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clangenrising · 6 months

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Month 8 - Leaffall

“I’ll need a few extra paws this week,” Sagetooth said, “to help gather herbs before Leafbare hits.”

Nightfrost nodded and made the mental note. “I’ll make sure to assign you some assistants. Any preference as to who?”

“Branchbark is always helpful,” grunted the healer. “Pantherhaze maybe, if he's feeling better. Not Ospreymask.” Nightfrost chuckled a little. She’d heard plenty of complaints from both Ospreymask and Sagetooth about how ill suited she was for herb gathering.

“Sounds good,” she said with a dip of her head. “Let me know if you need anything else alright?”

A raised voice cut through the air. “Nightfrost!” It was Branchbark. He’d been on border patrol, hadn’t he? The deputy turned to greet him, hoping he wasn’t bearing bad news. She did not expect him to have a stranger following close behind him.

“Yes?” she asked, stepping away from Sagetooth with one last respectful nod, “What is it?”

“This is Scrap,” said the young warrior as they met in the middle of camp. “She was waiting at the border looking for safe passage.” The cat behind him, Scrap apparently, had sunk into a crouch, ears pressed flat, and was staring fearfully up at her. She couldn’t have been much more than a year old. She was thin and scruffy, with one ear sliced off cleanly at the tip in an almost unnatural way. She smelled strongly of the thunderpath and fear. Nightfrost felt her stomach twist in pity at the sight of her.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Scrap,” she said in her most gentle tone. “I’m Nightfrost.”

Scrap pursed her lips at the sudden direct attention. “The pleasure is all mine, uh, Nightfrost,” she squeezed out, voice soft and unsure.

“Can we talk in private?” Branchbark whispered, leaning in to her. Nightfrost frowned. There was something in his eyes, in his tone, that said this was serious and it unsettled her.

“Of course,” she nodded, “Why don’t we speak in Goldenstar’s den. I think she’s there now.” She gestured with her tail and Branchbark nodded.

He turned to Scrap and said, “C’mon, this way.” She nodded hurriedly in response and slank after him.

“Who’s that?” Nightfrost heard Sparrowkit ask.

“I’m not sure,” replied Smokyrose. Nightfrost glanced in their direction and saw all three of the kits huddled in the nursery entrance, staring with wide eyes. Smokyrose behind them had a look on her face that struck Nightfrost as hopeful. She noted that Sagetooth was also watching the stranger with interest and even Pantherhaze and Songdust had come out of their dens to stare. Quickly, she hurried after Scrap and Branchbark, trying to shield the frightened cat from their eyes with her body.

“Hey, Goldenstar,” Branchbark said as they slipped inside the den, “You got a moment?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Goldenstar replied, sitting up from what looked like a nap. She sat up and gave a few quick licks to smooth out her rumpled cheek fur.

“This is Scrap,” he said, wrapping his tail over the stranger’s back protectively. Nightfrost tilted her head curiously as she came to sit on one side of the den near Goldenstar. “She’s from the city and she was hoping for protection.”

“O-only if that's alright,” Scrap spoke up, her ears pressed flat, her eyes wide. “I don’t want to impose on you.”

“Protection?” Goldenstar asked, brow furrowing worriedly. “From what?”

Scrap shuffled and glanced at Branchbark who gave her an encouraging nod. She swallowed and said, “I… I’m being hunted. By Razor.”

“Razor?” asked Nightfrost, ears perking forward at the strange name.

Scrap nodded. “Yes, Razor, the Chosen. He rules the city and he wants me dead.”

“Why?” Goldenstar asked before Nightfrost could.

Scrap shuffled and looked down at her paws. “My… My brother, Snip, he… He killed a housecat. Now Razor wants to make an example of us.” She sniffled, on the verge of tears. Branchbark pressed close against her side and while she stiffened at the touch, she didn’t pull away.

“A house cat?” Nightfrost frowned in confusion. She supposed a life was a life but it still struck her as strange that a city cat would react so harshly to the death of a kittypet.

“He wants to kill you because of your brother’s crime?” Goldenstar asked, also confused.

“Well, he already got Snip,” Scrap sniffled. “And his mate… and our sister, Switch.” Nightfrost’s stomach twisted in revulsion. This rogue seemed like a special kind of twisted. She thanked the stars cats like him ceased to be after their deaths. She dreaded the thought of a monster like that persisting in the Dark Forest.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Goldenstar said gently. “But I promise you, he won’t hurt you. Consider yourself under my protection.”

“Thank you,” Scrap began to sob, “Thank you, your excellence!” Goldenstar winced and Nightfrost grimaced similarly.

“That’s alright,” Goldenstar said with a bit of an awkward laugh. “You don’t have to use any fancy titles. Consider me a friend, not a ruler.”

“Oh,” sniffed Scrap, swiping a paw over one cheek. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t offend.”

“No, not at all,” said Goldenstar. “Branchbark, why don’t you help Scrap get something to eat and a nest in the warrior’s den?”

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, seeming hesitant. “But I think you ought to know… when we met her, Scorchplume insisted she go back to the City. She said she couldn’t be trusted and that dangerous cats would follow her but refused to explain other than that.” His tail twitched angrily. That news was… concerning. Nightfrost glanced at Goldenstar to try and gauge her reaction. She found Goldenstar scowling at the floor, eyes flickering slightly across the dirt, quietly trying to piece her thoughts together.

“Do you know Scorch?” Nightfrost probed, looking to Scrap, “the cat you met on the border.”

Scrap looked up, eyes wide again, and nodded. “Yes. Everyone knows Scorch. I don’t think she knows me though.”

“Everyone?” Goldenstar asked.

“Mhm,” said Scrap, sniffing back the last of her tears for now. “Razor has… a thing for her. If you want to stay on his good side you do what she says.” Goldenstar swallowed thickly.

Nightfrost could see a storm of emotions and thoughts behind her eyes and said, “Thank you. That’s all for now. If we have questions, I’ll come find you.” She looked to Branchbark and tried to impress to him with her eyes that she was taking this seriously. He didn’t seem satisfied but nodded and stood.

“Come on, Scrap, let’s get you a fat robin or something.”

Scrap nodded and gave a small bow to Goldenstar and Nightfrost. “Thank you again for your kindness. I owe you my life.” Nightfrost smiled, hoping it wasn’t too tight, and then the two spotted cats headed out of the den. Nightfrost let the silence hang for a long moment as she and Goldenstar both grappled with all of this new information.

It seemed Scorch had once sat at the right paw of this Razor cat. The thought made Nightfrost queasy, to be honest. It seemed Russetfrond had been more right than she had realized. She wondered just how much Scorch had been manipulating Razor, how much she had been manipulating Goldenstar, or Yarrowshade for that matter. She couldn’t help but feel like she had failed as a deputy. This sort of thing was her duty to see coming and avoid and she had done nothing, too insecure about overstepping to pay close attention.

“Well,” she said eventually, “that’s concerning. What should we do?”

“About what?” Goldenstar asked, tail bristling slightly. Nightfrost sighed through her nose. She could already tell the younger cat was going to get defensive and stubborn about this.

“About Scorch,” she said flatly. “We just learned she used to be close with the kind of cat who kills families for one cat’s mistake.”

“No,” Goldenstar retorted, “we know Razor had some sort of fascination with Scorchplume. That doesn’t mean she did anything wrong.”

“Goldenstar, please,” Nightfrost closed her eyes in frustration, “You heard Scrap. She said that if she wanted to keep Razor happy she did what Scorch said. That at the very least sounds like an abuse of power to me.”

“Maybe,” Goldenstar’s voice was tight for a moment and she swallowed thickly. “But I know Scorchplume. She’s scared too, just as scared as Scrap.”

“You don’t know that,” countered Nightfrost. “You know the Scorch that she wants you to, there’s no telling if she’s been pretending to be frightened because she knew you would be sympathetic to it.”

“Stop that,” Goldenstar stood. Nightfrost could tell that she barely restrained herself from baring her teeth. “We’re not doing anything until I hear Scorchplume’s side of things.”

“Alright,” Nightfrost relented, stepping towards the exit. “Just make sure that you’re not letting your feelings get the better of you.”

“Feelings?” Goldenstar balked aggressively. “What feelings?”

Nightfrost blinked in surprise. “Just… your feelings. In general.”

“Oh,” Goldenstar straightened her posture and gave her chest a few licks. “Right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s alright,” Nightfrost said, although she didn’t know if it was. “I’ll let you know when Scorch gets back to camp.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Dipping her head, Nightfrost slipped out of the den. Her mind was reeling. What had just happened?

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #warriors #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #nightfrost #branchbark #goldenstar #Razor #Scorchplume #Aldertail #clangenrising

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gale-dekarios · 3 months

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Bouncing Baby Bloodsucker

Astarion and Tav had no reason to suspect that the undead would be able to reproduce. Turns out they were wrong. They approach Shadowheart with one question on their minds: will a baby vampire kill a human parent?

Trans Male!Tav/Astarion whoopsy-daisy into becoming dads.

Rated: M

Read me on [AO3]

“Well yes,” Shadowheart snipped, “that’s usually what happens when you have unprotected sex.”

“Between the living, yes, but the undead shouldn’t be able to-- right?” Tav asked, pitching forward in his seat. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Astarion that his hands had been held loosely over his protruding stomach ever since he began to suspect that the morning sickness, skipped periods, and extra weight was more than a rough patch in his health.

Shadowheart folded her arms, raising a brow, “I’m hardly an expert. Why didn’t you go to a normal doctor?”

“What a good idea Shadowheart! I’m sure any local doctor will act completely reasonably when they find out that a foul creature of the night left a surprise vamplet inside him. Should we break out the good torches and pitchforks?”

Despite his shortness, Astarion’s knuckles were held tight against his sides, reaching a shade of white that was truly alarming given his natural paleness, and he was pretty sure he was shaking to boot. The guilt; -- at not knowing better, at not taking precautions, of putting a bloodsucking demon with an unknown depth of hunger into his beloved partner, endangering them from the inside in a way he couldn’t begin to help with, -- wracked through his body in fresh waves as his thoughts spiralled like a madman’s.

“Shadowheart,” Tav pleaded, grabbing one of her hands in his, “We need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

She sighed, face screwing in concentration. “Fine. Hold on.”

She rose from her chair, marching across the room to pull some writing paper and an ink pen out from an old drawer, the pen scratching against the page disturbing an otherwise silent room.

Tav gave Astarion a weak smile, who in turn couldn’t muster one of his own. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Astarion mouthed to him, but it only made Tav’s brow furrow. He reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling it out of its fist, rubbing his thumb across his aching knuckles as he held it gently in his palms. The kindness of the gesture had Astarion’s stomach in uncomfortable knots. He couldn’t have told you how many people he had had sex with over the centuries, but the idea that his biology had only chosen to kick in now felt like a cruel joke the world was playing on him. Or rather, he really, really hoped his biology had only chosen to kick in now. The alternative was too ghastly to imagine.

“Alright, hopefully we’ll hear back soon.” Shadowheart broke the silence. She held the paper in clasped hands and muttered a few arcane words over it, the letter bursting into blinding divine radiance before disappearing from sight. She sat back down, levelling Tav with a sympathetic stare. “Are you alright? You look sick.” (Astarion tensed.)

“I don’t know how I am, it’s just… all so much. I’ve barely slept since we realised that I might be-- I think I’m too exhausted for it to have truly sank in yet.”

“I should take you back home,” Astarion said, his voice cracking at the end.

“You’re also free to sleep here for a while, if you like.”

Tav nodded, pulling his hand away from Astarion’s, and with it the little reassurance he had. “Thank you Shadowheart, really. I know all of this really isn’t your thing.”

“No, it’s not, but your little interloping tadpole is hardly the first daunting task we’ve dealt with together. At least this one doesn’t make a meal of your brain.” The joke fell flat as the unspoken sentiment filled a glaring hole in the conversation. A meal of his brain, perhaps not, but a vampire foetus to a living father hardly spells good news. Shadowheart sighed to herself softly, “The bedsit is through there, make yourself at home.”

Tav nodded and stood, leaning down to kiss his partner's cheek gently, before leaving the room silently, their absence haunting the chair next to Astarion. He crossed his legs, hands buried deep into the crook of his elbows as he and Shadowheart began a staring competition.

Loathe as he was to, he broke first. “Well?” He said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Is he going to die?”

“We won’t know for certain until we hear back.” Shadowheart answered truthfully, “But it’s not looking good. He seems to have the markers of a regular pregnancy for now, but it’s likely because the thing doesn’t have teeth to bite yet.”

Astarion flinched. “We didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“But it did.” Shadowheart snapped, before tempering her rage, blowing a short breath out. “Listen, I don’t think you’d do anything to intentionally hurt him, not anymore. But the truth is that the living and the dead are incompatible. It just doesn’t work. The living are always going to end up dead, or the dead are destroyed so the living might continue.”

Astarion shook his head. “No, we’ve been through far too much now to just give up anytime there’s a bump in the road. We’ll figure this out and be more careful from now on.”

“Astarion.” Shadowheart warned. “Depending on what we hear back, there might not be a ‘from now on’, do you understand that? You spent so long luring people back for Cazador, why did it never occur to you that this could be possible?”

“Do you think I should have asked before or after torture sessions?” he snapped in return. “There was hardly a guidebook he handed out when he turned us, and the welcoming committee -- my darling siblings -- didn’t know any more than me either.”

Shadowheart straightened up, “Your siblings.”

“Yes, what about them?”

“You have six of them. And seven thousand more victims roaming the Underdark.”

“If they survived, yes.”

“Well surely you can’t be the first that this has happened to. If it’s true that Cazador never mentioned it was possible to you, they wouldn’t know either. Do you think you could find some of them? Ask around to see if anybody down there has had the same problem as you?”

Astarion’s brow creased in distaste. “Even if I could find some of them, for a lot of them I’m the last person they want to see, especially heralding a new breed of vampire.”

“This is hardly about you now is it?” Shadowheart shot back.

He grimaced. “Fine. I’ll travel to the Underdark at sundown tomorrow.”

“At this point it’s the least you could do.”

The room fell silent. Unable to retort, his wit replaced with worry, he stewed. Astarion knew he had done many terrible things in his life, and even more in his death, but he feared this might have been the worst.

A few hours passed of little note. Unmoving, his mind raced, and a cup of untouched water stood equally still on the table before him, the subject of his steady gaze. With his flawless skin and rigid posture, he could have passed for a statue. Shadowheart had left to do something earlier, Astarion wasn’t really listening, his ears roaring with stolen blood. And so he was alone. With the cup. Fuck.

It clatters against the wall violently and Astarion’s chest heaves with effort, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

A moment later, a sleep disturbed face peeks through the doorway.

“Astarion!” Tav gasped.

"I'm sorry, I woke you up. Gods. I just--" He struggled to find the words.

"Are you okay?"

“Am I okay? No, I'm not okay. I spent centuries being tortured by Cazador and the first good thing I have after getting out, of being free, I ruin it with this disgusting body of mine. I have countless victims, destroyed by this,” he spits, gesturing wildly at himself, “and yet I couldn’t be done, could I? I had to claim just one more. So no, Tav, I have to say, I am not fucking okay.”

Tav’s face paled as they swallowed visibly. “I’m not a prop."

“What?” Astarion asked incredulously.

“I said I’m not a prop, Astarion.” He put his hands on his hips, the way he did before he was about to make a point. “You didn’t do anything to me, we had sex together, and I’m not destroyed just because I have a piece of you inside of me. I don’t want you to think of me like that. I’m better than that. You’re better than that.” He gripped Astarion's forearms. “Do you understand? I don’t know what any of this means for me, for us, and I’m not going to lie to you, I am terrified. But I need you to be terrified with me, not terrified for me, and that requires us to be on the same page with this. We fucked up, we’re scared, and we’ll figure it out. Together. As equally responsible participants. Okay?”

“I just feel like I should have known.”

“As should I.”

His tears fell over. “I am scared.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know.”

“What now?”

“We wait for Shadowheart to get back to us with more information. We know nothing, we’re just guessing based on our worst fears. When we know, we’ll know.”

“That’s incredibly unhelpful.”

“... I know.”

“What if--”

The door creaked open and Shadowheart stood in the doorframe, surveying the scene with an icy stare, something rectangular in her hands.

“You washed my walls. How kind of you both.”

“Sorry, Shadowheart.” Tav said, letting his hands drop.

“Gale got back to us,” she waved the rectangle at them.

Astarion spluttered, “It was Gale you wrote to?!”

“Yes. If you want information, who better to ask than the former wizarding prodigy without a social life to speak of?”

“Oh Gods, everyone’s going to know,” Tav moaned, rubbing his brow.

“Gale doesn’t shut up when you get him going, but he does know I can hurt him very, very badly. Excellent motivator, don’t you think?”

“What did he say?” Astarion asked reluctantly.

“See for yourself.” She handed the rectangle to Tav, which he could now make out was a loose letter tied to a dusty mauve tome.

He took it, opening the letter with shaking hands. He felt Astarion immediately press against his back, reading over his shoulder.

This should do it Shadowheart, will write you properly soon.

Dearest Tav and Astarion --

I believe some congratulations are in order! It’s no easy task to prepare for a new member of the family, but even more so with the kind you have cooking away. Should you find yourselves in need of a break, please remember Uncle Gale in his Waterdeep tower.

The good news is that the children of vampires -- known as dhampirs -- can lead a perfectly normal life. They can sustain themselves both on blood and regular food, they possess strange talents such as walking across vertical surfaces, and their physical appearances are as varied as any humanoid race, although it is likely they’ll possess some vampiric qualities--, i.e, elongated canines, red, or glowing eyes, ashen skin, the like -- but hardly the monsters their vampire parents are portrayed to be -- no offence Astarion.

I’ve sent along a tome I possess on the matter, please do take good care of it. I’ve bookmarked the relevant pages. From what I’ve read, there is no cause for alarm, although the (fascinating!) gestation period may not be as expected dear friends, so please pay close attention to Chapter 18, section 3. The bad news is that there’s no training guide on how to look after these children. You have a big challenge ahead of you both! But I’m sure between the two of you, as wonderful as you are for each other, you will figure out, like any parents, how to move forward with your new little family unit.

Please visit sometime, it would be wonderful to see you both, and I am unfortunately currently unable to disrupt my teaching schedule to make the trip to Baldur’s Gate. Perhaps with a little one on the way, one of you will accept my offer to introduce you to that fine Waterhavdian jeweller that I’ve mentioned previously?

P.S. Gale makes a fine middle name, don’t you think?

Yours Faithfully,

Prof. Gale Dekarios

“Wait a moment,” Astarion said, “Does this mean--?”

Tav whipped around to face him, eyes wide, grasping the letter like a lifeline, “We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.”

“We’re okay!”

He launched at Astarion, arms curling around the back of his neck, and he caught his waist, hauling him up into a hug.

“I can’t believe it,” Tav gasped as Astarion let him down, still in a close embrace. “We--! Oh. We have a lot to talk about. Do we want a baby?”

Astarion spluttered. “I--”

“I mean, babies are big responsibilities. And we’re hardly the most stable people in the world.” He gripped his own head. “The amount of weapons we have at home. We’d need to babyproof the blades. Can you babyproof a mace?”

“We’d need to get jobs. Real jobs, I mean. We couldn’t be on the move all the time.”

“And the cost. Babies are expensive little creatures. And the time. They need so much attention.”

“Exactly. It’s a horrible idea.”

“Terrible. We wouldn’t be able to cope. We should definitely do the responsible thing here and get rid of them.”

“Right.”

“We’re in agreement. Take that for incompatible you horrible little cleric.” Astarion sneered.

“What?”

“I didn't have to help!”

The screams pierce the house, the walls shaking as two toddlers whirled around their legs like miniature steel watchers, destroying everything in their path.

“Aren’t they precious?” Petras cooed, looking after his blond-haired son who was currently smashing his tiny fists at the wall as he tried to remember how to walk up it.

“Our little darling, perhaps, but your little demon seems to have the brains of his father,” Astarion curled his lip.

As Astarion spoke, their daughter, a bright-eyed little girl, growing more beautiful with each passing day, shoved an ink pen up her nose. He shot her a withering glare, the toddler blissfully unaware of the social disaster she had just created for him. She was lucky he thought the world of her, or he might have pinned her to the ceiling, out of the way.

“Clearly,” Petras scoffed.

“Thanks again for your help Petras, we both appreciate it. We really have no idea what we’re doing here.” Tav spoke up.

Petras nodded, “It’s a bit macabre to put such a little one into a coffin, but it really is the best way to make sure they don’t start running across the ceilings at night, and our Eric had grown out of his months ago. Do you have that soothing salve recipe I gave you?”

“Yes! Thank you.”

“She’ll be getting her fangs in soon. They’ll push out the teeth that are already there and it’ll hurt, and not only that, but when they do grow in, they’re sharp, so you’ll need to get her some caps until you can teach her to keep them out of the way. It’s not pretty, but she’ll be okay.”

“Daddy!” a little voice yelled insistently, and three heads snapped round. Their little girl ran to Astarion, “Stuck.” She pointed to her nose, the black pen protruding from the nostril.

“Oh for the love of--” Astarion hooked under her arms to pull her up onto his hip. “Okay, let’s see. Tilt your head back. Okay. One, two, three.” He pulled the pen, grimacing at the disgusting thing -- and the pen was pretty gross too. “Don’t put anything up your nose. Please?”

“Down!” She demanded.

“Darling.”

“Dooooown!!!”

He let the wriggling toddler out of his arms, placing the pen gingerly off to the side as Petras suppressed a laugh.

“I must say, fatherhood suits you Astarion.”

“Shut up,” he growled.

“Anyway, I need to go, sunrise soon. We’re teaching Eric to be diurnal, but he still seems to prefer the night. I don’t mind it, means I can spend more time with him.”

“That we can agree on,” Astarion said. “I miss her during the day.”

Tav pulled his arm through his comfortingly. “I told you we’ll figure it out.”

“I know.”

“If you do find anything out about that cure thing, send word yeah? I know a couple hundred people that’d want to get their hands on that.”

“Naturally.”

“Right. Eric!” He called, and Eric’s small eyes went wide as he heard his dad speak the dreaded words, “Time to go.”

Blink. Blink. Havoc. Screaming. A sharp nip into the meat of Petras’s arm. (‘Where are your teething caps?!')

Finally, they were alone, standing in a loose embrace as they watched their daughter roam the living room with the rapt attention of a dedicated jungle explorer.

“Why did it have to be Petras?” Astarion moaned flatly.

“We should be grateful. He does all the hard work and we steal the results. Too bad he’s an idiot.”

Astarion snorts, pressing his cheek on top of Tav’s head.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #astarion #astarion/tav #trans male tav #pregnancy #my fic

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chronicallyonlinewriter · 5 days

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Sorry I know I'm predictable, but I would like "3.) Smut Smut Smut Smutty Smut Smut" Pretty please

OH WOW GO FIGURE 🤣

Tbh I couldn't even remember what it was until I clicked on it just now, haha. It's just a few scenes of cute smut between Joel and Benny that I never got to fit in anywhere. Have a snip:

It was only then that she caught his reflection in the mirror – and she paused, momentarily stunned. “I’m sorry – what are those?” She spun around immediately, her surprise morphing quickly into a wide-eyed grin.

Joel Miller, a man seasoned by the salt of a lifetime's worth of judgments, rarely tasted the tang of bashfulness. He'd spent his entire childhood being ridiculed by his peers for his threadbare clothes, his unruly hair, and the rust-bucket cars of his later youth – and his adulthood came with a whole different type of judgment, other adults (usually the parents of Sarah’s classmates, who were mostly older than he was) looking down their noses at his perpetual lack of everything (money, time, patience). And yet it rarely touched him, this prickling self-consciousness. But this was different somehow; his wife’s gaze, wide and shimmering with disbelief, suddenly a spotlight on something he didn’t know he was insecure about until this very moment. Heat crept up his neck, a brushfire warming his cheeks. He snapped the book shut, letting it fall flat in his lap.

“Don’t start,” he warned her, but his tone lacked bite. She edged closer to his side of the bed, one delicate hand tracing along the edge of the quilt.

“Don’t start what?” Her voice was practically bursting with glee. “Where did you get those?”

“Tommy gave ‘em to me.” He shifted uncomfortably against his pillow, his fingertips brushing the black frames of his reading glasses. “Saw me squintin’ at the patrol log today, figured I could use 'em. Look, I’ll just –” With a sigh, he reached to remove the glasses, but her hand darted out, landing on his wrist. She perched herself on the bed’s edge right next to him, the mattress, worn and welcoming, dipping gently beneath her thighs. “You don’t…have to,” she drawled, and she met the tired raise of his eyebrow with a widening grin. “Why don’t you keep them on?” "Keep them on for…how long, exactly?" he huffed. Her hand drifted away from his wrist, traveling down until it could slide along the top of the quilt, running along his thigh. A shiver ran down his spine, her nimble fingers edging closer –

"Until I say you can take them off," she answered simply, and then she moved quickly; almost before he could react she swung her legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his book, tossing it to the nightstand so she had more room to straddle him – which she did, enthusiastically, as he groaned in surprise, her fingers already winding around the back of his head and threading through his gray curls. “Don’t tell me this is what does it for you,” he scoffed. She moved her hips against him, pressing against the length growing into the front of his sweatpants, and he immediately groaned. His hands found purchase along her thighs, following her purposeful movements. “I look like an old man.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Miller,” she purred, her voice syrup-sweet, batting her eyelashes in a clumsy imitation of someone far younger and more doe-eyed than she actually was – a performance so exaggerated it felt like she was mocking the act of flirting itself. Joel snorted in amusement, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“No. We ain’t doin’ that,” he sighed, shaking his head. “S’weird.”

“I have an idea about some extra credit I can earn.”

“I got concerns about the teachers you grew up with.”

#these two idiots #Tl #tlou #the last of us #ao3 #fanfic #joel miller #benny cooper #joel miller / oc #joel miller x oc #ofc #fanfiction

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tumbleweedtech · 21 days

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WIP Game: Family don't end with blood 👀❤

oh dear. The one, the one of these that's dearest to my heart. Okay. Well, we're given so little about Soap. He has a cousin. That's it. So that cousin is now mine, I named him Robbie, he's adorable.

Well, mine, in that I coparent this entire mess of a soldier with @piranhaincaps who is absolutely responsible for at least half of all the headcanons surrounding him. And of course, in order to write Soap's cousin we had to roll it allll the way back to pre-enlistment Soap. So we looked at dates, ages, likely ages of peers and acknowledging that the 141 are likely more exceptional/promoted a bit earlier/faster than most. So we're in 2007? But I suspect most people would click for Johnny, not so much my OC, so. Little bit of baby Soap below the cut:

Note: Johnny is a foster kid who stumbled into finding a family who cares for him. This snip is the very beginning of that trust. Johnny's safe, but there's big feelings involved so he's gonna cry a little about it.

Unfortunately, while the piles of tinned meals was useful for a fast meal it meant that the garbage was piled quite high. Robbie had neglected to tell him the pickup day and Johnny had been awoken by the rumbling crash of the truck driving away. Well, fuck. Johnny stood on the pavement watching the truck slowly trundle down the road. “They come earlier every week.” A short woman with long, severely braided brown hair came to stand beside him, hands on her hips. He couldn’t help startling at her sudden appearance, looking down at her carefully assessing eyes. They were a deep blue, brow furrowed as she turned her attention from the departing truck to him. “Ye’ll be Robbie’s kin, then?” Johnny just nodded, swallowing heavily. She nodded, and waved at her bins. “Bring those up. I’ll put the kettle on.” She was tactile, and it burned every time she put a gentle hand on his, or patted his shoulder and she puttered around the small kitchen. He found himself with a cup of tea, the tin of ginger cookies left uncovered for his perusal as she chattered about her trip. It was hard to follow the names of people he’d never met, but she didn’t seem bothered. She slid a plate in front of him, “Have a piece, lad. Then tell me how you actually met my Bobby.” She didn’t ask for details he didn’t provide, she simply slid a few more cookies onto his empty plate. It was easier to talk when you weren’t watched, and she seemed to know that. He told her about sneaking onto the base, about getting caught. He told her about Robbie moving the car even though he had the keys. She laughed for a solid minute at that, patting him on the shoulder. It was, looking back, rather funny. “He wouldnae left ye, ye ken?” The impulse was there to agree, the placating nod and smile that settles adults into believing you were polite and good and malleable. Robbie picked him up now two weeks ago, and left him in his flat with more cash than Johnny had ever seen at once in his flat. Thankfully she didn’t seem to need an answer, just gave him a gentle tug on the shoulder. Johnny melted into her hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and hiding his face in the enormous sweater she wore. Her nails were gentle in how they scratched through his long hair as she wrapped her arms around his head, cradling him gently. It was dark and soft and warm, and he fought back the tears by wrapping his fingers in the soft, open pattern of the sweater. It worked, until she laid her cheek on the top of his head, quietly shushing him. He hadn’t told her about his grandfather. He hadn’t told her about the shuffle of houses, of his belongings in bags. He hadn’t said anything about waking up alone in the damp morning dew. How beautiful and horribly lonely it was, alone in the mist until the sun burned away the false isolation only to remind him that loneliness was real. It didn’t seem to matter, to her. She tangled her fingers through his hair, and let him cry himself hoarse.

#min talks #poor johnny #he's a sad baby #it gets better though

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princess-of-the-corner · 3 months

Note

Fic Snip - More Than You Can Chew

"I am not Roman Torchwick. I'm his identical twin brother, Ronald Torchwick. I've cut all ties with him," Roman stated confidently. Everyone mumbled to each other for a bit after that.

"B-but you look so much like him!" a woman yelled from the back.

"I did say identical right? He took my look so that I'd get framed instead of him! What a clever, intelligent, and handso— I mean, uh, bastard," he answered. It was quiet again for a long time.

"Are you sure you're not the man who robbed me and my wife a year and a half ago?" an older man asked. Glyda gave Roman a flat, unamused glare. He laughed and looked away.

"Almost positive," he answered, still not looking at Glynda. Her palm met her face shortly after.

"I trust him."

"Must be true!"

"Wow, crisis averted."

"He's much more handsome than his brother!"

Glynda's palm met her face a few more times.

Okay but you'd be surprised how well that would work on some people

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egipci · 5 months

Text

Bourbon Street Parade

They drove down to New Orleans looking to buy some hex bags from an old connection, but they were out of luck. A little girl, no older than eight years old, appeared in front of the door wearing green fairy wings, in her hand a magic wand with curly plastic ribbons coming out the end of it. She ran the ribbons through her fingers and looped them around and made a motion as if snipping them and craned her neck back and said Old Al was dead forever. Dad rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palm, his mouth down-turned, his jaw clenched. She stretched her arm out and pointed her wand towards the river. She said you better look for some other guy but watch out for all the phonies.

Thanks, Dean said, and held out his family-size bag of tootsie rolls. She shook her head. He wagged his eyebrows and rattled the bag like, you sure? This is the good stuff. Two for five at the gas station this morning but he was already down to a third of a bag and this made him feel very generous. Again she shook her head. He made a show of unwrapping a candy and throwing it into his mouth. She gave him a disgusted look and took off.

O-kay, he said. He scraped the taffy coating his teeth with a fingernail, struggled some to get out what was stuck between them while he thought carefully about touching Dad’s elbow or offering some other comfort. He swallowed, fake-chocolate taste thick at the back of his throat, and looked at his dad and Dad sighed and slapped his shoulder and said let’s go and started walking down Conti, leaving the car behind, always knowing what to do, walking fast like he did in huge strides that you had to jog a little to keep up with him for five, six blocks, past blow-up ghosts in front of homes covered in mesh cobwebs and kids inside them screaming, the street narrowing in, the sidewalks getting busier. Out of nowhere Dad crossed the street and there was a beep and Dean waved his hand at the guy behind the wheel and there were startled angry apologetic looks exchanged and Dean turned again looking for his father and caught sight of his turning left on Bourbon and called out after him and rounded the corner, his hand on his dead phone heavy and useless in his pocket, his eyes trained on Dad’s shoulders, so far behind him now and between them fat Batman in gray suit and hard plastic cowl, Michael Jackson who couldn’t moonwalk, Dolly Parton with foam tits and cowboy hat, chick waddling in mermaid tail, sexy nurse, squad of stormtroopers, preacher raging into a microphone, Ghostface, Black guy in a shoulder-length brown wig and beige-colored bathrobe, three little kids drumming on upside-down buckets, vampire with plastic fangs and red running down her chin and down her neck and her sternum artfully between her boobs, innumerable sweaty costumeless midwestern couples drinking liquor in plastic cups, murder victim with axe sticking out his head, scarecrow, Neo in leather duster, sorority girls in heels, fun-loving gay dudes, Pennywise and closely-related generic clown, a second and third Ghostface, beer sweetness in the air and gumbo and a big manly hand on his ass squeezing and Eagles cover band singing the full moon is calling the fever is high and the — corner of St. Ann where Dad turned right and disappeared into one of the courtyards or up into the rare green aurora flashing over the Mississippi a hundred yards away with its sewage smell, leaving Dean forever with his candy and choices to make like does he go back where he came from or does he walk miles up and down Decatur for the ghosts to watch and laugh from their balconies or does he ask for a phone to please call my dad and even worse than that the humiliation of asking where are you where should I meet you why would you leave like that should I go back to the car?

But then he heard the shouting. A large-sounding, murderous-sounding man was cursing insanely. His voice echoed and spilled out into the street. Dean pushed in a narrow metal gate that led into a poorly-lit path that led into a creole courtyard just as Dad turned the corner on his way out and said found you and just as Dad turned the corner Dean made some embarrassing girlish sound and threw himself back against the wall, gasping wildly, his heart rabbiting, hopped up on high-fructose corn syrup, threatening to bust out through his ribs. Pressed his hand to his chest to keep it in place. Whatever misery Dad saw on his face made him grin wide and sharp. Across from Dean he leaned against the wall. Only three feet between them now. But Dad tugged on his jacket, pulled him closer. Dean tripped over his feet, into Dad's chest, held on to Dad's arms for balance. Dad said, Here you go, laughing. He held a cloth pouch in his hand, tried to fit it in Dean’s right pocket but found it full of candy wrappers. He tsked as they fell soundlessly to the ground and said, gonna make yourself sick bud, slow and deep and pitying, teasing, hot in that eye-prickling way. He pulled Dean’s jacket open and left the pouch and its mysteries inside the inner pocket then his hand on Dean’s chest.

I was right behind you, Dean said, belly swirling with taffy and four whole months since he’d last had Dad’s hands on him.

I know, dude.

I found you.

I know, Dad said, huge careful hands cradling Dean’s skull. He said hey come here, and his hot open mouth was on Dean’s skin and his beard scratching and his teeth and he tilted Dean’s face up finally and then there was nothing for it. Dean closed his eyes.

#my fic #john/dean #ughh is it fixed now #who knows #trying to get back to at least one story a month so whatever #happy halloween #all treats no tricks over here

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shamera · 5 months

Text

NaNo day 14-15

...i got distracted last night and ended up reading manga instead, whoops. where am i going with this story? i feel like i need another idea to sustain my nano. just so i can work on something else when i get distracted, rather than staring blankly. then i can alternate or something.

anyway, here's wonderwall.

“No one helped you back?” Fang Duobing sounded heartbroken.

Li Lianhua reached to pat his hand. “I was ill, and an outsider. It was kind enough of them not to throw me out. For all they knew, my illness could be contagious. Besides, Hulijing helped me back.”

A touching story, for sure. Di Feisheng shifted his weight as he eyed the dog, and then asked, “I’ll believe half of that.”

It was too sweet a tale to be entirely true, and seeing Li Lianhua’s bitter smile as he told it, Di Feisheng would reckon that half was a lie to placate himself. He didn’t know what parts were true, but that wasn’t the point. It was whether this story could convince Li Lianhua in the future to trust his words, even if the story itself was a lie. So long as he recognised it as his own lie, then it was fine.

Fang Duobing, however, had a different reaction to that tale being exposed.

“What?” The young man asked, looking between the two of them. “What do you mean— what really happened?”

Li Lianhua reached to flick him on the side of the head lightly when he pushed into his personal space. “Exactly as I said. You don’t need to worry about it any further.”

To Di Feisheng, he said, “Tell me about what happens in the village.”

—

In the end, they write down a whole chart. Nonsense, most of it, but Li Lianhua looked satisfied nevertheless. Di Feisheng frowned as he realised how little he remembered from the first go at the day. There hadn’t been much that stood out to begin with for me, but with the repetition of days, there were details he couldn’t remember if it happened on the first iteration or on a repeat.

“If this is only happening to you, what did you do?” Fang Duobing asked, and while his words were rude, his tone was genuinely curious. “Touch something weird? Killed the wrong person?”

“I stayed standing when the two of you were knocked out.” Di Feisheng told him.

Fang Duobing flushed and puffed up. “I think Lao Di is lying.”

It was the truth, but with the look Li Lianhua was giving him, Di Feisheng dropped the topic.

“We’ll look once we get there.” Li Lianhua said, and the three prepared for a trip that this time they knew would end disastrously.

—

Having foreknowledge did not mean it went any better than usual.

—

The first family they met was deceivingly polite, and Li Lianhua clocked the drugged tea immediately with a smile, just as he had the very first time. With the added knowledge that the entire village was likely attempting to drug them for some reason, this time he subtly switched their drinks with the hosts’, and the three of them left after the family passed out atop their table.

“Did that happen before?” Fang Duobing asked as they made their way across the tiny and unassuming village with none the wiser. Di Feisheng was unsure how to answer.

The second family they spoke to was far more suspicious, quiet when asked about the missing travellers, cooperating only when Fang Duobing revealed himself to be a Baichuan Court detective. Di Feisheng did as he always did and stood menacingly to the side while the other two asked questions, keeping an eye on the two mischievous children who were whispering by the doorway. When the tea was poisoned once more, Li Lianhua merely gave a flat smile after snipping the liquid and this time set it down as if distracted by another thought.

When none of them drank the tea, the family changed their antics and claimed to need help with something, attempting to coax them toward the back of the house before Di Feisheng interfered and knocked the two parents out, seeing at the young children was now nowhere to be found.

“Did that happen the first time?” Fang Duobing demanded as they dragged the bodies to a more comfortable position.

“We can just head straight to the dungeon.” Di Feisheng suggested.

Li Lianhua shook his head as they closed the door to the knocked out people. “The point is to retrace your steps. We may have arrived because of the missing travellers, but… Whatever you saw, did, and where you went… did you follow them the first time?”

“No.” Di Feisheng confirmed. He grimaced at the thought of the third family. “...Fine, let’s get this over with.”

They didn’t have to go looking for the third family, as it was the third family that found them. Or rather, two of the five unmarried daughters of the third family who attempted to bodily collide with Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing respectively, and fell into a swoon on the ground even when their collision didn’t happen.

“Apologies, young masters,” the younger one, a dainty thing with such weak wrist bones that Di Feisheng doubted she could so much as lift a sword, called out as she clutched onto the fallen arm of her older sister, who had a sleeve raised to her face in faux distress. “A thousand apologies! My sister and I are in dire need of your help!”

For a moment, Fang Duobing looked like he would reach toward them to actually help despite the fact that Di Feisheng warned him in advance of this exact situation, but then he pulled back with a regretful expression as Li Lianhua kicked him in the leg.

If Di Feisheng could avoid this family, he would. In fact, he was tempted to do so despite the hard look Li Lianhua was throwing his way, already knowing what he was thinking.

“Of course we’ll help.” Li Lianhua told them, and the sisters tittered at each other as they stared up at him with large doe eyes. He gestured with a sleeve when they got up (unlike the first time when Fang Duobing had reached to help them up and received an ‘accidental’ cut across his arm). “Lead the way.”

—

The knockout incense Di Feisheng unapologetically swiped from Lotus Tower kicked in right after the ageing parents eagerly offered up their daughters to be wed to the prominent detective and his friends. Their choice of the lot! There were five of them to choose from, after all!

Fang Duobing had a white cloth to his face, wet to absorb the smoke before he could inhale too much of it. It didn’t hide his disturbed expression.

“They really did that.” He said, wide eyes turning to Di Feisheng. “But… that’s their daughters! They don’t even know us!”

Di Feisheng gruntled an acknowledgement, one hand holding his own wet cloth to his nose as the other started rummaging around the room, attempting to find the clues that had originally led them to the dungeon. Behind him, Li Lianhua was the only one without a cloth, carefully setting a few of the daughters who had fallen at awkward angles into a more comfortable position on the floor.

“Some families struggle to feed everyone,” Li Lianhua placated, which Di Feisheng thought was far too generous a statement considering the youngest daughter was perhaps ten years of age. And for the fact that there was something very wrong with the village, and the family was one of the ones attempting to poison them.

A thud toward the back of a drawer, and Di Feisheng pulled out an inscribed stone triumphantly. He shook the palm-sized stone up in the air to catch the attention of the others.

“Here,” he said, tossing the stone over to Fang Duobing, who caught it easily. “Skip the pleasantries. They offer their daughters, Li Lianhua claimed he already had a fiancee, they offer their daughters, and you tried to say the same but they didn’t believe you—”

“That is unfair.” Fang Duobing exclaimed. “He doesn’t have a fiancee.”

“And you do.” Li Lianhua nodded along, the amused smile barely hidden in time as he turned his head away from Fang Duobing’s accusing stare.

“And they didn’t offer you?” Fang Duobing asked Di Feisheng, tone accusing. Di Feisheng, on the other hand, just gave him a flat stare, attempting to convey that of course he was far too frightening for the couple to offer him one of their daughters in marriage.

(The truth was that he was uncomfortable thinking about just how close their eldest daughter sat the first time they were invited for tea, leaning into his space to whisper her opinions and senseless words to him while inching her way closer to Di Feisheng by the moment until she was practically on his lap and he had to physically shove her off, which was what started the skirmish in the first place. Then one of the daughters tried to stab them with a poisoned knife, and Li Lianhua knocked her out.)

“We ask around the village,” Di Feisheng continued his summary. “Eventually find a cavern by the well that leads to the dungeon. Congratulations, we’ve saved an entire sichen of search time.”

“We should be doing the search.” Li Lianhua reminded him. Fang Duobing was squinting at the inscriptions on the stone, holding up and tilting his head as if the changed perspective would make sense of what was written on it.

“There were a lot of trees.” Di Feisheng said. “Grass. Dirt. We encountered few people, and none came close to us. No strange smells, no strange sounds.”

Li Lianhua gave him a flat look. “You’re risking missing pivotal information nevertheless.”

“If that happens, I’ll go back again.” Di Feisheng said.

Li Lianhua narrowed his eyes. “You’re assuming there’s an ‘again’. And if there is a limited amount of repeats for you to find the cause of the situation?”

“Then there are a limited amount of repeats, and I live past them. And we solve what happened here tomorrow. Or leave.”

“Then why bother with this?” Fang Duobing interjected when it looked like Li Lianhua was too irritated by those words to respond. “If you’re repeating today, but you seem to be okay with it… you’re not worried about things going wrong, and you’re not worried about this not ending, it seems…”

Di Feisheng didn’t understand it fully himself. While curious and mildly inconvenienced by the repeating days, he had also been relieved and used the time to spend his days… exploring. He had the time to search for the Styx flower now, and there were no worries clear in the future with the repeats. Some days he woke and trained, other days he woke and allowed the repetition of conversations wash over him like rereading a worn book. Other days, like the previous iteration of ‘today’, he did something new.

Perhaps it was because his training would amount to nothing when the day restarted.

“So I can answer your questions when I do live past this day.” Di Feisheng answered them. He turned and shut the drawer he had taken the stone from, uncertain why it would rather not face their stares at this moment. “Whatever is causing this may be useful.”

He didn’t know why he felt like a liar.

—

The dungeon underneath the cave was filled with the same curious trinkets, the same cells, the same gaping entrance that he thought couldn’t possibly trap them with how wide it was. There were the same cobwebs and the same torches, the same mismatched tiles interlaced on the ground and the same stifling air that made it almost hard to breathe.

Fang Duobing picked up the same broken bronze plate, frowned, and tossed it the same place as the first time he did that. Li Lianhua leaned in with his torch to examine the same unreadable inscription on the wall.

“Superstition and folklore,” Li Lianhua concluded after a thorough examination of the pictures and words, torch flickering as he brought it around. Di Feisheng stayed near the entrance, arms crossed as he leaned his shoulder against the wall. “Warnings to not venture out late at night in fear of vengeful ghosts, and goddesses that demand sacrifice.”

“Sounds more like demons,” Fang Duobing said.

“Perhaps it was.” Li Lianhua made a considering noise before turning his torchlight toward Di Feisheng. “Was there anything in here you touched? Disturbed? Knocked over, perhaps?”

“I let the two of you handle this place.” Di Feisheng told him. He didn’t remember actually examining anything in particular, only the violence that came after.

“A-Fei,” Li Lianhua said with a sigh, “you are no help at all.”

“Hey,” Fang Duobing’s voice called to them from across the dungeon toward the back of one of the cells. “I think I found something.”

They made their way over to him, where Fang Duobing was holding a red lacquer box the size of a pillow, worn and dusty but otherwise in good enough condition it didn’t fit in the setting of the dungeon. He brushed the dust from the box, frowning as he turned it one way and another. There must have once been vivid paints along the grain of the box, but now it had faded into something that only hinted at its once brilliance.

“It looks old,” Fang Duobing remarked, “but recently handled. Look here—”

He was correct in that there were areas on the box more worn than others, the colours fading into pale wood through the lacquer, like fingerprints where it was held over and over again. The layer of grime was higher in those areas, but the dust entirely gone. Along the crease between the opening of the box, there was a scent of metallic bitterness. Fang Duobing attempted to open the box, but it didn’t budge.

Li Lianhua lowered his torch to get a better look, even as Fang Duobing raised the box, searching for another method of opening it.

Di Feisheng didn’t recall seeing it before. He frowned, crowding in close.

“Got it!” Fang Duobing said triumphantly as he touched a mechanism mostly hidden along the bottom of the box, hearing a click as a latch gave way and he fingered the seam once more.

“Wait—” Li Lianhua started, and Di Feisheng smelt the metal and sulphur a moment before he saw the glint of fire in the corner of the room, grabbing each of them with a hand to drag them backward only for the tiny flint of light in the corner catch ablaze within a split moment to become a roaring blaze, the walls of the cell coated with something that whited his vision immediately.

—

Di Feisheng woke up in Lotus Tower, entire body tense with the aftershock of fire running along his nerves, and breathed through lungs that felt seared from a nightmare.

For the first time since the repeats, he grit his teeth and had to swallow down failure.

#NaNoWriMo #mlc nano 2023 #am doing this early for tonight because i STRUGGLED #i did not like the idea that i had to include plot in this story #i was not prepared to plot this story #what if i wrote fang xiaobao getting video game isekai'ed instead #one of the video game store rewards: cure to all poisons #it costs like a ridiculous amount of points but he's gunna get it

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the-starryknight · 2 months

Note

For the word excerpt game…ocean, leaves, whisper ❤️

darling it is so nice to see you around here <3 thank you for taking the time to come into my inbox! i've found you a snip that has both ocean and leaves. I kept (and keep) coming back to a theme of lovers meeting in dreams (perhaps because of my own fraught relationship with the dream world). This snippet is from a make-up/break-up fic in which Harry and Draco met in dreams... until Harry stopped coming. It's got some themes of Draco/Theo too, certainly inspired by nice things. Looking back at it, I found myself sinking into the melancholy of it again and wondering what it would look like if I revisited & finished this story now.

“Draco,” a voice called, carried and distorted through the wind. Draco did not turn to see who it was, instead drawing his thin coat closer around his shoulders. Though he was waiting for a companion to arrive, he knew this voice was not him.

His name was called again, and Draco kicked the little pebble out from underfoot. A great wave crashed with a thunderous noise and the sound of the tiny rock plunking into the surf was lost.

There was a gentle brush at his shoulder, only barely more firm than the kiss of a strong gust of wind across his cheek. Draco glared at the disappearing horizon and a single wisp of a cloud that moved quickly across the sky, not daring to block out the full moon.

“Draco,” the voice said again, and the hand shook his shoulder.

He opened his eyes to the pale walls of his bedroom, Theo leaning over him with a worried expression. The little flat felt too-bright even in the late night dimness, the street lights below ruining his night vision the second he looked up at Theo.

“What,” he snapped, no inflection, blinking through the sleep clouding his mind. Through the window, he could see the shape of the crescent moon, taunting him.

Theo sat down on the corner of his bed and Draco, grumbling, moved over to make room for him. He took Draco’s hand, pulling it into his lap, and began to run his fingers over Draco’s hand, pressing on the tips of his fingers and his palm and running his thumb along the spot where Draco’s wrist met the heel of his hand.

“You were having a nightmare,” Theo said quietly, looking down at his work on Draco’s palm.

“You didn’t have to wake up,” Draco grumbled, though his expression had softened considerably at the feeling of Theo’s hand on his.

Theo gave him a gentle smile, shaking his head. Draco’s eyes had begun to adjust to the light, and he could make out the twist of blankets at the bottom of the bed, where they always ended up on the Bad Nights.

“I’m fine now,” Draco pulled his hand out of Theo’s careful grasp, and ran it through his hair, wrinkling his nose at the feeling of sweat at the roots. He would need a shower before he could sleep again, that much was obvious. “I was managing it.”

“Managing it?” Theo asked. He pulled a glass of water off the nightstand, pushing it into Draco’s hands. The sight of the water made Draco realize how dry his mouth was and he took it, rolling his eyes, and sipped at it.

“You know,” he shrugged, eyes darting away. “Managing it.”

Theo brushed a hand over Draco’s shoulder, the one nearest to him on the bed, rubbing in careful concentric circles. One half of Draco thrilled at the quiet touch, focusing his overactive heart on the motion, breathing it in like it could tether him down. The other half spluttered angrily and wanted to tear away and snap at Theo; how dare he treat Draco like he was breakable. Draco was the rock by the sea, weathering crashing wave after crashing wave.

“With your mind palace,” Theo said, offering it somewhere between a statement and a question.

Draco grumbled in response, looking at the clear water in the glass as it rippled, reflecting the moonlight. “It’s not a palace,” he muttered. “It’s a --”

“Carefully constructed meditation technique,” Theo interrupted, an irresistible smile at the corner of his lips.

#starry writes

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what-a-weird-rose · 7 months

Text

WolfStar: The Things I Say (Only with You)

Pairing: Remus Lupin / Sirius Black

Rating: E

Prompt: Daddy

Word Count: 3.8

Sirius can feel the tension in his hair and the day’s stress move in waves through his body, riding high after the utterly terrible day he’d experienced. From waking up late to detention in the dungeons to turning in a late, half-finished Transfiguration essay directly to McGonagall- his day had gone opposite how he’d have wished it.

Despite dreading how the universe would screw him further, Sirius soldiered into the Gryffindor common room, then into the dorm, hoping James, Peter, or Remus would cheer him up.

Much to his dismay, he was utterly alone as he entered the room.

Sirius groans loudly and without care for who might be able to hear him as he slams the door shut behind him. As if his day couldn’t get worse, he laments; they’re probably off pranking without him, the twats. Of course, it was doubtful, but Sirius often couldn’t help himself but imagine how much better off the others would be without him dragging them down. He hates it, loathes the way his mother remains with him even so far away- she sewed herself into the fabric of his scars, embedding herself innately into his worst parts that she’s there even at his best. Sirius tries, he really does, to separate himself from her in his mind, as Effie had told him time and time to do, because he is not her, except- he sounds like her when he screams manically. And he rages like her, tearing down everything in his path without care for consequences. And he loves like her, taking and taking and taking with no regard to giving back, or, even worse when he tries to give love back, it comes out twisted and mangled.

Walburga had left scars in the fiber of his soul; she’d left trauma so deep within him that he found new things to fear and hate and learned about himself almost daily.

He was lucky for James, Sirius decides as he lays flat on Peter’s bed, lucky for all of them. But James in particular- he loved Peter and Remus, but they had their reasons for being unable to take him in from Grimmauld. James had no obstacles and no reservations.

It’s on days like these that Sirius reminisces on the bad and less bad of his life; on days that good is so obviously wrong, he enjoys comparing how bad it could’ve been, despite Effie telling him it’s unhealthy.

The door opens with a creak, but Sirius finds himself too caught up in his mind to give much attention to whoever has newly entered.

“You do realize that isn’t your bed, right?” He hears Remus muse from behind him, and Sirius considers flipping over to stare at him. He doesn’t.

“It would’ve been mine if you had participated in the vote,” Sirius had long let go of his resentment at losing the first-year democratic debate 2:1. He’d wanted the bed closest to the door for flopping purposes and had called it first. Still, James and Peter had ganged up on him, claiming it for Peter under “medical reasons.” Of course, when Sirius had called Remus in for backup, Remus had replied with a curt piss-off before stuffing his bag under his bed in the far corner, slipping past the curtains, and not reemerging until the following day. “I will never forgive you for that.”

“Of course not, how could you? I was completely in the wrong and betrayed you in the worst sense of the word,” Remus snips back, without heat.

It had taken Sirius a long time to figure out Remus; primarily as Remus had actively worked against Sirius, James, and Peter’s attempt to befriend him. For the first two years of knowing him, Sirius lived on the edge, constantly afraid of the quick-tongue and cutting words Remus was prone to send to those who crossed him. It wasn’t until mid-second-year -right before he had put the full moons and Remus’ disappearances together- that Sirius had realized that Remus meant very little of the snark he gave to his dorm-mates. Subsequently, Sirius discovered that it was mainly used to cover his hurt. After that full moon in March, Sirius decided he and Remus would be best friends, stemming from their use of meanness and cruel humor to hide their shame and hurt.

“You know, Moony, I always get what I want,” Sirius says nonchalantly, but he certainly can feel in the air as Remus shifts. Sirius curses internally. It would be absolutely true if he could go back in time; he could get whatever he wanted if he could stop his fifth year-self.

The end of their fifth year was a blur for all the wrong reasons. The beginning was fine- fantastic, actually. Sirius and Remus had a budding romance, a will-they-won’t-they situation straight out of one of Mary’s romance novels. Then, Sirius had to open his big, fat mouth on that godforsaken January moon. He’d thought it would be funny, a good scare for Snape, and a hearty laugh for him and his friends. But everything went wrong -or exactly how it was meant to- and Sirius didn’t see the fatal flaw in his plan. There was no hearty laughter; instead, he was all but exiled from the dorm -he could never, and would never, blame James and Peter for siding solely and entirely with Remus- and isolated from the other Gryffindors in his year. Though they didn’t know the whole story, Mary, Lily,and Marlene needed little in the way of motivation to cut Sirius off, especially as it became clear that he’d done something terrible to Remus, which he had.

The Prank had not only managed to fuck up Sirius and Remus’ relationship to the very core, but it also had fucked Remus up to his very core. The experience had shaken him so thoroughly that he had gone non-verbal for two months following and refused to speak to Sirius until the beginning of their sixth year, relying on short notes when absolutely necessary.

Despite all the terrible his mistake had caused, Sirius was sure the worst outcome was the inherent fracture between him and Remus. Remus had forgiven him -thank Merlin for that- but he had said, point blank, that he would never forget it, even if he wanted to. And, perhaps the most heart wrenching thing was when Remus had whispered to Sirius that he would likely never be able to trust him so innately again. Hearing it- thinking about it, made Sirius want to cry.

“I love you, Moony, you know that, right?” Sirius whispers into Peter’s pillowcase, hoping Remus both can and cannot hear him.

“I know, Padfoot. I love you, too,” Sirius sighs, not unhappily. He listens as Remus shifts again, climbing into his bed, likely for a quick nap through the break period. Sirius wishes they could say it as something different than how he says it to James and Peter. Because that is what they are; they aren’t just brothers, nor are they just friends. Sirius is confident that he would never look at James, or Merlin forbid Regulus the way he looks at Remus. And he knows that no one feels the deep-seeded love and lust, need and want for someone who is only a friend.

Sirius rolls over, staring at the stickers and photos Peter has stuck to the ceiling of his bed frame.

“Moony, Moony- come look at these, Pete’s got one of his girlfriend,” Sirius calls, and ignores how childish he sounds.

“Piss off, Padfoot, I’m sleeping,” Remus replies, clearly not asleep.

“Awe, c’mon Moony-pie, don’t you want to see Peter smooch his girlfriend- Destiny? Daisy? Something like that.”

“Actually, Sirius, I shockingly don’t want to see that even slightly,” Remus grumbles, but Sirius could hear the amusement in his voice from the other end of the castle.

Sirius sits up quickly, snatching the photo of Peter and the girlfriend whose name Sirius cannot be bothered to remember, before swinging his legs over the bed and sidling up to where Remus is lying with his arm over his eyes. “Don’t you want to see Peter’s impressive charm work? He finally figured out how to keep them moving.”

Remus snorts, moving his arm and opening his eyes to stare into Sirius. He shifts slightly, opening a space so Sirius can lay next to him; Sirius moves faster than light.

Remus is deliciously warm against Sirius’ always-cold skin. Their arms lay next to each other, and Sirius can feel Remus’ warmth seep into him like fire. Sirius holds the photo up so they both can admire the mastery of Peter’s shabby charmwork.

“He’s getting better.” Remus comments, though he sounds distant.

“That he is,” Sirius replies airily, mostly because he can feel Remus staring at him from where they lay.

“Sirius,” Remus whispers and Sirius can feel the shudder that racks through every inch of his body. He hums quietly, “I want to, but if I do, I can’t turn back. If you say no, change your mind, or someone walks in-, we can’t take it back, I can’t take it back.” Remus doesn’t quite sound panicked so much as he sounds resigned, like no matter the reservations, he intends to do whatever it is anyway.

Sirius turns his head to gaze into Remus’ eyes, cloudy as ever, full of emotion that Sirius has never been able to pinpoint. “You won’t know until you try, Lupin.”

Remus raises the arm closest to Sirius, and for a brief second, Sirius fears he will be hit; instead, Remus lays his hand on Sirius’ right cheek, stroking gently.

“Tell me no right now, please. Don’t let me get the wrong idea. Please, Sirius, let me back out now.”

“I want this as much as you do.”

“That’s what I feared.”

And suddenly, Remus is atop him, straddling his waist, grasping at his cheeks, neck, and shoulders- anywhere and everywhere are Remus’ hands, traveling faster, heavier, and hotter than they should be allowed. Remus’ mouth is hot and wet on his own, clamping together. Their teeth clash, yet it’s far from the way Sirius’ teeth used to hit those of the girls he used to kiss. The way Remus positions himself seems almost purposeful. Remus’ hands land separately on Sirius’ body; one sits solidly on his left cheek, and the other sits smugly on Sirius’ stomach, holding him down.

Remus is rough in ways he’s never experienced before. Sure, some of the girls and boys he’d mess around with got bratty and wanted him to make them submit, but he’d never experienced being under someone like this. He was uneasy for about half a second before Remus ground his hips into Sirius. All his hesitation was suddenly vanishing, along with his self-control.

Sirius whined, long and loud, circling his hips in what he hoped was an enticing display of his want.

Remus chuckled, rubbing a long finger along Sirius’ cheekbone before humping once against Sirius’ fully clothed crotch.

“Please,” Sirius cried, and he wanted to feel shame for a moment, yet found he couldn’t entirely focus long enough for it.

“You beg so pretty, baby,” Remus whispers, moving down to kiss and suck and bite at Sirius’ neck, “tell me what you want, lovely, tell me all your fantasies.”

Sirius grunts, trying again to lift his hips up in some mindless attempt at direct friction against his cock.

“Clothes, please, Remus, please-” Sirius gasps as Remus leans down to press his face against Sirius’ crotch, placing soft kisses against his pants where his erection makes its presence known. “Merlin, fuck me, please Daddy, need you.”

Remus halts suddenly, and Sirius knows he’s fucked it all up again.

He’d heard his casual fucks say it before, and he’d never really thought much of it- if it gets you off, it gets you off. But for him to say it to Remus of all people?

“What did you call me?”

“’m sorry, Remus, I didn’t mean-”

Remus shifts, pressing his hard-on directly against Sirius’ crotch, slowly rubbing them together through their pants.

“What did you call me, Sirius?” Remus says again, evenly, as he presses himself into Sirius.

“Daddy,” Sirius whispers, though it comes out in more of a moan than he means.

Remus starts, roughly slapping both hands against Sirius’ thighs, “That’s the only name you ought to call me until after I’m done with you, yes?” Remus doesn’t wait for an answer, instead deciding to begin unbuttoning Sirius’ pants.

“Yes, Daddy,” Sirius replies, knowing it is obsolete.

Remus smirks, grasping Sirius’ pants and boxers and yanking them down. Sirius had hoped that there might be some resistance with his ass. Still, with how fast Remus had pulled -alongside the slight sting he felt there- he supposed resistance was relative.

Then, Sirius considers asking if he can have his shirt taken off as well before deciding the view of Remus stripping his shirt, pants, and underwear is far more critical. Remus catches him, though he says nothing, moving the hand that isn’t helping in removing his boxer to Sirius’ aching cock.

Remus’ hand works skillfully at quickly bringing Sirius to complete hardness in record time. Then, by the time Remus is entirely naked, Sirius is questioning whether or not he’s going to cum before Remus gets to do whatever he’s planning.

Sirius takes a shaky breath, suppressing the animalistic urge to hump into Remus’ hand and release. Then, he resists the urge to fuck up into Remus’ hand to see what will happen- he loses that battle almost instantly.

His hips lift twice before Remus jerks his hand away to grab Sirius’ ankles and bend him almost entirely in half. He whines again, although he feels more smug about the whole thing this time.

Remus moves his hands so one is positioned well enough to grasp Sirius’ ankles at once while the other moves down to land a vicious smack straight onto Sirius’ ass.

“Did I tell you you could fuck my hand?” Sirius shakes his head, swallowing the groan accompanying Remus’ cock aligning perfectly with Sirius’ ass crack. “Did you ask Daddy if you could fuck his hand?” Remus asks, and Sirius shakes his head again as Remus shifts the hand holding his ankle to be his arm, acting as a bar. “So, tell Daddy why you thought you were allowed to fuck his hand,” and suddenly Remus’ hand was resting on Sirius’ throat, and the world collapsed around them.

“I dunno,” Sirius replied dumbly, a mixture of truly not knowing why he did it and feeling so out of his element that his brain seemed to shut down. Remus stops.

“Sirius,” he says, but it lacks the wildness- the sexiness of Daddy Remus that Sirius was enjoying so thoroughly, “Are you alright?”

Oh.

“What?” Sirius asks, feeling suddenly very, very exposed. Why did everything stop so suddenly? Was Remus done? Did he get bored of Sirius that fast? But wait, he asked-

“Sirius, are you alright?” Remus reiterates, grabbing Sirius’ ankles and laying them back on the bed. He grabs his blanket -an old, ratty thing Sirius had once mocked before being informed Remus’ mum had made it for him- and covers Sirius up from his mid-stomach to his toes. “You looked really out of it- I’ve never seen anyone look like that. I was worried you were, well- I thought I might have triggered something, what with the throat thing.”

Oh.

Sirius lays very still for a second, his head spinning faster than ever before. None of this has ever happened before- not in a negative way, not at all, just never before. He swings Remus’ blanket off of himself, shoving it back into the corner so he won’t have to think about Hope Lupin while he fucks her son, and makes a beeline straight to Remus’ mouth.

They kiss harder than before, likely because Sirius is a hundred times hornier now than when they first started.

His skin feels like embers, and Remus pours whiskey onto growing flames as he drags Sirius’ shirt up and over his head.

“I want you so bad,” Sirius starts, and he wonders if he’s babbling before deciding he doesn’t care if Remus can understand him or not. “Daddy, please. Please, Daddy, take me. Fuck me raw, Daddy.” On and on and on as Remus lays him back down on the bed and pulls his legs back up. Sirius finds he quite likes the position, especially as Remus moves his hand to rest on Sirius’ throat.

He groans deep and gutturally and realizes he has never made a noise like that.

“Hold your legs up, baby,” Remus whispers, pulling his arm back from Sirius’ ankles, “you let them go and we’ll have problems.”

Sirius’ hands move of their own accord, grasping quickly at the flesh of his calves, holding his legs where they are despite the slight burn that resonates in his muscles.

Remus runs his free hand along the shaft of Sirius’ cock, lifting it up and off his stomach. Sirius can see the moment Remus realizes how awkward it would be to try to suck Sirius’ cock, and he really, really wants to laugh, but he swallows it down. Instead of sucking him off, Remus shimmies himself closer to Sirius’ crotch. He wraps his hand around both their weeping cocks, gripping tightly.

Sirius throws his head back, ignoring every sense that tells him to fuck into Remus’ hand again.

“Tell me how you’re feeling, baby,” Remus says, twisting his hand so one of his rings runs right under Sirius’ tip. He shudders, “how does my cock feel against yours? How does my hand feel, jerking you off?” Remus emphasizes his point by tugging slightly at Sirius’ dick, rubbing their tips together, despite knowing Sirius has many choice words about how he feels about the situation.

“So good, Daddy,” Sirius starts. However, it’s a shabby description of the wreckage Remus is leaving him in, “treat me so good, never want you to stop.” He babbles a bit after, and Sirius knows he must sound like a drunk toddler, but Remus doesn’t seem to mind.

“Tell me what else you want Daddy to do ‘so good’ to you,” Remus drops both their cocks suddenly, leaving Sirius to slap against his stomach angrily.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” Sirius moves his ass as much as he can given his position, “fuck me good and raw, split me down the middle.”

Remus grunts and Sirius counts it as a point to get Remus to lose control and take Sirius however he pleases.

Remus nods once before sticking a finger into Sirius’ mouth, shoving it a bit down his throat -Sirius is sure Remus felt something with his hand on Sirius’ throat- pulling said finger out and shoving it into Sirius’ ass at light speed.

Sirius had said he wanted to be fucked raw. Still, he supposes this isn’t too bad, especially once Remus seemingly gets bored of one finger, considers two, and then decides he doesn’t care about stretching him out, lazily using a lubrication charm.

Remus’ cock feels way better than it should have any business feeling. It pushes against Sirius’ walls, demanding attention in a way that Sirius cannot, or will not, ignore. For a moment, he considers how glad he is not to be a virgin, and also for having told Remus this some time ago- mainly for Remus not worrying about stretching.

Remus moves slowly, although Sirius is convinced he is already plowing into him. He sinks in completely eventually, bottoming out as Sirius decides that he’s dead and this is heaven.

“Still good, baby?” Remus asks, rubbing his thumb along the column of Sirius’ throat.

“So good, daddy.” Sirius supplies, lolling his head back as Remus begins slowly thrusting in and out, over and over and over and over again. Sirius listens to the smacking of Remus’ balls against his ass, to the sounds that escape his mouth, and to the sounds of Remus grunting as he ruts deep into Sirius.

There is a moment right before Remus finds Sirius’ prostate that Sirius wonders if he actually fell asleep in Peter’s bed and was now dreaming of being fucked good, deep, and slow by Remus Lupin; then Remus finds his prostate.

Sirius has screamed for several reasons throughout his life: to mock his mother, angrily at Regulus or James, and at girls who flirt with Remus -despite them not officially being together. Through all of his experiences of screaming, Sirius has never, in his entire life, screamed like that, or for such a reason as Remus’ cock pressing right into that beautiful bundle of nerves deep in his ass, before now.

As soon as Sirius finds himself back on planet Earth, he immediately finds himself spent, cum spilled all over his stomach. Additionally, Sirius finds Remus viciously and aggressively fucking into Sirius -slamming into his prostate repeatedly- as he mumbles to himself, chasing his high.

Sirius watches for a second, mesmerized, before realizing that Remus is staring directly back at him. Suddenly, Sirius is snapping into action, releasing his legs to free his hands -holding his legs back with the power of spite- and racing to grasp Remus’ face, pulling him as close as possible.

“Cum in me Daddy,” Sirius begins with, and he relishes in the way Remus shudders at the name, “fill me full of your cum, Daddy, want you dripping from me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius keeps one hand firmly in Remus’ hair, perfect for pulling him into hot kisses and pulling him away so he can hear Sirius’ pleas of desperation; the other hand Sirius uses to force Remus into putting actual pressure on his throat. It is heavenly, in a demented, deranged way -Bellatrix would be proud.

Remus finally moans, and it’s low and breathy and beautiful. It escapes out of him right before he slams into Sirius one last time- groaning for a long, long minute as his cum fills Sirius’ ass.

Despite this, Remus thrusts twice more, pushing his seed back into Sirius with vigor and muscle memory. Remus looks lost for a moment, as if so far removed from reality that he is unaware he’s still fucking into Sirius’ very exhausted hole -not that Sirius was going to do anything to stop him.

After a moment, Remus seems to finally come to his senses, pulling his cock out in one fluid motion- though he stops for a second to watch the cum leak from Sirius’ ass.

Then, Remus flops next to Sirius, taking a hand to playfully shove the other’s leg back down to the bed.

“Want to shower-”

“’Ello gent- holy shit!”

#tales from the hogwarts broom closests #(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black

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countrymusiclover · 2 years

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9 - Dancing Date Gone Bad

Part 10

Her Life Means Everything

@mrs-fanfiction-2001 @the-big-bad-klaus

Caroline insisted we go clothes shopping like normal teenagers who don't have to deal with the supernatural world for a change. She hands me a short red dress that is sleeveless with some flats since she knows I can't stand wearing heels. Pulling the curtain opened she grinned as I gave her a small twirl suddenly hearing a voice enter the room. "That's looks perfect for a night of dancing darling." Whipping my head around to the front desk of the store I spotted Kol leaning in the doorway with a cocky smile on his face.

"Seriously can't you Mikaelson take a hint and give me and my sister one day of peace." My twin spat throwing hee hands up in the air frustrated.

Kol slowly walked forward until he was standing directly in front of my sister. "Relex Caroline. I'm not here to cause trouble. I simply wish to take your sister out for a night of dancing. Isn't that right, Maddie?"

"He's right Care..." I replied when they both stared back at me knowing the bond never lied to me.

She throws her head back grabbing my arm pulling me into a dressing room even though he could hear what we were saying. "Mads, I don't like this one bit. The Mikaelson are all crazy in their own way. They're dangerous...I will hurt anyone that tries to hurt my little sister."

"Care, you have to trust me on this. Ever since I got this bond they haven't hurt me." Taking her hands in mine I slump my shoulders knowing she just wanted to protect me.

She wrapped her arms around me in a hug and I hugged her back then opening the door seeing Kol now sitting on one of the chairs waiting with a slight smirk on his face. "Don't worry darling. I wouldn't wish to kill your sister because then it would kill my family so she'll be safe." He extended his hand where I slowly placed my hand in his letting him lead me outside the shop then down some streets until we reached a bar making me pull back but he opened the door for me. "I compelled the owner. He believes your 21 dear. Nothing to worry about."

Kol opened his hands with a smile once we're standing in the middle of a crowd of dancing people. Putting my hands in his he moves my left to his shoulder with his other hand on my waist. Our freehands intertwined together with the two of us swaying to the music in silence until I broke it feeling my heart skip a beat. "I guess it pays off to be around for a thousand years because all you Mikaelson's can dance pretty well."

"Maddie, you need to know that Niklaus wasn't the only one to flip his switch and go without humanity for a few years. I was a maniact but now I'll try to do better just so you know." He explained twirling me underneath his arm making me smile with my hair flying everywhere.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind resting his chin on my shoulder. "If you're thinking about compelling me my sister makes me take vervain so you're out of luck. So no drinking my blood either." I snipped looking into his eyes softly.

"Quick on your feet and beautiful. You're after my heart Maddie Forbes." He smiled separating from my hold tilting his head towards the bar. "Care for a drink?"

"Virgin please." I called out to him watching him walk away until someone was standing behind me so I turned around. "Who are you, sir?" A black guy stands neat me with a small beard who walks up to me offering his hand.

"My names Conor and I just wanted to make sure he wasn't bothering you." He spoke noticing that I still didn't shake his hand. "Even though...he's a vampire."

Knitting my brows together I felt a chill run down my spine since he's a complete stranger but knows about Kol. I started to take a step backwards away from him but he grabbed my wrist holding me tightly then pulling out a needle shoving it into my neck. My eyes fell closed and I collapsed into his arms hearing the glasses drop on the ground that Kol was holding with the stranger taking me outside through a back door.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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oddballwriter · 7 months

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Dwelling in the Night, Part Four: Just Know I'm Not the Sinister Type

Series Masterlist

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Summary: Life, and un-life, goes on. Stevan and you get closer, despite your better judgment, and actually reach the level of friends. It's actually quite nice when you don't think about everything that might come when time keeps going on, leaving only one of you untouched. Meanwhile, an eventful night of hunting happens for you. One with what you thought was a close call that involved you not killing someone tonight out of sympathy. But unfortunately, for you, you don't have as keen of eyes as you think you do.

Warnings: Reader is a vampire, so there's the usual vampire stuff like drinking blood and biting. Reader gets a little bit edgy and emo, not going to lie to you, because I gave them some backstory to their vampirism. Reader actually attacks someone, but doesn't kill them. It's revealed that reader can to mind control and memory altering as a vampire power however, it is used on someone else. So if you have issues with mind control stuff be aware of that. Cliffhanger ending.

Author’s Snip: Vampire Y/N lover come and get your juice. *places a blood bag on the table* Wow! I'm actually doing something that advances the plot instead of whatever part 3 was. But yeah. We may be having plots merging 👀.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 1974

It had been a while since the meat incident. About a month or two. The boys, although a bit creeped out by the idea of some stranger breaking into their place and just eating the raw meat in their fridge, seemed to let it go.

You also let it slip by, opting to pretend to yourself that you never did that in the first place. Both too ashamed about it, even though you weren't actually caught, and also because of the fact that Moon Knight technically broke into your place through your open window making you think that he saw you crawl in through Steven's window and back.

To you, what Steven didn't know wouldn't hurt him. It was only one time and it was out of desperation to satisfy the hunger that exists inside you before it took its hold of you and you made an even bigger mess of things.

Over these past few months, you and Steven grew closer. You would actually spend time in each other's flats from time to time. In his, you would spend time talking about various things like some literature since he had an abundance of books, but one thing you loved was when he'd tell you everything there is to know about Egypt and all of its history and mythos. It was amusing to you, hearing him ramble on and on about... well... everything. It's not like you knew anything about the place. You may be old but you aren't ancient Egypt old so hearing all of this from one person was nice. But then again maybe it was because Steven was the only thing close to a friend you have here, other than Moon Knight when you bump into him in the alleys.

Steven liked your flat too, surprisingly. So far you had spun the story that you were a person who liked to collect vintage things and also had a small interest in the macabre, as a means to explain the coffin you had 'as a coffee table'.

In truth, your coffin coffee table that you 'got from a funeral home somewhere' was actually yours and you were meant to be sealed in it, in your original home. But you came back just before they could nail it shut back in your family mausoleum. Your collection of vintage was always yours and has never once been in a thrift or antique store. Some were things from when you were alive. Most others were things you collected through the years afterward. The bed frame and mattress, plates, cups, utensils, and other normal things that you've never actually used but bought so that in case someone comes to your flat they wouldn't find it odd and start to question things, which might lead to your discovery.

Steven didn't need to know that though. Instead, he just oggled at them all and occasionally asked about a few things. There was one item that he just had to ask about though.

"Who's this?" he questioned, pointing at a photo. It was of you back when you were alive. It was old, barely still together, and in grainy black and white with the tint of age changing the white. You went for the easy answer, "It's a great relative all the way back in the day.".

"They look an awful lot like you, don't they?" Steven comments with a little smile. "Yeah. I get that a lot." you respond, "It happens. Sometimes decedents look a lot like the older generations." you comment, to which Steven nods, taking the lie.

But you can only lie so much.

"What exactly brings you here? If you don't mind me asking." Steven questions.

I was starting to be found out and the hunters showed up trying to hunt me, so I needed to flee.

"I just wanted to move somewhere new. Get a fresh start." you simply answered.

"Do you have family here?" is what Steven asks next.

It wouldn't really matter. The family tree's grown on without you. Any family you used to have are all dead now, leaving descendants that either remember you as a dearly departed that was taken too soon or have never even heard of you.

"No." you answer simply, again.

Steven gives you a sympathetic glance at that answer. "That's a bit lonely, isn't it? Being here all by yourself." Steven comments.

"I have you." is what you say, not thinking before saying it. Steven blushes a bit at the answer with a shocked look crossing is soft eyes for a moment before smiling. "Well, I'm glad that I can be someone to keep you company." he says.

"Yeah," you mutter smiling back. But there's a little bit of pain plucking at your heartstrings deep down.

You've never really had a friend before, at least not after you came back from the dead. You had a few when living. You had a lot of things that you couldn't come back for after returning. Your way of 'life' was now just staying out of sight or under the radar. Taking what you could and fleeing when you were caught. Learning how to control any weird powers and abilities you gained all by yourself.

You made acquaintance over these years in the few places you've been, but you never really made bonds since it was a matter of time till you needed to leave again. That, and also to save the sight of watching time take its course on them while you stayed frozen and outside of its reach like always.

In all honesty, you tried to push Steven away or keep him at the same distance as you did everyone else, but somehow he just managed to squeeze right in by being your kindly, and dorky, neighbor. You tried to shake off the feeling of dread for the day you may need to leave or see time reach him too. For now, he's just Steven.

🩸🩸🩸

Another night of hunting and another night of putting on the clothes that helped you blend in with the shadows of the alleys that you stalked. Sure it was dirty to kill off criminals but it had its benefits to society if you looked at it from a certain angle, and also because bloody banks are more of a hassle than this.

You locked on a target. A mugger that's been making the rounds around this alley path that some would use as a shortcut to get places quicker. But during the night it was dangerous. It had a lot of pockets from the old infrastructure that criminals could hide in waiting to ponce on someone passing by. But that could also spin their own doom when it came to you hunting them. This guy was using the technique too. Using a spot made for dumping trash and scraps for the collectors in the morning. It was big enough for the both of you.

He didn't see you in the shadows, watching him and his movements from your spot. You both listened for the sound of anyone coming, both waiting for the moment to strike. You hear heels clacking on the stone floor, coming closer, and it seems like he hears them too as he settles himself into place. You don't feel like witnessing a poor woman be ambushed and so you go for the shot anyway. You already know what he's planning on doing so might as well do it like he still did it.

You grab the back of his shirt and pull him towards you. But he instinctively elbows you causing you to bite his arm instead of his neck. He recoils, you lunge, and you both scuffle down onto the ground. He's actually pretty strong, but you've wrestled with some criminals before and at some point they end up losing.

But in the scuffle, he grabs something from the ground close to the wall and hits you across the face with it. And it hurts. It burns. You coil back and hold your face, emit something between a scream, growl, and hiss. A noise that you don't make too often. You feel bits of wood and splinters on the stinging skin. He's hit you with a piece of spare plywood that was left to be collected.

Great. Out of all of the things he could have hit you with, it's the one thing that actually hurts.

You come back to your senses when you see him try to run. But you can't let him go. He's most likely seen your face since you don't wear a mask, if he gets away he can identify you to someone, and that spells out trouble for you. Even if it seems a bit twisted, you can't let that happen, no matter the cost. So you get up and give chase.

The mugger runs in the direction of more alleys instead of the streets in a desperate means to just get away from you and not thinking properly out of fear. This place would be a maze to him, but not to you. You can smell the blood from your bite on his arm, drawing a straightforward path right to him. You hear him calling out for help as he runs. You can tell he's scared, it makes you feel guilty for what you'd need to do when you caught him but it was the only way in your eyes.

Or was there.

Right.

You have some of his blood, you have a little influence over him. If you could just catch up with him, you could maybe keep him from identifying you to the police or someone without killing him.

You manage to find him and now tail him. You want to catch up to him but he's at a distance advantage and you're close to the end of the alleyways, he could make it out before you get to him. It's now or never.

You focus on his blood in your mouth and shout "Stop!" at him, and he does. You want to sign in relief but you could lose your already weak hold. You quickly walk towards him and face him, looking him in the eyes. He looks panicked by the fact that he can't move anything. You ignore it and focus again as you look deep into his eyes, then feel the connection be made for your influence.

You even out your voice, "You don't remember my face." you say.

"You don't remember being chased by anyone." you add.

It always feels a bit jarring when the people you do this with just calm down and enter in the trance-like state they get into when you do this. His eyes and muscles relax entirely, he even drops the plywood he's still holding that you didn't notice before.

"You were... just taking the shortcut through the alley. You don't remember getting bitten by anyone or anything either." you add on as a means to cover up any tracks that would be left in his memory.

You keep the connection as you back away into the shadows, being concealed again and unseen by him and anyone else, and then cut it loose.

The man snaps out of it, looking around confused, most likely confused how he got here and then being shocked at the injury on his arm. He holds the wound as he walks away and out of the alley.

You relax, having managed to nail the mercy even though you had so little to use. "Holy shit." you mutter as you slip down a hatch to the city sewers below to head home.

🩸

"Holy shit..." an unseen man mutters to himself processing the scene he just saw right before him.

And here he thought that his jokes about you were just jokes to mess with the others.

#moon knight #moonknight #moonknight x reader #moon knight x reader #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #vampire reader #vampire au #vampire!reader #dwelling in the night

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drylan · 1 year

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Hair cut

Before and actually during summer, Dylan cut his own hair. He just didn't like how hairdressers did it or paying for it and had been cutting it since he was 13. A buzz here or there and a clip of scissors and he was good to go.

Except he needed two hands to do that. And now he only had one. And his hair was almost to his shoulders and getting greasy and difficult to maintain while still trying to get used to only one hand. And he hated it.

So, he stood awkwardly in the bedroom doorway in nothing but a pair of briefs with a pair of scissors in his hand, looking over at Ryan who was deep into drawing on his tablet.

Dylan almost hid back in the bathroom, but Ryan noticed at the last moment, giving Dylan a little smile. "Hey, babe...you okay?"

"I, uh...um, I can't...c-cut my hair. Anymore." Dylan admitted quietly, trying to playfully snip the scissors on nothing, but it felt flat.

"Oh. Oh!" Ryan put his tablet aside and joined Dylan at the bedroom doorway, taking the scissors from his hands. "Want me to help cut it? I, uh, have a little cousin on my dad's side that's got hair like yours. Only if you want me to, though."

"Yeah. Y-Yeah, that would be good. I trust you." Dylan said softly and Ryan gave him a quick kiss, before taking his hand and guiding him back to the bathroom.

Ryan gently massaged shampoo and conditioner through Dylan's wavy hair, with warm water. He scratched at his scalp, giving a pleasant massage that he couldn't help but moan out as Ryan did.

"That feel good?" Ryan chuckled.

"Oh, soooo good..." Dylan sighed out, shameless in his pleasure in relaxation.

Then, Ryan had him sit down as he patiently combed through his hair, beginning to trim it meticulously. By the time he was done, Dylan's held felt lighter in more ways than one, and found it exceedingly easy to be led back to their bedroom and bed, curling into Ryan's side for a good night's sleep.

#my stuff #fanfic #ficlet #the quarry #ryan erzahler #dylan lenivy #drylan #rylan #radioheads

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silvermistanimelover · 2 years

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He basically becomes her parent in everything but blood and when the chain is talking asking about his Zelda he tells them she's his daughter

They're staring at him and asking "Aren't you 17,"

And he's just like "No???"

I'm definitely going to juice the immortality for angst until the end of my days. Thinking about having him trapped for 100 years instead of dead and in the shrine.

I feel like he'd act more like a soldier, but just become the Ultimate Mom Friend. He'd 100% team up with Hyrule to make sure people aren't hiding injuries.

This ended up being longer than I thought I would be, sorry

So... you wanted a little snip? Wrote this up in about half an hour so sorry about the quality. It’s a tad rushed, but I had fun with it. :)

Wild grinned when he saw the Sheikah Towers in the distance. “Guys, this is my Hyrule.”

“Really?” Sky’s eyes lit up with intrigue. None of them had been to Wild’s Hyrule before. Considering the fact that their resident feral child had been literally dropped on top of them in the middle of a battle, it was no wonder they were intrigued.

Wild smirked. “Yeah. Come on, we’re close to Hateno.”

“You know...” Twilight hummed as they walked through the woods. “You told us about the Calamity and everything, but I’ve never heard you talk about your Zelda... Flora was it?”

“Yeah.” If possible, Wild’s grin widened. “She’s incredible! She held back Ganon all by herself for a hundred years, you know?” He gazed at the clouds as he remembered those hundred years where his spirit was forced to wander without a body. A century of being trapped as nothing more than a ghost, unable to reach out to those who needed him... It was honestly a massive relief when the Shrine finished healing his body. Scarred though it was, he would be eternally grateful. “I used to be her knight, before the kingdom fell.”

“W-wait... she’s over a hundred years old?!” Warriors balked, missing a step and nearly falling flat on his face. Legend chuckled in amusement.

“Well, we don’t actually count that since she wasn’t really awake. Her powers put her in a dormant state while she trapped the Calamity—it’s why she never aged. She’s still only seventeen.”

“So.” Warriors smirked. “You seem awfully proud of Flora. Do you like her?”

Wild blinked at Warriors uncomprehendingly for a moment. “Of course I like her.” He stated slowly. “She’s my daughter.”

The entire chain froze in their tracks, staring at Wild like he’d suddenly grown a tail and proclaimed himself Ganon’s son. “You... your daughter.” Time affirmed.

“Yeah. Obviously she’s not my biological daughter, but she was so frightened after she realized how long it’d been...” Wild ran a hand through his hair, idly straightening his ponytail while he was at it. Just because he wasn’t a knight anymore didn’t mean he couldn’t still look presentable.

“But... you’re the same age as her, right?” Wind frowned. “Aren’t you also seventeen?”

Wild snorted, amused at the thought. “I appreciate the compliment, but no. I’m a hundred and seventeen. I was sort of stuck as a ghost for a bit, but I assure you I’m far older than you.”

“Wait, you’re older than Time?!” Wind blurted out in shock.

“I mean, it does make sense.” Hyrule shrugged, recalling how Wild always helped point out when someone was hiding injuries. “I’ve always pegged you as the ‘mom friend’ of the group.”

Wild hummed as the group started moving again. “I suppose I do give off that vibe at times.”

“So you went from knight to mom.” Legend gave Wild a deadpanned look. “How the hell did that happen?”

Wild tilted his head as he thought. “I just sort of... did.” He decided. “After defeating the Calamity, I helped her adjust. Since I own a house in Hateno, I let her move in with me, and started teaching her stuff that she’d need to know in this new world. How to hunt, how to camp, how to fight... Before we knew it, we’d just slipped into the roles. She’d never really had a father, and I obviously never had a kid.” He smirked lightly as he recalled a specific memory. “There was this one time when I was showing her how to gut a fish and cook it that she reflexively called me ‘dad’. I’ve never seen her face turn so red before, but I told her it was fine to think of me that way, and it’s just stuck.”

The group was still absorbing how strange the situation was as they crossed the threshold into Hateno. Wild’s eyes roamed the people that went about their day, nodding his hello to each person who greeted him.

“Dad!” A cry came from the bridge to their right as a blur of gold and blue slammed into their resident archer.

Wild laughed as he wrapped his arms around her, spinning her about. When the movement stopped, the Chain could finally get their first look at Flora—Wild’s daughter.

“Dad, where’ve you been!? You just dropped off the map for three months!” Flora buried her face into his tunic, and Wild held her a tad closer.

“I’m sorry, my little flower.” He whispered softly. He could feel the wet spot growing on his shoulder from her tears. “Hylia decided I needed to go on another journey. Don’t cry, I’m still here.” He gently wiped away her tears as she pulled away, getting a look at his traveling companions for the first time.

“Oh... who are you?” She blinked owlishly, subconsciously straightening her outfit as she observed them.

Wild hid a smirk. “Zel... let me introduce you to the Heroes of Old.” Her eyes widened as he spoke.

“W-wait. You don’t mean to tell me...”

“That’s the Hero of Time, Hero of Twilight—”

“Link, you—?!” Zelda whipped around. “You’ve been traveling through time?!”

“And dimensions. Don’t worry, I have plenty of pictures and research notes for you.” He assured her.

Wild nearly fell over when she tackled him in another hug. “Best. Dad. Ever.”

#I couldn't resist #Dad Wild is the best #It's short #sorry about that #Snippet #breath of the wild #linked universe

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