#[Story Time] - Drabble

[infamous-if]

Spicy Snippet #1: Orion

As a thank you for 6k, I will write a variation of romantic/suggestive stuff for the ROs. I don't usually write in those contexts because I like sticking to canon in order not to spoil it when the the time comes in-story, but I think we are overdue for some! Starting with Orion!

"This is inappropriate."

Even though the words are said through a throaty hum you can feel against your lips, you don't stop nipping at Orion's throat. He sits with one arm propped, the other on your back as you straddle him on the edge of the bed. Orion, with all of his complaints, is hilariously compliant. He moves his head to give you more space for his neck, shuddering when your biting turns to salacious swipes of your tongue.

"Should I stop?" you ask through your kisses, your words muffled. The question has Orion's arm gliding over you to hold you tighter, the answer loud and clear.

"Are you trying to give me a hickey?" he asks. His voice trails off when you lick just the right spot, making a small squeak of a whimper leave his lips. You've learned that Orion is a vocal participant, his breathy reactions only encouraging you further. "You know..." His throat bobs when he swallows. "Cameras." He can't even form a coherent sentence, which is the most satisfying part. "I will be on my best behavior."

"I doubt that—" In one swift move, Orion grabs you and rolls you over until he's hovering over you. You're breathless from both surprise and excitement. He has you pinned with his hands on either side of your face, and his cheeks are flushed.

"Can you imagine?" He says, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, featherlight. It makes your body shudder. "Us doing this in a room of executives?" He brushes his nose against yours with endless delicacy, teasing you. So close and yet not quite there. "Forced to watch?" His mouth goes to the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing your skin until you're swallowing. "Think of the scandal."

Another thing about Orion Quinn? He's a cheeky bastard.

You can hardly breathe, especially not when Orion sits up, towering over you as he begins unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes stay on you, his fingers deft and skilled, your gazes never breaking.

"You—" You swallow, propping yourself up on your elbows. "You would faint if that were to happen."

A low laugh escapes him, but his gaze turns hungry, heated at the thought. Almost as if fainting isn't what he would do at all. "You're right. HR would have me ruined."

"You are HR!" You lift your hand to put it on the last button that remains, fully intending to unbutton it for him. Orion puts his own hand over yours, directing it over the buckle of his belt. Your mouth waters. You know exactly what he wants, and he's not shy about telling you. "Knowing you," you swallow, using two fingers to remove the loop of the belt from the buckle, "you would punish yourself." "Saying that in this context is quite suggestive." He grins, taking the belt off and tossing it aside. Your fingers get to work on the button of his slacks.

"I'm being completely serious." You bite your lip, your body heating when he grabs your hand and plants a chaste, loving kiss to the inside of your palm, removing his pants with his other hand. "Get your mind out of the gutter, horndog."

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all.

He proceeds to bend down, nuzzling his nose into your neck until you're letting out a surprised laugh, failing to swat him away when he continues to tickle you. Eventually, he stops. And then Orion Quinn begins doing something else that has you forgetting exactly what you two were even talking about. Doesn't matter.

#drabble #short story #orion quinn #its adult time kiddies #6k drabble

[cuubism]

I’m BEGGING for more “retired!Dream opens up a weird magic fey bookshop” au. Its so intriguing!

you are in luck. i wrote more

--

"So," Hob says, leaning in the doorway of Dream's study-of-sorts, "much as I love the recommendations, do you mind if I browse?"

He's taken, recently, to meeting Dream on the upper floor of the shop, bringing coffee and watching Dream label and sort his new books in incomprehensible categories. He usually gets some interesting book facts out of it, too, or strange little stories -- "this book washed up on the Sardinian shore some years ago", "this was signed by a long-dead author, I've been curious to see how long it will take for a collector to find it," "an old man bestowed this upon me on the eve of his death, it's the only copy in existence" and so on -- not to mention the pleasure of Dream's company. He is so odd, and so engaging.

Dream looks up at him now with a tiny smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. "Of course. Find whatever you wish."

Hob has been wondering if Dream's serendipitous knack with books will extend to browsing, to random finds. Only one way to know.

He leaves Dream to his labeling and goes to wander the shop.

This time, he does get swallowed in Oneiromancy, where he finds Sleeping Worlds, a book about dream travel. Then he wanders deeper into the shop, passes categories like, "Cat Training," CLOCKS, "Mathematics: Easy -> Impossible", and, "♾". Of course he goes into Infinity, and picks up The Birth of Numbers, a book whose text starts in the center of the page and spirals outwards, font growing larger as the book goes on, and in another section called "Romance: DIFFICULT LEVEL" -- whatever the hell difficult means -- he picks up a tiny book that's just one line, one syllable on each page.

I

on

ly

want

ed

you

to

see.

God, Dream's shop is weird.

Dream finds him there some time later, deep in Sleeping Worlds. "I see you've had a productive day."

"Yeah, sorry, lost track of time."

Dream keeps looking at him with a little smirk.

Worry darts through Hob's stomach. "Wait, what time is it?"

"Midnight," says Dream, with satisfaction. "I've absorbed you."

Yeah, no kidding. Hob scrambles to his feet. "Jesus, Dream, sorry. I'll get out of your hair."

"No matter. This is what The Library is for."

Hob goes to hand him the books, and he waves a hand. "Keep them, I will get them back eventually."

Ominous. Great.

"Gonna break into my house and retrieve them?" Hob asks. He probably wouldn't even mind, to be honest.

"Nothing so alarming." He gestures Hob forward, and Hob follows, lets Dream walk him out.

It is, indeed, pitch dark outside on their shared street. Hob's supposed to open the cafe at 6. Whoops.

"Thanks for the books, Dream," he says. "And for. Ten hours of distraction, apparently."

Dream leans in the narrow doorway of his shop. "Of course. Come browse... anytime."

And he melts back into the shadows as Hob steps down onto the street.

--

Hob wonders if he's an idiot for wanting to ask Dream out. Dream is clearly some kind of other thing, and hanging around him did kind of get Hob cursed. But the way he bites his lip when he's making notes in books is so cute. His unerring ability to make perfect book selections is both strange and endearing -- even the books Hob had picked up on his own had been exactly what he hadn't known he was looking for. Hob's heart picks up every time he steps into the cafe.

But if he's to ask out Dream, his own personal weird bookshop creature, he has to do it right.

And he knows how.

The next time Dream comes in for coffee, Hob sits down across from him and hands him a book. Dream looks at it in surprise, and Hob has the sudden thought that as the all-powerful selector of tomes, he probably isn't gifted books himself.

The book is called, Broken Hands. Hob had pulled it off his own shelf. Dream doesn't ask him what it is, instead he flips open the cover and reads, as Hob had hoped he would.

The first page of Broken Hands has the following paragraph:

Kissing her hand, he came to know himself. Kissing her mouth, he came to know them both. When they went onward, for now only in his mind, he kissed more of her, and more, and more, and then, he knew her. He wanted to know her.

Dream reads it, and looks back up at him. Offers a tiny smile. Yes, Hob knew he would get it.

"You have something you would like to ask me, Hob Gadling?" he says softly.

"You have something you want to answer?"

Dream takes a long sip of his coffee, but looks at Hob over the rim of the mug, a smile in his eyes. Then he swipes away the milk foam from his upper lip with his tongue and says, "I'd say that you are very foolish, to still wish to associate with someone who did, in a sense, get you cursed. But that I find myself grateful for this foolishness. People do often come back to the library, once they find it-- but they don't often come back for me."

It makes Hob sad to imagine--Dream the perennial custodian of The Library, shepherd of its patrons, gifting small touches of coincidence and magic, but always in the background, a bridge and not a destination. Meanwhile, Hob likes the strange books, but it's Dream he keeps wanting to hover around, to lure back into his own space.

He dares to take Dream's hand and squeezes. "...So?"

"I'd say that I'd like to get coffee with you, if you know a place."

Cheeky thing. "Yeah, there's a Starbucks a couple blocks down," Hob says, gesturing, and Dream chuckles. Hob's still holding his hand, and brings it to his lips for a light kiss, and gets to watch as Dream's cheeks tint pink. His heart lifts in his chest. So easy and light.

"You're gorgeous," he says, and that blush deepens. "I'd suffer even Starbucks for you."

"You would suffer much, then," says Dream.

"We'll get our Starbucks and wander around WHSmith and have a fabulous date," Hob says, and Dream's face goes through the most exquisite journey of horror.

"You demand too much," he says, faint. "You enjoy my suffering."

"Little bit, yeah." Hob's certainly enjoying the reaction.

Then Dream looks at him in challenge. "Very well," he declares. "You've set the date. Now you must follow through."

Hob can't even spare a thought to the distasteful activities he's now gotten himself into--he has a date with Dream. "So that's a yes?"

Dream smiles again, a tiny, pleased thing. "It is a yes, Hob Gadling."

--

They do go to Starbucks. Hob is treated to the glorious sight of Dream sipping a pink drink out of a long straw, which is so worth dealing with the coffee. Then he indeed drags Dream to WHSmith, where Dream stands in the middle of the brightly-lit store, spins in a circle staring at carefully lined book displays with wide eyes, says, "Hell would be more merciful," and bolts away. Hob follows him, laughing.

Outside, he finds Dream leaning in the shade of a tree, looking vaguely shell-shocked. Hob really shouldn't keep laughing at him, but he can't help it. "Were you traumatized permanently by the big chain store?"

"Yes," says Dream, but, despite the perilous adventure, smiles. "You are a cruel man, Hob Gadling."

"Nah. Just harnessed the fluorescent lighting to chase you back into the safety of my arms."

"Oh?" Dream pushes off the tree and steps closer, until he's standing just before Hob, close enough to touch. "Was that the goal?"

Hob takes the leap that's offered and touches Dream's cheek with a light hand. "Did it work?"

This close, in the midday light, Dream's eyes are almost grey. The shade of the tree dapples his skin. It's still odd to see him out of the contained space of his bookshop, of Hob's cafe, but it does make this feel more real. A part of the world beyond the spun-sugar story of their orbiting binary stars.

Dream rests a feather light hand on Hob's chest. Studies Hob from under his eyelashes. And instead of answering, he leans up and, with that same light touch, presses his lips to Hob's.

Hob revels in the mere touch of him for a moment, but doesn't let it stand at light for long. He takes Dream's face between his hands and deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue into Dream's mouth, swallowing Dream's hum of pleasure. If only he could put into the kiss what he had felt when Dream had handed him Nightingales. A sudden finding of something long lost that was always meant to be rooted in his heart.

When they part, he makes good on a promise and does pull Dream into his arms. It feels like a great indulgence. It also feels right.

"Make me a solemn promise, Hob Gadling," Dream says against Hob's cheek, arms wrapped around his back.

"Anything."

"Never take me here ever again."

Hob laughs into his hair, squeezing him tight. "What could one possibly want from here when The Library exists?"

This seems to greatly gratify Dream, who preens in Hob's arms. Hob kisses the shell of his ear, then his cheek, then they part again, and he takes Dream's hand. "I'm glad you expanded your horizons with me for a day."

"And now I will shrink them again," says Dream. "Except for one." To which he runs his thumb along Hob's lower lip, a touch Hob sways forward to follow almost drunkenly as Dream smirks. "Come."

He starts leading Hob back in the direction of their quiet street, and far far away from any fluorescent lighting, and Hob follows, touching his lips fondly. And lets himself be cautiously, tentatively hopeful that this will continue spiraling up into something real, because he wants it so bad. Curses and all.

#hob brilliantly asking dream out by giving him a book that basically said 'i wish to know you carnally' but hey it worked!! #and i'm sure he will know dream carnally soon #3 likes and next time they get to explore each others bodies #bookstore cryptid dream #my writing #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling fic #thank u louise for the extra special british accuracy in this one XD it is essential that my silly drabble stories channel the TRUE #and ACCURATE experience of the united kingdom. i'll die otherwise

[amethystpath-writes]

To Traitors

NOT A PR0MPT

******

"The general wants to send me to your homeland."

"For war?"

Villain hummed. "We knew it was coming."

"Of course." Hero shook her head and pushed a shirt further into the bucket of water. She bent it and twisted it and shoved it again. "How did she react when you told her 'no'?"

That was the thing; Villain didn't deny the general. No one denied the general.

Hero picked up on the silence. She always did. “Where does that leave us?”

A choice.

War?

Or her?

“You know this decision is not mine.”

"Sure, it is. I always wanted to travel- try camping."

Camping. Hero knew rejecting orders would be considered traitorous. She would rather be homeless and shunned than to standby while her homeland was being attacked.

"Hero..."

"Is that something you are not willing to do?" Her movements became rushed, like she was trying to maintain a calm, but the only way to do so was to move along with the emotions. She grabbed a shirt, dunked it, rung it, tossed it. Grab, dunk, ring. Grab, dunk, ring. They weren't even becoming clean, and the water needed changed. "My family is there. Where are they meant to go?"

"Even if I did tell the general no, I cannot stop an entire army from marching. The war will happen with or without me."

A sigh veiled the tension in the room. Villain's weight creaked beneath him as he stepped towards his lover. He took a linen shirt, wet and soaked, from her hands, and dropped it in the brown water. He found her hands next, then tugged her up slightly. She took the cue and stood, let herself be held.

"I love you," Villain said.

Hero didn't like crying. This is why Villain began rubbing her back as he pulled her into an embrace. She buried her face into his chest and sniffed once, twice...wiped a face full of tears, sniffed again...stopped, then began sobbing. No amount of squeezing could console the thought of her family being innocently slaughtered.

"You would hide them, wouldn't you? If you found them, you would save them?"

His grip loosened. He whispered, “Of course I would.” Did Hero know it might have been a lie? Even Villain wasn't sure what he would do when the time came that he marched onto her homeland.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"Then I'm leaving now." She attempted to pull away from Villain's chest, but he held her firmly. Her muscles tensed beneath him, but Villain knew she knew better than to try again.

"Hero, be level-headed.

"I want to warn them," she whispered, so quietly that Villain only knew what she said because of how well he knew her. He knew her every thought before she even had it herself. It wasn't magic; just love.

"And you think you will outrun an entire army overnight?"

"I know I won't!" her tone had changed, and this time when she pulled away, she didn't stop until Villain let her go. "But who am I to not try at all? Who would I be, Villain?" Her face was red and swollen, glistening with sad, then angry tears.

For a moment, she stopped. She took a breath. then swallowed as if she needed to stop herself from asking what obviously came to her mind. Alas, she said it. "How long have you known?" Her voice cracked, and Villain could see she already knew the answer: longer than he should have known before telling her.

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't ask for an apology." Her eyes refused to meet his. Villain was almost glad for it. He couldn't bear her anger, not when it was directed at him. "I asked how long you have known."

"Hero..."

"Clean your own damn clothes. I'll pay the Baker family back when I return."

"Pay them back? For w-" No. "You're not taking their horse." Hero was already scrounging around, first grabbing a raggedy sack, then stuffing one random item after another in. "Hero, stop. Hero-" She was going to take the neighbor's horse just to get caught up in the war herself. "Stop!"

She fell to her knees in the next moment. Broke down as if his voice took out the last support beam keeping the house together. hero cried, screamed, and wailed. "No. No. No. No. No," she repeated, and her voice broke time and time again as she screamed.

Tears sprung into Villain's eyes. What did he do?

"I'll send a bird. It will arrive before our army does, and when they receive it, they will know to leave."

Hero's head lifted, and her puffy eyes finally met Villain's glistening ones. "I will prepare beds. We have pelts; I can throw something together, and my brother can take-"

One blow after another, each and every passing moment. Just when Villain thought all might be well, the both of them realized there was no saving anyone. The war was an ambush, and Hero's brother would be expected to take a stand, to protect his own homeland.

"I won't-" Villain swallowed. "I won't harm your family. I will send the bird, and I will pray with every moment of travel that they receive it and leave. I will not draw my sword until I find their home empty, until I am sure they have left."

"You would be a traitor to your own kingdom."

"Better it this kingdom than you."

#not a pr0mpt #hero x villain #hero #villain #hero x villain story #hero x villain drabble #hero x villain snippet #heroes and villains #writeblr #writing community #creative writing #angst #I think. Does Dee know what angst is yet? No. Absolutely not. #I worked on a project for three hours straight and seeing as it is already midnight I figured I might as well finish #the draft I started months upon months ago. #Oh yeah- did y'all know I decided to start rewriting my entire manuscript...again..? #hence the delay in writing. I'm working on my book- working full time- doing school part time...it's a lot. barely any leisure time 😭 #anyway this is due for a reblog in the morning :p #weak ending but I have procrastinated posting for wayyyy too long- open to continuing this one if it's enjoyed enough :p #To Traitors

[fbfh]

FUCK ME I'm thinking about Billy again. Shit. Fuck. Thinking about him calling you sugar tits on a day to day basis. About the little swiping his tongue over his teeth unhinged chuckle he does right before he loses it and goes feral (in a fight or... other places...) just his rowdy boisterous energy. He's so solid, I wanna bite into his torso like a big block of cheese. Just sink my teeth right into him.

#drabbles #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove drabbles #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things drabbles #may have gotten a littlw weird with the bite him like a block of cheese thing #but if youve ever bitten straight into a block of cheese no holds barres #you onow what im talking about #i have done this before #and continue to do it 4 times a year #story for another time though

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

This Wasn't in the Itinerary

Both of you work so hard, it's only right that you be treated to a vacation.

Character; Ruggie Bucchi

Content; fluff, gender-neutral reader, drabble

Word Count; 850+

AN; This is for a mutual of mine who brain rotted and I wanted to write a version of it. I hope you enjoy it!

“A vacation? That I get paid for,” Ruggie gave Leona a semi-shocked look. What's he playing at here?

Leona rolled his eyes, “Yeah, you’ve pulled your weight and then some, so yeah, you’ve earned it. Already booked you a room too, so don’t even try gettin’ out of it.” He tossed a key at Ruggie, who clamoured trying to catch it.

Ruggie’s brows were pinched, but he looked at the key; it looked fancy, way too fancy. “How much was this?” Did I really earn this? “I can’t-”

“Too late, room’s booked. They also got some fancy schmancy breakfast options too,” Leona handed him a card that had all of the information about the resort, all in pretty cursive. "So yeah, you can accept it."

Dear Ruggie Bucchi, Escape the stress of your life and come to The Canopy, a resort focusing on rewinding and letting your hair loose. Enjoy the fresh breakfast made by the best pastry chefs in the Sunset Savannah. Take a dip in one of the many pools on the grounds. Head out on a river cruise and look at the local wildlife. The Canopy is an all-inclusive resort, and we hope you enjoy your stay with us! Room Type & Number; Single bed with a minifridge, as well as a balcony with a hot tub. Room 183, East Wing.

This… this is real. “I-,” he took a deep breath and exhaled. “Thanks, Leona.”

“Don’t mention it,” Leona said nonchalantly He wouldn’t tell Ruggie, but he has been planning this vacation for him for weeks. “Just enjoy it. Ya earned it.”

. . .

When Ruggie arrived at his room there was already a small bag in the process of being put away, but it wasn't his. He double-checked the room number, yup, Room 183, East Wing. then why was there another bag in his room? But that scent smelled familiar-

“Ruggie?”

He turned around and saw you, standing in the doorway holding a brochure for some local shops. “Prefect?” He asked back, equally confused about the entire situation. “What are you doing here?”

You entered the room and went to your bags, looking over the card Professor Crewel left outside your doorstep. Or at least it said it was from the professor, but he hadn't said anything to you about it, but weren't complaining, you worked your butt off. Plus you didn't have to pay for any of this, so you weren't going to turn this down. “On a vacation. And you?”

“Same boat. Well, a forced one,” he also looked at your card. Room 183, East Wing. Had they double-booked the same room by accident? “Wanna talk to the front desk?”

You both looked at the bed; it looked nice, fluffy, and like it was made from the softest clouds. But it was a single, just big enough to hold one person. There was no way it could hold more without the two of you being crammed together. Ruggie could feel his ears heat up at even the idea of being in such cramped quarters with you.

You sighed and grabbed your bag, mentally preparing to talk to customer service. "Not really, but sure, why not?"

. . .

You both returned from the front desk to your room. Your shared room. And there were no other rooms available. Both you and Ruggie were stuck with each other, as the shuttle bus back to Night Raven College didn’t come back until tomorrow at noon at the earliest. So you would be stuck here for the night, sharing a single bed, together. But there were worse ways to spend your vacation, plus you like Ruggie.

“If you want I can take the floor, I don’t mind,” he offered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You placed a hand on his forearm, stopping him. “No, it’s okay,” you gave him a soft smile, “I don’t mind.” 

You got into bed a squished yourself to the edge so Ruggie could have the other half. Once he got comfy he looked up and then quickly looked away, and so did you. It was a tight squeeze, but like hell were you going to make him sleep on the floor. 

Huh, did he always have flecks of silver in his eyes? You shook your head, trying to shoo those thoughts away. When you looked back up though, Ruggie was already asleep, lightly snoring. Has he always been this pretty?

He shuffled over to you, slinging an arm across you. “Mmm, don’t leave,” he mumbled.

You stiffened but then relaxed, sighing. You carded your fingers through his hair and looked at him softly. “I won’t.” You sat there for a little bit before you too fell asleep, hiding your face next to his heart. A steady thump thump thump luring you deeper and deeper into a calm dream. 

. . .

“You did that on purpose didn’t you,” Jack asked, looking up at Leona.

Leona shrugged, “Eh, they don’t need to know that.”

Professor Crewel was not the one to gift you an all-expenses paid holiday, it was Leona. He had grown tired of the two of you not admitting anything and it was driving him up the wall, so he decided to speed things up. Hopefully, his plan turned out… the both of you deserved good things.

#twst #twisted wonderland #ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie bucchi x gn reader #twst drabble #just something short this time; yes 850+ is short #got the 'there was only one bed' rizz #technically leona and jack make a brief appearance but they're not the main focus; so no tag for them <3 #been stuck on jack's story so enjoy some more ruggie~ #hope the ruggie kissers enjoy #twst fluff #ruggie fluff #trying this format out to see if i like it

[mcflymemes]

use ask meme replies as starters. if starter calls stress you out, encourage your followers to send memes instead! that way you can pick and choose which meme suits you best, searching for the little sentence prompt in your inbox that most inspires you in the moment. at the same time, not every ask meme reply needs to be continued. sometimes they make better one-shots and drabbles, and that's okay! as long as you and your writing partners are having fun creating and telling stories together, that's all that matters!

#rp psa #roleplay psa #rpc psa #rpc help #in my Wise Old Opinion as an rpc veteran from 2012 #using ask memes as starters is SO much easier #than putting out a sc and having to come up with new scenarios each time #memes help guide the story #use them!!! #BUT ALSO!!! MY GOD!!! #if someone just wants to use them as drabbles? let them #let these ask meme replies exist separately IF YOU WANT #maybe they don't nEED to be continued #maybe they're just a little glimpse into your characters' dynamics #AND THAT'S OKAY #don't guilt people for not replying to ask meme replies #like let them do what they want :) thank YOU

[wrencatte]

mini-fic 3! Cere POV. linguist!Cal, Mantis Crew as Family, Merrin & Cal bonding 1.2k words

“This one?”

Cal squints at it for half a second, says “yes,” then looks back down.

“What about this one?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even look!”

“Greez, that’s the third time you’ve shown me that one.”

“No, it – oh, wait, haha, yeah it is. Okay. Let me see….”

Cere watches in fond amusement as Greez goes back to the shelves. Merrin comes over with a tome from deeper within the city library and angles it in a way Cal can look at it without straining his neck. His expression brightens and he takes it, running his fingers over the edges and corners.

There’s a slight twist in the Force that Cere’s beginning to learn means he found an echo. She has to focus pretty hard to feel it so she only pays it enough attention to be sure Cal’s not about to fall into anything nasty – not that she can do anything about it if he does, but she likes to be prepared – and tunes back into the softly murmured conversation between Merrin and Cal.

The Nightsister looks absolutely delighted at having found something in a language Cal doesn’t recognize, all quiet pride and subtle preening. Cere hides a smile behind her hand. Adorable. Cal flips the tome open and the two of them duck heads, Cal underlining a few words with his finger and saying something that Merrin repeats. He shakes his head and says it again. Her face twists in thought as she sounds it out before giving it voice and he nods rapidly, grinning. She smiles back, one of those small soft ones that pops up whenever it’s just her and Cal.

Cere is just about to go back to her own readings when Greez arrives, BD-1 whirling on his shoulder, a book held over his head in triumph.

“Ha! Try this on for size!”

Cal takes the book carefully. “I know this one,” he tells Greez, who groans in disappointment. “But, oh wow.” He flips through a few pages, lips moving as he reads the text silently to himself. “I can’t believe they have a book written in pre-Reformation Gwyrdd’tafodi. Do you know how rare that is? When they switched over, they deliberately destroyed all they could! An archivist hid this away for a hundred years in order to get it safely off the planet. It kept getting passed down the family line until one of them got passage on a ship.”

Greez crosses one set of arms, his free hands on his hips. He watches Cal fondly as the young Jedi’s excitement grows with every page flip. “You know, I would’ve never pegged you as such a gigantic nerd.”

“Jedi were scholars and peacekeepers before they were soldiers,” Cere says quietly. A hush falls on the group. Cal ducks down, shoulders hunching, eyes kept resolutely on the page though it’s obvious he’s not reading a single word. She smiles and adds lightly, “We’re all nerds.”

Cal laughs first, tinged with grief and legitimate delight. He tucks the book Greez brought under the one Merrin showed him, which makes Merrin throw Greez a smirk and for the latero to throw his crossed arms up in the air in a huff. Cere rolls her eyes fondly and catches Cal’s gaze. He grins, unrepentant, enjoying whatever contest is going on between their friends. It gets Cal more books without him getting up, so he’s not going to stop them.

Greez’s frustration is amusing to watch, especially when he snatches BD from scanning the book Cal has open so he can co-opt the droid’s database to help find a language Cal doesn’t know. It’s not helping. BD-1’s database might be filled with years and years of history and culture but knowing the intimate details of a language instead of just a simple dictionary is completely different.

Merrin listens to Cal read out loud for a few minutes, humming at all the right moments, but obviously thinking hard about something. Cere gives up on reading her book and focuses on the two of them, curious as to what’s going to happen next.

“How many languages do you know?”

Cal’s teeth click he stops talking so fast. “I don’t know,” he admits with a shrug. “Sometimes I don’t even realize I know a language until I see or hear it again. Sometimes not even then! It doesn’t always register it as a different language. It’s just…words I understand.”

She tilts her head, expression intense. “Could you learn Dathomiri?”

He grins and quips something in the smokey, gritty sounding language of Dathomir. Merrin’s eyes widen, and then, suddenly, they glimmer with a wetness both Cere and Cal pretend they don’t see.

Knuckles pressed to her lips, she breathes a very quiet, “oh,” before clearing her throat and adding roughly, “Your accent is terrible.”

“Is it though?” Cal asks smugly.

Merrin scowls. “I will teach you more…if you want to learn.”

Cal’s expression softens. “I would love to. Thank you for sharing it with me.” He adds something in Dathomiri at the end that has Merrin abruptly turning back to their shared book, expression pained and grieving.

Cere nudges the Nightsister with a tendril of the Force and gets a small smile in response. They don’t share the same bond as Jedi do, but theirs is enough for Cere to believe her. She settles back in her chair, musing on what her life has become, sharing a bond with a Nightsister, before she shrugs it off and fully intends on finally going back to her reading with Merrin and Cal’s back-and-forth as a background noise.

Except Greez comes back again, the book he carries is much thinner than any of the ones stacked around Cal like a barrier. BD-1 clicks excitedly and Greez is grinning smugly as he waves the book in the air.

“Did you know this place has an unknown language section? Guess who found it!” he all but brags. Merrin frowns, nose wrinkling while Cal laughs brightly and holds out a hand for the book.

Greez slaps it in his hand, earning a scandalized look from one of the librarians. Merrin and Cere laugh as he hunches down with quick apologies. Cal inspects the book carefully. If there are any echoes, they’re soft and quick. He grins.

“Congratulations, Greez, I don’t know this one.”

The latero cheers silently, all four arms thrown up in victory.

Merrin rolls her eyes. “You still lost. I found one first.”

Cal hums. “Best two out of three? This place is open for another five hours.”

The two of them exchange looks for a full second before Merrin jumps out of her chair and rushes into the depths of the library. Greez yelps and follows her as fast as he can without running. Cere hides her face, as though that will keep people from realizing they’re with her. Cal laughs, covering his mouth with his book. His eyes peek over, glittering in mirth. He pulls the book away, and holds it to his cheek, leaning in like he has a secret. Cere can’t help but lean in to hear it.

“I already know the language,” he admits.

Cere blinks at him then laughs loudly – nearly getting them kicked out of the library.

#cal kestis #cere junda #nightsister merrin #greez dritus #sw jfo #jfo fic #mantis crew #my writing #there's an alt version of this that's more bittersweet and 200 words more #it brings in the Order of the Dai Bendu and the Dai Bendu language #I just couldn't decide which version I liked more and went with the funny one instead #if anyone wants me to post the other version lemme know #that's if someone reads this far into the tags lol #i need to figure out how to get these onto ao3 #i don't want individual stories but i haven't posted a drabble/ficlet fic in a long long time #and even then the last one i did were full 5k+ oneshot chapters #oh well #imma stop talking now

[very-uncorrect]

All of these would be queer btw, because I'm queer

Oh also the "(other)" option is basically just me asking for writing prompts if you don't like the ones I proposed, and the "(These all suck)" is basically just the "(I just wanna see the results)" option lol

(btw the second one was meant to say "monsterfucker human" singular not plural)

#polls #poll #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #science fiction #sci fi #writing #creative writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #when i say story I don't mean a little drabble #like I wanna write a novel #like to publish #but i want to make something i know people would like #so #poll time #queer #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia+

[kanerallels]

Chenford + Christmas Magic, please?

PERFECT Chenford song ten out of ten!!

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised,” Lucy said, “but seriously? You don’t like Michael Buble?”

Shaking his head, Tim said, “He’s overhyped. I don’t get the excitement. He’s no Nat King Cole, that’s all I’m saying.”

This made Lucy start laughing. Shaking her head, she said, “You are such an old curmudgeon sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tim rolled his eyes, unable to hold back a smile despite himself. Because even with the relentless teasing, spending Christmas with Lucy was way better than some of the past Christmases he’d had. Even when he was with Isabel, their schedules had kept them so busy that a lot of Christmases had been lonely. After they’d split up, it had only gotten worse.

Now— in Lucy’s apartment, a small tree sparkling in the corner and the smell of baking cookies coming from the oven— Tim could barely imagine life back then. He was luckier than he could begin to describe. So instead of trying, he just dropped a kiss against Lucy’s temple, warmth spreading through his chest.

#there was SO much potential here #i had a hard time choosing which verses to be inspired by #chenford #lucy chen #tim bradford #the rookie #christmas drabbles #writing stories is a kind of magic too

[thatonecrookedsmile]

From the depths of the studio - where darkness prevails and the voices of the puddles grow louder - a message is echoed to the rest of the world. A promise filled with hatred and,at the same time,with conviction. Words coming from someone who was more than confident that their blasphemy would come true.

A message that is directed to one creature,and one creature only...

"I will become the very being You never could be"

----- "A Promise Sent from Below" - Return to the Studio AU.

Oh hey, I have an AU, I forgot about that (lie)

I've had a similar idea in my head for a month now. It wasn't possible to do it last month, but no problem. May would make more sense. I did something with this little guy for 414 last year, and I wanted to do something with him again. April 14th of this year would not be possible, but May 14th or 15th? Oh yes. These dates are better because it was between these two (actually it was the 14th I think, but I consider both dates) days that I created this guy above! Consider this drawing a celebration made for…well, me. Of course, he wasn't created with the design above in mind. His original, main design is quite different from this alternative (and less original) iteration. The drawing above shows his current situation in the "current" moments of the RTTS AU.

His creation, which dates back to 2020, was the result of some Bendy-related thoughts of mine intersecting on the day. These being about new things in canon lore that came out at the time (plus speculation about this new information), a theory that at the time I started to understand better (which maybe based on the drawing, you probably know which theory I'm talking about ) and a funny bug found in one of the games (do you remember Ghost Bendy by any chance?) And then,boom. I created Atlas. I remember at the time I was thinking of other names for him because Atlas was just a codename that I had in mind to refer to him while I thought of a definitive name for the guy. But the codename ended up sticking. Plus, Atlas is a cool name and I wanted to give an OC that name.

Even though some details changed over time, I think I eventually managed to solidify his place in the AU. Not that his story is 100% thought out and completed. Hell, my AUs that I have are still not 100% thought out either, so what to expect from their characters. But I think that, currently, I have at least decided on the general idea of his place and purpose in RTTS, and I am happy with what I have come up with.

I don't know when the next time will be that I will show him again. In general, showing things from my AUs is not and probably will never be my strong point lol. But I'd like to draw him again eventually. So uhhhhhhhhhhh, one day. When that "one day" will be, it's up to you to decide

Happy Birthday Atlas. You and your other 2 alternative versions are cool to think about. Here's to another 4 years of chaos for you. 🙌

I can't believe it's been 4 years now, damn.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #bendy and the dark revival #batdr #return to the studio au #bendy au #bendy oc #crookedsmileart #I found new a way to indicate which specific drawing refers to an AU or not #also writing that...thing at the beginning (drabble????) took a bit out of me #writing things like short story descriptions is so difficult; imagine writing a real fic #How can you all do this; seriously. #fanfiction writers are the real badasses;fr fr #about the “other 2 alternative versions” of Atlas; there are 3 versions of him that I have #the first is the one above; from the Return to the Studio AU. His main incarnation; I would say #Then there's his version in the Toon City Adventures AU; which varies a little from the RTTS version. #There are things in this version of him that I still need to rewrite #and then there's his non-Bendy version; #where I remove all the Bendy connections; and he is practically an original character with no connections to existing material #and play with him in some original stories that I put together in the back of my mind #I admit that this version is what I end up going back to a little more in recent times #But in the end I like all 3 equally #since last year's 414 art; I changed a few little things in his design; but still keeping the general idea in place #I'll eventually have to create a reference sheet for him;i guess #rtts au

[amethystpath-writes]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, the power-dampeners fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don’t wanna write this tho!!!

A/N...You know how I made that post like a month ago? About followers and how much they mean to me? And about how I recognize some of them as being frequents or long-time followers? I recognize you. I remember you. And I appreciate you.

As a secondary note, the cutoff is spicy, but it’s PG. Unless we’re looking for non-PG. Lord knows I’ve written terrible things here.

NOT A PR0MPT

******

It was the greatest pain he’d felt. Guard looked up at him with such fear that Villain felt himself quaking in his own shoes.

Empathy. What a horrible emotion.

He could have been like the others, tearing at the walls, ripping the floor up, cutting people down. But Guard…

Guard, who had brought him, not only his food, but dessert hidden in a folded napkin.

Guard, who had changed the bulb when it burnt out though no other guard would. And not just any bulb. Guard knew how Villain hated those damn LEDs.

‘I could never sleep like that. Why should you?’

Guard, who listened.

Guard, who understood.

When Villain looked at Guard, at the fright, the confusion...he couldn't be like the others, even as some other criminal shoved a broken pipe in his hands. Distantly, he saw the criminal nodding at guard, and heard them mumble, "For that one."

That one.

That one had a name. That one was kind and- and considerate, and everything these escapees were not. He was thoughtful, and he was everything Villain didn't deserve.

A monster. I'm a monster.

As Guard's eyes quickly shifted between the pipe in Villain's hands and his eyes, Villain felt a pang of both sadness and anger. The sadness struck his heart, something so deeply buried beneath his powers, he forgot it even existed. His anger, however, centered in his hands, hot against the broken pipe. Instinct screamed to join the chaos- the power he possessed, it had to be rid of somehow. It was the reason he was ever locked up.

"I'm not- I wouldn't-"

The pipe clattered against the hard floor. It had no room to echo, the thrill of the room silencing it- thankfully to Villain. It would have drawn attention to him. They would see his empty hands, see the pipe, then see Guard- unharmed. They would kill him, brutally, and then they would kill Villain.

"Where do I go?" Guard's voice was booming despite the noise around. A bang! here, a crash! there. Villain's head was pounding, but he heard Guard's voice like an angel sent from above. A scared angel, a delicate thing, all bright eyes and parted lips.

"Here, and keep your head down." Guard held his hand out, and swiftly, as he took Guard's hand, he also grabbed his sleeve, then tore it without a moment's notice. "You ever do roleplay?" Villain pulled Guard up to his feet.

Guard's eyes widened and he shook his head without a word. Villain didn't quite believe that, but he nodded anyway.

"You and I are going to switch roles right now, okay?"

Predictably, Guard's face went still. Act as a prisoner? Villain was sure he was thinking it. Guard would never so much as think he was above being a prisoner (of course, Guard never deserved to be as such), but it was frightening. Villain knew- or at least hoped- that Guard trusted him not to take advantage of the situation. If he thought differently of Villain, he would have never acted so kind.

"What happens if-"

"Don't worry. Look." Villain gestured with a nod, not only to the chaos down the hallway, but to the other villains. While some were destroying everything in sight, others were taking victims by the arm, by their hair, by anything they could grab onto. It wouldn't be unusual for Villain to walk Guard out of the prison, to take a hostage.

Villain's history, the reason he was imprisoned at all remained a mystery to everyone. Some were very open about their reasons; they relished in being villains. I'll be your bad guy, was the motto they seemed to live by. Villain kept to himself. While some believed it was a weakness, others believed Villain's nonchalant attitude meant he should be avoided.

"If there's police outside?" Guard said under his breath as they began walking.

"Then you'll be safe."

"And you'll be arrested."

"I was in prison before. Why shouldn't I go back?"

Villain was shocked. Guard ripped his arm from his grasp and stopped, dead in the middle of the hall.

"You don't deserve that, and you know it."

He gritted his teeth. No, prison wasn't what he deserved, but-

"What happened to you," Guard began, "is so far from your fault. I'm glad this is happening; I've wanted a revolt like this because it means you'll be free!"

"Keep your voice down; you're drawing attention."

"Then I'll draw attention, Villain!"

Now, his teeth were grinding. "You are going to get yourself killed if they hear you."

"I don't care," Guard argued. "I don't care if I die, or if I'm even tortured. I care about you."

Villain didn't think. His hand felt like an extension of him, one that acted on its own. He was holding onto Guard's collar, his face inches away from the one who had taken such great care of him. A fire was burning his hand. Villain let go, then released a breath. "I'm scared," he admitted. "That's why I haven't broken out."

"Scared? Villain, no one can hurt you out there."

"That," he asserted. "That is exactly why I'm scared. Guard, I can't control myself, and honestly, this?" He tapped his chest, where, under his shirt, there was a rectangle plastered-no burnt- into his skin. "I came here for this. They don't just hand these out on the streets. You have to do something wrong to get one, to have a shot at being normal, to be someone like you."

His hands were burning. Again. He was tired of this rage, that sunken feeling of despair. Red and flame. A gas stove left running overnight. He would blow the house up.

Fire.

Red.

Rage.

Ablaze.

"Villain, no!"

Buzzing.

Villain could hear buzzing. No, that wasn't the word. Something was squealing, high pitch in his ears.

Screaming.

Nagging.

What was that sound?

"Are you okay?" The words were on repeat. Broken record. God, Villain couldn't think. Were these words his own or did they belong to someone else?

“Hey. Hey, listen to me.”

“Burns,” Villain knew this was his voice; he felt it in his chest- a deep groan that, if he were anyone but himself, would have pierced his heart. So much pain. “My hands. My hands burn.”

Fire ran down his cheeks in the shape of tears. What had he done?

What had he done?

“The others-” he started, but Guard- Guard! Without a second’s notice, Villain sat straight up, all signs of pain vacant as he turned. His head, Villain realized, had been in Guard’s lap.

“They’re okay,” Guard said, stiffening now as Villain sat up. “No causalities, but we can’t go back.”

When Villain squinted, Guard explained, “They’re searching for you, as well as all the other prisoners. We’re safe, but we can’t leave. At least, you can’t. Shouldn’t. I would never tell you what to do.”

Of course not. Guard was kind and delicate and- “How did you make it out? I- you were- that should have killed you.”

If there was one thing Villain wasn’t expecting, it was this: “You’re not the only Super I’ve been kind to. One of the others saw what was about to happen. They saved me.”

Guard was nothing if not honest, and though Villain was truly a good person, he wouldn’t know a lie if he’d never told one himself. Right now, Guard was hiding something.

#not a pr0mpt #request fill #villain x guard #guard x villain #and the other tags that don't quite fit but are within the same world- #hero x villain #hero x villain snippet #hero x villain story #hero x villain drabble #mlm #that means male and male right?? i'm not using a dirty tag right?? #heroes and villains #hero #villain #anyway #Hi! #long time no see

[midnightlee25]

Hi! I got an Thrax ”what if” request?

Imaige that Thrax and the reader/”darling”(etc) slept together. But the reader/or darling left or trying to leave early the next morning.

What would Thrax do? Say? Behave? If the reader/or the darling tried to leave.

Pick headcanon or write the story, mabey both? i dont mind regless!!

Random Yandere Headcanons: Thrax with a darling that was a one night stand

Now this situation could be the start of him becoming a yandere for his darling or it's something that just happened after he became a yandere for his darling.  

In this case if they were already his darling and they asked him for a one night stand or it just kind of happened he would be a happy camper. 

Even if it was meant to be a one-time thing, he would either try to use it to at least start a friend with benefits type of relationship.  

He would use it as a stepping stone and not as something to leave at that. 

All that being said he won't just let them leave the morning after if he can help it. 

He will try to coax them to stay one way or another but not enough to feel like they are being forced to stay because he doesn't want to scare them off. 

He will tease them about it after as well. (In a flirting way.) 

He will hint about wanting to do something like that again and after a few times he will hint at wanting more. 

He knows how to play the long con and plays it well.

#At some point I do want to try to write this as a drabble or story. I just can't promise it will be any time soon. #yandere #yandere headcanons #osmosis jones thrax #thrax x reader #yandere thrax #thrax #osmosis jones

[ahundredtimesover]

Hi 👋🏽 I’ll be going on an indefinite break that may (or may not) be for good.

Writing fanfiction was an escape for me these past 2 years. It was a way to express my love for the tannies in how I wrote them as comfort characters, and it was a way for me to make sense of my own experiences and emotions. These fics have always been very personal, with a bit of me in every OC, my pains reflected in their stories, and words I wish someone told me growing up expressed in the dialogues. And I’ll always be so thankful that many of you related with them, found meaning in them, and found comfort in them. That will always be my favorite part 💜💜 stories are so powerful! They’ve allowed me to connect with so many people and make memories in this (mostly) lovely part of the site.

But the process of writing has also been draining, not as cathartic as it used to be, and not as fulfilling. So much as I find myself going back and forth with the numerous stories in my drafts, I can’t bring myself to continue with them. Not anytime soon, at least. Maybe one day the itch to write will be so intense, or JJK1/KTH1 drops and I’ll lose my shit (Untitled and Belong were born out of Indigo and D-day after all), or after rereading my stories, I’ll miss writing so much. The thing is, I’ve never loved BTS as much as I do right now; perhaps I’m content with screaming about that love to myself in the meantime.

I’ll be lurking around here, maybe pop in every once in a while (so plagiarists, keep off my work, pls). My stories will remain here as your comfort 😌 and I’ll do my best to put out the PLM drabbles I promised! Other than that, all the stories are complete for you to enjoy (sorry to those waiting on TLA 😔 I hate that I’m unable to continue). I also have Twitter (jmimi_mi). I’m also just a lurker but say hi if you want! 😊 we can talk bts and fics and whatnot over there (I’ll try, I promise).

Please give love to the authors who are still lovingly putting out work for the community! 🥰

#tl;dr I’ll be on an indefinite break bc the writing just isn’t working for now! #and I love BTS #and thank you so much for appreciating the stories! #PLM drabble will still come some day! #++ I know I’ve had multiple breaks but srsly now my brain is too fried to write like #I have so many ideas that stay in my head and it’s so frustrating that I feel like unless I say I’m taking a break from writing #for a longer period this time then I’ll just keep pressuring myself to write something and it’s winter break and I don’t want pressure #especislly if it’s coming from me! lol also all the stories in my drafts are meant to be LONG and I might not have the energy to finish it #and you guys know I don’t put out anything unfinished so yeah 😔 #it also sucks that I haven’t read in SO LONG so yes tumblr u are losing me I’m sry 😢 #i also just wanted to say all this if this is for good so yes THANK U and UR ALL WONDERFUL #mimi things #mimi rambles

[good-beanswrites]

I can't stop thinking of Kyanako's Order of Attack au... there's something so moving to me about how things getting so much worse could be what finally causes Amane to get better -- seeing Fuuta dying may be the final straw of getting her to rethink her rejection of medicine. Been a while since I've attempted something whump-y, this was fun to work with.

Tw for mentions/contemplation of death. I don't go into detail about the cult but the doctrines are implied through it all.

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying.

When he imagined his own death, he always pictured it as something dramatic and fast. Action heroes going out in a show of explosions and gunfire. Fantasy characters meeting the shining end of a blade. Even when he accepted his place in Milgram, it filled his mind with images of gallows and electric chairs. 

Whatever this slow, lengthy fever was, it was pissing him off. 

He’d lost all sense of time. He could no longer tell which hour the prison bells were marking -- morning and night blended together. Dreaming and waking blended together. His head injury and broken leg and broken bones blended together. It was all just pain at the end of the day. He had nonstop visitors that kept him awake and asked him too many questions and prodded his injuries and made his head spin. Somehow, he was simultaneously alone every time he rolled over to talk to someone. Painfully, suffocatingly alone. 

If Kotoko was going to kill him with those ridiculous emo boots of hers, she should have just done it. He was losing his mind here: devoid of all energy, suffering through broken bones and a cracked head, and boiling in an increasingly fiery fever. Maybe that was the reason he stopped commenting when he watched Amane pocket the medicine Shidou had left him. Maybe that was why he’d stopped following Shidou’s instructions himself. Even after losing an eye and taking a beating herself, Amane always looked at peace. He was tired of dealing with all of this. He wanted a bit of that peace.

Regardless of why, it was working. His fever had quickly gone from the biggest pain in his ass to the very thing that dulled his racing thoughts. 

He awoke suddenly, or maybe he’d already been awake. He couldn’t feel anything in his limbs. There was only a breathless heat around him. He raised himself into a sitting position, looking for a drink. Moving his head felt like one of those glitching computer windows that leaves a trail of copies behind it. The room swam around him. His eyes moved absently around him.

Fuuta picked up the glass that someone had left him. His fingers were clumsy, and it immediately went crashing to the ground. He hardly heard the noise as it broke apart on the concrete below. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d just go get a drink himself. Shidou told him not to get up without help. But what did he know? Thinking of the man ordering him around only drove Fuuta to step out of bed even quicker. He cried out, pain shooting through his leg. That was right, it was broken… 

Fuuta looked down, finding himself on the ground. It was so hot. Maybe this is what she felt, he thought numbly. Was it this slow for her too? Probably not. She had no regrets to fill the time like he did. The heroes got quick, beautiful deaths, and it was the villains who had to suffer the long ones. 

He lifted his right palm from where it had caught his fall. The shattered glass on the floor had cut into it. Shattered glass? What had broken? He stared blankly at the blood dripping down. 

He didn’t have the strength to raise himself up. He was burning. Why was he on the ground? Was he bleeding? He could barely breathe. What was he doing here, anyway? He just wanted to curl up and sleep. He was so weak... just to lie down... he wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. Was that such a bad thing...?

A voice caught his attention. His eyes struggled to focus on the figure who’d come running into the cell. He couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but he was happy when she pressed her cool little hands against his forehead. 

He allowed her to prop him up next to the bed. She held onto his hand, squeezing it tight. Why was she holding it like that? That hand was bleeding. When did that happen?

Her arms wrapped tightly around him. He wanted to shove her away -- it was too hot -- but couldn’t. In his ear, he could make out her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Fuuta. Don’t leave me alone. I’m so sorry...”

As she pulled back, he recognized Amane. Her uninjured eye was filled with tears. Was she upset? He thought he’d been making her happy. He wanted to keep making her happy. He’d never made anyone happy before. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. They all scrambled up in his mouth. He felt the cell swirling around him.

Amane raised her voice. She looked desperately upwards. “This can’t be --! This isn’t right!” 

Fuuta looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there. 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

She continued talking. Fuuta was too busy studying the ceiling. She was shouting. Or maybe crying. Fuuta didn’t like that she was so upset. Huh, had there been someone there? He surveyed the empty cell. What was he doing on the ground?

He looked down at his hand. The sheet from his bed had been pulled down and wrapped hastily around it. Why? His eyes felt sticky as he blinked. Everything hurt. It was so hot. What was going on? He was so angry. He was so scared. He wanted to cry. Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just hurry up and die already?

The next time she entered, Fuuta recognized Amane instantly. Her one hand pointed to him, the other held onto someone else. The second figure hurried over to him. 

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying. Shidou reassured him he wouldn’t.

—

“You’re wearing the eyepatch,” Fuuta observed. 

He was playing a dangerous game, drawing attention to it like that. He was too exhausted, and his curiosity won out over his better judgment. If Amane was going to explode with one of her typical speeches, he’d just let her.

She didn’t. 

Amane’s hand drifted up to her eye. It had been hastily covered before, but now it was cleaned and wrapped in professional-grade materials. She simply said,  “Kajiyama Fuuta. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“But--”

“-- But I’m better, yeah.”

Amane nodded, her shoulders releasing. 

“Oi, I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since…” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Shidou had told him what happened, but it was difficult to believe. He couldn’t quite trust his own memory of the night. No matter how much clearer his mind felt since receiving proper treatment, those days of fever still muddled together. He heard that Amane had up and switched her beliefs overnight -- she was now complacent about all of Shidou's treatments -- but Fuuta knew people didn't just change like that. He wanted to hear it for himself.

She lowered her gaze in shame. “I… I thought you hated me.” Her voice was steady. “As you should. I almost killed you. I accept any ill will you may feel.”

“I -- what? You’re wrong. You… it wasn’t…” He grabbed his head, grunting in frustration.

After standing awkwardly in the entryway the whole time, Amane took a few steps inside. She made it to his bedside when he finally collected his thoughts. 

“It was your fucked up family or whatever that caused everything. They did this. And I went along and made things worse.” He looked away. His next words felt stupid to say to a little kid. He felt like the most pathetic, weak, loser. But it was too important not to say.

“They almost killed me. You saved me.”

#milgram #fuuta kajiyama #amane momose #i am emotional about them!!! #my other drabble between them hinted that fuuta would convince her away from her dangerous beliefs before things got too bad #but i wanted to see what would happen if things Did get bad ya know #we were talking about what could convince amane to think twice about the medicine ban (if anything) #and i think seeing her closest friend is literally on deaths door finally gets through to her #shes sees him weak and bloody and completely out of it and knows this is Wrong #i dont know how long it takes fuuta to realize that it really was all for him that she changed but he does accept it eventually #it helps both of them grow #he feels worth saving (and therefore worth turning his life around) and she is freer from her cult #not completely #but one step at a time #tried to make fuutas narration simpler and shorter to reflect his thoughts but idk if that worked #i thought they were going to do a lot of stuff with mahirus head injury and memory but they never did- i played around with that a bit here #i thought about writing out amanes monologue to her god about how shes not doing this anymore but 1. its more dramatic to leave that to #the imagination and 2. idk if its silly but some things are so personal for a character and i dont wanna intrude... like yeah its my #story but thats between her and god fr #drabbles #tw cults #tw child abuse

[blackjackkent]

In-game, Hector got the killing blow, but realistically, story-wise... we give it to Karlach. :D

This scene is so brutally, heart-obliteratingly sad that I don't know if I did it any justice. But I tried. There's a video at the bottom.

--------

She stands over him, covered in his blood. Enver Gortash, erstwhile usurping Archduke of Baldur's Gate, lies sprawled on the marble floor where he fell when Hector kicked his legs from under him, and his face is convulsed in a rictus of agony. Karlach's blade has gone through his throat, pinning him to the stone. A puddle of crimson spreads slowly out from his body.

For a long time, no one says anything. The room is silent as a tomb except for harsh breathing and the soft sizzling sound of Jaheira's wildshape melting off her. Even Minsc is silent - though Hector can see, out of the corner of his eye, what it is costing him not to leap towards the ceiling in a victory cry. Even Minsc, oblivious as he often seems to nuance, knows this moment has not yet run its course.

Karlach stares down into the dead man's eyes, leans on the hilt of her sword. "So..." she says hoarsely. "Gortash is nothing more than a pile of flesh, same as the rest of us."

Hector slowly, methodically wipes the blood from his knuckles and watches her in silence. He knows every line of her face, every subtlety of her voice; he can see the storm of emotion working behind her eyes, too complex to name. He doesn't speak, but shifts himself slightly so he is standing next to her - at her elbow and slightly behind, within easy reach for when she wants him, but not intruding.

You can sense she's working something out; say nothing.

(A/N: I love this as an option so FUCKING much for Hector; thank you, game.)

"I feel like there should be a sunset to ride off into," she goes on after a little while, a low mutter. "Or an orchestral swell... or *something*." She turns slightly to meet Hector's eyes, and the bitter grief in her expression strikes him like a blow to the stomach.

"But there's nothing, is there?" Her voice is louder now. "I killed the bastard who ruined my life, and my prize is that I get to crawl into a corner and die." Louder still now, a roar of pain and anguish. She rips the sword from the dead man's throat, sending a splatter of blood across them both. "Am I FUCKING missing something?!"

She screams it at him, and he has no answer. Hearing her in such pain is like a physical thing in his chest, ripping at his heart, but he has no answer to give. The whole situation is agonizingly, brutally unfair and her rage is the only reasonable response to it.

He wishes he could take her in his arms, hold her and soothe her as she has held and soothed him through so many nightmarish moments, and somehow make it all go away, all the pain she's gone through and the terrible fate lying ahead.

But he can't. All he can do is listen; if it brings her any peace to expend her rage at him and the dead body in front of them, who is he to deny it?

But gods, it hurts him to hear her hurting.

Say nothing.

"I can't do it anymore," she snaps. Spinning, she slams her gauntleted fist into the wall; the shrieking clang of metal on stone makes Hector's ears ring. "Ten years, man! It's enough. It's ENOUGH!"

She catches her breath in a short harsh gasp, stares down at Gortash's body again, and then lashes out with a sharp kick at his skull. "He's dead!" she snarls, like a wounded animal. "And he's no *fucking* sorrier than he was before."

She rounds on Hector, her eyes wide, demanding an answer now. "What was the point?" she cries out. "I'm still dying!" The reality of it seems to sink through her even as she says the words; the deep red of her skin pales and she sways a little on her feet. "I'm dying," she repeats, a desperate wail of despair. "I'm going to die!"

He swallows, holds himself still with a force of will that is painful. Every time she says that, every time she reminds him of it, all he wants to do is sink to his knees and weep, but he can't... he can't. He has to be strong for her, as she has been for him.

But what can he possibly say, what can he possibly do that would make any of this all right? He can't say they will fix it, because she'll know it's a lie. He can't say she can go back to Avernus, because she'll know it's a dismissal of everything that's most important to her, and he won't do that to her. But what else can he say?

"But you're not dead yet," he says haltingly, forcing himself to hold her gaze, not to look away or try to hide from the moment even though he desperately wants to. "I'm here with you. And I will be until the very end."

He hesitates, reaches out a hand cautiously towards her arm, but she flinches away.

"Don't say that!" she snaps. "Say you found some way to fix me! That now Gortash is dead, I'll get my heart back."

Her voice cracks, and in that breaking he hears the shattering of a hope that was still lurking in her, so deep she didn't even acknowledge it to herself, let alone to him - the feeling that somehow if Gortash died it would make everything better, that some solution heretofore unseen would present itself.

But Gortash is dead. And nothing else has changed.

She sags, her shoulders slumping, and closes her eyes. "My heart..." she whispers brokenly. "It was mine... and they TOOK it!" He can see the effort with which she is trying to hold onto her emotions, but it's a vain attempt; her voice begins to rise again, into a strident scream of desperation and misery.

"I'm going to be as dead as Gortash any day now. Any *moment*. And what then? Off to the City of Judgment to waste into oblivion? Into the dirt to get eaten by maggots? Is that it for me?! IS THAT FUCKING ALL?!"

The flames rise again, bursting across her skin, consuming without destroying, all the rage and pain manifesting itself in the coruscating eruption from within, from the engine that is killing her.

"And you!" She roars it in his face and the words are like a curse, like a slap. "You'll just keep going, won't you?! Watching the stars. Warming your hands on the campfire. Dancing, eating, making fucking love all night - all of it, all of it!"

He flinches. He knows she doesn't mean it, that she is lashing out at anyone within striking distance, and yet the blow still strikes home as if she's cut out his heart. No, my love. No, when you die I will be a shell of who I was before; there will be no one and nothing else...

On some level she must know that she's cut him to the quick, but she is too far gone to rein anything in right now. The flames are turning to an inferno again, a raging ball of heat causing the very air to boil around her; he can feel the skin on his forehead and cheeks pulling, but he refuses to step back, to look away.

"That's my reward for everything I've suffered!" she roars in his face. "That's why I survived TEN YEARS of torment! The fighting, the clawing, the loneliness-- the *fucking* loneliness-- all of it, so I could ROT! Because the person I trusted the most gave me away to the devil!"

He can't bear it anymore, the pure pain and screaming rage in her voice, in her eyes. Without hesitation, without even thought, he raises his hands and reaches out towards her; as he moves, the pale gold light of all the protection magic he knows rolls up and over his body and he hurls himself into the flame, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her savagely against him.

It's a risk-- perhaps nothing will calm her and the heat will simply consume them both...

But his guess - his instinct - holds; at his touch, his embrace, she flinches, and for a moment the heat burns through the magic and he feels a wave of searing agony... and then less...

The flames start to calm, and her whole weight, armor and all, sags into him, and he staggers with the effort of holding her up. The inferno fades, replaced by the heavy thundering pulses of heat that are her usual heartbeat at twice its usual pace. Her face presses into his shoulder and she sobs bitterly, brokenly, muffled by the cloth of his tunic.(*)

"It isn't fair... I don't want it like this..."

He steadies himself, finding balance with her weight, and presses his face against the top of her head, the fingers of one hand burying themselves in her hair. Blue light mixes with the gold as healing magic pulses from his palms. He wishes it could heal more than the burns, that it could do anything to soothe the ache in their souls.

But in a terrible way... it is good to hear her cry. So many months she has known she is dying and he has never seen her break down. Even he-- notoriously and often unhealthily self-controlled-- has broken down in her arms more than she has broken down in his.

"Let it out," he whispers. His voice trembles and for once he doesn't bother to try and stop it. "It's about time..."

"I don't want to die..." The words are broken and clipped off by frantic, staccato gulps of air between sobs. "I want to live. I want to *stay*..."

Her fingers fist into the back of his shirt, pulling him tighter to her. Her voice drops to a shattered, hollow whisper, pleading for some answer that isn't there. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now...?"

He has no answer. He asks himself the same question, many nights lying awake beside her, watching her sleep and wondering how in all the hells he will manage when she is gone...

He has told himself, so many times, that he will not demand that she make her decisions for his sake, and yet it is still so hard not to throw himself on the floor at her feet, beg her to travel with him into Avernus, to save his heart at the cost of her principles.

But he will not. He will not. He respects her too much, loves her too much...

"That's... for you to decide..." he says unsteadily.

With a sudden harsh jerk, she pulls away from him, steps back; her face twists with bitter regret. " I ought to just end it all now," she mutters, looking away from him, examining a long crack in one of the stones in the wall. "On my terms."

A long silence. Hector's arms fall back to his sides and he watches her, not bothering to hide the anguish on his face now.

She lets the silence stretch, then shakes her head and laughs harshly. "But then who'd save this godforsaken town?"

She reaches out and runs her fingers along the crack and lets out a heavy breath. "Let's get out of here," she says, her voice suddenly curt and sardonic, the pain shoved back into hiding again. "I've always hated this place. Stupid fucking gigantic bridge or whatever. I... think I need to go to camp for a while. Be alone. Scream at the sky." A slight pause. Her tone softens almost imperceptibly. "You can... come and find me later, if you want to."

With visible effort, she turns and meets his eyes again. After studying him for a moment, she lifts a hand and presses her palm against his cheek. "Thanks for listening." The ghost of a smile, here and gone in an instant. "For existing." A pause; she swallows tightly. "Love you."

Without waiting for an answer, without giving him time to say it back, she turns and walks away, her boots leaving bloody prints along the marble floor.

-----

"Are you all right, cub?" Jaheira asks gently.

Hector stirs, startled. How long has he been staring at the place where she stood? "I-- what?"

She snorts softly. "Nothing. A foolish question. Of course you are not all right." She lays a hand briefly on his shoulder, jerks her head to indicate the body on the floor. "We have stripped him. The stone is here, of course. A key. Some letters. Little else of interest, unless you take interest in clothing more concerned with finery than function."

"Yes. Of course. Good," he says hollowly. "You and Minsc are-- not too hurt?"

"Burns. Scratches. We will mend in time," she says with a slight shrug. There's a pause. He can see her wrestling with the urge to speak again, uncertain in a way he is not used to from her.

"What is it?" he asks.

She draws a slow breath, lets it out in a careful hiss. "I lost my husband, you know, cub."

His head lifts slightly. Yes, he does know this; the histories he read in the monastery spoke of Khalid, Jaheira's husband - at her side in the battle against Sarevok... and then killed by Irenicus in Amn.

"I... do not say this to offer any pleasant platitudes that time heals all," she goes on. "But only to say that you are not as alone as you feel, just at present."

He swallows. "I would not wish this feeling on anyone. I am... so sorry," he mutters.

"Nor would I," she agrees. "But there is more comfort in being of a pack than being a lone wolf, I think." A pause. "I lost Khalid almost at once, a flash; you are granted the knowledge in advance. I will not speculate on which is worse, and in any event it does not matter. What comes after... I can tell you only of my experience."

He searches her expression, looking for any scrap of comfort. "Did it fade, in time? The pain?"

She looks back at him steadily. "Some days it is far away. Other days it is as if it happened yesterday. There were many days when I was not sure how I would go on without the knowledge that he was standing by my side. But I have found ways to live, nevertheless. And..." She hesitates, considers her words. "I am glad for the pain, because it means that the joy was also real. If it meant nothing, it would not hurt."

He manages a slight, shaky smile. "Wisely spoken. You would make a fine monk."

"Mm. I think not. But I know you mean it as a compliment. So thank you." She sighs. "You will be all right, cub. I know it does not feel like it, and I know perhaps you do not even want to be, right now. But you will be. And Karlach..." She trails off, smiles sadly. "She is strong, far too strong to deserve such a fate. But she will be the stronger, to have you beside her - of this I am sure."

He swallows, reaches out and grabs her hand in a sudden, fierce grip. "Thank you," he whispers. "I will try to remember..."

-----

* Terribly self-indulgent artistic license, obviously. Pretty much everything other than the dialogue is from here, to be honest.

-----

A/N: So anyway, it's 3AM and I've been trying for two and a half hours to write about this scene effectively. If I'm honest, I'm pretty proud of the writing I've been able to do about Hector and Karlach's relationship specifically, but goddamn. There's only anything to write about at all because of the in-game dialogue being so extraordinary and this scene has torn my heart out. And there's a followup one in camp that is almost equally sad but that's going to have to wait until tomorrow I guess.

Anyway, here's a video of the scene itself because, as usual, the voice acting is what really sells all of it and I just... yeah.

Anyway thank you for reading. <3

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #karlach #karlach x tav #tav x karlach #drabble #karlach cliffgate #karlach bg3 #long post #jaheira #i was not emotionally prepared for this scene and legitimately teared up a couple times at my computer #i've been promised at least a semi-happy ending to this questline and i hope it's true #but the tragedy that it is at present is still a hell of a story #and i hope i am doing it any justice in my particular interpretation for hector #Youtube

[goldenhypen]

; ⎯ GOLDENHYPEN’S DARK BLOOD REQUEST EVENT ?! [CLOSED]

in celebration of enhypen’s new comeback, dark blood, i will be opening drabble requests! here are the rules:

send me an ask with:

one prompt from this list;

an enhypen member of your choice;

any storyline/details/genres you’re eager to read.

reminder that this is a sfw blog, meaning, all works are sfw skdjdj

only one request per ask please!

you can submit multiple requests, just separate them into one req per ask.

please be patient! i’ll try to get all requests out asap but please understand that i do have a life outside of tumblr too :)

i would also suggest reading the general req rules before submitting anything just in case; if i receive a request that breaks any of these, i’ll have to turn it down :(

also to clarify, the drabbles don’t have to do anything with dark blood or the concept or anything (unless you want it to be!) i just thought doing prompt requests again would be fun at a time like this!

and another thing, because these will be drabbles, this means your request will likely not end up being over 1k words.

i don’t have a deadline yet but for now i’ll aim to keep it open for a week or so (keep an eye on my pinned post to see the status of requests). happy requesting! REQUESTS ARE NOW CLOSED!

#i wanted to challenge myself into getting back into writing longer stories but 💀 #drabbles are a good way to get lots of reqs out quickly ok 😭 #and i’m hoping this gives me some inspo for a fic i’m working on rn 👀 #more details about that to come sometime later hehe #i also haven’t written much in a while and what better time to write than cb season :’> #no i’m serious tho inspo comes easiest at this time ngl skdjdk #have fun w these! <3 #em speaks #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #requests