#and then finally being set free (disowned) is like the best thing that could ever happen to him

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 99

Part 1 Part 98

Steve spends a short three days in the hospital before they start the discharge. It’s surprising, somehow, that spending time slowly dying in the Upside-Down is more traumatic on the body than literal possession. Eddie can’t wrap his head around it. 

He’s sitting on Steve’s bed, hopefully for the last time, hip to hip as he kicks his feet out over and over again at the same tempo of his beating heart. Steve’s got their fingers interlaced on Eddie’s thigh, flexing his own fingers to that same rhythm Eddie’d started up. 

“You think it’ll be much longer?” Steve asks, slumping his head to the side and atop Eddie’s shoulder.

His hair tickles Eddie’s cheek. Eddie wants to reach up and smooth it back, but Steve’s still holding his hand, and the other one doesn’t quite reach. 

“Nah, the old man’s good at getting what he wants.”

“That’s because he’s got the same big, sad eyes as you.”

Eddie squawks in fake affront even as warmth pools in his cheeks. Few people have mentioned a resemblance, and it makes him go soft and gooey every time.  “I don’t have big, sad eyes!” He shakes Steve’s hand around gently in his - he’s always, always gentle. “I’m too tough.”

Steve snorts, small and tired. Even with relatively minor injuries, neither of them have been sleeping well in the small hospital cot. It’s starting to show in the circles beneath Steve’s eyes. Eddie wants to bundle him up in the backseat of Wayne’s truck and tuck him into their bed at home.

They won’t even have to come back. All they’ve got is some sort of cream for Steve’s burns, and Eddie’s bruised ribs and broken nose  are supposed to heal all on their own. His concussion’s already behind him, even if things still go a little wonky if he moves his neck too quickly. 

They can just convalesce. Maybe Wayne will bring them soup. Or burgers from the diner and a strawberry milkshake to split. Anything will be better than the mind-numbing sterility of the hospital, as long as they’re together. 

If only Wayne would hurry the hell up. 

It’s not Wayne who walks in. It’s not any of their friends, or family, or an unnamed doctor in blue scrubs. It’s not anyone he recognizes at all.

It’s a perfectly matched pair - like salt and pepper shakers at a fancy diner. Eddie feels his shoulders curl, a silent question mark to their upright forms. 

The woman looks like a mannequin, in her gray pencil knit skirt and matching cardigan, belted tight enough to make her look like a wine glass. Her hair is a windswept brown and her chin’s raised just so. 

The man’s suit is a pewter gray, matching her skirt perfectly. He has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, like he’s posing for a catalog as he looms imposingly on the threshold. 

She knocks on the frame of the door, calling a quiet, “knock knock,” as the man strides in. 

Eddie feels Steve’s hair brush against his cheek as he sits up and twists, to look at the new arrivals. Eddie doesn’t look toward him, can’t tear his eyes away from the pair, as the woman comes to stand beside the man, photogenic smile plastered to her face, even as the man glares down at them.

“Steven,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in an expression Eddie knows intimately. He’s seen it on Steve’s own face enough times. It’s less charming on the older, meaner model. 

Steve drops his hand covertly and shuffles slightly to the left and away, leaving Eddie’s hand to flop to the mattress, bereft. 

“Dad,” Steve replies.

Eddie turns, can’t not when Steve’s voice comes out so even, so lifeless, so dead. It’s just like when the mind flayer was running the show. Like Steve’s not there at all.

He is though. And that feels worse, because as Eddie stares at Steve’s perfect profile, he can almost see the years of distance and berating stacking themselves into the clench of his jaw and that familiar furrow of eyebrows. 

“What do you have to say for yourself?” His Dad doesn’t shout, but the hiss somehow still feels like it’s echoing off the bare walls of the hospital room.

Steve flinches back. Eddie sits on his hand as it twitches without his permission to grab onto Steve’s own. 

“For what, sir?” Mrs. Harrington’s perfect face scrunches up into a wince as she looks sidelong at her husband’s stony face. He opens his mouth, eyebrows angrier than ever, and Steve blurts, “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t help. 

“Sorry,” he says evenly, like his fist wasn’t clenched in preparation for a strike. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

Steve sits, wordless, as he stares up at him, unblinking. 

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Steve.” It sounds sympathetic, but Steve’s back curls in, arms wrapping around his ribs as he looks down at his own hanging feet. 

Eddie sits on his other hand.

Steve remains silent while storm clouds bloom above Mr. Harrington’s head.

Mrs. Harrington sighs, crossing arms and tapping perfectly manicured fingers against her own forearms, that same familiar beat that Steve gravitates toward without any of the soul.

“Sweetie,” she starts, no warmth in her voice or eyes. “I understand that you might have been feeling a little sick, but that’s no excuse for the state you left the house in.”

Eddie looks at Steve out of the corner of his eyes, and sees Steve looking right back, eyebrow quirked up in a silent question Eddie doesn’t know how to answer with witnesses.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, looking back down to the linoleum between his feet. 

“You’re sorry?” Mr. Harrington demands, voice raising with each syllable he utters. “You flooded the house, Steven!”

Steve flinches at the sound of his name. Eddie reaches out for the connection between them and plucks it, thrumming it like a guitar. Steve smiles, just a little, down at his socked feet. 

It’s a mistake. Mr. Harrington’s nostrils flare. Eddie sees the resemblance in the way his nose leans just slightly to the left, almost charmingly crooked. But there’s none of that familiar light behind Mr. Harrington’s eyes. He’s an empty pit, a bottomless well.

“We’ve had to replace all of the carpeting on the second floor,” Mrs. Harrington cuts in, looking down at her nails, uncaring as Mr. Harrington’s incensed further by her words.

“We wouldn’t have even known if the Allen’s hadn’t called us!” He’s shouting now, gesturing wildly toward the open door like whoever the Allen’s are, they’re waiting right outside, watching the show.

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Richard. Don’t make a scene.”

As if spurred on by his wife’s chastising words, Mr. Harrington’s voice only gets louder. “You soiled the carpet beyond repair.” He punctuates his words with a raised finger, like he’s counting down all the sins he’s ready to lay at his son’s feet. “You made a spectacle of yourself in front of all the neighbors.” Another raised finger. 

He points both fingers  at Steve’s face, finger close enough to his nose that Eddie wants to snap out and bite it. “You left the garage open to be ransacked!” And here comes raised finger number three. 

Steve’s curling further and further into himself, creating distance between his Father’s wagging finger and his vulnerable face. 

“Leaving the door open, Steven?” Mrs. Harrington asks, just as aloof and uncaring of the scene in front of her, even as she says, “we could have been killed.”

Eddie can’t help the snort that comes out. It’s all just such a cartoonish display, almost unbelievable even as he watches it play out in front of him. He slaps his hand over his mouth, but both their gazes have already snapped over to him. 

Well, better him than Stevie. Stevie, who Eddie’s seen with that same curled posture hiding in his closet, and looking up at his own goddamn house from the passenger seat of Eddie’s van.

He’d been straight backed facing down a demogorgon but just the sight of his parents has him fading into himself. No fucking way. Not on Eddie’s watch.

Eddie slaps his own thighs once, sharp enough that it stings. Mrs. Harrington jumps, just a little, at the sound. Eddie stands, shifting on the balls of his feet until he’s just slightly in front of Steve, ready to defend. 

“Wouldn’t you have to actually be home for that?” Eddie asks.

Mrs. Harrington gasps, hand over her cheek like Eddie had slapped her. “Excuse me?” she asks, at the same time that Mr. Harrington demands, “who are you?”

Eddie puts his pointer finger to his chin, pouting like he’s really thinking this through. “You know, I think you’d know that if you were ever actually around.” 

Steve stands, shoulder to shoulder with Eddie as his Dad takes a threatening step toward Eddie. 

“This is Eddie,” Steve says, voice flat and cold. King Steve’s come out to play. Eddie grins, manic and wide in that way that’s always worked to rile up cops and teachers alike. It works just as well on the Harrington’s. He sticks out his tongue and almost laughs again when Mrs. Harrington takes a startled step back. “You’d know that if you gave half a shit about me.”

Mr. Harrington scoffs as he looks Eddie up and down, eyeing the rips in his jeans, the frayed hem of his t-shirt, the unkempt length of his hair. He turns away, dismissing him without even a word as he looks back at Steve. 

“It’s time to go,” he says, glaring down at his son. “We’ll talk about this at home.”

Steve takes a step away from Mr. Harrington’s grasping hands. Eddie reaches out, interlocking their fingers again and squeezing tight. The splint on Steve’s finger sticks out awkwardly, digging into Eddie’s own hand as Steve squeezes right back.

“Eddie is my home,” Steve says, like that isn’t the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.

He almost swoons, even as Mr. Harrington rages, looking between the pair of them, making connections Eddie desperately hopes are true and even more desperately hopes the man won’t go spreading around. 

“Last chance,” Mr. Harrington says. “Or we’re-”

He doesn’t get to finish. Wayne chooses that moment to walk in. His stance goes loose immediately, gaze sharp. 

“Richard,” he says. Calm, cool, and gruff as he meets both their enraged eyes, one after another. “Nora.”

Mrs. Harrington sucks on her teeth, mouth pursed as she holds her silence. Mr. Harrington has no such compunction. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

Wayne raises his eyebrow before turning his back on them to run his eyes over Steve and Eddie in turn. “You boys alright?” Steve nods, but Eddie raises his hand to flap it back and forth in a wishy-washy gesture that Wayne grimaces at. “Ready to go home?”

Richard scoffs, taking a threatening step forward. “What do you mean home?” Steve flinches as the last word lands with derision. Steve doesn’t respond, just looks down at his own shoes with a clenched jaw. 

Mrs. Harrington sighs, and it lands in the room like a blow. 

Wayne’s eyes have gone hold and hard as he turns around and steps fully in front of Steve. “Steve’s been staying with me for over a year,” Wayne says, tone modulated and controlled even as his hands clench. “And you didn’t even notice.”

“Steven,” Richard says, a warning hidden in his tone. “Last chance.”

Eddie leans around Wayne to look between the pair. He resists the urge to pull Steve behind him. Eddie squeezes his hand and is floored when Steve’s shoulders immediately straighten, chin raised just so, like he’s keeping his crown straight atop his head. 

He stands, shoulders back, head held high. Eddie stands right along with him. 

“I’m not going with you,” Steve says, boring holes into his Father’s head with the force of his conviction from behind Wayne’s shoulder. 

Mr. Harrington’s  jaw clenches with whatever he sees on Steve’s face. He reaches his hand out, palm open and beckoning. “Give me your keys,” he demands, curling his fingers like he’s in a cheesy karate movie and begging his opponent to make the first move. 

Steve laughs. “You want my car?” His laugh is hollow. “You’ll have to go get it from the trailer park.”

Mrs. Harrington eyes Eddie and Wayne like she’s putting pieces together he’d rather she not have. Even still, she turns away with an airy, “Come on, Richard.” When he doesn’t immediately follow her directions, she continues, “this isn’t the place.”

Mr. Harrington’s snarling like a dog, finger still raised in threat as he hisses, “this isn’t over,” before turning and striding through the door with enough careless force that his shoulder hits the frame with a meaty thwack. 

“See you next year, then!” Eddie calls, waving bitchily at their backs. 

They all stare at the open door, waiting for an attack that never comes until Mrs. Harrington’s heels stop echoing down the corridor. 

“What the hell was that?” Wayne asks gruffly. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched, as he glares out the open doorway, but at Wayne’s question, he slumps, stepping closer to Eddie until he can lay some of his weight onto Eddie’s shoulders. It hurts his ribs, but Eddie takes it gladly, wrapping his hand around Steve’s waist. 

“Just the usual,” Steve says, sounding exhausted. 

Wayne eyes him critically as Steve avoids his gaze. Eddie squeezes Steve’s side, flickering his fingers against his waist just to feel him wriggle against the feeling. 

“Alright, kid,” Wayne says, reaching out to squeeze both their shoulders comfortingly. Steve slumps further into Eddie who gladly takes his weight. “I think it’s about time we all get home.”

Eddie smiles, bumping his hip into Steve. 

He was already home. After all, Steve’s right here. 

Part 100

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[felicitydanforth1692]

Spare Me: Chapter 2

Word count: 1,848

Summary: A young highborn girl takes pity on her father's recent prisoner, a prickly Spaniard m who was caught for simply stealing food, and decides to set him free before her father could act. Little did she know that that decision will cost her everything, including being disowned by her family. Out in the wilderness she comes across a familiar face, but will he be her salvation or her end?

Chapter 2

Three days. The Spaniard had been kept down in the dungeon for three days. No light and no fresh air. But no small amount of company. For only two days Katerina managed to sneak herself and freshly made and baked food down into the darkness for him. She would bring him food from bread to chocolate, and he was always ravenous. He ate the food in a blink of an eye while she would sit and talk to him. She tried to ask more questions but he wasn’t easy to speak with. He was grumpy, prickly and a bit rude. But he didn’t scream, lash or attack her which Katerina took as a good sign. He would sit and eat while answering whatever question she would throw at him.

“Tell me again.” Katerina smiled. Learning another language was never easy. Especially one she’s been studying for a while. She had sat with him for a good two hours as he finished up his food. Slowly but surely while trying to learn his mother tongue.

“Jesús mujer,” (Jesus, woman) Pero shook his head as he bawled up an empty rag.

“Don’t be smart with me. Whatever it is that you said.” Katerina snapped back. She set her journal down to reach for the bag she always brought with her. “Keep helping me and I will give you these.”

Pero looked down at the sack resting in her lap and he huffed angrily. “Bribing a hungry man with food,” he shook his head, his shoulder length hair bouncing despite being. “Like father, like daughter.”

Katerina paused, her gut suddenly dropping uncontrollably. The words he had spoken to her before stabbed her in her chest. She glanced down with her cheeks flaming red down to her chest and she sighed sadly. She scooted closer and she placed the sack in his lap. Pero looked at her and she smiled softly.

“I made them myself.” She said softly. “I think you’ll like them.”

Pero was silent for a moment before he turned his attention to the sack. He untied the knot, and what greeted him was round pieces of soft gold shining up at him.

“Lemon cakes.” Katerina smiled. “My parents frown when I make things myself, but I enjoy baking.”

“Lemons.” Pero breathed. He reached and took one between his fingers, admiring the shiny glaze with the lemon underneath. “I haven’t had a lemon in years.” He looked at her. “How do I know there isn’t something baked into these sweets?”

“And not all the other foods I’ve been bringing to you?” Katerina teased.

Pero huffed and went back to admiring the treat. She smiled as she watched him shove the entire cake into his mouth. He moaned as he rested his head back against the pole and he sighed. He set the sack aside before he looked at the woman beside him. She stared at him with that soft smile he’s seen for two days, and he sighed. She confused him to no end. Was this highborn girl so bored to the point where he was the only one she wanted to speak with? A family with money and friends in high places, there she was sitting in the dark to speak with him.

“Why are you here, princesa?” Pero asked. “What is it you want from me?”

“Who says I want anything?” Katerina said back. Her confidence in her words fell immediately the moment Pero gave her the most doubtful look. She was never the best liar. She looked away from him as she tried to find the right words.

“I just wanted to know the truth, I suppose.” She continued. “I have been told my father takes many criminals for their crimes here in Maplestrand. But what crimes, I never knew.” She finally looked at him. “I was spying when you were brought before my father. It was the first time I’ve ever done so. Was . . . did you tell me the truth? About my father?”

“What reason would I have to lie?” Pero spat, reaching for another pastry. “It doesn’t matter anymore, girl. If my guesses are correct, I’ll be hanged by tomorrow.”

“What?” Katerina frowned. “That can’t be true.”

“No? Then tell me this, princesa. How many prisoners have you seen walk out of these castle walls? Alive? Whenever you were spying?”

Katerina suddenly fell silent, her words and air in her lungs getting caught in the back of her throat. Her eyes drifted away as Pero ate another cake, and she swallowed. She adjusted her seating within the straws of hay and dirt and she shook her head.

“I won’t let that happen.” She stood from the ground, dusting the blackness from her clothes. She looked down as Pero suddenly laughed.

“You’re a very small guppy in a glass full of sharks.” He looked up at her as he tied the sack shut. “You have no power nor authority of any kind in these stone walls.” He placed his hands behind his back. “Get on with it.”

Katerina frowned but she obeyed him, shackling his wrists behind his back before she stood in front of him. “I’ll come by tomorrow.” She said as she held her things to her chest.

“Who's to say I will be here in the morning?”

Katerina paused again, her stomach cramping. She faced the door, trying to get her feet to move before she looked over her shoulder at him. He was dead serious, staring at her with those brown eyes of his. Katerina swallowed, reaching up for the torch  to leave, taking the light with her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Katerina once again sat in the study, running the feather of her quill along, up and down her lips. She could hear the faint echoes and sounds of her Elder speaking, trying to continue to educate her but all of it was falling on dead ears. Katerina sat there with a knot in her stomach. She stared down at the paper before her, once again scribbling and daydreaming, thinking of Pero. His brown eyes. His accent. All of him.

Katerina gasped as the paper was yanked from her quill pen. She looked up to see her Elder with her scolding gaze once more and she looked down at the paper. Katerina looked as well and her eyes widened in horror to see she had doodled a picture of the Spaniard.

“Daydreaming again?” She demanded.

Katerina placed her hands in her lap, “Not intentionally.” She said honestly. Despite knowing the lessons already she attempted to use them as a distraction. “I was trying to pay attention, I promise.”

“Not well enough.” Elder set the paper aside and she sighed. “It doesn't matter. We won’t have to worry about that filth any longer.”

Katerina dropped the ink glass with a shatter, her hand shaking slightly. “What-What do you mean?”

“The Spaniard,” Elder said. “He’s being put to death.”

“What?” Katerina demanded. “To death?”

“Yes. Tomorrow morning he will be hanged.”

Katerina swallowed the bile that threatened to crawl up her throat at the realization that Pero was right. He was right. Katerina turned away as the Elder turned her attention to the ink spell on the wooden floor. She sat down on the side of her bed, hands placed on her stomach as she took in the information, and she groaned. Her stomach bubbled uncomfortably at the thought of hanging tomorrow. Especially the man she had talked to frequently. Who she brought food and drink to. He was going to be killed. But not if Katerina had anything to do with it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Katerina decided to wait until pure darkness. Until the whole castle had gone completely quiet. She lifted her head from her pillow, listening for any current sounds before she removed herself from bed. She was still dressed in her day gown, her hair down. She sat on the side of the bed, slipping into her slippers and cloak. She reached for a packed sack she had hidden within her wardrobe before she hurried out of the room.

She crept through the castle like a shadow, knowing her home like the back of her hand. She made her way through the dark, swiping the keys for the cells and grabbed the usual torch from the wall. She lit her way through the walls, gasping as a rat ran across her slipper causing her to hurry to Pero’s cell.

Pero looked up at the light, squinting through the darkness. His eyes widened to see Katerina again and so late at night, he could only guess, and he tried to speak through the gag.

“Shhh,” Katerina whispered as she hurried over to him. “There could be a guard nearby.”

“What are you doing?” Pero demanded after he ripped the gag from his mouth. He grunted as he stood and faced Katerina and paused to see something particular in her eyes.

“You were right.” She said softly. “My Elder told me you were going to be put to death. Tomorrow morning you’re to be hanged.”

“And you’re doing this, why? Why are you helping me?”

Katerina fell silent for a moment, staring into this grungy man’s eyes with her words once again being caught in her throat. Why was she helping him? She thought she had a good reason to. He was being put to death for stealing food to feed himself. Food that wasn’t being provided for him just because he was who he was. Not a Petrova.

“You were just hungry.” She whispered. “You were hungry and you’re being punished for a desperate attempt to feed yourself. For a desperate attempt to get away from my father, whom I don’t know is true to the things you told me but, either way I won’t let that happen I, I can’t. I won’t. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I were to let this continue.” Katerina took his hand. “We have to hurry.”

Pero was silent as he followed the woman through the dark, still holding her hand as he tugged and pulled. She peeked and peered around corners nervously as if they were going to be caught. But they didn’t. Instead Pero assisted her in pushing a door open, revealing the vast forest before them. Katerina shivered, pulling her cloak tight around her before she faced Pero.

“I wish you the best of luck to make your way back to your company.” Katerina shivered and she handed him the heavy sack. “This is all I managed to give you. I hope it will be enough.”

“I’m sure it will, princesa.” Pero said, taking the sack from her. He looked at her with a sudden softness, and he sighed.

“Don’t thank me.” Katerina smiled. “Thank me when you’re miles away from here.” She reached for his hand. “Don’t make me regret this flash of consciousness Pero Tovar. Please.”

Pero nodded, squeezing her hand for a brief moment before he stepped out into the cold night air. Katerina stood there, watching him go before she could no longer see him, and she closed the door.

[jinx-jade]

Cries of a hummingbird part 3: Side effect

When Marinette first received her miraculous, she didn’t believe herself to be the best candidate to fight a villain wielding ancient magic jewelry. Yet when push came to shove, and Marinette was given no option to back out or walk away, she accepted the mantle.

As time went on she adjusted to the life of secrets. She couldn’t tell anyone that she was Ladybug. This meant that Marinette was constantly making up excuses for where she was, why she was late, why she didn’t show, any excuse to keep them away from her secret identity.

After all, keeping secrets is what you have to do to keep people safe.

‘It’s fine. Keeping secrets is just a side effect of being a vigilante’, Marinette thought to herself.

When Master Fu, Marinette’s only mentor, passed on his title of Grand Guardian to her, Marinette wanted to scream, cry, to do something. She wanted to be able to process her emotions, She wanted to be able to mourn the loss of her grandfather figure, her mentor, the person she was able to be open with and keep no secrets.

‘It’s fine. Not showing emotions is just a side effect of living in Paris.’ Marinette thought to herself.

“Mistress? Perhaps a…trip to somewhere… outside of Hawkmoths range is in order?” Kaalki suggested.

“Is that the best idea? What if an Akuma attacks while we’re gone?” Marinette questioned uncertainty shadowing her neutral tone of voice.

“I believe it would be a wise decision to release any built-up energy and emotions.” Wayzz states. The other kwamis joining in with their agreements, that a break would be a good idea.

Kaalki opened a portal that ended up taking Marinette to a dark gothic city. It was here, where she was safe from any possibility of Akumatization that she finally broke down.

Marinette’s emotions exhausted her more than she thought. The second she was home and lying down, Marinette fell fast asleep. It was a stark contrast to the previous sleepless nights she’s had since receiving a miraculi.

Marinette visited the gothic city fairly frequently to break down and be able to process her emotions. While She felt bad for using the miraculi in such a selfish way, the Kwamis encouraged Marinette to leave the toxic environment whenever she saw fit. 

After all, if Marinette were to be Akumatized, the world if not the universe would most likely end.

When Lila Rossi turned Marinette’s friends, teachers, classmates, and slowly, her parents against her by pointing out all of Marinette’s lies and excuses, all she could do was put on a mask of indifference.

‘It’s fine. I shouldn’t worry about some small school drama.’ Marinette thought to herself. A side effect of being the Grand Guardian is that it had made Marinette’s life problems seem like a leaf blowing in the wind, compared to the missing miraculi that is a tornado able to destroy cities, countries, and worlds.

When Marinette was all but legally disowned by the Dupain-Chengs, all she could do was stare at the two people she thought would never turn their backs on her. There was no emotion in Marinette’s stare. To her, it seemed like she was observing from behind a one-way window. 

All Marinette’s parents could see was a mirror reflecting the girl everyone believed Marinette to be based on the numerous true and false rumors floating around about the bluenette. Marinette on the other hand could only watch as if it was a show on a television instead of her actual life.

‘It’s fine. My parents… Tom and Sabine not trusting me must be a side effect from all the times I’ve had to lie to them.’ Marinette thought to herself.

When Chat Noir turned his back on Ladybug, willingly choosing to help the terrorist that had held all of Paris emotionally captive for the past four years, all she could do was sweep her feelings under a rug. She couldn’t deal with those feelings of betrayal and hurt till after this war was over and done with.

Ladybug snatched Chat Noir’s miraculi, revealing none other than Marinette’s former crush, Adrien Agreste. She wasn’t allowed to sit in her shock due to Hawkmoth, Mayura, and Adrien attacking her.

Seeing no other option, Ladybug merged the Ladybug and black cat miraculi. When she did, the world seemed to come to a stop.

No.

It was simply moving too slow for the young vigilante’s brain to process the movements.

“What’s going on?” Ladybug questioned.

“You have merged the powers of creation and luck herself with the powers of destruction and ill fortune himself. What do you wish?” An ethereal voice spoke.

“I… I don’t have a wish. I just… I just didn’t know… know what else to do.” Ladybug stutters out feeling lost and confused.

“You have no wish?” The voice asked confused.

“No, I…” Ladybug paused realizing how she could end all of this.

“What if I wished for the kwamis to be set free, what would be the balancing act to set things back into balance?” Ladybug questioned.

“You wish to set the Kwamis free? You are aware that you humans would never be able to use the Kwami’s powers again, correct?” The voice informs her.

“Yes, I’m aware.” Ladybug answers.

“Then make your wish.” The voice states softly.

“I… I wish for the kwamis to be released from their bound jewels… To never be imprisoned against their will… To never be forgotten… To let them interact with all beings however they please. I wish for the kwamis to be set free.” Ladybug informs the voice of her wish.

In response, a soft glow appeared, fixing all the damage that had been done in the battle. Hawkmoth and Mayura de-transformed and became their civilians Gabrial Agreste and Nathalie Sancoeur. However, before Ladybug’s transformation drops, a portal opens and brings Marinette back to her gothic haven.

“Here is where you’re meant to be Mistress.” The soft voice of Kaalki could be heard.

“Don’t worry about us pigtails. We’ll be keeping a close eye on ya,” Plagg claimed.

“Should you ever wish to speak with us, just send us your prayers. We are gods after all,” Wayzz states as wise as ever.

“We’ll talk soon. I just know it.” Tikki cheered.

The kwamis each gave their goodbyes. Once she was alone, Marinette finally broke down.

‘Was it over?’

‘Was she finally free?’

‘Did all this just because she opened a random box that had been on her desk?’

‘Was this all just the side effects of opening that box?’

‘Was this just the side effect of the miraculous?’

Question after question appearing in her head, but after a few more moments, Marinette fell asleep, giving into her emotionally exhausted state.

[jadedxrealityw]

-Truth Or Dare- Pansy Parkinson x Female Reader

    ☼-☪-☼

   Kody: Happy Lesbian Visibility Day!

   Movie/Show: Harry Potter 

   House and Year:  Slytherin / 7th year

   Request: Good morning/night! Hope you’re having a lovely day and make sure to drink water ! Can you write a Pansy x Fem!reader where they’re playing truth or dare and get dared to makeout in front of the people they’re playing with 

   Possible Triggers / Warnings: cursing, makeout, slytherin’s being dumbasses, if you don’t like girls kissing unfollow me please, 

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   slytherin’s were considered the most poised and proper house since most came from wealthy pure-blood families who acted like they were born with a stick up there ass. To everyone else the house of Slytherin was also the rudest people alive.

   those people have never been in your friend group clearly. 

   it was true, most of you came from wealth, but you also had shitty, racist, probably homophobic parents. It was the main thing that brought you together, the fact no one else knew what you had to go through just so you weren’t written out of an will or disowned. 

   it sounded shallow to most outsiders, but you needed the money to start your own life and finally be free to do what you want without the constant reminder from your parents about how to act, what to wear, who to hang out with, how to be a proper lady and all that bullshit. It was suffocating.

   enough of the emotional shit. It was a godsend that school year’s at Hogwarts were as long as they were because it meant you had all the time in the world to hangout with your best friends. Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson. 

   Draco was the biggest hot head you knew and easily offended, but he also had a big heart under all that angst. When he attached to someone it was impossible to get rid of him. He clung onto all of you like a lifeline and even if he’s a little overbearing you loved him all the same. 

   Blaise was a calm collected fellow, very sarcastic and condescending sometimes. He talked so proper you couldn’t tell if he was insulting you really. Like Draco he also had a big heart, but would never ever show it unless you was with with Theo and to Theo only.

   speaking of Nott. Theo was the ultimate loner avoided all of you for your first year of Hogwarts, then he met Blaise and they connected very well. You all thought it was funny when Theo would be all quiet around you and suddenly light up like a star when Blaise walked into the room.

   he was like that with all of you now though

   and Pansy. She was the embodiment of ‘fuck you and your mom’ kind of person. She took no ones shit and you admired her for that. She was also a giant flirt towards you and only you. Compliment your looks, body, anything really. You thought of it as a joke t first and casually flirted back.

   you suppose Pansy saw that as an invitation to try something more. She’d randomly place her hand somewhere on you and trace random shapes in agonizing slow patterns. A tease at it’s finest. There were also the sides of her you found comforting. 

   you were always prone to panic attacks, something that developed from your parents nonetheless. She would always cradle your face and make sure you were breathing just fine or slip you chocolate frogs randomly because she knew you liked sweets. 

   she was your best friend, but with time your feelings changed and every little thing she did set fire through you like no other. Your heart would start beating so fast you were afraid she would hear it if she got to close. Sometimes you wished she did

   unbeknownst to you Draco, Blaise, and Theo all knew both you and Pansy liked each other and were both pussyfooting around your feelings. Pansy always thought she wasn’t good enough for you and you on the other hand thought that she just didn’t like you like that at all.

   the boy’s were adamant to see you two together

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   every other friday night all of you would crowd into Pansy’s room to have a sleepover- well you stopped calling it that after fourth year because Blaise said it was to immature for your guy’s age. He shut up real quick after Pansy said he wasn’t invited then. 

   each of you had your sacred tasks bestowed upon you if you wanted to be allowed entry to the dark cave that was Pansy Parkinson’s private dorm. Draco was in charge of getting butterbeer, Theo got sweets, Blaise had to collect extra pillows and blankets for you all to sleep on.

   and you and Pansy would watch idly as they ran round for said things. 

   “Finally, only took you three an hour” Pansy taunted as the three Slytherin boys walked through the door “Your not the one sneaking butterbeer into the dorms at two in the morning you lazy ass” Draco snapped back, holding the case of glass bottles in his hand. 

   Theo set the basket of sweets on Pansy’s trunk that was at the foot of her bed so he could help Blaise set up the blankets on the floor “Yeah shove off” she waves her hand before falling back onto the bed “Where’s Y/n? Is she not coming? She’s okay right?” BLaise asked, looking around the room.

   Pansy had to hold back a fit of laughter “She’s in the bathroom changing. Your dad is showing by the way” she snickers. Blaise scoffs and goes back to putting down the pillows.  “Why does she need to change?” Theo spoke up, taking a seat on a pillow.

   a grin made its way to Pansy’s face “Spilled some water on her clothes- she spilled water on her clothes” she quickly corrects herself. Draco narrows his eyes and looks at Blaise who gives him a knowing look. “Right” Draco says, knowing full well what happened. 

   the bathroom door opened and Pansy sat up quickly. You walked out, running a hand through your hair as the Slytherin girl eyed you up and down, unable to hide her grin at her shorts and matching black shirt on your body. “Hey Sexy” Pansy sends you a wink. 

   fuck

   you have learned to tone down your emotions around her, but still- “Hey” you reply simply nad go over to sit at the foot of the bed “Sorry for the wait” you say and they shake their heads “It’s fine, want some butterbeer?” Draco asked and you nod rapidly. 

   Draco begins to distribute the butterbeer amongst you all and that's when the chatting started. Pansy sat behind you and wrapped her arms around your waste, one hand holding her bottle of butter beer and the other wrapped tightly around you. 

   at one point she slid her hand up your shirt, stopping at your belly button to rub the cold metal of her ring along your skin. It made you choke on your butterbeer a bit and cough up “Are you alright?” Blaise asked and you nodded quickly, pointing to your throat “Went down the wrong pipe”

   Blaise seemed to believe your answer or faked it well because he went back to talking to Theo.

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   an hour later

   you all had pretty much devoured most of the sweets and were out of topics to talk about though Pansy could continue to insult Draco’s hair until her dying breath. “I’m fucking bored” Pansy whined, laying her head on your shoulder. Y/n.Exe has stopped working.

   “Not my damn problem” Draco retorts, popping a flavour bean into his mouth. You exhale, shaking your head. Weren’t your friends just the nicest people alive. “Good thing i didn’t fucking ask you then huh Malfoy!?” Pansy shouts. Blaise copies your previous actions and sighs.

   he reached up to rub his temples “May we not yell for the sake of my head and Theo’s” he says. Pansy was about to go in one Blaise when you spoke up “Yah, your yelling in my ears Pans” Draco shot her a smirk, knowing she wouldn’t yell after that. 

   Pansy flips him off with a grin “Sit and spin on it” she mouths to him and he just shoots her a glare “We could play truth to dare, heard a couple Hufflepuff girls talking about it. They said it was fun” Theo cut in, looking at his hands. Blaise’s face scrunched up a bit t the idea, but he didn’t say anything. 

   “Yes- your mine bitch” Pansy lets out a maniacal laugh as she points at Draco who looked more weirded out then scared “I’ll play since Theo is, what about you Y/n?” Blaise questioned. You shrug your shoulders “Sure, i’m always down to try things once”

   Pansy’s face lights up “Thank you babes. Now who goes first?” she asked. Blaise lifted his wand nd tapped the empty Butterbeer bottle, causing it to levitate “Pansy, spin it” he says. She shrugs and reaches over your shoulder to spin the bottle. 

   it took a couple seconds before it landed on the Slytherin prince himself. Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes “Fuck my life” he muttered as Pansy gave him a sickenly sweet smile “Draco, truth or dare prick” she said, keeping her wide smile. Draco looked like he was weighing his options in his mind. 

   “Truth”

   “What house did you want to be in when you were ten?” She asked. What a weird question. Draco’s face darkened s if he had seen a boggart, before he scowled “You fucking bitch” he seethed making you snicker a bit as well as Theo. “Say it~” she says in a sing song voice. 

   “Fine!” he shouts and takes a deep breath, crossing his arms like an angry child “I wanted to be in Gryffindor, like Harry Potter” the room was silent for a moment as you all stared at him blankly “Loser” Pansy laughs and he throws his arms in the air. 

   “I hate you”

   “Okay cool it Gryffindor” BLaise interjected, making all of you snicker. Draco narrowed his eyes at his mate “Your laughing now Zabini, just wait until i get you and your fucked” he threatens, but Blaise doesn’t have an reaction “Right...good luck with that”

   Draco spins the bottle and you all watch as it spins around for a couple seconds until it stops on the one and only Blaise Zabini “Well shit” he says with a deadpan look. Pansy gasped and covered her mouth “I can’t believe dad just cursed in front of us” she mutters to you, making you smile. 

   “Truth or dare Zabini?” Draco asked, a evil smirk on his face. Sometimes you forgot you were surrounded by Slytherin’s and your friends were assholes. “Dare since i’m not a pussy unlike my fellow housemates” Blaise grins, making Draco shake his head. 

   “Tell Theo you love him...in front of us”

   now Blaise wasn’t one for PDA and neither was Theo, probably one of the reasons they fit so well together. Draco was a dick for this one “I choose truth” he said instantly. You look at Theo who’s half smile turned into a grin. What was he planning? His face drops to a frown and he looks at Blaise.

   “You don’t love me?” he asked, his lip quivering a bit. What in the? All of you looked at Theo as Blaise stared at his boyfriend in shock “What?! No of course i do!” Blaise protests, but Theo doesn’t break from his character “Then say it” he persits. 

   all of you were stunned into silence, even loud mouth Pansy. Blaise looked like he was going to breakdown, which was an interesting look on his face actually “I- uh- what? I-” ne sputters, not knowing how to answer. Theo looks down at his lap “It’s fine i get it” he replies.

   he starts to sniffle, to make Blaise think he was crying which seemed to push - him over the edge. He grabs Theo’s face and makes him look at him “Oh my- i love you Theo. I’m in love with you. What has gotten into you?” he asked rapidly. Theo finally breaks and gives him a tired smile. 

   “I love you too. Who’s next?” he says, breaking away from Blaise who looked like he just went through all five stages of grief and is deciding to go through it all a second time. “Damn- that's tough” Pansy says, breaking the tension “Fuck you” Blaise snaps instantly making you all go wide eyed.

   you guys needed a dad swear jar

   Blaise huffs and spins the bottle, his usual smile with bad intentions coming back to his face once it lands on Pansy, who just sighs, mumbling some curses under her breath “Pans, truth or dare?” he asked. Pansy eyed him with a glare before smiling “Dare” she says. 

   you knew it was a bad idea

   “I dare you to make out with Y/n” he said casually, causing you to choke on your butterbeer “Excuse me!?” you interject “I didn’t laugh at you!” he shrugs his shoulders “Your just collateral damage Y/n, very sorry” he says. but you knew he wasn’t.

   “This is bullshit” you mutter, though the thought was making your heartbeat against your chest. Pansy shrugs nonchalantly before using her hand to tilt your head up so you were looking t the ceiling. This way she could reach you since she was sat behind you.

   Pansy leans down and plants her lips onto yours, leaving you shocked. You lose your grip of your butterbeer, causing it to fall, but Theo catches it. Pansy Parkinson was kissing you, the girl you fell in love with. This wasn’t a teasing touch or flirty comment. It was the real thing.

   and you loved it

   you reach up to put your hand on the nape of her neck to pull her in for  deeper kiss, feeling her grin against your lips. As you both got more heated the boys slowly left the room, leaving you two alone to do whatever the hell really. Good thing too, because it was only going to go further. 

   Pany’s free hand reaches up to wrap round your neck, not squeezing, but just gripping firmly to keep you in place. Fuck. Her tongue ran along your bottom lip and you opened your mouth slightly for her to slip her tongue in and connect it with yours.

   you always forget she has tongue ring

   it was nice to latch onto, hearing Pansy moan into your mouth was an added plus as well. You guessed Pansy was fed up with the current position because she pulled away and pushed you roughly back onto the bed, pulling your legs so you were closer to her.

   she leaned down, hovering over you “I should probably tell you i’m in love with you before anything else happens” hse spoke, a wide smile spreading across her face “Why?” you asked. “because- answer the question Y/n, do you love me too?” she spoke, you could tell she was getting anxious. 

   “Of course i love you. I have for a long time” you say, matching her smile “You're telling me i could have been kissing you like this sooner?” she asked with a small pout. You reach up and loop your arms around her neck “Then let’s not waste anymore time then huh?”

   Pansy grins before kissing you again. 

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   Kody: How come every Pansy fic i write so far is just really horny? Anyways, i haven’t slept yet and peace!

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (here) Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

A little bit of BAMF! Jaskier, a lot of emotionally constipated/self flagellating Geralt, some miscommunication, and a secret.

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Geralt awoke slowly. The anxiety and excitement of the wedding had taken its toll, and the comfortable bed had enveloped him nicely. There was also the warm, comfortable weight in his arms.

Jaskier.

It was Jaskier in his arms. The young man was curled up, still fast asleep, with his head tucked against Geralt’s chest. Geralt wondered who had gravitated to whom in the night. Had he vvmoved unconsciously hold Jaskier? Perhaps. Jaskier must have cuddled up to him too, though. There was no other way to explain the way Jaskier’s hand was curled, lightly, around Geralt’s medallion. Holding on to Geralt. On his other hand, the wedding ring glittered.

Used to assessing battle situations, this train of thought happened in thirty seconds or less. His processing was significantly sleep slowed, however, because he finally became aware of what had woken him.

There was a pounding on the door. The urgent pounding of someone who desperately wanted to speak with the occupants but didn’t want to make others aware.

Without other options Geralt gently extricated himself from Jaskier, accidentally waking the young man in the process, pulled on the pants from the day before, and crossed to the door.

It was Eskel.

“What?”

“It’s almost ten in the morning,” Eskel said. “Vesemir wants us to leave really soon. Um, check if Jaskier has people he wants to say goodbye to.”

“Our things,” Geralt began.

Eskel waved a dismissive hand. “Vesemir had them packed up last night, but he really wants us to leave and he won’t tell us why.”

Geralt shrugged, reassured his brother, and closed the door.

Jaskier was sitting up in bed, his undershirt, a large, flowy thing, had slipped off one shoulder. Geralt’s stomach lurched, rolled, and finally curled up. Somehow it wasn’t in an unpleasant way, though. The skin was pale gold in the torchlight. It brought thoughts of sinking his teeth into all that glowing skin, gripping as he folded his body over Jaskier’s and...

Geralt dunked his head in the washbasin.

“Is that an okay temperature,” Jaskier said, slipping on his wedding attire from the day before. “I think it was warmed up for us last night but it’s probably pretty cold by now.”

It was doing exactly what Geralt needed it to, so he just grunted.

“I don’t have anyone I need to say goodbye to,” Jaskier said as Geralt wiped water from his eyes. “We can leave whenever.”Geralt nodded and pulled on his wedding doublet. Jaskier, all in white and pearls still looked like some sort of angel. He took Jaskier’s hand, and they left.

It was Jaskier’s guidance, of course, that brought them back to the rooms that had been for the witchers, and Vesemir was outside the door already.

“Was worried you two would linger,” he griped, but it was good-natured.

“Yeah honeymooners, how’s married life feel?,” Lambert smirked. He had packs over his shoulder, so did Eskel, and Vesemir. Eskel offered Geralt his pack and swords. Geralt shouldered them and took a much nicer pack from Lambert, obviously Jaskier’s. Vesemir picked up a lute from where it had been leant against the wall and Jaskier took it gratefully, a hint of a smile touching his round cheeks.

Then the odd little party left.

After all the anxiety and waiting and intrigue and the wedding itself, just walking down to the stables as an little group felt strange. No one stopped them, though. 

The witcher’s horses had been cared for, but were otherwise untouched. There was a fifth, a black and white stallion, big but not a battlehorse by any means. Jaskier reached forward and kissed it’s muzzle. The horse responded by huffing in the way horses do and tossing his mane.

They mounted up and were off before the bell in the town center tolled eleven. It just didn’t feel real.

“We’ll ride with you to Egerbak,” Vesemir said, naming a town a day’s ride from Chateau Lettenhove. “From there we’ll go our separate ways, not good for witchers to be all in one group.”

“Why?” Jaskier said, looking puzzled. “Wouldn’t it make fighting monsters easier?”

“Sometimes,” Eskel said, “But if the terrain is rough you can get in one another’s way.”

“Get paid less too, the locals think it’s easy and give up less coin,” Lambert said, a little sourly.

“Most jobs need just one witcher,” Geralt said, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “And villagers get edgy if there’s more than that, they fear an attack.” He didn’t mention why. Surely Jaskier knew the reason he was called Butcher. “But there isn’t many of us left, either. We four are all of the wolf school. If there were people who wished us harm, having us all in one place could exterminate our school.”

“That’s horrible,” Jaskier said, blue eyes wide. The color was muted today, Geralt noticed. The sky was overcast and his eyes seemed to reflect the blue-grey light that filtered down.

“Do you think we’re in danger now?” the young man said.

“Depends, do you think your father would send people after you? To kill you I mean.” Vesemir didn’t even raise the question gently.

Jaskier sat, moving steadily astrid his horse, looking straight ahead. After a long moment with just the sound of five sets of hooves he said quietly, “I think maybe we should move a little faster.” He nudged his horse into a canter and fingered his lute strap nervously.

Without further instruction, the witchers formed up. Eskel, keen with magic and with the same good senses of any witcher, rode in front. Lambert, with his predilection for blowing things up from a distance, rode behind. Geralt and Vesemir rode along in the middle, Jaskier between them. He was probably the safest man for a hundred miles.

“You really think he might try something?” Geralt asked quietly. He knew speaking softly wasn’t the same as being tactful, but it was about the best he had.

Jaskier nodded. “It makes sense. If his goal is to start war with the witchers. To say you mistreated me and voided the contract, that’s one thing. But it makes a better story to feed to people if his beloved son is killed the day after the wedding.”

“I just don’t get it,” Geralt said, frustratedly. “Why does he want a war with witchers? I understand he doesn’t want you to be his successor, but he could just disown you, couldn’t he?”

“I was thinking about that,” said Jaskier. “It would look bad if he did, but he could. I think he wants a war with witchers because he wants a war with other countries. Any place that didn’t immediately turn against witchers-- all witchers, not just your school--well, he could declare them an enemy of Lettenhove, which is a big province. That makes it an enemy of Kerack and then Kerack goes to war with anywhere that decides they need someone to fight their monster problem.”

“That’s...” Geralt said.

“Despicable?”

“Well, yes, but I mean, it’s a lot to comprehend,” Geralt said. He felt a little at sea. This wasn’t his job, all this, this politics. He was a witcher. Find monster, swing sword, kill monster, get coin. That was what he did. Alliances and assasination and wars and marriage, they weren’t supposed to factor in.

“Yeah.” Jaskier said. 

They rode on, safe inside the wolf school’s formation. After perhaps a quarter of an hour Jaskier slung his lute around and began to pick at it idly. It had a case, but he’d tied that onto his big stallion instead. Apparently he liked having it available.

“Why does he want a war?” Geralt asked after a little longer. “What does your father get out of it?” 

Jaskier stopped plucking. “It’s part of the earl thing, in his case the position has a lot to do with finances and the kingdom’s treasury. Wars mean finances are more important, which makes him more important, and he get’s more power.”

“All of this is just a power grab?” Geralt said. “That’s daft.”

“That’s politics,” Jaskier said, a tad tiredly. “He probably thinks he could be made a duke. And yes, daft is a good word for it all.”

After that they just rode, stopping only briefly for lunch and to rest the horses. Jaskier played his lute quietly, most of the journey. At one point he pulled a notebook and charcoal stick from his bag to jot things down and muttered as he played.

Geralt had no idea if the lad’s music was impressive, but he was impressed with how he sat a horse, multitasking as if he was part centaur. He did most emphatically not think about how nice Jaskier’s thighs looked in the clothes he’d changed into at their lunch stop.

The wedding attire was very fine, but Jaskier looked somehow...right in the clothes he wore now. Blue trousers of fine but durable material and a white chemise under a blue doublet. He’d asked if he should wear the basilisk leather, but Geralt had shook his head. It was a fine spring day and basilisk leather kept heat like a fur coat, he didn’t want to cook his husband before they’d been married a whole day.

And wasn’t that a thought that clanked about in Geralt’s head. Husband. Husband husband husband husband husband. They were married and Geralt had a husband. Who was nobility. And Geralt was his husband.

And Geralt kind of wanted to kiss his husband.

That was his problem, however, not Jaskier’s. Whatever the damn ‘implied hidden fidelity clause’ said, Jaskier was free to sleep with whomever he chose. Why would any young man, in the position to choose, pick a scarred witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken? Who could choose Geralt?

Geralt suddenly felt very bitter, for himself and on Jaskier’s behalf. Neither of them had asked for this, and the witchers weren’t even going to get anything from it. Now he had a husband, a semi-disgraced noble, who apparently had musical talents. Bardic? Geralt didn’t know but it seemed...right. 

Regardless, he needed a place to drop Jaskier off. Somewhere safe. It couldn’t be claimed he mistreated the man if they weren’t together. That way, Jaskier couldn’t...

Couldn’t what? 

Geralt had never before actually contemplated all the ways a normal human could be hurt on the Path. Witchers, sure, he knew about that but humans were delicate. Geralt had been told once that you shouldn’t just eat rabbit because it...it did something and you would get sick. Or maybe starve? Because the meat was wrong somehow. Too lean? Not lean enough?

It didn’t matter because he wasn’t a human. He remembered a dreadful three weeks when coin had been lean eating just rabbit and he’d been fine. Jaskier might not be. Geralt hardly earned enough coin for himself how was he supposed to feed and protect them both. 

Not to mention things like sleeping rough and rainstorms and all the little pitfalls of traveling.

It had seemed fine in theory before. Jaskier would have his basilisk leather and would stay at camp but now reality was setting in. 

Tired from the road, the whole group spoke little as they set up camp. Geralt pitched the tent that he would share with Jaskier then set up the fire while his brothers put up their own tents and Vesemirs. Vesemir went hunting.

Geralt was almost eighty five years old, and had been hunting for most of those years, but not one of the younger wolves could match Vesemir’s skill. 

Dinner was stew, with meat courtesy of Vesemir. Dessert was no talking at all. This wasn’t unusual at all for the wolves, but Jaskier was looking around nervously. 

“You’re safe,” Geralt said. “It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said. It seemed odd, because he’d been so vibrant and chatty back at Chateau Lettenhove.

“Pass me your dish,” Geralt said. Wordlessly, Jaskier handed him the shallow bowl. Geralt scraped it onto the grass.

“I’m sorry about the whole...assassin thing and, and everything,” Jaskier said after another silent minute.

“Hmm,” Geralt said.

The overast sky finally gave way to the rain that had been threatening all day and with a sigh the witchers each turned in for the night. Jaskier crawled into the tent after Geralt and settled down onto one of the bedrolls.

Geralt went about his nightly routine as if nothing was different, untying his hair and stripping himself his clothes. He felt oddly flattered when Jaskier let out a tiny gasp as he divested himself of his smallclothes. A glance showed him the young man, wide eyed in the dim light, kneeling on his bedroll. 

The tent smelled of lust.

Geralt pulled on the well-worn loose trousers he preferred and nudged Jaskier’s pack at him. The boy took the hint and rummaged in it, pulling out similarly loose sleep pants and changing quickly. Geralt looked away for decency’s sake. They may be married but that was no reason to take liberties. Unfortunately, Jaskier was wearing another loose chemise to bed, and Geralt’s thoughts dragged back to the tantalizing view of shoulder from that morning. 

“Wrap up tight,” he grunted, annoyed at himself for even thinking of that. “If the temperature drops in the night I don’t want to have to deal with you getting sick.”

The lust smell, which had waned somewhat, was entirely gone, replaced with a scent Geralt had smelled on Jaskier before. 

“Okay,” Jaskier said quietly, and tucked himself obediently into his bedroll.

Jaskier smelled sad. Like he had the night before.

Geralt rolled into his own bedroll and cursed himself. Of course the boy was sad. Dragged onto the Path with a husband more monster than man. Boyish hormones made him horny, not any desire for something like Geralt. And he was a boy. Nineteen was legally an adult but it was like...what was the phrase Vesemir had used? De jure is not de facto. Legallity is not truth. 

Geralt listened to Jaskier’s breathing and thought about their ages. Eighty years for a witcher was still considered a mere stripling youth when considered in the course of a witcher lifespan. For Jaskier, though, he would live to be eighty only if he was lucky. On a witcher’s Path he almost certainly wouldn’t be. 

Jaskier’s breathing hadn’t slowed into the deep, even pattern of sleep. Geralt wondered what was keeping him awake. Then again, if he was sleeping beside a monster, he’s lie awake too.

It seemed as though neither of them would ever sleep, both of them laying, inches between them, on their separate bedrolls. Then, between one blink and the next, Geralt must have slipped into sleep.

He awoke to a damp world. It had rained through the night and the rain was still drizzling against the tent when he opened his eyes. The humidity and the little moisture that seeped through the cloth of the tent had built up and everything felt sticky and muggy. 

Although every item of clothing in his pack had been put in dry, almost nothing felt entirely dry as he struggled into proper clothes. Jaskier woke too, blinking his eyes open muzzily and wrinkling his nose at the damp feeling. He also dressed in silence, frowning as he pulled on his clothes. 

There was no dry firewood for a fire and Eskel, gifted though he was with magic, couldn’t make a fire last on soaked wood. The group ate cold rations. Jaskier tried to start up a conversation with Eskel about literature. 

Geralt smiled inwardly, but let none of it show on his face, lest Jaskier think he was mocking him. Eskel, despite the best efforts of everything the wolf school could do, was so far from being a morning person as to be out the other side. He could stay up all night, but wasn’t conversational until nearly noon.

Jaskier looked disheartened, though. Geralt wasn’t a substitute for literary conversation, so he just packed up Jaskier’s horse for him. For some reason, Jaskier frowned at that, but then nodded at Geralt and they all mounted up. 

It was an hour’s ride to Egerbak, where the witchers would part. From there, Geralt thought, mapping the journey in his head, he and Jaskier could turn for Oxenfurt. The journey would be almost a month, and Geralt would have to hunt along the way to earn coin, but Jaskier would be safe there.

While Geralt was musing, Jaskier was trying to strike up a conversation with Vesemir. The old wolf was more of a morning person than Eskel, but not a conversationalist, so Jaskier eventually shrugged a little sadly and pulled out his lute. 

He plucked a tune, editing it again and again until he seemed satisfied. It was catchy, an earworm Geralt was sure would never leave his head. Then Jaskier began to hum.

Geralt himself was very nearly tone deaf, and frankly didn’t like music in most cases, but Jaskier’s voice sounded okay. It was only humming, anyway. 

Geralt’s ears pricked and he saw the shoulders of Eskel, riding point, tense up too. He knew all the witchers had heard the noise. Hoofbeats were approaching fast. Geralt craned in his saddle to see the rider, but could make out little between the rain, which had graduated from drizzle to downpour. 

Vesemir coughed, flexing his hand on the reigns, opening his fist then closing it again. The witchers drew together, closing their formation. To the rider it would likely look as if they merely were drawing towards one another to give him room. It worked to do that, for sure, but it was also a defensive maneuver, trained into them and beaten into their memory. Witchers rarely fought alongside eachother, but when they had to they were prepared. Closing ranks also had the benefit of enclosing Jaskier, like a hand wrapping around a precious stone. 

Geralt’s steel sword had been tied at his hip, and his silver along with the saddlebags. It made him look less threatening, more like a knight errant than someone ready to battle at any time. In truth, the change from being slung at his shoulders was practical. In combat he could draw the sword from his hip and be prepared, rather than having to reach up to draw his weapons. It left him less exposed on horseback. He reached down to his hip and, in a smooth and almost impercepitble motion, flicked the tie open on the sheath of his sword, loosening its hold to make the sword easier to draw. He turned the movement into a casual stroke of Roach’s flank. 

The rider pulled up alongside. “Sir witcher,” he panted, “I must speak with Master Julian.”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier but the boy looked...different. He was sitting his horse more stiffly and looked more haughty and aristocratic than Geralt had ever seen him. Nothing of his clothing had changed, and he was in poor garb compared to the silken doublets he had worn before, but in a second his posture had turned him into the spitting image of his father. 

“Speak, man,” Jaskier said, waving one hand dismissively. 

“You left without your dowry.”

“Dowry,” Jaskier said coldly. 

Geralt felt cold for a different reason. He’d seen a ring on the hand of the rider, the left hand’s index finger. It was large, with a heavy stone. He was a slim young man in the dress of a footman, but something in his build said otherwise. This was an assasin, Geralt would bet his medallion, and the ring held poison, or something equally nasty. 

“I have no need of a dowry,” Jaskier was saying, passing straight through haughty and going for enigmatic without bother to slow down. 

“Your father insisted,” said the assassin, sidling his horse closer. Geralt nudged Roach and she deftly stepped in the way. 

“My father can take back his coin,” Jaskier said, even as the man offered a bag, slightly open to show gold coins. “I am no maiden, and my marriage shall produce no heirs.”

“But--”

“Don’t speak over your betters,” Jaskier said, every words ringing like steel. “A dowry is to set up a household. Well my household, such as it is,” here Jaskier gestured about him. “Is set up. Traditionally, if the wife dies without producing a male heir to the marriage the dowry is returned. I shall produce no heirs, so I’m returning the dowry preemptively.”

The assasin looked truly stumped. “I must give this to you,” he said, reaching forward, across Roach’s rump to hand the bag to Jaskier. Geralt saw the man’s thumb hover over the poison ring, as if about to flick open the compartment. 

“No,” Jaskier said.

“At least dismount so that we can discuss this,” pleaded the rider. 

Geralt looked about them. They’d been riding through woodland all day, but it was dense here, just the place one might lie in wait. Then he saw it, the thing he’d been waiting for since they’d left Lettenhove. A glint of light off of metal in the underbrush. Vesemir caught his eye, he’d seen it too. 

“Melitele help us!” Jaskier cried. “There’s bandits in the woods!”

Geralt saw anger and annoyance flash onto the face of the assassin. “No bandits in these woods my lord, I’m sure,” he said smoothly.”

Geralt knew the plan in that instant. Jaskier would be found dead on the roadside, the rider would stagger back into Lettenhove, or perhaps onward into Egerbak and tell how the witchers had cruelly murdered Jaskier and made off with the dowry, leaving him for dead. These hiddent troops were presumably to subdue the witchers while Jaskier was murdered. 

Finally, Geralt drew his sword.

Damn. If they killed the Earl’s men that would also look bad. 

Jaskier, switching from enigmatic to foppishly distressed. “You simply must turn back,” he was saying to the assassin. “It’s quite alright, I have all these big, strong witchers to protect me, and before I left lettenhove I sent a xenovox message to a mage in Temeria, a friend of mine. I have a powerful protection on me.”

“You do,” the assassin said, edging his horse back a step. Protection spells tended to get messy in a guts and gore way for those who crossed them.

“Oh yes, and my darling husband, isn’t that right, dear heart?” Jaskier said, giving Geralt doe eyes. Geralt blinked.

“Uh, yes, Triss Merigold,” Geralt said, thanking his lucky stars, which most of the time had utterly failed to be lucky for him, that he actually knew a mage in Temeria.

“Merigold,” the would-be assassin said. “The name rings a bell, I’ll just,” and he rode off, back towards Lettenhove. 

Jaskier spurred his horse. “Let’s get out of this rabbit snare,” he muttered. The witchers rode double-time to clearer ground.

“Well,” Vesemir said, once they were well and truly clear. “Quick thinking, lad, and some of the most pretentious acting I’ve ever seen.”

Jaskier bowed in his saddle, smiling like a moonbeam. “Thank you, although I’m just glad Geralt had a real name to back me up.”

“Should do,” Lambert snorted as they rode past the first few buildings of Egenbak. “She practically sewed his guts back into his body after a Striga--”

“Shut up,” Geralt growled, but it was too late. Even in the rain, Jaskier’s eyes were sparkling. 

Greed, Geralt reflected, and indeed, lust, came in many varieties. Jaskier’s father may covet money and power, but the mere mention of a story had Jaskier coveting it just as viciously. What could be so boring, so lacking in a wealthy young man’s life, Geralt wondered, that he was so starved for adventure?

They bid their goodbyes to the other witchers, Jaskier surprising them each with a hug. Vesemir huffed, but Geralt caught the slight upward twitch of his moustache. 

“Fair roads,” Jaskier said, waving to them all. Geralt waved too, and then his brother’s and Vesemir rode away. 

So did Jaskier and Geralt, but it hadn’t been three minutes when Jaskier asked, “Striga?”

“Mmmhm.” 

“What is a striga?” Jaskier pressed.

“Monster.”

Jaskier huffed. “What sort,” he said, with a bit of a whine. “How is one born...made? What does it look like? What does it do? Why have I never heard of one before?”

“Made by magic. Looks ugly. Does messy awful killings. They’re rare.”

“Please, Geralt, tell me the story?” 

Geralt didn’t look over at him. Wasn’t going to. If he caught a glimpse of that face and those eyes pleading he’d give in.

“The rode is going to be awfully boring, Geralt, a story would really help,” Jaskier said, still begging.

“Just focus on riding,”Geralt growled. “I don’t want to have to deal with you if you fall off your horse.” Then he urged Roach on ahead. 

It was indeed a very long and boring ride. After a while Jaskier pulled out his lute and began to play.

“Toss a coin,” he sang quietly, then he changed the cord and tried it again, a little higher. “Toss a coin to your witcher.”

“Don’t make up songs about me,” Geralt growled.

“Short of you telling me stories I have to make things up,” Jaskier said. “I know nothing about you.”

“So you write me a song?”

“I think you deserve one,” Jaskier said, as if his very believing it made it fact. 

Geralt urged his horse on ahead. 

“Come on,” Jaskier said, nudging his horse faster too. “My singing can’t be that bad, can it?” he asket.d lightly.

“Yes,” Geralt growled. “It can.”

They rode the rest of the day without speaking. Jaskier plucked sullenly at his lute. 

Geralt was angry, and worse, he didn’t really have any right to be angry. He knew he’d messed up. Day two of marriage and he’d fucked up spectacularly. He was bad at this, and he was angry at himself. Somehow, though, he felt angry at Jaskier too. What was Geralt supposed to do? Answer every childish question? Tell stories? Discuss literature like Eskel could? Like probably all of Jaskier’s high class friends at Oxenfurt and Lettenhove could?

He was a witcher. Witcher meant solitary. It meant silence. It did not mean infernal music and being pestered about a story like a nanny.

He was being an asshole and he knew it, but damnit, he’d been an asshole so long he wasn’t about to stop all at once. It was practically baked in at this point. Being angry was better than trying to be kind an failing. Silence was easier than speaking.

Jaskier drooped in his saddle though, and Geralt felt like a cad.

They stopped for lunch at the side of the road, eating soggy rations and not talking to one another. They were both soaked to the skin, despite heavy cloaks, which were too hot in this late spring storm. Jaskier dripped miserably and carefully wiped down his lute, putting it reverentially in its case.. Up until that point the instrument had been mostly safe from rain, cradled against his body under the cloak. He’d clearly come to the same conclusion that Geralt had, however, that if the instrument stayed out any longer, cloak cover or no, it would get truly wet. 

“Raining cats and dogs,” Jaskier said, tentatively. It had the same feeling as a man dipping his toe into water to see how cold it was. 

“Hmmm.” Geralt said, neutrally.

Apparently seeing this not outright aggression as an invitation, Jaskier, metaphorically, jumped into the pond. 

“See, I think that saying is really rather silly,” he said. “Not only because it, obviously, doesn’t rain animals, but really, cats don’t even like water.”

He continued chattering as they remounted and rode on.

“Dogs do like water of course, well, some, but so few like rainstorms, especially thunder. I wonder why we have that saying then.”

His mind seemed to skip back and forth between subjects like a grasshopper. 

“I understand why dogs don’t like thunder, of course, and I don’t care for lightning much myself, but the thunder must be so loud with their sensitive hearing.”

He paused for a split second and Geralt wondered if blissful silence would return but then,

“I imagine thunder must be dreadful with your hearing, right?”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Shut up, he thought.

“Oh that’s awful,” Jaskier said. “Do you think it will thunder tonight? I hope not. If it does - or perhaps even if it doesn’t - I think we ought to get a room in an inn tonight. Give our clothes a chance to dry.”

Melitele’s tits. Geralt couldn’t believe one man could talk so much. It was almost like nervous chatter but it grated on his already fraying nerves.

“An inn would be perfect don’t you think? And I could play there. I’m a bard you know. Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘you’re a Viscount, Jaskier,’ and that’s true, although I suppose not anymore, technically from the moment I said ‘I do’ that honor was passed to my half-brother but, I’m a bard as well.”

“Shut up.”

“What?” Jaskier said.

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling as he did so cold water drip from his hood onto his face. “For the love of all that is good just shut up,” he growled. 

“Maybe if you said something back occasionally it wouldn’t be so one sided,” Jaskier said sniffily.

“Maybe if you had any brains in that empty head of yours you’d have something worth while to talk about.”

“I have brains,” Jaskier said, affronted.

“Clearly not enough to know when to shut up,” Geralt sniped back. “I don’t want to have to deal with your incessant chatter all the way to Oxenfurt.”

Jaskier stopped his horse and dismounted, in the middle of the road, in the pouring rain. 

“Get back on your horse, have you lost your mind?” Geralt said, but he reigned Roach in.

“Oxenfurt?” Jaskier said, quietly. His voice held no emotion and Geralt felt suddenly that he had really fucked up this time. He dismounted.

“Yes,” he said. “You have friends there, I thought it would be a nice place to go.” He wasn’t sure why he didn’t tell Jaskier that he intended to leave him there, but he felt that, at this time, that wouldn’t go over well.

Jaskier’s face softened. “You thought it would be nice,” he said. “For me to go back there.”

Geralt shrugged. “One destination is as good as the other on my Path, often I just wander.”

Jaskier smiled softly and remounted. “Okay then,” he said. “To Oxenfurt.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I suppose dismounting was dramatic, I guess I thought you were taking me somewhere to get rid of me.”

It was like having ice shoved into Geralt’s spine as he mounted Roach again. “I wouldn’t get rid of you,” he said lowly.

“Oh, not ‘get rid of’, like that stupid assassin. I meant...discard, abandon, leave, wash one’s hands of, cast aside.”

They rode on, Jaskier chattered, but less. Geralt didn’t say a single word.

They didn’t make it to a town with an inn that night so they made camp in a soaked clearing again. Guilt ate Geralt as he was eating cold rations and chased him into their tent. He lie awake feeling heavy with it as he heard Jaskier’s breathing drop off.

Jaskier wouldn’t like being left at Oxenfurt, but it would be for his own good, Geralt thought. He didn’t have to tell him right now, anyway. That was a discussion that could wait until Oxenfurt. 

Geralt’s guilt didn’t lift completely, but it eased enough that he slipped into meditation.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m still pretty sick with mono, so this took me ages to manage, but its here at last! So psyched to write the next part too.

Tag List!

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[forever-rogue]

Afterglow - Part 6

A/N: Honey Bee finally made the smartest decision of her life in the last chapter and now...time to deal with the fallout. Thank you guys for supporting and loving this story too! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: None

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Spitting out the toothpaste into the sink, you groaned slightly when you realized that you had left your mouthwash back on your desk. Tilting your head under the tap, you got a mouthful of water and swished it around in your mouth, trying to get the last bits of toothpaste out.

When you were satisfied with the lackluster brushing, you quickly splashed some cold water onto your face to wake yourself up. But it was no use - you still looked as tired and dragged out as you felt. There were dark circles under your eyes, your lips were chapped and cracked, and the joy you normally held in your eyes was all but gone. You had been going through the motions for the last three, feeling more like an empty shell than anything else. 

But you felt liberated - free. More so than you had in a long time. That in itself made your current struggle worth it.

Grabbing your toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush, you stalked out of the bathroom, ready to slink back to your office before anyone else arrived. 

Looking furtively around the hall, you walked the short distance to your own office, almost making it to safety when you heard your name being called softly. Groaning inwardly, you cleared your throat and turned around, plastering on the best smile you could.

"Ally," you said softly, "y-you're here early!"

"I was just thinking the same thing," she joked, and while you could tell she meant no harm, it still caused you to panic slightly. She was well aware of you calling off your engagement, hell the whole world seemed to know, but she never seemed to pity you for it. Her eyes flicked to the items in your hands as a warmth crept into your chest and blossomed over your whole face, "I'm meeting a client early this morning because it was the only thing that fit into his schedule. Are you..."

You remained silent for a moment, hanging your head before letting out a long sigh, "look, I've just been staying here since things ended with Chad. I'm trying to find my own place, but its been a bit of a difficult go. Turns that a lot of people don't want to rent to you if you happen to have supposedly wronged Chad Williams. It seems like everyone knows him."

She reached out and gave your shoulder a soft, reassuring squeeze. Meeting her eyes, you found a small smile on her face, luckily not one of pity, "I'm sorry he's making things miserable still. I'm guessing your parents are out of the question?"

"Absolutely not an option," you admitted with a stiff laugh, "my mom seemed okay at first but she and my father quickly came to the conclusion that I was in the wrong and making a horrible mistake. They insisted I was just going through a phase because of nerves. When I told them I was sure about my decision and wasn’t going back, they all but...disowned me. Imagine the shame I’ve brought upon them in their minds...they’re so old fashioned. Maybe they’ll come around one day.”

"Yikes," she said as you nodded, "can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I never liked him," she admitted softly, causing you to almost give yourself whiplash as you looked over at her, "there was just something about him that was off. I think - I know, you can do so much better."

"Thank you," you said as you laughed lightly, trying to hold the tears that threatened to well up at bay, "I hope so too."

"I mean it," she insisted, "you're kind, smart, pretty, and you've got a good heart. What more could anyone ask for?"

"Apparently a dutiful, quiet little wife..."

"Very funny," she teased, "why don't you come and stay with us? While you get your own place? We've got an extra bedroom that's not being used, and it's much better than staying here. Have you been sleeping on your hard old couch?”

"Yes..."

"Absolutely not," she shook her head, "come over when you're done for the day. We'll get the room ready for you. Anna will be happy to see you again too. And you know what, it's not an option, its a demand. Just come over tonight and we'll get you settled. I'll have Anna pick up some wine for dinner and everything."

"Ally, you're much too kind..." you said as her phone stared to ring. She looked at the screen and a big smile spread across her visage as her wife's name popped up on the screen.

"Speak of the devil," she laughed lightly, "tonight! No if, ands, or buts!"

You could only nod as she walked away, chattering excitedly as she went to her own office. Before stepping in and closing the door, she gave you a grin and wave that was enough to cause a single tear to roll down your cheek. It had been weeks since anyone had even shown you an ounce of kindness; most people had decided to scorn you instead, blaming you for everything that had happened. Wiping the warm drop away, you stepped foot into your own office, stashing your toiletries away for what you hoped would be the last time. Hopefully that everything you'd finally be able to have a proper, long, hot shower and sleep in a bed, two luxuries that you had been greatly missing. 

Pulling out a dress from the small wardrobe, you slipped it on, vowing to stop your little pity party. Sure, things weren't ideal right now, but you were still so much better off than others. That was something you did not take for granted.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Men really can be the worst,” Anna laughed, almost snorting into her wine as you held up your glass in a mock salute, “can you imagine being that pathetic and trying to sabotage someone you supposedly loved? I think it speaks volumes to his character.”

“The longer we were together, the more I realized that it was never about love, even if that’s how it started out. It was always about appearances and trying to please everyone else. It was getting so tiring.”

“I can only imagine,” Ally gave her your leg a small pat as you downed the rest of your glass, “but at least you’re free now. It’s easy to fall  into routine and not realize how unhappy we’ve become. We get used to just staying on one path. Usually it takes something big to make us realize what we’re doing isn’t what we wanted in the first place.”

“Okay Dr. Ally,” Anna teased her wife, “we’re not at the office. But I agree...I am curious, and happy, as to what caused you to realize that you deserve more.”

You felt the blood draining from your face almost immediately as you swallowed nervously, mouth dry. You weren’t about to delve into the memories and dreams that had been plaguing you over the weeks, becoming increasingly more frequent the closer your former wedding date had approached. Frankly, you hadn’t even admitted that to yourself yet, not out loud anyway. 

How were you supposed to tell yourself, let anyone else, that the reason you realized you deserved was better because you’d been dreaming of your high school boyfriend again? It had been twenty years, twenty long years without him - there was no reason you should have even given him a second thought. Yet...here you were. Still hung up on Frankie Morales, the boy that had earned your heart...and then brought it into a million pieces. You knew, you would be the first to admit, that it wasn’t all his fault, that you were to blame to an extent as well, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Ever since the day that you had run into him again, a day that should have been like any other, he’d been living rent free in your mind. Even if you hated him, even if you were still mad at him after all this time. You couldn’t help but wonder - what if. What if. 

What if he had come to California with you and you’d both stayed there? What if you had waited for him while you went to school and he was in the military? What if he’d come back to you long ago? Would you still be together? Would you be married to him? Would  you have a daughter or son that took on both of your best qualities? Or would you have eventually fallen out and broken up anyway, only to loathe each with every fiber of your being? Would you have stayed together?”

What if. What if. What if. 

It was that haunted you for so long now.

“Umm,” you snapped back into reality and pushed the thought of the boy you had loved out of your mind. You set the glass back down and made a small, noncommittal sound, “it was just a lot of things. The more real things became with the wedding planning the more I realized that I didn’t want this. It was at my last dress fitting actually, that I realized I couldn’t do it.” 

“That must have been quite a wake up call,” Anna’s eyes widened as she imagined the scene as you nodded, taking the almost empty bottle of wine and pouring the remainder into your class. 

“It was,” you admitted with a long sigh, “you should have been the poor dress maker. I almost ran out on her. But you know, even though things are far from perfect right now, I would still do it all again.”

“Cheers to that,” Ally held up her class, and the two of you clinked yours against it, “now to bigger and better things. You can, and will, do so much better.”

“Thank you both,” just being in their presence, let alone their home, had you feeling infinitely better, “I don’t even know where to begin to thank you.”

“What are friends for?” 

“I, however, do have some more good news,” Anna was proud of herself as the two of your gave her an inquisitive look, “I spoke to my friend who is a realtor today, no connection to Chad or anything, and he said he has a perfect little house available! It’s a little on the outskirts of town, a small, quiet neighborhood, but that it would be perfect for you. It’s not big, just a little two bedroom, one bath, but it’s all been redone recently, and it’s quaint. He showed me some pictures and I think you’d really like it.”

“You did...you did this for me?” you felt another wave of tears sting at the back of your eyes as she nodded. 

“I’m not trying to push this on you at all, or anything of the sort,” she promised, “but we were talking and it just came up and I thought of you. I thought I’d just tell you in case you were interested...you are, of course, welcome to stay with us however long you want.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” you said softly, “truly. I’d love to see the place. If you like, I’m sure it’ll be great. And honestly, it would be nice to get out of the city and be a little bit out of the way and I don’t need anything much. I just want a place that will feel like home...my own place.”

“Obviously it comes with the stipulation that we will get to help decorate and pick out furniture if you move into it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” you agreed, “it’s going to be nice getting my own things and having it be truly mine.”

“A fresh start,” she agreed, “I’ll tell Elijah that we’ll stop by tomorrow and take a look? How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” you agreed, feeling your heart finally feel warm again, as a wave of calm washed over you, “absolutely perfect.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next two weeks were a whirlwind of moving, although you technically didn’t have much to move, furniture shopping, unpacking, and organizing your new home. 

The house was cute, an older little home that had been recently renovated with a small yard and  a perfect spot for a garden. You could already picture yourself gardening once the cooler autumn and winter months were over. 

It wasn’t huge, but it had a spare bedroom you decided would serve as a home office and occasional guest room, although you figured you weren’t going to have many of those considering how easily everyone had cut you off. It was open, warm, and inviting, and it was perfect for what you wanted. It had brought up the idea of maybe adopting a dog or cat to keep as your friend. It had made you think of something that Frankie always said: anyone who wasn’t willing to share their home with an animal was as good as heartless.

It served as a sharp contrast to your former living situation; everything in the apartment you had shared with Chad had been cold, dark, and minimalistic. Nothing about it had ever felt truly homey, more like an ornate display at an art museum you were afraid to even look at. Chad had never wanted an animal of any sorts, not even a goldfish, claiming that it would take up too much time, too much space, and he just didn’t want something to take care of.

But your new home was the polar opposite, it was romantic and airy and filled with items and trinkets that made it feel like a home. A little animal friend would fit in perfectly. You were fitting in perfectly already. 

You’d even made it a point to go around the neighborhood and introduce yourself to people. Your justification was that you had literally nothing to lose, your family had turned their backs on you, your ex-fiance had taken almost all of the so called friends you’d had, and were left to your own devices. In the worst case scenario, you’d have met a few unsavory people, and in the best case scenario you’d get to know your neighbors and maybe make a few friends.

Something in the stars seemed to align, as your neighbors turned out to be kind and welcoming, and you were sure the cookies you offered them weren't a deterrent either. They were mostly either older couples, or small families, a few roommates that lived together. The normalcy of it all was endearing, and to know that you had a place that you were welcome was enough to let your heart rest easy. 

The only mystery that remained was your next door neighbor, the one on your left side. Whoever it was had been missing, gone or something, since you’d moved in several weeks before. While trying to maintain a respectful distance, you’d kept an eye on the house to see if you could spy anyone coming or going, see a car...something. But you never did - not even seen so much as a porch light flicker on. It seemed odd, especially in this neighborhood.

One afternoon, in the middle of unpacking the new bits of furniture for your living room and rearranging everything for about the tenth time, curiosity got the better of you. Maybe it was because you were in the middle of watching some true crime documentaries as you worked but you just felt...nervous. You were concerned about the health and safety of this mysterious neighbor that you hadn’t even met. You’d hastily wiped the sweat from your brow before rushing over to the neighbor on the other side of the seemingly nonexistent neighbor. 

Unfortunately, much to your chagrin, the other neighbor, an older widowed man by the name of Eddie, who happened to have an adorable dog that you decided you’d offer to take on walks, was just as clueless as you. 

He said he’d seen the man, at least you narrowed it down to that much, come on and go on occasion, but that he kept odd hours. He commented that he must have worked evenings or something, because he wasn’t around much at that time and it was always quiet during the day. Apparently it wasn’t odd for him to be gone for days at a time, or at least for no one to notice him. At least he’d be a quiet neighbor if he ever appeared again. But the older man hadn’t seemed too concerned, so figured there was nothing to worry about. You ended finding out that he was likely around your age, with dark hair. That was about all that Eddie knew; he said the man whose name he couldn’t even remember had always kept to himself since he’d moved in a few years ago. 

You’d thanked him, given the small fluffy dog a few pets and trudged back to your own place, arms filled with various baked goods, including a delicious smelling loaf of banana bread. Eddie had proudly declared that he had taken up the hobby of baking in his retirement and he always had been plenty to share. You made a mental note to store that little piece of info away for future use. 

And yet still, even as more days passed, you still didn’t see hide nor hair of the mystery man. You’d gone to work each morning, wondering if maybe you just missed him and you had conflicting schedules. You didn’t know why you even cared so much, or what drew you to solving this mystery, but you were just inexplicably invested. 

One evening, as you were watching some Netflix and unwinding with a glass of wine, browsing the adoptable animals at the local shelter, it hit you. It was like the proverbial lightbulb had been switched on and you came up with a brilliant idea. When you’d moved in, you’d taken some fresh, homemade cookies to everyone in the small cul-de-sac - why didn’t you just make some for him? 

It was brilliant, you thought to yourself as you set the wine glass down and almost tossed your laptop to the floor in excitement. You would make your favorite cookies, soft, gooey chocolate chip ones you fancied so much, get them all safely in a container and drop them off when you felt for work in the morning. If they were gone by the time you came home that would mean he had to have been there. 

Yes, you thought to yourself, this is brilliant. No one could turn down a plate of fresh cookies. 

So you’d spent the rest of the evening, bouncing around the kitchen excitedly, pouring your heart and soul into the every little step it took to make the perfect treat. By the time you’d gone to bed, excited and worn out, the little package was sitting on your counter for your to grab on your way out. This was going to be it, you just knew it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You woke up early the next morning, even before your alarm went off, a smile on your face despite being tired. You almost stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that this was the first, the first time in what felt like a small eternity that you woke up like that. It was a good feeling, and you hoped that you would be able to hang onto it. 

Once you’d showered and done up your makeup and hair to your liking, you slipped on a pretty golden dress. It always made you feel pretty, the color bringing a slight bit of joy into your heart. You always felt confident and good in it, and you decided it was just what you needed. If your last session ended early enough, you even planned on stopping by the animal shelter to see if you made a connection with any of the adoptable animals. It was going to be a good day. You could feel it in your bones. 

Once you were ready to go, you grabbed your pre-packed lunch from the fridge, along with your purse and the package for your mystery neighbor. Almost flouncing over to his porch because you were buzzing with energy, you hopped up the steps and set it on the front porch and center, in the middle of the doormat, topped off with a handwritten note introducing yourself. The mat was a generic one, and you did a little look around to see if you could find a name or any personal touches around the porch. But there was nothing - no clue as to who it could be. It was no matter, you told yourself, you would have your answers soon enough.

Giving the neatly wrapped container one last fond look, you headed to your car and off to work. Hopefully you’d be busy enough to keep your mind occupied. It was silly to get so invested in something so trivial and yet...here you were. An eternal dreamer and optimist at heart, just like you always had been, even as a teenager. Even if you had to suppress that side of yourself for some time, more so with each passing year, you were still the same girl underneath it all. 

The day felt like it had like it went by in a blur as you saw several of your regular patients, feeling like you were finally able to help them properly and give them your undivided attention. It went so well that you did manage to finish up early, which meant  you could have your fun and go look at animals. You knew it would be a challenge to meet different pets and not be able to take them all home, but you were willing to give it the old college try. 

You hadn’t bothered to stop home and change, opting to go straight to the shelter.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you'd gotten there and started looking at the different dogs, you knew it would be hard. 

So many of the sweet dogs came up to you, some wagging their tails in nervous excitement, some just beside themselves, but others were more reluctant, sitting and observing you. You went up to as many as you could, keeping a respectful distance from them and offering them your hand to sniff. A couple of them give you a few licks, letting you reach in and pet them, but getting distracted as soon as they spied other people. Sweet dogs, all of them, but those weren’t the ones for you. As you walked through the various dogs, you were disheartened to find that you didn’t seem to have a connection to any of them. You hoped they would go to good homes soon regardless. Maybe it wasn’t your day to find a companion, which was totally okay with you. You’d just come back some other day and make sure that one of them got a home in your adobe.

But as you neared the end of the last row, you stopped when you spotted a small dog, small for being a pitbull that was, sitting in the corner of her kennel, a sad, dejected look on her face. She was a pretty thing, light tan with white marking on her sweet face, but her eyes contained a deep sadness.

“Hi, sweet girl,” you said softly as you didn’t even hesitate to drop to your knees, dropping on the floor of the kennel, sliding a few fingers under the barrier keeping you from her, trying to coax her to you. She observed you with keen interest, but remained rooted in her spot, “you are so pretty! I bet you’re just as sweet too, aren’t you? I can tell…”

“She’s very sweet,” one of the shelter’s volunteers, a young boy by the name of Lucas that had let you in, said as he walked up to you, “but she’s really shy. She’s less than a year old, but she’s already had a go of it.”

“What happened to her?” you asked gently, keeping your voice down so you wouldn’t startle her, “she looks so sad.”

“She was abused by her former owner, sadly. They found her when they went to raid the owner’s home, apparently he was a small time drug dealer on top of it,” he explained and you made a small in the back of your throat as you just looked at her. It made your heart break to know that this poor animal, and so many others like her, were being abused for no reason - not that anyone, person or animal, should ever have been abused, “it’s made her shy, but she does warm up to people.”

“What’s her name?” you asked as she moved ever so marginally closer to you. You smiled at her, giving her an encouraging little nod.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy,” you called softly as her ears perked up slightly. It suited her, you decided, a soft pretty name for a pretty girl, “hi sweet Daisy. You are a big lovebug underneath it all, aren’t you?”

She turned her slightly to look at as you offered her a small, reassuring nod. 

“How about Miss Daisy Mae?” you asked her and you got a glimpse of her tail wagging ever so slightly, “yeah, I think that’s perfect too. May I pet you?”

It was silent, completely so sans for the other dogs in their kennels as you attempted to gain her trust. You didn’t want to scare her off, but you wanted to see if you could get her to come closer. Lucas told you could stay as long as you wanted, and you decided that you would do just that, plopping onto your bottom as you gently spoke to her. You spent some time sitting there, talking to her about anything and everything, and slowly, inch by precious inch, she came closer to you until she was just a few inches from your hand. When you moved your hand and she didn’t flinch, you gently petted her muzzle, tracing over it delicately with a few fingers. 

“You’ve been through a lot,” you mused quietly and she gently rubbed her head into your hand, “but you’ve got so much life left to live. So many happy things to come. Would you like to come home with me and see? I have a big bed that I have all to myself, and I could really use a companion to take up some of the space. Would you like to help me?”

She made a small sound as she looked up at you, her tail wagging ever so slightly. That was enough to convince you that you were making the right decision. Giving Daisy one last gentle touch, you slowly pulled your hand back to keep from startling her and jumped to your feet. She was yours, it hadn’t taken much to figure that out, and you were going to make sure she came home with you. 

Telling her you would be back in a little bit, you went off in search of Lucas, to tell him to get you all the paperwork so you could bring her home with that day.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as Daisy was all yours, you’d set her up in your car, draping a big, soft blanket over the backseat for her. You were glad you kept one in your car for whatever occasion called for it; this was the perfect time. As soon as she seemed to realize what was happening, Daisy’s eyes had lit up and she already seemed like a different dog, her tail going softly, but nonstop as she stayed close to your side. 

You’d stopped by the pet store on your way home, bringing her in with you as you stocked up on the best dog food, treats, several big fluffy beds (one for each room of the house naturally), and let her pick out several toys. Whatever she wanted she got, honestly, and before you knew it before pushing a huge cartful to the counter to the pay. Daisy, now in a pretty yellow collar and leash, followed closely by your side, a little stuffed bear in her mouth. This felt so right, so natural, almost like you had meant to find her. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had felt this much joy in your heart, and you hoped the feeling would never go away.

“And this is where we live,” you told her as you pulled into the driveway, pulling up to the garage and turning off the car. She stood up and went to the window, looking out eagerly. Your break broke a little when you realize she probably never got to run and play like any puppy should, but you vowed to change that. You got and opened the door, not even bothering to stop her as she jumped out and started to sniff everywhere. 

Sighing contentedly at the sight of the happy dog, the one that had quickly turned from nervous to optimistic, you started to gather everything out of the car to bring inside. Daisy came back to your side, following you with keen attention as you opened the door to the house and let her explore. 

It wasn’t until your last excursion to the car to bring in the last of the toys, that your attention wandered back to your MIA neighbor. When you studied his house, you noticed that all the lights were off, and there was no car in the driveway. The package you had you left for him was still right where you had placed that morning. A small, dejected sigh left your lips as you quickly dashed over and retrieved the package. It was only slightly heartbreaking,  but you knew it wasn’t due to any fault of yours. But still...you couldn’t help but wonder. Who was he? Where was he? Maybe one day your questions would be answered, but at least for now you had your new friend to keep you company. Just as you thought about her, you heard a small, almost tiny bark from your door as Daisy poked her head out and looked excitedly at you.

“Coming sweet girl!” you promised her as you ran back over to her. This day was decidedly not a waste in the slightest, you reminded yourself, you had a new friend and that was more important than anything else.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Several more days passed, and Daisy adjusted to life with you without a hitch. She really was the sweetest girl you had met, and she had won a big spot in your heart, and bed, almost instantly. Gone were the cookies you had baked for the neighbor you thought might not actually exist, eaten with some milk as you watched Netflix late into the evening with Daisy snoozing next to you. 

Something though, whatever little stubborn streak you had, told you to keep trying.

So you did.

That night you dragged yourself back to the kitchen and repeated the painstaking process of making your now neighborhood famous cookies again. He was going to get these cookies come hell or high water. This time Daisy joined you in the kitchen and watched your every move intently, as you walked her through the process, giving her your best impression of some lofty Food Network chef. 

Just as you had previously done earlier in the week, you prepped everything and stuck the same note on the top, making sure it looked perfect. Even if it ended up as another batch that you would eat, you wanted to go through the efforts and ensure it was perfect. 

The next morning, you herded Daisy into the car, allowing her to come to your office with you. She had been enjoying coming to your office and greeting your clients, being a good girl and laying on her bed while you worked. Many of them seemed to find her comforting, and as thought she could sense when they needed something, which she probably did, she’d often go to comfort them with wet kisses and nuzzles. Ally had suggested that you look into her having certified as a therapy dog, which you decided was a perfect idea. 

You wandered over to his porch and left the little package again and turned to head off to work. Whatever was meant to happen would happen. So if he didn’t come and get the cookies, so be it. You’d stop worrying about it and let it go. 

When you got home that evening, you brought everything inside and let Daisy into the backyard to roam around before her dinner time, when you looked through the front windows to try and see your neighbor’s porch. You huffed when you came to the conclusion that you were at just the wrong angle to be able to see anything. Stalking out the front door to get a better look, you sighed deeply when the package was once again there. What had you really expected? You’d struck out for weeks now, the man was an enigma to yourself and everyone else around, it was a far cry that you’d ever really see him. 

Grumbling at yourself for being too hopeful and optimistic, you trudged over to his porch, ready to take the cookies back again and enjoy them for yourself. Maybe you could bring them, and Daisy, over to Eddie and see if he would enjoy them and the dogs would get along. It wasn’t terribly exciting, but it was something anyway.

You bent down to pick up the small container, ready to head back home and get on with your day. But just as you swooped up the container, you heard the door unlock, causing you to jump back in surprise, dropping the container and letting it clatter to the ground. You took a step back and looked up, finding the door open, but the screen closed. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out the person on the other side but found it almost impossible. 

“H-hi,” you stammered nervously, hoping the person wouldn’t think you were stealing or snooping around, “I-I moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago, and I was just...I made cookies! I was going to introduce myself but I hadn’t seen you or anything, so I figured I’d leave them for you. They-they’re not old though, I made this batch last night.”

Nothing but silence met your ears for several moments as you nervously picked up the container to display it for him. You were nervous suddenly, terrified that you had somehow offended him, or...something.

“I-I’ll get going,” you said as you set the cookies on the bench that was near the door. Unsure why you felt the need to keep speaking you gave him your name, letting it linger in the air for a moment, “I live right next door, so I guess maybe I will see you around. Yeah...well, umm...goodbye!”

But before you made it off the porch, you heard the screen door open, and swing shut. You swallowed the lump in your throat, ready to turn around and make a proper introduction when you heard your name whispered so quietly, that you thought you might have imagined it. That voice...that soft, gentle voice caused your heart to skip a few beats. You knew that voice. 

Turning around slowly, you came face to face with the man that had been on your mind for weeks. You brought your eyes up to the man’s face and a small gasp of surprise left your lips. 

“F-Frankie?” except this wasn’t the Frankie you’d known. No, this man was tired looking, nothing but sheer exhaustion on his face, dark circles, parched lips, no trace of facial hair, his hair flattened from what you knew was a signature hat. This was a different man, a world weary man, a man who you never intended on seeing again. But you knew that voice, you knew it so well, you’d recognize it anywhere, even after all this time. But there was something about him, how he was looking at you that broke our heart. 

He remained silent as his dark eyes watched you, wondering how and why on earth you’d ended up as his neighbor. It was like some force was at play, some weird thing that kept bringing the two of you together. 

He remained silent as the two of you looked at each other, his eyes quickly flicked to your left hand. You straightened up when you noticed that and got ready to walk away, unsure of how to feel in that moment. Once again, your life was thrown in a complete tailspin. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to find any words. 

But before you could leave his porch, his hand went to your wrist, taking it gently in his large hand as you immediately turned around and gave him a wide eyed stare.

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you looked at him in silent question, and he did the same. 

This was Frankie - your Frankie. After all these years, he was still yours.

Before either of you could say anything, he gently grabbed your face and studied it for a moment before crashing his lips onto yours. It took a moment for you to react, and for a few beats before you kissed him back, not even having to think about it. But just as quickly as it had started you came to your senses and while part of you was screaming to continue to kiss him, the logical part of your brain took over and you pushed him away from you. Immediately realizing what you were doing, he let go of you and took a step back. 

“Don’t,” you insisted sharply, your voice crackling on the singular word, “don’t. You don’t get to do that. I shouldn’t have done that. Not anymore. Never again.”

Before he could say anything, you dashed away from him, running back over to your house. This had to be some sort of weird dream, surely life couldn’t be throwing another challenge at you. Surely you’d been through enough.

Surely you weren’t neighbors, after all this time and years, with Frankie Morales. 

Life couldn’t be that cruel...right?

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[nonbinary-kaz]

Fuckt Up Lil Bros Intro:

a fic that won't get finished so I'm putting it here

When Wylan was eight, his father had finally gotten fed up with him, and had packed Wylan and his mother into a car and taken them to see a specialist. His mother had argued the whole way there, saying Wylan would learn to read when he felt like it, that the strange outbursts would end eventually. After all, Wylan was a child! Children were unpredictable, at best, she’d said. Stubborn. His father had growled something under his breath, along the lines of Wylan being less stubborn and more of a problem.

Then they had walked away from the specialist hours later, and his father berated his mother, throwing all those words she’d said back in her face. Wylan didn’t quite understand, especially not when his father had slammed the car door shut and called Wylan something that Wylan wouldn’t realise until much later was a disgusting, horrible word. His mother had already known, and she had hissed at him to not say such things.

“He’s our son,” she’d said.

“Not mine,” his father had said. “Not if he’s like this. My genes wouldn’t pass this on.”

“Jan Van Eck,” she snapped.

“Your father was always strange,” he said. “Maybe this is from him.”

“I don’t care who this came from,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still your son. None of this matters.”

“How can this not matter?” he demanded. “He can’t read, Marya. He’s socially inept, and he will evidently remain so for the rest of his life. He’s not normal. He’s not right.”

And she had murmured something lowly and dangerously, something Wylan couldn’t hear from the back. It had shut his father up, though.

Wylan was both too young to understand and too old not to understand words like “dyslexia” and “autism” and “severe anxiety” and whatnot. Looking back on it, it didn’t matter if he knew what it was or not. All that had mattered was the noticeable change in his father’s behaviour to him.

That had also been when all the therapies started. Physical, to get him over how awkward his body was. Occupational, to stop him from getting upset about “minor things.” Speech, in hopes that it would help the reading. Tutoring, because that should have helped the reading. Drugs, to stop him from being timid all of the time.

He hadn’t needed most of those; the most use they gave was to keep his father hoping that he could someday “get better” until they ultimately proved ineffective to his standards. Granted, the medications would continue to help throughout his life, just not the way Jan Van Eck had thought they would.

If Wylan had to pinpoint where his life had gone to hell, it would be that moment he stepped in the car to go to that specialist.

Though, if he had to pick a second point, it would be months later, when his mother had died. He didn’t get to go to the funeral. That was when things had gotten worse from his father, with his mother no longer around to mitigate, to stick up for Wylan. His father started hiding him then, keeping his contact with the world as minimal as possible. He had his therapies, he had his tutoring, he had whatever nannies his father hired, and he had the occasional parties he couldn’t get away from.

He hated those parties. They were loud, and everyone always bothered him, and the food was gross, and his father always yelled at him later for acting like a fool and disgracing the Van Eck name.

The third hellish point in his life, though, was the moment that “Van Eck” ceased to have meaning at the end of Wylan’s name. He could no longer disgrace the name, if the name no longer signified his ties to Jan Van Eck.

Perhaps he should have been happy. He no longer had those parties, no longer had those therapies and tutors, no longer had his raging father. He was free of it all.

But he wasn’t happy. Mostly, he was just… scared.

Wylan hadn’t even known he had second cousins twice-removed until the day he’d been disowned. Maybe that would have been obvious to most people, but his father had cut ties with most of his family. Wylan was certain the only people Jan Van Eck was legally related to anymore was Alys, his new (and insanely young) wife, and their future child (the reason Wylan was finally let loose).

After a long taxi ride, oh-so graciously paid for by his father thanks to Alys’s bleeding heart, Wylan had enough time to fully terrify himself with catastrophic thoughts of what these “cousins” would be like. Jordan Rietveld and Kasimir Brekker could possibly be worse than his father. Hell, the name of the second one sounded intimidating enough.

Wylan spent a short while wondering why they had separate names if they were full-blooded brothers. He’d asked, but at that point, his father had stopped bothering with him altogether, and had walked away halfway through Wylan’s question.

The cab driver said something, but Wylan had lost himself so deep in thought that he couldn’t catch what the man had said.

“Sorry?”

“Five minutes,” the cab driver grunted.

“Oh. Thank you.”

And Wylan sank into his seat, panic beginning to eat him alive.

Wylan had only three bags with him. Two were packed with the essentials: clothes. Just clothes. Well, and the remnants of this month’s medications. But other than that, it was his sweaters and shirts and jeans and underwear and socks and two pairs of shoes. And that was all. The other case had been filled with things Wylan had snuck with him. Paints and easels and canvases and brushes and pens and charcoals and pencils and his flute. He had no clue if his father would’ve let him take them, so he’d hid them in the suitcase and bolted before his father could inspect anything. Perhaps that had been pointless—Jan Van Eck had stopped looking at him the moment he’d announced Wylan would be disowned.

Two of those three suitcases were dropped unceremoniously on the side of the curb by the driver. Wylan had fortunately grabbed the bag filled with his supplies, so nothing broke when the bags thudded to the grass.

“Thank you,” Wylan said to the driver. “I’d tip if I could.”

The driver just shrugged. “Whatever, kid.”

Then he disappeared back into his cab and drove away. Wylan watched as the taxi turned the corner and disappeared, suddenly feeling his heart thud louder and faster than ever before. Everything felt both too real and too unreal at the same time.

“No panic attacks before noon,” he told himself quietly.

“Wylan?”

Wylan nearly jumped out of his skin, and his heart likewise nearly flew out of his chest. If pain was painless, that would be the feeling of his heartrate returning to the pace it had previously set before as Wylan tried to regain his breath.

He turned towards the voice, suddenly filled with so much anxiety that his stomach hurt.

Two people were just a short stretch down the sidewalk, slowly making their way over.

“Wylan Van Eck?” one of them asked, clearly the owner of the voice that had previously called for him.

“Yes,” Wylan said. He discreetly wiped his palms against his pants, trying to get the sweat off of them. “Hi. Um. Jordan and Kasimir?”

The speaker began laughing, and Wylan suddenly noticed his face. It was painted in large scars and marks, a patchwork masterpiece of pristine porcelain and burnt blemishes. They had no distinct pattern, and clearly did not hurt the man, as he smiled widely through them. Wylan did also note that the half-eyebrow missing did add a bit of intrigue to his face, but otherwise… well, Wylan averted his eyes. He found staring at people’s faces to be unbearably uncomfortable in the first place, but this just made it worse. He knew he shouldn’t look at all, really. Didn’t people always find that rude? But according to his father, Wylan not looking people in the eye was rude, too…

“It’s Kaz,” said the second person, his voice harsher than rock grating rock.

He had no scars on his face—which seemed young and fresh, making him seem hardly older than Wylan, despite the hardened lines of his permanent scowl. Either that, or he already despised Wylan. Neither seemed favourable. Perhaps his taxi-ride fears weren’t totally unfounded.

But what stood out more to Wylan was the cane he leant heavily upon.

Jesus Christ, Wylan thought to himself. No wonder Jan Van Eck had never mentioned being related to them before. If he had hated Wylan…

That was rude to think that, though. He shouldn’t think of how his father thought of things. His father’s view of the world was skewed. At best.

“If you call him Kasimir,” the first guy said, “he might kill you.”

Wylan glanced to the kid—Kaz—and then immediately dropped the gaze to the ground. The scowl had gotten deeper. Kaz did indeed look murderous.

“I’m Jordie,” said the first guy, his smile balancing Kaz’s serial killer glower. He stuck out his hand to Wylan. “Jordie Rietveld.”

“Wylan Van Eck,” Wylan said, shaking the preferred hand.

“We know,” said Kaz. He did not offer his hand for Wylan to shake. Wylan noted the dark leather gloves that covered his hands. Interesting, especially when balanced with Kaz’s otherwise dark and grim attire.

Jordie, on the other hand, wore a white t-shirt and faded jeans, looking like a completely normal person. And the lack of near loathing on his face made him preferrable to Wylan. Even if Kaz wanted to kill him, perhaps Jordie wouldn’t hate him.

Not until he learned how much of a fuck-up Wylan was, anyway.

“So, you’re our cousin,” Jordie said conversationally. His eyes searched Wylan’s face, perhaps trying to find the similarities there.

“Not that we knew it,” Kaz said, his rasping voice filled with an unamused tone. Everything about Kaz screamed “unamused,” really.

Jordie coughed loudly. Kaz glanced over to him, something temporarily erasing the annoyance on his face. But then Jordie send Kaz a meaningful look of some sort, and the look returned to Kaz.

“Sorry,” Jordie said.

“No, it’s okay,” Wylan said quickly. “I didn’t know either.”

“Hm,” Kaz said.

“Anyway,” Jordie said, raising his voice somewhat. It reminded Wylan somewhat of whenever Wylan dared speak in his father’s presence at one of those parties, when his father would speak right over him to draw attention away from Wylan. Hiding his screwed-up son. But Jordie didn’t seem… well, Wylan couldn’t say that for sure. He had just met the man. But he did seem to only be doing it for Wylan’s sake, to keep Kaz’s irritation at bay. Again, Wylan couldn’t tell for sure, though. Only time would tell, he supposed. “I suppose… welcome.”

“Thanks,” Wylan said.

“Shouldn’t ‘welcome’ wait until he has actually seen the apartment?” Kaz asked dryly.

“Right,” Jordie said, frowning and blinking. “Right, yeah, that would…”

He trailed off, staring somewhere off in the distance. Then he shook his head, looking back to Wylan.

“Would you like to come inside?” he asked.

“Sure,” Wylan said, because what the hell else was he supposed to say? Someone different could have perhaps found something far more eloquent to say, but Wylan was not someone different. He was unfortunately just Wylan.

“Great,” Jordie said, smiling once more.

He bent down and grabbed one of Wylan’s clothes bags before Wylan could take them himself. Wylan shouldered his supply bag, ready to grab the last bag, but Kaz had already taken it. Guilt rumbled through Wylan’s chest. They shouldn’t help him. They’d already burdened themselves with taking him in; they shouldn’t add more to that. But Jordie had already begun walking away, towards the apartment complex Wylan now bothered to look at. Kaz was directly behind him, limping even worse than before. Wylan’s guilt likewise compacted.

The apartment complex looked… to be fair to the place, it wasn’t the worst place Wylan had seen. He’d seen way worse on his drive over here. But it was rather bad. The white paint had lost most of its life, living a now grim existence as faded yellow ivory. The windows and their sills looked old. That was the most Wylan could say about them. And the fire escapes everywhere looked rusty and rickety. Wylan wouldn’t trust those with his life. He hoped he’d never have to.

Jordie unlocked a side door to the place, then pushed through. Kaz followed, hands too busy with bag and cane to hold it open for Wylan, who had to rush to make sure he wasn’t locked out.

Inside looked about as dreary as out—old, matted carpet covered the stairs that lead to all of the floors, and decaying plant matter and dirt tracks and bug remnants scattered across the tile landing. The popcorn walls had crumbling and faded paint, much like the outer walls.

“Oh, boy,” Jordie said up front. “Here we go.”

Then he mounted the first stair with a sigh. Wylan frowned, wondering what that was about.

He figured it out after the first flight.

“Inhaler,” Kaz said, almost bored, as Jordie wheezed and coughed, leaning against the wall.

Jordie nodded, shouldering Wylan’s bag so he could root around his pockets. He pulled out a white and blue inhaler, popping the cap off as he began to shake it.

“I can take my bag back,” Wylan said, now feeling another layer of guilt. “You don’t have to carry it.”

Holding his breath as he removed the inhaler nozzle from his lips, Jordie shook his head. Kaz just scowled over his shoulder at Wylan, his cane held horizontally in the same hand that held Wylan’s bag as the other hand clung to the railing.

All of this burden they placed on themselves, only for them to sooner or later realise that they wasted it when he showed them just how useless he was.

They had to go quite slowly after that, but they eventually made it to the correct floor. The Rietveld apartment (Wylan assumed it was under the Rietveld name, anyway; Jordie was the older of the two, and Wylan was now dead certain Kaz was near his age) was the first door off the staircase. Convenient, in a small way. Not convenient that the place had no elevators, but Wylan wasn’t about to ask why they lived here and not a more accessible place. There was a reason why people lived in a place like this: money (or the lack thereof).

“Home, sweet home,” Jordie said, unlocking the door to the apartment.

Wylan’s first thought was: It’s bare.

His second thought was: It’s small.

The living space held a crackling old leather sofa, a brown corduroy reclining chair, a coffee table scattered with dents and mail, and flatscreen TV. The TV was the only thing that looked remotely new; Wylan suspected the rest were either hand-me-downs or thrifted.

Beyond that lay a kitchen, removed from the living room by only an island bar. It had space for a refrigerator, oven and stove, sink, and a small stretch of countertop that was surrounded by cupboards and drawers. If all three of them stood in that room, Wylan figured, it would become quite crowded.

He couldn’t see the rest of the place, but a hall led away from beside the kitchen. That likely held the bedrooms and bathroom, and whatever else could possibly be in this small place.

Jordie dropped Wylan’s bag on the sofa. Kaz set the other beside it, continuing to walk until he disappeared down the hall.

“Don’t mind him,” Jordie said, not once losing his cheer. “He’s always a grump.”

“Oh,” Wylan said, unsure what else to say.

“Anyway, this is it,” Jordie said. He began gesturing around the place. “Living room, kitchen… down the hall’s going to be your bedroom on the left. Me and Kaz’ll sleep together in the other one. Bathroom is last door on the left. Um… yeah. That’s about it.” He turned to Wylan, smiling ruefully. “Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It’s… nice,” Wylan supplied.

Jordie laughed. “You’re funny. No, it’s okay. You don’t have to lie. This place is a shithole.”

Wylan wouldn’t have put it like that, but yes. He’d seen the hole in that one cupboard, the chunk missing from the faux marble island counter, the dents in the wall, the crack in that corner of the ceiling…

“It’s not so bad,” Wylan said, generously.

“It’s cheap,” Jordie said, placing his hands on his hips and surveying the ceiling. Oh. Another crack. “That’s what it is.”

“Oh.”

“So,” Jordie said, looking down at Wylan. “Want to see your new room?”

Wylan shrugged. “Sure.”

This time, he managed to grab both cases of clothes before Jordie could reach them. Wylan’s arms felt like they were being torn off, but at least Jordie wasn’t burdening himself for Wylan. Plus, the short hall was nothing like that staircase.

Jordie led him through the hall, pushing open a door with a hole in a conspicuously shoulder-height place. Wylan eyed that warily until the door had swung fully open.

If the rest of the apartment was barren and small, then this was… Wylan didn’t even know the words.

The walls were popcorn white—as with the rest of the place—but they were studded with holes of previous tenants nails and tacks. Nothing lay on the walls currently other than those holes. There was a bed pressed against the back right corner, taking up most of the space. Half of the bed rested below the window (which seemed to lead to this apartment’s fire escape). Another large portion of the space was taken up by a dresser and desk combination. A small stool went along with it, tucked beneath the desk portion. And in the far corner across from the bed, a shallow cut-out of space denoted a closet.

“Used to be my room,” Jordie said. “But I’m in with Kaz now.”

“Oh…” Was there anything that wouldn’t make Wylan feel like guilt was piled so high atop him that he might sink beneath the ground?

“I assume you don’t have a toothbrush or shampoo or anything?” Jordie asked.

“Um, no,” Wylan said.

Jordie nodded. “Thought not. Well, you can use mine for the time being. Shampoo, anyway. Please don’t use my toothbrush.” Wylan managed a feeble smile as Jordie grinned broadly at him. “Use your finger, or something.”

“I do, um…” Wylan fumbled to find the right words. “I have some medications… I don’t know where—”

“Medicine cabinet’s behind the mirror,” Jordie said quickly. “You might have to rearrange a few things to get your stuff in there, though.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“For what?” Jordie asked.

“Moving your stuff around, I guess.”

Jordie frowned strangely at him. “I toldyou to do it. You don’t have to apologise. Hell, you haven’t even done it yet.”

Wylan pulled his lips into his mouth, biting them together. Jordie studied him for a short while longer, then shook his head to himself. The easy smile returned to Jordie’s face.

“I’ll leave you to unpack, then,” Jordie said. “Oh, and we’ll get you those supplies tomorrow. Or sometime soon.”

Then he disappeared out of the room. The door creaked as it swung most of the way shut behind him. For reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, that summed up exactly how Wylan felt.

Wylan didn’t have hangers for his clothes, he discovered.

“Oh,” he said to himself. “Okay. Um.”

He refolded the sweater he had just pulled from one of the bags, then shoved it back inside. He zipped the bag back up. With any luck, the clothes wouldn’t get all wrinkled. He highly doubted that this place had an iron.

The dresser, he figured, would likely only need to house his underwear and socks. Those could all get tossed in the same drawer. Thus, he could appoint all the other drawers for his art supplies.

Organising those drawers gave him a good hour of clear headspace. He organised them one way before deciding he didn’t like that, then started over.

When he had nearly finished with the drawers, he stopped, staring at the oil paint tubes in his hand.

Why was he doing this? He had no right to. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong here, for any number of reasons. This wasn’t his place. He couldn’t be a burden on two other people—people who looked like they had enough burdens of their own to bear. Yet, here he was, unloading all of the life he could carry into drawers and closets that weren’t his.

Ungracefully, he dumped the paints back in his bag, followed by all of the other supplies he had just spent forever organising. The only thing he left in the drawers was his canvases. Those shouldn’t get tossed around so much. He only had five; he had to treat them with care. He could spare exactly none of them.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud cough came from somewhere outside of the door. It hit him, moments later, that he had dimly heard coughing in the background for a few minutes now. But that particular cough was unexpected. And quite horrible.

Wylan moved to the door, cracking it open. He saw a dark head of hair outside, bent over as another cough came. Jordie’s head raised, elbow pressed against his mouth as he coughed again.

“Wy—” a cough cut him off for a moment “—lan.”

He shook his head, then dropped his elbow to reach into his pocket and grabbed his inhaler. Wylan looked away as he primed and then used the inhaler. It was awkward, watching him… well. It was just an intrusion, wasn’t it? And rude. Nobody was supposed to stare at anyone different. Not Kaz’s cane and limp, not Jordie’s scars, not this.

“Sorry,” Jordie said a minute later.

Wylan heard the click of something closing, and he looked up to see Jordie capping the inhaler and ramming it in the pocket of his jeans. Jordie had an amiable smile on his face.

“Asthma,” he said, as if the coughing had been merely some bug he’d swatted away.

“I’m sorry,” Wylan said.

Jordie waved a dismissing hand. “Don’t. I get enough of that in my life.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, that’s new.” Jordie’s smile had broken wider, genuine and confused amusement splitting his face. “An apology. For an apology.”

Wylan tried another, “Sorry?”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t had an actual apology in this house in…” He trailed off with another disregarding wave, but Wylan got the point. Kaz didn’t seem to be the relenting and apologetic type. “Anyway. I came to ask…”

Wylan watched him, waiting for the question. Jordie simply frowned. He looked over to the wall for a second.

“What was I going to ask?” he murmured to himself. “Shit.”

Unsure of this new situation, Wylan felt his fingers fumble for the fabric of his shirt’s hem. Jordie kept frowning at the wall, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he concentrated.

“Jordie?” Wylan asked after what seemed like too long.

Jordie’s head snapped back to Wylan, frown deeper for a split second. Then it erased, reverting to an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I can’t remember what I was going to ask.”

Wylan knew that feeling all too well, but something about the way Jordie had zoned out bothered him.

Suddenly, Jordie snapped loudly, his index finger pointing to Wylan. Startled, Wylan drew back somewhat.

“Dinner,” Jordie said, amusement lighting his face once more. “Dinner. I was going to ask about dinner.”

Still uncertain, Wylan merely stared at Jordie.

“What do you like to eat?” Jordie asked. Before Wylan could even begin to think how to answer that, Jordie said, “We don’t do fancy rich people stuff, though. We’re cheap.”

“Oh. I didn’t… I mean, I’m not… you don’t have to worry about that,” Wylan said, words stumbling ungracefully. “You can just… make whatever you want, I guess.”

“Okay, I’ve heard that before, and that never goes over well,” Jordie said. “Nina’s the only person that has ever worked for.”

Wylan did not know who Nina was, but he still felt guilt gnawing at him. He really did not want to make Jordie change whatever meal he had planned.

“Seriously, it’s okay,” Jordie said. “Just tell me so that you don’t starve and then I don’t have the police investigating me.”

Wylan blinked.

“That was a joke,” Jordie said. He waited a second longer, expecting Wylan’s laughter. Wylan managed a grimaced smile. “Okay. No jokes. Um. Fine. Look. This is what we eat on a regular basis. Chinese takeout. Pizza. Uh. Boxed noodles. Frozen vegetables. Any easily-heated meal. Any of that repulsive to you?”

Truth be told, Wylan wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never had boxed noodles before. Or easily-heated meals. He knew he didn’t like most vegetables—they all reeked or had unpleasant textures (broccoli being the worst offender of all)—but maybe frozen made them different?

“No,” Wylan said. Even he could tell he sounded unconvincing.

“Fine,” Jordie said. “We’ll start with pizza. Nobody hates pizza.” He turned and walked away then, grumbling under his breath, “Not even Kaz.”

Wylan slowly closed the door, utterly confused by that entire encounter.

(and this is all I have written lmao sorryyyyyy)

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 30

chapter list / previous / next

In the afternoon most of the clan was sharing tongues, catching the rays of warmth on that especially hot day. Talltail looked around camp. His heart thudded in his chest with the certainty of what he was about to do. How should he go about this? He thought of announcing it formally, but the idea of having so much attention on him, facing everyone’s anger when they realized he had betrayed the oath he’d taken not even a full moon ago...He wasn’t strong enough. 

Would they even let him leave? Perhaps it would be better if he just vanished. It would be a shock, but then everyone would move on, as they always did. What was one more cowardly act on his growing pile? He already felt awful, it couldn’t get much worse. But he had to say something to the cats he had once been closest to, even if he had drifted away from most of them in the past few moons. He’d say goodbye to every cat if he could, but too many would start raising questions. 

Talltail decided he would part with one last gift. He’d gotten good at solo hunting recently, if nothing else, but he was going to have to catch a lot of prey to come up with enough excuses to speak to every cat he wanted to speak to one last time. 

Through the afternoon and into the evening Talltail went to every place on the moor he knew would have active rodents. It was a good haul for him, even on his best days, despite the heavy heat beating down making him drowsy. The edge of the territory near the woodland strip that bordered the pastures was still alive with field mice as it had been when he’d hunted there for Jake. He looked sadly at the treeline where a friendly orange barn cat had once waited for him. Another face he’d never see again. Who knows what the twoleg monsters had done to that poor cat they had tricked. He’ could be dead now. Another claw prick of guilt for the pile, wishing he had tried harder to convince Jake to leave them. But that was over now. Nothing good came from messing with outsiders. It took a couple trips to get all his prey in one pile.

He looked forlorn at the places he had loved most on the moor. It was all he had known and he could scarcely believe he wouldn’t see it again. The places he used to go to clear his head or cheer himself up. The feeling of flying unfettered as he ran full sprint down the Swift-Step Hills, the gorse speckled meadow where he’d once watched deer herds with Fallowspring and Fawnleap, flower patches where he’d helped Briarpaw gather herbs, the track he and Shrewpaw raced against each other at the start of newleaf, everywhere he’d trained with Dawnstripe. Times when he had felt slightly less lost. 

His pile of fresh-kill had grown to a decent amount. The hint of new purpose had perhaps made his mind sharper, less foggy, and he’d been able to focus effortlessly on every chase and every pounce. He was surprisingly less of a lousy hunter when he wasn’t feeling so distracted by directionless misery. Who would have guessed? Well, Dawnstripe did. She was good at that sort of thing, he thought with a touch of melancholy.

 He trailed past the collapsed warren where Sandstone had vanished, and sat there for a brief moment, staring at the disheveled earth. The plants he’d placed there with Woollycloud and Palebird had long since wilted and whisked away.

“I’m sorry,” Talltail said aloud to the empty air. “You were the best warrior WindClan had. I know despite everything, you just wanted to make me strong. But I understand now what I must do. You always said that action must be taken to right the wrongs in the world. If I was strong enough to right ShadowClan, or fix the tunnels, I would. But I know I can’t. But there is one thing I can do, so at least you can finally rest peacefully. I may have failed as a clan cat, but if it’s the last thing I do, this I will make right.”

I hope you can forgive me, He pleaded in his head. The wind started to pick up in a brief gust, it whipped at him and he ducked into the grass. Somehow it felt wrong to greet the Wind Runner’s embrace. He was a traitor to her, or would be soon.

He continued back with his catches, needing multiple trips to get it all there alone, and it was nearly past sunset when he finished. Plumclaw was nearby with Mistmouse.

“By StarClan, did you catch all that yourself?” Plumclaw asked. 

“Must have been a good day.” Mistmouse purred.

Talltail dipped his head, trying to appear natural. If I get worked up, they’ll sense it and ask what’s wrong. 

“Yes, feel free to help yourselves. Think of it as an apology catch.”

“Apology for what?” Mistmouse cocked her head

“Just for being a bit of a pain lately. You’ve always been so sympathetic to me Mistmouse.” he turned to Plumclaw, his ears drooped a little as he ducked his head “and for...all the trouble I caused in the tunnels.”

Plumclaw twitched her whiskers in surprise “That was moons ago. It really wasn’t just you that made Heatherstar close everything…” she perked up a bit, that determined light returning to her tawny eyes. “Besides, I haven’t given up. She just has a burr in her butt right now, but I’ll find a way to keep our skills alive.”

“I trust you will. You’re an incredible tunneler. The clan could learn a lot from you.”

She seemed a bit taken aback by his sincerity but a purr rose in her throat nonetheless. 

Mistmouse winked at him before he turned to leave. “That’ll go to her head you know.”

“No it won’t. It’s just the truth, after all. I’m great.” Plumclaw said. 

Talltail hid a smile as the two molly’s bantered behind. It eased him a little, knowing some cat was around who carried on his fathers’ skills.

He found Fawnleap and Ryewhisker lounging together in the fading sun. Fawnleap had set his head on his sister's foreleg and was complaining.

“--and Fallowspring’s off with Shrewclaw again, like she doesn’t even have time for me! It’s so unfair. I’m bored.”

“You poor wretched thing.” Ryewhisker crooned “It must be so hard without our sister to help you torment poor Cloudrunner for a day.”

“It is, I had this whole prank planned out!”

Talltail padded up to them a bit cautiously. Ryewhisker blinked, clearly a bit surprised when she caught sight of him. Fawnleap, unfazed as ever, waved his tail at him. Talltail dropped the mice he carried.

“I brought you this.”

“Oh is that fresh? Forget what I said before, I feel better now.” Fawnleap said as he greedily snagged up a mouse.

“Is there an occasion?” Ryewhisker asked coolly. “You haven’t spoken to me in a while.”

“Yeah. It’s an apology. Thank you for trying to be patient with me. I’d like you to pass that to Fallowspring, if she’d accept it.” He looked to Fawnleap, who had a mouse half way out of his mouth. “And for you, for just continuing to be...whatever it is you are, despite everything.”

Fawnleap blinked at him and nodded seriously, which looked even more absurd considering his mouth was still full.

“I appreciate it, Talltail,” Ryewhisker said. “And you know, Fallowspring isn’t really still mad at you. She’s never mad for long, or she would have long since disowned Fawnleap. She’s just… got a lot on her mind right now.”

Fawnleap scoffed, “And a lot of it has to do with hunting with Shrewclaw instead of me.” “Of course,” Talltail said, “I’m sure everything will work itself out.”

Next he found Lilywhisker, as he saw her tail vanish into the nursery. He couldn’t manage a rabbit for her, but he’d found a plump vole. He poked his head into the overhanging roots of the warm milk-scented den. It had been so long since he was in here. Talltail was momentarily worried he was intruding, but Lilywhisker nodded at him in a friendly way as she saw him, though she looked a bit tired.

“I caught this for you. And there’s more to bring to Meadowbreeze,” he said. 

“That’s very sweet of you Talltail.” she smiled

“I hope the kits are doing well.”

“They’re doing wonderfully!” Meadowbreeze chirped. He couldn’t believe the new mother still had as much energy as she did. “They all opened their eyes already. I still can’t make up my mind on names, but I’ll think of them soon.”

Lilywhisker gave a good natured exasperated sigh.

 “They are certainly going to be a pawful, I can already tell. And I thought your sister's lot in the nursery were energetic.” She looked at Talltail, “Meadowbreeze swears she won’t want a break, but we’ll see about that.”

“I’m sure they’ll be in good care with you. And….thank you for that. You spent a lot of time caring for me when I was young.” “Oh, don’t even thank me, Talltail.” Lilywhisker purred. “You were such an easy and well behaved kit, like I probably will never get again.”

Talltail dipped his head and ducked out of the nursery, making way for a frazzled Hazelnose who had more new soft grass in his jaws. He’s going to flood the place with soft grass. Some cat should tell him to relax, Talltail thought as the brown tom slipped past. The kits were lucky to have such doting and devoted parents. He was a bit sad he wouldn’t see who Meadowbreeze’s kits grew up to be.

As he began searching for Dawnstripe, the sadness in him felt like it was going to crawl up his throat and choke him. It would be the worst saying goodbye to her, after all she’d done. She had left camp with Appledawn moments ago. As he padded after her, he spotted Shrewclaw returning with Redclaw and Fallowspring. Shrewclaw almost looked happy as he chatted with Fallowspring. It was a surprise to Talltail, but he found that he felt relieved.

 He surprised himself even more when he called out to Shrewclaw. The three cats turned, looking a bit startled. Fallowspring whispered something to the others, then she gestured to Redclaw to follow her back into camp. Shrewclaw looked after them, as if he didn’t know what he wanted to do. Talltail wondered if it was a mistake to do what he did, but it was too late now. 

Shrewclaw narrowed his eyes, but he seemed caught off guard by the lack of hostility in Talltail’s face.

“...What?” there was a hint of defensiveness in his voice, but more so confusion. Of course, Talltail hadn’t said a word to him since their assessment. 

He was quiet for a moment. There was a lot lost between them. But it would do no good to get into it, and Shrewclaw likely wouldn’t want to. At last, all he managed to say was, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes. You have a right to hate me. I would, if I were you. I hope you can be happy again. I mean it.” he was surprised to find that he really did. Part of him wanted to hold onto resenting Shrewclaw, but if this was it, what was the point? He didn’t need it. And without the resentment, all he was left with was regret and sadness. Shrewclaw gaped at him. His ears flattened and perked up again between annoyance and surprise as if he truly couldn’t decide how to feel. They had never had a relationship where they spoke sincerely to each other like that, even during the best of times.

Eventually Shrewclaw looked away and grumbled into his chest, trying not to show how incredibly awkward he felt, and clearly uncertain whether he was ready to give up any of his cold demeanor to peer through the deeply rooted thorns between them.

 “Ok. Whatever.” he said stiffly. “Well. I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m going back to camp. Bye.”

“Bye Shrewclaw,” Talltail murmured. The temperamental tom would probably have still been hostile if Talltail hadn’t caught him so off guard. That was fine. Shrewclaw wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore anyway.

To his simultaneous relief and dread, Dawnstripe had not gone far yet. He padded up to her, and she greeted him warmly.

“You’re not going for another hunt again are you? I saw the haul you brought back earlier, it looks like you pulled two days of work in one afternoon,” she said.

“No, I was looking for you,” he said. It took everything he had to keep the grief out of his voice. He pressed his nose under her chin and held it there to hide his face.

“Oh,” she said, surprised, but not unpleasantly. “Everything’s alright I hope?”

“Yes. Everything will be fine. I feel like...I’ve never properly thanked you for all you’ve done for me.”

She purred in laughter. “You thank me all the time, Talltail.”

“Yes, but really thanked you I mean,” he pulled back. “I know I haven’t always been easy to put up with, but you never gave up on me, even when…” even when you should have, he thought, but saying it aloud would prompt her to disagree. He shook his head and rubbed his cheek against hers.

 “You are a wonderful mentor, and every apprentice you have after me will be lucky.”

She blinked at him when he finally pulled back. “That’s a lot Talltail, but...thank you, of course. Are you sure everything’s ok?”

“I’m sure. I just wanted to tell you is all. I’m going for a walk. Good luck on your hunt.”

He left quickly, sure if he stayed any longer he wouldn’t be able to contain his emotions. It wasn’t fair, to her more than any cat. She’d tried so hard for him, she trusted him, was patient and encouraging through everything, but he still didn’t really deserve his warrior name. 

He wouldn’t be able to stay much longer, or cats would start wondering about his behavior. He didn’t want anyone to try and stop him. Woollycloud was already too suspicious to risk. Who else was there? 

He knew before he’d really asked himself. Talltail climbed up onto Outlook Hill, the highest point on the territory to get a better look around, and to his surprise, there he was.

 Briarpaw was sitting curled up on a rock, watching the sun set below the horizon. Maybe luck was on his side after all. But what could he say to Briarpaw? His oldest friend would surely see through him. Something told him, somehow, perhaps he already did. Briarpaw looked up at him, with such sadness in his eyes when Talltail approached. 

“What are you doing up here?” Talltail asked tentatively. 

“It’s part of my training to listen,” Briarpaw replied. “Everything is clearest up here, so this is where I meditate.”

“What are you listening to?”

“Everything I suppose. Whatever speaks. The clouds, the wind, the gorse.” His eyes were fixed on the bright red clouds catching the rays of sunset, a mix of blazing orange and dark stormy blue. Talltail sat beside him. Knowing this was his last step was making him want to drag his paws. It might be the last time he saw the sun set on the moor, casting the sky in so many brilliant hues. 

“What are the clouds saying today?” Talltail wasn’t sure if he was trying to make small talk, but he was certainly stalling.

“There’s going to be storms. Bad ones, I think. The rains will be late, but when they come, it will be heavy and dark.”

It was hard to picture storms with all this blistering heat clouding Talltail’s head and seeping into his fur. The brilliant light shimmering on the edge of the horizon line was all he could focus on. He pondered for a moment how he may very well travel to that far horizon line, see the hills bathed in light up close. A goal far off in the distance to aim for. His paws were itching and restless even though at the same time he was horribly afraid to feel so lost and far away.

“It looks a bit like fire, doesn’t it? Reaching up on the horizon.” Briarpaw murmured, seemingly half to himself. He looked up at Tallpaw “You look like you're burning yourself, the way it catches your dark fur.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Talltail said carefully. “I’ve never seen real fire.” He’d of course been lucky enough to only know about it through stories. Talltail glanced at the medicine cat apprentice. “Has StarClan shown you dreams of what it really looks like?”

“I have dreamt of it before, yes.” Briarpaw replied. His gaze was still fixed on the distant hills. “It’s bright, flickering, and brilliant orange. A lot like the color of your eyes, actually.”

Talltail sniffed, “Well, I’ve never really gotten a good look at my own eyes.”

“I know. I think it’s hard for you to see any part of yourself very clearly.”

Talltail faltered a bit. “Well, I mean...There’s not a lot of clear still water nearby. The reflections are always murky.”

Talltail didn’t know how else to reply. Briarpaw was probably suggesting more with his words as he often did, but that didn’t make Talltail any more sure of how to address it.

Briarpaw shifted his paws under himself, and was silent for a long moment before continuing.

 “Do you remember the first time we came up here together? On your first day as an apprentice?”

“Yeah,” Tallpaw replied. “It feels like so long ago now.”

“Back then when I was with you, I started hearing something similar to what I hear now, though I didn’t fully understand it. Or maybe I didn’t want to understand it. I’ve been watching you walk around to everyone.” A deep grief glimmered in his golden eyes as he blinked up at his friend. “You’re really going to leave after all, aren’t you?”

Talltail stared at him, worried for a moment that Briarpaw had told someone, but Briarpaw looked so resigned.

 “...Yes. How did you know?”

“I dream about you a lot, Talltail. I always have. Of course, I dream about lots of cats, and always struggle to put the pieces together of what they mean.”

“Medicine cat stuff, I suppose,” Talltail laughed without humor. “Does StarClan want me to go?”

“No. StarClan doesn’t wish for things like that. StarClan can guide us, but these visions...I’m not sure where they come from or why they come to me. Perhaps they have no allegiance at all. There is so much in the world beyond what we know underneath our Silverpelt.” Briarpaw looked up into the sky, seeming suddenly far away. “...I’ve messed up a lot of visions. Hawkheart says it's normal for an apprentice, but it’s made me so afraid. Afraid I could steer a cat in the wrong direction. It’s led to me...being afraid to speak to you sometimes.”

Talltail blinked at him “You were...afraid? I thought...I thought you were just upset with me.”

“I’ve never been upset with you. I’m sorry... I was so unsure. I wanted to avoid the future I didn’t want to face. Even now part of me thinks perhaps I could have tried to push you onto a different path, one that didn’t make me face this. But I think...one way or another, it would have ended up worse for you. So here we are, and you’re on your path now.”

“You agree I should leave then?” Talltail didn’t know whether that made him relieved or sad.

 Briarpaw’s gaze drifted to the ground at his paws. “I don’t want you to go. And I hope that you’ll find the way back here someday soon.”

“I don’t think I will be coming back," Talltail said. “I...I don’t belong here. I have felt wrong for moons. Out of place. I feel inadequate, and there is nothing I can do to change the wrong here that weighs on me. There is one thing I feel called to do, and the only thing I’m sure of is that I can’t do it here, as a simple warrior. Everything I do here can be done by someone else, and let's be honest, I haven’t been great at keeping close friends.”

“I’m sorry you’ve felt that way,” Briarpaw sounded so sincere. “I hope you understand how many cats will notice your absence. By every cat you’ve spoken to and even the ones you won’t.”

It’s his job to say that. Talltail thought. He made cats uncomfortable more often than not, or plagued their minds with worry. Better to cut the tie and make them not have to worry anymore. “You won’t try to stop me then?” 

“No. But...you don’t have to go. I’ll help you. Dawnstripe will, and Woollycloud I’m sure...they’ll be heartbroken if you go.”

Talltail faltered. 

Perhaps they would. He looked down at the camp behind him, and then over across the moor he’d grown up in. He knew it all so well.

For a moment he did almost want to give up his idea. A thought crossed his mind, a flicker of hope. What if everything could be fixed, and he could find a way to feel accepted here. He could apologize and mend every bridge he’d broken. Dawnstripe and Woollycloud would stop worrying. He was a simple runner, but he could try to be the best one he could be. He wouldn’t have to leave his home, he wouldn’t have to leave the cats he came to care for. Maybe somehow it could be ok.

The thought warmed him as it flickered briefly through his mind. But as fast as the spark lit up, that little light of hope was smothered. That was just what he wanted to be true. That happiness wasn’t his to lounge in when there was so much wrong done in the world.

“I...can’t.” Talltail sighed. “They will be upset, after all the time they’ve spent trying to help me. But they will move on. The clan has moved on from so many losses. If I stay...I’ll go mad. I can’t ignore what I feel must be done any longer.”

The little hope that had appeared in Briarpaw’s eyes faded as his face fell. “If this is what you choose...you must choose it on your own. Now that you're here I can see that. No cat can stop you. I wish you had told the clan formally though.”

Talltail ducked his head. He was ashamed himself.

“I’m just...I’m just not strong enough. They’ll know soon enough. If StarClan has been showing you this outcome, then it’s what they think is best too.”

Briarpaw stood and faced him “StarClan wants you to be sure of where you put your paws. You are one of the Wind Runner’s children. You’ve always been worthy.” He pressed his nose to Talltail’s cheek, “I love you, Talltail. So many of us do. Even if you don’t come back, it will still be true. I hope someday you will know why.”

Talltail held his face against Briarpaw’s for a long moment. It hurt him deeply. But he had to go, before he could change his mind. This had to be done. He needed to rip the thorn out and leave, quickly. He stepped back, gave Briarpaw one last look over his shoulder and started at a run down the hill, to the south. He didn’t look back at Briarpaw again. 

As he ran, the greenleaf wind brought strong sweet smelling heat as it rushed through his fur. It seemed to be pulling him in every direction. Was he being chased out or held back? He couldn’t tell. He ducked his head against it as he flew through the darkening sunset. 

Before reaching the edge of the moorland, he stopped. As soon as he passed, there was no going back. 

He froze, and pricked his ears. Someone was nearby. 

There were two very pale amber eyes watching him, staring wide and questioning.

Palebird.

Talltail looked back at his mother. Why was she out here? He hadn’t even thought about going to see her. What would be the point? They had said everything they could say and rarely saw each other anymore. 

He looked at her for a long moment. Maybe you’ll go back to normal when I’m gone. Maybe you can cut your old broken life away and finally start a new one. He didn’t want to tell her that out loud. Palebird didn’t speak to him before, and she wouldn’t start now. 

But to his surprise, she did. She took the smallest step towards him.

“Talltail?” she mewed in her cracked and fragile voice. “Where are you going?”

He opened his mouth to reply. But there was still nothing to say. He was too afraid of what might come out if he really tried to speak to his mother. 

So instead, Talltail made the very last cowardly decision he would make in his home territory. He turned, saying nothing at all, and simply kept walking. She didn’t follow him, but he felt her eyes as he went. To the edge of the moor. To the dark treeline looming above him. The wind cut off here, blocked by the thick towering branches. It was quiet at last. 

He stepped into the shadows, and was lost from his mother's view.

chapter list / previous / next

[maplecornia]

chapter 31

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 1.26K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo | @cana | @canarystwin

Opening the door to your apartment, you sigh.

It was a long day. The photoshoot lasted longer than you expected, and you didn't even get a chance to reprint your schedule. It was for the best though, you supposed. Namjoon didn't need you to do much of anything else besides assist him while he set up to get some work done.

Biting your bottom lip, you try not to feel guilty that you left him all alone. He said he needed no distractions, but you pray he doesn't pull an all-nighter. Knowing him, however...Glancing down at your phone, you wince at the week's schedule Mr. Sejin gave to you before leaving. He told you that getting a daily schedule would be tedious, and informed you that weekly schedules would be sent to you every Sunday.

As for this week...

They have hardly any free time, especially Namjoon. Filled to the brim with practices, photoshoots, and interviews...you can't imagine what it'd be like when promotions start. He really shouldn't be pulling all-nighters nowadays, he needs to rest now to prepare for the workload that will come his way.

You scoff.

Who are you kidding? Namjoon won't be likely to do that. He's the type to pour out every last of his waking spirit into his work. Even if you did go back to help, you'd probably be in the way. Not to mention the fact he wouldn't listen to a word you say.

Shaking your head, you wonder if your mother felt the same way when she was raising you.

Studying all night, practicing until your voice was sore or you couldn't dance anymore, pushing yourself to the very limit, preparing for your dream...

Swallowing hard, you push the thought out of your mind.

You don't have time for guilt.

Slipping out of your shoes, you advance, locking the door tightly behind you. In the corner of your mind, you wonder if Sunoh is sleeping already. Glancing at the clock, you roll your eyes. If he wasn't, he'd be crazy.

3 am already?

Reminds you of the times you would write till the wee hours of the morning. Creating countless stories and adventures, different worlds and different people, trying to find a way to escape when you had nowhere else to run. When was the last time you were inspired to even pick up a pencil much less write?

"I hate being alone." You murmur, rubbing your face. "I always think too much."

Setting your satchel on the counter island, you empty its contents and come across the contract. Freezing, you slowly pull it out and stare at it.

This is your dream.

So why are you hesitating?

Taking it to the table, you pull out a chair and carefully set it down.

It couldn't hurt to read through, could it?

You wonder why you are so afraid. What he did wasn't even something to be worried about. But when the one you cherish the most tells you you'll never make it, that you aren't talented enough...

He heard your voice and called it mediocre, amateur, and told you to find a new dream. Told you to give up on something you would never succeed at. Told you everything you worked so hard for was worthless. It was unrealistic, it wasn't worth trying.

You'd never make it anyway.

You weren't nearly as pretty enough to fit their standards.

You weren't perfect enough to pass their expectations.

You weren't made for the dream, so you shouldn't be given the chance to achieve them.

Groaning, you try to swallow the lump in your throat, you try to ignore everything you wish to hold back, but you can't.

How?

How could they see that you were worth something?

Obviously, you aren't worth that much, obviously, you aren't that special...

"Why are you hesitating?"

Remembering what Suga said, you wonder at the question yourself.

This is supposed to be your dream, you are supposed to hold onto it no matter what others tell you. No matter what people may think. It's something that's made to be eternal, that won't give up as long as you don't give up either.

Are you afraid?

"Yes. I'm terrified."

But why are you terrified? Why can't you forget the past?

"What if he's right? What if I'm not cut out for this?"

So are you afraid of what others think?

"No."

Then what is it?

You think of everyone who is counting on you, their high expectations. What they are risking for you. You think of the people who came before you, how hard they tried for this chance, just so they can achieve a dream they may never get. You think of your mother, who lost the very same dream and could never achieve it.

What is holding you back?

"What if I let them down?" you whisper softly, as a tear finally escapes its blockade and lands on the very same contract you've been holding in your hands.

You've dreamed of this. Receiving your first contract and signing with a company, ready to become a trainee, ready to be the singer; the performer you've always wanted. You've imagined the scenario in your head, acted it out many times over and over again. This was supposed to be a happy moment, the moment when all your hard work meant something. The moment when you finally took the next step towards your goal.

Inwardly, you want to scream in joy. You want to cry from happiness. But that fear, that blockade of terror, that is the one thing that holds you back.

What if when you finally let go, when you allow yourself to be happy again, it's ruined?

I gave everything to you.

"Shut up."

But you threw it away.

"Stop."

And for what? A dream that will never find its way out of your head?

"You're not here."

It's worthless hoping for something that can never happen.

"You don't know that."

Do you want to be worthless?

"You don't get to dictate my life."

Biting your lip, turn the final page of the contract, and find the dotted line. A line that will sign your life away. A line that holds every dream, every wish, every hope you've gathered in your small wish to be an idol. To sing on the stage, to perform and touch the world with your music.

Your world.

Finding a pen amongst the confines of your satchel, you put the tip gently to the paper and sign your name.

You smile once you do, and hold your hands to your face.

Letting out a small shriek, you let your excitement take control of your body and you allow the euphoric feeling of happiness to spread throughout you. You push back the feelings of doubt, the paralyzing helplessness of terror. For now, that doesn't matter. At this moment, those feelings aren't important.

Who cares about what's to happen in the future?

Would you rather be held back because of things you can't control?

No, this is your choice. This is your life.

You make the choice, no one else can make it for you.

At the harsh ringer of the phone, you jump. Startled, you turn to it from where it sits on the counter and check the caller ID.

One step at a time right?

That's all it takes to be okay again.

To move on.

Maybe it's time you talked to her.

Setting the pen down, you pick up your phone, taking a deep breath before accepting the call.

"Hi, Mom."

she finally called her mom! question, on a scale of 1-10 how angry would your guys' mom be if you ghosted her for this long? 0.o cuz mine would disown me for the longest time.

chapter 32 here

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[honeyandbloodpoetry]

Gender Thoughts Pt 1 and 2

The first time I put a binder on, a little under a week ago, I felt euphoric. Ever since I hit puberty very early on, I felt uncomfortable with my breasts. They never felt right on me, and even though I’ve come to love them sometimes, they still don’t always feel like they match up. I hated how people always looked at them, pointed out how much they showed in low cut shirts when I never even noticed they were--or even wanted them to. They were just there. I liked the way low cut shirts feel and look on me, I just can’t help these giant sacks of flesh that sit on my chest. 

Except...now I can! I ran my hands over my smooth chest, feeling bright. I looked into the mirror, and felt something warm wash over me. I put on my new masculine clothes, letting my partner clip on my new suspenders. I realized that I was shaking as I looked at myself again… I looked like a boy. I felt like a boy. Like a man. And I liked it. I wanted it. Admitting that to myself was like coming home. 

I remember being in sixth grade, walking around the track for my civil air patrol class. I had been slotted in with the rest of the girls, the boys walking ahead of us. I remember feeling uncomfortable being shoved in with only girls, and looking at the gaggle of boys ahead. The exact thought that whispered in my brain was “I wish I was a boy. I want to be like them, with them.” I never forgot that moment, and how strange it made me feel. How it was easier to shake that thought away, and dismiss those feelings. Except they never really left, did they? 

I remember sitting on my bed, crying with my best friend kneeling in front of me. I remember telling her how I didn’t like feeling like a woman all the time. That I wished I could be a black shadow, monstrous, androdynous. Specifically like Venom. She took my hand, did my makeup all in black and helped me pick out the perfect black outfit to achieve that dark, gothic look. I was so incredibly happy and validated. But I still felt like something was missing. 

I remember going into an Adam and Eve for laugh, not expecting much since I am an asexual with a low libido. I remember seeing packers and feeling my chest tighten. I never liked my genitalia--I had wished for a cloaca or something akin to that, but since that was biologically impossible for a human… I sometimes wished I had the opposite of a vagina. I frequently imagined what it would be like to have a penis. I frequently lamented the fact that I didn’t have one. I took the box up to the counter to ask some questions, my dress swishing as I went. The cashier told me it was for trans people only, and a girl like me couldn’t have it. She didn’t know what asexuality was, and had tried polyamory once but decided it was bad when her girlfriend kissed her boyfriend. I was upset, disheartened, and left the store empty handed feeling frustrated and lost.

I remember finally cutting the long, curly locks that had frustrated and imprisoned me for so long. Seeing all of my hair fall to the floor, staring into the mirror as the barber buzzed the back of my head… It made me want to cry tears of joy. It was the first time in my entire life that I had looked at my hair and was happy. The first time I could look in the mirror and feel like myself. Then I remember wanting to go shorter, and my barber encouraging me to keep it a little longer so I didn’t look manly, so I could still be soft and feminine. The way my stomach dropped and the sick feeling in my chest only increased when he began to make fun of the gay men who came down the street near his favorite restaurant. I never saw that barber again. I instead found a nice local place down the road from my apartment, where the kind lady cut it all off without question, other than “Why?” and accepted my warm “It makes me happy. It makes me feel beautiful.” 

But wearing that binder for the first time? It was as if a beam of light had funneled its way directly into my heart. I felt like a handsome man, with just a little bit of striking man boob, and it felt so right. My partner called me a dashing boy and my heart began to race. I still feel his hand tracing my jawline as he called me handsome, and the butterflies it sent up through my belly, even after more than eleven years. 

I love my partner--he identifies as agender and primarily masculine, and has been on the lookout for a good pair of size thirteen shoes to wear with a dress. They also wear joggers and flip flops and graphic tees and can’t seem to stop talking about the ocean and outer space. They’re probably one of my biggest inspirations for finding myself, and being authentically me. 

I’m not super sure who or what I am right now. I’m still figuring that out, but I’m pretty sure I’m somewhere between agender and genderfluid. I feel like me more than anything else, but all pronouns make me feel good. I feel like all of them and none of them at once, but I swing between wanting to be feminine and masculine pretty strongly, though I enjoy being masculine most of all--even when I’m wearing dresses and pink. I feel like a beautiful person in a dress or a button down, no matter what gender I feel like today or tomorrow. 

I am me. And I am one dashing boy, and one beautiful girl. 

4 July 2021

XXX

Since first writing this little essay, I’ve been doing a lot more examination of my gender. I have come to the conclusion that I am transmasc and nonbinary, and am shaky on the title of genderfluid. I am feeling less and less like a woman--if anything, occasionally adjacent to a woman rather than actually being one. I love feeling like and presenting as a man. I have my first appointment with a gender services doctor at my local community clinic for consultation on starting hrt testosterone. I am planning to start with low dose first, and see how I feel. 

I am still unsure of my exact identity, but I have found great euphoria with being and presenting as a man. I love being a man and everything that entails. I have loved myself like never before. Being with my partner is amazing, and he has been endlessly supportive--even recounting little things they had noticed throughout the years. One of the funniest being that I only ever referred to my body parts--my belly, hands, hair, genitalia--with masculine pronouns. I always seemed to see my body as male even if I had a certain sort of dissonance from it. 

Coming out has been difficult. I have had both positive and negative experiences from it. I have been told going on testosterone would be self harm, and that I can’t be something I’m not. I’ve had coworkers I trusted out me without my permission. But I have also had positive affirmation, polite questions, and discussions. I am terrified to tell my mother and her boyfriend--I have no idea how they will react and am terrified that I will be disrespected and disowned. 

But I am prepared to do whatever it takes to be my happiest and most authentic self. 

I have been binding a lot more often, wearing sports bras for long shifts at work, and occasionally going without either when I feel like letting my man boobs hang free. I’ve had the delightful experience of going to a men’s big and tall store and finally wearing pants. I grew up as a fat girl and felt as if I had to perform high femininity to be taken seriously and be treated well--and had been told by someone I trusted that I was too fat to wear pants, which I heavily internalized. So I had completely cast them away in favor of dresses and skirts, bows and gaudy jewelry. Realizing that I could wear pants was...totally wild. That I could be comfortable and look good in pants and shorts, and that it didn’t matter what people did or thought of me was life changing. Maybe I’ll feel like being feminine again someday, but right now this masculinity and masculine clothing, with perhaps the added spice of funky earrings, feels like home. 

I also grew up autistic and with PCOS, both which I think have affected my gender identity. Being autistic, I truly struggled to connect to others socially, and especially to understand societal norms. Being a proper woman felt like I was making up for everything else I was lacking--I may have been awkward, semi-verbal and weird with no friends, but at least I was cute and girlish. I never connected to womanhood though, and always felt out of place no matter how hard I tried. With PCOS, I had heightened testosterone, which meant wider breasts and shoulders, a lack of periods, and excessive body hair. I recall the endocrinologist asking high school age me if I had excessive body hair around my stomach, breasts, etc. and my mother jumping to say no I didn’t...even though I did. I remember suddenly feeling very self aware and ashamed of something completely natural, and even something I started to enjoy. I started shaving my entire body then. 

I even remember being in middle school, and thinking nothing of my hairy legs. In fact, I loved my body hair and how it felt. A rude girl began making fun of me though, tutting her tongue as she cooed, “Aw, does your mommy not let you shave?” Among other things, all throughout many years of severe bullying and abuse. I remember feeling ashamed, but not knowing why, and immediately shaving my legs, covering them in nicks from my shaky and unsteady hands, that same night. 

So many things set me back in my gender expression. So many things contributed to me willful ignorance and denial. I remember wanting to be butch, and everyone in my life laughing at me and saying I was too soft for that. That sweet, sharp ache in my chest. I remember going to a salad bar with my mother, wearing a button up and telling her I wanted to wear some more boyish clothes around that same time--I had already told her that I was bi sometime earlier. I remember her lip curling, looking uncomfortable, and telling me that I better not become one of those boy girls. My late father was very vocal in denouncing homosexuality and specifically men loving men--something which always sat horribly wrong with me on a deeper level. 

I think I might ending up being a trans man. I am still unsure and figuring myself out, but I struggle greatly with the autistic need for sameness vs. the trans need for change. My sapphic love of women has always been very important to me, and fully becoming a man rather than genderfluid is scary for that very reason. I am still navigating my identity and what it means to me and my reality--but no matter what, being a man, being masculine is integral to who I am. 

I was called a “sir” at a job interview for the first time the other day, and nearly began to bawl from sheer joy. The gender euphoria from that and so many moments is worth so much more to me than the years of suffering and ignorance and my ongoing struggles with dysphoria. I finally got a packer and have had help from my partner in learning to position it properly--I am thinking of cutting my hair even shorter. I have almost perfected a pretty basic tie tying skill. Okay, not really, but I’m getting there. I feel deep inside that even though my father loved me, he would not like who and what I am. Still, I wear the last watch he ever wore, and hope to be a good man like him--and to learn from the toxic parts of him to be an even better man. 

I am very excited to start hrt. I am terrified of hair loss and vaginal atrophy, but I look forward to so much more. I cannot wait for bottom growth and body hair, for the voice drop that will hopefully get me misgendered less. I have always felt disconnected from my voice and look forward to getting to know it better as it changes with me. I look forward to meeting with new facial hair. Working out and growing muscle. I just look forward to my second puberty and becoming more like myself. I look forward to navigating and exploring my gender even further, both with loved ones, support groups, and myself. 

More than anything, I am just happy to be me. 

25 August 2021

[clairenatural]

Suptober 2020, Day 10: Sweet rides. Destiel (and background Saileen), honestly just 2k of state fair fluff

The Kansas State Fair rolls through a few months after their final boss battle with God himself. In the spirit of trying to heal and taking some time to just breathe, they all pile into the impala and drive the three hours to Hutchinson. All five of them, after Sam bounds into the kitchen one morning to excitedly announce that Eileen wants to come, and Dean can’t remember the last time his car (or his heart) was fuller.

Sam spends the first hour of the trip awkwardly turned around in the passenger seat, contorting his long torso to be able to sign with Eileen, until eventually Dean pulls over and makes him switch with Castiel (who probably should have been in the front in the first place). He watches his brother and his girlfriend start trying to teach Jack the ASL alphabet but keeps his own hands resolutely constrained to the steering wheel—if he gave them free reign he knows they’ll do something drastic, like reach out for the angel riding shotgun.

Still, the ride is nice. It’s the early Kansas fall, when the air is turning crisp but the sun is still warm, and the giddy relief of seeing Castiel smile without some cosmic threat looming over them still hasn’t worn off. By the time they pull into the fairgrounds it’s afternoon, and Dean is laughing along with the rest of them. They step into the hustle and bustle of the fair, and Jack’s face lights up in a way it hasn’t since before the weight of killing God was shoved onto his shoulders. Sam and Eileen split off pretty immediately, and they’re so happy Dean can’t even pretend to be exasperated. He’ll make fun of Sam later—right now he just watches them run away, giggling like teenagers, with a fond expression that could border on pining if Dean Winchester was the type to pine.

Then it’s just him, and Cas, and this half-angel kid who’s simultaneously all-powerful and a toddler. Jack, one of the most powerful beings in the universe, quintessential in the defeat of God, who still approaches cotton candy with a childlike wonder fitting for his three years of life. They discover that Jack likes cotton candy but loves rollercoasters. Dean, who discovered he hates rollercoasters a few decades ago, sits this one out—content to watch Jack drag Cas from ride to ride while he sits on a bench and eats corn dogs. When they finally stop for a breather it’s the tail end of the afternoon and Dean greets them with lemonade and funnel cake, and they watch the fair go by while eating the kind of fried food you can only find at state fairs. Cas is dismayed at the deep-fried Oreos. Dean eats three. It makes him feel sick—turns out even his stomach has limits—but it makes both Cas and Jack laugh, which makes it worth it.

Overall, it’s the perfect day, which might be why Dean’s immediately suspicious when Sam and Eileen show up some time later with matching mischievous smiles. They sit down at their picnic table and Sam leans in to slide something into Dean’s pocket, adding a whispered “thank me later” into his ear, before clearing his throat and turning his attention to Jack. “Hey, uh, Jack,” he starts, and Dean’s suspicions grow. “Eileen and I spent most of today playing games—you wanna show us the rides? Maybe,” he nods towards Dean in the least subtle way possible, “give these two a break?”

Jack looks between them for a moment before something seems to dawn on him and he smiles, which Dean does not like at all. “Yes,” he replies, simply, and starts to stand. “The best one is that way.” He points to the exact opposite end of the fair. Dean groans internally. Damn kids.

Cas watches them go with a look of contentment Dean isn’t sure he’s seen on the angel before, and he peeks at what Sam had slid into his pocket—two tickets for the massive Ferris wheel. Dean sighs and looks at Cas, then to the wheel. The afternoon is well on its way into evening now, and the low sun has the metal structure backlit and glowing. He looks back at Cas, who’s watching his odd reaction, confused. “Dean?” he questions.

Dean thinks about how much shit he’ll get from Sam (and Eileen) if he doesn’t go for it. He thinks about having to go another day, or even another hour, without holding Castiel’s hand. He thinks about how there’s nothing really stopping him—not anymore, not with the world safe and Cas not going anywhere anytime soon.

He makes a decision.

I’m in love with you. Please ride the Ferris wheel with me as the sun sets, he thinks.

“There are, uh. Some sweet rides here, huh?” he says instead. Castiel frowns at him, brow furrowed, and Dean wants to be enveloped by the earth like some cliché in a tween movie.

“You’ve spent most of the day avoiding them at all costs,” he points out and, yeah, that was not Dean’s best line. “I had to ride the, uh. The ‘Space Roller,’” he points at a giant spinning structure, “Twice.” Cas grimaces at the memory, and Dean frowns in sympathy. It was the only time he’s ever seen the angel nauseous.

“Jack had a good time, though,” Dean replies, because bringing up Jack is always a foolproof way to make Castiel smile again. Cas smiles in the way he always does when he thinks about his son, and it’s adorable but also off track, so—

“Ride the wheel with me,” Dean blurts out, before Cas can respond to his comment about Jack and before he can lose his nerve. Cas looks startled, either by the abrupt subject change or the two tickets that Dean slapped onto the table with his statement. “Sam—I mean, Sam and Eileen didn’t—” Castiel’s expression has changed to bemused confusion, so Dean stops talking and starts again. “Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Sam had extra tickets. I just thought it would be nice, you know. If you wanted.”

The smile he gets in return simultaneously puts him at ease and sets his heart racing. “I’d like that,” Cas says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and he’s already standing and gathering their trash by the time Dean’s brain catches up.

There’s a couple in front of them in line for the Ferris wheel. They’re holding hands. Dean forces his into fists in his pockets. Not yet, he tells himself. Soon.

Unfortunately, the cabin they eventually climb into starts rocking dangerously the moment it’s lifted off the ground, and Dean immediately decides this was a Bad Idea. They get halfway up the wheel before they lurch to a stop and dean makes a noise that is definitely not a whimper as he waits for the swaying to stop.

“Are you alright?” Cas asks, deeply concerned in the way he always is about Dean. Dean shrugs, not letting go of the lap bar.

“Yeah, you know. I just, uh. Got this thing about heights. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He sees Castiel’s face shift out of the corner of his eye and realizes he’s smiling. Dean is having a near-death experience and the angel next to him is smiling.

“Dean Winchester, a man who fought God, is afraid of heights?”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles. “This thing is not structurally sound.” He tries to crane his neck outside the basket to examine the metalwork, but the movement makes the entire thing rock. He retreats, holding onto the lap bar for dear life, and sneaks a glance at Castiel. “Man, how are you not freaked out by this?”

“I suppose I’m used to falling,” Cas replies, as easy as ever, and it slows Dean’s brain down enough to look at him again. He’s still smiling, but there’s something else there. Something sadder.

“Cas—” Dean starts, but is abruptly cut off by the wheel kicking into gear again, squeaking as it pulls them over the crest of the wheel before stopping once more.

The sun is setting over the fair, casting everything below in shades of orange and gold. There’s the faint sound of children laughing and fair music drifting up from the ground, and the expanse of Kansas is visible beyond the fair’s borders. It’s breathtaking, really. It’s the part where, if this was a rom-com, Dean would make his move.

Instead, he’s clinging to the lap bar of the Ferris wheel car, and Castiel is doing his very best not to laugh in the seat beside him. Dean groans, squeezes his eyes shut, and considers disowning Sam.

“Dean,” he hears Cas say, mirth in his voice but also unmistakable softness, and then a warm hand is covering his own on the bar in front of them. “Look at me.”

He does, forcing his eyes open, and—oh. Cas has moved closer, and his blue eyes are lit up by the last rays of daylight, and suddenly Dean’s heart is racing for an entirely different reason. “Uh. Hi,” he says, because his brain seems to have shorted out, but the corner of Cas’ eyes crinkle into a smile and it’s beautiful.

Castiel’s hand is still warm on top of his own, grounding him even as they’re far off the ground. He’s looking at Dean like he’s the most precious thing in the known universe, and Dean realizes that now, actually, is when he would make a move.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies.

And Dean kisses him.

Dean barely registers that Cas is kissing him back—Cas is kissing him back??—when he absently takes both hands off the lap bar to pull Castiel closer, which means the entire car rocks again. Dean makes an undignified noise and pulls back to re-steady himself, and his cheeks are burning but Cas is laughing so that means it’s probably okay.

“When we get back to solid ground I’m kissing you for real,” Dean promises as the wheel squeaks back into movement again. Cas hums in agreement and presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek, and Dean can feel his smile. They hold hands on the bar of the carriage as the wheel turns them back down to earth.

Dean makes good on his promise as soon as they touch down, dragging Castiel behind a nearby tree and pulling him into a real kiss—solid, like the ground they’re standing on. Solid like the foundation they’ve been building for the past decade, of trust and love and family.

When they finally make it back to the picnic table, they look far too disheveled to blame it all on the ride. Sam looks up from the sundae he’s sharing with the other two, grins down at Dean and Cas holding hands, and winks at his brother. Dean rolls his eyes, blushing, but he squeezes Castiel’s hand and pulls him closer.

When they pile back into the Impala later, joined by the army of stuffed animals they’d managed to accumulate (Sam and Dean in an informal competition to see who could win the most for Eileen and Cas, Cas and Eileen irritated at the insinuation that they couldn’t win toys themselves and walking away with even more, Jack being innocently and gleefully good at every fair game he tries), it’s with a peace and contentment that the family hasn’t felt in years. Sam and Eileen immediately fall asleep in the backseat, curled up together, and Jack is watching the Kansas landscape pass by the window with a soft smile. He’s holding a stuffed panda.

They don’t speak much, not wanting to wake up the sleeping couple or disturb the quiet peace they’d created, but Dean and Cas hold hands across the bench seat, and every few miles the angel will pick up their hands to press a kiss to Dean’s fingers. Dean feels like he’s flying, like he’s standing on top of the Empire State building, like he’s reached the peak of Mount Everest. For once in his life, he’s not afraid of the height.  

[malfoymanortings]

fluorescent adolescent PART 2

summary: Fred Weasley has been drawing the eldest Malfoy daughter since his third year of Hogwarts. Elara Malfoy has fancied Fred Weasley since her fifth year at Hogwarts. It is during their final year, that the two of them do something about the mutual attraction.

pairing: Fred x OC older Malfoy sister

not related to flames and snow!! just a different perspective on Fred x older Malfoy sister.

let me know if you guys want a part three. also, this was my first time writing smut so hopefully it was good!

Elara Malfoy had a thing for Fred Weasley. 

She wasn’t quite sure when it had started, maybe in third year when he had stumbled into her path reeking of gunpowder; he had taken that opportunity to bow to the “Slytherin princess” and apologized profusely before being dragged off by his twin. Daphne Greengrass, her closest friend, had scoffed and told her the blood traitor was mocking her. 

But although Elara agreed, she secretly felt it wasn’t a joke to Fred. 

So yes, it was her narcissism that made Fred Weasley seem so appealing to her, as the thought of the boy calling her the Slytherin Princess (I am so sorry I knocked into you, goddess, it won’t happen again, I swear it!), made her liking of the boy grow. Of course, that was a secret she would have to take deep to her grave with her, unless she wanted to be disowned and removed from the Malfoy family. Elara had already worked hard to be part of that family, as her father was a rotten man with disgusting ideals and the worst view on punishments for a child. She didn’t spend her childhood taking beatings for both her and her brother to prove her worth just to throw it all away over a boy, a blood traitor nonetheless!

It was hard, though. Especially when she knew he stared at her all the time. Especially during the Yule Ball, when he had looked so delectable and had taken the gorgeous Angelina Johnson as his date, it was ever so hard for Elara to swallow her jealousy. Theodore Nott may have been handsome, but he was nothing next to Fred Weasley. Fred Weasley was stunning, and had the personality that was rare to find.

Fred Weasley was annoying and witty, hilarious and clever. George and him were the best pranksters Hogwarts had ever seen, in her opinion. Of course, they normally targeted Slytherin’s as their intended victims, but usually it was well deserved, Elara had to admit. The man was so open yet closed off, as Elara had never dared speaking to him. 

Her brother Draco had a big mouth, and the last thing she needed was for him to gossip with father and tell him that Elara was even speaking civilly with a Weasley.

Yet when the opportunity in Potions class presented itself, Elara agreed upon meeting Fred Weasley at the astronomy tower around midnight. She dressed carefully that night, her best matching lace set, covered with fishnets and a black skirt, white blouse combo. She left her hair down, rings on her fingers, and applied a generous amount of her perfume to tie it all together. 

Elara headed for the astronomy tower exactly at midnight, taking care to make sure no one saw her leave. She kept her wand up the sleeve of her robes, at the ready just in case she ran into any sort of trouble. Like that idiot Umbridge, what a nasty woman. If it weren’t for her father being so close with the Ministry, she would spit at the woman. Instead, she had to play nice and act like the disgusting toad wasn’t vile.

Fred Weasley seemed impatient, pacing back and forth and glancing at the watch on his wrist.

 Elara stood in the doorway for a moment, admiring him openly for the first time. He was dashing, there was no doubt that the Weasley’s had impeccable genes. He seemed to have gotten a haircut over Christmas break, as it wasn’t as long as she preferred it. He kept flexing his fingers around his wand, and Elara wore a smile as she imagined those same skilled fingers wrapped around her throat.

“You didn’t think I would forget our engagement tonight, did you?” Elara came out from the shadow of the stairwell, smirking when Fred jumped.

“Well, it’s bloody past midnight, innit?” scoffed Fred, stilling his pacing and crossing his arms. 

Elara walked into the room slowly, glancing around the tower and keeping her tone light. “You just said around midnight. I don’t recall you specifying what exact time you wanted me here.”

“Next time I’ll be more clear, then.” Fred took on the same tone she had, and he smirked back at her when her eyes narrowed at him.

“Who said there’s a next time?” quipped Elara, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall farthest from Fred.

“Oh darling, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me for more.”

With that rather bold statement, Fred walked over to Elara who watched him appraisingly. 

“I rather doubt that, Weasley.”

Fred harshly placed his arms on either side of Elara’s body, his body heat warming her. “Beautiful, if you could just shut that pretty little mouth of yours, you wouldn’t piss me off so much.”

Elara raised an eyebrow, slightly embarrassed that she could already feel wetness between her legs. “Where’s the fun in that, Weasel?”

Fred slammed his lips against hers then, and Elara snaked her arms around his neck. His lips felt like fire against hers, spreading a heat through her body as quickly as a brushfire. His hands ghosted down her waist, sliding behind her hips to grip her bum. Elara bit down on Fred’s lip, harshly dragging his lower lip through her teeth, and Fred moaned audibly, slapping her bum with one hand while the other squeezed harshly.

He trailed his lips down her neck, nipping softly at the skin he had lusted over for so long, dusting kisses across her collarbones. His teeth grazed her skin, making her shiver and let out a moan against her will.

“That’s it darling, be loud for daddy.” encouraged Fred softly, his hands ghosting her inner thighs.

Elara’s breath caught in her throat, and she tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. She would be damned if she called Fred Weasley daddy.

“Do you want me to touch you, love?” asked Fred, moving his hands up to unbutton her shirt. It fell to the ground, and Fred stared at her creamy breasts hidden from him with a lace bra that seemed to be teasing him.

“Yes.” Elara was breathless, almost embarrassed at how desperately she wanted him to touch her.

“Yes, what?” Fred kissed her jaw, his hands moving down to play with the hem of her skirt. 

She knew he wasn’t going to go further until she said it. “Yes, daddy.”

Fred grinned at her then, and her skirt came down along with her fishnets. He knelt down, pressing sloppy kisses to her thighs as he forced them open. Elara’s legs grew weak, something Fred took notice of.

“Lay down, love.” with a wave of his wand, Fred had conjured up a soft blanket for them to lay on. Elara sat down, before Fred had pushed her down to continue his onslaught against her cunt.

Once again forcing her thighs open, he snapped the waistband of her panties. “Darling, I appreciate the thought you put into these, but next time, come ready for me, alright?” 

He tugged off her panties without waiting for a response, and then ran his hand across her bare pussy. Elara gasped, bucking her hips up, and Fred laughed.

“You look delicious,” Fred ducked down, his breath fanning across her delicate skin. “Good enough to eat.”

He gave her a teasing lick, and again Elara’s hips bucked up on their own accord. Fred placed a large hand on her lower stomach, holding her in place. His other hand held her legs open as he licked and sucked her clit, his tongue sliding in and out of her pussy. Without warning, his mouth left her, and his fingers replaced the warmth of his tongue. First it was one, and then he slowly added another, curling his fingers as he made eye contact with her.

“Fuck,” Elara whimpered, pleasure flooding her body. It was almost too much for her to deal with, the way Fred Weasley was going down on her.

He increased his speed, and Elara arched her back, moaning loudly when he began nipping at her hips, sucking on the soft skin and placing harsh kisses as his fingers pumped faster and faster inside of her. He placed his mouth on her clit, keeping the fast pace with his fingers, and Elara gripped the blanket as a stream of moans left her mouth.

She could feel herself getting close, a coil in her stomach as Fred kept sucking on her clit. As she felt herself nearing the edge, her legs clenching around Fred’s head as she was about to cum, he suddenly pulled away, giving her a cheeky grin with lust filled eyes.

“Why the fuck did you stop?” Elara asked breathlessly, brushing away at the strands of hair that stuck to her forehead.

“Darling, if you want to finish, you’re going to need to beg daddy.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

Fred trailed kisses up her stomach, skillfully reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. Her breasts free, Fred took a hard nipple in his mouth, the other one he explored with his hand.

“Bite me,” Elara said breathlessly, bucking her hips up to the erection that was pressed against her bare pussy. “Bite me daddy.”

She felt Fred smile rather than saw him, and let out a loud moan as Fred Weasley bit down on her hard nipple, pinching the other one with his fingers. He started grinding his hips into hers as he bit and sucked at her tits, and Elara once again had to grip the blanket in her hands.

“Please, daddy,” Elara gave in, running her nails down Fred’s back. “Make me cum.”

Fred paused for a moment, his eyes meeting hers. He gave her a quick grin, before quickly ducking back down to suck at her clit again. Once again, the familiar feeling was building up in her lower stomach, and as Fred pumped his fingers in her pussy and his lips sucked on her bundle of nerves, she finally found release, her legs shaking as she came on Fred Weasley’s face.

“You taste so sweet,” his voice was low, his tone cocky. “Now, my turn.”

Fred slipped his boxers off, and the bare skin of his hard dick brushed against her pussy as he teased her entrance with his head. Elara dragged her nails down his back, and Fred thrusted into her with a groan and made Elara gasp as he began pumping in her.

He spread her legs to the side, resting each hand on either inner thigh, causing him to stroke deeply within her. He went softly at first, letting Elara adjust to his massive size, and then began thrusting his hips deep inside her faster and faster. He soon moved his arms on either side of Elara, and she wrapped legs around his waist.

“Fuck, Elara, you feel so damn good around my dick.” Fred moaned out, burrowing his head into her neck.

“Choke me.” said Elara in reply, letting out a moan as Fred hit a new spot inside of her.

Fred complied, much to her surprise. He wrapped one hand around her throat, squeezing harshly, the other hand propping himself up. The force of his thrusting made her tits bounce, and Elara parted her mouth in a silent moan as Fred’s fingers clenched around her esophagus. 

His thrusting became more sloppy, and she knew he was close to coming. Elara could once again feel the build up in her lower stomach, and she knew she was going to cum once more.

“Daddy, I’m gonna cum.” the words came out a moan, and Fred pressed a harsh kiss to her neck as he picked up his pace once more.

Her walls clenched around him, and his name fell from her lips as her toes curled and her vision went white. She felt his dick twitch before he came inside her with a loud moan, pulling out his dick and laying next to her on the blanket.

Elara kept her eyes shut, feeling the odd sensation of her pussy twitching. It had been her first time, and it had been with a Weasley. 

After a moment, Fred propped himself up next to her, looking down at her still form. He admired her naked body, committing it to memory for later when he would be alone and drawing the way she looked as he made her orgasm. 

“You could stop staring anytime now.” Elara remarked lightly, her eyes still shut.

“You’re gorgeous.” replied Fred, pressing a featherlight kiss to her temple. 

Elara opened her eyes then, shoving Fred away from her and standing. “Alright, that’s my cue to leave. This was fun, trust me, but I really ought to be going.”

“What, you’re just going to leave?” Fred protested, tugging on his boxers as he got up. He kept his eyes on hers as she quickly redressed herself.

“We just needed to get that,” she waved her hands. “Out of our system. Now, we can go back to our separate worlds.”

Fred shook his head, grabbing her hands as she was doing the last button on her blouse. “Elara, we can’t just go back to quietly fancying each other after that.”

Elara’s eyes flashed, and she yanked her hands out of Fred’s grasp. “Watch me.”

Elara tugged her robe on, and after making sure her wand was tucked away, she stormed out of the astronomy tower, leaving Fred Weasley standing alone.

[youarejesting]

Hope In The Sheets.5

[Masterlist]

Beta: @bluewhale52​ Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers,

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things. 

What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Male Masturbation, pregnancy.

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

The list of repairs that this house needed was exhausting to think about. Just when one thing seemed sorted, ten others popped up, demanding money and time but you were determined, mostly to prove to your mother, who had basically disowned you, wrong. But more than that, you wanted to do this for your friends who were trying their hardest to support you. You couldn’t let them down and you couldn’t let this child down. More importantly, you definitely couldn’t let your mother be right. 

Spite was a great motivator and you felt more inspired than ever. Your friends came by before and after work, forgoing any other social opportunities just to help you out. Each of you packed countless bags of trash, dumping them in the front yard; how did this much rubbish exist in one tiny house?

It took a whole day but finally, it was finally clean. Covered in sweat and dust and god knows what else, you’d all found a place on the floor of the empty living room, eating pizza courtesy of Yuta. You’d been restricted to the healthier option, courtesy of Seokjin. Hoseok’s curious glances didn’t pass you by.

Johnny and Taeil were organising carpools to get home and it was well into the night by the time people started leaving. Yuta glanced over at you as he stuffed the empty takeout boxes into the trash.

“Y/N, do you need a ride?”

You smiled gratefully but shook your head. “Jin offered to take me home but thanks.”

Hoseok looked annoyed, but you were already being ushered to the car before you could ask him what was wrong. “I’m all worked up after that,” he said suddenly. “Jimin, Yoongi and I were thinking of hitting a bar, you know scope out the competition.” The other boys shared confused frowns but went along with it.

“Oh... okay.” Of course he had other plans. He was going after his dream girl after all, completely unaware that his dream girl was getting in a car right in front of him. You bit your lip and slid into the front seat without another word. The drive to your apartment felt longer than usual but Seokjin filled the empty silence with soft music and talk of renovations.

“You have a little money left over after purchasing the house; I think that should be enough to cover all of the plumbing and electrical.” He flashed a grin. “Lucky for you, I have connections with a contractor from university and he owes me a huge amount of favours so he can work for free. We just have to cover materials. I mean, I set him up with his wife so he owes me.”

Once you were back in the comfort of your own apartment, your worries about Hoseok almost seemed like water under the bridge. You and Seokjin settled at the table with tea, feeling a little better than earlier.

“I made a list of things we need to get fixed professionally but the rest, we can scrounge together for next to nothing.” He slid a piece of paper over to you; it was split into two columns.

“...Broken window,” you read outloud, “landscaping, the leak in the roof, plumbing, Electrical, Appliances, Paint cabinet, Bathroom renovation...It’s a lot.”

“That’s what we’re here for.” He smiled softly, his hand covering yours. “You are going to be a great mum, Y/N.” 

It took a solid week of working around the clock with the contractor but finally, the house had running water and working lights. It took another two months for the house to be in a state that could be livable and safe for a newborn but the jobs were finally complete. The boys didn’t come over often as they had their own jobs but today some of the boys were free and happy to help. 

It was nice hanging out again, Friday pizza nights were now moved to monday. Held at your house so everyone could help renovate. There wasn’t really any furniture or appliances but your home was slowly getting there. 

Jungkook’s friend Taehyung had also become a regular part of the group, he was eccentric and enjoyed helping with picking certain aspects that were really making a beautiful modern home. He really read your vibe and styled the home accordingly.

You had gone for your first scan about a week after you had bought the house and it seemed you were roughly two months pregnant. It was crazy cause you didn’t seem that far along but now at four months you were feeling particularly round.

While you were fixing the glass window with Yoongi, the window you had ordered finally arrived. He was helping because he refused to let you hold the heavy glass frame by yourself. You regret buying the maternity clothes because most of them accentuated your belly.

Namjoon tried to open the glass sliding door however he was promptly shooed out by Jimin, “I just sweeped these floors, I did not bargain with the flooring guy for you to trek mud and grass inside” Namjoon removed his boots and shirt trying to shake out any grass.

You couldn’t help but giggle. Seokjin was starring open-mouthed at Namjoon. Watching from where he stood in the kitchen helping Jungkook fit the second hand cabinets. They had spent the morning sanding and painting, each with new hinges and runners.

“Looking good Namjoon, sweat becomes you,” You laughed joking around and he blushed. “Seriously thank you for tackling the garden, I don’t know what I would have done if I was left to do it by myself,” You said stepping back as the window slipped into the runner. 

“Perfect fit” Yoongi hummed

Acting like it was nothing, Yoongi and the boys packed, ready to call it a night but not before he held your belly in his hands “Alright, be good, uncle Yoongi will be back next monday,” 

“I am beginning to think you like the little one better than me” You scoffed, slapping his hands away and huffing, lips pressed into a pout, hands folded over the top of your belly. Hoping you looked somewhat intimidating.

“I will never tell” he snickered before handing you a custard cake from the depths of his hoodie pouch. You lunged ripping open the packet and devouring it.

“You will always be my number one babe,” Jimin said from behind you placing his hands on your stomach and rubbing small circles.

“Okay I am not a buddha, hands off the belly!” You hissed and they each gave a cheeky grin and soon they huddled around you, cooing as their hands were rubbing your tummy.

The door opened and Hoseok walked in looking a little disheveled passing the others in the doorway. “You sure you want to stay in the house tonight?” Seokjin asked, getting his coat and offering Namjoon a lift home. Nodding your head in affirmation, he bit his lip, “are you sure you want to be alone though, I could stay with you if you really want?”

“No, it’s all good. Hoseok can stay, you have to go home,” you explained gesturing to Hoseok who thankfully nodded leading them all out the door.

“I will take care of her tonight” He seemed to really want them to leave.

The night was a little cool and you weren’t tired so you opened a can of paint and rolled out the plastic. Hoseok opened the window and took a roller helping you to paint the walls.

“So…” You decided to cut through the tension, “How has work been?”

“Honestly, it just gets lonelier and lonelier without you” His laugh was always the same and didn’t fail to make you smile. “I miss you, how is that new amazing job, you haven’t spoken about since you told me you got it”

“It’s really good Hobi, they are so nice. Everyone is so supportive and they know I am pregnant” You grinned “Sitting down, is nice, I wouldn’t be able to stand as much as I did at the park, I would have elephant feet”

“That’s nice,” the emotion in his voice didn’t match the words he was saying, feeling underlyingly bitter.

“Hoseok, I had to grow up, I am not a single twenty year old, who can drink every night and eat spaghetti o’s” the sigh that escaped your lips was longing for those days. “I have a baby inside me, that needs me to feed them and when they come out they will need a safe home and bills paid and food and eventually schooling”

“Look, I am sorry, you are doing amazing, I am just bitter because I miss you, you are my best friend and I feel like I went from being number one to being thirteenth, when you are still my number one” He sighed “It’s stupid to feel jealous of a baby”

“I get it, I am jealous because I literally cannot do anything fun anymore, I eat food and I puke, I can’t dance or sneeze without needing to go to the bathroom, my feet swell all the time, I cried watching lady and the tramp because I wanted spaghetti and I didn’t have a car to get it and it was too late to get it delivered.”

Hoseok was laughing, he wrapped his arms around you, “Little Darling, I will get my license and a car, and if ever you need spaghetti call me okay” 

You went to pat his back but heard the familiar splat, eyes going wide he laughed hysterically, “Did you just put paint on my jacket?”

“Hoseok, I am so sorry” You were not ready for the paint smear on your cheek and you frowned, 

It was an all out war, that ended with you pressed against the only dry wall trapped by Hoseok’s hands. He grinned down at you and something sparked between you, it buzzed fiercely and things grew warm. He was just watching you, the sounds of your breathing amplified as your breaths mingled in the inch of space between you.

He leaned in and you thought he was going to kiss you, your heart racing and head dizzy you shut your eyes. But nothing happened, you felt his warmth move away with a sigh. “You are covered in paint, you should go wash up little darling.”

When she stepped out of the bathroom all clean and scrubbed, she was wearing one of my oversized shirts, and underwear, it wasn’t weird as the shirt went to her thighs. Though as her belly was more prominent it did lift the shirt a fraction and the fabric skimmed dangerously high up her thigh catching a glimpse of her underwear as she moved.

You had a subtle waddle, that made him laugh, and as you got closer he realized he was in love with you. It wasn’t new information he always fancied you, it’s just now he truly accepted that he was in love with you.

Hoseok went for a shower scrubbing the paint from his body, but as he cleared his skin, his mind clouded with such steamy thoughts. They made his heart pound, he could almost hear your sweet cries and smell the scent of your skin as you writhed underneath him. He pressed his forehead to the cool tiles as the smell of your shampoo fogged his brain even more.

He looked down at the rather aggressive hard on, painful and red waiting for release. He hissed through his teeth as he took himself in his hand. His hand shaking he tried to suppress his moans, the sound of his hand slipping against his cock. Lathered in the same vanilla milk body wash, you used. He remembered how this scent always assaulted him when he pressed his nose into your neck when you hugged. 

He let his mind wander back to before you were pregnant, not wanting to think about you with Jin. He remembered the last night you both went to the club together, dressed in your outrageous black-light dress that was so tight. He had flashbacks of the night helping you walk home, he remembered the two of you giggling up the stairs. But what he didn’t remember was inviting another girl over. 

It must have been his imagination taking over because he was so horny, because he started to imagine making sweet love to you. Drawing his hand tightly back on his dick when he could practically feel himself sliding into you, the heat and the warmth making his head spin.

The heat of the shower only fueled his fantasies, he bucked into his hand, beads of sweat mingling with the water droplets, his hand faltered and his hips tilted forward as if he was pressing firmly inside you. Cum splattering the tiles, he felt guilt. He let the water run longer to wash away the evidence.

Dressed he saw you lying on the bed reading something on your phone. “Hey, you are still up?” Hoseok asked, walking over slowly, admiring you.

“I can’t sleep,” the sigh in your voice was so defeated. Slipping into the bed next to you, Hoseok made sure not to touch you. He felt dirty from his escapades, no amount of water could wash away the feelings inside him. There was so much room between you both. “Sleep doesn’t really happen when you are round, emotional, hungry, horny and constantly four hundred degrees” 

“You are so far away, come here” He tried to act nonchalant about the situation, not like he had been thinking naughty thoughts of you in the shower. He breathed pulling you into his arms, he could smell the vanilla scent on your skin and he felt his cock throb in his sweats.

“It’s too hot, Hobi please!” It was such a halfhearted protest, as you sank into his arms.

He pressed his lips to yours briefly, stealing a quick goodnight kiss and tucking your head under his chin. 

You sat there for ten minutes trying to calm your racing heart. Trying to decipher the meaning behind the goodnight kiss. Your mind stretches to conclusions on your relationship. Perhaps he was just tired. 

Considering he fell asleep so quickly, did kissing you not mean the same thing it meant for other men and women. Was it because you were pregnant and he was just being a cute friend. Or, was he interested?

You felt like you wanted to scream so there were so many unanswered questions. At some point during the night of contemplation you thought about the money you had been saving. 

Ready for the dreaded shop you knew you would have to make, the shop where you would buy the babies first items and furniture. The items that will solidify it all for you, that you were really pregnant. 

You were 5 months pregnant and despite the boys constantly asking when you were going to buy the nursery gear and offering you cradles from relatives. You refused telling them, you had it ordered and you were paying it off at the shop, which wasn’t really a lie. It had been paid off for weeks. You just asked them to delay the delivery as long as they could.

But as planned it was eventually delivered. It was nice to be able to sit in your home and assemble the furniture on a cool rainy afternoon. You felt safe that the roof wasn’t going to leak, or at least you hoped it wouldn’t. You had spent enough money on the house you were finally feeling like things were falling into place. That the house was becoming a home. 

Sitting in what was supposed to be a nursery you had the boxes of furniture all around you, it was when you felt it, a flutter in your stomach, odd but nothing disconcerting, until it happened again and then again. Something clicked and you realized it was your baby. The tears were running down your face as you realized.

This was real, this angel was real, inside your belly so little and you could feel them, it was overwhelmingly emotional and it was right as all the boys walked into the house. Hoseok spotted you crying and raced over, “Little darling, what's wrong?” 

“There is a baby Hoseok, I can feel them a little girl or boy, they are real” You sniffed, burying your face in his neck, embarrassed that this was what solidified it for you, feeling the baby move. You thought that you wouldn’t think any of this was really until you held the baby in your arms. But here you were crying on Hoseok’s shirt.

He soothed you, rubbing your back and swaying you both gently. Whispering words of encouragement. The sudden stir in your tummy made your motivation sky-rocket. So you had roped him in to help set up the nursery. 

When it was done you realized it was so bare, no clothes in the drawers, no toys or supplies. This baby wasn’t going to wait for you, you needed to get things ready and fast.

The bathroom soon was complete with a bath, and the kitchen cupboards installed, everything was done and it was time to have the place furnished. You searched for second hand furniture, anything cheap and in good condition was good enough for you. 

As the house came together slowly you started adding pictures to your social media. Showing the before and after renovations, and pictures with your friends. Seokjin got a picture of you standing in front of your house and you had to admit it looked much better all painted and pretty. 

You were sitting on your couch that surprisingly were in great condition considering they were being sold from another family, you couldn’t say the same for the table that had a broken leg and graffiti swears on top.

Jungkook was doing his best to repair it when he was free and you were so grateful. You made the spare bedroom and told the guys your home was open if they ever needed a place to stay.

You were hugging Yoongi and he laid his hands on your sides, bending down to speak to your tummy when he felt a wiggle from inside. “Ahh…” he squirmed, “what was that?”

Laughing hysterically you took his hand and placed it back on the area waiting, “that was the baby's foot, but I don’t think he wants to do it again.

You were bombarded by hands and coo’s and whines ‘I want to feel the baby’  before you snapped having them all line up and wait their turn, you reached Taehyung who leaned down talking to your belly. “Can you kick my hand?” He giggled and yet sadly not even Taehyung could coax your baby to kick.

Hoseok walked in and saw the boys pouting as Yoongi mumbled, “It was weird like there was something under her shirt, it wasn’t strong just weird”

“What was weird?” Hoseok dropped his coat and gave you a hug and you sighed letting your body lean heavily against him, “tired little darling?”

“Yoongi felt the baby kick but none of us did,” Jimin pouted stomping around the kitchen “what secrets have you been whispering to the baby?”

Since the night Hoseok had stayed over in your new house, he had started staying more often. He would sneak you food that Seokjin had forbidden and watch movies with you like nothing had changed, He had even started to love your random bursts of energy in the middle of the night and the two of you would put up shelves or paint a room together.

When you collapsed into the bed after everyone had left, Hoseok pulled you to his chest and draped his arm over your waist. His hand would splay out over your belly and rub soothing circles. That night you were dead tired and nothing seemed to wake you, he felt something strange against his hand and he bit his lip letting a few tears fall. 

This was your child, saying hello to him, it was beautiful but it also destroyed him knowing that he wasn’t the one with you through this. That he had let his feelings sit idle and unsaid and giving way for Seokjin to swoop in and take you from him.

He leaned over and looked at how peaceful you looked sleeping and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, he wanted to be the one for you. He didn’t see your eyes flutter open.

“Hobi, what’s up?” You mumbled tiredly, he looked down at you and brushed your hair from your eyes. You must have been half asleep because you put your hand on his cheek and kissed him. It was a slow kiss that was packed with so much emotion between you.

Things escalated and his hands clutched your body desperate for you to accept him, for you to keep him forever and not let him go. His head was telling him this was a dumb idea and he should stop but his heart wanted you, wanted you to be his.

The heat between you escalated and your hearts were beating as one, Hoseok was tearing down your friendship with every touch and kiss.He felt like everything was coming true and any thought of tomorrow's repercussions were out the window. Until his hand slid over your stomach and felt a kick. That was it, the rejection he needed.

He pulled away and laid back down behind you. “It has been a long day you should sleep” Hoseok whispered softly tucking your head under his chin and humming softly. “You are my baseline of my music, movement, my success, my life”

When he heard your tiny snores and your body relax in his arms once more, he knew it was time to go. He slipped from the bed and put on his coat, he was going to talk to Seokjin. 

He had to give the guy his apology and blessing, he had to step back and let you two live your life. He couldn’t interfere anymore. He had to grow up and let you grow up as well. The streets were cold and pretty quiet, only making him feel more alone. The nightlife and clubs had been his playground, but it didn’t seem fun anymore without you. 

On his way to the bus stop he searched for a new job, something he had been procrastinating for a long time. He applied to a couple businesses, nothing grand, just doing paperwork. The very job he never wanted to be in.

He thought about the money he had been saving for a cruise for the two of you, it was supposed to be a week holiday. But instead he thought to put the money to better use, he searched online for a second hand car. Your need for a vehicle was more important than a holiday.

The bus stopped and he walked out, heading down the streets towards the music and chatter of Jin and Tonic hoping to talk to the owner.

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[hitaka5ever]

Having some trouble thinking where to continue this conversation between Hux and Mitaka for my trans!Mitaka fic. If anyone wants to bounce some ideas my way, feel free (you'll be credited)

Warnings: Rape mention, genitalia mention

Story link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29693235/chapters/73016826

Mitaka’s Perspective:

Mitaka didn’t know how long he was out for, but when he saw Hux sitting in his desk chair, staring intently at his datapad, he figured it had been a few hours since his panic attack. For a moment, he forgot why he had had one, but it gradually came back and he felt a light tightness in his chest. He remembered Collins beating up on him, calling him slurs, and then Kylo Ren showing up to put a stop to the mad man before he could cause even worse damage. Mitaka was lucky to be alive.

“Hux?”

Looking up from the datapad, Hux smiled when he saw Mitaka awake. He set the pad down before moving the chair closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.”

Mitaka closed his eyes when Hux reached for his face, feeling bits of hair getting pushed back from his forehead.

“You suffered a terrible attack, so I’m not surprised. You did well to protect your face.”

Mitaka attempted to sit up when Hux sat back, his ribs aching. “What happened to...C-Collins?” Mitaka wrapped his arm around his middle as he leaned back against his wall, looking at Hux. “All I remember is his back breaking-”

“He was thrown out into space after I ordered Kylo Ren to get rid of him.”

Mitaka’s mouth fell open in shock. “Wh-What?! You didn’t even attempt to get him rehabilitated?!”

Hux snorted. “Firstly, it would have been a waste of time and resources to have him healed, which is what I put in my deceased report to satisfy the organization. Secondly, that is what happens to any member, sans Kylo Ren of course, of the First Order that dares to hurt their own. Collins should have considered the consequences before using you for his own personal gain. Rapists aren’t welcome in my society, anyway.”

Mitaka was impressed at how casual Hux was about all of this. He had had a man murdered because of one man’s safety? Since when did Hux give a damn about that?

“I’m sorry, I just- I had no idea you felt that way.”

It was Hux’s turn to look surprised. “Do I really seem so cold to all of you?”

Mitaka looked sheepish then. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume...” Hux hummed softly before grabbing his datapad and looking at it again. Mitaka blinked, curiosity blossoming within him. Well, if Mitaka was willing to tell Hux about himself, maybe Hux would be willing to reciprocate. “It has just occurred to me that I...really don’t know much about you, personally speaking,” he tried carefully, in case Hux wasn’t interested in such things.

Mitaka’s head tilted ever so slightly when Hux paused and glanced at him from the corner of his eye. After a few seconds, he closed down the pad again, set it aside, and straightened up to look at Mitaka.

“What would you like to know?”

Mitaka felt something new start to form in his belly at that. He hadn’t really considered some questions to ask in case Hux did decide to talk to him. “Well, I told you about my beginnings, maybe you can tell me what it was like for, you, to grow up? I mean, your father is well known enough to all of us, but-”

Hux shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, that man isn’t family.”

“How come?”

“Let’s just say he might not have done what Collins had, but he was still a piece of shit regardless.” Mitaka’s cheeks reddened slightly, having never heard Hux swear before, let alone speak ill about a powerful, rich man. “My father was known for following his family’s rules, but he tended to be a bit careless when it came to his sexual relations. He ended up impregnating a servant of his family’s estate, who gave birth to me.”

Mitaka grimaced. “Sheezus.”

“Oh, but it gets worse. To protect his reputation, he disposed of her after I was born and I never got to meet her. I don’t even know her name. As far as I know, she’s dead, which is what I was told when I was old enough to understand adult concepts. Not long after that, I was sent off to the Academy, where I was expected to be absolutely perfect in my studies and exams. The only area of expertise my father knew I would be useless in was combat and strength due to how thin and gangly I’ve been my whole life. I made the conscious decision to prove him wrong, but over time I found I did it for myself instead. I refused my father’s influence and his help eventually as well. And ever since, I’ve thrived to be the best for myself, not anyone else. Then, once I became General, I disowned my father.”

Mitaka smiled softly. “I’m sure he didn’t take that very well.”

“Oh he was furious, but there was nothing he could do about it.”

“Do you still talk to him?”

“Only when it’s necessary.” Mitaka nodded. “What about your parents? Do they know and accept that you are a man?”

Mitaka nodded. “My mother knows and accepts me, along with my siblings. I don’t remember much about my father since he left not long after my youngest sister, who is twenty-five, was born. He was gone before I knew I was born in the wrong body, so he never knew. He could be dead for all I know.”

There was a long time of silence when neither of them knew what to ask or say next. Mitaka kept thinking back to all that had happened that day, still unable to believe that he was finally able to tell someone his secret without facing negative repercussions. Hux hadn’t pushed him into explaining anything, had accepted who he was, and was willing to learn all that he could about Mitaka being a man when he hadn’t been born as one. It was almost...sweet.

“You seem to have something on your mind...?” Mitaka heard Hux inquire cautiously.

Perking up, Mitaka appeared slightly sheepish. “Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about earlier and how understanding you have been about all of this.”

“Well I’m certainly trying my best,” Hux said with a small smile. “I may not fully understand what it’s like to be the opposite of what you were born as, but, scientifically speaking, I understand enough. I would like to know more, however.”

“About?”

“For example, is it natural to be this way? We know of plants that can alter their sex on a whim, but you’re not a plant.”

Mitaka shook his head. “It’s not so much about my sex, but my gender, that matters. Obviously, biologically, I was born female, but since I believe I should’ve been born male, I got rid of what I could of my biological sex in order to appear as masculine as I can be to others. Obviously if there was a medical procedure that gave me a penis and scrotum, I would be exactly as I know I should be. But I’ve settled with everyone thinking I was born a man at this point.”

[arrthurpendragon]

ICYMI 4/24/21

This is a list of OC fanfictions that have updated over the last week.  Some that were summitted, some that I found in the #ocappreciation tag :)  I hope you find a story! :)

Doctor Who

Time Child: Preservation by: @dannifielding

Sequel to Time Child: Recovery. Danielle Fielding certainly never saw herself housing the biggest monster in the universe while her husband and his newest companion travelled the universe, nor back at university feeling like she'd gone full circle. But something lurks out in the stars that might just save her from her past, should she listen? 12/OC. READ CHAPTER 21 FFN

Falling Skies

Not Dead Yet by: @jemmalynette

OC. Sequel. Season 2. Three months have passed since Tom took off on the alien ship and he's back, much to the relief of Grace and her brothers. But life hasn't got much easier since his return. Now Grace must navigate new threats from the alien enemy, loss of a loved one, and the promise of a new safe haven. But can she make it with her family in one piece? READ CHAPTER 3 FFN

Game of Thrones

Growing Strong by: @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

When the Kingdoms are thrown into chaos Astrid Tyrell ends up in the newly crowned King in the North's camp, where she ends up finding herself growing closer to the king through kind words and company that does not look to him to be anything but him. And when a betrayal hits she offers him more, and with it finds herself wed and moving far from where she ever thought she'd end up. READ CHAPTER 2 FFN + AO3

Grishaverse

Kingdom of Cards by: @materialkii​

Returning to court after a year away, Irina Lantsov is unnervingly no different to when she left. But the cracks in Irina's dazzling mask begin to show, and the Darkling sees more than the spoilt princess she appears to be. With Irina's secrets and Ravka's future hanging in the balance, the game is changed once again when Nikolai comes home. READ CHAPTER 2 FFN

Kings and Queens and Vagabonds by: @papergirlverse​

Reyka Kovacs was a wanderer. It was in her blood, passed down from ancestor to ancestor, never staying in one place for long. But that was before Ravka, before a woman in red stole her away from her parents and forced her into a prison with gilded walls and watchful eyes. And then a Sun Summoner appears at court and Reyka finally sees a way out. READ CHAPTER 2 FFN

Harry Potter

Blood Does Not Family Make by: @nurselaney​

Cateline Fawley has felt the burden of her destiny from childhood. Her mother's visions are her inheritance and she feels pressure to rise above her father's sins. Harry Potter is the boy-who-lived, the Chosen One who must defeat Voldemort when he returns... and Cate is the unknown factor who is determined to make sure he succeeds. TW:Discussion of past rape of secondary character READ CHAPTER 7 FFN + AO3

The Clockwork Collections by: @booty-boggins

Bonus material based off 'The Clockwork Locket' and 'The Phoenix Ascending.' Marauders Era. READ CHAPTER 1 FFN

Decadence by: @materialkii

Phoenix Black is torn between a bright future and a Death Eater husband, and what her heart desires—her older brother's best friend, Remus Lupin. With both of her brothers in peril, Phoenix's role in the First Wizarding War is set in stone, as the Black family hurtles headlong toward tragedies they will never recover from. Remus/OC. READ CHAPTER 16 FFN

Make Them Gold by: @fyeahnevilleslongbottomsocs

Asterope Malfoy after being mutually disowned wants to make herself gold and free herself from the confines of her family's dark past. The last thing she wanted was to wind up in the Triwizard Tournament, have a year long identity crisis, and fall in love with her best friend. But things never did go easy for the members of the Black family who tried to free or better themselves. READ CHAPTER 35 FFN + AO3

Marvel

As I Was by: @sgtbuckyybarnes

The Captain America exhibit had always been the one constant for Harper Rhodes. Until she walks out of her office one night to see a man she believed to be dead standing reading her work. A man with a shining metal arm. Soon Harper begins to uncover truths she could never have predicted. Truths about the family she didn't even remember and the people she thought were friends. READ CHAPTER 23 FFN + WATTPAD

Power Rangers

Aegis by: @fandompariah

A new threat bearing a familiar name is gathering its' forces. Tommy led a force of over 100 rangers in a desperate attempt to buy time. 20 years later a new generation of Power Rangers are being assembled to defend the galaxy. This is an OC centric story, though several canon characters will appear and have prominent roles. READ CHAPTER 81 FFN + AO3

Turn: Washington’s Spies

Luck be a Lady by: @ms-march

Lady Adrienne Fairfax had never gotten to know her betrothed. Lawrence Washington was a man twice her age who was arranged to marry her eldest sister, Anna. However, after Anna’s passing, she found herself being the only one who could have fulfilled the marriage contract, as she had none of her own. Anna died when Adrienne was 3. And by the time she reached 13, Lawrence was sent off to fight a war for King and Country. After that, he fell prey to the same illness that took Anna and died not long after. Her family considered this as a sign.

Adrienne had always been stupidly ambitious, and she intended to use his naive attachment to her benefit. Now, she was not a bad person, but she frankly had goals to reach. Goals that she’d never achieve if she did not jump at all opportunities to achieve them. Unfortunately, this godforsaken winter encampment was a sacrifice she must make to maintain her influence over the over-glorified Commander-in-Chief. READ CHAPTER 22 AO3

If you would like to be added to future ICYMI lists, send me the link via ask/submission by next Saturday!  Be sure to be following me and your fic is an OC fic! :)

ICYMI Masterlist

[goldenboywrites]

mistakes like this

“I have to go,” August murmured against swollen lips. Colter’s hand pressed against the wall right next to August’s head, trapping him in place. “I really have to go.” He turned his head, kissing at Colter’s wrist and relishing in the sigh that slipped past his lips. “And you have to go too. You know what’ll happen if you’re late meeting your father.”  Lips pressed against his temple and then against the corner of his mouth. Colter turned August’s face towards his own and tried unsuccessfully to deepen their kiss. He turned his head against Colter’s palm, kissing it lightly. “Did your father say what he wanted to see you about?” The Prince shrugged and August nipped at his thumb. 

“I’m sure I did something wrong and he wishes to berate me.” August’s gaze softened at Colter’s words. “He didn’t specify just that it was urgent.” His hand cupped the back of Auggie’s head and he pulled him in, kissing him hard. August returned the kiss eagerly, nearly forgetting that he was meant to be at an archery lesson in five minutes. “Go,” Colter moaned out against his lips. His hand slid down August’s body until he gripped the doorknob firmly in his hand and turned it. “Go before I change my mind and keep you here all day.” 

August beamed, leaning forward and kissing Colter’s chin. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Colter wanted him, needed him, loved him. He was the future King. He was gorgeous and handsome. He was strong and brilliant. The fact that every day he chose August. “Love you,” Auggie whispered as he slipped out the door before Colter made good on his promise. 

____________________________________________

He spread his feet apart and jutted his right hip out towards the target. Auggie drew an arrow, nocked the arrow to the bowstring, and lifted the bow. In one loose, fluid motion, with his sight on the target, August released the arrow and watched as it flew through the air. It hit right in the center. He was getting better which was a relief because he quite enjoyed archery though it took a long time for him to get to this point. He drew another arrow and inhaled sharply before releasing it. It landed right next to his first. August usually wasn’t one for any outside-based activity. He liked the comforts of being inside but this was something he had discovered randomly and loved. 

With the fresh air surrounding him, the sun beaming down on him, August grinned and ran his finger along the bowstring. The feeling of holding the bow, of releasing an arrow into the air was indescribable. He felt free out here and it didn’t hurt that he was really good at it. All of his strengths were usually tied to knowledge and researching. He was good at strategy but out here? It was finally something physical he was good at it. 

August pulled out another arrow and prepared it against the bowstring. He was seconds away from releasing it when he felt hands at his waist and breath tickled his head. “Miss me?” The arrow slipped from his grip and it fumbled through the air, missing the target completely. August pushed his elbow back into the man’s gut and turned around to see his worst nightmare standing behind him, a devilish smile plastered on his face. Auggie felt sick. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Everett Townsend stood there in the flesh. August stumbled back as if he had seen a ghost. He never thought he would lay eyes on Everett ever again and if there was one thing August hated the most it was being caught off guard. 

“You’re decent,” Everett said, walking towards the target, admiring the arrows August had shot into the target. “I didn’t think you were good at stuff like this but I’ll admit, it’s been a while. I’m sure you’ve changed since the last time we were here together.” Everett, August, and Colter had grown up together in the castle. While August had been invited to be one of Colter’s valet’s, Everett’s father had purchased his place. It never sat well with Auggie. Everett was a trouble maker. He lived carelessly and dangerously. He would always lead Colter into trouble and August tugged along to pick up the pieces. “I think we both have grown since the last time I was here.” It sounded like a veiled threat. “Colter too.” 

Everett stood in front of the target and turned to face August. He reached out and trailed a finger along the arrows bedded into the cushion of the target. “Like I never remember you being this quiet before. I must have really shocked you with my presence. I bet you thought you would never see me again.” He quirked an eyebrow challengingly. “I have to admit it took a lot of time to pardon me for the nasty rumors that were spread about me working undercover for a political group rising up against the King. My father was working towards disowning me and nearly did.” His eyes darkened and his glare bored into August. As if he knew the truth… but there was no way he could. He had been careful. “But in the end,” August tightened his grip on his bow, “even with the vast amount of evidence against me… the King is pardoning me. He believes I was set up.” Auggie gritted his teeth. “I’m moving back.” 

“That’s wonderful,” August spoke through gritted teeth. 

“You think so?” Everett tilted his head to the side, the smile back on his face. 

August nodded because he didn’t know what else to do at that moment. 

“I think so too. The King believes Colter needs some more balance in his life. I guess he doesn’t like the direction his son is going in.” It was a way to say that the King thought August had too much influence. He lived at court long enough to read between the lines. “Thinks the Prince is too soft.” August lifted the bow and nocked the arrow, briefly leaning his face against the feather end of the bow as Everett continued to bait him. “I’m sure you’re doing your best, August. But let’s face it, out of all of Colter’s boys you’ve never been the King’s favorite. He believes you to be weak.” August trembled, his fingers itching. “You’re making Colter weak. Maybe you’ll be the next one to leave court.” 

He saw red and against his better judgment, August let the arrow fly. His breath was caught in his throat as it hit the target, millimetres away from Everett’s face. The man hadn’t flinched, hadn’t moved, just stood there grinning back at August as if like he could see directly into his soul. The arrow had nicked Everett’s cheek, a thin line of blood seeping from the cut. The man reached up and wiped the blood off of his cheek, a low tsk, tsk sound escaping past his lips. He stalked forward until he was toe to toe with August. “I see you for who you really are, August. The King might think you’re weak but I know better. I know who you really are.” He raised his hand, fingertips covered in his own blood. “I know you’re anything but weak. Before I wasn’t prepared for you but I am now.”

Everett stepped aside and walked past August. It was then that he realized he had been holding his breath. Everett was back at court. He was back and he had some idea that August had had a hand in his exile. Or he thought August had and was trying to intimidate him into admitting it. Which he... Auggie inhaled sharply and walked towards the stand to hang his bow up. He had to get to Colter before Everett did. But how could he tell Colter what he had done? He couldn’t but he also couldn’t have Everett breathing down his neck holding this over him either. 

August hung his head and followed Everett off of the grounds and back to the castle, an unsettling feeling pitted in the bottom of his stomach. This was going to end well, he just didn’t know for who. 

He continued to stay paces behind Everett as they entered the castle. August wasn’t sure if Colter was back in his room or if he was still with his father. Everett turned left to his own quarters wordlessly and August tried not to let it bother him that he was in the room between August’s own quarters and Colter’s. Auggie didn’t bother going into his own room or even pretending that was where he was going. He went straight to Colter’s quarters and slipped inside, relieved to see the Prince standing at the window, hands on his hips. 

“Colter?” August asked hesitantly, he assumed that the King had called a meeting to inform the Prince that Everett was coming back. Colter would be pleased if not over the moon at the return of his old childhood friend. If the King had any inkling that August had set Everett up, he would have been arrested at the door to the castle. He never would have made it this far. So at least he had that going for him. Maybe the King knew nothing and Everett was just speculating. August had been calculated and careful but despite that, Everett had always had it out for him. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” He was testing the waters carefully, trying to judge Colter’s mood. “What’s going on?”