered animal, prepared to lash out at a moment’s notice, Ayzora scoots back to add a couple extra inches to the space between her and this… dream visitor… and slowly rises on her own.  The last person to come to me in a dream was Orcus.  He, too, made a promise that seemed too good to be true.  Who is this?  What the hells does he want?

“Independent,” he notes, twisting her defensive behavior to a positive light with a smile that is beginning to unsettle her, “good.”

Now standing, she looks around.  Stars litter the lavender skies, but there is no movement to them, as if time stands still.  The ground beneath her feels less like a promise and more like a suggestion, something she could easily leap from without the resistance of gravity.  Rocks of various sizes float around the small, airborne island she finds herself standing on.  Weathered pillars hold up a stone gazebo- one that could be an independent structure, or part of something much grander and much older than this floating piece of land could allude to.  What is this place? 

“We haven’t much time, so listen closely.”  He pensively paces towards the edge of the island, staring out into the sparkling purple abyss.  

Ayzora remains in place, watching his every movement.  But, she listens.

“There is great potential within you.  It comes from that parasite.  Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it, nurture it.”

So you protect me from its evil transformation, but sing the praises of its power?  Convenient.

“I will keep it from consuming you.  But for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it.”

If it consumes us both, I still come back in less than a tenday.  I could take my chances…

But… Astarion.

Fine.

She nods.

The stranger gestures towards the space that lies beyond, and at last, Ayzora takes a few hesitant steps closer.  Distance still remains- enough space to give her time to react- but she can see the vast skies that stretch beyond this small sanctuary this elf has brought her to.

It’s a stunning view.

Until another distant island- shimmering with magic, surrounding some sort of… great skull, it seems- comes into focus.  Glowing figures, basking in a light that renders their humanoid form otherwise unreadable, engage in a battle in the air.

“A fight for the fate of Faerun,” the visitor clarifies.  “A fight we are losing.  For now.  You can change that, but only if you embrace your potential.”

If only you knew where my ‘potential’ got me.

“I have to go.”  His voice is suddenly lower.  Less pleading.  More grave.  He turns to her.  “The enemy is closing in.  I will be back.”

Ayzora looks back to him.  She has felt many things on this journey- but the instinctual fear that rises in her stomach surpasses all of it.  This is wrong.  He is not what he appears to be.  She doesn’t know how she knows, but she’s certain of it.  No.  Not another one of you.  I can’t do this again. 

Before she can even begin to express anything, a bright light pulsates out from the distant battle-ridden skull.  It floods her view, drowning out the sparkling purple sky.  She lifts her arms in front of her face, bracing herself, when the visitor steps directly in front of her.

Holding out a hand out towards the other island, the growing light is contained; but only for a moment.  “Wake, now,” he urges, telekinetically forcing Ayzora backward, away from the explosion, with just the gesture of a hand.

As she flies into the space beyond, bright white light fills her vision, forcing her eyes to screw shut.  When she drifts, all she sees is that light, while his deep voice echoes in her mind:

“You’ll feel better - I promise.”

His promise is broken the moment her eyes open again.

The air turns cold and thin as the white light is swiftly drowned in dark night.

“My harbinger.”

His voice fills her body with a dread she has gone decades without.

Ayzora, already on her knees, beholds the Demon Lord of Undeath.

His eyes glow red beneath the deer skull he wears over his face.  Two massive horns protrude from matted black fur and curl outward with his stretched gangling wings.  His blood red skin is half-covered in black leather armor, adorned with black iron spikes.  His clawed right hand clenches The Wand of Orcus, a black obsidian and iron rod shaped like a human spine, and at the top is a mount for the glowing human skull- an eternally cursed memorial for a hero that dared stand against him centuries ago.

A weapon she used to wield, in what feels like another lifetime.

“Orcus,” she acknowledges with a nod.  

“Your companion,” he begins.

“Which one?”

“The vampire.  He, too, belongs in my domain.  It seems he has captured your attention, as well as mine.”

Her body jolts towards him, but her movement is quickly halted by the hands that grasp her shoulders.

“Has it been so long that you’ve lost your respect?”  His left hand flicks outward, ordering the others to release you.  “Come now, Ayzora.”

Claws retract from her flesh, leaving symmetrical trails of blood on her collarbone.

She stands, posture straight, face devoid of emotion.  Masterfully, she draws open the slit of her dress and drops her head in a low curtsey.  “What do you require of me, my lord?”

Orcus smiles as she straightens.  “You’ve found us quite the gift.  Fitting, that it is borne by my domain.”

She bites her tongue.

“Am I correct to assume your affections for the vampire outweigh that of the others?”

Her teeth dig into its flesh.  Stale blood mixes with saliva.

“I only ask for certainty that you will not be swayed by the druid, nor the wizard.”

Enough.  “When did you start watching again?”

His head tilts to the side in interest.  “I am always watching over my champion,” he answers, as if the question were trivial.

“We had a deal-”

“And I have maintained it perfectly, despite your failure.”

“You should have told me we were contending with Shar!”

He clicks his tongue.  “Nevermind the past.  Though you failed to harness it completely, your aid in the shadow curse still harvested plenty for your phylactery.  My armies grew, and I have left you alone.  As agreed.”

“Until your need for me becomes too great.”

“So you do recall our deal.”  With a wave of his wand, undead creatures swarm behind him, gasping and moaning as they clamber over one another until a throne of bones and rotting flesh forms beneath him.  He lowers into his undead seat.  “Your dear elf has the key to the next great expansion of my domain- one that, I assure you, will be to our mutual benefit.”

“What do you want with him?”

“Tsk, I care not for the vampire.  I care for what he can grant me.”

At least he’s honest about these things now.

“You’re smart, Ayzora.  You will know when you discover it.  All I ask is that you follow through.”  He extends a hand to her.  A deal is offered.

Ayzora instinctually begins to reach for his hand, but stops herself.  Gathering every bit of the courage she’s built for the last seven decades, she lifts her chin and looks into the eyes of her patron.  “Call this our last deal.”

His hand retracts to his side.  He leans forward.

“If I ‘follow through,’ then you end our pact.”

“You will lose the chance to make a deal with the Seldarine, and you alone will be responsible for your phylactery.  Are you certain?”

The Seldarine.  Even after all I’ve done, would Corellon accept me back into his hands?  Will I ever return to the Feywild?  Long ago, Ayzora dreamed of paying off enough debts to make a plea with Corellon.  She would be accepted back into elven society.  She would belong.  She would finally be redeemed.  And after serving his people for the centuries that could follow, she would at last return to his embrace in the Feywild; perhaps he would even send her back to Toril, allowing her to reincarnate and live a life free of the pain she could not escape in this one. It’s been over a century and a half since Orcus tempted her with the idea.  Inspiration has long since withered.  If I don’t escape now… when will it be over?

Closing the gap between her and the hulking demon lord, she offers her hand.  Orcus’s symbol, still magically carved into the back of her hand, is revealed at last as it begins to glow a dark blue.

“You’ll get what you want.  I’ll get my freedom.  Then you can find someone else to do your bidding.”

“Very well.”  Orcus extends his hand, grasping Ayzora at the forearm.

One last deal.

She wakes with a jolt.  The cold sweat upon her brow is gone, along with the pain of the beginnings of ceremorphosis, and so is the nightmare.

But the churning anxiety in her stomach remains.

A being, clearly of some sort of great power, coming to her in a dream.  Offering to protect her, while also granting her power of her own.  All the while, placing the proposal against the backdrop of some great war that only she can help with, so long as she embraces whatever it is he offers her.

It’s all happened once before.  It turned her into something else entirely.

She can’t do that again.  

She won’t.

And the demon lord responsible is making a request on the heels of this stranger.

She prefers the Raven Queen’s nightmares.

“Breakfast is served!”  Gale calls out.

Her head snaps towards the door of her tent as people begin to shuffle around the camp outside.  The sun is rising, and with it, her companions.

And, rumor has it, there’s a party to be had today.

Lovely.

When she leaves her tent, she hears the tail-end of Lae’zel’s “call to action” (a githyanki’s version of a request) to head north and at least scout out the path that will guide the group to the creche that she guarantees has the cure they’re seeking.

Wyll, Karlach, Gale, and Dark Urge agree to go with.  Astarion takes the opportunity to “get some beauty rest,” and Shadowheart… seems to have wandered off a while ago.

“In that case,” Dark Urge pipes up, “I will go search for her.  Traveling alone may prove to be dangerous.”

“Don’t need an excuse, D’Urge,” Karlach chimes in, “go find your girlfriend.  We’ve got it.”

With a smile- and a glare- he takes off.

“What about you, Ace?  You could come along,” Gale offers, shifting the group’s attention to their yet-silent companion.

She dismissively waves a hand, “no, I’ll stay.  Someone still needs to watch camp.”

“And start a fire?”  Wyll asks.

“Sure,” she agrees with a nod.

“Then it is decided,” Lae’zel confirms.  Turning on her heel, she promptly begins the walk north.

“Be back soon, soldier!”  Karlach yells back with a wave as the rest of the group disperses.

Footsteps fade behind the gentle breeze.

Exhale.

Glancing around to confirm she’s alone, Ayzora’s tears fall freely at last.  Silent, but free.

A few quiet hours pass by.  The sun has passed by the top of the sky and is beginning its descent back to the horizon as the afternoon settles in.

The sunlight warms Ayzora’s cheeks, which are still drying from intermittently crying.  She sits on a log by the fire pit, placing down a few pieces of the wood Wyll had freshly cut the day before and littering them with kindling. 

Near-silent footsteps appear behind her, catching her attention.

Astarion. 

She wipes her face of any remaining tears as the footsteps stop.  Determined to talk about anything other than what weighs on her mind, she speaks first:  “Do you think you’ve adjusted to it yet?” Ayzora asks as the now-revealed Astarion sits down on the log behind her.

The dry leaves finally catch, quickly consumed by flame.

She moves to sit and take up the unoccupied space beside him.

His eyes follow her, head tilted just an inch. “To what?”

“The sun,” she answers, turning her face upwards with closed eyes to bask in the warmth. Silently, she thanks the Dawnfather for allowing her under his light, even if Corellon never will.

“Gods, no,” he scoffs. “200 years of habits aren’t broken so quickly.” He sighs, and continues with a low voice, “especially with a… temporary change. But I’m never one to turn down gifts.” His eyes flicker to her neck. As wonderful as the light of the sun is, its warmth hardly holds a candle to the gift of warm blood filling the mouth of a hungry vampire.

“Gifts?”

“Oh, yes,” he says, as if suddenly remembering something, “I had the strangest dream last night.  There was a visitor promising me protection, and all sorts of delicious powers from the parasites in our heads.”

Her expression sobers as she looks at him.

“Given our shared affliction, I suppose you had a similar dream…?”

She says nothing.

“No need to be shy about it, darling.  This is a good thing.  Now we can see what these tadpoles can do for us.”

She hums, rolling her head back towards the sky.  “Enjoy it while it lasts. The scales will always balance in time.”  Her mind wanders to Orcus’ first promise- the one she sold herself for- as her stare drifts to the distance.

“Oh, I plan on it,” he purrs.

But there is no response from Ayzora.  She is returned to the fog of her mind.

The fire crackles.  Astarion watches the blaze consume the wood, turning brown bark to white ash.

And Ayzora’s mind wanders.

He came to her in a dream. “A life for a life,” he said. If she destroyed the Raven Queen and her temple, he would grant her the power to bring back Laz. Ayzora could finally give her adoptive father, Zedd, the wife he had missed so dearly; she could finally pay him back for everything he had done for her.

So she accepted his offer. Ayzora, Remus, and Ryon- The Shrouded Triad, he called them- infiltrated the temple and tore it to the ground, taking the goddess of death with it.

Laz’s body laid in a tomb beneath the temple. Ayzora resurrected the woman, introducing herself briefly before bringing her home to Zedd. The reunion was- still is- the happiest day of Ayzora’s life. The family she had so desperately craved was hers at last.

It wasn’t until Ayzora had seen Orcus’ symbol glimmer and fade with necrotic magic on Laz’s forehead that she questioned what she had done. She suddenly wondered about the conditions of his gift of resurrection; the hidden cost of the deal beginning to surface.

If only she had stopped there.

“You were there, that day,” Astarion notes softly, “when the nautiloid reached Baldur’s Gate.”

Ayzora is wrenched from her thoughts, jarred by the sudden shift in topic.  Shit.  “You remember?”

“I remember your gods-awful cloak.”

Ayzora laughs breathily.

Silence returns to the air.

Astarion shifts, his eyes still trained on the orange glow of the dying campfire. He tosses in a few more bits of kindling, encouraging the flames to grow a couple of inches taller.

“You stopped,” she finally says.

“Hm?”

“When you saw me. You stopped.”

“As did you, if I’m not mistaken,” he quips, lifting his head to look at her.

“Well-”

“Why were you there?”

Every muscle in Ayzora’s body snaps to attention, tensing together and leaving her frozen.

The expression she wears is almost identical to the one he saw that morning. He’s seen her flustered, sure- hells, she could hardly keep her cool the first time he offered her a night of passion- but this was… different.

Her mind buzzes through about a hundred variations of an answer, ranging from blatant lies to softened truths.  She would twist her story, somehow, into something that paints her as far less desperate, but…  He wouldn’t buy it for a moment.  With a deep breath, she gathers her courage and manages to finally speak: “You prayed.”

“What?” His eyes grow wide beneath raised eyebrows.

“To the Raven Queen.  I heard you.”

He shoots up to his feet, taking a step back to gain some space in a suddenly intrusive conversation.  “You were there?”

“No, I-”

Everything crashes down on her at once.  Orcus.  The tadpole.  Astarion.  My damnation.  It’s all falling apart at the seams.  Her perfect posture crumbles before him as she doubles over with her face buried in her hands.

“I used to scry on the temple, and answer prayers on the Raven Queen’s behalf.”

It’s all too much for Astarion to take in- how dare she see him like that, in all his naked desperation.  “Odd choice for the chosen of Orcus,” he digs.

“I am his no more than you are Cazador’s,” she spits, looking up at the elf. Her arms cross over her midsection, clutching her sides in an attempt to soothe the guilt twisting knots in her abdomen. “I-” …wanted to be good again, she finishes silently. She swallows, forcing back tears.

Astarion clenches his jaw at the mention of his master’s name- but he stops himself.  If he snaps now, he loses her.  Good things come to those who wait.  So he waits.

“I wanted to help you.”  It’s a half-hearted admission- there’s so much more to it- but it’s an admission regardless.

He sits back down beside her in a near-collapse.  So someone did hear me.  Someone did come for me.  All this time, Astarion knew he would rot away in the bitterness of his utter abandonment; but now… his heart could rot no longer.  Suddenly, he isn’t alone.  Suddenly, he isn’t invisible.  Suddenly, he isn’t abandoned.

Suddenly, he’s completely screwed.

“And I left,” he whispers in disbelief.  “To think, I almost brought you to…”

“Why didn’t you?” She interrupts, the question burning in the back of her mind all this time finally making its way into words.

He’s taken back by her bold question.  If his heart could still beat, it would race.  “W-Well, it… I thought I’d play savior.”  His eyes darken as he tries to retreat back into the comfort of theatrics.  “Chaos makes for easy prey.”

“The frozen elf wasn’t easy prey?”

“You were-” Astarion begins, but falls silent.  How can anyone reason with the kind of things I was forced to do? How can anyone make sense of what I did to stay sane?  He sighs.  They can’t; so he answers honestly: “You… looked like me.”

Ayzora’s words fall into the abyss.

Her skin is just about as pale as his; her heart just as still.  Her long hair, though straight, is the same silvery white as his curls; her eyes as bright of a strange hue.  He looked at her, and saw himself.  He couldn’t bear to watch Cazador kill him again.

It was a selfish reason, sure, but she couldn’t hold it against him.

It was the same reason she chased after him.  To free a slave from an all-too-powerful master.  To save herself.

All this time, in chasing each other, they were chasing after some distorted echo of self-preservation.

But now, she sees so much more than herself when she looks at him.

She’s terrified.

And gods be damned, so is he.

They both continue to stare at the fire in silence.  What else is there to say?

His prayers didn’t go completely unheard, after all.  And the one who tried to answer them nearly lost her life in the attempt.  Here he was, attempting to lure someone who was already running to him.

She only ever wanted to save herself.  That was all that drove her to this place.  Yet, she finds herself caring more for his future than her own.  No matter how this ends, she would try all over again.  For him.

Her left hand shifts.  Slowly, carefully, it slides just millimeters closer to him.  Reaching for him.  Asking to be held.  Just for now.  Even if it’s all a lie.  She’s okay with that.  He can lie about everything, as long as she can be honest now.

His eyes glance down while his head remains in place.  He watches as her hand turns, exposing her palm.  A hand to hold, if he so chooses.  Small, innocent touch, offering comfort.  It feels… alien.

It’s all a lie.  A plan.

His right hand lifts off his lap.

A plan I perfectly carried out.  A plan she walked right into.

It gently lands atop hers.

It’s a lie.

She squeezes.

Right?

[silentium-symphony]

Book Buddies II (Link x Reader)

(a/n) hello! here is the second chapter of Book Buddies! if you haven't read the first chapter, please click here. i hope you enjoy!

cw: afab!reader, researcher!reader, a nice day out w link :), crowded places, escaping to nature, gentle looks and touches exchanged under the moon, first kiss vibes <3, quickly followed by a steamy makeout session heh

wc: 3.8k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Since that eventful night, Link at the library had grown to become an increasingly common sight. It was like clockwork, really. Sometime after lunch, you can expect to see a mat of blonde poke through the door followed by a pair of bright eyes that would smile when it met yours.

He'd often come by to return a book he had loaned and ask for more recommendations (which you happily supplied). Within a matter of months, the bookish Captain had worked through most of your list and had even shown you some goodies to read. It warmed your heart having a lil' book buddy; you couldn't remember the last time someone was able to keep up with your... fiery discussions of things that have occurred in your books.

Three knocks rapt your door. Your eyes slit open, wincing immediately at the stream of light conveniently placed right on your face. What time was it...?

"Y... Yes? Who is it?" You yawned through your fingers, clawing uselessly at that one itch just out of reach on your back.

"It's Link."

Your senses snapped awake and your head swiveled to your mirror, which proudly displayed the ornate bird's nest growing on the side of your head. You fumbled out of bed, hissed at the cold the wooden floor shot through your feet, and drowsily waddled to your dresser.

"J-Just a second!" You croaked, wincing at your dry throat. One swig of water later, you were combing your hair and slipping on a shirt that was at least better than what you went to bed with. One last look in the mirror and you clicked the thick door open, careful of not slamming it right in your visitor's face.

"Link? What are you doing this early in the morning? I'm trying to sleep..." You whined. All drowsy discomforts took a backseat when you saw the grave expression painted on his face.

"Her Highness told me that I am to be deployed soon..." He trailed off, brows furrowing deeper. "I'm afraid I can't give more details past that."

This wasn't a total surprise, given his occupation and everything, but it was still... numbing to hear. His words bounced around your head as you began to process what that would mean for the two of you. Your world wasn't crashing and burning, sure, but it wouldn't be inaccurate to say that some of the vibrant colors Link injected into your life have begun to drain out. In the end, all you could muster was a quiet,

"... Oh."

"So... Since we may not see each other for a while, would you like to..." He swallowed thickly. "GotoCastleTownwithme?"

"Would I... huh?" You blinked, rubbing your eyes as if that would help you hear better. "I'm sorry, can you say that again?"

He froze, silently recalculating what the odds were of you saying yes, but knowing you wouldn't settle for silence he tried again.

"Would you... Like to go to Castle Town with me?"

Being asked out on a date first thing in the morning was not what you expected when you tumbled out of bed.

By the Captain no less.

You had dreamt of this moment for months and it took every fiber of your being to channel your inner fangirling into a calm, graceful smile. But the moment he left, you knew you were due for a good ol' cathartic scream into your pillow.

"I would love to."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The moment training had wrapped up for the day, he bolted to the gates, giddy to finally have this time with you. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he had been aching to take you out for a pleasant stroll through town, going through the market's different stalls and showing you his favorite spots to relax. He's not blind to the effects work has on your body and psyche, and he hoped that your stresses could be washed away with these safe spaces the same way it cleansed him.

A flash of (H/C) in a crowd of similarly-dressed scholars bagged his attention and his eyes flitted this way and that. His heart soared seeing your demure figure moving down the steps of Hyrule Castle and one look at him almost got you running.

You waved goodbye to your coworkers and with a hop, skip, and a step, graced your man companion with your presence.

"Hey! Thanks for meeting up with me. Have you been waiting long?"

He shook his head.

"Perfect! Well, ready to go?"

He patted his rupee pouch and gave you a thumbs up. You giggled and waited for the iron gates to be heaved open.

Before long, you were traipsing down the streets of Castle Town, positively glowing. He was just happy to be present with you. He would listen to your latest findings with great interest, listen to whatever book you happened to get your hands on, listen to all your ramblings and random intrusive thoughts you had, and just... Listen. He wasn't much of a talker and you've made it exceptionally clear to him that he could stop you at any point, but he preferred to just listen.

"--and after that, she intentionally rammed her wagon into a tree! Y'know, that was the first time I ever read a book like that. I highly recommend it."

He hummed, his eyes shining like they had just captured heaven's highest stars.

"I've heard," he began slowly, his voice still not used to all the talking he's had to do recently, "from the mill ladies that your friend's favorite author is set to complete her next book in a month or two."

His wriggling eyebrows were immediately met with a jab to the ribs.

"Woah, really?!" A spark of excitement in your eyes lightly contrasted the playful grimace splaying on the Captain's features. "That's--! Um, ahem. I'm sure she'd be very pleased to hear that. I'll let her know... later."

He rolled his eyes and huffed; you laughed, reaching up and messing with his hair. You didn't notice the way he froze or the way he all but stopped breathing, and you definitely didn't notice the heat blooming all throughout his body while your attention was nabbed elsewhere.

"Oh! Can we look at that stall real quick?"

A faint nod and you were already bounding towards an ornately decorated sign that read "Jeweler."

"Hello, hello! Welcome to my humble little shop!" You eyed the... eclectic decor curiously and made a polite smile to the merchant. "Has anything caught your fancy? Everything you see here was painstakingly, artfully crafted by the finest jewelers in all of Hyrule! Some of my own personal works have made their way into this collection, heh..."

You half-listened to the merchant as he droned on and on about how he incurred every item you see before you, and you nodded every now and then to feign acknowledgment. Glimmers of bronze, silver, and gold dazzled you until your head spun. Jewels and stones encrusted in delicate veins of metal swelled your heart with want, but you stayed your hand once your eyes drifted to the tiny numbers set before each piece.

You were a mere researcher of Hyrule, not the king himself.

Realizing this whole shop was way out of your tax bracket, you awkwardly scooted closer toward the exit, making sure to eye everything you saw on your way out for politeness' sake. As you neared freedom and your friend, the most delicate piece of metalwork you had ever laid eyes on locked your gaze in a vice grip.

The dainty necklace's simple, elegant features starkly contrasted with the cacophony of gaudy golds and polished bronze--a mere sliver of the moon in a sea of gold and copper stars that vied for your attention. Your fingers grazed the crescent moon that dangled at the apex of the thin chain while a small, fond smile played at your lips. The three small stars by the celestial body fleshed the necklace into a gorgeous piece that didn't need to have metal bits sticking this way and that to make a statement.

"Ah, you have quite the eye for design! That piece right there was carefully crafted by yours truly! It can be yours today if you so desire!"

Your thoughtful hums turned to disappointment as your eyes once again rested on the price. It was by far one of the most expensive items here and dejection weighed your shoulders.

"Thank you, these truly are gorgeous pieces, but I must be on my way."

You drifted out of the stall and into the streets teeming with life around you. The crowd had gotten noticeably thicker as bodies rammed into you; there was hardly any room to breathe.

"Man, that stall sure was expensive, huh Li-- Link?" Your head whipped this way and that. "Link?!"

Your eyes scanned the conglomerate of bodies crowding about you. The sights, scents, and sensations of Castle Town were increased tenfold and you fought the crowd for respite off to the side. Lightly panting, you immediately went back to scanning the crowd for your lost companion.

"Link! Link!"

How long has it been since you lost him? Where was the last time you even saw him?

That would have been over there...

You threw a weak glance to an arbitrary point on your left, mentally reprimanding yourself for your carelessness. You thought he was right behind you! Did he not follow you to the stall? Did the crowd start picking up when you left? Did he get swept away? He can be anywhere at this point! Gods, now you've abandoned Link on your day out and left him to fend for himself against Castle Town's inhabitants!

A simple tap on your shoulder pulled you from your thoughts and you spun around, almost knocking the both of you off your feet from the way your bodies clashed against the other.

"Link!"

A warm smile adorned his features and he nodded at you. You clasped your hands together and held them up to your chest, shaking slightly.

"I'm so sorry for leaving you like that! I thought you were right behind me, so I just bounded right over to the stall... I'll be more careful next time, I promise!"

He shook his head, that gentle smile not leaving his lips for a second. He offered his hand to you and eyed the crowd. He must be wanting to leave too. You gladly took hold of him and he turned off to the side, lacing between colorful tents and wooden stalls and slipping in and out of the crowd. Your eyes were trained on his figure as he skillfully bobbed and weaved through different bodies, effortlessly leading you through Castle Town.

You eventually rested on his hand, dutifully meshed with your own. You felt your cheeks grow hot and for once, you were relieved to have dozens of hot, sweaty bodies rubbing up against you lest he turn around and wonder why your face was a sweltering red.

You assumed he was making his way back to the castle, but a sudden left down a back alley and a veer off to the right opened into a clearing untouched by the encroaches of civilization. The vast openness of Hyrule Field spread across the horizon, wrapping its infinite plains and forests around your overstimulated self. You filled your lungs with the deepest, crispest breath you ever drew and let out a hefty sigh. The Captain did the same.

"This is so much better than that cramped market. Thanks for getting us outta there."

Turns out he wasn't done escorting you as he led you further into the wilds; the sweet melodies of songbirds and the wind making passage through trees cleansed the jolting bustle of Castle Town from your ears. You saw a clearing up ahead that opened to a grassy, flowery meadow with a crystal lake at its center.

A few steps later, you were washed in the gentle glow of the setting sun; crickets have joined in on nature's nightly symphony in conjunction with the scurry of small mammals rushing through thicket and brush.

After aestheticizing for a moment, he turned to you and his grip on your fingers loosened. You both pulled away, your fingers wrought with the absence of warmth you had been growing accustomed to. Eyes cautiously avoiding each other's gaze found shelter in the gentle swaying of sunlit trees and the long shadows they cast on the grass.

"It's so peaceful here... Do you come here often?"

He 'hmph'ed in confirmation and threw his arms above his head, scraping the sky with his fingertips in a futile effort to rake the stars.

You inched closer to the clear pool and sat down, rolling individual blades of grass and wildflowers between your fingers; your loyal knight followed suit. A comfortable silence fell over the both of you and you gazed dreamily at your semi-quavering surroundings reflected in the lake.

"Thank you for today, Link... It was fun."

The gentlest breeze cooed through your hair, pulling a few strands with it in a lighthearted dance. The sun caught in your quivering lashes and the dimpled smile on your plump lips could only be described as simply divine. Link's throat bobbed up and down and whatever passive thought was drifting through his mind dissipated immediately.

Oh Hylia, you were breathtaking.

He didn't dare look away from your glory, hoping to bask in your soft gaze for as long as you allowed him. His fingers fumbled with his tunic, with the grass, with the hem of his pants, with anything he could get his hands on and you giggled at his restlessness.

"You okay, Cap?"

"... Mm."

A surge of boldness shot through your chest as you found yourself scooting closer to the man. He positioned himself to make way for you until you slotted yourself just inches away from him. His heat radiated onto your skin and you felt your muscles lax out the tension it had been holding.

"I will be leaving soon." He whispered, streaking the serenity with hints of melancholy. "It will be a long and arduous mission far away from here... I do not know when I'll be back."

"... I know." Neither of your gazes met. "I know."

The sun, exhausted from its long journey across the sky, began its customary plummet past the horizon, calling its nightly sister to take its place as the provider of lesser light. The moon’s ascension to the celestial throne was slow and deliberate; the transition of powers brushed the sky with a rich indigo and vibrant marigold, marrying the two hues into perfect harmony. Wispy cirrus and scarlet stratus stood as witnesses to this otherworldly unification of colors, and both of you acted as passive guests to this ritual of dusk and twilight.

"But I'll wait for you." You say at last, turning to him. "No matter how long it takes, I'll always be waiting for you."

Surprised at the resolve in your own voice, your gaze faltered back onto his hands. His warm, calloused, steady hands. Your fingers itched to feel them again, but your still body betrayed your desires to hold and be held. What in the world were you saying? You weren't even his to begin with.

It was Link's turn to look at you now, heart seizing and throat drying. Forlornity tugged the corner of his lip into a somber smile and he moved his face closer to yours. He was close enough to feel your breath hitch (his did as well), and the proximity forced you to look up.

"I'll come back to you. I promise."

Your mind blanked as your arms found the back of his neck, pulling him into a gentle embrace. You kept your contact light--fleeting even, in case he wanted to pull away. But he did no such thing, instead sinking deeper into you and wrapping you up in a pair of muscled arms. Suddenly all the cold, touch-starved nights of longing didn't feel as empty anymore. Suddenly all the pining, all the directionless love you fostered for the other had some place to go. Although you didn't hear those three magical words, his tightening limbs were all the confirmation you needed.

"I have a surprise for you." He murmured into your hair, pulling away slightly. His hands fiddled in his pants pocket and a streak of joy gleamed across his face. "Close your eyes."

You did as you were told, steep in disbelief and excitement that he had actually gotten you something. The image of that necklace from earlier shot across your mind, but you internally scoffed as the price followed shortly after.

Stop kidding yourself, there's no way he would have gotten--

"Open your eyes."

Dangling in front of your face was a thin chain pulled down by a crescent moon and its three starry companions.

"Wait... That's..."

"I saw you looking at it earlier," he rubbed his neck sheepishly, "so I bought it."

"Link, that was hundreds of ru--"

"Don't worry about it." His lips were pulled ear to ear. "Do you like it?"

"I love it!" Happy tears shamelessly leaked from your eyes. "Oh gods Link, I love it!"

You sniveled and trained your eyes on the pretty little thing and Link gently grasped your shoulders to turn you. A pleasant shiver shimmied down your spine as his fingers traced the back of your neck, gingerly pushing your locks out of the way. You pinned it up to aid him further.

Link took his time clasping the accessory around your neck, drinking in the way your bare skin looked in the moonlight. Dedicating the scene in front of him to memory, he hummed and you turned to face him. He never knew how effective a simple piece of metal could be at enhancing your already ethereal qualities; his heart melted and pooled at his feet.

"Beautiful..."

You shrunk under his lovestruck gaze and, in a flurry of millions of racing thoughts all melding together, pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

If the man wasn't already reeling, he certainly was now. Every single gear in his head ceased execution; he was wholly at the mercy of your little chortles, your bashful smiles, and batting lashes. Hylia only knows how quickly he would cast himself into the sea should you say the word, or how happily he would steal heaven's brightest luminaries should you desire a matching ring made of the North Star. He stooped closer, practically face-to-face with you.

"May I," he said at last, "have the honor of kissing you?"

His hot breath tickled your cheeks and you found yourself giggling at his endearing politeness.

"Of course."

His face closed in on yours, his breath fanning a deep fire from the skin it touched. Hooded eyes flitted to hot, parted lips and they sank lower as he drew closer; you followed suit, your eyes fluttering closed on your knight's beautiful face. A heated softness pressed tenderly against your lips, melting any and all tension into nothingness. Your lips engaged in a clumsy, heartfelt dance as his lips moved awkwardly, cautiously, lovingly, against your own. Your heart was practically palpitating when you felt a pair of hands sneak onto your face.

He drew back for the briefest of seconds before his lips found yours again and again, each kiss more ravenous than the last. The whine that escaped your wet, parted lips incited something deep within him and his lips connected with yours in a merciless onslaught, leaving your head spinning and your heart wanting more, more, more. A hand fell to the small of your lower back and he drew you closer, your bodies flushed tightly against the other as deeper passions bloomed.

You felt yourself sink lower, lower, lower until the grass tickled the curve of your ear and skilled, battle-worn arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel like porcelain. His lips moved on from yours and traced the outline of your jawbone with the lightest of movements, leaving a fiery trail in his wake. Your senses were wracked with newfound pleasures, his hands tightening in your own as he found solace in the crook of your neck. He peppered the soft, unmarked skin with butterfly pecks and kisses that thinly veiled his growing desires, suckling the skin just enough to send electricity through your whole body but just short of leaving a beautiful, bluish-purple welt (for he did not know if you wanted to be marked by him just yet). Your moans and sharp breaths intertwined heatedly, scattering your thoughts into a frenzy and numbing, blissful oblivion all at once.

His lips found yours once again, starved and craving for your warmth. One final, deep press into your lips before he pulled away with a pop, pressing his forehead against yours. A deep laugh rumbled in his chest.

"My apologies... It seems I have gotten carried away there..." He closed his eyes, stilling his rapidly beating heart lest it explode in his chest. Gods, he wanted more. More. One look at your pleading eyes almost made him come undone. Lilting lashes and blown-out pupils conveyed all the pent-up desire you've harbored for the man before you. He sucked in a breath and smoothed the mess he made of your hair, smiling tenderly.

"If you would like to continue, perhaps we should head somewhere more... comfortable."

Truthfully, the fact that you were in the literal wilderness may have slipped your mind just now. Your eyes went to scan for any body-shaped outlines hiding among the tree line, suddenly feeling very exposed. He saw the cautious look you shot at the trees and he couldn't help the laugh that spilled out of him.

"Are you shy, love?"

"W-Well it's just...!" Your eyes flew shut, unable to stand Link's teasing gaze any longer.

"Just... what?" His voice and face lowered into your neck. A deep moan thundered against your skin, sending butterflies knocking into your ribcage.

"Don't tease me like that..." Please keep teasing me like that--

A full belly laugh escaped the man. He pressed a quick kiss right at the junction of your shoulder and neck (his new safe space aw) and he pulled away to drink in your embarrassed, pleasured, wrecked expression.

"I've wanted this for so long..." An imperceptible smile bloomed. "Ever since I saw you grimacing at that scroll."

"You saw that?!" You shot back mortified, ears aflame. His hands shot up, waving them back and forth in protest.

"I-It was cute, I promise! I thought... You were so cute when you made that face..."

His slurred mumble made you want to ruffle his hair and hold him close whilst squealing into his chest.

"In fact," he hummed lowly, "it made me wonder what other kinds of faces you can make..."

"LINK!"

[snow-flake-writes]

Summary: Reina Itadori, older sister to Yuji Itadori, had been abroad overseas to study and finish her college courses. However, her life turns upside down when she finds an old book related to Jujutsu Sorcery in her old college library. Having to find a new topic for her essay to make up for a failed grade, she decided that the book had one of the most unique topics to learn about. Using the book to find anyone related to the so-called sorcerers named in the book, she’s able to find one particular person. Although that one person refuses to give her any information related to the book, he had no choice but to take her in when Reina is suddenly forced to be a vessel for a powerful curse.

Three years later, Reina is a fully trained Special Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer. When she finally gets to go home and take care of her younger brother, Yuji, many emotions ensue. Not only does she find out her worst fear has come true, but her little brother has become a vessel for a curse, as well. Determined to save his life from the elder sorcerers and from the curse, Sukuna, she decides to be a substitute teacher at the Tokyo Jujutsu Tech High School.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Full Story Warnings: Typical Jujutsu Kaisen gore/violence, cussing, trauma, pain, hurt/comfort, fluff, romance, slow-burn, fighting, action, adventure.

[DISCLAIMER]: I do not own Jujutsu Kaisen. It belongs to its rightful owner, Gege Akutami. The main characters belong to Gege Akutami. Extra characters, my OCs, belong to me. Most of the plot belongs to me, but a lot of it will also be based off of the main show plot.

All art belongs to me unless said otherwise. Title picture at the very top was made on canva, pictures used do not belong to me and are from Pinterest. Drawings below it are mine. Reina Itadori(left) and Garou Wilahj(right).

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Chapter 1

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

She couldn’t believe her eyes. Was it really him? The legendary sorcerer she read about in a thousand-year-old history book? It might’ve taken her about two months to find the man, but she can’t help but feel disappointed. And, well, she can’t deny that he’s only a descendant of the legendary man in the book that was held in her hands.

To her surprise, though, he looked exactly like the man in the book. A tall, tired-looking man stood at the entrance of his small home. His shoulders were slumped as he looked at Riena tiredly, holding the door open to see who was knocking on it. His black disheveled hair matched his baggy clothes. An oversized gray long-sleeve shirt covered his torso, and a pair of black sweats covered his legs. It looked like he had just woken up.

Reina couldn’t help but stare at the unkempt stubble covering his chin and upper lip. She couldn’t tell if the guy was hot or disgusting.

“Who are you?” His voice was deep—gravely, almost.

Returning to reality and silently apologizing for being rude, the black-haired woman bows quickly. “Good evening. I’m Itadori Reina, and I’m here to ask you a few questions about Jujutsu Sorcery.”

The man before her didn’t seem to have a reaction. Maybe besides his eyebrows knitting together in concentration. “Is that it?”

Reina looks at him in question, nodding slowly in reply, “Uh…yes?”

He scoffs, tiredly turning and leaving the door open. Reina noticed his hair was tied up in a high bun. She then takes his leaving the door open as an opportunity to enter, stepping inside his small home and closing the door behind her. “Thank you. You see, I found this book in my school’s library, and it talks all about Jujutsu Sorcerers and the ability to exercise curses. I was trying to look for any descendants of the legendary sorcerers listed here but only found you to be alive.”

The man yawns, gently taking the book from her hands to look at it. “They have this there? Just in a random location so everyone can see?” he mumbles to himself, looking through the old pages, “so that’s how you know. You didn’t look like a sorcerer. Not to mention low Cursed Energy.”

“Huh?” Reina cocks her head, “I’m sorry? Cursed Energy?’

“Ah, yeah. That’s my great, great, great, great….and so on, grandfather,” he ignores her question. The book is tossed to the side, causing the girl to run after it and catch it just in time. “Great reflexes…”

“Please be careful! This book is very old…” she says worriedly, checking the book to make sure it is still in good condition. “Um…so it's true? You’re a descendent of this man,” Her eyes scan through the pages, finding the man on a particular page, “Wilahj Matsuyama?”

“That’s right,” A hint of pride was heard behind his words, “The name’s Wilahj Garou.”

Reina wasn’t one for much excitement, but she could feel the buzz rising in her system. She could almost feel her body go light at the fact that she finally found who she was looking for. After all, this is her last chance of finishing this project that her professor assigned her to do.

Freshman year in college had just ended, but she somehow failed her history class, her most favorite subject. Her professor was kind enough to give her a second chance and allowed her to write one paper about something unique and unknown. If she did that during the summer, then he’d allow her to pass his class.

“Then…can I ask you some questions about Jujutsu Sorcerers? It’s for a paper I'm working on for my class.” It took her a month or so to find a descendant of the people in the book, so she felt quite relieved finding Garou.

Her happiness flew out the door as soon as the man narrowed his green eyes, a sharp glare sent her way. “No. Get out.”

Reina felt her body stiffen at the abrupt words. Anger starts to brew under her skin. “W-what…?” Her shoulders sag. She couldn’t believe the words he just spewed out of his mouth. His eyes weren’t full of anger, but distrust and protectiveness. “But,” she pauses, taking a step forward in slight desperation, “It took me forever to find you! I just – I just need some answers and then I’ll be on my way!”

He didn’t even let her finish her words as he turned his back to her, facing away. “I said no.”

“But…!”

Her words are choked back when Garou turns around quickly. She flinched at the slight aggression she detected from him. “You can’t see them, right?”

Reina pauses. See them? Why ask such a question all of a sudden? Out of nowhere, nonetheless. She didn’t know how to answer, nor did she understand what he was talking about. Before she answers, she swallows down the nervousness trying to take over. “Um…no…I don’t understand. What do you mean by them?”

A vague but disappointed scoff leaves his lips. “Then I suggest you leave. I wouldn’t want to pull you into something you don’t understand.” He said, turning away and walking toward a door in his home. She watched him in disbelief, not sure what to do or say, before finally gathering her things and leaving.

There was no point in pressuring the man even more. It was obvious he wouldn't let up and give her a chance. It looked like she wasted all of her hard work on nothing, and she'll have to restart her paper.

𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆

She saw him in the alley—skinny, hunched, smoking—and she realized he was more scared than her. A man she had never seen before in her life stood in the dark alleyway, the lights flickering above him. For some odd reason…she stood there, just looking down that alleyway. No, she wasn’t looking at the man; she was looking at what was behind the man.

An ungodly creature almost as high as the tall building lurked over him. Its many eyes—that Reina couldn’t even count— were splayed out over its body, and what looked like six arms were hovering over the man. The creature's body looked like a giant pile of some kind of purple goop.

The man who noticed me staring in his direction was going to say something, but he felt something on his shoulder. Reina saw the creature resting a goopy hand on his shoulder, practically enveloping his body. He looked back, seeing who had touched him, but it looked like he didn’t see anything.

“What the hell-” he first grumbles.

But his body was gone in seconds, slurped up into the mouth of the creature. It screeched in delight, causing Reina to flinch at its abrupt noise. The bag containing purchased items from earlier is soon forgotten when she drops it, sprinting down the street and away from the creature.

“Wh-what the hell?!” She steals the eaten man's words.

She could hear —feel— it chasing after her. Its giant body thumps on the ground close behind. To her dismay, her foot catches on an uneven stone from the ground, causing her to fall face-first into the ground. She just knew that looking back at her attacker wouldn’t do a damn thing. She wouldn’t even have time to look.

But those thoughts were soon washed away when she noticed she was still alive, and the thumping of its goopy feet had been silenced. Slowly, Reina rolls her body over to her side, looking to see if the creature has decided to let her live.

Instead, a crouched man with a familiar head of black hair tied in a bun stands between her and the creature. Well…what was left of the creature. Its purple body parts were sprawled everywhere like a giant murder scene had just occurred.

“What a pain…” Garou grumbles, standing up straight and flicking his weapon to the side to clean it off.

Reina didn’t even notice the weapon in his hands. A long wooden spear—taller than him—was placed on his back diagonally, with the blade over his shoulder. The blade had some kind of teardrop shape, with a handful of fur surrounding its base. Finally, a string covered in beads hung loose under the fur, with a red feather sticking out of it at the end.

Reina scrambles to stand up, approaching the man from behind. “M-Mr. Wilahj…?”

He looks at her, tired eyes slowly blinking. “Hm? Oh, it’s you. I thought you had already left.”

The nerve of him speaking such words irked the hell out of Reina. She growled out inconsistent words from irritation, wanting to yell about how he declined to tell her anything about Jujutsu Sorcerers. But before she could argue with him, the purple body parts behind Garou started to move, forming a giant goopy ball.

“Th-the creature!” She warns him.

He turns back quickly, whipping out his spear-like weapon from his back. He forms a fighting stance, preparing himself for another battle. “Well, that’s odd. I wondered why it didn’t fade away…”

“What?! It’s supposed to fade away?” She cries out, cowering behind him for protection.

All she saw was his long glance towards her, his dark green eyes staring into her soul before he jumped forward to attack the creature. He was skilled, she realized. He went straight in with no fear, no hesitation…

Is this what all Jujutsu Sorcerers are like?

Like before, the body parts are spread over the street once more from just one swing of his weapon. He lands back in front of her, watching the creature. “This is no normal curse,” he says to himself, “who's behind this…?”

“Man,” a new voice breaks his train of thought. On the other side of the exploded body stood two people. One was taller than the other, but they had blond hair styled as a bob. While the other was hunched over as an old man. “Who knew we’d bring out a Jujutsu Sorcerer? Father…? I thought you said there were none nearby?”

The tall figure spoke, which sounded like a boy. His voice was light and playful, a wide smile on his face. “He is to be ignored, dear Okkaku. The girl is who we need.”

“Huh?!” Reina gasps, pointing at herself, “Me?”

“What do you need her for?” Garou asks calmly.

The old man smirks as he raises his head, “Just an experiment. She is the perfect candidate.”

Reina could feel her body shiver in fear. Never has she felt this way before. Two men were looking for her, of all people, for some experiment. She technically just got to this country, trying to find the man standing right before her. Should she run? Grab her things from the hotel and get out of this country?

No, she scolds herself, there's no time to grab my things.

“Hey,” Garou’s voice brings her back to reality. Reina hums nervously in acknowledgment. “Run.”

She didn’t even hesitate after hearing his demand. She turns and runs as fast as her legs can go. Her mind wouldn’t allow her to think. It was a fight-or-flight situation, and clearly, she didn’t know how to fight. No matter how many times she prayed to escape, fate didn’t seem to be on her side. Without knowing how, the blond man from earlier is suddenly in front of her. Her feet skid to a halt on the stone street, her body frozen. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

“I suggest,” he’s closer, one hand gripping tightly onto her throat. He forces her to look up, pain shooting up her neck from the assault, “You stay still.”

Fingers prod her mouth open, and something is pushing past her tongue and down her throat. It was large. Painfully large. Tears spilled from her eyes as she cried in agony, whimpers escaping her now-damaged throat.

Before Reina could comprehend what was happening, the blond man had been shoved aside, his hand leaving her neck and allowing her to fall to her knees. She coughs and hacks, gasping for air as the object forced down her throat is still slowly traveling down her pipe.

As she struggles to breathe, Reina's mind races, trying to make sense of the situation. Panic sets in as she realizes the gravity of the danger she is in. The object lodged in her throat feels foreign and invasive, causing her immense discomfort. Every breath becomes a painful struggle, her chest heaving as she desperately tries to draw in air.

Her vision blurs as tears well up in her eyes, a mixture of fear and pain overwhelming her senses. With each passing moment, the object moves further down her throat, intensifying the sensation of choking. Reina's body convulses as she tries to expel the obstruction, but her attempts are futile.

“Are you alright?!” Garou asks worriedly, standing before her in a protective manner. He’s frustrated he didn’t even see the man leave his sight. “What did you do?” His focus was now on the blond man. To his surprise, the old man was now by his side.

“It is done. Let…her…rise!” The blond proclaims, arms raised as if praying for the gods above.

All Reina could hear was the loud thumping of her heart echoing through her head. The sound reverberated, drowning out all other noise. With each beat, the pain intensified, pulsating through her skull like a relentless drum. It felt as if her head was about to burst, the pressure building up to an unbearable point.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Reina's vision blurred, her surroundings fading into a foggy haze. The pain, excruciating as it was, suddenly vanished without a trace. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and her agony was replaced by an eerie calmness.

As her eyes rolled to the back of her head, darkness engulfed her field of vision. The world around her dissolved into a void, leaving her disoriented and vulnerable. In this abyss, she felt a profound sense of detachment from reality, as if she had been transported to another realm.

Garou's gaze was fixed upon Reina's lifeless form, a mixture of concern and astonishment evident on his face. The intricate details of the situation eluded him, leaving him in a state of perplexity. The only certainty was that the pair of men standing behind him bore the responsibility for the unfortunate demise of the woman before him. The realization struck him deeply, accompanied by a tinge of regret. She possessed a remarkable potential, a potential that now lay extinguished. Reflecting on the tragedy that had unfolded, Garou couldn't help but think to himself, "Too bad... she had so much promise."

When he believed the woman had perished, all thoughts vanished as a formidable surge of cursed energy reverberated through the street. Though his body remained rooted, he sensed an intense weight pressing down upon his head and shoulders. Every fiber of his being grew unbearably heavy, rendering him immobile and incapable of escaping his position.

“This power...!” Garou's heart raced with a mix of terror and fascination. He had never experienced such overwhelming fear before. Paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the moment, he didn't even attempt to move as he observed Reina's transformation. It was as if a completely different entity had taken possession of her body. The once gentle and warm light brown eyes now glowed with a malevolent shade of red. Reina's gaze, once filled with affection and kindness, now held only boredom as she coldly stared at the two men standing beside Garou. In those dangerous crimson irises, he saw a glimpse of death and fury, a terrifying power that sent shivers down his spine.

Two black, long, and straight horns start to grow from behind her black bangs, growing about twelve inches above her head. These striking appendages emerge gracefully, adding an air of mystique to her appearance. Their ebony color contrasts sharply against her fair complexion, making them impossible to ignore.

As her horns reach their full length, their slender curves give them an elegant and formidable presence. They stand tall and proud, serving as a visual representation of her unique identity. The horns' smooth texture and velvety sheen reflect the light, enhancing their allure.

Her body is slightly hunched, as if she carries the weight of her extraordinary features with a mixture of grace and solemnity. A dark shade covers her eyes, veiling them from view.

“Yes!” The blond chants, struggling to take a few steps closer from the pressure of her cursed energy. “The Princess of Curses…please, heed my request-”

The man's last sentence hung in the air, unfinished and lost forever. His head, detached from his body, plummeted to the cold, unforgiving stone ground. The sickening thud echoed through the eerie silence, sending a shiver down Garou's spine.

Garou, a seasoned witness to countless horrors and grim situations, was taken aback by the suddenness of this gruesome event. Though he had become accustomed to the macabre and the grotesque in his line of work, he never anticipated such a horrifying scene unfolding before his eyes. The shock of the man's beheading left him momentarily paralyzed, his thoughts racing to comprehend the grotesque reality that had unfolded.

As the seconds ticked by, Garou's mind began to process the scene before him. The man's body slumped lifelessly, blood pooling around his severed neck. The weight of the moment pressed upon Garou's chest, his breath caught in his lungs as he struggled to maintain composure. The gruesome sight was etched into his memory, an indelible mark that would haunt him long after this fateful encounter.

Regaining his senses, Garou's heart pounds in his chest as he tightly grips his weapon, his knuckles turning white. The weight of it brings him a sense of reassurance and purpose. His eyes narrow, scanning the scene before him. The sight is horrifying, but he knows he cannot afford to be paralyzed by fear. The enemy is formidable, and if he hesitates for even a moment, it could cost him his life.

“Son!” The old man cried out but stayed put in his spot a few feet away. The sight of his son's demise almost brought him to his knees. The distraught in his eyes told of his love for his son.

"Who dares..." The voice Reina spoke with did nothing to copy her original tone. It was smooth, dark, and filled with hatred. "...to wake me?"

Reina's question hung in the air, echoing in the silence of the street. Her voice, once soft and gentle, now carried a menacing edge. The venom in her words was palpable, as if every syllable was laced with anger and malice.

“P-please! We were requested to revive you, to help us-” The old man, too, had the same fate as his son. Widened eyes stared back at Garou when the old man's head rolled to his feet. Garou made a sound of disgust at the sight.

"I help no one," she breathes darkly, straightening her body. Her voice carries a hint of menace, as if she holds power beyond comprehension. Standing tall and radiating confidence, she exudes an air of regality, like a true princess of darkness. Her piercing red eyes scan the area, their intensity causing a shiver to run down the spine of anyone unlucky enough to meet her gaze.

As her gaze lands on Garou, her expression hardens even further. "Another one?" she sneers, her voice dripping with disdain. "You shall receive the same fate as the other imbeciles who dared cross my path." Her words hang in the air, heavy with a promise of impending doom. Those who have witnessed her wrath know that her threats are not to be taken lightly.

She raises her arm, crossing over her chest as she glares down at her target. The determination in her eyes is palpable as she prepares to strike. Her arm swings halfway before she freezes, her red eyes widening out of nowhere. A sudden wave of confusion washes over her as she tries to comprehend what she is seeing. Her body trembles and she instinctively folds herself in, hugging her chest tightly. The sense of disbelief and shock is evident in her voice as she exclaims, "What... is this?!"

She gasps for air, her lungs desperately craving oxygen. Her knees give way, forcing her to collapse onto the unforgiving ground. Her head hangs down, heavy with exhaustion, as she struggles to catch her breath. In this moment of vulnerability, her cursed energy, which had been relentlessly tormenting her, suddenly dissipates. Garou, who had been observing her with a mix of concern and disbelief, is taken aback by the sudden transformation. He wonders if she has finally succumbed to the darkness completely. However, his assumption is once again proven wrong. Just as he is about to accept her fate, a sudden jolt runs through Reina's body. Gasping for air, she inhales sharply, her lungs burning with the effort.

Garou, in a moment of realization, observes that the once prominent horns on her forehead have vanished, leaving behind only smooth skin. Additionally, the intense redness that used to consume her eyes has also dissipated, restoring them back to their original state. It is clear to him that the princess of darkness has vanished completely.

“O-Oh, my god!” Reina gasped in shock, her hand instinctively clenching her throat as if trying to catch her breath. The unexpected turn of events left her bewildered and speechless. She couldn't comprehend what had just happened, and her mind was filled with a mix of fear and confusion. “What the hell…just happened?!”

Meanwhile, Garou, who had witnessed the sudden incident, hesitated before deciding to approach Reina. He knew that the situation called for immediate action, and he braced himself, assuming a determined stance. Garou was prepared to perform a proper exorcism to combat whatever force had caused such distress to Reina.

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Garou focused his energy, ready to face the unknown and protect Reina from any further harm. He knew that the fate of both their lives hung in the balance, and he was determined to rid them of this supernatural threat.

As he neared Reina, Garou could see the fear in her eyes, but he remained resolute. He had trained extensively for moments like these, and he was determined to use his skills to restore peace and safety to their lives.

Reina's gaze lifted, and her eyes grew wider as she caught sight of Garou. Relief flooded over her as she exclaimed, "You're okay! Thank goodness... so... I did stop her in time..." Her voice trembled slightly, a mix of worry and gratitude evident in her words. In that moment, she realized the immense weight that had been lifted off her shoulders. Her actions had made a difference, and she had managed to prevent something terrible from happening.

Garou stood frozen, his body tense as he processed the words that had just been spoken. His head cocked to the side, a silent question forming in his eyes. The weight of her statement hung in the air, filling the space between them with an unspoken truth.

"You...saw everything?" he finally managed to utter, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and disbelief. The words hung in the air, waiting for her response. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon him, as he struggled to comprehend the implications of her words.

She stops herself from getting up, her body frozen in place. Her mind was all over the place, racing with thoughts and emotions. The area felt heavy, the air thick with tension. She now realized his position, standing tall and rigid, watching her with eyes that had hardened in distrust. The realization sent a shiver down her spine.

Fear consumed her, making her heart race and her breaths come out in shallow pants. She didn't know what to feel, her thoughts jumbled and chaotic. Was he... going to kill her? The thought sent a wave of panic through her, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

A sense of impending doom hung in the air, intensifying her anxiety. A panic attack slowly crept upon her, the world around her becoming a blur. She desperately tried to calm herself, to rationalize the situation, but her mind was clouded with fear and confusion.

Everything seemed surreal, like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. Something had been forced down her throat just minutes earlier, a memory that haunted her. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the words caught in her throat.

Remarkably, she controls herself to focus on the answer to his question. “I…I did…But I couldn’t control my body….”

Garou somehow felt empathy toward the young woman. She came to him, not knowing exactly what Jujutsu Sorcery was besides what she read from a one-thousand-year-old history book. He refused to tell her anything about it because she could not fight curses. If she knew anything more, then she’d be involved in dangerous situations…..like this.

“So much for that,” he sighs, relaxing his posture and putting his spear weapon back in its place on his back.

“What?” Reina tearfully asks. She didn’t realize she was crying until his words snapped her back to reality. “Are you going to kill me?”

Garou approached her, holding out his hand for her to take. “No, I’m not going to kill you. Because of your…power,” he pauses, his green eyes looking her up and down in observation, “I can help you control it. After all….you saved my life.”

His smile sent her heart to beat wildly. She takes his hand, standing in seconds by his abrupt strength. “I…did?” She questions, watching him start to walk away.

A deep chuckle leaves his lips, his head turning to glance back at her. But he doesn’t say a word, continuing on his way home. Reina shakes her head, focusing back on the situation at hand. She jogs forward to Garou, following close behind. “So…does that mean I get to live with you? Since, you know, you’re going to train me or whatever?”

“Hell no.”

[svmjaeyvn]

sincerely yours, s.jy.

chapter 02. groomsmen. pairing: idol!jake x afab!reader

add yourself to the taglist here

synopsis: where they meet once on the subway but he never forgets her or the encounter no matter how much time has passed

"YOU KEPT MY NOTE IN YOUR WALLET THIS ENTIRE TIME?"

"WELL, YEAH? I WASN'T JUST GOING TO THROW IT AWAY,"

02. GROOMSMEN

previous masterlist next

word count: 3.2k

my tags: @slutforsjy @jaklvbub @whowantshota @coolwitu @addictedtohobi

a/n: it’s for the plot yall hell be in it more next chapter i promise

— APRIL ‘22

               "EH? DIDN'T I tell you to go home and rest? You look more nervous than your mother," Kyung-Mi spoke, frowning at the sight of the evident eye bags and tired look that captured your features. Skimming over the array of make up essentials that would be used for the day by all the bridesmaids and bride herself, she picks up moisturizer to begin.

"She stayed up all night rewriting her speech and then she got a call about a wardrobe malfunction with the boys," Hiah answered, eyes focused on the mirror as she curled her hair with her make up already done.

"Can't have a wedding with the grooms suit ruined now can we?" You said through a yawn causing Kyung-Mi to pause as she did so.

"That idiot," The eldest of the three rolls her eyes. Warming up the primer within her hands, she carefully applies it to your skin causing you to shut your eyes. "How did he manage to mess up the suit that early?"

"Apparently when he was unzipping the garment bag, it got caught on the suit. He tugged too hard trying to undo it and ripped the material, one of the buttons popped off in the process too," You explain, a small sigh leaving your lips at the thought. "They panicked and we're going to attempt to fix it themselves but luckily one of them thought to call me instead. I managed to fix it within the hour but who knows how much worse it could've ended up with six men and no knowledge of sewing attempting to fix a hole the size of a quarter,"

"But you got it fixed yeah?" Kyung-Mi reiterates as you nod absentmindedly. "Then relax, you've done all you can and everything's running as it should. Today will play out like it's intended to kid, you've done your best,"

               YOU WALKED THROUGH the corridor. Your make up was done, hair styled in a half up-do with cascading curls, and your dress finally placed on for the final debut. T-minus roughly 45-minutes until the wedding ceremony.

As you made your way to the hall which would lead into the beautifully decorated place where people should soon be filling in, you saw numerous of the groomsmen and bridemaids huddled together in a frenzy as well as Iseul, the wedding planner, in the midst. Frowning your brows, you picked up your pace and got closer to the group.

"What are we supposed to do? He can't walk,"

"Exactly, he can't walk. There's nothing we can do,"

"Iseul-ssi, surely there's a back-up? It's Nadia and Myung-jun's big day,"

"Ah, what bad luck really,"

Seemingly feeling outside eyes looking in, Jungwon looked around before his gaze landed upon you who stood silently a few feet away. You stayed focused on Cho Seok, one of Myung-jun's closest friends from work who had unfortunately slipped on water that had dripped from the vases that were taken inside the room before as he was practicing for the ceremony. With his older age getting to him, the fall that would've been mere to everyone else had caused a grave pain to his side, causing a throbbing injury throughout his knee and making it hard to walk.

"___-ssi," Jungwon spoke softly, pulling you from your trance and in return causing those around to halt their conversation as well. Each looked up, nervousness and pity flowing throughout them knowing how hard you had been attempting to make the wedding go smoothly and now things seemed to take a turn for the worse.

Shaking your head, you stepped closer to Seok. Crouching down to his level, you sent him a soft smile as you gently grabbed hold of his arm. "Are you okay Seok-nim?"

Seok visibly relaxed upon seeing that you weren’t upset with him for ruining an essential part of the wedding, and even if you were, you made sure not to show it. Your display put everyone else at ease, including Iseul who began to think of a solution but Jungwon already brewed an idea of his own.

"Yes, I'm fine," He replies, a grateful smile sent to you in return. Nodding, you turned to Iseul expectantly who opened her mouth to speak.

"We can cut the bridesmaids and groomsmen pairs to four instead of five. Of course we'll have to improvise the dance and I'll need to check with the bride and groom but that's best case scenario as we're short on time now," She explained, checking over her watch which displayed forty minutes out. Gaining nods on agreement from those there, including you who listened carefully and figured it was the only solution available, the atmosphere was lifted but still stiff considering things weren't going to be as planned.

"Excuse me," Jungwon cautiously spoke up. Gaining the groups attention, he shifted on his feet, nearly backing out with their beady eyes weighing him down but your curious gaze caused him to clear his throat and pursue with what he wanted to say. "I, um, I can get someone to fill in the spot. If you'll let me, he'll be able to do the dance too so it won't make everyone else change the choreography,"

Looks were spared between the group but ultimately, they ended up falling upon you who sat silently. Contemplating the idea, your eyes stayed trained on Jungwon who met your gaze confidently, although his hands were fumbling behind his back out of nervousness. After a few moments, you nodded.

"Please," Was all you said, the single word enough indication for the boy to get moving.

Quickly Jungwon took off in the opposite direction, roaming through the large corridors in search of his friends. Making his way to the dressing room where he had left them with his father earlier, he hears loud voices coming within knowing they're inside.

Swinging the door open, the abrupt noise caused the three to freeze. The two boys who sat along the couch held their pillows mid-air pointed at one another while the third was holding a bag of candy, a handful half-shoved within his mouth.

Not bothering to comment on their state, Jungwon pointed to a finger to one. "Hyung, come with me,"

"GOD, HIAH I'M gonna throw up," You mumble, a hand pressed to your head as the younger girl attempted to fan you with the bouquet of flowers she held.

"Don't say that, you'll ruin the dress," Hiah teases, attempting to lighten the air but you merely send her a half smile in return. They were five minutes out until the ceremony would begin. Jungwon was nowhere to be seen, the entire line up pairing was switched due to Seok's unfortunate accident, and the only person that seemed to be absolutely losing her mind over it was you. Well, you and Iseul who happened to be pacing and speaking over her wakie-takie every minute to her staff.

Even your mom seemed to be in better state. In fact, she didn't even seem the slightest bit worried, the only nerves coming from the excitement of marrying her beloved rather than the mishaps that had occurred throughout the day. It was as if you took on the role of stressing over the incidents and it made you feel like you aged 20 years in the process.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded with two boys running toward the wedding group. Greeting and profusely apologizing to Nadia, who laughed it off with a pearly smile, they were ushered to their positions by Iseul with only two minutes left.

"___-ssi, this is my friend, Jay. Jay hyung, this is ___," Jungwon quickly introduces, his hand gesturing between the two of you before he notices Hiah to his left. "And this is Hiah,"

"Eh? I'm older than you!" Hiah scolds but her voice was drowned out by you and Jay both simultaneously greeting one another with a bow.

"Nice to meet you," Jay added, a friendly smile placed upon his lips as your eyes widened.

"You too," You hum, suddenly less tense than before while Iseul claps her hands.

"Alright, positions! The ceremony begins now!"

Muffled music began to play from within the closed reception hall. Being the maid-of-honor and best man, Kyung-Mi stood at the front with Park-nim (Jungwon's dad lol I don't know his name), behind them came you and now Jay, then Hiah and Jungwon. Then there was the last two pairs trailing behind.

The first pairing went ahead per Iseul's indication. Waiting a few moments with perfect timing due to her watching her watch intently, Iseul quickly gestured for the second duo to begin their way down the walkway. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you laced your arm with Jay's and kept your head leveled forward.

Following the pace that was practiced to the instrumental piano that played throughout the room, you could feel the nervousness begin to brew over within the pit of your stomach. Absentmindedly tightening the grip you held on the sleeve of Jay's suit, he resisted the urge to glance over to you. As you reached the end of the carpeted aisle at the front of the room where the groom stood, eyes already watering with a wide smile placed on his features at the sight of his soon to be daughter, Jay made sure to give your hand a reassuring squeeze before parting to opposite sides.

Your mind went on autopilot. Your grip on the bouquet of flowers the only thing you were aware of. It wasn't that you weren’t happy, in fact, you were ecstatic for your mother and father in law. You knew that they were good for one another and would continue to be for years to come.

But for the last couple of month leading up to the wedding, you had done nothing but try your best to make everything the utmost perfect it could be for your mother. Now that it was happening in real time, your mind and body didn't know how to catch up.

It felt fast, far too fast in the moment. But in reality you stood up at the front with a warm smile full of adoration and responsive to every word and action spoken between the couple. Even shedding tears at the vows that you heard a hundred times over but no matter how many revision and how many cheesy lines Myung-jun snuck into his speech, you couldn't help but be filled with love.

And unknowingly, as you stood at the front, a boy sat in the audience near the back. A boy from your once upon a time that you truthfully forgot about because you thought he forgot about you the day you met.

©svmjaeyvn

[x-ladyathena-x]

In the Shadow of his Memory

Chapter 1–Ghosts

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings: graphic violence, morally grey sebastian, morally grey reader, angst, fluff, alcohol

Word count: 927

Summary: It's been 10 years since you were faced with that awful decision: turn Sebastian in for casting an unforgivable curse or lie for him.

You chose to lie for him and take his secrets to your grave, but that wasn't enough-the authorities found out soon after and Sebastian went on the run.

You never stopped loving him and when an unexpected visitor arrives in your home in the dead of night, you realize he never stopped loving you either.

There it was again.

You sat bolt upright in bed, having been awoken again by some unexplained noise coming from outside your window.

It couldn't have been a pedestrian, you lived far enough away from the main Hogsmead foot traffic that it would've been unusual for someone to have accidentally wandered by your window.

Even tipsy patrons leaving The Three Broomsticks and wandering off the main road.

Carrot, your fluffy orange cat yawned and stretched out his front paws, also awoken, but for him, it was because you got out of bed and disrupted the blankets. He glared at you sleepily as you lit a candle and walked to the window.

Nothing but moonlight peered back at you from the small window and you felt like you were going crazy.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed and let your head drop into your hands. You'd been dreaming of him again.

Sebastian.

It had been 10 years since that night in the slytherin dormitory when Sebastian made his escape. 10 years since you watched the love of your life disappear, never to be seen again.

And he truly was the greatest love of your life. Sure other men had come and gone over the last few years. And there were even some that you'd cared deeply for, but no one that you would ever love like him.

The memory of Sebastian hung in your mind like a ghost that never gave you peace.

Because you knew he was still out there somewhere. If he'd have died, surely a body would've been recovered by now. And if he'd been arrested, they'd have plastered it all over the Daily Prophet.

No, he was alive, you could feel it.

Gravel crunched just outside your door and this time Carrot heard it too.

So, you weren't crazy. Someone or some thing really was out there.

You swung your house coat on over your thin cotton night gown and pulled it tight to stave off the cold air.

Embers from last evening's fire burned low in the hearth, but they weren't enough to warm the late night chill.

Carrot watched you retrieve the candle from your nightstand and walk to the door, your wand in your other hand and at the ready.

The door handle was cold in your hand, you could feel your heart hammering in your chest.

You took a deep breath and swung the door open wide with your wand raised.

Nothing.

There was no one or nothing there. Just the quiet empty street.

You sighed in relief but before you could close the door, Carrot darted outside.

"CARROT!" You hissed. "Get back here!"

But the cat was gone.

You groaned in aggravation, "Accio slippers."

Your house shoes flew into your hands and you slipped them on your feet as you ran out the door after the cat.

"Carrot!" You called as you watched his fluffy tail disappear into the forest.

The Forbidden Forest.

"Why?!" You complained as you ran after the cat.

"Accio."

"Levioso"

"Arresto Momentum"

Spell after spell danced passed the cat. Ugh magical companions and their abilities. If he didn't want to be caught, he wouldn't be.

"Arres— ow"

The smell of dirt and decaying leaves engulfed your senses as you found yourself face down on the forest floor.

You'd tripped over something.

Your hands dug into the soft ground as you pushed yourself up. To your horror, you realized it was a spiderweb that you'd gotten tripped up on.

The web was tangled around your ankle and before you could utter a word to free yourself, something sharp pierced your shoulder.

An acromantula venom dart.

The acromantula scuttled toward you as more of the enormous spiders burrowed up from the ground.

"Confringo!" You yelled, and a bright beam of red burst out of your wand and hit one of the spiders. The beam broke into two more beams and hit two of the others next to the first.

They flipped over onto their backs and screeched.

You managed to free your legs with incindio but by the time you stood, you were fully surrounded.

You hadn't faced this formidable of a foe since your time At Hogwarts. But that time you had help from—

It didn't matter. You could do this.

You cast spell after spell, including a few unforgivable curses, and the spiders fell one by one.

As you faced off with the final spider, you couldn't help but notice it was more intelligent than the others. It moved differently.

Almost as if it were being controlled?

No that couldn't be.

You raised your wand to deal the death blow but the spider was faster. It slung out its web onto a nearby tree limb, ripping the limb free and bringing it down on top of you.

Everything went black.

When you came to, you realized it was morning and you were back in your bed.

Back in your bed??

You sat up but your head ached where the limb had hit you.

As you reached up to inspect the wound, you felt a bandage covering it.

You ran to the nearest mirror and as sure as the sun shone, someone had dressed your wound and brought you back home.

Your slippers sat next to the front door, muddy, your house coat hung on its hook, ripped from the fight with the spiders. And Carrot lay curled at the foot of your bed sleeping soundly.

Who did this?

Whoever they were, must've left the same way they arrived:

Like a ghost.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 3

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (Please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Uncle Moody's funeral was only a day later since the wedding was also very close. I didn't go down with the crowd, instead watching from the bedroom window, holding Remus in my arms. 

I would've gone down, except I had a strange, almost psychopathic response when I got around people who were crying in a depressed atmosphere. I always started to laugh and I hated it. Especially since I loved Uncle Moody so much, it felt disrespectful. So I had stayed inside to avoid it. 

Dad came in later and told me that Uncle Moody had left his house to me in his will since I was the closest thing to a relative that he had. That sent me over the edge with the tears I had been trying so hard to keep in. 

Sirius had left me a house. Uncle Moody too. I already knew that it was in Dads' will too. Severus might've as well, if he had a will. 

And I would give all of it up to have them alive. 

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The days leading up to the wedding were full of work, getting the house ready for the Delacour family. Trang and I mostly worked together around the house after Mrs. Weasley discovered that we weren't going with the other three. But Harry, Hermione, and Ron on the other hand were kept separated at every possible moment. 

There was a lot of Order members coming in, which was always nice because I enjoyed seeing Kingsley. The others I didn't care all that much about. 

Dad and Tonks weren't staying at the Burrow like I was, because they had agreed it was safer for me here and I couldn't apparate every day with Remus. You weren't really supposed to apparate with young children and he wasn't even six months old yet. 

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all rather in a bad mood when Mr. Weasley set off to go and fetch the Delacour's. Trang was only slightly annoyed and I was mildly annoyed. I liked house work for the most part, but my fingers were hurting from the scrubbing I'd done. 

"Yeesh, I almost wish I was going with them." Trang complained under her breath. "What are we-" 

But she didn't get to finish her question as an unnatural laugh rose on the air. I shuddered a little, shaking my shoulders, even though I knew it was just Mr. Weasley. 

"Maman!" Fleur ran forwards to embrace the adults. "Papa!" 

Madame Delacour was a beautiful woman with long blond hair, wearing leaf-green robes. Mr. Weasley was laughing at whatever she had been saying. 

Monsieur Delacour was not handsome, but made up for his looks with his good nature. He came up to Mrs. Weasley, kissed her twice on both cheeks. "You 'ave been to much trouble." He said in a smooth, deep voice as Mrs. Weasley flushed, "Fleur tells us you 'ave been working very 'ard." 

"Oh it's been nothing, nothing! No trouble at all!" Mrs. Weasley flushed. 

"Dear Lady! We are most honored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline." 

His wife glided forward, kissing Mrs. Weasleys cheeks too, which started setting of Trang's giggling. She bit on her palm to make it look like she was just hiding a yawn. 

"Enchantee, Your 'usband 'as been telling us such amusing stories!" 

Mr. Weasleys' maniacal laugh set off my own struggles not to laugh. And after Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, he set his face gravely, like he was standing by the sickbed of a dear friend. I bit hard on my bottom lip while Trangs' giggles started to become more audible. 

"And, of course, you 'ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!" 

Gabrielle looked exactly like Fleur and batted her lashes at Harry while hugging Mrs. Weasley. Ginny cleared her throat loudly and Trang started to cackle, ducking back into the house to hide. 

I snickered, following. Trang was cackling and I shook my head, amused. "Grow up Trang. Yeesh, you'd think Gabrielle would realize the age gap is to large." 

That set Trang off again until she managed to say with a grin, "And what was the years between you and Sevy?" 

I flushed. "Shut up." 

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Waking up on my birthday felt weird. I had never been good at following the no magic rule, especially when I was in a wizarding house where the Ministry couldn't register the difference between normal and underage magic. But knowing that I could freely use magic wherever, whenever I wanted was strange. 

"Happy Birthday." Trang said as I sat up. She was already up and dressed, pushing over a present. 

"Thanks Trang." I grinned, picking up her package. It contained two art journals. One was leather bound and about the size of an average book. Complete with a book mark and a strap to keep it together. The other art journal was pocket sized, meant for smaller sketches. She had also paired it with a new pencil set with different graphite darkness. 

"This is great." I grinned at her. 

"Well, I thought you'd like it." Trang smirked. "Anyways, I can smell the bacon from here. Let's go." 

Downstairs, I found that Mr and Mrs. Weasley had gotten me a gift, which was a small necklace that they were handing down to me. I nearly cried. 

The Delacours had gotten me roses and chocolates. Hermione had gotten me The Subtle Knife, the second book in the Golden Compass series; The Shining, Cujo, and Doctor sleep which were Stephen King books. 

Ron had gotten me Sugar quills. Fred had sent me charms to add to my bracelet. 

I handed Harry my present for him. It was a journal, not unlike the journal Trang had given me. I had filled half of it with notes about Voldemort, curses, jinxes, offensive and defensive spells. I had drawn wild plants and labelled which ones were safe to eat and which ones were not. I had drawn the Horcruxes in it, though I had also written a note that he should memorize them and then burn the pages in case it fell into the wrong hands. 

Half of it was also empty, just in case he wanted to write in it himself. 

Later, when Dad and Tonks showed up, Dad gave me a watch. It had a purple band and the outline of the face was purple, though pearl coloured inside. "It was your mothers." He murmured in undertone. 

"Thank you dad." I murmured, already putting the watch on as tears pricked my eyes. Tonks pulled me into a tight hug. It was really only then that I noticed dad seemed stressed, because Tonks was beaming with happiness. 

I already knew, of course, that dad was feeling very uncertain about the baby in Tonks stomach. I knew that he would run after some time, but Harry would rebuke him and he would go back. Since it worked so well, I wasn't going to interfere. 

Hagrid gave me a journal that was not unlike the one that I had given Harry. Inside were watercolour drawings of all sorts of magical creatures, with paragraphs about them. But the other half of the book was empty for my own drawings and notes. 

Harry and I were sharing a cake, which Mrs. Weasley had baked and made. It was the size of a beach ball and was in the shape of a golden snitch. Half of it was vanilla and the other half was chocolate. There were actually 34 candles on the cake, seventeen of them being red and the other seventeen were purple. 

It was the first birthday that I had really shared with Harry. Truly. I wondered if Mrs. Weasley had her suspicions- as Hagrid and McGonagall and Dumbledore had- that we were truly siblings. It was like the adults that I knew, knew that we were, but no one said anything. 

I wished Kingsley could've been here, I'd asked him if he could come. But the Muggle Prime Minister was definitely more important. 

Charlie and Hagrid were talking as I made my way to sit down between Dad and Trang. Trang was listening in attentively to the discussion about Norbert, pardon- Norberta . 

"They're a lot more vicious." Charlie was saying, before looking over his shoulder and muttering, "Wish Dad would hurry up and get here. Mum's getting edgy." 

"He's been held up by Scrimgeour." I explained, setting Remus down in my lap. Dad tensed next to me at the name. "The Minister will be coming. And you don't have to leave Dad, there's nothing to worry about when he comes here." 

The Ministry was very anti-werewolf at the moment. Partly on the Death Eater side since they were half-breeds and not considered pure-blood wizards. Partly on the Ministry side because of Greyback and also the long prejudice against them. 

Mrs. Weasley hadn't heard me as she came back over saying, "I think we'd better start without Arthur. He must have been held up at- oh!" 

 The Patronus of Mr. Weasley, which happened to be a weasel, stood on its hind legs as it ran across the garden and then stood at the table. "Minister of Magic coming with me." 

Dad became fidgety, but I squeezed his hand in reassurance and he stayed where he was. The Minister and Mr. Weasley appeared very soon after it. Scrimgeour looked much older and I felt a stab of pity. I might not like the man, but he was better than Fudge and I had seen his future. He was a good man at heart, truly. 

"Sorry to intrude. Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party. Many happy returns." 

"Thanks." Harry and I said together as he looked at both of us. Now, I was wondering if he too was seeing me as Harry's sister. Then I realized that I didn't really care. 

"I require a private word with the both of you. Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger." 

"Us? Why us?" Ron asked. 

"I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private. Is there such a place?" 

I got up, handing Remus over to Tonks and patted Trang on the shoulder as I walked into the house first. "This way, Minister." 

I moved through the house to the living room, perching on the arm of the sofa while Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat on it. 

"I have some questions for the four of you, and I think it will be bets if we do it individually. If you three-" He pointed at Harry, Hermione, and I, "can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald." 

"We're not going anywhere. You can speak to us together, or not at all." Harry decided. 

"Very well then, together. I am here, as I'm sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore's will." 

I kept my face stoic, only slightly surprised. Not about the will, but the fact that I had been included in it. Though, perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. 

"A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you anything?" 

"A-all of us? Me and Hermione too?" Ron asked. 

"Yes, all of-" 

"Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?" Harry demanded. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione asked. "They wanted to examine whatever he's left us. You had no right to do that!" 

"I had every right. The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will-" 

"Which was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts." I interrupted now. "While also having powerful evidence that the deceased possession are, in fact, illegal before seizing them. I find it hard to believe that the Ministry thought Dumbledore would pass onto us, something cursed." 

"Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss K-" 

"Lupin. Miss Lupin." I said firmly. "And no. Law bores me. But that doesn't mean I don't know it. You have to know what the law is to break it." 

Ron smirked but Scrimgeour just looked annoyed. 

"So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can't think of a pretext to keep them?" Harry asked. 

"No, it's because the thirty-one days are up." Hermione and I said at the same time. She continued, "They can't keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they're dangerous, right?" 

"Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" Scrimgeour decided to ignore the both of us. 

Meanwhile, Ron stupidly replied with, "Me? Not- not really. . . It was always Harry and Elizabeth who. . ." 

"If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions- his magical instruments and other personal effects- were left to Hogwarts. Why do-" 

"Hold on." I interrupted, frowning. "What about his private library? In the vision I saw of this conversation he left the library to Hogwarts too." 

"In good time Miss. . . Lupin." Scrimgeour said, eyeing me. "Well, Ronald?" 

"I. . . dunno. I. . . when I say we weren't close. . . I mean, I think he liked me. . ." 

"You're being modest, Ron. Dumbledore was very fond of you." Hermione said, trying to fix the situation. 

Scrimgeour pulled out a scroll and read from it. "'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore'. . . Yes, here we are. . . 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.'" 

I perked in interest, seeing the object in Scrimgeour's hand, before he handed it over to Ron. I remembered Uncle Moody using it when we were returning with Harry to the original Order of the Phoenix headquarters. I felt a swoop of sadness flow through me. 

"That is a valuable object. It may even be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore's own design. Why would he have left you an item so rare?" When Ron didn't answer, Scrimgeour continued, "Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students. Yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you four. Why is that? To what use did he think you would put his Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?" 

"Put out lights, I s'pose. What else could I do with it?" Ron asked. 

Scrimgeour turned back to the will, "'To Miss Elizabeth Kane Lupin, I leave to her my private library in the hopes that she finds it enjoyable and explorative. I also leave Fawkes, in the hopes that she puts him to the best of uses.'" 

My heart soared, hearing both of those, the memories brought back as well. 

"And why do you think he left you these things?" Scrimgeour asked. 

"Well. . . I always told him I enjoyed his library." I said with a small smile. "And I've inherited them before so I suppose this is no different. But with Fawkes. . . I told him something in the future that I cannot explain to any of you. Fawkes is to help me with that. He told me he would help me before he died. This is the only thing I can think of." 

Scrimgeour seemed a bit please to get an answer out of me, even if it wasn't a straight one. With a wave of his wand, Fawkes was there, sitting in a cage. I opened it immediately and he flew to sit upon my shoulder. "The private library has been moved with his specific instructions to your art studio." 

I only nodded. 

"'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my cop of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.'" 

I zoned out a little, admittedly. It helped that I already knew what the rest of the possessions were. Dumbledore had given me Fawkes, whose tears were an antidote to Basilisk poison. Was it possible that Dumbledore believe Fawkes tears could be used to save Severus' life when Nagini bit him?

I wasn't sure. It was hard to hope for that. And it wasn't like it could be tested out first. I had made other plans, of course. Brewing Felix Felicias first of all. Carving protective runes into the skin above his heart and on his neck so that Nagini would be deterred and would have to bite him somewhere else. 

"This is not a joke, Potter!" Scrimgeours angry voice cut through my thoughts. "Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" 

"Interesting theory. Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So is this what you've been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying- I was nearly one of them- Voldemort chased me across three counties, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there's been no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!" 

"You go too far!" Scrimgeour shouted, standing up and Harry and I were on our feet in an instant. Scrimgeour pointed his wand at Harry, a hole burned in his T-shirt. My wand was pointed at him in seconds. 

"Oi!" Ron jumped up. 

"No! D'you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?" 

"Remembered you're not at school, have you? Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen year old boy to tell me how to do my job! It's time you learned some respect!" 

"Insubordination." I snorted, lowering my wand an inch. "God all you Ministers are all the same. First Fudge, now you. You're not Kings." 

"It's time you earned it." Harry said at the same time while footsteps came running down the hallway. 

Mr.  and Mrs. Weasley were first, followed closely behind by Dad and Tonks. 

"We- we thought we heard-" 

"Raised voices." Mrs. Weasley finished for her husband. 

Scrimgeour took a few steps back while I lowered my wand completely, putting it in my pocket. "It- it was nothing. I. . . regret your attitude. You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you- what Dumbledore- desired. We ought to be working together." 

"I don't like your methods, Minister. Remember?" Harry asked, raising his hand to show the 'I must not tell lies' on the back of his hand. 

Scrimgeour left without another word, Mrs. Weasley hurrying after him. I strode out of the room and outside, leaving the others behind, wandering more into the garden. Fawkes cawed softly and I stroked his head. "Yeah, that was stressful, wasn't it?" 

I watched something flying towards me in the distance. An owl?

It was a smoky, midnight black coloured owl with large orange eyes. It had a small box in its talons and flew off immediately after I took the small box from him. 

It really wasn't big and I wondered what was inside of it. I opened it up and pulled out the Elizabeth Magnolia flower inside. It's white-yellow petals were soft and waxy, the inside was a soft red. In the very middle of the flower- the pistil- was the smallest black heart, burned by a wand. 

I smiled, closing my eyes, putting the flower against my heart.

⬅️➡️

[grimmunreality]

nadia kingston’s birthday is december 21st

and it’s december 21st today !! (i did in fact finish cryptid falls on her birthday i thought it would be poetic and i still think that) So here are some of my favourite nadia kingston moments (she would be 68 today btw if she were real) this is gonna be a long post so beware !!

Cryptid Falls Era

My head aches. If I’m going to be a good ghost hunter then I need to stop hitting my head on things.

(Chapter one; Ghost I) This is literally in the first paragraph in the first book so it’s our first introduction to her 💀

I pull on my most comfortable sweater. “You want me dead. You want me to crash on Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year—”

“La, la, la, I don’t care. Get in the car.”

(Chapter eight; Christmas Blues) Edith and Nadia are so fun. Too bad they’re mentally unwell atm 😔

“Did you just say Hilda’s here? As in, the big boss?”

“Yeah?”

She falls back onto her bed, face shoved into her pillow. “Tell her I’m dead.”

I roll my eyes. “She can’t be that bad. She seems nice.”

“She’s an evil old lady and has like, one foot in the grave.”

“She looks fifty.”

“Beauty and evil go hand in hand. She’s an evil deceiver with spooky, youth-giving powers. Haven’t you ever seen a Disney movie?”

“No, I have not.” I push myself off the door frame. “I’m going to go get Andre. He’s better at this stuff than I am.”

(Chapter eight; Christmas Blues) no disney for nadia 😔 maybe that’s why she is so grumpy /j

“We’re here.”

She smiles as she wakes up, yawning. “You didn’t kill us.”

“I didn’t kill us.”

(Chapter 16; Windell Falls) nadia is not a good driver canonically and the one time she gets her shit together it a very sad moment but i still like this bit

I sit on top of a rooftop, playing my guitar and fighting back the cold that comes with the light wind. A pile of hair sits in front of me, along with some scissors. There’s no mirror.

(Chapter 17; Grim Reaper) i cut my own hair without a mirror usually and me and nadia both needed a hair cut at the time of writing this

“See you can dance! You have good rhythm.” says Edith.

“I’m a musician, Edith. Of course I have rhythm.”

“Well then you’re already ahead of most people when it comes to dancing. And you’re good at it.”

“I’d still rather play the music than dance to it.”

She laughs. “Well that’s fine. But you should still dance with me.”

(Chapter 8; Christmas Blues (again)) EDITH AND NADIA ♥️♥️♥️ i’m so normal about them guys

Sleepless Cities Era

I don’t appreciate the humour but the way his fingers barely touch the wound makes me ignore it. I stare at him, taking in his every feature. He has light freckles, barely noticeable from afar. A light scar is visible on his jaw line. He’s very pleasing to the eye.

(Chapter three; Cigarette Smoke) this actually my least favourite nadia moment. she needs to run FAR FAR AWAY !! this is a nikolai hate page

“You don’t have to say anything. But I’m going to say things. Because I want the illusion of a conversation right now.”

The line stays silent.

“Have you ever gone to America? I know Basira and Andre used to live there but I’ve realised I’ve never asked you.”

I think I hear her inhale sharply. I don’t hear her exhale.

“I don't really know anything about the country. Just that people find fresh starts there.” I pause and take a breath. My voice is quieter than I want it to be. “In theory, at least. I reckon they guess life stories just from the accents.”

There’s shuffling on the other end and the sound of a light switch.

“I think—”

“Phone calls cost more overseas.”

(chapter ??) PHONE CALLS COST MORE OVERSEAS 😭😭

“Do you even like him, Nadia?”

I think about it for a moment. Nikolai is loud, extroverted, and has too many friends for me to keep track of. He makes his parents pay for a school he doesn’t even attend and ignores their calls. His apartment is never quiet. His words are charming one minute and annoying the next. He’s the opposite of me and it doesn’t work between us. I don’t think like him at all.

“No,” I whisper. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Then why America?”

“England makes me nauseous.”

“It didn’t used to.”

“Well it does now.”

(Chapter ??) join me on the nikolai hate train please 🙏

Every step I take feels more and more freeing despite also making my chest tighten with fear. I’ve always wanted to run across rooftops. Edith would kill me if she knew I was doing this. I’d probably be convincing her to join me.

(chapter ??) tbh i don’t know how to feel about this but the “i’d probably be convincing her to join me” ??? i don’t remember writing that but i like it

that’s all, have a good day :3