#i have to go alone again and the tooth they put a crown on is most likely infected

[giorno-plays-piano]

House of Chains

Part I

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: noncon, yandere, obsession, canon-typical violence, chase scenes, death of minor characters.

Words: 1.4k

Summary: In return for help to come back to your home world, you have been faithfully supporting the Greens to put Aegon on the throne. But when your promise is fulfilled, neither Otto nor Aemond are keen on letting you go.

P.S. You can read this little fic first to better understand the story if you'd like, but it's not necessary.

______________

When Aegon, now with a crown on his head but dead drunk as usual, finally disappears behind the closed doors along with Helaena and the Queen, you feel like you can breathe again. It's done. The new King is crowned. Your contract is fulfilled.

Turning your head to Aemond sitting by your right, you smile awkwardly, like you can't quite believe it happened. God, Aegon is crowned. It is far from the true victory of the Greens, but it is a good start - and a good finish for you. You've only promised to help putting the oldest son of Alicent on the trone, no more, no less. You are free to leave this godforsaken world and reunite with your family.

Aemond flinches when you touch his hand softly as if you just hit him, but you're not alarmed: he is still like that when he's alone with you. If anything, he seems even more jumpy when it's only you two, sharing comforting silence together.

It feels like ages since the night you comforted him while he was wailing from phantom eye pain on a deserted balcony. You grew closer, you think, although it's hard to say, judging by Aemond's perplexed expression. He probably never had anyone he could have a friendly relationship with, so he is still figuring out how it works, thankful to you for coming to treat him from time to time.

On that note, he actually became so audacious he slips in your chambers in the middle of the night if his eye bothers him again to seek your help, and, were you not planning to leave soon, you'd grow worried about your reputation in the court. Surely, the servants must already think Aemond spends all his nights in your company. One time Alicent even had to ask you why he was coming to see you so often, and looking at her being on the verge of a nervous breakdown as usual, you had to finally tell her what sorts of pain her son has been having. She cried. Then, she sent a dozen maesters to her son's chambers.

Aemond said nothing at all, though you apologized for revealing his secret. It wouldn't be good for him to tarnish his reputation, you muttered, since he would have to marry, eventually.

Regardless, his visits to your room only increased with Alicent no longer finding it scandalous, and you spend more time together with him than even with Otto, who's been notoriously controlling since the moment you arrived. But Aemond... he is almost nice. Pretty awkward, you think a little shy - god knows he has no idea how to converse with women who aren't planning on murdering him - but still nice.

He brings you a plate with fruits or a jar of nuts with honey, knowing you have a sweet tooth and don't always eat regularly, engrossed in carrying out Otto's plans. If, by chance, you are already in bed, undressed, he immediately turns away, nearly hiding behind a curtain to allow you to put something on as if you are completely naked in front of him, and his ears are fiery red. Besides, if you have time to come watch him train, he seems to sort of go out of his way to make the fight more entertaining for the public, which never really happens under normal circumstances because Aemond despises useless showing off.

Actually, when you came to the inner courtyard to see him practice for the first time, he stared at you, wide-eyed, wet glistening on his forehead, and missed Ser Criston's attack, nearly ending up with a deep gash in his shoulder. You felt so bad about it you came to apologize to his teacher later since you knew it happened because you distracted Aemond, but the knight only courtly asked you to visit the training grounds more often. It is for Prince's benefit, he said. You guess he wanted Aemond to get used to distractions, but the prince took it a little further, proud of you taking an interest in his fencing.

Well, he should be proud. Aemond is talented beyound measure, and his internal drive is something you love about him.

You love a lot of things about him, to be frank.

Nevertheless, despite how much you will miss him, Alicent and Helaena, you don't want to stay here a minute longer. This world is a black hole. Whatever gets inside comes out twisted and corrupted, and you dirtied your hands far too many times for it not to leave a mark on you. You don't like to kill, but you have to trade your power for dragon's breath. Today, you did even more for the royal family: you threw a shield over Targaryens when Rhaenys emerged from below, thinking she was planning to burn everyone alive. You didn't have to. Formally speaking, Aegon was already crowned, and if Meleys would spare some more flames, perhaps her deadly breath would be enough for an incantation to get you home. You wouldn't have to deal with Otto and plead for Vhagar's fire. But you still stretched a shield wide enough to cover them all, watching as Alicent trembled, standing in front of her older son and awaiting death. How could you not protect her and her kin?

But Meleys didn't burn you, and you wasted a lot of your power for nothing, barking at her angrily as she fleed. Least to say, Otto was amused at your theatrics even when you confessed to casting a protection spell for their sakes.

You purse your lips when you think of it. How foolish. You should have known Rhaenys wouldn't do it; this isn't in her character. You just panicked and played a hero for the sake of your own dignity. As if any of the Targaryens needed it.

Regardless, your debt is paid, and it's your time to leave, you tell to yourself in attempt to cool down as Otto finally enters the room. You hold your breath. You still can't believe all of you pulled it off, crowning Aegon so quickly.

"Long live the King," you proclaim proudly, tired but victorious, and Otto sends you one of his trademark sly smiles. "I hope you will win the upcoming war."

Aemond sends you a strange look, but you don't see him, your eyes on the Hand of the King as he strolls closer to the table.

"My promise has been fulfilled. I assume I can gather my things and come down to the shore right away?"

Otto's smile grows unnaturally wide as he stills. You grow anxious, staring at him and wishing you won't hear what you think you will. Please, no. You're done here. You murdered Misariya and half, if not more, of her little worms in the Red Keep. You stole, you spied, you murdered more. You chained Aegon to his room so he wouldn't run before the succession ceremony and cast a shield to protect him against a living dragon. Is it not enough?

But nothing is ever enough for men like Otto Hightower. It does not come as a big surprise, but you feel hollowed out anyway.

"You have been most helpful in aiding us so far," he starts carefully as if you don't know what he will say next. "I must admit your contribution has been so considerable that you've become our most trusted ally, more capable than any of our supporters. I ask you to reconsider leaving us so early while Rhaenyra still poses a threat to my grandson's rule."

The silence is so loud you can hear it pulsing in your ears.

"No," you smile through clenched teeth. "Keep your word. Take me to Vhagar."

Otto's smile is still plastered on his face, but he doesn't move. Doesn't say anything else as if he expects you to understand his position when it is you who is the victim.

"Aemond," enraged, you turn to him, to your last resort, searching for any sort of support from a man you chose to trust. "Please! I've done everything I could. Keep your word. Let me go!"

He must help. He's the closest to you, closer than Alicent or Aegon or Helaena. For the past month, you have been treating him almost nightly, easing his pain, giving him peace. Perhaps you haven't been each other's confidantes, but you think of him as a friend. He can't... he can't do this to you. He knows how much you miss your family, your home. How foreign his world is to you.

You look him in the face, searching for compassion, for understanding or at least some kindness, but Aemond's eye is hollow, and his lips are clenched tight.

"You are needed here," he says, and your heart sinks within you. "You have to stay."

Part III

Part II

Part IV

________

Taglist: @heavenly1927 @lost-and-founds

[autisticrosewilson]

For the ship thing: rosecass and jayjoey

Rosecass my beloved <33333 I think that they have SO much in common and they're perfect mirrors of each other in a lot of ways. I also think that no matter how much romantic tension is between them, neither of them will ever give up on their goals.

Cass will never be content to let Rose kill and Rose will never stop fighting for her goals (whatever those are at the time) and whether those goals align with Cass's is up to chance. They have the potential to be really good together but they also chafe against each other.

By no means do I think this relationship would be particularly healthy but it would be INTERESTING and they would both commit everything they have to it and it's probably going hurt badly when it ends.

What can I say though I am a sucker for Tragic queer people. Speaking of which, Joeyjay is so absolutely soul shattering to me.

Like the parallels! The themes! The drama! Imagine that you're Joey and losing your older brother because your father fucking SUCKS has inspired you to be a hero, mainly out of spite, and partly to avenge your mother (who your relationship can be described as "tense" with at best).

And now you have this friend/leader with a new little brother whose small and frail but still fights to meet his dad's expectations and is constantly in the shadow of his more athletic and ambitious older brother when he would really just like to be loved and perhaps read a book somewhere quietly.

And you love your friend, you can see why what his dad did by putting a new kid in his dead family's Colors without telling him is upsetting. But all the fighting is putting a wedge between the two brothers and all you can see is how Alone this kid is, how deep and biting your friends anger can be, how much them losing each other is going to hurt.

So you spend some more time with the kid, and look at that! You have similar interests. He likes classic metal but you've got him hooked on Queen and David Bowie and your friends complaining about infecting him with your music taste. You like the same kinds of poetry, his school is preforming your favorite musical and you help him learn his lines, neither of you like when fruit is too soft but you both have sweet tooths. He fights like your brother. You two never spar.

You teach him how to make flower crowns and he teaches you how to hotwire a car. You edit his essays and short stories and he poses as long as you want him to so you can draw him. You really like drawing him. Your friend would skin you if he knew. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Now imagine you're Jason. You are starving, and not even for food, anymore. But you are so hungry for every scrap of love you can get. Your brother doesn't like you. He doesn't hate you, he tries to keep you out of fights with dad, but you can tell how strained his affection for you is.

You try to make it better, you side with him over Bruce even when you worry it'll be the thing that gets you kicked out, and you follow every order with almost no back talk, and you stay far from underfoot. You make yourself small and unnoticeable, because you've always been good at that.

But someone does notice you. A pretty boy with luminous eyes and shiny hair and artists hands. You don't know if you like boys yet, not sure if you like anyone, but you're sure you like this boy. You think he might like you too, if not the same way you like him.

He's your first for a lot of things; The first time you visit your mother's grave, Joey is who you come back to. The first time you put on makeup, he is the one who helps with your eyeliner. The first time you have a "sleepover", it's you Rose and Joey building a blanket fort in his bedroom.

It's New Years Eve on the roof of Titans tower, and when midnight comes around, he's not your first kiss. But it's the first time you kissed back. It's the first time you didn't want it to stop.

Dick would hate you, you're sure. Rose would never talk to you again. Bruce would stop forcing you to the Tower whenever he has an excuse. You don't know enough about Slade Wilson to know if he'd do anything, but you're not keen on finding out.

You ask Joey out, leave flowers (pink camellia) and a note neatly on his desk.

He's the first time you've ever been rejected too. You stop talking to Joey, and it's only meant to be temporary. Until it's not. Until he's standing next to his best friend, your brother, trying not to sob while "DECEASED" flashes in bold red letters next to your picture.

There's a single text message from you when he comes back to earth, he never opens it.

[merryfortune]

feelings brushed aside

Written for FE Flash Fic Friday

Prompt: Brushing Hair

Title: feelings brushed aside

Ship: Clair/Mathilda

Fandom: Fire Emblem the Shadows of Valentia

Word Count: 1,203

Rating: T

Tags: Pre-Canon, Unrequited Crush, Pampering, Non-Sexual Acts of Intimacy

   Clair’s crush began at the crown of her head.

   “Stay still, alright?” Mathilda asked of her.

   “Of course.”

   And thus she began.

   Clair felt her body tighten with tension as she took such an instruction to heart. Stay still. She even felt herself grow breathless as she tried not to breathe, her cheeks blushing red as Mathilda groomed her. Brushed her hair.

   The teeth of the brush were not what Clair was used to. It was not a hair brush from her own collection and though it was vast, she knew each and everyone to memory. Each texture, each temperament. They were all very different and different again to this particular hairbrush.

   Of Mathilda’s belongings, no less.

   For some reason, that thrilled Clair like none other. It signified to her that this was a very special pampering from her beloved. 

   Mathilda was patient as she did each section of Clair’s hair. She was careful. She was thorough. And Clair enjoyed every moment of it. Every stroke, every swipe of the hairbrush through where Mathilda was focusing her attention. It was nothing less than thorough.

   She began as deep as deep could go with the hairbrush and its ivory, bone teeth. A more immature child would have complained as there were knots not previously known to Clair which caused Mathilda to be rough but not Clair. Not a word escaped her lips, let alone a whinge or a whine. She knew it was for the best. She knew that this was the moment in which she had all of Mathilda to herself and so she cherished it, every yank and pull.

   Mathilda continued to brush Clair’s hair. A different section, feathering out. The lighter sections of her hair, the thicker, darker sections. Mathilda was meticulous as she divided Clair’s hair, occasionally pinning it back with hair pins so she could see more clearly. Even going so far as switching to a finer tooth comb or a softer brush as the situation called for it per her decision. 

   Again, each from Mathilda’s collection over her own, further spoiling Clair.

   The process was long and lengthy. Clair wouldn’t have had it any other way. They were so seldom alone so for it to just be them, it meant a lot to her. They chatted lightly throughout. All in all, Clair remained committed to that instruction. Stay still. 

   But she could not still her heart the same way she could still her tongue.

   It was worth it in the end, of course. To have Mathilda complete the task of brushing Clair’s hair and by the end of it, she felt like a true, blue-blooded princess and she was already of a high, noble station but even so. Mathilda had elevated her evermore, ever higher. 

   “How do you feel?” Mathilda asked.

   “Much better. I appreciate your help.” Clair replied.

   She felt like a trickster. She was perfectly capable of brushing her own hair, doing such a deep groom over herself but Clair had begged. She put on a ruse that there was some such knot she simply could not find, that someone else had to do it because she needed to be waited on and nothing less than perfection.

   Right now, Clair felt as though she exceeded perfection. All thanks to Mathilda.

   “That’s good.” Mathilda returned Clair’s reply. Her voice was soft. Quiet. Content. She set aside the final hair brush that she had used to assist Clair.

   Mathilda smiled and she simply could not help herself - and Clair would not have said otherwise.

   She began once more from the crown of Clair’s head. Her fingertips massaged Clair’s scalp and Clair felt herself prickle. From the top of her spine to the very bottom of her, her heart stopped also, as she felt Mathilda’s hands on her person much more intimately than through the tool of a hair brush.

    Then Mathilda ghosted elegantly downwards, her fingers slipping through Clair’s hair unimpeded. She gently raked her fingers through the tresses of Clair’s hair now completed it in their attentive brushing. Her long, blonde locks fanned out over her shoulders, reaching to the middle of her back. They were shiny and wavy and oh so much fun to play with. Clair took good care of her personal hygiene, like any young woman should and for it, Mathilda admired her. Praised her. Even from the back of her head, Clair could sense how she had impressed Mathilda. 

   And it made her heart sing.

   Clair just completely and totally relaxed into allowing Mathilda her way with her hair. Her heart beating swiftly in her chest. Some part of her knew she was being treated like a doll, a child, perhaps even a horse and yet, Clair was soaring as she swaddled herself in her feelings all the same as she would with shampoo and conditioner.

   With such silky locks, Mathilda had no issue, until the very end of the tips of Clair’s hair.

   “Oh, oops, ouch.” Mathilda mumbled to herself.

   Clair had to bite her tongue as Mathilda’s engagement ring caught on a strand of Clair’s hair. Clair felt all illusions of her crush shatter. Mathilda was not hers, she was never to be hers, not as permanently as a diamond was like the one on her ring. Like the very one which had accidentally gotten caught in Clair’s hair.

   “I-Its okay. Don’t worry, just be gentle.” Clair reminded her, not wanting Mathilda to feel alarm.

   “Thank you, Clair, I will be gentle. I promise.” Mathilda replied.

   Clair swallowed a hard lump in her throat. She suspected it was her heart as her heart was now sinking into some deep, loathsome pit. All whilst Mathilda adjusted her ring and how Clair’s hair cascaded over it. All so very carefully so the emblem of her and Clive’s commitment to one another could be freed from his baby sister.

   When she managed to remove her ring, she had also removed a few, individual strands of Clair’s hair. Clair felt her lips twitch as her scalp stung with their removal, pulled from their roots. Knotted. After all Mathilda’s hard work, no less, and as they were coiled where the diamond was encrusted upon her ring, it even diminished the ring’s beauty.

   Yet Mathilda made no comment on that, insteading saying, “That didn’t hurt too much, did it?”

   “Not, not at all.” Clair lied. 

   Because it did hurt. Just slightly. But her, poor enamoured heart, it was far more wounded than her pride or beauty. And when she heard her voice outside her head, Clair was further mortified because she could hear the spoilt, sullen child in it. Just a slight whine but even just the slightest whine was far too egregious of a sin. A complaint. She was not some immature child and yet. There was the evidence of it. 

   Moreover, she had promised. She would stay still and she had flinched when Mathilda pulled just a tug too hard to remove her hair.

   “That’s good.” Mathilda replied, relieved. 

   Oblivious. But it was probably better that way. Clair wouldn’t want to already tarnish all the favour that Mathilda had onto her, her future sister-in-law. 

   Regrettably, however, Clair’s crush concluded at the end of her hair.

[wcrriorhearts]

@pulchramsolis​ said:  “No one is truly gone, unless you forget about them." A deep, shuddering breath, tears collecting on her eyelashes but do not fall. "But being left behind is the hard part. It still hurts, like I lost part of myself. I never wanted to raise our child alone." (IDK IF ELLIE CAN HANDLE IT BUT you can save it)

Elaena was silent at the words for a long time, trying to swallow down her own emotions at Abby’s words. She would never understand the love her aunt found with one of Elaena’s worst enemies, who had brought so much pain to her, but she tried to put it aside. The war was over and no matter how much hate she would forever habor for the Greens, they were all dead and had gotten what they deserved. Her aunt was alive and she was probably the last living adult that cared about her, aside from Corlys. So Elaena was trying to ignore WHO her aunt meant when she spoke about her lover and just look at her as someone who had lost just as much as herself. It was true, however. It was much harder to be the one left behind, she assumed. Everyone else did not have to live with the loss.

She wished her brothers could have grown up, however. She wished her mother was here to comfort her when she was sad, or that one of the three fathers she had grown up with was still alive. She wished the broken boy who sat the throne could have had a better childhood. She wished she didn’t have to grow up before her time and hadn’t lost everyone she ever loved before the age of 12. But wishing wasn’t going to bring anyone back. Neither was hatred, but at least that kept her going, while grief felt like she was drowning on dry land. “Yes.Being the one who survives is the hard part”, Elaena agreed quietly, purple eyes fixed on the stars above. It was a clear, crisp night and the wind whispered promises of an approaching winter. The blanket around her shoulder barely kept out the cold, but it grounded her. Many nights she had stood on this balcony and considered jumping down, but she hadn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair on Aegon, nor on her family members who didn’t have the chance to leave their lives anymore. 

“It’s not fair, but pain is meant to be felt. It means that the people we lost mattered. I never wanted to survive my parents and most of my siblings. I was supposed to wear silly dresses and crowns and eat cake all day and hear stories about bog witches. I wasn’t supposed to watch my mother break with the news of each of my brothers being murdered. I wasn’t supposed to watch her be eaten by Sunfyre, while her most loyal maid desperately tried to get me out of the castle to save me, while I fought tooth and nail to stay and die with my family. It was never supposed to be like this, but it happened. I will never be that girl again that I was before, or could have been. But for some reason I live, while they all died and I want to believe it means something. You survived to raise Ellie and keep a part of your love alive in her. As long as we have a purpose, we will find ways to cope.”

[aastarions]

this weekend i’m gonna start working on chapter 5 of stay gold me thinks

[noramoons]

4:43 a.m.

pairing: felix x gn!reader

genre: fluff, drabble

word count: 1k

warnings: nightmares, language, feelings of depression, food mention

summary: you wake up from a nightmare, but felix is there to help you get back to sleep.

a/n: hilariously self-indulgent…just tooth-rotting fluff tbh but let me know what you think! feedback and concrit are always welcome 💙💙

tagging: @sweetrainwrites

Everything is cold. Your teeth are chattering as you try to find your way through the darkness, but you can't. You're lost.

It stretches on for what seems like eternity—you're moving your arms around in front of you, trying to find something, anything to hold on to, all to no avail. You can feel your heartbeat start to increase as the panic sets in. You're alone. You're alone, it's cold, it's dark, and you're alone.

You're alone. You're always going to be alone.

“Y/N?” you hear a voice say, gently shaking you awake. “Are you alright?”

You turn over to see your boyfriend's worried expression—a frown on his lips, his eyebrows knitted together in worry, and all you can suddenly feel is guilt. You'd both gone to bed so late tonight to begin with—and now you've woken him up again with one of your ridiculous nightmares?

This is stupid. You should be alone, a voice calls out from the depths of your mind. Just like in that dream.

You do your best to stop the frustrated tears from leaving your eyes, but one trails down the side of your face in spite of your best efforts to keep it from falling.

"Oh—baby," Felix says, cupping your cheeks in both of his hands as he strokes the tears away. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head. "Just a nightmare. I...I'll be okay, Felix, please go back to sleep. I know you have to get up early tomorrow."

He shakes his head too. "No way. I'm staying right here until you feel better."

Another frustrated tear makes its way down your cheek at the concerned look in his eyes. "I'm sorry," you say quietly. You know he won’t want you to apologize, but you don't know what else to say.

Felix's frown deepens before he moves one hand to the small of your back, squeezing you tighter to him. "Don't even think about apologizing," he says firmly. "I would never want to sleep knowing you were right here feeling this way. I want to do what I can, if there's anything, to be here for you when you're feeling this way. I'm right here," he says, sliding a hand under your shirt to gently smooth over the skin there. "You're just fine. I promise. Now—breathe with me, Y/N. Can you do that?"

You makes yourself nod.

"Okay. In—" he inhales for several beats, and you do the same. "And out." You exhale together. "A few more times, okay? I'm right here. In..."

You take several more deep breaths with him until you see the worry start to fade from his eyes. "Alright, baby. You feel a little better?"

You nod a little.

"Do you want to talk about it? You don't have to if you don't want to."

You shake your head from side to side, wordlessly again. You almost feel silly, now, but you try to banish the thought of that feeling when it appears, choosing instead to cling to his middle, burying your head in his chest as he strokes up and down your spine, lithe fingers gently bringing your heart rate back down and your breathing back under control.

If you fall asleep, though, you know you'll be right back into that nightmare—and that thought is unthinkable. You're just about to tell Felix, but from the instant he feels you stiffen against him, he's two steps ahead of you. Like always. "You want to go back to sleep, baby?"

You shake your head against him.

"Okay," he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. "Come on. We'll go make something for you to eat."

Now you're the one worried. "Felix," you start, a nervous laugh leaving your lips. "What? It's—shit, it's almost 5 a.m," you say after checking your phone on the nightstand. "We can't—"

He puts a finger to your lips, silencing you as you look up to see that impossibly sweet, soft grin on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Come on," he repeats.

You've never been able to say no to him when he looks at you like that.

So you take his hand, padding through the hallway and into the kitchen where he sits you down on the counter while he mixes pancake batter in a bowl, occasionally leaning across to place a soft kiss on your forehead. When the pancakes are done, you sit at the table together, eating quietly but contently, your chest warm from both the food and the ridiculous kindness you feel from the man beside you. You may not always feel like you deserve him—but he's here right now. He’s not going anywhere. And that’s something you’re so, so grateful for, even if you can’t always find the words to thank him the way you want to.

You think he may know anyway.

When you're finished eating, he intertwines your fingers again as you stand, leading you through your apartment again until you're back in your shared bedroom. Felix lies down beside you, coaxing you into moving back down the bed a little more for comfort, until your heads are both against his pillow, and he's holding you just as tightly as before. You know you'd been right about his long day—he falls back into sleep before you do, his arms wrapped around you with your nose to his collarbone, that familiar fond smile on his face, but you don't mind at all in the slightest.

You think you shouldn't be as tired as you suddenly are, after that meal, but it isn't long before you feel comfortably drowsy wrapped in such warmth around you. It doesn't come with that feeling of panic again, though—your mind knows you're safe, now, in the tangle of arms and legs around you keeping you close and content. And you smile too.

©️ noramoons 2021-2022. do not translate or reupload my writing.

[fernthefanciful]

A princess is a creature of grace, poise, decorum. They are soft, gentle, patient. I, however, was none of those things, much to my parents’ despair.

 They only brought that upon themselves, of course. A firstborn daughter, a royal invitation to greet the new monarch not sent, and therefore an insult perceived by a powerful magical being. You know how the story goes. I was cursed and, in my story, there were no blessings to gentle it. No other wishes for my future, or what little she left of it. Just a creature of shadow and talon which appeared, damned the bright vision my parents had of my life, and vanished.

  My childhood was a moderately happy one, even with the dark cloud of the curse hanging forever in my periphery. My parents loved me. My sisters, when they were born, did the same. And I of course love them with all that I am. My parents hired tutors, made sure I learned what it meant to be a monarch, made sure I was prepared for a future of rule. They simply made sure my sister learned as well.

  “Just in case.” My father would say, his gaze flitting across the empty hallways as if something unseen was always listening, always watching.

  And when I got too restless, when the green of the forest and the blue of the lake called to me and I couldn’t help but give in to the need to run, to chase, they took me riding. We’d make trips, have picnics, run around on the heather-filled fields and watch the sky change her colour with the setting sun. For the longest time, we were as happy as we could be.

  My eighteenth birthday was a beautiful and clear full moon night. The air rife with the scents of fresh bread and roasted meats of the feast held in honour of my coming of age. Gentle and joyful music filled the ballroom as people danced and laughed all night.

In an empty hallway, as far away from people as I could get, I screamed and cried as my body tore itself apart. As the wildness that had always lived inside of me wanted out. The howl that tore from my newly changed throat was loud enough to wake the entire city.

  I should have been terrified. I should be lamenting the turn my life had taken, all the things I now no longer could do. I should have felt all of those things. But when I made my way out of the castle and into the forest, the ground soft underneath my paws, the silver moonlight a gentle caress on my fur, I couldn’t help but think that his curse tasted a lot like freedom.

  The wildness that had always lived inside of me, the parts that longed to shed the tight clothing and even tighter responsibilities of nobility, were torn from the inner shadow where I had hidden them and shoved into the light. The parts of me that wished to run, to hunt, to feast, finally had a chance to be free.

  Things changed after that.

  Now, people are wary, afraid. My parents try, they really do. To teach me to act normal, ladylike, human. It’s of no use. The wolf lurks under my skin, peering out of my eyes.

People whisper about how much of a waste it is, such a shame, that a curse has changed me so. They don’t see, they don’t understand. The wolf, the wildness, the hunger, has always been there. It is me, the deepest parts of my soul given physical form.

  Life goes on. My sister, perfect, composed, kind, steps into the limelight. Or is pushed, I should say. To placate those who question my place at Court. Meanwhile I am forced into the background. An animal in the shadows meant to be forgotten.

  My wolf balks at the idea of corsets, of rules, of restriction. Doesn’t understand the need for playing nice with nobles it doesn’t like. She’s a creature of instinct, simplicity, and therefore, so am I.

  I spend my days roaming the grounds, protecting what is mine. The people of the city avert their eyes as I go past. Whisper about curses and how they spread, about what it means for the Kingdom that their princess is now a different creature altogether.

My wolf claims the entirety kingdom as her territory and as I get older, I travel further. Checking in daily with the people on the far edges of the lands. The misfits and the outcasts. The ones with wisdom and magic who have been pushed towards the edges of the kingdom long before I was born. Hatred and fear pushed us all here, to the lands where the briar grows three men tall. Where the trees and the shadows move on their own and where the water of the lake is always smooth, no matter how fierce the storm.

I help where I can, chasing off the foxes for the farmers, climbing trees to hang fetches and talismans for protection, bringing food to those who need it most. Most time is spent drinking tea and discussing life with the old lady whom everyone calls ‘witch’. She teaches me all she knows. Things the tutors at the castle never knew to teach me. About the plants and trees that grow, the animals that roam deep within the forest. About life here, on the outskirts of society, and all the peoples and creatures that are part of it. Here, the people look me in the eye. They bow their heads in respect but never in fear. The bravest of the children ask to card their hands through my fur. The old woman laughingly gifts me a crown of twigs and burrs and rowanberries the colour of blood. Every time I’m in my human skin I wear that crown with pride.

  One day, deep within the forest at the edge of my territory, I meet her. The being who has brought all that was hidden within me to the front and then illuminated it. I shift back to human, standing before her, naked and open, but never vulnerable, thanks to her. I thank her for the gifts she has given me. For the freedom and power and strength. The look on her face when I name her fairy godmother is priceless.

  She smiles at me then, a flash of razor-sharp teeth. I bare my own fangs back at her. She asks me then, if I understand. How they are being treated. Those who do not fit in, those who are made of wildness and shadow and blood. How they are shunned because of what they are.

  She tells me this will change, once I am queen. When I tell her that I never will be, that my parents will never find a match for me, she simply laughs and tells me not to worry. After all, I have a fairy godmother now.

  She keeps close after that. Always watching, always near, but never interfering. Not unless I ask her to. So when war, inevitably, finds itself at our borders, I ask for her aid. I stand in the middle of the bloodied battlefield, staring at the incoming forces. The wolf in me is itching underneath my skin. She wishes to hunt, to kill, to feel flesh rip underneath her claws, blood filling her mouth as she tears them apart. So I call out to my fairy godmother, asking if she would join me for a hunt, before I shed my skin along with my humanity and charge forward.

  The battle is brutal and short. The enemy army is better trained, but not against the army of outcasts led by myself and my fairy godmother. Their swords and shields quickly fall against our teeth, claws and magic.

Afterwards, I greet my father on the battlefield. Bare and covered in blood. There is fear in his eyes, yes, but also respect. And, for the first time, trust.

  Things change once again. I am brought back into the castle, but nothing is the same. I spend most of my time in the forests, still, but I also find myself fighting. Training with weapons other than tooth and claw. Weathered old men, tutors, hired by my father to teach me all they know. I learn how much I don’t know, how much there is still to learn. I earn my scars, even if they never stay for long. I earn their respect, even if it is hard won. I am no longer alone, some of my people from the outskirts join me and never leave their princess’ side.

  It doesn’t take long before suitors come from all over the world, wishing to marry one of my sisters. Singing praises about the small kingdom that could so quickly put an end to war. That could tame monsters and wild things. Silly men, none of us were tamed, we simply chose to fight.

  My parents and sisters work hard to get the most advantageous matches. To make sure that both the kingdom and my sisters will continue to grow and prosper. Bargains are struck, feasts are had. One by one my sisters move away, happy with their chosen husbands. All of them are visited by a giant wolf at least once. They know to treat my sisters well, or one night feel the sharp tips of my fangs against their throat.

  Years later I am gifted another crown. It is a beautiful thing. Delicate golden flowers and bright shining gems. It feels uncomfortable to me the way all pretty things do. “It might not suit you,” my father tells me, “but you have earned it.”

“As you have earned your rest.” I tell him.

“You will be wonderful, my Queen.”

  Rumors start spreading, about the Wolfqueen, the Wild One, sitting upon a blood-red throne. About the Kingdom of monsters where beasts, fae and man live free. About the Queen with the Iron Heart, who turns away all who wish to court her, and kills all who dare more.

  It’s not that I do not want someone at my side. I do. I wish for the love that my parents share. That my sisters eventually found with their husbands. But all those who come for my hand, those who finally dare when I have no more free sisters left, come for just that. My hand but not my heart. They are all poised and polished. Perfect little princes who look towards the wealth of the castle but away from the wildness within me. They are afraid to meet my wolf’s cold, assessing gaze.

  Some even try to change me, to find the human underneath the wolf. They only try once.

  For years, I rule alone. Through another war, through a plague born of magic, through prosperity and abundance. My people always by my side but no one to claim my heart.

  But then, a commotion. A man, dressed in furs. No scars on his body, but plenty on his soul. His eyes glowing the same gold as mine in the gentle torchlight. A wildness in them that my wolf recognizes. A challenge that my wolf is eager to take, to rise up to.

  “Your Oracle told me to come here.” He tells me, “I asked for guidance, to find what my heart truly desires, and she sent me to you.”

  My fairy godmother steps up behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder. I can’t see her, but I know she is smiling a smile of sharp pointed teeth. No doubt the oracle he speaks of.

  “My Queen,” he continues, bowing deep, his eyes never leaving mine, “I came looking for connection, for freedom. I believe I will find it with your time and your company. Will you grant me it?”

  “And what, my prince,” for if my fairy godmother sent him, he can only be that, “will you grant me in return?” I lean forward, eager, hungry.

  “Loyalty,” he steps forward, onto the dais, “companionship and understanding.” He leans over me for a single, challenging moment, before kneeling before me, baring his throat. “Perhaps in time even love. But for now, the thrill of a hunt. Of a chase.” He grins, baring sharp fangs. A breath, and a beautiful black-furred wolf sits in front of me.

Oh – the hunt is on. A thrill goes through me as I shift, ready to run, to chase him down and claim him for my own. For if one thing is certain, it is that I am a wild thing, a Queen, a hunter, but never, ever, prey.

(First posted on my website)

[doubledgesword-2]

Hello lovely! How pe you’re having a nice weekend!💕

I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if I could request a head cannon or Drabble of adult trip with a blind darling??

Hope you have a nice day!💕✨

Aww yeeesh! I did have a lovely day and a nice weekend, thank you so much! Here's your nice cup of Rose tea hon, enjoy it!

WARNING TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF AND A LIL BIT OF OOC! ENJOY!

Chrollo

Whether you were born like this or you had an accident that took your sight, it doesn't matter; Chrollo would do everything for you.

And when I say everything, I mean every little thing, from guiding you around the room to bathing you or showering with you to help. 

"Chrollo, I can do it; you don't have to worry" you chuckle nervously as his hand gently scrub your arm; you feel his fingers gently rub the soap on your shoulder, and you're hoping he can't see you blush. 

"Hush, dear, and let me love you" he kisses your shoulder, and you shudder at the feeling of his warm lips against your skin. 

When you casually ask how the clouds look like or what color is the ocean, or what color are the trees this time of the year, his eyes tear up a bit. He looks at you with a drunk love look and a warm smile.

 You're so perfect for him, because him being a romantic, this is the perfect time to be poetic. 

He will find an object that's very soft and very fluffy in texture; his hand will take yours and slowly drag it through the material so you can feel every single fiber of it. 

"That's how clouds are like, love. This time of year, the trees are red, and that's like cinnamon, and the ocean is blue, and aqua and those are like salty blueberries." 

"Ewww!" You laughed, and he chuckled, still holding your hand in his. This moment was a real treasure for him.  

"May I see how You look like?" He immediately tears up. This boi is low key the most sentimental in situations like these ones. He can't help but be overwhelmed. Sure he's a thief, but he's a humble one, albeit unfair on occasions but never with you. 

Chrollo takes your hands and places them on his cheek. Your fingers feel so soft on his skin, almost like you're afraid to damage him. They glide over his nose, feeling how it arches, over his eyebrows and his eyelids. 

Then they pass over the cross on his forehead into his hair, caressing it until your arms are looped around his neck and you hug him close, your ear on his chest listening to his racing heartbeat. 

"You have a strong heart" You can't see how his cheeks are tinted pink or how his breathing has picked up because, dammit, you're amazing at getting these kinds of reactions out of him. 

He will read to you, even though you have learned Braille. He wants you to be drunk on his voice and the passionate way he makes the story's impressions. 

No one, and I mean no one, is allowed to begin a demeaning sentence towards you or some comment about your blindness that makes you uncomfortable. He will shut them up with one look and the flare of his aura.  

When you guys go out, he insists on guiding you even though sometimes you have held him back before a car could run him over because he was too focused on taking care of you. He didn't see the vehicle coming. Ironic. 

"That was a close one, don't you think?" He kissed the crown of your head, holding you close as the two of you kept walking to your destination. "Now, do you believe I can take care of myself?"

"We'll see," he chuckles. 

Illumi 

Your encounter with Illumi is always a tale to tell. 

You see, you were at a coffee shop, drinking your favorite drink and eating a nice treat/pastry when he passed you by dropping one of his pins in the process. He had been so tired and beat that he didn't even notice. First one right there. 

"Excuse me, sir," You bend over and felt for the big round top of the pin until your fingers grasped it and held it tight, minding the other pointy side. "You dropped this" Illumi doesn't say anything in acknowledgment. He simply extends his hand to you. 

But you are not giving him the pin, and this annoys him so much. Then his eyes look up to yours. They are blueish but glazed over and almost white. You're blind. Illumi reaches for your hand, startling you for a quick second, but he picks the pin and lets go. 

"Is this seat taken?" He asks suddenly, and you smile towards his voice.

"Go right ahead." 

That day Illumi was so intrigued by you that he couldn't help but stalk you a bit, you know, for research purposes in case he ever finds an opponent like you. 

But it turns into so much more.

 He meets you every day he can, no matter where he goes with you. He makes no effort to help you, though, and don't expect him to do so. He appreciates you too much, and in his mind, you're like a wild cardinal, and if he were to help you, it's like putting you in a cage. Once he lets you free again, you won't know how to survive on your own. 

He wants you free. He loves you free. 

But that doesn't mean he won't be there for you or step in when circumstances are far too grave for you to handle. 

"Llumi, how does the sky look today?" 

"Gray. It's going to rain" his response makes you chuckle; you have never seen gray, but his honesty makes you smile. You outgrew your frustrations about this situation a long time ago. 

"Can we stay to feel the rain? I want to smell the petrichor once it's over" Illumi looks at you with the same expression he gives everyone. He knows you might catch a cold standing in the rain; he doesn't understand why all you said would be relevant. But then he reminds himself, he has taken for granted all of these things because he can see them. 

"Only a couple of minutes once its starts. If it gets bad, we'll go inside. You can smell the petrichor afterward" he holds your hand, and you two sit there on the park bench. 

Illumi doesn't get cuddly or lovey-dovey with you. Still, he will allow himself moments where he can't help but admire you and be grateful for having you in his life. He will never say that. Ever. But he'll think it.

One time he entered your apartment and found you sitting on the rug in the living room, reading Braile. 

"Illumi is so nice to hear you today. How was your day?" He's always impressed by your ability to sense him. When he asked once how you could recognize him if he was so quiet, you said you could feel his presence in the room since it was calming to you even when he tried to conceal himself. This melted his heart. 

"What are you reading" He came to sit on the sofa, his legs brushing your arms like a loving gesture. Your hand grabbed his leg, squeezing him in recognition, and then went back to the book. 

"Would you like me to read it to you?"

"Yes," It was a lovely evening that day. 

Just like Chrollo, he's very protective of you since his line work makes him kind of famous, some people are bound to have seen you and try to get to you to get to him, and this is where Illumi draws the line. 

Rest assured, no one will touch a single hair on your head if he has his way. The beginning of his bloodlust alone is enough to make everyone panic and turn away.

"Illumi, hon is alright, I'm here, I'm right here. Look at me" you would open the curtain of his luscious hair to hold his face and make him look at you. "I'm fine, see?" 

"They are not worth it," he says after holding you close to him. He'll kill them later. 

Hisoka 

This little shit will always be a little shit, in this case, a loving and understanding one, but still, the point remains. 

You bumped into him on the streets, and the minute it happened, it annoyed him so much. He was in the process of turning and giving you your dues when he noticed you had actually stopped and been grabbing his wrist. 

"I apologize, I'm so sorry" you're not looking at him, and that annoys him even further. 

That's until he notices your vacant look and your body language. You may not be looking at him, but your whole body is poised to listen. Listen to him. 

"Are you blind?" He blurts out but not really; his smirk says it was intentional.

"All my life, sir," you chuckle, letting his wrist go and leaning a bit on your white cane. 

This makes him giggle, and he invites you for a coffee if you're available.

The rest after that marks your relationship. 

Hisoka behaves like a child whenever he's around you. He hides his presence to try and scare you, but you can always sense him. You can even imagine him pouting as you find him and poke him with your cane. 

"Not fair, little fruit." 

"You smell like bubble gum, hon," you chuckle, bringing him down to kiss his cheek. 

He holds you close and loves when you let yourself go and depend on him a little.

 Lke him cooking for you, doing some chores around the house (He doesn't have to, and you tell him that, but he just says you'll have to reward him later), and the two of you baking together—with him covering you in flour as much as he can without you noticing.

"Soka, I know my cheeks and forehead are white; you are a terrible boyfriend, love."

"Mmmmm, so mean, (Y/N)-chan" He kissed you as he puts more flour on your nose. 

Hisoka knows he has to leave for extended periods since he can't stay put in one place plus his job. But will always call you and answer your phone calls no matter if he's fighting with someone at the moment.

 "My precious darling, I *grunts* I'm in the middle of breaking someone's arm at the moment *huffs* can I call you later, love?" You cringe at the sound of the bone-breaking over the phone but chuckle slightly at his antics.

"Yes, you can, Be safe" oh, oh, oh he loves your concern for him. It just makes him moan obscenely in the middle of the fight, making his opponent disgruntled and allowing him to finish them off.

"On second thought, dear, we can talk right now. I'm currently free." 

He will bring you stuff from his travels and jobs, all with different textures and pleasant smells so you can experience them. 

Now this, this is the moment of truth. While you're distracted touching everything he brought, he takes away his texture surprise. Suddenly he lifts your hand to touch his hair, then his face and arms. 

"How does this one feels, mmm?" He hides the fact that he's nervous by being playful, but you can feel him being stiff. 

"It feels soft," then your fingers gingerly brush a big scar over his chest "it feels like no matter what, I love you. Like you can trust me with each one of these" 

He won't admit it, but it's nice that you can't tease him for his blushing cheeks and aghast expression. But he chuckles to alleviate the lump in his throat as he takes your hands in his and pulls you in for a hug. 

When the two of you go out, he's always holding your hand, or you're holding his arm. He has convinced you to not use your white cane while walking with him. He'll be your eyes. 

The moment someone bumps into you…

"Hey, watch where you're going, woman!" 

"Oh, so, so sorry, sir," you apologize, and Hisoka is smiling at the man. 

"Yeah, you better be" 

"Little fruit, do you want to know how fluttering butterflies feel?" As he says so, your face is tickled by a lot of fluttering little wings, and the experience mutes the man's screaming as he Hisoka gently drags you away. 

[jamaisjoons]

intro her mini #9 ⤑ knj | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you enter namjoon’s life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. 〞single dad au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: single dad!namjoon x marine vet!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 2.8k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: absolutely none !! tooth rotting fluff !!

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: hahahaaha this is my third consecutive mini,,,, on god i hope y’all are enjoying this content nrotinpi

⏤ thank you to @yeoldontknow​ and @luffles424​ for beta reading // commissioned by @kpopularstolemylife​ in exchange for a blm donation

⇥ Main Series Masterlist

On an unassuming Sunday, with your body nestled under the cosy covers of Namjoon’s bed, you’re softly shaken awake. Feeling large hands jostle you gently, your lips elicit a soft whine as your curl further into the warmth of the duvet. Through your sleep-addled state, you hear a chorus of stifled giggles, the sound causing you to peek an eye open. Disgruntled from being woken up, you peer from over the cover, your squinted eye blearily taking in the sight as your lips twist in a frown. When you spot your boyfriend leaning over you, however, your umbrage over being woken up quickly dissipates. Instead, it morphs into curiosity.

Drowsiness ebbing from your head, your mind slowly clears as it begins working. As you wake up, Namjoon takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, still dressed in his pyjamas: shorts resting low on his hips while his sleeveless vest hangs off of his toned torso – the muscular definition of his arms on display. Bending over, he brushes his lips against your forehead in a sweet kiss, causing a soft sigh to fall from your lips. Then, pulling away, he smiles at you.

“The boys have a surprise for you, do you wanna wake up?” he murmurs, his voice low and calm, so as not to overload you with too much stimulus.

Eyebrows creasing slightly, “What time is it?” you ask, your voice hoarse with sleep.

“Mmm, a little past nine,” he hums in response. A low, strained noise croaks through your throat, and sluggishly, you lift yourself out of bed. Working the kinks out of your muscles, you stretch your body; a deeper, more guttural groan emanating from your throat as a result. The last of the lethargy dispelling from your being, your eyebrows knit together, your brain slowly comprehending Namjoon’s words.

Turning to your boyfriend, your lips quirk in thought, “Surprise?”

“Mhm. Do you know what today is?” he asks. A frown of thought mars your face for a second. Nonetheless, when nothing comes to mind, you simply shake your head. Namjoon laughs lightly, “I suppose you’ve forgotten. Never mind, why don’t you go brush? You’ll find out soon enough anyway,” he continues. Momentarily, your lips pull in a pout, and you send him your most pleading puppy-dog eyes. However, Namjoon only chuckles and gestures his head towards the bathroom.

Realising he’s not going to clue you in on whatever the boys have planned, you exhale deeply before scuttling out of bed. As soon as you’re out from under the covers, you moan pitifully; goosebumps prickling at your skin as the chilled air nips at your flesh. Swiftly, you pad over to the bathroom and as you begin your morning routine, you hear Namjoon’s bedroom door close – your boyfriend exiting out of the room.

By the time you’re done, Namjoon and the boys still aren’t back. Thus, you pad back towards the bed, and getting under the covers, you prop your back against the headboard, a pillow cushioning your lower back. Grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you idly scroll through social media. The moment you open Facebook, you’re bombarded by a plethora of Mother’s Day messages, the posts causing your brows to knit together. Was it really already Mother’s Day? You’d completely forgotten. Mentally, you make a note to call your mother – particularly since it’s been a while since you’ve spoken to her.

Glancing at the clock on your phone, and then the door, you briefly wonder if you have enough time to call her now. You know that if she picks up, and finds out you’re at Namjoon’s, she’s going to badger you to speak to him, and the boys – who she’s already dubbed her ‘grandsons’ – much to the boys’ (and Namjoon’s) pleasure; and of course, your chagrin. More than that, you also know she’s going to pester you about when she’s going to officially meet them, and as much as you love her, you don’t think you have the energy to explain that both you and Namjoon are busy, nor the fact that it’s not easy for you to take a casual trip to Busan to see her for the day. It’s still too early in the morning for that.

Just as you make the decision to call her when you have some time alone, you hear the bedroom door creak open. Angling your head up, the beginnings of a smile tug at your lips as you spot Namjoon walk into the room, followed closely by his sons. Although, the moment you spot the large tray in your boyfriend’s hands, and the way Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook all have their hands twisted behind their backs, your smile falters; a look of interest painting your visage.

Identical expressions of nervous hesitance colour their features, and quietly, they shuffle into the room – their small bodies obscured by their father’s much larger frame: almost as if they’re hiding from you. Placing your phone down onto the bed, you encouragingly smile at them – even as curious confusion flitters through you. For a little while, neither of them moves; the boys shielded behind their father’s legs as Namjoon stands at the foot of his bed. That is, until Namjoon moves.

Your boyfriend walks over to you, and carefully placing the tray onto the covers over your lap, he leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. You incline your head towards the plate, your eyebrow quirking at the spread of breakfast foods. A spread of three large waffles sits on your plate, each slathered in a generous topping, from cream cheese to syrup. Rested in the groove of each of the waffles are small chopped berries, and you can’t help the way your heart grips at the different shapes.

One boasts a smiley face, made of blueberry eyes and raspberry lips, another has slices of kiwi and blueberries in the shape of a butterfly, and the last is made up simply of strawberries in the shape of a heart. Each one, however, has to have been painstakingly designed, and a smile twists on your lips as you imagine the boys crafting the shapes. Meanwhile, as you take in your breakfast, Namjoon climbs into the bed beside you, and with no cover to hide them from your view, the boys all blush.

“Go on,” Namjoon encourages softly, his arm moving to rest on the headboard behind you as he smiles at his sons.

His voice draws your attention, and head lifting up, you turn it back to the boys. They glance at each other, almost as if they’re silently deciding something. Eyebrows creasing, you wonder just why they’re so nervous. It’s not like them, at least not around people they know - and you’ve been with them long enough for them to be comfortable around you. Their behaviour is undoubtedly odd, and only adds to your overall intrigue. It only lasts a short moment though, because the next, Taehyung moves.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Noona,” he says, a bright, boxy smile on his face. Following his lead, Jungkook and Jimin step up to the bed and similarly greet you, their earlier apprehension dissipating.

Muscles locking, your entire body stiffens at their sentiment. Static buzzes through your mind, Mother’s Day. They’re wishing you a happy Mother’s Day. Of course, you’d just realised what day it was a little while ago; but that didn’t mean you’d been expecting this. Through shocked eyes, you watch as they twist their hands from behind their back, only to place their gifts onto the bed. The air around them turns tense once again, the air so palpable you can practically feel their trepidation.

“We hope you like them,” Jimin whispers, his head downcast as he looks up at you with wide eyes. For a moment, you simply watch them, their eyes rife with hope as waves of hesitance seep off of them. Suddenly, their nervousness makes sense. They’re worried about your reaction to their gifts. After all, it’s the first time they’ve done something like this for you. In fact, now that you think about it, this is probably the first time they’ve ever done something like this. Mainly because they’ve never had to celebrate Mother’s Day before.

The weight of their actions suddenly dawns upon you. This is their first Mother’s Day - ever - and they’re choosing to spend it with you. You’re not their mother, not officially, and while you’ve mentioned your feelings about it in passing with Namjoon, you’ve never breached the subject with them. Part of you wonders if Namjoon had put them up to this, but you know your boyfriend, and you know that he’d never force something like this upon them. Thus, the only logical answer is that this was their choice. That they wanted to do this. Your eyes begin watering, tears misting your eyes at the realisation.

Directing your attention to their gifts, your misted gaze sweeps over them. There’s a small bouquet of flowers, and from the red, ruffled buds you know that they’re carnations. Large stalks of fern encapsulate the flowers: the lush emerald foliage contrasting with the deep velvet petals in a vibrant display of life. Next to the bouquet lies a large sheet of white paper; three handprints making the centrepiece, two next to each other and one below, between the two. From their sizes, you know them to be the boy’s handprints. Decorated around the prints are flowers drawn in crayon, and over the top of the card, written in multicoloured letters of varying sizes, are the words ‘Happy Mother’s Day’.

Your chest tightens, and you feel the tears welling in your eyes thicken. Taking in a deep breath, you blink your eyes in an attempt to rid them - not wanting to cry right now. Instead, with a small sniffle, you turn to the last gift. You pick up the small box, and lifting the lid, your breath hitches at your final present. There, resting in the pearlescent tissue-lined box, is a bracelet. The chain has been substituted for a silk, pale pink ribbon, and wooden beads make up the charms.

As you delicately pick up the trinket, “It’s got our names on it. Miss Oh helped us in art club,” Jungkook says, his voice cutting the silence that had befallen the room. Sure enough, the bracelet idly spinning in the air, you spot their names, one on each bead - written in inks of their favourite colours.

“Do you like it?” Jimin asks, and gently, you put the charm back in the box. Turning to the boys, you observe them - your face purposely pulled into an expression of passivity.

They await your answer with bated breath, their careful gaze on your face - an inkling of anxiousness swirling in their large eyes; almost as if they’re waiting for you to reject them. But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. From their hand-cooked breakfast, to the small meaningful gifts, you don’t think you’ve ever had anyone been so thoughtful. Overcome by their kindness, you place the gifts onto the bedside table, before carefully moving the tray too. Then, patting the bed, you beckon them onto the bed.

Perking up at your action, they quickly clamber onto the bed. As they struggle to climb up, you can’t help but giggle, Namjoon laughing beside you. The two of you reach over and help them up - and the moment they’re safely on the mattress, you pull them in for a hug. Immediately gathering them into your arms, you embrace their little bodies whilst lavishing each of their heads with tender, affectionate kisses. “I love them,” you mumble, your voice breaking as you feel yourself choking up with emotion.

All three of them perk up at your words, and, “Really?” comes their excited chorus. Their earlier unease completely forgotten, they beam up at you brightly, and chest caving at the sight, you nod your head.

“Really,” you respond. Then, picking up the bracelet from the box, you hold it out to them, “Why don’t you put it on for me?” you ask. Eagerly, they shake their head, and you watch as Jimin takes it from you - the only one who can currently tie his own shoes - only to fasten it around your wrist in a haphazard knot. A look of concentration crosses his face, his tongue sticking out, as his brothers watch his chubby fingers work the silk ribbon. Once he’s done, Jimin looks up at you - a large smile on his face - as he waits for you to admire his handiwork.

You turn your attention to the bracelet, and shaking your wrist, you test the knot. It’s not particularly secure, the large bow still loose, and you know you’ll have to tighten it later on; but for now, it’ll do. Lips tugging into an easy smile, you bend your head and softly peck the tip of Jimin’s nose, causing it to crinkle; a sweet giggle slipping from his mouth. Holding up your adorned arm, “Noona is going to wear it forever. Thank you, I love it,” you say.

Your words cause their smiles to widen even further, a feat you’d thought was impossible. As a matter of fact, you’re sure that their cheeks must hurt from how tightly they’re pulled. Nevertheless, they don’t seem to mind, and neither do you - you wish they’d smile like that forever. However, all of a sudden, Jungkook’s stomach rumbles, causing the youngest to blush.

“Sorry…” comes his murmured apology.

Face softening, “Come on, why don’t we eat,” you reply. Enthusiastically, they nod, and watching their heads shake furiously, you let out a burst of tinkling laughter.

“You have to eat your breakfast, Noona!” Taehyung says as he leans over the bed - in an attempt to get the tray back.

Already spotting the accident waiting to happen, Namjoon’s strong arms shoot out, and he grabs his son. “Woah, hold on there, Tiger. You’ll drop it,” Namjoon gently chides as he tucks Taehyung into his side.

“I’m just trying to help,” Taehyung whines. Before Namjoon can respond, you cut in.

“It’s okay, Tae, Noona has it,” you say as you pick the tray up once again, only to place it onto the bed.

“Daddy helped us make them!” Jimin says, a proud smile on his face as he crawls into your side - Jungkook already taking up his space between yours and Namjoon’s body.

Quirking your eyebrow, you turn to your boyfriend, “Did you now?”

“I did indeed,” he replies, his head bending down to peck at your lips. Then, lowering his voice so his sons can’t hear, “Sorry, there’s so much. I told them you’d only need one, but they insisted on making one each for you,” he mumbles.

“Hmm… there’s definitely a lot,” you whisper back, your eyes twinkling with mirth. Then, raising your voice again, “I don’t think I’ll be able to finish this all, Noona’s going to need some help…” you begin, a teasing smile creeping at your lips. Letting out a deep, dramatic sigh, “Who, oh who could help me?” you lament out loud. Your boyfriend scoffs at your theatrics; nonetheless, the boys immediately perk up at your words.

“Me! Noona me!” they all call out, jumping on the bed - their movement jostling the tray. Swiftly, Namjoon reaches out, steadying the tray as you calm the boys down.

“Okay, okay. But be careful, we don’t want yours and daddy’s hard work going to waste, do we?” you ask. Faces contorting into mirrored expressions of sheepishness, they mumble out an apology. You smile gently, waving them off as you pull the tray back into your lap. Instead, picking up the fork and knife on the side, “Now, why don’t we eat?” you ask while cutting up a piece of one of the waffles.

Suddenly, “Can we watch Bambi?” Jungkook asks, his doe-like eyes looking up at both you and Namjoon pleading. You and Namjoon exchange a glance, and nodding at each other, you both agree.

Without a second’s hesitation, Namjoon crawls out of bed and leaves the room. When he gets back, he’s got his laptop in his hand - the film already pulled up. Slipping into his bed once more, he takes his place beside you, Taehyung curling into his father’s side again as Namjoon plays the film. For the rest of the morning, the five of you spend your day cuddling in bed as you feed the four of them - and as the time slowly passes, you can’t help but think that this was probably the best first Mother’s Day you could ever have.

a/n: fkrengprngpirni i hope y’all liked it,,, if you did lmk 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

⇥ Masterlist | Like my work? Consider buying me a Kofi!

[cursestothemoon]

Love, Flowers, and Cedric Diggory

Requested: nope

Cedric Diggory x Fem!Reader

House not specified (technically either hufflepuff or ravenclaw but not explicitly stated)

word count: 3369

Hope you guys like it :))

✧✧✧

“Alright, alright, everyone settle in.” Professor Sprout was firm with her suggestion, and soon laughter died down and students retreated to their tables. 

The weather was just warm enough for school robes to be left in dorm rooms and a breeze was not only accepted but thoroughly enjoyed seeing as the greenhouse held onto the humidity that wafted through the spring air.

Cedric gave a handsome chuckle that danced through his pink lips, hand absentmindedly coming up to scratch at his sideburn. His tablemate, a Ravenclaw bloke, had just finished his retelling of how he had the terrible fate of being hit by a fanged frisbee in the groin.

“I’m telling you, next time I see those twins I’ll really give it to ‘em.” The raven haired boy muttered, his grin a sign of an empty threat.

“Sure you will, mate.” Cedric laughed.

The odds seemed to be in Cedric’s favor, at least he thought so, as he turned his head to the right just as Y/n L/n was about to pass his table. He waited, patiently waiting what he knew was about to come, and lethis shoulders slump ever so slightly as the familiar scent of peaches and jasmine wafted through the air in his vicinity. He couldn't help the slow closing of his eyes or the quiet groan of content passing his lips, he loved the smell of peaches and jasmine.

If you asked Ced, he wouldn’t hesitate to pat his own back for his MI6 level of stealth. The Ravenclaw boy however, poor bloke’s name long gone from Cedric’s mind, couldn’t help but shake his head at the ridiculous obviousness of his tablemate.

“Try to keep it to yourself mate, we’re in public.”

Cedric’s neck snapped back toward the boy, eyes wide and an aggressive ‘shush’ coming out.

“I wasn’t...leave me alone.” He grumbled the last bit.

Y/n walked to her table, coincidentally the table directly behind Cedric’s. She took her seat and reprimanded herself for staring at the way the Hufflepuff’s golden curls seemed to curl just perfectly today and the tips of his ears were glowing the most endearing shade of pink.

It’s the heat, she thought to herself before quickly averting her gaze.

Cedric relaxed as he listened to his head of house start to speak, though he still made sure to sit with a straight back. He couldn’t have Y/n thinking he slouched now could he?

“It’s a lecture day today, quills and parchment out for notes.” Professor Sprout instructed as she placed three different plants on her table.

With a huff and careful fingers Cedric pulled parchment out of his bag, two for now, and then reached for his bottle of ink. The bottle made its way to the light, only for it to be completely empty, and this was the spare’s spare.

“Damn…” He muttered quietly.

“Not to worry Ced, I’ve got so-” The Ravenclaw’s words fell upon deaf ears as Cedric already had an idea bubbling.

The golden haired boy turned to the table directly behind his, face adorned with his most charming smile.

“Y/n,” Her name came out in a low, husky voice causing her to look up from her paper and meet the cool blue eyes of none other than Cedric Diggory.

She raised her eyebrows in question but kept her mouth shut, she’d rather look disinterested than desperate. Why she thought common manners would seem desperate was beyond her but she didn’t question it now.

“Well,” He leaned closer to her. “I’ve run out of ink. Think we could share?”

Y/n gave a quizzical smirk as she looked from him to the Ravenclaw next to him, “Your tablemate hasn’t got any either?”

The thought of having him sit next to her, talk to her… nerve wracking. She could handle the occasional flirty remarks in passing, maybe a look or two here and there, but she was just barely managing that. He couldn’t just...sit next to her.

The handsome boy was quick to answer, “Yeah, but I’d much rather share with you. You’re far prettier.”

The heat rose to Y/n’s cheeks and Cedric felt his stomach jump as he thought, prematurely, that he had gotten himself a one way ticket to sitting with the pretty girl. His smile fell when she pulled a spare ink bottle out of her bag.

“Lucky for all of us then, I’ve got a spare bottle you could use.” A smug smirk was painted across her lips as she watched Cedric’s expression go blank, a miniscule high coming from knocking him down a few notches.

She reached her hand out, giving him the bottle of spare ink, and felt his fingers brush hers with the utmost gentility causing butterflies to soar through her belly. Cedric was quick to alter his plan as he felt the shock her fingers offered when coming into contact with his own. He grabbed hold of her hand, and with the instincts only a seeker possessed, his other hand shot out to catch the bottle of ink that had fallen from her grasp in her state of surprise.

“No need to get so flustered, Darling, it’s just me.” Cedric laughed, his eyes sparkling with adoration at the way she scrunched her nose in annoyance.

“I’ll take the ink back, don’t test me Diggory.” Although her voice was strong, her lips fought back a smile.

“Excuse me, Mr. Diggory, Ms. L/n, anything you’d like to share with the class?” Professor Sprout asked, causing both of the aforementioned parties to turn to her, one looking far less nervous than the other.

Y/n felt her mouth open and close, tongue dry, and words lost as Professor Sprout scolded her. To her fortune, Cedric took control of the situation before the awkward silence could be prolonged.

“My apologies Professor, I was bothering Ms. L/n for a spare bottle of ink.” He answered with a kind smile.

Professor Sprout looked as if she was thinking for a moment before dismissing the two with a warning to not let it happen again.

The afternoon Herbology class continued just as it usually would, Cedric would pretend not to catch careful whiffs of peaches and jasmine while Y/n pretended she was not absolutely flustered from the conversation with the boy that had happened at the beginning of class. For a moment, as Professor Sprout was talking animatedly about the second plant in the row of three that was used for potions of hatred, Y/n allowed her mind to wander. Dashing pirates and misunderstood gentlemen invaded her daydreams, confessing their undying love for her, sweeping her off her feet, and with each vampire that fought for her hand or prince that gave up his crown she noticed that they started to look more and more familiar.

Soon all she could think of were cool grey-green eyes, delicately rosy cheeks, and a crooked toothed smile. Cedric Diggory laughed and smiled aimlessly in her mind and suddenly she was no longer daydreaming of dashing pirates and brooding vampires, but instead of a kind, confident Hufflepuff. She caught herself before she could imagine the way his hands would dance delicately on her hips as they swayed to a soft buzz of Celestine Warbeck. As if to throw out the thoughts, she shook her head slightly, face scrunching as she reprimanded herself, yet again, for thinking such things about a boy who so clearly was flirty merely because his being was simply crafted of charm.

“And now, the third plant here…” Y/n forced herself to listen to Professor Sprout, pushing down her previous thoughts and daydreams.

“To louloúdi ton erastón in Greek, seeing as the plant originates from the Corinth Canal in Greece. It translates to The Flower of Lovers which you may feel free to refer to it as.”

Professor Sprout rounded the table and picked up the plant, walking from table to table to show what looked like premature flower buds, a simple plant of green.

“As you can see, it has not yet bloomed as I was expecting it wouldn’t. You see this flower only blooms in the presence of two people newly in love. Seeing as I doubt no one has just fallen in love, the buds are still closed. Even more peculiar when they do bloom, they look as though any ordinary white flower. The giveaway, however, is the pollen on the stigma which glows a soft gold color that shimmers in the full moon light, it will also drop a single white petal before retreating back into a bud.”

Many of the girls in the class let out quiet giggles as they took in the information, but the plant only made anxiety rise in Y/n as it offered a plethora of scenarios she could dream of. Plenty of them including the Hufflepuff in front of her, coincidently his thoughts were neither strictly botanical.

“The flower has no detectable odor, but smelling it for too long or getting a far too concentrated waft of the odorless pheromones could result in dizziness, intense infatuation, blindness, tingly lips, and on rare occasions...loss of one's toes.” Professor Sprout grimaced before continuing, “Because of the flowers strength and potency it is often used in expert level love potions and highgrade elixirs.”

The plant was now back on the front table and Y/n squinted at it, trying to see if she could visually identify that it was, infact, a magic flower. The buds were fat and round, the leaves, on the narrower side, looked delicate and hung gracefully reaching the top of the table. Beautiful, yes, but Y/n concluded that it looked like any ordinary plant and identifying it in the wild would be incredibly difficult.

The class ended and Y/n grabbed her things in a rush as she wanted to leave the uncomfortable thoughts of love, flowers, and Cedric Diggory in the classroom but whether she was lucky or rather unfortunate she did not know, what she did know was that Cedric had grabbed her wrist before she could leave the greenhouse.

“You’re ink.” Cedric said, head tilting in the direction of his table where her ink sat.

Y/n shook her head and pulled her wrist from his grasp gently as she put a gentle hand to his chest.

“Keep it I’ve got a spare.” She smiled bashfully as she turned to rush out.

Cedric called behind her, “I thought this was your spare?”

“I have a spare... spare.” She answered without turning to face him as she ducked out of the class.

“Tough luck, mate.” The Ravenclaw said with a pat to Cedric’s shoulder.

Cedric shook his head as he grabbed the ink bottle, “No, I think I’m getting somewhere. She put her hand on me, you see that?”

The boy gave an incredulous chuckle at the blinding grin that refused to dim on the Hufflepuff’s face.

___

Y/n L/n wasn’t one for breaking rules, they have been placed for a reason therefore they should be adhered to. And as she rushed through dark halls to get back to her dorm, she couldn’t help but think that if she were to get caught it would definitely lead to a punishment she didn’t want.

It wasn’t her fault arithmancy was so boring and it most definitely wasn’t her fault that she happened to fall asleep at the back of the library, only waking up well past curfew. She gave a few curses directed towards anyone who enjoyed, thought of, or taught the blasted subject she failed to notice an opportunist Hufflepuff prefect also walking through the corridor.

“Bit late for a walk, don't you think L/n?”

Her breath was caught in her throat as she met the eyes of Cedric Diggory, and never having been good under pressure, she couldn’t help but to sing like a canary in hopes that he wouldn’t turn her to her head of house.

“I was in the library and I fell asleep because, arithmancy and I’m going back to my dorm. I swear please don’t stick me in detention, Cedric.” The words came out jumbled and in a single breath but Cedric was sure he got the jist of it.

Cedric couldn’t help but laugh, she couldn’t actually think he’d get her in trouble. Y/n, on the other hand, seemed to take the laughter very differently.

“Oi, just do it then. Don’t laugh about it.” She grumbled as she looked away from him.

The boy shook his head with a grin, “First off, I would never stick you in detention, and second, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Y/n felt herself relax before furrowing her eyebrows upon realizing what he said.

“What do you mean you couldn’t?”

He shrugged suddenly feeling very bashful and if there was enough light Y/n would be able to see the endearing pink glow of his ear now creeping onto his cheeks.

“I was off prefect duty about…” He looked down at his watch. “Ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to be here either.”

Her mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape, not realizing she had been asleep that long or that it was so late.

“So...you’re just standing in a dark corridor… for fun?”

Bit weird, she’d have to admit, but she was just glad to be off the hook.

Cedric seemed to blush harder at the question but was soon giddy with the opportunity that had just been brought to him.

He walked toward her quickly, taking hold of her hand and pulling her along with him wordlessly. To say she was surprised at the action would be an understatement and suddenly Y/n would rather get put in detention instead of possibly making a fool of herself infront of Cedric.

The questions of where he was taking her and his plans of cold blood murder were answered by quiet laughs but nothing else as he managed to sneak them out of the castle and out into the open. Y/n felt her nerves calm, only slightly, as the greenhouse came into view in front of them.

Cedric pulled open the door, letting her go instead first, but still having a firm grasp on her hand. He tried to ignore the way the tips of his fingers felt tingly and he prayed to Merlin that his hand wasn't sweating as much as he thought it was.

“This is a less than optimal place to commit murder, Cedric. I thought you were smarter than this.” Y/n said as she looked around at the fairly dark greenhouse she was in just hours earlier.

“I’m not going to off you, Y/n. You can relax.” He reassured her before, reluctantly may he add, he let go of her hand to walk towards a group of plants in the back.

Y/n laughed to herself, if only he knew the possibility of being murdered wasn’t what was keeping her from relaxing. She craned her head to try and see what he was doing, but his shoulders were far too broad and he was tall enough to keep everything just out of view. Moving her gaze from, what she thought, were incredibly handsome shoulders she looked toward the plants from their lesson still on the front table. With curious steps she moved toward the third flower, the buds still tightly shut. Her finger was just a hair away from touching one of the leaves when she felt Cedric grab her other hand to turn her to him.

When she did turn to meet his eyes, he was holding a sparkling purple flower. Cedric gently thrust the flower toward, taking a few steps himself to come closer to her.

“Moonflower, they only bloom at night.” His words were gentle and whispered and if it weren’t for the flower and his hand between them their chest would’ve touched with each inhale.

Y/n’s gaze lingered on the flower, it was truly breathtaking. Cedric watched her reaction with a gentle smile playing on his lips, one hand still holding hers.

“It’s beautiful.” She said just as quiet as he was.

Cedric dropped her hand from his before reaching to gently pull her face up to look at him.

“You’re beautiful.”

Though his words were quiet and spoken with the utmost sincerity and truth, as if it was the most common of knowledge, she still felt her heart rate speed up and her face get hot.

Cedric, having waited and played the game of cat and mouse long enough, inched his lips closer to hers before stopping just before they touched.

“Kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as he closed the gap between them and kissed her. Peaches and jasmine invaded his senses and he couldn’t help but feel as though this was all he wanted, all he needed.

Both of Cedric’s hands came up, the moonflower dropped onto the table, and grabbed the sides of Y/n’s face. Eyebrows furrowed as one hand trailed to the back of her head, fingers lacing through her hair and keeping her in place against his lips. The sound of lips smacking and crickets chirping were the only things that could be heard in and around the greenhouse.

Y/n was both light headed and completely for lack of better words, frazzled as Cedric kissed her. Her hands went under his now untucked school shirt to rest just above his hips. Goosebumps erupted across his soft skin making her almost feel bad for how cold her hands must have been, almost.

Cedric couldn’t help but have his lips follow after Y/n’s as she pulled away slowly, presumably for much needed air. His mouth stretched into a blinding smile at her giggle, but kept his eyes closed not wanting the moment to end just yet.

“You snuck out to see a flower that bloomed at night?” She whispered quietly.

Open his eyes slowly and with an endearing chuckle he answered, “Would you think I was completely mental if I told you that I knew you hadn't come back from the library and I wanted to wait for you to make sure you were ok?”

Y/n felt her heart flutter at what she heard but decided to tease the cute boy.

“I would think you are completely mental.”

Cedric laughed, “Then I must be mental,” He paused giving her a sly smirk before adding, “But something tells me you like that.”

That earned him a shove to the shoulder and a laugh followed by a scoff of feigned offence. He just continued to smile at her, eyes holding so much adoration it made Y/n weak in the knees, and just like that silence fell upon them again. Cedric reached toward the table without looking to grab the moonflower again and gently placed it behind Y/n’s ear before taking in how she looked.

With a reluctant sigh he pulled her towards the door, “We better get going, you’ll want to be well rested for our date tomorrow.”

Her eyebrows shot up as she looked at him, feet still moving in step with his and their hands swinging, “Date? I haven’t been asked on any dates.”

They had now made it just barely inside the castle as Cedric turned to her, “Y/n?”

“Cedric?” She mimicked his tone.

“Will you go on a date with me, tomorrow?”

Y/n smiled and pretended to think for a moment, “I’d have to check my schedule.”

“Please? For me?” He batted his eyelashes comically at her as he nudged her cheek with his nose.

She laughed at his actions and responded, “Oh, alright.”

__

“Just a minute, Minerva, let me grab my scarf.”

Professor Sprout walked into the greenhouse in search of her scarf having left it there the day prior during her last lesson. She had found it and was just about to leave the room to join Minerva McGonagall for lunch when something caught her eye.

A single white petal lay on the table next to the third pot of flowers, louloúdi ton erastón, the flower of lovers.

[parasite-core]

A Memory of Green

This was originally written for the Rusty Fears horror writing competition. The theme was An Animal's Viewpoint. It didn't win, but I'm still really proud of it, so I wanted to share incase anyone would like to read it.

***

A Memory of Green

I don’t know how long I’ve been in this cage. Maybe forever. I don’t know if I have a concept of forever, but the word comes to mind nonetheless. The lumbering two-legged creatures come and give me water and food twice daily, once when the lights come on and again when they go out. The creatures don’t seem to like the dark. I don’t mind waiting through the night, my eyes are sharper than theirs.

I don’t know where I got these thoughts. I hear my furless captors speak, and I understand, but I don’t remember when I learned these words. They go away when I drink the bitter water they provide, that I know is laced with something to keep me calm and peaceful and quiet. My keepers write down notes, and say things like “The subject ‘Naomi’ continues to be compliant. The test is going well.” And normally I do comply. It’s so much easier to just drink and sleep and eat and exist as they desire, than to bite back and risk losing everything they’re willing to give.

But today, today I did not want to drink the poison. They did not seem to notice, or perhaps did not care. They had oh so many cages to care for after all. Creatures with fur and tooth and claw like me. Most quiet and complacent, awaiting nothing but their next meal. Others bite and howl and scream. They tear themselves apart against the bars and cry, until they’re taken away to places unknown, and never return again.

I am usually compliant. It’s so much easier that way. The furless clawless creatures give me food and leave me alone if I’m good. Some even praise me. “Good girl, Naomi. Good girl.” But the cage felt so small today. Or perhaps I felt too big. I wanted to rip apart my smooth and silky coat and stand tall and proud and flee, run free, somewhere with grass and trees and the warmth of sunlight instead of the buzz of the fluorescent bulbs that beat down on us at every waking hour.

So today I did not drink. And my mind felt sharper than it had in…I don’t know how long. Maybe forever.

And for the first time I noticed that my cage was not locked.

I waited for the lights to go out. For the creatures with their slow two-legged gait to retreat from the darkness, to wherever they sheltered while the shadows clung to the walls of their laboratory. Then I pawed at the door of my cage, pushed, and suddenly I was free. The dark corridors between cages stretched before me. All the clawed and fanged and furred and scaled creatures lay in silent stupors around me, none in any state for me to rescue, even if I were of the mind to rescue others. I darted forward, to the open door I’d often seen our lumbering masters exit through. The subtle scratching of my claws against the smooth tiled floor was the only sound. It was a foreign sound. I supposed I’d never walked on tiles before. Why I’d expected the clicking of the apes’ foot coverings, I couldn’t say.

The halls were long and lightless, but I had sharp ears and a sharper nose. To my right everything smelled of plastic overlayed with the metal tang of blood. I went to the left. I heard behind me the whimpering and howling of those creatures who could neither drink their fill nor free themselves. I heard through another door screams and yells of a different kind. Spoken in language, like the great apes spoke to us. I avoided that door. I didn’t want to know what these creatures could do to each other to cause such screams. Such whimpering begging cries for help, almost as broken as the howling of those I’d left behind.

There was a bend in the hallway, and then before me another open door, leading into a room lit by a pulsing green light. Green was good, I thought. Green brought to mind grass and trees. It brought to mind smiling green eyes. Kind forgotten words of assurance, and a hand with a golden ring. Whose eyes were they? Whose hand? When had I seen them? I couldn’t conjure up a memory. Maybe I had made it up. I didn’t remember ever being outside the cage before. How could I possibly remember grass and trees and a woman’s kindness? Love should be a foreign concept to me.

I padded softly forward, too aware of my clicking claws. My tail, held low, brushed against my back leg and I nearly yipped in surprise at the feeling despite myself. I feared that at any moment one of the apes would appear, scoop me up despite any attempt to fight, and take me back to my cage. Or worse, take me to the place where uncompliant creatures go, to disappear. I could turn back. I could hop into my cage and drink my fill and forget about the green and the grass and the eyes.

Instead, I pushed forward. Into a room of glass and metal. Wires and tubes covered the walls, connected to machines and large glass cylinders. So many glass cylinders. Almost as many as there were cages in the room I’d always been in and always remembered. And inside each was one of those creatures, the same clumsy two-legged form as my captors. Humans. The word came to my mind unbidden.

Only these humans were not as furless and scaleless and clawless as my captors. There was a man with feathers growing from his crown, his face melting together into a hard beak. A woman whose eyelids had dissolved, leaving an unblinking black snake eye to stare unfocused at me, as the flesh around it cracked and hardened into countless scales. A tall gangly human with antenna sprouting from their forehead, and their fingers fused into sharp scythes. A creature with a long body covered in sleek black and grey fur, nothing human left, save for green eyes that flickered open for but a moment, meeting mine with a look of utter helplessness and fear, before being eased back into slumber by whatever drugs kept them from twisting in pain from their transformations.

My body was trembling. I hadn’t even noticed. I tried to back away but suddenly four legs seemed like so many to coordinate, and I stumbled and fell. I remembered laughter, and a white dress. I remembered bells and joy. I remembered a future that we’d dreamed of together that was ripped away. I remembered screaming. Crying out as we were torn apart. Someone wanted us to disappear, and then we did.

I heard howling. I heard screaming. I didn’t know which was mine. Maybe both. Maybe neither. I wanted to run, but my limbs were all wrong, and I couldn’t find it in me to forget enough to remember how to use them. I writhed on the ground, willing this to be a nightmare. Willing myself to wake up to green eyes and gentle kisses. Willing myself to wake up in a cage, a mere beast with no memory outside its safe and simple cell. Something. Anything. Anything but knowing both, and being torn apart by having neither.

Eventually one of my captors came. They scooped up my limp body, and I allowed it. Maybe I could have clawed and bitten, struggled and fought. Maybe I should have, just to put up a token resistance. But there was no point. The green grass held no more appeal. The flowers meant nothing, if they weren’t woven into her hair. If I had to remember her smile and know that even in freedom I would never see it again, then what was the point?

I was returned to my cage, and I drank. And—and I forget the rest. It all blurs together now. Soon, I hope, the memory of my escape attempt will fade too.

A new creature has been placed in the cage across from mine. One with black and grey fur, and green eyes that never look at me. She cries and howls and refuses to drink. They will eventually take her away, and I will never see her again. I don’t refuse my water anymore. It’s easier this way. They give me food. They give me shelter. All I have to do is drink, and forget that there was ever anything else. And I’m happy to.

[savethelastdan]

Sesskagu

Mouths smell wine, The feast is going wild

Victorious and glorious, The men exalt their king

As in a fevered dream Kagura is entering

And she provokes him to do a special deed

"You have conquered the capital of orient

Display your power and make your enemies weep.

Destroy their pride, The jewel of the middle kingdom

As they once destroyed our temples for their king"

this ended up being a weird little AU so enjoy that I guess

-

The trees of this forest stretch high to cup the black sky within their branches. Though their crowning leaf-tops disappear into the dark night, each's base is aglow with clusters of lanterns. Around the light, demons of every breed laugh and shout in a ear-splitting din. Sesshomaru's bored sigh becomes lost in the clamor, as it has for the past three days of ancestral celebration.

A forgotten goblet rolls through the dirt to stop just at his foot; he sidesteps to avoid the blood-like wine spilling from its mouth, nearly shoulder-checking a cheerful demon from his mother's army who is attempting to start a group song in honor of Sesshomaru's great-great grandfather. With a grimace, the young warlord hurries past.

His mother, the only opportunity for a decent conversation, has disappeared into the crowd. No doubt to collect all manner of praises for raising such a son - he who has conquered the four lands with tooth and claw, who has met every challenge with nary a twinge of self-doubt. The Lady of the Sky Castle sees no purpose in modesty, nor in sharing the credit with her ex-husband; every compliment is polished and stashed in her robe for another day.

He is halfway through his slow circle around the party when he spots an anomaly. A guest he hasn't seen before.

She's slight, dark hair piled atop her head; lantern-light bounces off the green glass threaded through her ears to speckle the backs of nearby demons. From the breeze flicking at the edge of her sleeves, it's obvious she is a wind demon. But there is something else in her scent, carried to him beneath those of the crowd and the wine -bitterness, dark and sharp and wrong - that puts Sesshomaru on edge.

Him alone, apparently - no one around seems to pay her any mind, even as she turns to fix her eyes on him.

And smirks.

-

When he reaches her side, she inhales and holds something across her chest - a fan, folded tight. Sesshomaru ticks an eyebrow, and her lips stretch wide again.

"Don't worry, I didn't come to fight."

He doesn't bother to point out how stupid she'd have to be, if that had been her intention. To challenge him in the middle of a festival containing tens of his drunken allies, some of the fiercest demons in this time, including the Lady of the Sky Castle - a sure death sentence.

She twists her head to inspect a nearby tableful of goblets, and suddenly he recalls where else he has smelled the particular rot in her scent before - a demon that plagues the villages in the west, where his bastard brother has made his home. One whose name sends the older demon lords of the land in a temper, whenever his name is spoken aloud -

"Naraku." It comes out quietly, but the woman's head snaps back towards him all the same. "You are born of Naraku."

Despite the flare that she must feel in his energy, the slight movement of his claws towards the sword at his side, his father's sword that despite everything Sesshomaru refuses to discard - the woman stares back at him calmly. Her eyes burn violet; in the daylight, he thinks strangely, they must be red as blood.

"If it matters, I don't serve him willingly. In fact - " She grins, head tilting in such a way that anyone watching may assume is flirtatious in its intention - "I'm pretty much as unwilling as you can get."

He wonders what she means by that. Which, in and of itself, is not a good sign, when you consider who Sesshomaru is.

"Right now, Naraku is still weak enough to be defeated." Kagura stretches her arms out to pull back an imaginary arrow; slapping her closed fan against her forearm, she pops her tongue in a poor imitation of a bowstring's snap. A flash of anger heats Sesshomaru's neck, as the understanding comes; his brother's strange human bride.

"However." Kagura's arms fall to her sides. "Soon, he'll be too powerful to even be purified."

At first, Sesshomaru scoffs. Purification - such a mortal response. But the woman frowns, as though she is annoyed with him. Which in turn, makes him annoyed with her.

"It doesn't matter how much power he thinks he has. He is still weak, compared to any full-blooded demon here tonight." Compared to me.

The woman's fan lands flat on his shoulder. Sesshomaru is too stunned by her audacity to think to pull away, as she leans up to put her lips by his ear.

"Even with the Shikon Jewel?"

When she settles back on the flat of her feet - bare feet, which he notices for no reason like he's noticed everything about her since the moment she arrived - a strange flicker crosses her face at his expression.

"Ah, good. You should take such a thing seriously."

Unwilling, indeed. Heat pulses through the poison in his veins. "The Shikon Jewel is in - "

"Pieces." She flicks her head sharply. "He finds them too quickly. His enemies can't catch up."

Can't - he growls aloud in frustration. She grins again, a faint flush settling across her cheeks, but it seems unintentional; because just as quickly, the fan unfolds across the lower half of her face. He studies the way her eyebrows knit together and feels strangely pleased.

"Anyway, I'm tired of waiting for someone to give that bastard what's coming to him. I want him to lose it all - his power, his pride, everything he's built with our blood." Slowly, the fan lowers; both the blush and smile are gone. "You cut your teeth on victory, Lord Sesshomaru. I assume you don't care about what happens to your family in the West, but rest assured that Naraku won't stop there. He won't rest until he has everything."

She nods her head towards the festival, still roaring around them. Sesshomaru stands in the glow of lanterns, and feels his ancestor's hands pushing at his back.

"By the time I am done with him," he says, dipping his head to mirror her earlier whisper, "Naraku will have nothing."

She shudders. Sesshomaru hears a strange stutter in her pulse, and from the anger that bleeds into her gaze, it is not for romantic reasons.

Not that he has any inclination towards such things, himself.

"Tell me," he says, still leaning low into her ear, "whose name may Naraku beg for mercy in his final moments, along with my own?"

She blinks up at him, stunned. Is it so surprising, that he is not like his mother in terms of hogging credit? But then, his name is that which will be passed down for the rest of time, after his inevitable victory; in the end, he may be the only one who remembers hers.

After a long inhale of time, she smirks. A breeze curls around his shoulders, moving him the slightest bit closer - something he ordinarily would not forgive, if the anticipation of battle was not already simmering through him.

"Kagura."

[professorkenobi]

bathtime

read the previous part here!

The rush of running water echoed off the walls of Obi-Wan’s upstairs bathroom. He tested the temperature with a hum of satisfaction before flipping the brass lever that controlled the drain.

It was well past time that his bathtub got some use. The huge old thing had been touted as a selling point by his realtor, but he’d really selected the house for its proximity to work. He didn’t have the time or inclination to lounge about, preferring to stick to economical morning showers. 

Hopefully Anakin would enjoy it. 

Knowing the tub would take a few minutes to fill, Obi-Wan headed downstairs. The itch of apprehension whenever he let Anakin out of his sight was quickly becoming familiar— as was the wash of relief when he found him where he’d left him. 

Approximately, anyway. He’d gotten up and was examining the sparse decorations on the fridge. At a small clear of Obi-Wan’s throat, his ears twitched and he jerked back with a guilty look. 

Obi-Wan smiled gently. “Nothing interesting there, I’m afraid.” 

“I wasn’t—” 

“It’s fine to be curious; ask me anything you like.” 

Even in the dim light, the conflict of opposing impulses was clearly visible on that expressive face. Obi-Wan had to stifle a smile.

Finally, inquisitiveness won out.

“Why do you have this?” Anakin jabbed a finger at his copy of the year’s academic calendar. 

“Oh, that?” He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. “I teach there. I’m a professor of sociology.”  

Anakin wrinkled his nose. “Really? Aren’t most professors, you know...” 

“What?”

“Um. Old?” 

This time Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Indeed we are. And terribly boring, I’m sure you’ll find.” 

He’d hoped to draw out a smile. If he had, it was hidden as Anakin curled in on himself, beginning to shiver again. The sight was perturbing, unacceptable.

“Will you come with me? Your bath should be nearly ready.”

Anakin ducked his head and followed.

The air in the bathroom was muggy, the mirror fogged with steam. Obi-Wan turned off the water while his guest watched, fidgeting, from the doorway. 

“There we are. If it’s too hot, you can just— well, I’m sure you know.” He winced internally. He wasn’t used to stumbling over his words like this, but then again he was hardly used to overnight guests, either. 

“I got it,” said Anakin, taking a few apprehensive steps towards the tub. 

“I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” Obi-Wan promised. He turned to leave but paused at the threshold as a thought occurred to him. “Oh— if you leave your wet things outside the door, I’ll throw them in the laundry. You can borrow something of mine for the night.”

Anakin gave a jerky nod, still staring at the water like it might bite him. 

“Remember,” he repeated, “Whatever you need.” 

Obi-Wan closed the door, shutting in the heat and humidity. Right. Clothes. Pajamas would do for now. He walked purposefully to the bedroom, meaning to fetch them right away, but as soon as he entered his legs went oddly weak and shaky. His neatly made bed awaited him; Obi-Wan sat down heavily, fingers twisting in the duvet. 

For the first time since Anakin had knocked on his door, he was alone. He pinched the bridge of his nose, doing his best to push back an impending headache as his thoughts raced to catalogue the implications of the night’s events.

He’d let a complete stranger into his home, his sanctuary, without even hesitating. Anakin had been far from forthcoming about his situation, but it was clear he was in some sort of trouble. Something serious, perhaps beyond what had landed him on the streets and in Obi-Wan’s backyard in the first place. He might be risking his own safety, all for a boy whose last name he didn’t even know. 

Alone in the dark, Obi-Wan sat with these facts, turning them over and over in his mind. What was he doing? Was he being gullible, a fool? 

A slight splashing, the sound of a body getting comfortable in a hot bath, filtered in from down the hall. 

With a rising sense of certainty that he rarely experienced, Obi-Wan realized that he didn’t care. He didn’t care what kind of mess Anakin was caught up in. He didn’t care what he’d done to end up here, or what the consequences might be. 

From the moment he’d laid eyes on Anakin, Obi-Wan had been seized with an inexplicable desire to protect him. To care for him. And Anakin... Anakin had asked him, begged him, for help. 

To turn him away was, quite simply, an impossibility. 

Obi-Wan breathed slow and deliberate, in through his nose and out through his mouth, until he felt calm again. His knees were still a little weak, but he felt much better by the time he’d managed to dig out his spare pajamas and return to the hallway. 

Anakin’s clothes lay by the bathroom in a crumpled pile. As Obi-Wan bent to pick them up, he froze at a sound from the other side of the door. He almost thought it was his imagination until he heard it again, this time unmistakable— a small, hiccuping sob. 

“Anakin,” He pressed his face to the doorframe. “Is something the matter?” 

“‘m fine,” came the muffled response. 

“Are you sure? You don’t sound fine.” 

“It’s just,” he sniffled. “My hair, I can’t... it hurts.” 

Obi-Wan frowned, at a loss. “What do you mean? Is there something I could do, bring you something or...” 

A short pause, and then, 

“Can you help me?” 

“Help you?” He must be hearing things. Surely, Anakin wouldn’t want him to... “You mean, come in there and... and what?”

Anakin sniffled again. “I’m sorry, it was stupid, please just forget I asked—”

“No!” Obi-Wan interjected, far too sharply. He shook himself and tried for a softer tone. “No. It’s good that you asked. You just caught me by surprise, that’s all. Are you sure that’s what you want?” 

Another pause. “...yeah, okay.” 

“Alright.” This night was getting more surreal by the minute. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the doorknob. “I’m coming in now.” 

Obi-Wan opened the door slowly, leaving plenty of time for a change of heart. He was determined not to look unnecessarily, but he could make out Anakin in his peripheral vision. His back was to Obi-Wan, his head hung on drawn-up knees. His tail hung over the side of the tub, slowly dripping water onto the floor. Every few seconds, he drew a ragged little breath that echoed too loudly in the tiny space. 

Obi-Wan could scarcely stand it. 

“What do you need me to do?”

Anakin glanced back over his shoulder with puffy eyes. “It’s all this,” he said miserably. “It’s a mess and I can’t, I can’t fix it.” He lifted a hand out of the water to run over the back of his hair. Obi-Wan’s eyes caught on the pale golden skin of his arm, the graceful line of it that bent to a broad back flushed pink with heat, the curve of his spine disappearing beyond— stop it. 

He was here to help, not— whatever that was. 

A few cautious steps put him within arms reach. “May I?” 

“Yeah.” 

A single brush of Obi-Wan’s hand made the problem clear; Anakin’s curls were snarled and matted, doubtlessly from the depridations of wind and rain. The process of detangling would be painful, perhaps downright impossible with the claws Anakin was sporting. 

He tutted softly. “I see. We’ll get this sorted out.” 

Obi-Wan fetched a bottle from the shower and rummaged in his grooming kit for a wide-toothed comb, grateful for a few moments where he didn’t have to rigidly control where his eyes were pointing.

“What’s that?” Anakin asked suspiciously, craning his neck to see what was going on.

“Conditioner.” Obi-Wan knelt on the bathmat and set the comb aside, again doing his very best not to look at Anakin’s shoulders.  “I don’t have to use it, but it’ll ease the way quite a bit.” 

“It’s fine, I’ve just—” Anakin looked down. “I’ve never really used stuff like that.” 

“First time for everything,” Obi-Wan said lightly, dispensing a large dollop into his hand. “Ready?” 

At a short nod, he began to apply the conditioner, starting at the crown and carefully distributing it through the messy locks. The parts that weren’t tangled were very soft, slipping pleasantly between his fingers. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about Anakin’s ears, which twitched slightly in response to each touch. It looked like Anakin had avoided them in his attempts to re-wet his own hair, so Obi-Wan tried to do the same. 

After a few seconds, Anakin made a tiny oh. 

“What is it?” 

“It, um, smells like you.” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “You can smell me?” He wondered if that was an ability that came with Anakin’s more... unusual features.

“Yeah,” Anakin admitted, dragging a finger along the surface of the water. “It’s nice.” 

“Er.” 

“The conditioner, I mean.” 

“Oh.” Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly. “Good.” 

Anakin’s hair was now covered in conditioner, as were his hands. Unwilling to dip them in the bathwater, so close to Anakin’s body, he opted to wipe them on the nearby hand towel with a grimace. Then he took up the comb, hoping for the best. It would be a shame to cut any of that beautiful hair.

As Obi-Wan gathered up the ends, his knuckles rubbed across the nape of Anakin’s neck. He felt rather than saw the damp skin erupt in gooseflesh, peach fuzz brushing softly against his fingers. 

Anakin didn’t move, nor did he make a sound when Obi-Wan began to comb through the tangles. Though he was as careful as he could be, the sharp tugs required to undo the worst of them must have been painful. But Anakin made no complaint but an occasional quick intake of breath. He just stared down at the water, quietly allowing Obi-Wan to see to him.

For the second time that night, Obi-Wan felt unsteady with realization. It suddenly occurred to him how petty his concerns had been. Whatever fear he’d experienced was infinitesimal compared to how Anakin must be feeling right now, in the house of a near stranger with no way of ascertaining his intentions. 

Anakin was hurt and alone. Naked and vulnerable. 

And yet somehow he trusted Obi-Wan to be near him, to touch him. 

He had to let Anakin know that his trust was not misplaced. That Obi-Wan would protect him, take care of him. That he was safe. 

Still moving the comb in steady strokes, he searched for the right words. 

“Anakin— I want you to know that, well... I’m in your corner, alright? Whatever is going on, whatever kind of trouble you’re in, you have me on your side.” 

“No, you’re not,” said Anakin in a hollow voice. “You don’t know.” 

Obi-Wan hummed as he finished undoing a particularly nasty snarl. 

“I know you won’t give me details, but answer me this. Did you hurt someone? Beyond the bounds of self defense, I mean,” he added hastily. 

“No, but—” 

Obi-Wan continued, speaking over him. “And do you plan to hurt me?” 

“Of course not.” The response carried just a tinge of defensive fire, making Obi-Wan smile. 

“Then you have me on your side, for whatever you might need.” 

Anakin flicked at the bathwater dispiritedly. “What does it matter? I’ll be gone tomorrow, anyway.” 

A sudden, overwhelming surge of protectiveness made his hand involuntarily tighten in Anakin’s hair. No, he wanted to say. You’ll stay here, with me, where you’re safe. 

That was something he had no right to decide or even ask. Obi-Wan mastered himself, loosening his grip and clenching his jaw until he was sure something less wildly inappropriate would come out. 

“That doesn’t have to be the case,” he said tentatively, beginning to comb again. He was working on the front pieces now, nearly finished.  “Not if you don’t want it to be.” 

“I... I don’t understand.” 

“If you wish to leave, of course I won’t stand in your way. But should you need a place to stay... it can be here. For as long as you need.” 

Anakin’s ears flattened. “Don’t say that!” he snapped, then almost inaudibly added, “You don’t mean that.” 

“I do,” said Obi-Wan gently. 

“You don’t,” Anakin whispered. He hunched forward in the tub, wrapping his arms around his knees in a tight, self-protective hold. 

“I do, but there’s no need to decide yet.” Obi-Wan said lightly, setting aside the comb. “Let’s just get this all rinsed out, shall we?” 

If Anakin wouldn’t stay, he could at least do his best to take care of him until he left. Obi-Wan opened the tap again, letting more warm water flow into the bathtub, and gently guided Anakin underneath. Anakin was pliant under his hands, allowing Obi-Wan to tilt his head this way and that as he rubbed gently at his scalp.

The ears presented a problem again. There was nothing for it but to carefully lift them, one by one, so he could scrub underneath. Obi-Wan thought they were by far the softest thing he’d ever felt. 

His fingers moved of their own volition, stroking for a split second until the ear twitched under his touch and he remembered himself. If Anakin made a sound, it was lost beneath the roar of water.

Finally, Anakin’s hair was clean, hanging back from his face in a sopping curtain. Obi-Wan regretfully eased his head forward and let go, deprived of the excuse to touch. 

What would happen now, he wondered. He could, should, dry off his hands and take his leave, show Anakin where to sleep and get some rest himself, and then...? It seemed all too clear, what he would find in the morning. An empty bed, an empty house. Anakin in the wind again, this time maybe forever. 

The thought was intolerable. 

Obi-Wan had to try. He dug deep to find the magic words, the perfect words that would convince Anakin to stay, and found nothing but the truth. 

It went against every instinct to say it, but it was the only card he had left to play. 

“About my offer,” he ventured, sitting back on his heels. 

“Yeah?” Anakin mumbled into his knees. 

“I wanted to let you know that, well... I would like it. If you stayed.” 

“W-what?” Anakin’s head lifted and his ears twitched slightly.

“It would make me happy. I—” Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “I want you to stay.” 

He pressed his lips together, leaving the words to hang without any qualifiers or equivocations, even as the seconds stretched with no response. And then, in the stillness, Anakin began to tremble. 

“Anakin? What’s the matter, please tell me, I didn’t mean to upset you.” As if drawn by a magnet, Obi-Wan reached out a hand and rested it comfortingly on Anakin’s shoulder. It only shook more under his touch, and Anakin gasped in a harsh breath as silent sobs wracked his body. 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan continued frantically, “You don’t have to stay, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want... I’m sorry.” 

He knew he shouldn’t be touching Anakin, not when he’d overstepped like this, so he began to pull away— and froze, shocked, when a warm, wet hand wrapped around his own, keeping it in place. Holding it. 

Without warning and far too quickly, Anakin spun to face him. A tremendous surge of water drenched the floor and Obi-Wan’s pants. But he barely noticed, not as Anakin, very wet and very naked, leaned over the side of the tub and threw his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck. 

Anakin was hugging him. Obi-Wan froze in shock, but he didn’t seem to notice. He only sobbed harder, burying his face in Obi-Wan’s sweater. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t remember the last time someone had held him this tightly. The sharp points of Anakin’s claws grazed his back, and a silky ear tickled his skin. 

Slowly, tentatively, his arms lifted to return the embrace. He wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands, and settled for placing one on the middle of Anakin’s back, the other in his hair. 

“Shh...” he found himself whispering. “Shh... there, there.” He could hear Anakin crying now, choked breaths endlessly chasing each other out of his throat.  “I’m here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” 

Obi-Wan ran his fingers through Anakin’s damp curls, over and over, scratching lightly against his scalp. He held him, with no thoughts but to comfort him, to soothe whatever pain had him so undone. Slowly, slowly, the wracking sobs subsided, leaving Anakin hiccuping and sniffling into his shoulder. 

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, even as Anakin slipped out of his arms to curl in on himself once again, as floppy eared and despondent as before. 

This time, though, something felt different. A lingering warmth, the ghost of a touch, that perhaps stood a chance at melting the many barriers between them. 

Red-rimmed eyes flicked up to meet Obi-Wan’s, just for a moment. 

“Okay,” said Anakin. “I’ll stay.”

[omgrachwrites]

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Ten

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of  Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of   England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled  with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: angst, character death, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, fluff

Words: 2816

A/N: How are we on chapter ten already?! I’m so sorry for this chapter, but why is angst so fun to write? Hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! xxx

Chapter Ten - To Die in Battle

The harsh winter wind was raging fiercely as Sirius stood on the frozen front lawn of the castle, if he didn’t die in the fighting then he would surely freeze to death. But, the wind was nothing compared to the emotions swirling in his heart. He was leaving his beautiful wife and his unborn child; he was surely walking to his certain death. Sirius didn’t know – no one did – what the numbers were like in Cumbria. But, with Scotland on this Lord Voldemort’s side, Sirius and James would be outnumbered, even with the Frenchmen that King Francis had sent.

Y/N looked beautifully sorrowful and melancholy as she looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. She reminded him of a painting he had once seen of Guinevere, when she had heard the news of Arthur’s death. Sirius hoped that he wouldn’t go the same way.

Sirius tried to smile but he feared that it came out as more of a grimace as he cupped Y/N’s rosy and frozen cheeks, “I’ll come back to you, my love. I promise, I love you so much.”

“You better had come back to me Sirius, I love you too,” Y/N sniffled and pulled him into a long passionate kiss, he poured all the love he had for her into the kiss and he knew that she was doing the same.

The kiss lasted for so long that James had to speak up, “Sirius, I’m sorry but we have to go,” reluctantly, Sirius pulled away from Y/N and pressed a kiss to her forehead, her eyes were pleading with him not to go, but he had no choice. As he rode away, he stole one last look at his Princess, hoping that he’d be able to see her again.

The journey up North went by without so much as a hitch and it surprised Sirius but he was glad that they hadn’t run into any trouble. There was enough trouble in Cumbria, they didn’t need more. The army made camp about a mile outside of Cumbria close enough to the fighting but fat enough away that they could feel safe.

Nerves swarmed in Sirius’ stomach as he heard the pounding drums of the battle, this wasn’t his first time fighting but now there was so much at stake; the state of the country and the life of Y/N and their child. What would happen to them if he died? He was going to fight tooth and nail to make sure that he survived, he had to.

“You look positively green, Peter. Are you alright?” Sirius tried to laugh but it came out hollow and humourless.

Peter swallowed, “I’m scared.”

Sirius nodded and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, Sirius would have called him a coward if he didn’t care so much about him, “so am I, Peter. But, we’re going to win, I know we are,” Sirius’ voice sounded more confident than he truly felt.

Peter nodded and gave Sirius a tight smile but for the rest of the day, he looked increasingly better.

The first few days of the fighting started off slowly but that didn’t mean it was any less brutal, Sirius hated killing men, even in battle, he felt like a monster. Dark red blood tainted the pure blanket of white snow, like spilled wine. The screams of dying men and the stench would forever haunt Sirius’ dreams as he fought in the beautiful countryside of Cumbria. He prayed to God every night, thanking Him for keeping him safe. Sirius had never before been a religious man but now seemed a good time to start believing.

What Sirius thought was odd was the fact that they hadn’t seen the fabled Lord Voldemort yet and they hadn’t seen the Scots. Thankfully, Sirius didn’t see Regulus among the men who were trying to kill him. He hoped that his kind little brother was somewhere safe, somewhere far away from the fighting.

Days rolled by and the fighting continued and the warring men painted the countryside red with each other’s blood. James had received an arrow in the shoulder and Remus had been on the receiving end of a dagger in the side, though they would both pull through. Sirius and Peter remained unscathed apart from a few cuts.

Sirius worried more about the effect that this battle would have on his mind and his dreams. James’ army dwindled in size, too many good men died, too many men that Sirius had known when he was a child.

A couple more days went by and Sirius’ young squire, Johnathan succumbed to a fatal wound by the frozen river. He asked Sirius to hold him, he didn’t want to be alone as he died, “it’s a beautiful place to die, apart from the battle of course,” Johnathan tried to laugh but he only choked on the blood that spilled from his mouth as he looked at the frozen river and the mountains beyond.

Hot tears fell down Sirius’ cheeks as he held his friend, Johnathan was so young. Sirius hadn’t wanted him to fight but Johnathan had begged him, he had wanted to be a Knight, “Johnathan, you crazy bastard,” Sirius sniffled as he tried to hold the life inside Johnathan by putting pressure on the wound but he knew it was no use. Johnathan was going to die, “you would have made an amazing Knight.”

“Damn right,” Johnathan gave a little pained smile as his voice grew weaker and began to fade, “when you get back home to your lovely wife, please tell the Lady Sophia that I love her. I’ve thought of her every moment and I’m thinking of her now as I lay dying. My only regret is that I didn’t see her beautiful face once more.”

Sirius nodded, “of course, I will.”

“Thank you, my friend,” he gasped out in pain as his breathing slowed and the life left his body. Sirius sniffed as a great wave of sadness crashed against him and he closed Johnathan’s eyes so now it only looked like he was merely sleeping. Sirius made a mental note to bury him when the fighting was over.

Rage filled Sirius’ chest as he saw red and he swore that he would find the man who had killed his friend. Sirius cut down many men and anguished cries filled his ears but he didn’t flinch as he once did. For the first time since the fighting began, the sun peeked over the mountains and filled the battlefield with watery winter sunlight. The mere sight of it filled Sirius with hope, hope that he would get back to his wide and he’d be able to see his child grow up.

That night when Sirius entered the war tent, he found that James was smiling brightly, he looked like a young God as the light bounced off his golden crown, “the Scots aren’t here, I think we’ve been lured into a trap but we can win Sirius.”

Sirius’ eyes widened and it felt like all his dreams had come true, “it was Malfoy who told us of the Scottish presence. Where is he?” Sirius wondered whether Malfoy had been a traitor among them and had tried to lure them off to their deaths. Whatever the truth was, it was definitely suspicious.

James shrugged, “I honestly couldn’t care less.”

When the rest of the army realised that the Scots – or Lord Voldemort – weren’t going to show up, it filled them with new hope and they began to fight tooth and nail. They fought so fiercely that in hundreds of years, songs and stories would be told of this day. Till the end of history would this day be sung of. It would be the stuff of legends and Sirius doubted that the mighty King Arthur had fought so well.

“They’re retreating like the cowards they are!” James yelled gleefully after hours of brutal fighting.

Sure enough, ahead of them men were retreating, led by a man in a mask and Sirius wondered if it was Lord Voldemort. Though, he couldn’t find it in his heart to care, he was just so glad that this battle was finished, even though he knew the threat was not yet defeated and there was still the Scottish to worry about.

But, he was going home, even if Johnathan couldn’t be at his side, he couldn’t tell Sophia that he loved her himself, he would be remembered. All Sirius wanted to do was ride all the way back to the palace, to his wife’s arms but of course he couldn’t do that yet. As the men celebrated, Remus turned to Sirius with a grin, dozens of cuts littering his young handsome face.

“Where is Johnathan? He should be celebrating with us! I like that man.”

Sirius’ face dropped and he felt hot tears pricking behind his eyes, Johnathan couldn’t celebrate with them and he wasn’t coming home, “he’s dead, I held him as he died,” Sirius’ voice broke,

Remus sighed mournfully as he pulled Sirius into a hug, “I’m so sorry, I know how much he meant to you. We’ll have a funeral for him and he’ll be remembered as a hero.”

Remus was true to his word, Sirius and his friends buried Johnathan – and all those who had fallen. Johnathan’s funeral was beautiful; James said a few words for him as did Sirius, who knew him best. On the day that they buried Johnathan, the sun come out and melted the snow and the river began running again. It gave Sirius hope that better days were coming. He knew that better days were coming.

Sirius was in high spirits as the army began the trek back home and he joined in with the triumphant bawdy songs. He grinned at those who remained those who would see the people they loved again. He thought of Y/N every second of the way, he was going to sleep in her warm comforting arms for a whole month and nobody would be able to stop him.

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

It had been two weeks, two whole weeks since your love had gallantly rode off to battle and you were missing him terribly. You had vivid dreams about him every night, and in those dreams you were happy but that happiness was shattered when you woke up with a broken heart when your beautiful husband wasn’t lying next to you.

He was your anchor, you had shared so many experiences with one another, it felt like you were a widow already but you wouldn’t think about that. Even though, you had heard no news of the battle. Though, you weren’t the only one who was feeling lost, Lily waited for her King and Sophia paced around your chambers with a nervous look on her face as she held her stomach.

“It’s going to be okay you know,” you smiled at the pretty girl as you knitted baby clothes by the warmth of the fire, “they’ll come home safe,” you tried to convince yourself of that too. There could be no alternative; you didn’t even want to think about it.

Sophia shot you a nervous smile, “it’s not just that,” she sighed, biting her lip, “I suppose that I should tell you, word will travel fast when the army return for the victory feast,” she took a deep breath as you frowned at her words, “the father of my baby is King Francis.”

“Sophia, I…” you trailed off, gobsmacked and hurt that your dearest friend had lain with the man who had threated your child. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the roaring fire.

“At the summit, when you were with Lily, he came by to apologise to you for being rude. He saw that I was upset and he comforted me. I wrote to him and he bids me to come to court as his mistress.”

“Do you want that?” you asked weakly as you found your voice, you were utterly shocked at this news.

Sophia shrugged as she played with her fingers, “I’d be ruined here when people find out, France will be the safest place for me and my child. He was a kind lover,” her eyes welled up, “I know that I’ve shamed you.”

You shook your head as her voice broke and you pulled her into a hug, “you could never shame me, if this is what you want that I’ll support you,” she was right, France would be the safest place for her and you couldn’t be angry at her for wanting to keep herself and her unborn child safe, “I’ll miss you,” you teared up, your heart feeling heavy, “can I persuade you to stay until I give birth? I want you by my side, Sirius and I will see to it that you get safe passage to France.”

Sophia pulled away from you and she smiled kindly as she took your hands in her soft ones, “of course, it would be an honour to attend you in your birthing bed. Thank you, Your Highness.”

The two of you warmed yourselves by the fire and Sophia told you stories of what the King was like and what she imagined his court to be like. She looked so happy that you had to support her decision even if it killed you to hand her over to France. You talked with her for a couple of hours before a trumpet was blown outside and Sophia looked at you with sparkling, happy eyes.

“That means that the army has returned!”

You gasped, your heart felt impossibly light, your husband had come home – you hoped – and without another word, you picked up your skirts and hurried onto the front lawn. The King was riding at the front of the company and you heard Lily squeal in delight before she ran to him, and you knew that Sophia was looking for Johnathan. Your heart stopped when you looked behind James and saw him, he looked so beautiful and gallant.

You watched him as he dismounted his horse and at once you ran into his arms, you never thought that you’d see him again or feel his warmth around you. Sirius chuckled as he lifted you off the ground and spun you around. You pulled your head away from his neck long enough to look at his handsome face, his eyes were soft as he gazed at you but you could tell that in their depths he felt haunted. You gently trailed your fingers over the bloody cuts on his face before leaning down to kiss him desperately. Sirius put you down as he kissed you back, clutching you desperately as his tongue dived into your mouth.

“I missed you so much,” he spoke in between kisses.

“I missed you too,” you stroked your thumbs against the hollow of his cheeks, “I’m so glad that you’ve come back to me. I love you.”

“I promised, I love you too,” he smiled as he pressed his forehead against yours.

Later that night, you were wrapped up in each other’s arms; it was obvious by the look on Sirius’ face that he didn’t want to talk about the battle so you didn’t ask him. He had been so brave but you wished that he didn’t have to be, you couldn’t lose him, it must have been so horrible for him. The only thing that Sirius had told you of the battle was the fact that Johnathan died in his arms. Sophia sobbed when Sirius told her the news and she sobbed even more when Sirius told her that Johnathan loved her and she was the last thing that he thought of.

Sirius huffed out a laugh as you leaned forward and lovingly kissed every single cut on his chest before you placed a kiss over his beating heart which jumped beneath your lips. You smiled as Sirius’ fingers dived into your hair, “you were all I thought about when I was away, every day I fought to come home to you.”

Your eyes teared up as you felt an overwhelming wave of love for the stunningly handsome man that was at your side, “I thought about you too, I dreamt of you every night, wishing you were here with me. Thank you for coming home to me, to us, thank you for keeping your promise,” tears fell down your cheeks as Sirius kissed your forehead.

“You don’t have to thank me my love, I keep the promises that I make, no matter what happens, I will always come home to you,” his thumbs wiped away your tears as he pulled you in for another kiss, resting his hands on your stomach.

You didn’t know what you would do without him, you knew that you could never love another, and you thanked God that he was home with you.

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

@smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​ @siriuslyjanhvi​ @pregnant-piggy​ @lindatreb​ @mabelle-cherie​ @hxrgreeves​ @britishspidey​ @mads-bri​ @classicrocketqueen​ @sxtansqueen​ @hufflepuffzutara​ @missmulti​ @bruxa0007​ @ourstarsailor​ @fific7​ @galwithbluethoughts​ @2410slb​ @sunles​ @krismeunicornbaobei​ @theincredibledeadlyviper​ @deathkat657​

[woodelf68]

Teething Time

Based on a post by @lokijiro

-----------

"Mama, Loki is chewing on my blocks!" complained Thor, trying to wrest the wooden block out of Loki's mouth.

"He's cutting a new tooth, Thor, and chewing on something helps. Surely you can spare one?" Frigga was sitting near the nursery window, working on a blanket for Loki, all soft greens, the darker shades that she’d started with blending into lighter ones the further up she went. 

Thor looked from his half-built castle to the pile of blocks on the nursery floor still waiting to be used. "I guess. But sometimes Loki puts things into his mouth that he shouldn't, so I didn't know if it was okay," he said virtuously.

"The block is fine. But you're right; he shouldn't have anything sharp or rough, or small enough to swallow and choke on. I wouldn't want him to have a stick from the garden, for instance. He could scratch himself or poke it in his eye or choke on a bit of bark or twig if it broke off. Or it could be dirty or moldy or have a caterpillar crawling on it. We wouldn't want Loki to swallow any poor caterpillars, would we? So I'm glad you asked; thank you for looking out for your brother."

Thor knew that really, he just hadn't wanted Loki chewing on his toys, but he beamed and pushed his shoulders back proudly. "All right, you can have the block," he told Loki. There were more than enough. "After all, brothers share, right Mama?"

Frigga beamed back at him. "Yes, they do. It might seem a little one-sided at first -- Loki doesn't have much yet that he can share with you -- but I promise it will even out as you get older."

The sound of footsteps made them both look up.

"Papa!" Thor jumped to his feet. "Come see what I'm building!"

Odin smiled and laid Gungnir down on the sofa, feeling the concerns of a king melt from his shoulders as the nursery door closed behind him. He had had a productive day, and felt he had more than earned some time alone with his family before dinner. He surveyed the towering piles of blocks, the tallest as high as Thor's head.

"Very impressive.” He looked down at his smallest son, sitting on the nearby rug and assiduously gumming on a wooden block.  Ever since Loki had started crawling, he was rarely far from Thor’s side. “Is Loki helping you?"

"No, he's just watching. And chewing on the construction materials." Thor said the phrase carefully, having heard it used in a conversation between his father and one of his advisors the other day.  He was pleased to have an opportunity to use it himself already; it sounded much more grown-up than "blocks".

"I see that. How's the tooth coming, young man?" Odin leaned down and picked Loki up, nudging the block Loki held clutched in his fist away from his mouth. "May I see?" He ran a finger over the sharp white nub breaking through Loki's gums and winced when Loki clamped down on his finger for his trouble. "Sore, is it?" he asked sympathetically. "Do you think you could -- ah, that's better." Odin extracted his finger as Loki relaxed his bite with an unhappy little sound, tucking his head under Odin's chin. "Another day or two and the worst should be over," he promised, kissing the top of Loki's head. At least until the next one, he thought, but chose not to burden his son with the knowledge that he was going to have to go through this seventeen more times after this tooth was through.

"You can pass me blocks if you want," Thor said, and Odin put Loki back down on the rug.

“Let me go greet your mother first, and then I am at your service.” Frigga turned up her face towards him with a smile as he approached, and he gave her a quick kiss. “Have you had a good day, my love?”

“I have, and I needn’t even ask; I can tell you’ve had a good day too.” 

“I have; for once the meeting with the Council didn’t run overlong and we dealt with all the points on the agenda. If you have no objection, I thought I could spend the next few hours with you and the boys.” 

“This is nothing we would enjoy more,” Frigga assured him, and watched fondly as he returned to Thor and began to pass blocks as directed, listening to their eldest chatter about his day. After a few minutes she took advantage of his presence to concentrate on her weaving for several rows, before glancing back up and noticing that Loki was no longer sitting where she had last seen him, gnawing on his wood block. She quickly looked around, her heart skipping a beat when she found him.

"Odin," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Please take Gungnir away from Loki."

Odin spun around, then relaxed when he saw that Loki had been able to reach the butt end of Gungnir where it hung off the edge of the sofa, and was now chewing on it with apparent contentment. "Bor’s beard," he swore with relief, all too able to picture a bleeding, screaming Loki if Loki had grabbed at the other end of the spear. "Sorry. Not used to him being able to crawl yet. It won't happen again." He went over to Loki and tried to pull the spear away, but Loki tightened his chubby fingers around it in a surprisingly strong grip.  “Come now, aren’t you a bit young to challenge me for my own weapon? After you snuck away and tried to steal it behind my back?” Odin gently pried Loki’s fingers away from the shaft and pulled it free from him. “My fault, though, for leaving it where you could reach it.” He was about to place it somewhere safely out of reach when he saw Loki’s lower lip jut out and his expression change to one that meant that a vocal outburst was imminent. He quickly let Gungnir fall back to the sofa and scooped up Loki instead. “Oh no,” he said hastily, jiggling Loki in an attempt to distract him. “No no no, shh, no crying. Warriors don’t cry. Frigga? Do you -- “

Frigga was already rising, with Loki’s coral teething ring in her hand. “He’s not a warrior, Odin, he’s a baby, and he’s in pain. Here, sweetheart, do you want this?” She held out the ring to Loki. 

“Yes, I know,” said Odin testily. “But do you want him to cry? It’s not going to make him feel any better; it’s just going to make his face feel hot and congested on top of the discomfort that he already is in.” He gentled his voice, addressing Loki as he smoothed down the wavy black hair sticking up on Loki’s crown. “I’m sorry you can’t have my spear to chew on. But you can have your ring, eh? Or a licorice root? Or a cold wet cloth? What do you say, hm?”

Loki looked at the ring that Frigga was waving in front of him temptingly, but then simply held out both arms to her in a silent request. 

“Oh, that’s it, come to Mama. I’ve got you.” Frigga took Loki from Odin, and rubbed his back gently “That’s my good boy, my sweet baby boy. Your papa is probably right that crying wouldn’t make you feel any better today,” she admitted. “But you can if you need to, even when you’ve become a man full-grown. There’s no shame in tears if a hurt grows too much to bear.” She kept her voice soft, conversational, and her eyes on Loki, but the latter words were for Thor, nearby and listening. “Isn’t that right, Odin?” She looked at her husband pointedly, her expression daring him to disagree with her, and cut her eyes to Thor and back, meaningfully.

“Ah, of course. What I meant to say was that warriors don’t cry in battle, because they’re too busy fighting,” Odin ad-libbed, hoping that this would be enough to satisfy Frigga. “And getting distracted and blurry-eyed is just asking to get your throat slit,” he added matter-of-factly, and Frigga rolled her eyes. “But if they had a good reason to, they could cry afterwards. However, not getting to use a dangerous weapon as a chew toy is not a good enough reason,” he chided, tapping Loki on the nose. Loki let go of Frigga’s gown with one hand and grabbed at his finger. It was a good, strong grip, Odin thought approvingly.

“Loki’s going to be a warrior, like me,” Thor informed them, leaving his blocks and walking over to join them. “Of course he wants a weapon.”  

“He may have one when he’s old enough to wield it properly,” Odin said firmly. 

“It’s odd, though,” Frigga said, finally getting Loki to take the teething ring by wriggling it enticingly in front of him. “He doesn’t usually like the feel of metal in his mouth. Was he really trying to hold onto it?” Although Loki had taken the ring, he didn’t seem that interested in it, and twisted around to look back at the sofa even as Frigga spoke, his preference obvious.

“He was,” confirmed Odin. He pulled out a handkerchief and picked up Gungnir, feeling the familiar thrum of magic running through the spear. Was that it? he wondered thoughtfully. Could Loki feel it too? He wiped the drool off the end of the spear and held it out towards Loki. Loki’s eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed the shaft. 

“Odin?” Frigga queried, unsure of what he was doing. 

“I think he can feel Gungnir’s magic,” Odin explained. “If he can, I’m not sure if it just feels interesting to him or if it could actually feel soothing on his gums.” He squashed the sudden urge to put the damn thing into his own mouth, out of curiousity. “But let me try something.” He stepped back and pulled the spear out of Loki’s grip again, grounding it. “Give me his teething ring for a moment.” 

Frigga pressed her lips together. She had just gotten Loki to take the ring. If he started crying... But he was only holding onto it halfheartedly, and let her take it back without protest. “Here.” She held it out. “What -- “

Odin leveled Gungnir and sent a stream of warm golden magic into the teething ring, briefly illuminating it before the glow faded. “Now let’s see how he likes it.” 

Loki’s enthusiasm was obvious the moment Frigga offered him the ring again. He seized it with a happy noise and began gnawing on it at once. Extending her senses out, she could feel the hum of magic now inhabiting the ring. Not enough to be used for anything, but enough to make the formerly dead object now feel warm and alive. “Well,” she said, unable to think of anything more coherent to say but pleased that Loki looked happier again. 

“What did you do?” asked Thor, puzzled. 

“I fed a little of Gungnir’s magic into the teething ring,” explained Odin. 

“Could you do that to something of mine?” asked Thor, with interest. Maybe the magic could bring one of his toy soldiers to life? 

“Tell me, can you feel anything when you place your hand upon Gungnir?” Odin asked, holding it out so Thor could wrap his fingers around the shaft below his own. 

Thor hesitated, tempted to lie, but if asked, he did not know what it was that he was supposed to feel. He shook his head. “No. Nothing special.” 

“Then there would be no point in enchanting any of your possessions. I would not expect you to be able to feel anything,” he hastened to assure Thor when he saw Thor’s face fall in disappointment. “You are yet young, and no seidr user; you did not fail any test. But Loki obviously did, and for someone of his age to be so sensitive to the feel of magic -- “

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise, with his inborn ability to shapeshift. But that was a gift of his birth race, while the magic flowing through Gungnir was the power of Asgard itself. Truly Loki was a child of two worlds, except again he felt that Loki had very specifically chosen him, had chosen Asgard. Were the Norns trying to tell him something? Was Frigga right in claiming that Loki had been meant for them, not just for raising but for always? Would Asgard be served best by a king who had a loyal brother standing by his side? He glanced down at Thor, looking up at him expectantly, and impulsively set Gungnir safely down on top of the wardrobe out of the reach of curious children’s hands before lifting Thor up into his arms, enjoying the feel of the boy’s solid, sturdy weight and Thor automatically winding his arms around him, glad that the war had ended, glad that he was missing no more of his son’s childhood. 

“Papa?” Thor prompted, wanting to know what his father was going to say about Loki.  He looked across at his brother from his new vantage point and made the silliest faces he could, feeling triumphant when a tiny giggle escaped Loki. 

Odin looked down at Thor, and then he looked at his wife, crooning endearments to Loki while cradling him in her arms and swaying gently, her eyes full of love and adoration. And then he looked at Loki, with a small baby smile on his face thanks to his brother’s antics and content now with his head resting against his mother’s chest with a full confidence that it belonged there, while he gummed a princely teething ring infused with Asgard’s magic, with the king’s magic, and he shook his head in wonderment. What had never been more than vague plans for a far-off future seemed to vapourise into thin air. Deliberately setting his boys on different paths that would lead them away from each other no longer seemed like the right thing to do. Asgard was Loki’s home now, for as long as he wished it. 

“Well,” he said, finally finishing his thought, “I think we are going to have a sorcerer in the family.” 

[angstywishes]

Whumptober Days 5, 13, & 14 (Red in My Ledger/That's Gonna Leave a Mark/Under Pressure)

(i know it's been a hot minute, but hey! beau is back and better than ever! except um.. not really haha oops (∪‿∪✿) enjoy!)

(CWs: questionable/amateur medical care, mouth/tooth whump, broken nose/bones, implied/referenced gang violence, a lot of blood, cauterization and all the things that come with it)

Of course, it always comes down to this. He always ends up alone at the end of the day. No one to help.

Not when he’s lonely. Not when he’s hurt. Most certainly not when he’s hurt so very badly.

Beau stumbles through the door of his apartment, kicking aside bottles and cans as he slams the door and slumps back against it, cursing himself and the world around him.

Of course.

“Can’t have one fucking day, can I?” He spits, though not on purpose. It’s just hard not to when blood is filling your mouth. When you’re holding one of your teeth in the palm of your hand, and when blood is gushing from your very-likely-broken nose.

Of course he had to run into some of the lovely people he’d borrowed money from tonight. And of course, he had to be a stubborn prick like always.

What did that get him? A long walk home, without a wallet, and with a bunch of new scrapes and bruises. “Scrapes and bruises” is putting it lightly, though, really.

Slowly, he pushes himself off the door and limps to the kitchenette, trying not to put too much weight on his leg. It’s been broken a while now, and no thanks to this particular scuffle, among others, he isn’t sure it’s ever going to heal. His shoes are soaked in blood, if that's proof enough.

He braces himself against the countertop, leaning in over the sink. Blood dribbles down into the stainless steel basin, dripping off of his chin, pooling around the rim of the drain but just barely retaining enough surface tension not to slip out of sight, out of mind.

Beau cranks the faucet on with shaking hands. He doesn’t have the time to mope around — he needs to do this quickly. He’s done it once before, he can do it again, but right now that tooth needs to be back in his mouth as soon as possible.

“This is gonna fucking suck,” he mumbles, watching the blood run off the off-white enamel. “Hope it hurts less the second time.”

With a deep breath, he puts his thumb on the crown of the tooth, and pushes the root back into the bloody hole between his teeth.

Pain explodes through his skull, light popping across his vision like fireworks. It feels like he’s being stabbed in the mouth with a nail, or a screw. Blood seeps around the replaced tooth and over his fingers.

He thinks he might taste copper for days after this.

With his free hand, he turns off the sink, and grabs a paper towel. Carelessly, he wipes the blood off his chin with it, and then crumples it and pushes it between his jaws to hold the tooth in place until he can splint it, preferably before half an hour is up.

As an added bonus, it will give him something to bite down on for the next part.

He’s got thirty minutes, and that’s plenty of time to take care of the gash that has blood running down his leg.

His.. still-kind-of-broken leg.

He’s getting tired of having to take care of that same fucking leg.

Resetting that bone hurt, and, having run out of bandages, what’s coming next is going to hurt more.

Beau sits down, back against the counter, and rolls back the leg of his jeans to see the damage clearly. The wound is deep, and jagged, like the knife that left it. Beau grimaces, thankful that at least it’s not very long. It should be quick and easy.

Hand shaky, he pulls a lighter and a pocket knife from the pocket of his jeans.

Of all the things that won’t leave pretty scars, cauterization is up there.

It takes a few flicks, but the lighter sparks to life under the blade, slowly heating the metal.

Beau hates this part, the waiting. Pain is easier to deal with if it’s instantaneous, if he doesn’t need to wait for it.

The air around the knife starts to wobble with heat, and it’s as good a time as any.

Shutting his eyes, Beau shoves the side of the hot knife into the gash, covering his mouth with his other hand to try and stifle the yelp that his cowardly body forces from him. He wishes it were a little louder, though, now that he can actually hear the hissing of his skin under the heat.

He also wishes he had thought to cover his nose, gagging at the smell of burnt hair and flesh as he tries to correct that mistake. Vegetarianism sounds more and more like a viable lifestyle choice to him as the night goes on.

The knife clatters to the floor. Done. Fucking finally, he’s done.

Legs unsteady, he forces himself to his feet. There’s no time to rest, of course. Of course. Still so much to do, and tomorrow, he’ll probably have to do it all over again.