#wails of anguish. that is ​so well put. that is exactly what is happening

[satanic-fruitcake]

Dee! YouTube is streaming Farscape and we watched Self-Inflicted Wounds 1+2 and It broke my heart all over again! Poor Stark! His wails of anguish broke me! I had to tell you because you probably understand 😆😭😭

genuinely i am so honoured that you thought of me watching that i feel so validated. i am the stark understander… and yes i do. i really do. episodes that i have to remove from my memory as a coping mechanism or i will simply spend all day every day crying

[messers-moony]

Help | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Daughter!Reader

Summary: At first it was for him, now everything he does is for her. 

Warnings: Rape, cursing, death, etc

Being wise comes with living. Dumbledore had lived a lot of years. Everyone knows that. The man worked his way up the hierarchy from being a Transfiguration teacher to the headmaster at Hogwarts. He was even offered a place as the Minister of Magic. What people didn’t comprehend or, rather, didn’t think about was, when living that long you realize every button to push, every nook and cranny to get your way. 

Manipulation at its finest. Now, truth be told, manipulation isn’t always evil. It can be good, per se, manipulating someone to stop doing something that’s particularly harmful - alcohol, smoking. But when used negatively, it could make everything worse. 

The Order of the Phoenix was manipulated. From beginning to end. Dumbledore convinced the young kids - naive kids - that they were safe and that’s what they needed. These kids needed reassurance that everything would be okay, and Dumbledore assured them that they were safe. 

But were they safe when the McKinnon family died? Were they safe when Fabian and Gidian Prewett died? Could James and Lily truly depend on Dumbledore to keep them safe with a newborn? 

When Sirius Black joined the order, he had one request. Just one. A linear, singular request. It was saving Regulus Black. That’s all Sirius wanted, was for his little brother to be safe. Sirius knew about Regulus being a death eater, and he needed saving. Regulus didn’t want this life, and he especially didn’t want this with a baby girl. 

He was seventeen, and he was forced. Sirius knew it. James knew it. Remus knew it. Regulus had come to the Gryffindor portrait crying on his knees, begging - no - pleading for his older brother. The Fat Lady was cursing him out for not having the password and being a Slytherin. Luckily, James heard the ruckus and ran to his aid. He was yelling for Sirius. 

“Sirius! Sirius, I need you!” James had never sounded so frantic, so panicky, “Sirius, now!”

Sirius threw the textbook on the floor. James’ voice reminded him of an alarm - crazed, loud, repetitive. The black-haired boy ran down the dorm steps, almost falling over his feet to see the portrait wide open. Everything went in a vignette, zoomed in and black around the edges. Immediately Sirius was pushing James off his little brother and embracing him tightly. 

“S- Sirius.”

Godric, he sounded so broken, “‘S okay, Reggie. ‘S okay. I got you. It’s me, Sirius. You’re safe here, Frère.”

“It- It hurts.” Regulus muttered, his voice shaky and helpless, “Need you.”

“You’re okay.” 

Sirius looked up into James’ worried hazel eyes, “C’mon. We’re bringing him up.”

“Are you mental?!”

“James, he’s my brother!”

James scowled, “He’s also a Slytherin!”

“He needs me. I’m not letting him go.” It was the first time Sirius’ voice had gone stern with James, “Either I’m sleeping out here with my brother, or you’re helping me bring him up to the dorm.”

“Fine, fine.” 

Sirius looked down at his brother, who was tucked under his chin, silver streams trailing down his flushed cheeks. His cheeks glistened with anguish and pain. His fists were balling the back of Sirius’ white button-up, tightly, stressed. 

“Reggie.” For the first time, Regulus didn’t cringe, and instead, he melted into Sirius’ warmth, “James and I are going to bring you into our dorm, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Gently Sirius helped him up, placing an arm around his shoulder. James put his other arm around his shoulder. Both boys helped the sixth year into the Gryffindor common room, getting multiple stares and glares. Regulus managed to up the stairs onto Sirius’ bed, a sniffling and trembling mess. 

James smiled gently at them, and Sirius sat beside Regulus on the edge of his bed, “What happened?”

“She- She forced me. I didn’t want to. Please, Sirius, I didn’t want this.”

“Want what?”

“She touched me.” Regulus whispered, and Sirius rubbed his back, “I- I didn’t want it….”

Sirius hesitated, “Did- Did mum have anything to do with this?”

Regulus nodded, and silent tears fell down his cheeks, “She- Mum, is the reason. I was supposed to be arranged to this woman but- but she did this and- and-“

“It’s too much.” Regulus wailed. 

Sirius held his brother close until he fell asleep. The trails of tears dried on his cheeks, and Sirius laid his head on the feathery pillow. The fleece comforter was placed over his wrinkled button-up, black pants, and socks. Regulus’ black curls contrasted the pillow, and his cheeks were a pale pink. Sirius had never felt so upset. 

Releasing a breath of air, he left the dorm room to go to the common room where the boys were sitting. James perked up, and Remus’ head was pulled into a book, a cup of tea on the table beside him. Peter was playing chess with a fellow Gryffindor across the room, not paying attention to anything but the checkered table before him. 

“Is he okay?” 

Sirius plopped beside James, “He will be.”

The silence was killing Remus to the point of his curiosity tipping over, “What happened exactly?”

“Some girl, my mum, arranged him with did something that he didn’t consent to.”

The teacup that was in Remus’ hand dropped to the carpeted floor, staining, “You’re shitting me?”

Regulus was in pain, physically and emotionally. Although the boys didn’t understand completely, they understood that Sirius’s time would be dedicated to his little brother. No matter what was going on in the wizarding world at present, Sirius’ time was needed with Regulus. 

It was nine months later. Thirty-nine weeks later. Two hundred and seventy-three days later. Left on the doorstep of the Noble House of Black’s residence was a baby girl. Orion and Walburga had left the house previously, leaving Regulus alone with Kreacher, their house elf. The baby girl was crying and helpless. 

His lifeless grey eyes met the young girl's e/c ones, and everything clicked. This was the product of his emotional pain in his sixth year. Regulus couldn’t deny the warmth in his heart looking at the young girl. Gently he leaned down to take her in his arms. A pink silk blanket wrapped around her to keep her warm despite the summer months. 

Once in his arms, the girls stopped crying. The warmth of his body and the softness in his eyes calmed her down. There was an envelope inside the baby blanket, which Regulus opened after placing the sleeping child on his lap. Essentially the letter was telling him to name the baby girl and her birthday. Along with now that the marriage was called off, she wanted nothing to do with him. 

Regulus threw the parchment to the side furiously. Despite his frustration, he picked up his daughter and smiled at her, “I dunno what to name you precious.”

The girl wrapped her hand around his thumb that had been caressing her cheek, “Y/n? I like that name.”

She smiled, and so did he, “You like that too, don’t you, précieux.”

Regulus placed a kiss on Y/n’s forehead, rocking her back and forth, “I love you so much.” 

During the school year, Y/n stayed with Sirius, who was overjoyed to stay with his niece. Regulus only saw his daughter one more time before he decided it was his end. Regulus knocked on Sirius’ flat, looking utterly exhausted. Sirius answered with a big smile on his face. 

“Heya Reggie!”

Regulus struggled to smile, “Hey, Siri.”

“Come on.” Sirius beckoned, “Y/n is sleeping, but you can see her if you’d like.”

He walked in to see a door open to a small room. Inside it was painted in a pale lavender color with white furniture. Regulus walked inside to find a crib with his one-year-old girl sleeping inside. She made this so much harder. Regulus didn’t want to do this, but he needed to do it if he wished Y/n to have a safe life. 

Regulus’ arms cradled his daughter to his chest, “I love you, précieux. I love you too much to express. I know that you’ll never remember me. I’m praying that Sirius will tell you about me.”

“You’re my baby girl. You’ll always be my baby girl.” Regulus’ eyes welled with tears, “And- And I’ll be with you no matter what.”

Y/n’s eyes opened, and she smiled, being cradled in her father's arms, “Dada?” 

Regulus had tears streaming down his face, and Sirius watched from the doorway, “Yes, hi petite fille.”

She giggled, and Regulus had the brightest smile on his face; he nuzzled his nose with hers, “Dada’s here, little girl.”

He spent an hour with her. The last sixty minutes of his freedom was spent cooing and coddling. Regulus wanted to engrave her beautiful e/c eyes in his head, her soft smile, smooth skin, and fuzzy hair. Regulus placed his daughter back in the crib and kissed her forehead one more time. 

Walking back out into the living room of the flat, he saw Sirius waiting for him. Regulus didn’t make any appoint to try and sit down. That’s how Sirius knew was something wrong. He released an air of breath and dried his tears. 

“Sirius, you may have to keep Y/n with you a little longer until it’s safe, okay?”

“‘Course Reggie.”

“If- If I don’t come back-“

“Don't say that, please.”

Regulus looked at his brother solemnly, “But it’s realistic.”

“Okay, just- try to make it back.” Sirius replied. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try.” He lied, “I- I want you to tell her about me, yeah?”

Sirius chuckled, “You’re her father, Regulus. I wouldn’t not tell her.”

“Don’t let her mum take her. I don’t care what she says Y/n will be in your care.”

Sirius nodded, “One- One more thing. This may sound stupid but, teach her French?”

“Teach her French? Why?”

“It’s how I used to talk to her before seventh year started. I want her to know how to speak it. French was something I enjoyed learning, something that kept me sane at our horror house.” Regulus confessed, “I want her to learn it.”

“If it means that much to you, Reggie.” Sirius replied, and Regulus nodded, “It does.”

“Then Y/n will learn French, after English.” 

“Good.”

Regulus began walking out the door when he felt arms around him from behind and a head in the crook of his neck, “Come back alive, okay?”

“I’m gonna try, Siri.”

He never came back alive. Regulus walked toward the entrance of that cave, knowing that today he was going to die. In the start, this was for Regulus to right his wrongs. Now it’s for his daughter. If anything, Y/n deserved a happy, exciting life. Not one of pain and suffering like Regulus had. 

The Daily Prophet the next day said everything it needed to, “REGULUS BLACK DECLARED DEAD.” This was it. Regulus had inevitably left his daughter and got himself killed. Sirius cried - sobbed - for his little brother who had a child. He wept for his niece, who would grow up not knowing her father. 

Ten years later, Y/n was getting ready for her first year at Hogwarts. Sirius had introduced baby Harry with one-year-old Y/n at the time where they became best friends. Harry was gravely disappointed at his best friend leaving but excited that he’d see her the following year. 

In the bathroom, Y/n was sitting in front of the mirror with Sirius behind her. Sirius was brushing her hair, not because she couldn’t do it but because Sirius didn’t really want to let her go. After setting the brush on the counter, he placed his hands on her shoulders, looking at her in the mirror. She looked so much like him. His hands twirled through her h/c hair. 

“You look like your father.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, “I- I do?”

“You do.”

“I don’t remember much from him.” Y/n stated, “I remember him calling me précieux, vaguely, which I know now is precious.”

Sirius chuckled, “He also made me teach you, French. It was one of his wishes before he- you know.”

“Why?”

“Learning French is a pure-blood thing. Regulus said it kept him sane.” Sirius answered, “I honored that even if I hated that language.”

It was silent for a while, “You know, sometimes when you’re angry, you just start ranting in French?”

“I don’t!”

Sirius laughed, “You do. You definitely do, amour.”

Y/n giggled, and Sirius began tickling her sides. Her laughter and smile were contagious, just like how Regulus’ was. Regulus had such an infectious laugh and beautiful smile. Sirius was almost glad Y/n inherited it. After tickling her, she melted into Sirius’ embrace, hugging him tightly. 

“Je t'aime, oncle Sirius.”

“Je t'aime aussi, amour.”

It was a system Sirius had created with her instead of saying, “Toujours Pur,” like his mother had made him and Regulus say. Y/n is what made him love French again. The way she swore in the language unintentionally. How she’d say the language like a native, just like her father. It meant everything to him. 

Years later. Y/n was in fifth year, and the Triwizard tournament members had just been called. Viktor Krum was called first. Then Fleur Delacour. Then Cedric Diggory. That was meant to be the finality, but nonetheless, Harry Potter’s name got called. As all the members walked into a room away from the Great Hall, Dumbledore began speaking to the worried children. 

One sentence stood out to Y/n particularly, “Help will always be given at Hogwarts for those who deserve it.”

It brought so much rage in her that she couldn’t help but speak, “That’s bullshit!”

Everyone stared with jaws slack, “My father deserved help! Hell, he needed to be saved, and here because of your bullshit, he died! My father is gone because of you and your shitty manipulative ways!”

“He may have been a death eater, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Godric, he needed saving! His own brother turned on him. So fuck you and fuck your stupid sayings. Because you aren’t a saint, and I don’t have to fall to your knees like a worthless soldier.”

Dumbledore was astonished by her attitude as she began leaving the Great Hall, “That's one hundred points from Gryffindor, Ms.Black!” McGonagall yelled. 

“Pardonnez mon français, mais je m'en fous.” Y/n yelled as she flicked off everyone in the room. 

Before she left, she turned around and faced everyone, “If anyone- and I mean anyone, touches, talks badly, or even remotely glares at Harry Potter, so help me, I won’t hesitate to hex you.”

[pesewla]

Thank you for the request, @bout-to-snap <3 

“This is why I don’t trust him!” Mu Qing fumed. “He’s literally the Lord of the Ghost Realm, Your Highness…”

Xie Lian allowed a small, relaxed smile to grace his lips. He was mediating a fight between Mu Qing, Feng Xin, and Hua Cheng for what seemed like the thousandth time. Though newly renovated, Puqi Shrine was still too small for these massive quarrels, and Xie Lian dreaded the property damage that would ensue if their swords were drawn.

Given all that had happened – the destruction of the heavens and defeat of Jun Wu – why were these three still at each other’s throats?

“I thought we were past this,” Xie Lian sighed. “We don’t get to see each other all the time, so can we please not fight?”

“Exactly, we don’t see get to see each other all the time, so can’t we talk to you in private?” Feng Xin said, fidgeting a little.

Xie Lian looked confused. “About what?”

“You expect me to walk away when you’ve just called me the scum of the earth?” Hua Cheng said coolly, examining his nails. “Gege, these servants are no good.”

“We’re not his servants!” Mu Qing exclaimed. Xie Lian thought it sounded like he was about to say “anymore” at the end, but cut off his speech abruptly, making the outburst awkward and clunky.

“Are you sure?” Hua Cheng asked skeptically. “Because when you’re with him, it’s like 800 years never happened, you can be his ever-most-loyal-servants again. The roleplaying is disgusting, and doesn’t absolve you from guilt.”

Xie Lian sensed the atmosphere in the shrine shift. He stepped forward again and raised his hands placatingly. “San Lang – “

“And what would you know?” Feng Xin demanded. “You can’t possibly understand what we’ve been through, at the time you were merely a mortal child.”

“I understand that you abandoned Dianxia when he was most vuln –“

“San Lang,” Xie Lian said. Hua Cheng’s lips instantly froze at the warning in Xie Lian’s tone; it was a lilt and a dangerous flavor that Xie Lian hardly used on anyone, and never on Hua Cheng.

“…”

“Why can’t they know, gege?” Hua Cheng asked softly. “Don’t you think they deserve to know? Frankly, their ignorance offends me.”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing had fallen silent, too, their faces both a few shades lighter. The word abandon seemed to always have that effect on them. Then Feng Xin regained his voice. “Ignor – know what? Taizi Dianxia, just what…”

Xie Lian had folded his arms, his mouth drawn into a line. “It’s old history,” he sighed. “There’s no need to bring things like this up. Do not shame me.”

“Shame you? When that came to visit you, he dismissed your fears as insan –“

Hua Cheng’s voice cut off for a moment, and the temperature in Puqi Shrine seemed to drop. Because, at that moment, an expression entirely foreign to Xie Lian flitted across his face: rage. Neither Mu Qing nor Feng Xin had seen him make that expression since his third ascension, and it didn’t suit him well.

It was gone as soon as it arrived, and Xie Lian’s characteristically peaceful smile returned in its stead. However, the faces of his two ex-subordinates were already white as sheets. Hua Cheng stepped toward, placing a hand on Xie Lian’s shoulder as if to hold him up.

“Dianxia, are you mad… at us?” Feng Xin whispered.

Xie Lian looked at him strangely, as if he had asked a very bizarre question indeed. “No… Not you.”

Hua Cheng snorted, as if he was thinking, too bad. Xie Lian’s face was soft. “In any case, I’m quite tired, so I think I will retire for the night. Please make yourselves at home.”

“Wh – you can’t – after –“ Mu Qing sputtered.

Feng Xin’s eyes were round. “Dianxia, does that mean… That time with White No-Face, when we were on the run… Was it really…?”

Xie Lian had started towards his chambers, but after being addressed, his shoulders tightened infinitesimally. Then, he turned back to the trio, his face still serene. “Yes.”

As if he’d been punched in the gut, Feng Xin slouched over. Mu Qing looked baffled.

“I didn’t tell you this because I knew you’d blame yourself. Yet, in the end, the only one who sinned was me. So, please, do not inquire further into this matter.”

With a nod and another smile, Xie Lian vanished into the back room, anxious to escape the conversation.

Feng Xin and Mu Qing were bursting with indescribable emotion. Some small part of Feng Xin fumed at Xie Lian for leaving them without explaining, but the rest of him just wallowed in a torrent of guilt, doubt, and self-questioning.

If the Taizi Dianxia wouldn’t tell them the truth, who would? Xie Lian had been abandoned with only his parents, who were long dead, so who besides him even knew what happened? The only people must be Jun Wu himself, and –

“Don’t look at me,” Hua Cheng rolled his eyes, leaning lazily against a chair. “I’m not going behind gege’s back for some backstabbing servants.”

“You’re the one who said we deserve to know,” Mu Qing argued.

“So? It’s gege’s story to tell, and he said no, so no.”

“How do you even know?”

Hua Cheng shrugged. “I was just ghost fire at the time. I had to watch.”

The corners of his eyes tightened, and a murderous look crossed his face. Unlike Xie Lian, his malice wasn’t bottled away, but instead broadcast for all to see.

“Watch what?” Feng Xin cried in anguish. “Why must you torture us?”

Hua Cheng snickered. “If only you knew your own irony.”

With that, he straightened and glided in Xie Lian’s direction, back towards the sleeping chambers.

“We – we’ll be back tomorrow!” Feng Xin and Mu Qing shouted at his receding back. Hua Cheng shrugged again.

//

That night, Hua Cheng was holding Xie Lian in his arms, and casually said, “Gege, this is what you did with Lang Qianqiu, too.” It wasn’t an accusation – it was never an accusation, just a comment.

Xie Lian exhaled. “I know.”

Hua Cheng’s voice grew husky. “Isn’t it enough that you suffered alone then, why must you be alone now, too? Why must you save everyone secretly, then endure their collective ridicule?” Then, “Is keeping it a secret truly doing anyone good?”

Xie Lian was silent. “Maybe I don’t have a good reason,” he finally said. “I don’t like thinking about it, really. I’m weak.”

“…”

“Although, looking back on it, I can’t believe that cute little ghost fire was you,” Xie Lian laughed. “You’d barely popped up and you already had a little cult following, so adorable!”

Hua Cheng grinned, but it was pained, like he couldn’t remember that period of his existence without discomfort. He said nothing, but his grip around Xie Lian tightened, like he was afraid of letting go.

Xie Lian noticed, and, after a beat of silence, shut his eyes. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

//

Feng Xin and Mu Qing would not give up. Day after day, they visited Xie Lian, demanding answers, so after months of heckling, Xie Lian finally agreed to explain what had happened all those years ago. When Xie Lian, Hua Cheng, Feng Xin, and Mu Qing sat down in Paradise Manor, Hua Cheng started talking first, trying to alleviate Xie Lian’s burden.

“…He’d wailed and screamed and cried and begged for mercy, but the people, having deemed him a sinner, continued without hesitation. Of course, his sinfulness was merely an excuse to save their own skin…”

“…After one hundred fatal strikes, Dianxia laid on his own altar, disfigured beyond recognition. Nothing more than a pile of flesh.”

Feng Xin was not the type to cry. So, when his eyes grew wet and then started streaming, Xie Lian hurriedly waved off Hua Cheng’s stone-faced words.

“Feng Xin, this was hundreds of years ago,” Xie Lian assured him, patting his shoulder. “It’s not sad anymore. Also, I’ve endured worse since then.”

This aggravated Feng Xin even further, and he looked like he wanted to cry some more. “I just can’t… when I imagine it, I can’t help it…”

“Trust me, whatever you’re imagining, it was five million times worse in real time,” Hua Cheng muttered darkly. He stared at Xie Lian with an odd expression, before languidly pulling him into his embrace.

Feng Xin looked like he wanted to rebuke, but in the end, could not. Thus, he motioned for the story to continue.

Xie Lian skimmed over his recovery period, the reformation of his flesh, and Feng Xin’s departure, but before he was in the clear, he was interrupted.

“So that’s why you asked me to leave?” Feng Xin said incredulously.

“There was no need to pull you down with me,” Xie Lian murmured.

“I thought you’d gone insane,” Feng Xin mumbled, nauseated. “I told your mother and father… I left you…”

Describing what happened to his parents was even harder, and when he finally got to saying how he’d put his own head in the noose, eyes filling with blood and collarbone cracking, Mu Qing jumped up.

“DAMN IT,” he roared, picking up a glass and shattering it against the nearest wall. “Damn it, damn it, damn it, Dianxia! What the actual fuck?”

Xie Lian peered at him. “Please don’t break San Lang’s things,” he tried.

“WHAT DO I FUCKING CARE? FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, TAIZI DIANXIA, HOW COULD YOU KEEP SOMETHING LIKE THIS FROM US?” Mu Qing was panting, and Feng Xin was staring off into space, eyes empty. “WE COULD’VE HELPED! IF I’D HAVE KNOWN, I’D HAVE –“

“Come back?” Xie Lian questioned lightly. “Followed me until the end?”

There was a deafening silence.

“No… I wanted you both to break free,” Xie Lian said. “You had a future.”

“SO DID YOU!” Feng Xin cried, broken from his trance. “Why… why did all this… why must it happen to you?”

“For that, I have no answer,” Xie Lian said. “But, if it had to happen to anyone, I’m glad it happened to me.”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing looked like they’d been shattered into a million pieces. Xie Lian said ruefully, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

Mu Qing rushed forward. “GODDAMN IT, THE FACT THAT I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT IT IS EVEN WORSE! WHY DIDN’T YOU ASK FOR HELP? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO USE US, RELY ON US, THAT WAS OUR FUCKING JOB AND WE…”

“At the time, you were ganging up with Middle Court lackeys to chase him out of spiritual lands,” Hua Cheng remarked icily, pulling Xie Lian closer to him.

Mu Qing appeared stupefied, like Hua Cheng had just slapped him. “San Lang!” Xie Lian admonished. Mu Qing sat back down.

Both Feng Xin and Mu Qing both looked like they wanted to protest more, but Xie Lian continued with the story before they could. When he described donning the white mask and preparing to unleash the Human Face Disease, both of them seemed to hold their breath. Hua Cheng described his rebirth as a ghost soldier, following Xie Lian’s commands but never believing that he would truly commit the atrocity.

Feng Xin was regarding him with something that almost looked like newfound respect, but Mu Qing turned his head.

The rest was all downhill from there. He described laying on the pavement for days on end, and the one farmer who’d salvaged his faith in human goodness.

“To anyone else, thousands of onlookers ignoring your pain and suffering before one did anything shouldn’t reinforce your faith in anything…” Mu Qing muttered.

Xie Lian pressed forward, practically sprinting through the unleashed Human Face Disease, taking the brunt of the curses, and then Hua Cheng dying for him for the second time. He talked about ascending into heaven, and asking Jun Wu to punish him for his wrongdoings using banishment and cursed shckles.

“…DIANXIA?!?” Feng Xin gasped. “IT WASN’T A MURDEROUS RAMPAGE?”

“Nope!” Xie Lian said cheerily, relief crossing his face as if he was pleased to be done talking.

Mu Qing’s face darkened, and he started swearing again. “I WAS FUCKING WONDERING HOW SOMEONE AS TALENTED AS YOU SPENDS 800 YEARS TRYING TO ASCEND, IT WAS ON FUCKING PURPOSE? FUCKING FUCK, I WANT TO STRANGLE SOMETHING! SOMEONE GIVE ME SOMETHING TO BREAK!” He clomped off in a random direction.

Feng Xin’s face looked shadowed over, too. “Here I was wondering how you suddenly had such bad luck. As Crown Prince, you’d never had something so egregious. Now, learning that you asked for it… it all makes sense.” His hands were clenched into tight fists, and his words turned into cries. “Why… why… why… for 800 years, we felt… we waited, we were waiting, for something, and we thought maybe you’d died, or gone crazy, or vanished… We…”

Xie Lian had approached him, and put both hands on his shoulders. It was an old, but familiar gesture, and Feng Xin’s heart immediately squeezed with pain and regret. He was at a loss for words, and everything seemed wretched.

“Feng Xin, I understand your anguish,” Xie Lian said softly. “But I became very close to becoming that thing which I swore to destroy. And, to be honest, at that point I didn’t care much for godhood. I lost everything because of godhood. What I couldn’t stand to lose was myself, not to that monster, not to anyone. So, please understand. I’m sorry I hurt you, but it was necessary.”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO FUCKING GOOD?” Mu Qing roared, coming to stand next to Feng Xin. “WHY CAN’T YOU EVER BE SELFISH?”

Xie Lian chuckled, and Mu Qing covered his mouth, as if the words had escaped by their own volition. “…I wasn’t being good, I was scared.”

Mu Qing swore more. Feng Xin, on the other hand, fell to his knees, his shoulders trembling. So, Xie Lian acted on impulse, pulling Mu Qing down to the ground, too. Xie Lian then wrapped one arm around Feng Xin, and the other around Mu Qing, enveloping the both of them in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian murmured again, trying to control their trembling. He couldn’t tell, at this point, if it was only Feng Xin, or if it was Mu Qing too.

“We failed. I failed,” Feng Xin said, and his voice was raw with agony. “Why are you apologizing?”

“It wasn’t fair to either of you… but I loved you very much, and it was like you were shackled to a man descending to the bottom of a lagoon. If I didn’t remove your chains, you would’ve drowned too.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, holy shit, I’m so sorry,” Feng Xin said, almost gasping through the words. He looked as though someone had drawn a sword across his Adam’s apple, and he was choking through the blood. “Taizi Dianxia, I’m sorry. I failed.”

“Don’t be so damn self-sacrificing, Your Highness.” It was Mu Qing, this time, and he wasn’t struggling against the embrace. “Every single fucking time. Disgusting. How can we even stop you? Something like this. Damnit.”

“I’m a bit tougher than I look,” Xie Lian assured him. “Drowning is no big deal. Pain will subside. Embarrassment will fade. And look, I’m very happy now.”

From somewhere far away, Hua Cheng laughed slightly. However, even Mu Qing and Feng Xin, who weren’t well acquainted with him, could hear that it was laced with pain, too.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to stay with you,” Feng Xin said. “I wanted to stay, I trusted you unequivocally, you’re my world. But it scared me…”

Xie Lian smiled. “I know. You didn’t have to say anything. Ever since you came to help me at Yu Jun Mountain, I’ve known. And I’m grateful.”

“Stop being so damn forgiving.” Mu Qing’s voice was muffled by Xie Lian’s robes.

“Why? I forgive you.” Mu Qing and Feng Xin seemed to collapse in on themselves. So Xie Lian repeated, “I forgive you.”

No one moved for a long time. The trembling intensified. “You’re so damn forgiving,” Mu Qing mumbled. “It doesn’t mean a thing…”

And yet, they were not willing to break away.

Even after 800 years, Mu Qing and Feng Xin didn’t think that they would ever get used to being dazzled by the Crown Prince.

[writersmorgue]

Nightmare Material

15+ for graphic descriptions of violence, blood, and gore

can be read as slash or platonic

not proofread

-

“SHUT UP DEKU! OH MY GOD, CAN YOU BE QUIET FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES?!”

The common room goes silent.

“Woah, Bakubro, he just asked if you were busy,” Kirishima chuckles nervously.

Katsuki looks over to Deku who, as expected, already has tears welling in his eyes.

“Shitty crybaby, of course I’m busy can’t you fuckin’ see? Go bother someone who cares.”

Deku sniffles like the pathetic little child that he is, and nods, “Ok Kacchan.”

“Fuckin’ annoying ass-” Katsuki mutters, ignoring the glares as he stomps out of the room. Taking the stairs two at a time before slamming the door shut behind him, imagining the flinches of his classmates as he does so.

Fuck that fucking nerd, always looking down at him. Asking him for help on math of all things, when he fuckin’ knows that’s Katsuki’s worst subject. Fuck him.

The little shit shouldn’t even be here, he’s not on Katsuki’s level. Just gonna get himself killed.

After a few minutes of grumbling into his pillow, there’s a knock at Katsuki’s door, followed by a meek, “Blasty?”

He groans dramatically and flops over onto his back, propelling himself up with a few controlled explosions.

“Fuckin’ what-” He swings the door open and comes face to face with the entire idiot squad.

Sero, Kirishima, Mina, and Kaminari all stand in front of him, Sero nervously wringing his hands, Kaminari avoiding eye contact, and Kirishima giving him a look.

Mina steps to the front of them, patting Kirishima’s shoulder as she does so.

“Blasty, you really gotta stop.” She stares him straight in the eyes, not backing down no matter how hard he glares.

“Stop fuckin’ what.”

Kirishima places a hand on Mina’s chest, stalling her step forward into Katsuki’s space. “You know what, Bakugo.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, “Oh please, like the little shit can’t handle some yelling. I’ve seen discount hot topic make his ears bleed-”

“This isn’t about Jirou. This is about you. You need to sort your shit out.” Sero’s frowning, a rare sight.

“Oh?” Katsuki quirks an eyebrow, “Or what?”

There’s a tense silence before Kaminari sniffs. “Or- or we won’t be your friends anymore!!” He stutters, bottom lip wobbling.

The rest of the group nods, one by one giving him a last glance.

Katsuki stands there for a few minutes, mainly thinking, but also fuming

How dare they treat him like that, like trash. He’s not trash, and he’s not the bad guy. He’s just trying to save Deku before it’s too late. Stupid idiot won’t last a day in the hero business, even with his new freak quirk. All it’s good for is hurting the nerd.

“Stupid Deku and his stupid protection squad, fuckin’ blind idiots.” He grumbles, slamming the door and returning to his lair.

He changes his clothes, resigning himself to finishing his weekend at the gym instead of on next week’s homework.

Bakugo stomps through the common room on the way to their practice room, a few of his classmates shoot him glares but he’s ignored for the most part. Something noticeably purposeful since he’s not exactly being quiet. Even Kirishima refuses to acknowledge his presence.

Yeah, that hurts.

He runs for two hours, lifts for one, and finishes with core for thirty minutes before his post-workout cooldown ritual. Thoroughly satiated and tired to the bone, he heads back to his dorm. Ignored this way too, he doesn’t bother saying goodnight to anyone. Not that he would usually. Not that he misses Ashido’s “Night blasty!!” on his way up the stairs.

He doesn’t give a shit.

He scrubs at his body with his last bits of energy and brushes his teeth half dead on his feet. Exhausted, he flops down on his bed and passes out almost immediately.

…

Someone’s screaming.

Katsuki lunges toward Shigaraki, whose hand barely grazes Izuku’s neck.

Izuku? When did he ever call the nerd something other than-

“DEKU!!!” Oh, he was the one screaming. He blasts himself forward and pushes Izuku out of the way, his dusted skin flaking off into the breeze as green hair skids to a stop on the ground below.

“Damn BRAT-” Shigaraki mutters, angrily scrunching his hand in mid-air before turning his attention to Katsuki. “YOU.” He points a cracked, pointed finger at Katsuki.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it old man?” He snorts, preparing his arms to blast again, he can feel the resistance from his last jump.

“You saved the little shit,” Shigaraki mutters to himself, nails dragging roughly down his neck, “must have a relationship, must be close to my enemy. Must die-”

Katsuki raises his hand, palms crackling in defiance, but he’s geared to go anyway.

Nothing happens.

“Fuck goddamnit!” His one fucking chance to get a drop on the guy and he’s out of juice? Fucking really?!

He’s so caught up in his fury he doesn’t notice the mad glint in the enemy’s eye. The way he smiles brokenly, bloody tongue barely peeking out.

“Poor little hero.” He mutters.

Katsuki jerks his head up just in time to see five fingers inches away from his face.

Well, this was fun.

“KATSUKI-” There’s pressure on his side and he falls, belatedly realizing he was pushed out of the way.

He looks hits the ground hard, hearing the reverberated snap of his ankle as it breaks.

“FALL HERO!! FALL BEFORE ME! YOUR NEW GO-”

Shigaraki falls to the ground as Todoroki whacks him over the head with a piece of rebar.

HIs normally stoic expression is frantic, he’s got fresh tears streaking down his face, and his forehead is covered in dried blood.

He tears his eyes away from the downed villain as Kirishima comes to cuff him, and screams in anguish at the sight of Izuku- Something Katsuki is still trying to wrap his head around.

A startled, almost pained sound escapes Katsuki as he half limps, half runs towards his best friend.

...best friend?

“IZUKU!”

Izuku has long since crumbled to his knees, clutching what remains of the left side of his face. Still slowly crumbling away. Blood pours down his arm and neck, making it difficult to see, but the sight of his eye frantically widening as Katsuki sits next to him is enough.

He removes his hand and sobs, throwing himself onto Katsuki.

“Eih- hgo-” He chokes, blood soaking Katsuki’s own suit as he rocks them both.

“Shh, it’s okay, Izuku.” He whispers, making eye contact with a sobbing Todoroki, who nods in approval.

“Izuku you’re gonna be fine.” The shock has yet to remove itself from Katsuki’s voice, and his words are filled with cracks and sobs, but he hopes it’s what Izuku needs.

“Aa- aah” Izuku’s broken kacchan followed by a fresh flow of blood down Katuski’s neck.

“I love you, Izuku. It’s gonna be alright.”

Izuku whimpers, clutching onto the blond’s neck for dear life.

And then he goes limp.

Katsuki’s eyes bug out, and he pulls Izuku arm’s length away. The gruesome sight that greets him is one he’ll never forget.

Izuku’s left eye hangs loosely down the side of his mangled cheekbone and jaw. Katsuki can see teeth starting to crumble as the decay works its way through his face. His nose is completely exposed, with no flesh left. No cute freckles. No scrunch when he smiles. And his other eye, possibly the worst part, stares lifelessly at Katsuki. The last remnants of tears make their way down his face.

He looks… terrified.

He died scared in the arms of his abuser. Someone who never even apologized to him. For fucking anything. Some vile part of Katsuki reminds him.

He saved me because I couldn’t do my fucking job.

He thrusts Izuku’s lifeless body into Shouto’s arms, who lets out a heartwrenching sob. Katsuki scrambles back, and can vaguely register the sound of pink cheeks vomiting behind him.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-” becoming increasingly more desperate with each utterance of the word, “FUCK!” Kirishima comes up behind him, picking him off the dust-covered ground and holding him to his chest. “This is all my fault!!!” He wails, “He fucking saved me, I couldn’t- this isn’t right no no NO-”

“Shhhh Katsuki-” Eijirou soothes him through his own tears, always the constant in Katsuki’s life. Well, after Deku.

Deku Deku Deku.

Dead Deku.

Because of you.

Katsuki takes another good look at Deku’s face where Shouto had freaked and discarded him on the ground. The unnatural bend of his arms, the bloody drool escaping his parted- if you can even call that a mouth anymore, his eyes.

And he screams.

He screams and he screams and he screams until someone shakes him so hard he wakes up.

Wait-

“BAKUGO!!! WAKE UP PLEASE-” Shitty hair screams at him, shaking his shoulders desperately as he thrashes in his sheets.

He stills, staring up at Kirishima with a shocked expression.

“Wh-”

“You were having a nightmare,” Kirishima explains, gasping for breath like he just ran a marathon.

Katsuki looks to the doorway where half of the boys in their class stand, expressions varying from worried to shocked.

He looks back at Kirishima, a pitiful whimper escaping his throat, “It- it wasn’t real?”

Katsuki looks to the door, half expecting to see Izuku there.

Missing an ear, you can see his tongue through his cheek.

Katsuki gulps, “Where’s Izuku?” He murmurs into the quiet room.

“Izuku?” Someone in the hallway mutters.

“Uh,” Kirishima catches himself before he can say something dumb, “Izu?- Uh- Midoriya is probably in his room. Didn’t think you’d want him here, but he knows. You kinda woke up the whole dorm.”

Kirishima has barely finished the sentence before he’s jumping out of bed, pajamas be damned, and sprinting toward the stairs. When he gets to Izuku’s floor he makes a hard right, Icyhot shouting something about being nice behind him.

Katsuki can yell at him later.

Running gives him time to think, and the more Katsuki thinks the more he realizes that his nightmare might as well have been a prophecy. Izuku would pull some martyr shit like that, but it was only Katsuki’s fault in the first place that he was put in that situation. He’s the only one to blame. Izuku had done everything right, and Katsuki managed to fuck it up.

Hollow socket, tendons hanging, blood turning his green suit a muddied brown.

Katsuki knocks on the door frantically, scared about what he’ll see when Izuku answers.

There’s some rustling from inside before Izuku peeks out, green curls messy from sleep.

“Wh- I thought Aoyama said you were having a nightmare.” His eyebrows furrow.

“I was,” Katsuki breathes, taking in how whole his rival is. “But it wasn’t real.”

He reaches out hesitantly and brushes an unruly lock of green out of Izuku’s left eye.

“Everything’s where it should be-” He chuckles almost in bewilderment.

He drags his fingers gently down Izuku’s cheek, tracing where the decay had rotted away skin, now whole.

A few of the classmates who followed him gasp in surprise when Katsuki clutches Izuku’s shoulders and buries his face in soft green hair. Completely breaking down as he sobs.

Izuku freezes, terrified of ruining the moment, even though he really wants to ask someone what the fuck is happening.

He gives Kirishima a questioning look as he hesitantly rubs along Katsuki’s back.

The redhead just shrugs.

“I’m sorry Izuku.”

Aaaand the damn breaks.

Izuku sobs as Katsuki clutches him tighter, their friends begin to awkwardly back out of the hallway after witnessing whatever that was.

“Wh- Kacchan?” He pulls away reluctantly, but he needs to see Katsuki’s face.

The blond’s eyes are red and puffy, same as his cheeks, but he’s dead serious.

“I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve any of the shit I put you through, you’re a really good guy.” He heaves in a breath, “And- I know you’ll be a great hero someday.”

“Kacchan… why?”

Katsuki looks away, “I just- thought about some things,” He doesn’t mention that the thinking involved seeing his classmate’s bloodied corpse, “realized how full of myself I am. You really did just want help on that math homework, huh?” He huffs, shaking his head at his past self.

“I did. What else would I have wanted?”

Katsuki sniffs, angrily rubbing at his eyes, “I don’t know, Izuku. I’m a fucking idiot.”

Izuku smiles sadly, “All I’ve ever wanted is to be your friend, Kacchan.

The blond nods, “Yeah, I think I see that now. Can- can we still do that? Be friends?”

Izuku beams, rubbing his own tears away and pulling Katsuki into another tight hug.

“There’s nothing I want more, Katsuki.”

[jaskiersvalley]

Meet The Parents

Over on The Bog on Discord, there is a cursed Shrek channel. The idea for this fic was encouraged there and, well, 1.5k later, I have so many regrets, this is definitely what I'd call a shrekcident. All I can say is that writing Shrek and Fiona is really really difficult!

@dapandapod, @thecomfortofoldstorries and @fontegagrilledcheese I think you all asked to be tagged when this is up?

Meet The Parents

There had been several letters from back home, suggesting Jaskier return and brings his lovely travelling companion. It was, without a doubt, Jaskier’s mother writing the letters, she had always had a better grasp on courtly things than his father. Truth be told, it was no secret that the Count of Lettenhove absolutely hated ruling and would much rather spend his time out and about. There were several swamps in Lettenhove that he claimed needed his very dedicated attention. The fact Jaskier’s mother went along with him was no surprise. Despite her upbringing, she was quite fond of a swamp or two too.

“It’s another letter,” Jaskier sighed, flicking it into the fire in the inn. “I don’t understand why they are so insistent on me bringing you home. I mean, they’ve never been interested in previous love interests before. Probably because they’ve all held titles and had standards.” Geralt grunted, eyes fixed on the small alchemy set up he had going on the table. It didn’t deter Jaskier as he carried on. “Mother thinks you and father might get on well once you get past the initial shock of meeting.”

“I can’t imagine anyone being over the moon to meet a Witcher. Especially not one that their darling son is fucking.”

“Well, quite. Father had a couple of run ins with Witchers in his youth. Not all of them were pleasant. But I’m sure you can change his mind.” Jaskier hummed to himself as he thought. “Plus Mother was a cursed princess so you might find some common ground with her. And did I mention my uncle? I spent a lot of time with him growing up, he was really patient, letting me learn to walk by clinging to him. Anyway, he and his dragon-”

“Dragon?” Naturally Geralt perked up at that. “You should have started with that. We’re going to Lettenhove.”

Naturally Geralt had assumed the worst. As if anyone related to Jaskier would be able to keep a dragon against her will. His family was just too nice! But Geralt would learn that fact for himself in a few short weeks when they arrived at Jaskier’s ancestral castle. It was a castle, not a mansion, well kept, if a little more shabby than most. There were overgrown bushes around it and Geralt could have sworn the small of a sulphuric swamp drifted on the winds. They marched up the stairs, everything eerily quiet until the door burst open to reveal two menacing figures.

“Ogres!” Geralt shoved Jaskier behind himself, a snarl on his lips and ready to fight. “I believe this is the Count and Countess of Lettenhove’ residence. What are you doing here?”

“Witcher!” The male ogre spat. “Nothing good has ever come of your kind. You’re not making us move.”

From behind Geralt, Jaskier sprang forwards. “Mother! Father!” He embraced the ogres before being almost bowled over by a donkey. “Uncle!”

“You call this a greeting? This is how you say hello to your favourite uncle? What have I got to do before I get a hug from my favourite nephew?” The donkey looked to the side where the ogres were still staring and turned to see what the issue was. “That’s a Witcher. Oh, that’s your Witcher! That’s a nice Witcher.”

That seemed to pull Jaskier back into the moment and he stood up, clearing his throat. “Right, Mother, Father, Uncle, this is Geralt of Rivia. Geralt, my family.”

Vesemir would be so ashamed if he ever found out how Geralt reacted. All the years spent drilling manners into Geralt’s head were for naught.

“How?!”

“Well,” the donkey said into the stunned silence, “when one ogre loves another ogre and they’re into experimenting with potions-”

“Donkey!” Jaskier’s parents cried in unison before his mother continued. “Please excuse Donkey. I’m Fiona, this is Shrek. And to answer your question, ogres and humans had different anatomy. We got curious, had potions to change temporarily and, well, Jaskier happened during those three days.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to hiss, “Mother! Please don’t tell Geralt about your kinky sex lives.”

“Yes, Eskel told me about ogre anatomy and the differences in rather too much detail,” Geralt grumbled.

“Eskel fucked an ogre?”

“It was an orgy actually - though he insisted on calling it an ogre-y. Said he couldn’t get the mud from the swamp out of certain places for over a week.”

As far as first impressions went, Geralt didn’t think he could have done any worse. But he was being ushered in all the same, Donkey already chattering away about the inane things that had happened since Jaskier last visited. It left Geralt in the rather silent company of Shrek while Fiona led the way.

“Dinner’s at seven,” Shrek gritted out and Geralt hummed in acknowledgement which garnered a grunt in reply.

“Oh my word, you’re marrying your father,” Donkey cried at Jaskier, head snapping to look between Shrek’s retreating back and Geralt standing in the hallway as Fiona opened a door.

“Don’t mind him-” Whatever else she was saying went over Geralt’s head because he caught up with Donkey’s words. Just what was that about marrying?!

They stepped into the room and Jaskier let out a wail of anguish. “Mother! Two beds, really?”

“Just be glad Shrek let you even share a room. But I couldn’t talk him out of having Mirror on the wall.”

“Hello,” the enchanted mirror called. “Please don’t rearrange the room or do anything untoward, I really rather wouldn’t see those kinds of things.”

Geralt closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths. This was fine, he could do this, there was a dragon somewhere around and he was duty bound to make sure she was free. He regretted such a decision by the evening. There was indeed a dragon who lived at the castle but she refused to take a human form, far too happy and, of all things, in love with Donkey, enough to have a clutch with him Dragon-Donkey babies were terrifying, Geralt had ascertained, menaces, taking their temperament from their father while their mother gifted them with wings and the ability to breathe fire. Suddenly, Geralt understood why there were never any contracts in the area. The locals befriended every creature, monster and anything in between. And any they couldn’t? Well, ogres and dragons could easily keep things in check.

Once the shock of it all had worn off, Geralt could actually focus on eating. Other than Jaskier, there seemed to be no one who cared for things like utensils.

“Please, Mother, Father, at least try to have some manners?” Jaskier looked pleadingly at his parents. His only response was Fiona letting out quite the impressive belch before high fiving Shrek.

The sound of small, pattering feet caught Geralt’s attention. He looked at Shrek and Fiona before trying to find the source of the sound. This seemed like the kind of company that would appreciate his party trick with a fork. A hand around his wrist stopped him.

“Not the Three Blind Mice. They’re friends.”

Almost disappointed, Geralt settled back to finish his surprisingly hearty meal. It wasn’t the usual fair of courts, this was more about being filling and warm rather than showing off all the money that went into making tiny portions full of expensive spices. However, it certainly helped set Geralt at ease.

“So, when’s the wedding?” The small amount of peace was shattered by Shrek asking around a mouthful. It had Jaskier shrieking while the rest of his family watched him, frozen in place but not exactly surprised. More like they were patiently waiting for him to be done. Shrek shrugged. “I thought you were bringing your Witcher home to get married. Isn’t that how it usually goes in fairytales?”

“That’s only princes and princesses,” Donkey cut in. “You have a viscount. They don’t have to get married. Unless…?”

“I’m not proposing,” Geralt blurted out. There was a collective groaning sigh from the table, some of it relief, some of it disappointment and Geralt didn’t know just how offended he should be. He didn’t expect Jaskier to loudly but delicately put his cutlery onto his plate to make in clink pointedly.

“Good. Because I wanted to be the one to propose. On my own terms. In my own time. Mother, do you still have the ring? I think I will take it with us. Might eventually use it.”

Donkey gasped. “Not the One Ring?”

“No!” Jaskier sounded exasperated. “We all know what happened to cousin Gollum with that one. I don’t have any wishes to lose my hair because of that. I meant Grandmother’s ring. I doubt Grandfather’s would be very useful.” He turned to Geralt. “Grandfather was turned into a frog. His ring is rather tiny as a result.”

Of course Jaskier had ogres for parents and a frog for a grandfather. He still took after his uncle the most by the sounds of things. Given how Donkey hadn’t stopped making noises, whether it was humming or popping his lips, it was incessant. Geralt felt he now understood Jaskier a whole lot better. And, when the time came, if Jaskier did offer him a ring, Geralt had zero reservations about the knowledge that he would say yes. But the wedding was going to be at Kaer Morhen, he was going to have to insist on that.

[maplecornia]

chapter 9

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.61K

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

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

𝔞/𝔫: this chapter makes me laugh, especially the scene with Jojo and Namjoon.

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

tags:@kookaine |@fangirl125reader |@kookiebbyxx |@taradevonne

You’ve been waiting for an hour.

Tilting your head back, you sigh, extremely bored.

You've tried everything you could think of to bypass the time. Reading, writing, watching YouTube, then switching over to Netflix, even attempting to doze in the slightly uncomfortable waiting room chair.

None of them have worked.

Currently, you're doodling in your sketchbook, but no concrete idea comes to mind for the sketch. Leaving you with tiny flowers, faces, and body parts on the page as though it were a practice sheet.

Peering over the sketchbook, you scan the room for any sign of life, but as the day has dragged on, so has the crowd.

You don't see any sign of Kim Namjoon anywhere, and the receptionist hasn't called you over ever since you turned in the forms she gave you. Uninterested, your eyes glazing over, you pull out your phone, peering at the time.

12:30 pm.

Heaving a sigh, you tilt your head back, the music playing through your GalaxyBuds. Yet it does no good to lift your spirits.

You suppose it's only fair, you made him wait, now it's his turn.

Setting your phone down once more, you purse your lips, as your gaze falls on a flower swaying in the wind outside.

It's the only flower you can see amongst the bush. It stands almost forlornly in the midst of multiple of its fellow brethren withered around it. Still, it stands strong, unwilling to fall victim to the harsh weather outside.

A thought crossing your mind, you turn to your sketchbook, quickly turning the page and beginning a vigorous sketch before you lose your idea.

Unbeknownst to you, as you progress halfway through the sketch, Kim Namjoon bursts into the lobby, looking out of breath and flustered.

He wears a bright white T-shirt, one with a small black Nike emblem across his left pectoral muscle. It hangs sort of loose around his neck, his collarbone visible as cooling sweat causes him to glisten like a bright star.

It's not as noticeable, considering that he wears a thick black sweatshirt zipped down around his shoulders. It's simple, with thin white stripes running down the sleeves and white soft underlining to it.

The black sweats he wears seem to fit with the outfit, the same white stripes running down each pant leg. Each piece of clothing has a Nike emblem on it and pairs well with the white Nike AirForces he wears on his feet.

They’re simple but rich clothes and bring to mind the same clothes Jungkook was wearing before.

The cooling sweat on his skin and the way his hair falls a bit messily underneath his cap could lead to the presumption that they were doing a major dance practice before all of this.

No matter the case, he didn't expect the meeting to take this long, and he feels terrible for making you wait, despite everything. As he looks for any sign of you, he doesn't find any.

Worried that you have already left, he knocks on the front desk, gathering the attention of the receptionist that helped you earlier. Kim Jojo raises her head, and as she catches sight of RM, her eyes widen just the slightest bit, but not enough for him to notice.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Namjoon, what can I--”

“Yes, yes hello.” Namjoon interrupts her, too panicked to care about formalities.

He wants to catch you before you get tired of waiting and leave. First impressions are everything to him, and if he has a bad one…Shaking the worry away, he leans forward over the counter separating the receptionist from him and she flinches away at the sudden closeness.

RM either doesn't notice or doesn't care, but either way, he meets her with an intent stare, every word uttered from his lips urgent and careful.

“Has anyone by the name of Lin Yen come in?” The receptionist opens her mouth to respond but before she can say anything, he holds up a finger.

A thought having crossed his mind, he reaches into his back pocket, bringing out his phone. He tries to bring up the picture of you while Jojo stands there, half in shock, half in annoyance. As soon as he finds it, he lets out a little victory shout, one that startles her.

Grinning, he presents it to her, and she peers at a strange picture of you. After she looks at it, Jojo pulls back, her brows crinkling in confusion.

“She looks like this. If she came in, could you please tell me? I've been waiting since 8:00 this morning to meet her.” Jojo sighs, trying to gain her composure before responding.

“Mr. Namjoon--” she begins, but Namjoon interrupts once more.

“She’s my new assistant, you see, and I need to begin her training today. She needs to know the ropes before our busy season comes back around.” He explains, pulling the phone back and trying to pocket it once more.

Instead, he ends up knocking over a container filled with an assortment of pens and pencils. Surprised, he fumbles to pick it up but ends up spilling it all over the floor. Cursing under his breath, he reaches down to pick up some pencils that have fallen.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Jojo picks up the container, righting it on the counter with a loud thud. Startled, RM glances up at her eyes wide, and she smiles sweetly.

“Please, just leave it.” She says between her teeth. He shrugs, almost reluctantly standing. She sighs in relief, carefully putting the pens and pencils back in their place.

“Now...Mr. Namjoon, please listen--” once more, she cannot finish, Namjoon unable to shut up to save his life.

“I’m sorry, but if you need any more information on her I could--”

“Kim Namjoon!” This time it's Jojo's turn to interrupt him, her patience finally wearing thin.

RM instantly falls silent, a bit surprised at the outburst.

Jojo takes a steadying breath before continuing.

“Now, the person you are talking about has already come in. I told her you were in a meeting and had her wait in the waiting room for you to return.” At the information, RM turns to the waiting room where he catches sight of you for the first time in real life.

He notices you vigorously sketching out your idea. Smiling, he can't help but smile at the familiarities he finds in you. You look exactly like the picture Jaejin sent, despite how weird it was.

“I had expected to receive a notice of your return, so I could send her to you, but now that you're here….” Namjoon turns away from you and flashes his contagious smile at Jojo who is once more taken aback.

“Thank you,” Namjoon says with gratitude, reaching across the desk and holding her hand as he bows before turning away.

Jojo, watching him go, turns beet red before collapsing behind the desk in exhaustion. Another fellow receptionist cries out with alarm before tending to her in concern.

You, once more, having no awareness of the events happening around you, continue to sketch. Having finished the rough sketch you begin to define every line, detail, and curve. As you work, you bite the inside of your cheek, sometimes licking your lips in your trance of concentration.

When you're lost in your mind of imagination and creativity, nothing from the outside world can distract you.

And yes, that also includes a very tall, very real version of Kim Namjoon striding towards you.

You don't look up as he comes within a few feet in front of you. You don't even notice as he bends to your eye level, trying to catch your attention. It doesn't break your concentration, even as you reach for an eraser, lightly humming to the music playing in your ears. He smiles, almost laughing at your concentration before he covers his mouth, trying to be quiet so that you don't notice he’s there.

Trying to tease you, he carefully (as much as he’s able) sits down next to you. He was planning on pulling out one of your GalaxyBuds and surprising you, but as he catches a glimpse of your work, he’s stopped cold.

It's breathtaking.

You have created an awestruck image of a woman, on her knees. She wails out in agony as she sits amongst a pile of ash, flecks of it falling around her as though there's a fire burning nearby.

However, that’s not what catches Namjoon’s eye.

Amongst the ash, if anyone looks closely, they'll be able to see that there are small, scattered remains of bones hidden.

She sits amongst them, wailing, the look on her face one of pure anguish and sorrow as the ash from the fading bones stains her skin and her dress.

As though she has lost everyone she’s held, dear.

RM can't seem to look away, entranced by the grotesque beauty of the image and the talent of the artist.

He admires the way you set it up, the way you created the girl imperfectly, but still real. Because after all, who in real life is perfect? As he watches your pencil move expertly across the page, he can't help but think that with each stroke, the creation grows more and more lifelike.

As though she were truly crying out in the pain her heart brings. As though she were alive and breathing.

Almost against his wishes, his hand reaches out to touch the paper, if only to make sure that the actual sketch is truly a mere fabrication of pencil and paper.

As his fingers graze the parchment, that is when you snap out of your concentration.

Eyes widening, you jolt up straight, immediately turning to look at your side.

As soon as your eyes meet Namjoon’s, his hand flinches off the paper. He lets out a soft gasp as he flinches away, surprised by your sudden attention.

Just like with Jungkook, you're frozen in place.

Unable to move.

Unable to function.

Unable to speak.

And just like Jungkook, Namjoon is the same way.

But for a different reason.

He was caught in the act, and he doesn't know what to do.

Your eyes hold him in a sort of bind.

For a moment he forgets what he was doing there, he forgets what his purpose is, for a moment he even forgets why you are there.

For a split second, it's just you and him in a pocket in space.

Your eyes holding his, his eyes holding yours.

Kim Namjoon.

The leader of BTS. The first member of the group you have grown to love. Talented, handsome, a practical genius, he is just as mature and intimidating as you expected him to be.

Despite how close the two of you are sitting, he still seems larger than life, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even real.

He doesn't seem like it after all.

His skin seems too real, too perfect. His hair is too soft, too smooth. His eyes are too warm and too brown.

Almost exactly like the milky chocolate brown you’ve seen so often in so many photos, except for one thing.

As you stare into them, you can see life so clearly alight in them. How they reveal so many emotions at the same time. There are so many that it's almost impossible to read them at all. Serene and peaceful, they are poets' eyes.

So emotional, yet so mysterious and secretive at the same time.

Dreamboat eyes.

“Kim Namjoon?” you whisper, almost unsure if it's him or not.

As you do, his face makes that mixed expression between confusion and amusement as he chuckles softly, looking away and breaking the connection. Holding his hand up to his mouth, he nods, clearing his throat, but not saying anything for a moment.

“Yes, that's who I am, and you must be...Lin Yen?” your heart jumps at the fact that he knows your name.

Speechless, all you can do is nod mutely as he utters another adorable chuckle, one that always seems to remind you of Goofy.

“Jaejin didn't tell me you were an artist.” As soon as he says that, you notice that your sketchbook is still open, and showcasing your imperfect, unready sketch.

Panicking, you fumble to get it closed. Blushing, you hug it tightly to your chest, as though it could erase the fact that he just got a sneak peek into your very soul.

“What's wrong? It was good!” RM asks, worried.

Biting your bottom lip in trepidation, you shake your head, hiding your face.

“Don't lie….” you mumble.

You know it wasn't close to being done, and it wasn't nearly as perfect as it could have been. You're quite disappointed in it at the moment. You feel as though it was too rushed due to the many ideas pouring out from your brain at the exact moment.

As you take an ashamed peek at Namjoon, you find him staring at you, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“What's wrong, are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head as though you were a shy child. You smirk, playing along and nodding very slowly before he continues.

“I see. You should know, however, that you are very talented.” At the compliment, you snort in disbelief, shoving the sketchbook and pencils back safely in your satchel.

“Please.” You sigh. “I know I'm no Picasso, and certainly not talented.”

Finished with packing your art supplies, you are reminded of the reason you are here. A blush of shame appearing on your cheeks, you turn to Namjoon, a bit guiltily.

“And I’m also not known as the bird to rise before the worm.” RM seems a bit confused before you stand and bow to him in apology.

“I am so sorry for being late today. You see I….”

Remembering the receptionist's words from before, you decide to keep the reason to yourself.

“....I have nothing to say for myself. I'm sincerely sorry.”

“Please, there’s no need for that,” Namjoon responds, standing himself and tapping you on the shoulder.

At the touch, you stand straight, only to find an extremely tall man standing before you, looking more intimidating than before. Heart beating fast you gulp, stepping back a bit.

Luckily, he doesn't notice your act of distance and just smiles at you before continuing.

“After all, I was late as well, so let's call it even, huh?”

You smirk and nod, thankful that he’s not too angry about it, but it doesn't completely erase your guilt.

“But now that you mention it….” Namjoon starts and intrigued, you glance up to see him back up a bit as well.

Confused, you raise an eyebrow before he holds out his hand to you.

“My name is Kim Namjoon, I’ll be your boss during your time here. First and foremost, welcome to BigHit entertainment, I hope you enjoy your time working here with us.” He introduces himself, warmly.

Catching on, you take his hand, shaking it gently, and trying to ignore the fact that yours is much more like a child's compared to his.

“Hello, Mr. Namjoon! It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my name is Lin Yen and I look forward to working with you!” you respond, returning his grin with one of your own.

After you're finished introducing yourself, he releases your hand and steps back, taking your satchel in his hands and handing it to you.

“Well, Ms. Lin, are you ready to begin?” He asks, and you accept the offer, hiking the satchel on your shoulder before looking up at him in expectation.

“Where do we start?”

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: first day at work is finally starting, yall excited? eheheehehe get ready for some namjooon and yen moments to come

chapter 10 here

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[ohnopoe]

The Long Road Home | Frankie Morales

Ship: Frankie Morales x Reader Summary: After a one night stand with your best friend, it feels like everything’s going to hell... maybe you just need an escape Word Count: 5.6k+ Warnings: Angst. I looked at this doc and went ‘I haven’t hurt myself with pain for a while yet’, and just put a months worth of angst into one fic. I am sorry. Author’s Note: Oh look! It’s another super late entry to something! This time it’s for the FABULOUS @autumnleaves1991-blog​ and her writer Wednesday... as I post this at 3.30am on a Monday... yikes. I’m so sorry this is so late, thank you for being so kind about it! And yes, I did give up very quickly on making this gif look good. I’m too mentally done to try harder 🤣

The car was filled with a stilted silence, heavy and thick in the air-conditioned air. Never before had the awkwardness sat so oppressively, least of all with the one and only Frankie Morales at your side.

For years now, your life had been filled with laughter and smiles, of warm hugs and secret looks that hinted at inside jokes that no one had a chance of guessing. For years, your life had been plentiful with the simple fact that Frankie Morales, the kindest man you had ever known, was your best friend. Was it enough? Maybe not. But it was better than the alternative, and you knew that clearly now.

One night. It had only taken one night, to destroy the very foundations of your friendship, to send your comfortable little bubble crashing down into a cacophony of pain and agony.

Oh, the night itself was anything but agony. No, that was filled with euphoria and the sounds of absolute bliss. His taste scarred into your memory, his touch forever melted into your skin. Sleeping with your best friend might just have been the best damn thing you’d ever done, were it not for what came the morning after.

Perhaps you had been naive, waking up in his sheets, craving the warmth that had surrounded you as you both blissfully drifted off to sleep in one another’s arms. Perhaps you ought to have realised the moment you found his spot cold to the touch, but your mind was still too filled with the fuzzy drunkenness of the best damn fuck of your life.

Perhaps you should have come to realise when you slipped out into his living room, seeing him already fully dressed, sitting silently on the couch with his head in his hands, his emotions on display so clearly that it would have broken your heart right there and then, if only you’d been awake enough to see them.

But no, it wasn’t until you were forcing a reassuring smile onto your lips as you desperately begged your features not to give away the heartache you felt that your world truly came crashing down around you.

It was a mistake.

A mistake.

Of all the words he could have used, somehow that hurt the most. He didn’t claim he didn’t enjoy it, didn’t blame you for the way your lips had sought out his when he’d been looking so damn beautiful with the warmth of the fireplace dancing across his features. No, he regretted it, and that, that hurt deeper than you had expected it too.

But you had put on a brave face, reassuring him that nothing would change, that you were still his best friend, if that’s what he wanted, and you pushed the heartache away until you were safely secured in your apartment, where the tears could fall until they ran out, until there was nothing but your empty sobs to fill the echoing apartment, as the man you loved seemed further away than ever before.

A week passed, then another, but nothing got easier. Your interactions seemed awkward now, the overwhelming reminder of what you had done hanging over the two of you like a thick blanket, threatening to suffocate you both.

It was impossible to move forwards, to think of anything but him.

The anguish you felt only grew as your friends seemed to pick up on the fact that something was wrong between you. It was Will who came to you, a silent support when your world was still crashing down around you, but you never dared whisper so much as a word of what had happened.

How could you ever guess it would get worse?

How could the all consuming pain you felt ever grow to something more when you already found yourself mourning the ease of your friendship every night when you sat alone at home?

Your answer came in the form of a beautiful stranger.

She was kind, gentle, beautiful… everything Frankie deserved, and what’s worse, she seemed to truly like him.

You hadn’t meant to spy, hell, you hadn’t even known he was going to be there. You were just at the cafe to pick up some lunch when you saw them, laughing and smiling, hand in hand at a small booth in the corner.

He didn’t even notice you as you entered your favourite cafe, the same cafe that you had spent countless afternoons in with the man who was still your everything, even now, even as he sat there with another.

Strength was becoming a part of you. You could hold off the tears, hold off the wails of anguish until you were safely at home, until you were alone once more.

But your strength was waning. How long could you continue on like this, mourning your friendship with the man you had secretly loved for years? How long would it be until he introduced this beautiful stranger to the boys? How long would it be until you had to force a smile as he fell in love, as he found himself marrying her?

There was only so long you could be strong when the object of your pain sat so close, yet so far.

Perhaps it wasn’t your most thought out plan. Perhaps you ought to have put a little more care into your actions, but you needed to get away, needed to be free from the anguish that had plagued you for over a month now.

Working freelance was a wonderful thing when it meant you could quite literally pack up and work anywhere. However, it was not the best when it came to stopping you from making a rash decision.

Clothes and essentials packed up in your car, you didn’t give yourself a moment to think as you fled the town you had called home for so long.

Was it a permanent answer to your problems? Hell no. Did it, realistically, cause more issues than it would solve? Sure. But this wasn’t the time for critical thinking, this was the time for an escape.

It had all been going so well.

For hours, you drove.

The chaos of the city fell behind you, the long open road ahead. Your phone filled your car with music, allowing you to fill your mind with anything but thoughts of home, and the thought that you might just find freedom from your agony seemed tangible.

With the windows down, the fresh air licked at your skin, cool and refreshing, filled with promises of renewal.

With each passing hour the crowds thinned and the light fell low.

A quick pull into a gas station had you filled up with fuel, snacks, and the motivation to continue on, moving ever forwards, even though no destination was set in your mind.

Perhaps you should have found a hotel for the night, somewhere safe to stay until morning came, but you were determined; the need to get away spurring you ever onwards in your pursuit of something you could not name.

Night fell, and even the houses spilled away into nothing, your only companions the rich sand that surrounded you, and the road that continued on into the horizon.

Yes, this was what you needed.

It was all going so well, until it wasn’t.

The headlights began to flicker, that was your first clue that something was amiss. Then it was the clock, staggering between minutes.

You weren’t particularly mechanically minded, there wasn’t exactly a need for it when your best friend was always there to fix whatever hiccups your car decided to adopt, but even you knew it was time to pull over.

The air was cold, colder than you ever would have expected in the depths of the desert, but then, with the sun slipping past the horizon, you could hardly be surprised to find the temperature dipping too. Opening the bonnet gave no answers, only a steady slew of steam that drifted upwards at the sudden release, only furthering your fears.

Well, that certainly didn’t seem good.

Perhaps you could find a mechanic or a garage, surely there was another gas station somewhere along the long and dusty road. But the moment you hit the ignition, the car stalled. Another attempt, another stall. The engine refused to budge.

This was not how things were meant to be going.

Your hand hit the steering wheel with fervour, doing more to hurt you than to dissipate your growing anger.

This was meant to be your escape, your freedom from everything that was weighing you down, but now even your car seemed to be working against you.

The sun was now fully eclipsed by the horizon, and there you were, stuck on the side of an empty highway, alone and crying your frustrations into your steering wheel as, once more, your emotions got the better of you.

Someone would come, they had to. It wasn’t as if the stretch of road was forgotten and beyond repair, it was still a popular stretch… for some.

Locked in your car, with no engine to run your heater, you went for your phone, hoping you could call for help. Picking you up hours away from home wasn’t exactly the kind of favour you could put on anyone, but the boys were never ones to say no to a person in need, least of all one of their best friends. Perhaps you could call Will, see if he could pick you up or help you get a tow.

The black screen of death was the last thing you needed. Plugged into the car’s power, it seemed even it wasn’t immune to whatever had eaten away at your car’s battery.

So there you were, stuck on the side of the road, alone, desolate, and now without any means of communication.

Perfect.

Hours passed, or at least, you assumed they did, with nothing but silence as your companion, and suddenly, all those thoughts and memories you had been pushing away filled your mind with an aching determination.

Memories of nights curled up in Frankie’s side as you laughed at the stupidity of couples in films, as you hid your face in his neck as he laughed at yet another horror film he insisted wasn’t that bad.

Memories of nights when the world felt like it was crashing down around you as yet another relationship failed, and you found solace in the warm hugs of your best friend and the sweet taste of ice-cream with whatever alcohol was in the house.

So much of your life had revolved around your best friend, and here you were, weeks without so much as a word shared between you, desperately searching for something to fill the void within you.

In the dark of the night, you could admit this wasn’t your smartest plan. With the cold air struggling to make its way into the insulation of your car, even you knew you should have at least told someone you were going. Will wouldn’t have judged you, at least, not outwardly. Benny would have come with you, given the chance. Santi, well, Santi would have read far too much into it and probably figured out exactly what was breaking you down…

And then there was Frankie. Frankie who would have listened, who would have held you as you cried, who would have whispered sweet words of comfort and reassurance until you no longer felt the need to escape at all. At least, the old Frankie, your Frankie, would have.

Now, everything was so different. What would he have said if he knew you were leaving so suddenly? Would he have realised it was because of him? Would he even care?

The darkness of the night seemed to match your darkened mood, allowing the heartache to consume you, to plague your mind until a restless sleep fell over you.

Dreams and nightmares melded into one another, happy memories turning sour with rejection, those four words haunting you with every attempt at happiness.

This was a mistake.

How could a voice you loved so dearly bring words of such pain? How could he be everything good and everything horrible, all at once?

A bright light, and a deep, loud sound shook you from your slumbers. A truck was passing, a truck!

Perhaps they could help, perhaps they could- your sleep filled mind suddenly plagued you with images of your body chopped up into tiny pieces, lost to the desert and never seen again…

Ok, maybe wariness was the way to go.

But it was slowing down, past you by some hundred meters, but slowing to a stop nonetheless.

With the taser Santi had bought you years ago held tightly in your grip for protection, you watched as a smaller light came towards you, footsteps echoing behind it on the empty road.

You could do this, you said to yourself, unable to fool even yourself with your attempt at optimism.

The man seemed alright, from what you could tell. A sympathetic smile, and a safe distance away so as not to scare you, he seemed as non-threatening a stranger as you could hope for. But you couldn’t shake the warnings the boys had given you over the years.

“Never, and I mean never get in a car with a stranger,” Santi had invaded your space as he drunkenly forced his advice upon you.

“What if I don’t want them to be a stranger?” you had replied coyly, loving the way the group of men, who had taken it upon themselves to act rather like older brothers had squirmed uncomfortably in their seats at your response.

“If they’re a stranger, they’re not good enough for you,” Santi had replied, his gaze flittering around the group as if struggling to leave his sentence there. “If you don’t know them, keep it that way. You’re safety is more important than your- than your-”

“Than your sex life,” Will finished with a roll of his eyes, never ceasing to be amused by the way Pope struggled at the idea of you having sex.​

You didn’t dare open your door, and with the engine out of commission, opening the window was an impossibility, and so it was a conversation of yelling in the dark empty desert.

“You alright there?” his cheery tone put you at ease more than it ought, but the man was clearly aware you were alone, and equally aware that his large frame could easily be construed as intimidating.

Half of you was ready to nod in response, to claim you were just fine and not give anything away. But, well, even the threat of being murdered seemed a little less impactful when you knew, realistically, you needed help.

“Broken down,” you yelled from behind the safety of your locked door.

“You called someone to get ya yet?” he actually looked concerned at that, but then a thought seemed to flit through his mind, so loud that it was shown across his features as he second guessed his words. His southern twang resonated loudly as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, hand barely missing the full grey beard that looked oddly reminiscent of Santa Claus. “Or ya need a lift or somethin’?”

“Actually,” the trepidation was clear even as your voice echoed in the car. What you needed wasn’t exactly easy, and, while he certainly didn’t seem dangerous, Santi’s words still rung clear in your mind. “You wouldn’t have a phone I could use, would you?”

His smile was reassuring, easing your worries more than it ought to do. Broken with missing teeth and crows feet that showed the man clearly smiled just as often as he could, it was almost tempting to take him up on his offer. But he was nodding before you could second guess yourself.

“You wait just here, I’ll go get it.”

The moment he was gone, relief flooded you, easing your wound up shoulders, and giving you a final glimpse at hope. Now all you had to do was call someone you trusted, someone who wouldn’t mind a call at the ass-break of dawn.

Will still felt like the safest option, even if he did mind, he’d never say it, and you could always make it up to him with a carton of beer.

Your hand reached for your phone, ready to bring up his number, when realisation struck you. Dead. It was dead. That was the whole damn reason you needed another’s phone in the first place.

A groan escaped you as you realised, once again, just how badly your escape was going.

A knock on the door woke you from your pity party, an empathetic look mixing with bemusement as the truck driver watched you jump in shock.

“Here, I’ll pop this on your hood. I’ll just be over there,” he paused to point back towards his truck, “you just holler when you’re done, ok darlin’?”

And then he was gone, his phone large and clunky on the hood of your car as his flashlight bounced light off the road with every uneven step he took.

Getting out quickly, you grabbed the phone before returning to the safety of the locked car. Ok, so you needed someone who’s number was memorised, someone who would answer, someone… fuck.

“You can drop me off here,” your voice was soft and uncertain, barely breaking past a whisper, and yet echoing in the silence of the car. The first words spoken in an hour, hanging so heavily between you that you almost wished you could suffocate once more in the overwhelming silence from before.

His hand crashed against the top of the steering wheel; anger, raw and unrestrained, shining through as he clenched his jaw to swallow words he might regret.

“I’m not leaving you at some shitty garage,” the words were grit out, harsher than you had ever heard him before. His emotions, once bottled up and held deep within, were now clear for all to see, even as he refused to so much as glance in your direction. “I’m taking you home.”

“Frankie, I-” you cut your words off at the sudden glare that was thrown your way, gulping down the fight you had been willing to make in order to make your point. You had never seen him like this, even on his darkest days, he had never spewed forth an anger so heated and vile that it had you almost scared to speak.

And so you fell back into silence once more, letting the empty road fill your gaze with its monotonous landscape, desperately pleading with it to help clear your mind of the whirlwind of emotions that brewed within.

Perhaps you ought to have wished it upon Frankie instead.

Just as you thought the silence had begun to settle, some ten minutes later, he exploded once more, passionately angry in a way that had no right to pierce your heart as it did.

“The hell were you thinking, running off like that?” he practically spat the words out, wondering aloud rather than directing the question at you. But still, it had you fidgeting uncomfortably in the passenger seat. His anger was new, but somehow that didn’t hurt half as much as the disappointment you heard now as he rolled his fists over the steering wheel.

You could practically see the way his mind whirled with thoughts, his gaze flittering over the road as he did his best to stay in control.

“Pull over,” your words were barely a whisper louder than the last time you had spoken, but there was a determination in them now.

Frankie merely scoffed in response, shaking his head as if the thought was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“I’m not- I’m not going to rush off, just- please Frankie,” and if your tone sounded more desperate than it ever had before, well, so be it.

A glance was thrown in your direction, filled with suspicion, as if he were trying to see whether you were telling the truth, whether you were simply looking for another chance to flee from his life. But you met his gaze, soft determination filling your own as you silently pleaded for him to do as you say, before he ended up causing a crash.

With a sigh, and the most unnecessary use of a turn signal you had ever witnessed, Frankie eased the car to the side of the road, making a show of turning off the ignition before he turned to you, watching you so intently that his very gaze seemed to melt into your skin.

“I wasn’t.”

“What?”

“Thinking, you asked- I- I wasn’t thinking. I just-” you sighed. Unable to meet his searching gaze, your focus fell to your fingers, fiddling anxiously in your lap in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pent up energy that was brewing within you. “I needed to get away from everything.”

I needed to get away from you.

“And you didn’t think to let someone know?” his anger was radiating throughout the car, hot and fevered, and it almost made you feel guilty, almost. “Do you have any idea how it felt to hear your voice on a stranger’s phone? To know you were trapped, alone, hours away- You should have told me.”

“Told you?” you couldn’t help the scoff that fell from your lips at that. Perhaps you should have told someone, but of all the people in the world you could have informed of your sudden trip, he was hardly an option. “Frankie, we don’t even talk anymore!”

“What are you-”

“Ever since that night, you’ve been distant,” you interrupted, refusing to accept his attempt at ignorance. After years of practically living in each other’s pockets, there was no way he could simply not notice the time that had passed since you last spoke. “Hell, it’s like I don’t even exist anymore! We haven’t spoken in weeks. Weeks, Frankie!”

“Well I-” he tried once more, but even he stumbled for a response to that. It was true, and there was no denying it, no matter how much he wished he could.

But the dam was broken now, emotions and words flooding out, filling the car where once silence lay.

“Do you have any idea what that’s like? To lose your best friend all because of a mistake,” the word was spat with more aggression than you had intended, but it stung to think about it. The very word was tainted now, filled with the memory of his forlorn face as he had uttered it into the morning light.

You didn’t notice the way he gulped at your words, as he desperately tried to alleviate the way his throat suddenly felt drier than the desert that surrounded you.

“I am trying my hardest to keep it together,” you continued, your voice steely now as you spoke resolutely, staring out at the long road ahead, refusing to acknowledge the steady stream of tears that made their way down your face.

“I am trying so fucking hard to not break every second of every day, and the moment I do something for myself, the moment I try and accept that I need to move on from my best friend, the world just screams ‘no’. I don’t get to just move on like nothing ever happened, I don’t get to go on dates with beautiful women who hold my hand and look at me like I’m the world. I get to suffocate under the knowledge that I’m in love with a man who thinks I’m a mistake. So, forgive me if I needed to get away from it all. Forgive me if I needed an escape from the never ending circle of pain that it is to simply survive.”

Each word seemed to burn your tongue as it escaped you, a fiery, fierce explosion filled with all the things you had kept secret for too long. It was so damn much, too much, perhaps, but then… it was a relief. After years of keeping your feelings to yourself, they were finally free, out in the atmosphere and untethered from the confines of your mind.

Was it the best way to let them out? Probably not. But after holding them down for so long, it was liberating to let go, even if you knew no good would come from it.

The silence that followed was, surprisingly, not the worst reaction you could have expected from your spiel. In fact, in respect to the alternatives that raced through your mind, it didn’t seem bad at all.

Perhaps you could continue like this. Perhaps you could make it home in silence, with your secret no longer a secret anymore.

Perhaps you could face tomorrow, even if it meant you could never face him again.

You couldn’t bear to look at him, not now that the words were out there, that he was aware of just how long you had harboured feelings for him. You couldn’t dare see the disappointment or disgust in his features as he struggled to find a way to let you down easy.

“You’re not a mistake,” the words were so soft that they took a moment to register in your mind.

But you knew that tone, it was the same tone you heard when Frankie’s world was crashing down around him. It was the same tone that crept out of him after hours of silence the night he came home from Columbia, turning up on your doorstep disheveled and broken and oh so silent that it had hurt to witness.

You wanted to scoff at the words, an easy attempt at placating you after you had practically offered your heart on a platter, baring your very soul to him, but for that tone.

There was no room for doubt or fear when he spoke like that, no room for anything but sheer acceptance. He believed what he was saying with his entire being, and you wished you didn’t know him well enough to tell.

It would be so easy to be angry, to ignore those words as he had ignored your admission, to doubt him and call him out on it, to ask the question your heart begged for the answer to… then why say it in the first place?

Wiping a tear from your cheek in a hurried movement, appalled at just how wet your skin felt, and the fact that your emotions had betrayed you so easily, you merely shook your head, still not daring to look his way.

“Doesn’t matter,” you mumbled, forcing your attention out the passenger window to the seemingly never ending sea of sand. “Next time I’ll tell someone, ok?” your voice was small, insecure, each word focused on entirely the wrong thing. “And I’ll get my stupid car fixed too.”

Was it a poor attempt at humour? Yes. But you were desperate. You needed to end this conversation, needed to get back to the comfort of your bed where you could allow the tears that seemed to haunt you to fall once more as you accepted the heartache that only grew with his silence.

“Next time,” the words seemed to die on his tongue, voice shaky as his hand reached out for your own, pulling your attention towards him as he grasped it tightly on your lap.

There was a desperation in his gaze now, a determination that you hear him, that you take each word he offered to heart.

“Next time, we both go.”

A scoff of laughter fell from your lips, your head shaking even as an incredulous smile dared to show itself in the corners of your lips.

“Frankie,” you sighed his name, gaze falling to your joint hands, to the way his thumb ran over your knuckles, even as he held your hand so tightly. “You’re missing the point of me getting away entirely.”

And then, for the first time since he had pulled up next to your broken down car, he smiled.

“I’m not,” the lilt of his voice almost tempted you to glance towards him, amusement dancing in the corners of his tone as he sought you out.

“Frankie,” you started once more, although you weren’t quite sure what you planned to say. How could you begin to explain your need for freedom from him?

“I was wrong,” he shook his head, more to himself than anything, as he spoke softly. “I made two mistakes that night-”

Would this man ever cease to shatter your heart? Surely it was already in pieces smaller than the grains of sand that sat outside your door.

“I should never have said it was a mistake, and I should have told you the truth.”

“The truth…” it came out more as a statement than a question, as if you were testing the very words on your tongue. Even with your focus flittering between his intense gaze, locked onto his very being you could still hear the suspicion in your tone. What truth would you learn if he continued? Would it hurt you further, or heal the shattered remains of your heart? Could you even risk considering the latter?

Your sights fell, focused on the warmth of his hand in yours, on the comfort he was trying to bring you, even if this was the moment your world came crashing down around you. Perhaps, with his hand in yours, you could bear it this time. After all the times your world felt as if it were imploding within you, perhaps you could face it if he just kept holding your hand.

“I have loved you since the moment I met you.”

“Frankie, please don’t-” you could see what he was doing, softening the blow, reminding you how much you meant to him. You were his best friend, and he loved you, just as he loved Santi or Will or Benny… minus the whole one night stand issue.

Your hand was stock still in his, unable to clench onto the one thing that could keep you together and break you apart all at once. It was still despite the way his thumb still ran over your knuckles, desperate to soothe and reassure as he had done time and time again. And it was the only thing you could focus on.

The sound of him shifting in his seat was both deafening and oddly muted as you trained your focus on your joined hands that sat in your lap.

His other hand reached over, his touch so light as it traced against your wet cheek that it had you closing your eyes without a thought.

“Hey,” his voice was broken now, rough and raw with emotion that you didn’t dare let yourself focus on. The touch of his hand felt stronger now as it dipped to your chin, silently begging at you to look his way. Silence sat between you as he waited, with a patience only Frankie knew, for you to give in to his plea.

Even here, stuck in the middle of the desert with tears flowing freely down your cheeks, you could never truly deny Frankie anything.

Your eyes opened slowly, painfully so, but the sight that greeted you was somehow worse than the unknowing blackness you had before.

He looked worse than he sounded, an echo of his worst days, his face haunted with a mirage of emotions that you never wished him to experience. And for a moment you wished you could take it all back. The relief you felt at finally telling him how you felt, the way your heart screamed at no longer having to suffer in silence… none of that was worth it if it was causing this pain to the man you adored.

His smile was small as it crept onto his lips. You could see the uncertainty in the way his eyes flickered over your features. But his hand that still sat in your lap held your hand with a determination that was meant to reassure, although you couldn’t quite tell if it was meant to reassure you or him.

“I have loved you since the moment we met,” he repeated, pausing as he took a deep breath. “And I have been in love with you for almost as long.”

Your eyes met his without a thought, needing to see whether there was truth in his words, needing to see whether he meant what he was saying, or if he was simply doing what he could to keep you safe and by his side.

But there was no lie in his eyes, no fear that you could see past his words into a hollow land of half truths. No, the only fear that sat there was trepidation, anxiety… timidity.

What if you didn’t believe him? What if, after all you had both said, after all that had happened you didn’t want him?

But how could you not?

Frankie, the man who had been at your side through thick and thin, the man who had driven for hours to pick you up when your car had decided it no longer wanted to work… he was still your everything, he was your Frankie.

Hours of exhaustion and desperation, filled with tears of heartbreak and frustration, slipped aside, replaced with the smallest of smiles.

“You love me, huh?” the teasing lilt to your tone surprised even you, but the way his entire being lit up at the words was addictive. Your features seemed to mirror his, smile growing until it was all you knew, until the happiness you felt seemed to chase away the anguish you had felt for so long.

His hand tightened in yours, and finally, you moved with it, squeezing reassuringly as you watched emotions dance over his features.

“Honey,” he stopped, pulling your joint hands to his lips as he pressed a tender kiss to the back of your palm, never letting his gaze drop from yours for so much as a moment. “I’m crazy about you.”

[easily-infatuated23]

The Nanny

request: “Hello, could you write something where a few years after the death of his wife Draco hires a new nanny for Scorpius and ends up falling in love with her... could have anguish, but the ending would be happy? Please!My first language is not English I'm sorry if you got confused.” - @trouxa2x  

a/n: i hope this is what you wanted! and your english is great don’t worry :) also-there is a phone call which is in italics and song lyrics for La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf in italics

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Nanny!Reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: mention of death for like a moment

summary: After the birth of his son and the death of his wife, Draco Malfoy needs a nanny 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day Draco Malfoy’s son was born was the happiest and saddest day of his life. His loving wife Astoria had been diagnosed with a blood curse that killed her moments after Scorpius was born. His first breath, had been her last. Although he knew this would be the likely outcome, it was still crushing. Draco didn’t like to talk about his emotions and knew the only way to get over his wife’s death would be to burry himself in his work as a Healer. But with a baby, he couldn’t just shut out the world. He needed help. It was obvious he was struggling.

During the long process of making amends after the war, Draco had some how become close to the golden trio he had despised so much as a child. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had all come by to meet Scorpius and check in on Draco. He looked awful. The bags under his eyes were worse than during the war. “I have a friend who is looking for some work as a nanny, she’s great with kids, babies especially. I’ll get you her number” Hermione said, rummaging through her purse looking for her contacts book. Draco nodded slightly. He had considered getting a nanny but the idea of another woman acting motherly toward Scorpius made him feel sick. However, Draco politely took the number and thanked Hermione.

As the months continued on Draco found it easier to care for Scorpius. He had taken up a job as a consultant for the hospital so he could spend most of his time at home with his son. But as the months stretched into years, Draco grew depressed. Scorpius became fussier and fussier and the hospital was begging for him to come back as a full time Healer. “It’s time” Draco thought. He looked through the drawers of his desk until he found the phone number Hermione had given him nearly two years prior. He dialed the number, feeling anxious and unsure of exactly what to say.

“Hello?” a female voice answered.

“Hi um is this Y/F/N Y/L/N?”

“This is she, may I ask who is calling?”

“Oh yes um this is Draco Malfoy. I’m a friend of Hermione Gran- I mean Weasley’s.”

“Oh hello! I remember she mentioned a few years back you might be in need of a nanny.”

“Yes! Well, I had been handling it pretty well but now I am finding myself in need of some help so I can go back to work…”

“I see. Let me guess, those ‘terrible two’s’ are in full swing right about now” she chuckled.

“Yes exactly! I was wondering if you would consider interviewing to become a live-in nanny for my son Scorpius. I am not sure for how long or what I would pay you but-”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” she interrupted. “I’m sure we could conduct a formal interview as well but may I come over and just meet Scorpius first? I find that sometimes the baby will tell the parent whether or not the nanny is the right fit, even before an interview.”

“Yes of course. Can you come over around 11 am tomorrow?”

“Yes. See you then. Good day”

“Thank you, cheers”

He hung up the phone. He looked over at Scorpius sitting in his high chair. The baby gurgled and threw some cereal to the ground. Then seeing his cereal on the ground, Scorpius started to wail at an incredible volume. The interview couldn’t come soon enough. The next day at 11 am sharp, Y/N knocked on the door. When Draco opened it, she was met with the chaos that had become his daily life. The house was a mess and Scorpius was screaming. “Hi, welcome. Sorry about the mess” he stammered, showing her into the house. “Nice to meet you Mr. Malfoy” she replied cheerily. Seemingly unfazed, she walked into the living room, put down her purse, and sat down next to the screaming baby. Draco watched her as she began to rub the baby’s back and started to softly sing. The baby slowly began to quiet down until he was quiet enough for Draco to hear what Y/N was singing.

~Quand il me prend dans ses bras, qu’il me parle tout bas. Je vois la vie en rose. Il me dit des mots d’amour, des mots de tous les jours, et ça m'fait quelque chose….~

The baby began to smile as Y/N picked him up and cradled him, still singing.

~Il est entré dans mon cœur, une part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause. C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie, il me l'a dit, l'a juré, pour la vie. Et dès que je l’aperçois, alors je sens en moi, mon cœur qui bat..~

She then began to hum the tune more quietly and sway lightly. Scorpius’s eyes fluttered closed as he drifted to sleep. She smiled and looked up at his father. Draco was standing with his hand over his mouth, tears falling from his icy blue eyes. “Are you alright Mr. Malfoy?” she whispered. He nodded. He cleared his throat quietly before speaking. “La Vie en Rose was the song Astoria and I used for our first dance at our wedding”. “Oh I’m so sorry, if I had known I wouldn’t have…” He shook his head at her. “No it’s alright. I just… miss her”. She tilted her head sympathetically. “From what I’ve heard of her, she sounded lovely. I wish I could have met her.” Draco nodded and looked down at his shoes, trying to hold himself together.

“If you would tell me where his crib is I can put him down so we can start the formal interview. If you’d like” she said, knowing a subject change was what needed to occur. Draco nodded and gestured for her to follow him. Once Scorpius was in his crib, the adults went to the living room to discuss the particulars of the arrangement. Y/N told Draco about how she discovered her love for child care when she worked as a nanny for a short time while traveling in France. “When I came back to England, I worked for a few other Wizarding families including Hermione and Ron for a short time. Ron actually nick named me ‘the baby whisperer’” she said chuckling. “After what just happened, I’m inclined to believe him!” Draco replied. Without needing to consider it, Draco offered Y/N the job.

A year later Draco was still kicking himself daily for not hiring Y/N sooner. His life and mental health had improved drastically since she moved in. He was able to go back to working at the hospital full time and help people like he had always wanted. The two had developed a close friendship and Y/N became part of his family. The house felt almost foreign when she was gone. Though she was a live-in nanny, Draco still encouraged Y/N to take days off, and when she would go, Draco missed her terribly. He could tell Scorpius missed her too.

“You’re falling in love with her!” Hermione teased. She had come over to see Y/N and Draco and knew immediately. “What? No, she works for me. That would be highly inappropriate” he replied defensively. Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco looked across the room at Y/N. She was holding Scorpius near a window and was pointing at something and talking to him. Scorpius was giggling loudly and clapping his little chubby hands. Draco couldn’t help but smile. There was no doubt that he was fond of Y/N, but did he love her? She was great with Scorpius, she understood Draco’s feelings (sometimes better than he did), and she was beautiful. But her beauty wasn’t just external, she had a truly beautiful soul. Another six months went by before Draco was sure. He had fallen for Y/N. He hadn’t meant to fall for her, but she was easy to love. He tried not to act differently towards her but after the realization of his feelings, he couldn’t help it. It started with lingering glances and lead to going out of his way to have little moments of physical contact with her. Whether that was reaching for the same toy to give to Scorpius, or squeezing her hand to get her attention while Scorpius was sleeping. There was not a doubt in his mind about it. He loved her, whole heartedly.

Draco woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Scorpius crying. He rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed. He walked down the hallway and into his son’s room, only to find that Y/N was already there. She was standing with her back to the door, rocking Scorpius and singing to him. Draco stood outside of the room, leaning on the door frame as he watched Y/N calm the crying child. He couldn’t help but smile at her. Eventually, she stopped singing and spoke to Scorpius. “You are so loved Scorpius. Your dad loves you, I love you, and your mama loves in all the way from heaven.” Draco continued to smile but in a more melancholy way. Y/N had always made a point of talking to Scorpius about his mother, even though she knew the baby didn’t understand what she said. Draco still found it difficult to talk about Astoria, but Y/N had always insisted that Scorpius know how much his mother loved him, even though she was gone. She rocked him a few more times before placing him back into his crib. When she turned to face the door she smiled at Draco. “I’ll see you again in an hour or so” she joked. She walked past him and exited the room, making her way down to the first floor. Draco watched her walk away before returning to his room. Scorpius didn’t cry again that night but still Draco couldn’t sleep. He decided to go down to the kitchen and fix himself a sandwich, besides, if he was awake he might as well do something to pass the time. As he made his way down the hall to the stairs, he noticed a light was on in the kitchen. He walked down and found Y/N sitting in the kitchen. She was sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of pasta and reading a book. She looked up when she heard him enter the room. “Can’t sleep?” she asked. He chuckled and nodded. “Welcome to the club. Look I even saved you a seat!” she joked, gesturing at the chair next to her.

He rummaged through the pantry and complied his sandwich. He then joined her at the table. She put her book down and angled herself in his direction. “You seem different” she said. He looked down at his plate, feeling a pit in his throat. He gulped. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You just seem…I don’t know, happier recently. I can’t put my finger on it”. Did she know about his feelings? Was she trying to bait him into admitting it? He forced himself to look at her. Even at 4 in the morning she was beautiful. He took a deep breath and decided to answer honestly. “I recently decided that I’m ready to open myself up to the idea of love again. Astoria wouldn’t want me to be alone for the rest of my life and something just told me its time” he said. Y/N smiled. “That’s really great Draco. I’m so happy for you”. She had a slight glimmer in her eye, she had to know. He eyed her a bit suspiciously. She laughed. “Ok ok don’t give me that look! Hermione might have mentioned to me that you had found someone and I had to ask! Whoever she is she’s a lucky girl” she turned back to her book.

Draco couldn’t believe what he heard. Y/N, the girl who some how knew him better than he knew himself, didn’t know he was in love with her! He smiled and rolled his eyes as he stood up and leaned his back against the counter, putting his hand over Y/N’s book. She looked up at him, some what puzzled. “Y/N, it’s you. I’ve fallen for you. Totally and completely” he said, hopefully sounding more courageous than he was feeling. Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t speak. She mouthed “me?” and pointed to herself. Draco’s smile widened and he nodded. She grinned. He cupped his hands around her cheeks and leaned in closely, so closely it was a wonder their eyelashes didn’t brush against each other. He waited for her to give him permission to close the gap between their bodies. “Kiss me” she whispered. He closed the gap and their lips touched, gently but still passionately. She stood up from her chair and rose to her tip toes as her hands played with his hair. The kissing became laughing as they came up for air. “I didn’t think it was possible to kiss someone and smile at the same time” Y/N said. “With you, I don’t think I’ll ever stop smiling”. There was a comfortable silence as they rested their foreheads against each other, enjoying being close. “I love you Y/N”. She looked up and into his eyes. “I love you too Draco”.

[theclockworkmonk]

Cultural Exchange

Written for @kataang-week

Day 2: Blending Cultures

Words: 2,009

Read on AO3

Read on FF.net

Summary: Katara has some selfish reasons for encouraging Aang to explore Fire Nation culture.

*******

Katara was starting to get worried as she walked up to Zuko's old family house on Ember Island. The outdoor furniture was smashed and splintered, and the door was ajar, hanging off its hinges. She sped up, beginning to panic, and ran up the stairs onto the porch.

She threw the door all the way open forcefully. "Hello!? Aang?"

She was greeted by a chorus of pained male groans.

"Close the door!" Haru wailed, shielding his eyes from the bright morning light that was now flooding the front room of the house. All the other young men, basically every male friend their group had made since leaving the South Pole, gave similar cries of distress from where they were strewn haphazardly across sofas and armchairs.

Katara sighed in relief, but then grew annoyed at the boys for scaring her. Instead of closing the door, she moved to the windows and threw all the curtains open.

"You're evil!" moaned Te'o from the floor, where he had fallen out of his chair.

"What exactly happened to those plans for a laid back, calm bachelor party?" Katara asked the room harshly, "How did it go? 'Oh don't worry, Katara, Zuko's not one to throw wild parties!'"

"Uggghhh, I"m not, but I'm friends with a lot of bad influences," came a weak voice from under a coffee table.

Katara laughed at the sight of the soon-to-be-married Firelord crawling out from under the table, looking like he had been put through a dozen successive Agni Kais. But her laughter died and she gasped when she saw what was on Zuko's head.

"Zuko, what happened!?"

"What does it look like? Your brother got us drunk."

"No, I mean what happened to your hair!"

Katara bent all the water from a nearby vase and froze it into a flat, shiny mirror, and held it up to Zuko's face. His eyes widened in horror and he leapt to his feet, upending the table.

All of his hair had been reduced to a narrow strip down the center of his head. That hair had been left long, and was tied back, but both sides of it had been shaved down to his scalp.

He recognized this look. It was exactly the way Sokka had his hair when Zuko had first encountered him.

"Aw Zuko, I'm touched!" crooned Katara dramatically. "Showing your support for rebuilding Southern Tribe culture by sporting a warrior's wolf tail!"

Zuko stared in disbelief at his reflection. He raised his shaking hands to the sides of his face.

"I look like I stuck my head between two grinding stones," Zuko muttered.

"Oh, don't say that, I'm sure once the Firelord is seen sporting this hairdo at his wedding, it will be all the rage across the Fire Nation," said Katara with a grin.

Zuko buried his face in his hands. "Oh, spirits, the wedding! Mai's going to kill me."

Katara was about to agree, but was interrupted by a scream of anguish and horror coming from the bathroom.

Katara and Zuko both bolted across the room and down the hall. She whipped out her bending pouch, ready to slice the door open, but lucky it was still unlocked. She kicked the door open and her blood froze in fear again as she saw Sokka doubled over, his face buried in the sink and his hands over his head.

"Sokka, what's wrong!?" asked Katara urgently, placing her hands on her brother's back. "Are you hurt—oh…."

She jumped back and gasped when Sokka turned to face her, his lip quivering.

He was completely bald, with a crude painted blue arrow leading from the back of his head, ending between his eyebrows.

Katara's chuckle at Zuko's expense was nothing compared to the explosion of laughter that erupted out of her now. She had to put a hand on the wall to steady herself as she shook until she was out of breath.

"Well, it was just a regular festival of cultural exchange last night, wasn't it?" she squeaked out.

"This isn't funny, Katara!" said Sokka desperately. "You don't understand, it's not coming off! It's real! And my hair! Next time I visit home, my brain is gonna freeze!"

"Oh, calm down," she said dismissively. She grabbed her brother's cheeks and pulled him down to inspect his new body art. "There's no inflammation on the skin, it's not a real tattoo. You just found some...wow, really durable face paint."

She looked him in the eye suspiciously. "Where did you get this stuff?"

"Uuuuhhh," said Sokka uncertainly. He turned to Zuko. "Where did we get this stuff?"

"Uuuuhhh," Zuko concurred.

Katara rolled her eyes. "Seriously? You don't even remember last night?"

"I can remember most of it," said Zuko defensively. "Things just get a little fuzzy after that bottle of moonpeachshine got opened. He was the one who brought that, so really this is all his fault."

"Hey, I don't remember tying you up and forcing the stuff down your throat, Lord Lots o' Shots," replied Sokka.

"Where's Aang?" Katara suddenly said, her grin wiped from her face.

For a moment, they just looked at each other in silence, then ran through the house again.

After searching the whole house and not finding Aang, Katara was beginning to panic again. But when she checked the back garden, she found Appa there sleeping soundly. A lumpy mass was sitting on the bison's head: a human body, the top half covered by a blanket, but long legs protruded from underneath, with blue arrows ending at the feet.

"Aang!" Katara called as she ran towards him, and thankfully the tattooed feet stirred. Aang slowly sat up, squeezing his eyes shut at the sunlight as the blanket fell from his face.

"Oh come on!" Katara sighed in relief. "You too?"

"What?" he mumbled, getting his bearings. He reached up to scratch his head, and discovered what was itching him.

Aang was wearing a wig. Avatar Aang, the mightiest being in the world, was hungover with a lopsided wig of black hair glued to his head. The foreign hair was pulled back into a knot that was contained by what Katara recognized as Avatar Roku's old hairpin.

Aang reached up and felt the hairpin, and winced. "Oh Spirits, I had hoped that was a dream."

"So you actually remember what happened?" asked Zuko, joining them outside along with Sokka, who had put a hat on to avoid getting sunburned.

"Well last night, Sokka got excited by this idea of me wearing Roku's hairpin at the wedding, as a sign of the Fire Nation's commitment to the Avatar and the balance of the world. I wasn't as intoxicated as he was, so I pointed out to him that one needs hair in order to wear a hairpin crown."

"Oh yeah!" said Sokka, remembering now, "Seems like a short sighted fashion decision."

"It's not short-sighted, that's the point," said Zuko irritably, "When royals or generals suffer a great defeat, they cut their hair off. The crowns of the Fire Lord and Prince are designed so that you can't wear them unless you've gone long enough without a defeat to have enough hair to wear it."

"Yeah, you said all this last night," said Aang. "Then Sokka suggested that I could borrow some hair, and we asked who would have extra hair to borrow, and that's how we ended up partying with the—"

"The Ember Island Players," Zuko finished in horror. "Oh, kill me now, this is going to be the subject of their worst play yet."

"I certainly hope so," said Katara. "I'll be there opening night."

"The wig and the facepaint….seemed like a good idea at the time," finished Aang painfully.

"Well if this stuff doesn't come off my face soon, then the Firelord is going to have to have them interrogated about how they undo it," said Sokka.

"Oh I will?" asked Zuko, raising his eyebrow. "The way I see it, I just have a bad haircut, I didn't put any crap on my head, so you can go begging for them on your own."

"It is not a bad haircut!" said Sokka angrily. "You're now the best looking guy here, saving my dignity is the least you can do."

"I might need help getting this thing off me too," mumbled Aang, futilely pulling at the wig. "And we should probably put this back in a safe spot."

He detached Roku's hairpin crown from his knot, and Katara gasped as his hair (that wasn't actually his hair) fell from it.

The messy black hair fell to the base of his neck, covering his ears and hanging in bangs over his forehead, partially obscuring his eyes. He scrunched his face in annoyance and brushed the hair away from his face. Katara felt her face grow hot as she watched her boyfriend's fingers run through the hair, and an image floated up in her mind of her fingers replacing them.

Zuko and Sokka went back into the house, Zuko cheekily offering to melt the facepaint off of Sokka, and promised to keep most of his face intact, as Aang climbed down off of Appa, still pulling at the mop glued to his head.

"I need to find a way to get this thing off me," Aang grumbled. "It won't stay out of my face, people can't see my arrow."

"Well, we can't have that," Katara chuckled. "The world can't know that the last airbender has broken such an important air nomad requirement as the sacred chrome dome."

"Well, it's not a requirement," said Aang, "but I still suspect I look far too much like Zuko for my taste—"

"Wait, really?" Katara cut him off, her eyes widening.

"Well you tell me. I don't have a mirror, but I suddenly feel the urge to sulk and reclaim my honor— "No, I mean, shaving your head isn't a requirement or anything?" Katara asked quickly.

Aang seemed surprised by her question. "Uh... no. Most of the boys did anyway, because it gives you a slight edge in airbending, since your skin is in tune with the air currents. We all had to shave it once, when we got our arrows, but most girls grew it back."

He continued to fidget with the wig as he started walking back towards the house, seemingly oblivious to the blush creeping up his girlfriend's face.

Katara tried to act casual as she fell in step with Aang and linked her arm with his.

"Sooooo...hypothetically speaking," she began, not looking at him, "you could have a full head of hair. If you wanted to."

Aang shrugged. "Yeah. But I've never really felt the desire to. With hair, you have to wash it, and there's so many different haircuts to pick from, it's easier to just shave it in the morning."

He turned to look at her curiously. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason!" she said innocently.

They walked in silence for a few seconds, then a strong morning breeze blew past them and Katara felt her knees grow weak as Aang's messy "hair" whipped in the wind, dancing around his handsome face beautifully, in a way his real hair had never grown long enough to do.

"I was just thinking Sokka might be onto something!" she blurted out before she could stop herself. "You know, about wearing Roku's crown. Maybe the Avatar adopting a few Fire Nation fashions will placate a few of the naysayers, who say that you're a foreign interloper. It will show them that you're their Avatar too. It would be a great exchange and blending of cultures, to reflect peaceful cooperation."

Aang frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I….guess that kind of makes sense." He shrugged and chuckled. "I'm still definitely going to get this hair off me, though. Then I can decide whether to start growing my own."

"Hmmm….yeah," Katara whispered greedily under her breath, "I bet that'll look even hotter."

"Hmm? What was that? I didn't hear you."

"Nothing!" she squeaked, and ran back into the house.

[ibijau]

I blame @nillegible who dropped this amazing concept on the xisang discord,  then wrote a wonderful take on it and said it was fine if I played with it as well

Nie Huaisang wasn’t supposed to be in that part of Carp Tower, which was precisely why he was there. Nobody ever came around there anymore, not since Jin Guangyao had so virtuously turned his back on the demonic cultivation his father had encouraged and allowed to fester inside his sect.  Nie Huaisang had come there a few times during his days of investigation, never finding much of interest. He had figured out that it was the quietest place in all of Carp Tower, though, and he had often escaped there when forced to be in Lanling yet needing a moment to compose himself… and even now, with Jin Guangyao dead months ago, it was hard to keep his cool in enemy territory.

It did not help that Jin Rulan, after inviting him to Carp Tower to discuss new terms on a number of old treaties between their sects, had suddenly been taken by an emergency he could not explain. He had asked Nie Huaisang to stay as his guest until the matter was settled, promising it would be quick.

That had been over a week ago.

Nie Huaisang, this whole time, had done his best not to snoop around. It was no concern of his if Jin Rulan had to deal with emergencies, he refused to get involved unless he was invited to do so. The temptation was there to find out, certainly, but… Nie Huaisang was tired of other people’s secrets. So to avoid finding out anything, he mostly spent his days wandering in the gardens, or seeking peace in this abandoned part of Carp Tower. It was so quiet here, he could almost pretend that everything was fine.

The quiet was broken after he passed the door of a little building, and heard a shout.

“Uncle Nie!”

Nie Huaisang startled, and turned in the direction of the voice. He saw a child running his way from inside the building, the sight pulling at a heart he thought he no longer had. Without thinking, Nie Huaisang fell to his knees and opened his arms wide, letting the child throw himself at his neck before pulling him into a tight hug.

“Uncle Nie, you’re here!”

“SongSong?” Nie Huaisang gasped.

Before he could even fully process how impossible it was for that child to be here, more voices rushed their way. Still acting on instinct alone, Nie Huaisang stood up again, keeping the little boy in his arms. It was a relief when he saw Jin Rulan and Wei Wuxian rush out of that same building, meaning he probably wouldn’t have to fight after all. 

Wei Wuxian seemed to have less amicable thoughts about him. He frowned deeply when he saw that Nie Huaisang was holding the little boy so closely, and pulled out his flute as a quiet threat.

“Nie zongzhu, put down that child,” he ordered.

“Wei gongzi, I don’t think I could even if I tried,” Nie Huaisang retorted, feeling Jin Rusong’s grasp on him tighten, the little boy curling up against his chest in terror. “SongSong, have they scared you very much?”

“He says he’s LingLing,” the child muttered, pointing an accusatory finger at poor Jin Rulan who looked quite in shock over whatever was going on. “He’s not, LingLing is little like SongSong.”

“And you don’t know the other man either, so you became scared?” Nie Huaisang asked, smiling when Jin Rusong nodded and hid his face against his neck. “So my clever little SongSong decided to run for it. What a clever boy! Well, it’s lucky you found me. You know me well, right SongSong?”

The little boy relaxed a little, clearly happy to be receiving praise. He was always such a sweet child who soaked up affection like a sponge. Nie Huaisang used to adore him and to spoil him rotten whenever he could, even after having realised he would need to orphan him someday. He had cried for days after Jin Rusong had died, and again when he had understood why the child had died.

Or appeared to die, as seemed to be the case. The little boy in his arms was warm and very much alive.

“Put him down,” Wei Wuxian ordered again, glaring at Nie Huaisang.

“No, I won’t. Not right away. Hey, SongSong, it’s fine, these two are not bad people. They are my… they are uncle Lan’s friends. And we both know uncle Lan would never be friends with bad people, right?”

If the other two startled at those words, Jin Rusong eagerly nodded, and dared to glance in their direction with less fear.

“He’s not LingLing,” he insisted, pointing again at his cousin.

Jin Rulan, usually never showing any emotion but haughtiness or anger, made a grimace of anguish at the accusation. As was to be expected. He’d been young when Jin Rusong had died, but the two cousins had been raised like brothers, they had been so close before tragedy struck.

“I’ve told you, you’ve been very sick, A-Song,” Jin Rulan explained, taking a step toward his cousin and the man holding him. “I’m Jin Ling, I’m just… I’ve grown up a bit.”

“I don’t like it,” Jin Rusong retorted, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t like you. I want my mommy and daddy. Uncle Nie, take me to mommy!”

Nie Huaisang froze, that simple demand knocking the breath out of him.

It had been natural to pick up Jin Rusong and to comfort him, like something out of a memory, but suddenly reality caught up to him. He noticed the way Wei Wuxian looked at him with suspicion, with hatred almost, his posture ready for a fight. He saw the fear in Jin Rulan’s eyes, how he was clearly desperate to come steal back his cousin from the man who had…

Ah.

Nie Huaisang smiled as he knelt down again, trying to push the child away from him.

“SongSong, I think you should go with your cousin, actually. Look how strong he has become, don’t you think he’ll take good care of you?”

The more Nie Huaisang tried to free himself, the harder Jin Rusong clung to his neck, desperately clawing at him so he wouldn’t have to let go, leaving red lines on his skin.

“I don’t know them, I don’t know them!” he wailed, spilling heavy tears. “Uncle Nie, I don’t know them, stay with me! Take me to mommy!”

With a sigh, Nie Huaisang gave up for a moment and allowed the little boy to curl up again against him, his tears calming quickly. Earlier it had made him feel warm and happy to have this child in his arms. Now, it only amplified the hollowness in his chest, reminding him of things he used to have.

Watching them intently, Jin Rulan tilted his head before looking at Wei Wuxian.

“Maybe… if A-Song trusts him… You said it’s best if he stays calm for a while, right?”

Wei Wuxian’s frown deepened. His posture remained tense, but he nodded slowly.

“If Nie zongzhu is willing to help. Though I wonder how much of a surprise this situation is to him?”

It was Nie Huaisang’s turn to frown, though he made efforts to keep his body relaxed so he wouldn’t stress out poor Jin Rusong.

“If I had known that SongSong was alive, I would have made different choices on certain matters,” he stated in as pleasant a voice as he could manage. Jin Guangyao would still have needed to die, that had never been negotiable. But if he had known that Jin Rusong had survived the attack on his life somehow, then he would have been more careful of Qin Su’s well-being. In fact, Nie Huaisang would have kept certain things secret, so his nephew wouldn’t have to live with the infamy of his father’s sin. “I am willing to help though, if I’m allowed.”

Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian exchanged another look, before the young sect leader took another step toward Nie Huaisang and his cousin.

“A-Song, if Nie zongzhu comes with us, will you listen and be good?”

“I want mommy,” the little boy replied.

“Mommy can’t be with SongSong at the moment,” Nie Huaisang explained, glad for once that lying had become so easy to him. “Neither can daddy. But I think LingLing has important things to say, so why don’t we go back inside and listen to what he has to say?” Jin Rusong shook his head, looking ready to cry again. This called for desperate measures. “I’ll let SongSong play with my fan,” he offered. “Today, it’s one that has birds on it.”

Jin Rusong considered it for a moment. It used to be a game between them, Jin Rusong so fascinated by the pretty fans, Nie Huaisang desperate to protect them from clumsy and occasionally sticky hands. It used to make Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao laugh to see the two of them play fighting over fans.

It was odd to think of Jing Guangyo and Lan Xichen laughing, after everything.

But for Jin Rusong, those memories hadn’t been tainted. So he did not hesitate very long before nodding eagerly. It took a bit of a balancing act, but Nie Huaisang managed to pull out his fan of the way without having to put down the child. It made his heart clench to see with what care Jin Rusong slowly opened that fan, the shining smile on his face as he discovered the painted birds. It really was more than Nie Huaisang could handle so he turned to look at Jin Rulan and Wei Wuxian, fearful he would start crying in nostalgia otherwise.

“How is this possible anyway?” he asked. “I was there when… I was there. I saw it happen.”

“We’re not sure how exactly he did it,” Jin Rulan explained, motioning for Nie Huaisang to follow them back inside. “But A-Song has been kept in stasis all this time while uncle tried to find ways to heal him. He… there was something wrong with A-Song’s heart, so it was the only way uncle could keep him alive until he found a cure.”

Once they were inside, Jin Rusong’s attention drifted away from the fan for a moment, the child shivering in fear in Nie Huaisang’s arms. Not without reason. Not only was that building a medical practice of some sort, but in a corner stood the terrifying Ghost General himself. Well, he scared Nie Huaisang and Jin Rusong anyway, the child because he could probably tell this person wasn’t quite alive, the adult because he knew what that man was capable of, even if at that moment he looked all sorry and pitiful. 

It puzzled Nie Huaisang at first that this fierce corpse should be there, until he remembered who his sister had been. Medical miracles might have run in the family.

“Well, SongSong and I are listening,” Nie Huaisang said with a polite smile. “Why don’t the three of you explain this situation to us?”

Jin Rulan nodded, and took a deep breath.

“So, I was going through my uncle’s belongings a few months ago when I found this journal he kept. I couldn’t quite believe it at first, but I found another secret room and inside…”

[anotherfacelessauthor]

Sirius’ Escape from Azkaban - Excerpt from Under the Stars

July, 1993

Sirius Black had gotten used to living as a dog. Padfoot, he vaguely remembered, that’s what they used to call me. Thoughts were fuzzier in his animagus form, soft echoes of memories. He hummed softly. Padfoot, the name brought back some semblance of the fire of life that had once burned brightly inside him.

The dementors didn’t like that.

The creatures hovered closer and the cold crept into Sirius’ bones. A shiver ran up the dog’s spine. What did they use to call me? The word had slipped out of his mind, replaced by a slowly building ache in his gut—no, his heart.

Who’s they?

Images flashed through his mind. A man with messy hair and a bright smile, toying with a miniature broom; a woman with fire colored locks and piercing eyes, holding a baby; a blond haired friend sitting at their table, laughing; a freckled lover in a soft sweater, taking a picture, holding his hand—

Remus.

The memory made his hair stand on its end.

And then he remembered what happened.

A commotion tore his thoughts from the tragedy, if only for a moment. The doors clanged open, down a long hallway. Padfoot’s ears raised, alert, listening for clues. Prisoners whispered, someone new? No, a visitor. Hm? The Minister…

Sirius became himself again. Or, his human form, that is. He’d spent so much time as a dog, he couldn’t always recall which he’d been first.

His hearing was worse in this body, he couldn’t make out the minister’s footsteps until he was only a few cells away. And the dementor’s influence hit harder. With the full capacity of his human memory, the scenes played out behind his eyelids; James and Lily choosing him as their Secret Keeper, his suggestion that they use Peter, the betrayal.

Finding their bodies strewn about the broken house; James, wandless, Lily, collapsed beneath the cradle. Harry, wailing.

He wanted to tear his heart out through his chest and rip it to pieces, watch as the life drained from his skin. But Cornelius Fudge was coming.

The Minister of Magic strode down the dark, freezing hallway with an air of superiority and disgust, clear as day presented on his face. He hardly glanced at the tortured figures, shrieking and moaning around him—all except one. He looked down to see Sirius Black, the notorious mass murderer, sitting cross legged, lazing leaning against the bars of his cell. If it weren’t for how hauntingly thin and gaunt he was, Cornelius would have sworn Sirius hadn’t spent a day in Azkaban.

Fudge was even more astonished when the pale, sickly figure turned it’s head carelessly, opened its mouth, and spoke. There was still a hint of life in his eyes, a wonder to see when surrounded by a mass of soulless shells, wasting away in their cages. “Are you finished with your paper?” His voice was strong, if a bit crackled from misuse. So full of life in a way none of the other people—if he could even call them that anymore—in Azkaban were.

When Fudge didn’t move, Sirius gestured to the copy of The Daily Prophet he’d been carrying. He’d forgotten about it entirely in the mess of anguish and decay that was Azkaban.

Why would a convict, let alone this one—the raving lunatic, want to read the Prophet?

It appeared he didn’t have to ask, as Sirius supplied the answer willingly. “I like to do the crosswords.” And then he smiled. It was far from the same mischievous, charming smile of his youth, but it wasn’t a crooked sneer like the others prisoners.

Fudge didn’t know what to think. He tried to consider for a moment, but couldn’t come up with a single way handing over the paper was dangerous. So he did.

“Have a good day, sir.” The words echoed down the hall with him as he briskly walked away. A shudder ran down his back and he shook his head, trying to forget all about the encounter with one completely sane mass murderer.

Sirius Black, however, sat back, and unfolded the paper. Very few of the headlines interested him, though one picture did catch his attention. A bustling family smiled brightly and waved up at him, pyramids stretching out behind them. The parents looked vaguely familiar, in the same way his friend’s names floated in and out of his head, but he couldn’t put his finger on it until he read the article beside the image.

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry of Magic has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.

Sirius smiled faintly, suddenly remembering the lanky, somewhat-awkward redhead and his kind wife. His eyes flickered back to the picture, their big, beautiful family (he counted nine of them) fussing with their belongings and waving again.

Then his eyes landed on the youngest boy. He couldn’t have been older than twelve, still shorter than most of his family, and there was an innocence in the wonder in his bright eyes. But Sirius was too focused on his outstretched hand and the creature that he held in front of him.

A rat. It was fat and grey and missing a toe.

Sirius’s heart dropped from his chest as he raced to finish the article.

The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.

The boy must be one of the five.

Wormtail would be at Hogwarts.

Sirius wracked his brain as to why this information terrified him. Having discarded the paper, he transformed back into a dog and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate.

Hogwarts. The betrayal. James. Lily. Remus. Peter.

Harry.

Sirius' eyes snapped open.

He began to plan.

***

In the grand scheme of things, escaping Azkaban hadn’t been all that difficult.

He must’ve gotten away with significantly more difficult pranks in all his time at Hogwarts, Padfoot reckoned, as he paddled off the island. Even then, just off the rocky shores, as a dog in the freezing cold waters, his memories were coming back to him. Not fast, and not well, but he could remember his purpose.

He felt the dementors’ grip on him slowly fading, the terrible reminders of the past that had plagued his every waking moment finally relenting to the better, though not exactly happy, thoughts. He was out. He was free.

Wormtail was at Hogwarts.

Padfoot kept swimming.

***

read the rest on ao3

[henry-cavill-baby]

Mark of the Witcher ┃ 1

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Original Female Character

Warnings: Little Violence

Length: 3k~

Summary: It was legend amongst the Witcher’s of Kaer Morhen, and not one had donned such a thing for centuries. Some thought it had come from the Conjunction of the Spheres, or perhaps a cruel sorceress out to end the Witcher line.

Unfortunately, Geralt dons the Mark on his left shoulder, and for only when the first born of Pavetta enters the world, does it begin to all make sense. He doesn’t really understand what it means, or really know where his destiny lies, but with Jaskier at his side, he will find the girl who lies within the Cintran walls and is meant to be his.

And not even Queen Calanthe can stop him… right?

Through the halls of the Cintran Castle, Pavetta wailed as though she were dying, and in truth, that is how she felt.

They had all known this day would come to pass, that the child would have to be born, but as Duny paced outside his wife’s chambers, biting the quick of his nails, he did not think he could bear it for one moment more. 

It seemed as though the entire castle and its people were put on hold; those outside pressing their ears to the walls, wanting to hear the first cry of the new child. 

Calanthe, the Queen of Cintra, gripped her daughter’s hand. “Push, my sweet. Bring my granddaughter to this world.” 

But sweat continued to pour down Pavetta’s face, her tears staining the silken sheets below.  I want my husband, please, bring me Duny.

She’d wept her pleas, but they went ignored. Men were not welcome during birth, and this time would be no different. 

When another painful feeling went through Pavetta, she screamed, and her cries shattered the bedroom walls. The nurse patted a damp rag on her clammy skin, but it did little to help. She felt as though she were being torn apart from the inside, her organs and intestines ready to slip out with the child. 

“You’re close,” Calanthe insisted. “Just a little longer.” 

But Pavetta squirmed against the soft sheets on the feathered bed, whimpering, “I—can’t. It hurts—I can’t.”

The Queen gripped her daughter’s hand, “You can, Pavetta. You’re almost there, just push, darling, keep pushing.” 

After what seemed like an eternity, Pavetta gave one last push followed by a weak cry, echoing her child’s fierce wail.  My child,  she looked between her legs at the nurse cleaning off her baby,  my sweet Aleira. 

The small pruned child wept for her mother’s arms, and Pavetta was all too ready to accept her to her breast but the pain of birth ceased her consciousness, and the handmaiden worked to clean off the unconscious woman—wiping away the sweat and tears of birth, but saving the placenta for later consumption. 

It would no doubt be baked into a sweet meat pie for Pavetta’s first meal as a mother.

One of the handmaids gingerly cleaned off the child of muck and gunk, bundling her up in a fresh blanket and carefully placing her into the arms of the waiting Queen. Calanthe’s eyes were misty as she gazed down at the squirming child.

There were no physical deformities on the girl—not a toe missing or a finger out of place, both eyes unseeing with mirth and curiosity. It was the perfect child, one of the blood of Cintra, and the granddaughter that would be the lioness of Cintra. She held perfection in her hands.

As Pavetta slept off the pain of birth, Calanthe ran her hands along the child's back and shoulders, brow wrinkling at the wrinkled skin she felt underneath her fingertip. 

It was quite small but noticeable to a keen eye,, and even worse, it was a mark that dropped her heart to her stomach.

To most it would mean nothing if not a birthmark, but she knew more than most. She was vaguely aware of one of the handmaidens questioning if the child could be returned to the sleeping mothers arms, but Calanthe drearily walked to the door. The handmaiden might have said something, but it was null to her ears.

The door pushed open with ease, and Duny shouldered past to see his wife. 

“Ah, what a lovely child, my queen.” Mousesack said with a smile, trying to get a glimpse of the little one, “Has she been named?”

The frightening glare that was shot in his direction was enough of an answer to follow Calanthe to a separate chamber.

He made sure to shut and lock the door as soon as it closed, and made his way to the near trembling Calanthe.

“What troubles you, my queen?” Mousesach eyed the child.

Calanthe kept her voice steady, “Take the child, Mousesack.”

He was quick to take the small girl into the crease of his arms, watching her look around the world with a sense of amazement and wonder. Her eyes were bluer than the waters of old, and her round full lips would hold the heart of any man who dared gaze upon her.  A beautiful child indeed.  

“Should we not return her to Pavetta?” His eyes looked to the locked door, and back to Calanthe with confusion.

"Her shoulder, Mousesack.” Calanthe’s voice grew harsh. “Look at it.”

The harshness in his Queen's voice was concerning, and his heart thudded to the dungeons of Cintra as his gaze landed on what had caused the Queen such anguish. It was small for now and would no doubt grow with age, but his knowledgeable eyes knew exactly what it was, and he knew his Queen did too.

It was the mark of a  Witcher.

  The blade sliced through the final Wargs head with ease, dropping to the floor with an undesirable thump. 

Blood poured from the severed head, and Geralt sneered at the still twitching body of the Warg that had been terrorizing the small town. It had fed on three children before a poor butcher had called him, of course with coin as a guarantee if he did indeed bring back the head of the creature.

“Is it dead? Geralt?” A voice whispered from seven trees over and a brown tuft of hair with blue eyes peered around the oak. “Is it safe to come out now? Should I be running?”

Geralt turned to glare at the bard that was like a thorn in his side, yellow orbs glowing with irritation. “It’s dead, Jaskier. It won’t bite.”

“Ha!” Jaskier spat. “You say that now, but I think you’re forgetting that little sea maggot that you said was dead and then tried to take my head off.”

Jaskier scolded as he skirted out from behind the tree and made his way to Geralt. “Is that all of them? I thought the Butcher said there were three or four.”

“He was wrong.” Geralt grunted. “The pups died from starvation days ago. It was just trying to feed them.”

“Oh, well alright then.” Jaskier rocked on the balls of his feet as Geralt made to clean off his sword. “Where to now?”

He gestured to the direction of the town. “I bet once we deliver the head we’ll have enough to get a room and— ooh , a nice bath perhaps.  I think the both of us smell a bit riper than normal.”

Geralt grunted and lifted the bloody head; “I’ll get my coin at sunrise. We'll camp here.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, “Come on, a fresh bath sounds so much better than sleeping on the hard floor with bugs and dead things.”

Geralt grunted. “Hm.” 

Jaskier sighed and dropped his lute onto a particularly soft piece of moss, mouthing ‘stay there’.

Setting up camp was never a feat for the bard and Witcher, but Jaskier saw it before Geralt—

“Did that thing scratch you? Seriously, Geralt? What happened to telling me these things so we can fix them before you get an infection and die and I have to take your place as savior of the Continent?”

Geralt lightly patted his side and red was indeed blossoming under his armor. 

“How would you live without me, Geralt? Honestly.” Jaskier scolded the big bad Witcher as his nimble fingers cleaned up the cut with a little of this and that, trying not to gawk at the shirtless Witcher under his fingertips.

Jaskier had seen Geralt’s scars before; there were ones that he’d seen him get first hand, others older and more faded. Some were obvious bite marks from creatures much larger than any human, and others Jaskier knew not to ask about. 

Well, except about—

“What’s this one?” His fingertips skimmed over the Witcher’s left shoulder. It wasn’t raised or held any ridges meaning it couldn’t have been a scar. It looked far too detailed to be a scar anyhow.

“Hm?” Geralt grunted, head turning slightly to show Jaskier had his attention.

“This one doesn’t look like a scar.” Jaskier slowly said. “It looks more intentional, you know? Where’d you get it?”

“Nothing, bard.” He only called him bard when the topic was one Geralt wasn’t fond of.

“But what does it mean? Is it like a tracker or sorts? Does it ever burn?  Oooo, does it glow?”

“Shut it, Jaskier.”

“Stop fidgeting, it’s going to scar if you keep moving.” Jaskier reminded his Witcher companion, trying to effectively wrap the slightly less bloody cut.

“It’ll heal on its own.” Geralt grunted.

“But it could heal—alright, I guess we’re done for now.” Geralt grunted with a glare and took his place on the other side of the low fire, sneering into the flames.

An injury was a sign of weakness, it meant he was getting slower—more likely to get himself or Jaskier killed. It made him feel almost human.

“Soooo,” Jaskier hummed in a jolly tune, “You going to tell me about that scar?”

“It’s not a scar, bard.” Geralt sneered, “And it’s none of your business.”

“But what if I want it to be my business.” Jaskier smiled like a cat that’d caught the canary. “Come on, Geralt. I share all of my secrets with you and you can’t share one measly little detail with me. Just picture it, a new ode to the scar on the Witcher’s back.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier glared with friendly mirth at his disgruntled Witcher, “Come on, Geralt, and how bad can it be?”

Only a honeyed glare was the response, and they both stared into the flames, waiting for the spit-roasted rabbits to become charred and brown with smoky flavor. It was a meal much needed for the Witcher, and his fingers twitched against the caked red on his pants. Ominous howls resonated through the dark woods, and Jaskier chuckled nervously.

“Do you think there’s more Warg’s out there? I think they’d be better company than you—“

“It’s a soul mark.”

Jaskier shut his gaping mouth at his white haired friend, sputtering, “Soul Mark? What—what does that entail, Geralt?"

This would make for a new epic in the White Wolf’s name.

He sneered at the red flames with tired eyes, “It is common lore amongst Kaer Morhen. No other Witcher has bore one in centuries.”

“I always knew you were a special one, Geralt.” The low growl from the rough chest across the fire had Jaskier smiling sheepishly, leaning forward on his seat on the log.

“Is there a reason no other Witchers have this mark? Not that I’ve ever met another Witcher aside from you, but do you even know why you got it?”

“If I knew, Jaskier,” he huffed, “I’d have gotten rid of it by now.”

“Are you not curious, Geralt?” he spoke with mirth and utter curiosity. “I’m going to assume that you share that mark with some other lonely soul walking this plane, and that person, Geralt, could be your destiny.”

Geralt took a swig of his water jug, “Destiny is for fools, Jaskier. It only ever disappoints the hopeful.”

“Are you not hopeful that someone out there is meant to be beside you until the end of days? Not just myself of course.”

askier hummed, “I am assuming all of this, of course, seeing as you are outright refusing to tell me exactly what your little mark entails—are you sleeping?”

“Shut it, bard.”

 “We could cut it off before Pavetta wakes.”

Mousesack glared at his Queen, questioning her sanity.

“Oh yes, we’ll return the future princess of Cintra bleeding out from the shoulder, no questions asked.” 

The child in his arms squirmed for a better position, mouthing at the buttons, little belly craving her warm mothers milk. Her little toes wiggled in earnest as she watched her grandmother pace the room with fury.

“I’ve had enough of these fucking Witchers,” she snarled with unaltered rage, startling Mousesack. 

“He already called the Law of Surprise like a fool, and now his claim on that child is near unbreakable. Have we not been punished enough, Mousesack? It will destroy Pavetta to know that her daughter will live out of her days with—with…”

“Geralt, of Rivia, my Queen.” He absent-mindedly rubbed the child’s belly through the soft cloth. “He is not as cruel as you seem to believe.”

“All Witchers are the same, Mousesack.” She spat with bared teeth, “I’ve read the texts, and I’ve seen enough of them to last a lifetime. They do not feel, they do not love, and they are creatures meant to be slayed.”

Mousesack furrowed his brow, allowing the babe in his arms to grip his fingers with strength belying a newborn babe. “I do not wish to speak out of turn—“

“Then do not speak.” She snapped while waving a frivolously dramatic hand through the air. “No one can know about this, Mousesack. Not Pavetta, not Duny, no one.”

The air in the room felt tight and cold, the child yawning and snuggling into the gold of his robes. The silk was softer than a cloud, and it rubbed against the smoothness of the baby's skin.

The black mark stood stark against her fresh pale skin, and he lightly fingered the soft curve of the wolf's head that ended in the center with sharp teeth.

It was a mark he’d seen donning the silver necklace that Geralt was never seen without.

Turmoil boiled in his gut at the thought of Geralt taking away the granddaughter of Calanthe; it would destroy the Queen, just as it was now, to know that soon Geralt would feel the pull of the mark and make his way to Cintra to claim what was his.

To claim the lioness of Cintra as his partner in life.

“What shall you have me do, my Queen?”

His steps were soft across the room, gliding to her side and watching with pursed lips. The distress on her face was broad and clear, and the impatient knock on the door jolted them back to reality.

“My queen?” he begged over the banging door,  “Your choice?”

Calanthe stood and smoothed down her golden dress, lips twitching with barely repressed disgust for the child in his arms. 

To go from utter adoration to putrid disgust so fast made her head spin, and she tried to gingerly take the dozing babe in her arms, staring down with watery ways.

“We shall be patient, for now.” Her hand rubbed the fat of the child’s cheek, a cracking smile breaking as blue eyes opened to gaze with amazement.

Mousesack opened the door and allowed Duny to race in, gazing at his daughter with loving eyes. Calanthe handed her off with a smile, watching the father leave with words of adoration spilling from his lips.

  It came in bursts—flashes of light behind his honeyed eyes—images of himself with a woman. 

Geralt looked down and saw his bare feet resting in hoards of purple lilacs, as far as the eye could see. They lingered in the air—floating before his eyes and suffocating his keen senses—but the aroma of the freshest peaches lingered in the back of his mind. 

Salvia pooled under his tongue as the temptation to bite into the wettest, softest fruit flooded his thoughts. Fruits of tender flesh were hard to come by in these times but this was one that was to die for.

His legs moved on their own, stumbling through the soft field of lilacs with no mind in any actual direction. This was a place that was strange and new, and a call rang through his heightened Witcher senses. 

“Geralt.”

He must’ve been dead—that Warg must have bitten on his head and this was truly heaven—and the voice calling for him was an angel. It was ethereal and haunting at the once, and desperation to find the voice and hold it close grew stronger.

His stumbling grew more desperate for the voice, running through the field and coming to a halt.

It was a woman indeed; she was far away in the naked flesh in a field of purple. Her back was turned to him and he nearly fell to his knees at the sight of her full buttocks and flesh back. It was flesh that he could see himself marking with his teeth, his nails as they rutted against one another.

The desire to nibble and suckle on the sweet flesh, to mount and fuck was startling to the normally tame Geralt.  Who was this sorceress, casting a spell on me?

The golden eyes of the Witcher zeroed in on his mark donning her shoulder; wanting to touch and make sure it was real.  It couldn’t have been . The wind blew her short dark locks and exposed a pale neck, small ears that looked positively edible.

He was immobile, stuck to the floor and only a spectator as her head turned to gaze at the fallen Witcher. Blue eyes akin to the waters of plenty, red lips softer than the petals of a rose.

His voice was desperate and hungry. “Who are you?”

Her body turned and he fell to his knees. His golden orbs took in her perky round breasts with dusty thick nipples, the soft fat of her stomach that would no doubt hold the children he could never sire, the thick thighs that would be best wrapped around his head as he feasted on her most desirable parts.

Who was this enchantress?

“Find me, Geralt. Before it’s too late,” she whispered, vanishing into the air. 

 Part 2 Soon!

[writing-things-by-me]

Dean and Sam's adventures

Dean and his little brother, in age only, Sam had been talking about closing the Gates of Hell and then trying to figure out if there is anything on the angel tablet to close the doors to heaven as well. The angels just caused too much trouble when they came down and caused too much harm. The boys were leaning back against their, well when I say their, I mean Dean’s beloved 1967 Black Chevy Impala. She has been through everything with them. She was their home when they didn’t have one. She is the only companion they have had all their lives when everyone else leaves them. Whether anyone means to leave or not, She has been through their heartbreak and sorrow. She has been through the pain of losing each other and the ecstasy of finding each other again.She has seen them in the soft joy of falling in love with others without meaning to and finding the other to hope they can always meet here again after a hard time hunting or fighting the other angels. She was a part of the family whether she is inanimate or not. She has been rebuilt from almost scratch with the loving care of the eldest brother she carries with her.

This hunt they were taking on was a particular easy one that Dean didn’t like one bit. He of course thought it was too easy to just sit here watching the doors for activity and hope no one sees them. As if they were the boogeyman to all the monsters they have to fight to save people. They did have some easy cases in the past but this was suspiciously too easy. Sam didn’t think so. He just wanted to get it over with and keep going with the newest project he was working on. One of the vampire case’s that was easy was that one time with Benny and when Dean had the Mark of Cain but that was a whole other story. What usually happens in these scenarios is they get caught and ruffed up before they inevitably escape and kill the nest but no one has come or gone from the building yet.

Just when Dean was gonna give up and go bursting in he heard some shouting and the sounds of a fight breaking out inside the building. Just then a couple burst through the barn door of the abandoned building and into the night around them. Dean was quietly watching and slowly opening the car door so as to not cause attention to turn to them as the two were starting to get rougher with each other. It seemed like one was starting to get fed up when her fangs could be vaguely seen gleaming in the moonlight from being bared at the other. The boys quickly got out with their weapons and made to run over to help when Dean felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. As he whirled around to attack, he got a fist full of brass knuckles to the face. He heard Sam cry out through the ringing in his head and as he turned to look over he saw Sam say his name. As he was fighting to keep his eyes open, he saw the couple weren’t fighting anymore and saw them looking over with smug smiles through his blurry vision.

“Damn, this was a setup.” was Dean’s last thought as he finally lost the battle with the darkness encroaching on his vision. When Dean was finally coming to he could feel himself sitting down with some rough ropes tying him to a pole. He could feel his arms starting to cramp from being tied in this position for so long. He tried to wiggle around to see what weapons he still had on him when he could see Sam sitting to the right of him with his head still falling against his chest. “Sam!” Dean exclaimed to see if he would answer.

He didn’t and the only thing Dean got was the attention of the Vampire’s who were on guard duty apparently. The man who was fighting earlier turned to see what he heard and noticed that Dean was awake again. “Hey! He’s up. We can’t have that. It’s not time yet.” He slowly, arrogantly, walked over with a swing in his hips. He crouched and smiled cockily and whispered “Nighty night Winchester.” He used to butt of the machete that Dean had brought to hit his temple and knock him out again. When he woke again he could feel the headache and possible concussion he had. He could hear some mumbling in the background as he was trying to gain his bearings again. When he could finally lift his head without feeling the room spinning nauseatingly he looked over to see Sam looking at him full of concern and with some fury mixed in.

He looked around the room to see if he could find his weapons stashed anywhere. He could see they were all piled in the hammock a few paces from him. He felt the slow simmering anger from all his things being carelessly tossed away. He felt around to see if the hidden pocket knife he had made from a melted angel blade was still in his sleeve's hidden pocket. He sent a small smug smile to Sam that his idea worked out and was actually useful. Sam exasperatedly rolled his eyes and started to work it out of his sleeve as well. “Ha! Beat that Sam.” Dean thought as he started to cut his ropes as quietly as he could as to not draw attention like he did last time. When Dean was almost finished he signaled Sam knowing he would understand the unspoken cues they have between them. Sam started to yell and make a nuisance of himself so Dean could finish and they could finally leave. Sam knowing how this would end started to brace himself for the punches and Dean tried and failed to concentrate on his part to get them out.

“I am gonna kill that vampire and make it hurt.” Dean quietly vowed to himself as he slunk over to the hammock with their weapons. He grabbed the machete he always kept in his car stash and started his swinging and beheading his way to his brother. With the other vampire’s were occupied with his brother, he could see the others starting to cheer and turn their attention to the empty pole he was supposed to be tied to. The brief surprise and panicked horror he saw in their eyes didn’t make up for what happened but it satisfied that dark part in the back of his heart. It wanted him to keep going to make them realize just exactly how they were messing with. That there was a reason that the Winchesters were considered terrifying to the monster realm and why if you heard they were near you could only run or get caught. Some called them psychopaths and they were right but only for the monsters of the night that hurt humans.

They finally turned to try and find him and that is the last that some of them saw but for others they saw a very pissed off overprotective brother coming straight for them. No one was allowed to mess with Sam but him. Before he could stop him, one of the vampires that was in the back of the pack took out a gun and shot Sam in the leg. Sam let out a wail of anguish and the vampire started cackling thinking he would make it out with Dean being distracted by Sam. Either he was having too much fun or he just wasn’t that great of a vampire to miss his nest mates heads hitting the ground with a dull ‘thud’ behind him. Dean saw him start to turn around and before he decided to do the whole evil villain monologue he swiftly chopped his head from his shoulders.

“SAM! Hey, you’re gonna be okay. Got it?” Dean worriedly exclaimed as he tried to finish what Sam started earlier before he got injured by the vampire. “Yea. Peachy keen Dean. Just you know, the pain is a lot at the moment.” Sam hissed through clenched teeth and a pinched face trying to jostle the wound too much. His eyelids were starting to battle him trying to close and sleep to preserve energy for healing but he stubbornly tried to keep them so as to not worry Dean too much. He knew Dean would become a mother hen over him more than he already was. “Hey! Come one Sam, don't close your eyes. You know how rude that is?” Dean worriedly scolded him. “You fall asleep on me and I'm gonna mess your computer! Put porn all over it and change your background to some blue waffles if you don’t stay awake.” He taunted using Sam’s precious computer as a threat against him. He started to get desperate with Sam not answering him.

He quickly and carefully as he could picked Sam up and kicked open the barn door from earlier to get back to the car. He knew he wouldn’t be able to open the door with Sam in his arms so he could only lay him out on the hood and hope that didn’t hurt too much. He ran around the side and collected the limited first aid kit he kept in his car. As much as he wanted to whine that they kept his car doors open for a couple hours he guiltily thanked them because it allowed him to get the supplies he needed. He wrapped Sam’s leg with what bandages he had before he went to open the car doors to put Sam in the backseat. Once he successfully got Sam in he stumbled into the front and peeled out as if he had hellhounds on his ass.

Thankfully or not, depending on the perspective, the nest they were hunting wasn’t that far from their bunker. Without taking his eyes off the round, Dean squirmed around to get his phone out of his pocket and called up Cas, who was busy sorting some books in the library. Dean sighed waiting for the ringing to stop when he heard “Hello? Dean? What is it?” cooking over the phone. “Cas. Sam’s hurt. Be ready for us. We’re almost there.” Dean hung up as soon as he was done talking, meanwhile Cas was in a bit of a stupor before he jolted and turned back and forth unable to decide what to get first or where to go.

While Dean was counting on Cas being his Calm warrior of heaven, he was in actuality running around like a headless chicken both dreading and apprehensive of Dean's arrival. Cas was no longer an angel but he hasn't had a chance to tell Dean yet. He won’t be able to heal Sam like he knew Dean would demand of him like he has so many times in the past. The battle between the Angels of heaven and the Hunters of earth was where the deed happened. He gave up being an angel. He didn’t want to be just this destructive force of God. He didn’t just want to be a Warrior when he felt he could be more than that. He knew the Brothers kept him around for his friendship and because they considered him family. That was enough for him. He knew it would have to be enough because he didn’t know what he would do if it wasn’t. He didn’t want to lose Dean but this might finally be the weight that breaks the camel's back and have everything come crumbling down around him.

While the battle had raged on he quickly grew tired. These were his brothers and sisters he was having to kill. They didn’t have the same relationship with him like Dean had with Sam but he still couldn’t help but feel distressed. He didn’t want to die an angel and not be able to see the brothers again. He wanted, yearned, to be human and live out his life with them. With Dean. If he would have him, but he knew it couldn’t be so he settled for what they have now. He wanted to grow old, cranky and gruff like how Bobby had been. He wanted to inform other hunters who called on potential nearby hunts or help with the distribution of information. He wanted to research monsters, to let others know how and with what they need to kill said monsters. That’s all he wants. He is so tired of killing family no matter how distant they are because they don’t understand his need to live amongst the humans. The blood that has collected on Castiel’s hands is too much for him anymore.

‘BANG BANG’ Cas heard from the warded door of the entrance to the bunker. He shook his head to dispel his thoughts. He didn’t have time for that now he chastised himself. He rushed up the metal staircase to get to the door and open it for Dean. “Cas gonna need your help here. Sam is too much for me. I can’t hold him for much longer.” Dean forced out under the strain of holding Sam. Cas quickly takes Sam as to relieve Dean of the weight and takes him carefully back to lay him down on the war room table. He rushes back to the kitchen and grabs the first aid kit all the while hoping Dean doesn’t ask him to heal Sam. As he comes back through the door he could tell that his fears were correct since Dean was looking calmer than he should with Sam injured as he is. Dean goes around the table to take the kit form Cas and gives voice to the very thing Cas was hoping he wouldn’t say. “Alright Cas! Why did you get this? Just go work your mojo on Sammy.” Dean started confusedly before clapping his hands in a manner that suggests he has to hurry up.

Cas could feel the distress and guilt that is showing on his face because Dean’s face is starting to show a dawning sense of comprehension that only he could understand about Cas. “I’m sorry Dean. I am, truly. But I no longer can anymore. I'm no longer an angel. I’m sorry I didn't tell you before but I..” Cas trailed off as he could feel the shame burning on his face as he tried to continue. “Cas.” Dean chokes out through gritted teeth and a scowling face. “Why didn't you tell me this before? Do you just not trust me anymore? Were you ever going to say anything? You know what never mind. We don’t have time for this. I have to help Sam.” Dean brusquely replied, moving around Cas to get to Sam. Cas tilted his head down at the dismissal and quietly helped Dean with what he needed when there was a ringing noise and white light coming from the end of the table almost under the stairs.

They could both see a figures silhouette in the light becoming clearer with every step they take. A hand comes through followed by a foot with leg coming through after. They can clearly see a person coming through, though not who, it becomes increasingly obvious as the light and noise begins to dim again and disappear. Chuck strides through the last of the dying portal light and strolls up to Sam to lay a hand on him when Dean, the ever overprotective brother that he is, whips out his gun and aims it at the intruder with a steady hand. “Put a hand on him and you can say goodbye to your meat suit.” Grits out and looks over to Cas to see why he hasn’t moved to defend Sam. Only to see Castiel look like he was about to cry and was just barely holding back from falling to his knees. “Father?” Cas croaked out from where he was standing.

Chuck slowly raised his hands when Dean turned his gun on him but he slowly turned to look at Cas with the small smile he has on his face as he faces his favorite son. “Castiel, My Son.” Chuck warmly counters to Cas’s words. “What- God?” Dean shrewdly mumbles at the exchange that just happened in front of him. Chuck looks to Dean and then pointedly at the gun still pointed at him though it has lowered slightly in Dean's surprise. Chuck slowly lowers his hands again and brings them to rest delicately on the slowly growing bloodstain on his pant leg. He closed his eyes but that did nothing to hide the light that visibly shines from beneath them. His palms glows with restrained power that illuminates Sam’s injury and shows it slowly closing, by what it seems like, itself. Sam groans as his face is quickly gaining the color it had lost since the injury was first inflicted upon him. “Don’t mess with my computer Dean.” Sam coughs out as he slowly sits up from the table.

Castiel slowly, unsteadily, walks over to the man he claims is his Father and cautiously puts his hand out to push lightly at the shoulder. Chuck watches with a warmth to his eyes in the face of his son’s caution. “Castiel. I need to speak with you.” He says slowly watching the emotions flit across the face of his son. Feeling the imminent emotional overload from his son he casually stops time with a wave of his hand, not unlike how Gabriel and his signature snaps, and watches as Castiel falls to his knees. “Father.” Castiel chokes out to caught up in the emotions caught in his throat to speak properly. “I’m sorry for the destruction I have wreaked across heaven. For the blood I spilt on earth trying to be a God when I wasn't one. I was just an Angel to hopped up on soul power to see how I was hurting others.” Castiel managed to choke out before the hitch in his breathing was too much and he could feel the hitching in his breath coming out fast.

“My Son. It is okay. You feel the regret and you know what you did wasn’t okay. I healed Sam and I came with a question for you. I plan to close the gates of heaven so you boys won’t have to. I am bringing the angels who want to come back and letting anyone else stay if that is what they choose. But I am giving them the choice despite them not quite understanding that yet.” He said slowly, shaking his head looking exasperated with the other angels. Chuck takes Castiel's arms in his and they slowly rise as Castiel gets his breathing back under control again. When he sees that Castiel is more or less okay, he waved his hand and restarted time again to allow the brothers to hear this part of the conversation.

Castiel slowly looks back at the brothers who are looking at the father son duo with twin looks of concern on their face. Castiel looks back at Chuck with a look of deep concentration on his face before they could all see the determination push through the other emotions and he opens his mouth to respond “No father. I don’t want to go back to heaven unless it's after the death of my human life. I want to live here with Dean, and Sam. I want to be a Winchester and hunt with the Winchesters. They have helped me understand humanity better than I ever could just by watching from afar in heaven. I can make choices for myself whether it be good or bad. I can choose to love or I could choose to dislike things and not be punished for it. I don’t have to be a warrior unless I choose to. I could be a healer or informant. I can be whatever I want and to be with who I want if they would have me.” Castiel was exclaiming and excited gesturing with his whole body even though he didn’t move very much.

“Alright My Son. If that is what you want.” Chuck said with a small fond smile playing at the edge of his lips. He hoped Dean would hurry up and get a move on and claim his son already. He vanished in a blink of light and reappeared in heaven where he recalled all his wayward children. He closed the doors of heaven to all but the souls allowed in the gates and sat back on his throne to wait for his human son to live here with him again with his new family. He smiled when he felt them join his domain and made sure they could share a heaven with the rest of their family that has beaten them here to his warm embrace.

[grayseekerswritinglife]

Tricks & Treats 4/5

Chapter Four: Electromagnet

The throbbing grew worse over the next few hours as the Autobots repeatedly questioned Starscream and his Trine about the gold. Optimus Prime and his lackeys seemed convinced that Megatron wanted the gold for some undisclosed, but surely dire purpose. Oddly, and despite Skywarp’s obvious gluttony, none of them seemed to guess that the purpose might be culinary. Starscream refused to say anything. He hoped Skywarp and Thundercracker had the sense to do likewise, but he had no way of knowing since the Autobots had been smart enough to question them separately, in shielded detention cells that prevented them from using their comms to confer with one another or call for help. He had to hand it to the Autobots; they were learning.

Eventually his cell door opened and his two Trinemates stumbled in, shoved by a pair of Dinobots. Starscream lunged for the door, but it slammed shut. The two colossal lizards, who seemed to take their role as guards with utmost seriousness, eyed him with a smug air before they sauntered off down the passageway, tails swinging in time with their heavy, ponderous strides. Starscream glared after them.

“Why are they putting us together?” he demanded.

“I dunno, why wouldn’t they?” Thundercracker stumbled as Skywarp lurched against him, groaning. “Come on Screamer, gimme a hand, will ya?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Starscream muttered, seizing Skywarp’s other arm. He nearly let go again when a feverish heat imprinted itself on his palms. "He’s burning up!”

“Yup,” Thundercracker agreed. “Got the gold-sweats.”

“Frag it to the Pit, Skywarp! How much of that slag did you eat?”

“Trick-or-treat, trick-or-treat,” Skywarp chanted, “trick-or-treat we say! If you don’t have treats for us, we’ll never go awaaaa—ay!”

“C’mon, Warp,” Thundercracker urged. “Just a few more steps.” They shuffled forward, but Skywarp tripped, his foot striking sparks from the edge of one of the floor-tiles. He lost his balance and plowed face-first into the wall where he remained for several moments before sliding to his knees.

“Hmmm, coooool,” Skywarp purred, rubbing his cheek against the metal bulkhead. “Niiiice.”

“I suppose that answers my question,” Starscream muttered, running a finger beneath the edge of Skywarp’s bowed helm. His digit came away with a thin golden sheen. Starscream sighed. “Actually, I guess it answers all my questions. They couldn’t get anything useful out of Skywarp in his current state, so they’re hoping that by putting the three of us together, we’ll talk about something more informative.”

“Well, they’ll be waiting a while,” Thundercracker said as he sank down beside Skywarp, looping an arm around him and pulling him away from the wall. Skywarp curled into his side, shivering and moaning softly.

“Belly hurts,” Skywarp complained.

“I’ll bet,” Starscream said unsympathetically. “Serves you right.”

“An’ they took my treats away,” Skywarp continued, his tone mournful. “Even what I had in my subspace.”

“They searched your subspace?” Starscream wasn’t surprised. The Autobots had searched his subspace too, but Starscream kept anything useful or potentially interesting in a secret partition within his subspace, one which only the most experienced hacker could have hoped to access. He knew they’d find it eventually, but he was hoping to be out of here before it came to that. Not that things were looking especially hopeful right now.

“Too bad they couldn’t take what’s in your belly,” Thundercracker murmured. Skywarp burrowed into him with an anguished groan, and Thundercracker drew him closer, raising a hand to stroke one of his intakes. “Dumb-aft.”

Starscream snorted. “He’ll be lucky if he gets out of this with nothing worse than a case of the sweats.”

Thundercracker grunted in agreement.

Starscream prowled to the door and peered out through the bars, scowling at the empty corridor. There were several detention cells in the Autobot brig, but all the others stood empty. As one might expect, Starscream supposed. The blast-doors at the end of the hall were sealed with a heavy locking mechanism which Starscream could have made quick work of, if only he’d had his null-ray. Sadly, he did not. The Autobots had confiscated his rifles, along with all their other weapons, and they had not neglected to remove his null-ray’s master power-relay. Without it, the weapon was useless.

Of course, getting past that door would only land them face-to-snout with several huge, highly zealous robo-lizards. Starscream didn’t like their odds against the Dinobots even at the best of times, and he and his Trinemates were hardly at their best today. He sagged against the wall, careful not to touch the bars, and glared. Mostly at Skywarp, but occasionally also at the door at the end of the passage.

Perhaps he dozed. He’d been known to fall into a stupor that resembled sleep when he was trying to work out a problem. In the far distant past, there’d been someone to rouse him from that state. Someone with large, warm hands, who would take him by the shoulders and gently guide him to the nearest chair. Or, better yet, would effortlessly carry him to a berth that smelled of rain-clouds and spent passion and—

A loud, metallic ‘thunk’ jolted Starscream from his reverie. He peered down the length of the corridor to where the blast-doors had cycled open, and had to re-set his optics several times. He’d been half in a dream, a dream which had taken his thoughts down familiar and dangerous pathways, and now the embodiment of that dream was walking toward him, large as life. So large, in fact, that he’d had to angle his massive wings so that their tips would not scrape against the ceiling. His large, presumably warm hands were holding a tray upon which rested three small energon cubes. The one in the middle glowed a slightly purple shade, while the other two were blue.

The towering figure paused before their cell and crouched, just slightly, to insert the tray into a receptacle in the wall beside the door. There was a soft hum, as if the contents of the tray were being scanned. Starscream suspected that was exactly what was happening. Finally, a small door slid open on his side of the wall, and he was able to remove the energon cubes before the tray retracted again.

“I see they’ve got you on rations duty,” Starscream remarked acidly. “An excellent use of your intellect. You certainly picked the right side, Skyfire.”

“I asked for this duty,” Skyfire countered with a smile. “The purple cube is for Skywarp. It contains a medication which should ease his discomfort.”

“Or kill him,” Starscream shot back. “How do I know these aren’t poisoned?”

“You don’t. You’ll just have to trust that our side of the war doesn’t operate that way.”

“And what would you know about how your side operates? You’ve only been in the war for—what, two Earth years?”

“About that,” Skyfire replied with an affable shrug. His gaze was warm; dangerously so, and that soft, clean rain-smell was wafting through the bars. Starscream caught himself leaning forward, flooding his senses with it. “You should be careful,” Skyfire added, pitching his voice to an intimate rumble intended for Starscream’s audials alone. “These bars are magnetized, you see. Electro-magnetized.”

He turned and strode away, humming. Starscream stared after him until he disappeared through the doors, then shook himself. The bars, while energized with a field that would shock anyone foolish enough to touch them, were not electro-magnetized. If they had been, he—and his Trinemates, and the Dinobots—would be stuck to them. Which meant that it was code for something. Something Starscream would find hidden in plain sight, just like the electromagnet he’d once stashed aboard an oil platform so that Skyfire could escape the Decepticons.

Starscream swept his gaze over the stark, featureless walls of their prison, then settled, finally, on a floor-tile. A floor-tile which sat ever so slightly askew within its housing. A floor-tile Skywarp had tripped over.

“Thundercracker!” Starscream lobbed the purple energon cube at his Trinemate, who caught it deftly. “Make him drink that.”

“But—”

“I don’t care if you have to force it down his throat; just do it.”

“Yeah, but what if it’s poison?”

“It’s not!”

“How do you know?”

“I just—” Starscream broke off as the lights went out. All of them. An alarm wailed in the distance as water began pouring from the ceiling. There was a shout from the far end of the corridor, followed by an animalistic bellow which could only have come from one of the Dinobots. Starscream dove at the loose floor tile, scrabbling with his fingers until it came loose. When he pried it up, his hand closed around a familiar object. The master power-relay for his null-ray. Within seconds, he’d snapped it into his cockpit canopy where it belonged, and applied a hefty dose of null-ray to the mechanism that was holding their cage shut.

The bars hissed open. He seized Skywarp's arm, hauling him up with his full strength. Thundercracker was helping from the other side, and even Skywarp seemed somewhat cooperative. Whether that meant he’d drunk the energon concoction or his survival instincts were simply kicking in was a matter for debate, but Starscream didn’t have time to worry about that. He kicked the floor-tile back into place as he and his Trinemates dashed into the corridor—and straight into the path of a charging brontosaurus.

“Me Sludge stop Decepticons!” she roared, bearing down on them at terrifying speed. “Stomp Decepticons flat!”

“Oh frag,” Starscream muttered, priming his null-ray. This was about to become the briefest escape ever attempted. His weapon might slow the Dinobot, but there was no chance of stopping her. She was literally going to stomp them flat. But then Skywarp was suddenly in front of him, holding something in one hand. Something that glowed bright orange. It inflated and became… a pumpkin. An energon pumpkin. Skywarp, ever the craftsmech where it came to pranks, had even taken the time to give it a silly-looking face with grinning jaws and glowing yellow eyes. It was among the more ridiculous things Starscream had ever seen, but Sludge froze, staring at the object as Skywarp bounced it on his palm—once, then twice, and then lobbed it at her. The gourd exploded, covering her face with sticky orange resin. She roared, shaking her head to dislodge the stuff, and Thundercracker grabbed Starscream’s wrist.

“C’mon,” he said.

They dodged past Sludge and rushed for the doors.

~~~~~~~

Author’s Note:  A friend of mine heacanons all the Dinobots (with the exception of Grimlock) as female, and for some reason that idea worked its way into my brain. My Sludge has taken it on wholeheartedly, and seems much happier with female pronouns. Who am I to argue with a giant, stampeding robo-lizard? 

This was written for @darkstarofchaos​ for the @transform-or-treat​ Halloween gift exchange. There are five chapters of it in all, and I will be posting a chapter a day until Halloween! Many, many thanks to @justawayninja or being my awesome beta. Your suggestions helped me get the story to the next level.

[wordsablaze]

Unspoken

If there's one thing Jaskier truly has in life, it's his ability to use words. And although he knows there are a lot of things that can comfortably go unspoken, he himself is not one of them; without his words, Jaskier would be all but unborn.

A/N: this is my 100th fanfic, which is just crazy, and i think jaskier deserves to be the focus of this milestone as he's inspired so much of my writing lately, so here's a whole lotta lowercase angst <3

-

jaskier is unborn

and he is unspoken

because his parents had never considered having a child, never considered even being capable of having a child

but none of them have a choice in the matter because he is destined to be brought into the world and it is finally his time.

.

jaskier is born

and he is quiet murmurs

because that’s all his mother and father can afford in fear of being discovered or captured or imprisoned

and because they know that they will never be able to give their child a life worthy of how precious he is to them.

.

jaskier is one

and he is intermittent wails

because babies need endless love but his parents are far too busy trying not to be caught to give enough of it to him,

because all he wants is to be heard and held and helped but more often than not, he is simply hushed in fear of being hunted.

.

jaskier is two

and he is monosyllabic mumbles

because he knows that the women around him aren’t his parents but he doesn’t know who exactly they are

and he wants to ask them but they don’t understand and they keep distracting him with food and music and he so easily forgets his questions.

.

jaskier is three

and he is hushed mutterings

because he is trying so hard to talk just like everyone around him

but all they do is tell him to be quiet, to make sure nobody is disturbed by him, to act as if he is a grown up and not an annoying child.

.

jaskier is four

and he is excited shouts

because he is young and wild and he is learning so much about the world and its beauty

even if people are constantly telling him not to make a mess or cause a fuss or generally remind anyone of the wilderness steadily growing inside him.

.

jaskier is five

and he is bold questions

because he runs off and finds a man who holds wood but makes sound and he is so, so excited to learn how to do the same

but then someone else finds him and all he is left asking is why his mother and father won’t let him go outside.

.

jaskier is six

and he is hidden cries

because no, he can’t have an extra bread roll for after dinner and no, he can’t take another slice of cake for the new friend he’s not supposed to have,

and he is so sad about it but he knows that being heard is only going to make things worse.

.

jaskier is seven

and he is confused moans

because his head aches and his stomach burns and his eyes hurt and he doesn’t know what’s happening

but nobody tells him that he was ill until after he’s recovered because they’d all thought he was dying and hadn’t seen the point in wasting their time on him.

.

jaskier is eight

and he is angry yells

because he wants to go and see the girl with the instruments but his teachers keep telling him he needs to learn about his history instead

and he really doesn’t see the point in learning about dead people when the ones he can see from the window make him feel so alive.

.

jaskier is nine

and he is wistful demands

because he really does want to play with his siblings like everyone keeps telling him to

but none of them want to play with him in return and he doesn’t know what he’s meant to do about that.

.

jaskier is ten

and he is unapologetic arguments

because all he wants to do is play his lute but his mother keeps telling him he shouldn’t

and his father looks at him as if he’s become a monster when he says he doesn’t want to be like everyone else in their boring house.

.

jaskier is eleven

and he is desperate pleas

because he has heard about the harsh ways of temple schools and he doesn’t want to go

even though a small part of him thinks it might be better than being forced to act like some kind of decoration in order to always please their guests.

.

jaskier is twelve

and he is hesitant singing

because he loves figuring out how to match his music to the words in his head that beg to be written out on paper

but it seems that other boys just want to learn about the deadliest weapons and he’s not very good at those if his numerous trips to healers have anything to say about it.

.

jaskier is thirteen

and he is stifled sobs

because sometimes learning is painful and not learning fast enough is even more painful

and being quiet when getting punished is apparently just another thing that he has to learn if he wants to do well in life.

.

jaskier is fourteen

and he is snide remarks

because his words are the only defence he has and he’s not about to back down from any kind of fight

even if that means the tears his opponents may shed are met with blood on his end, even if that means he also has to get used to running and hiding.

.

jaskier is fifteen

and he is careless laughter

because his musical skills give him freedom, the only kind of freedom he truly has and can ever have,

and he no longer wants to waste his time competing with his classmates when there’s a world of adventure out there, waiting to be claimed.

.

jaskier is sixteen

and he is anguished sighs

because the boy he so foolishly gave his heart to has left him behind for someone who was less of a nuisance

but he doesn’t understand what he’d done wrong and he can’t share his sadness with anyone lest they make fun of him.

.

jaskier is seventeen

and he is poetic lies

because he needs to leave and he needs to leave as soon as possible and he has learned the hard way that truth gets him nowhere

so he builds himself a falsehood and he abandons nobility without a second thought, without even once looking back.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is optimistic narrations

because the world can be rather plain and it takes time to convince people that there’s more to life than simply getting by

but it’s not an easy task and being pessimistic would essentially be the equivalent of giving up before truly beginning.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is flirtatious compliments

because more often than not, his audiences find his performance appealing for more than one reason

and if it puts a roof over his head or gives him ideas for new ballads, then he really doesn’t mind the different kinds of attention he receives.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is awkward observations

because there is a beautiful witcher in his tavern and he wants nothing more than to get to know him

even if that means embarrassing himself in the process of gaining both bruises and a consistent friend.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is ambitious vows

because he has learnt that the tales of witchers from his teachers were all wrong and he can’t stop himself from needing to fix that,

no matter how many times they have to be thrown out of taverns and towns in the process.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is relentless ramblings

because geralt has something of an allergy to words and rarely replies with more than half a sentence

but he doesn’t mind because he finally has the chance to talk and talk and talk without being locked away inside a room too small to contain all of his thoughts.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is muffled screams

because gods does it hurt to be hit or stung or bitten or scratched by their latest contracts, but he doesn’t want to alarm geralt or slow him down

and he’s well-versed in how to treat his own wounds thanks to everyone who tried to stop him from being himself in the past.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is midnight whispers

because witchers don’t think they’re loveable and he so dearly wants to change that

even if it means repeating himself over and over under the moonlight until he’s met with a small smile and given something like trust.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is isolated comments

because he knows he should no longer still be eighteen

but he is afraid that saying so to anyone else will result in him being at the wrong end of a witcher’s silver sword.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is exasperated groans

because yennefer might be beautiful but she is a beautiful sort of poison and he really wants nothing to do with her

but it’s just his luck that the man he loves wants everything to do with her, so much so that he all but ruins their lives because of it.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is mirthful jokes

because there is a powerful young princess who needs to be entertained and he is good at making bargains with even the sharpest of rulers

but even he is not brave enough to tell her what her grandmother wishes never to speak of so he sticks to just making sure she’s okay.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is pained curses

because it turns out dragons are so much more of a mess than he’d signed up for

and actually, he’d never signed up for them in the first place so losing his muse is one thing he shouldn’t actually blame on himself.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is hollow bargains

because he truly no longer cares what he has to trade in order to ensure he survives to see another day

and it really doesn’t matter to him what happens as long as he can carry on performing.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is unstoppable shrieks

because there is a merciless army out hunting for the people he spent so long loving

but they have little patience for his honesty and they have even less patience for the fabricated nonsense that spills from him when the agony becomes too loud.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is broken howls

because it hurts to inhale and it hurts to exhale and it hurts to even exist at all

and the worst part is that he knows he will be forgotten and he will never have been important and he will have failed.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is desperate babbling

because mages are far worse than he’d ever thought they could be and they have so many different  ways to break people

and in the end, the easiest way to break him is to take away the one thing he has left to lose, the one thing that makes him who he is.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is soft whimpers

because the information he would never reveal truly has no way of being made available anymore

and there is nothing left for him to do but wait for everyone to get bored of how useless he is to them.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is surprised breaths

because he had assumed he would die before seeing daylight again but he wakes up to three sets of very concerned eyes,

all of which never stop staring at him as if he is weak and fragile and nothing like the versions of him they didn’t want to keep.

.

jaskier is eighteen

and he is internal confessions

because he’s more than glad to know that the people he cares for are still alive

but his language of love has always been verbal and it turns out he can no longer speak it, or anything else for that matter.

.

jaskier is

and jaskier is not

for jaskier lost himself somewhere amidst being eighteen,

and jaskier has no words

so he has circled all the way back to being unborn

and he is forever

unspoken.

-

thanks for reading !! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier 

[katefiction]

Second Chances - Part II

by mrandmrswales (Emily) / November 3, 2013

Hello all! I had a burst of inspiration and so I finished this for you. Sorry it’s a bit rushed at the end and do excuse any mistakes. Let me know if there’s a glaring one. Please feel free to let me know what you thought and have a lovely week! This is FICTION. Emily xx

Kate stormed into the kitchen which was thankfully empty. Sliding gratefully into one of the comfier chairs at the table, she buried her head into her hands and allowed a few tears to leak out. Seconds later, Marcos came crashing into the room, swearing loudly when he stubbed his toe on the door frame. Seeing her hunched form, he was silenced.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Not really.’ She mumbled. ‘Look Marcos. It’s been great to see you but I think-’

‘For God’s SAKE William! She’s fine! Do we have to go back and check on her?’

‘Hilary she’s my best friend…’

‘And I’m your GIRLFRIEND. PUT ME FIRST!’

‘It won’t take long Hilary. I care about her, and I always put people who I care about first when they’re hurting. Go ahead to the town if it bothers you.’ He snapped back. Kate and Marcos listened in shock and amusement respectively, from their positions in the kitchen. As his footsteps grew louder, Kate hurriedly wiped the remaining tears from her face. William appeared in the door seconds later, looking anguished. Kate’s stomach did several flips as he entered, his blazing eyes holding hers for a few seconds. Behind him stood a cross looking Hilary. Kate managed a weak smile

‘I thought you two had gone into the town?’

William opened his mouth to speak when Hilary interrupted him

‘We were going into town when William decided to check on you.’ She glared at William ‘And she’s fine so we can go now.’ Kate noticed a muscle twitching in William’s jaw as she turned around to stalk out of the kitchen. Suddenly, he caught her hand and pulled her back.

‘Marcos, Kate. Would you mind leaving us for a minute?’ He asked his voice tense and filled with pent up anger. The two nodded and left, diving into the nearby cupboard outside the kitchen to listen as soon as the door swung shut.

‘I am capable of speaking for myself Hilary. I am NOT run by you! Kate is my best friend and If I want to check she’s okay, then I will!’

‘You care more about her than you do about me! It’s always Kate this and Kate that! I NEVER get a look in!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘Am I being ridiculous? I think there’s more to all this bloody Kate concern than I realised! GOD WILLIAM. I’M SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO LOVE ME, NOT HER!’

‘I DON’T LOVE HER! I DON’T LOVE YOU EITHER, WE’VE ONLY BEEN TOGETHER 5 MINUTES!’

‘MAYBE WE SHOULD JUST END IT THEN? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? YOU CAN BE WITH YOUR ‘PRECIOUS’ KATE THEN!’

‘OF COURSE I DON’T WANT TO END IT! DON’T BE STUPID’

‘OH SO I’M STUPID NOW? YOU KNOW WHAT? IT’S OVER!’

William made a loud groaning noise ‘Hilary, stop. No come back…’ The sound of a door slamming reverberated around the silent cabin. Another noise of frustration could be heard through the door before he too left the kitchen, his footsteps harsh and angry on the wooden floor. Kate turned to Marcos, whose dark eyes were sparkling gleefully.

‘Oh my god! They just broke up!’

‘I feel so bad…’

‘Don’t be! She’s a right old mare anyway.’

‘Shhh!’.

‘I’m off! It’s up to you to go and talk to him now Kate.’

Kate groaned but nodded. No matter how squirmy his words made her, she still felt bad for being the reason for the huge argument and subsequent break up of their relationship.

Kate slowly emerged from the cupboard a few minutes after Marcos had done so, her stomach churning she dashed through the now deserted kitchen and outside into the misty air. Spotting William walking further down the hill with his shoulders hunched she hurried after him.

‘Will! William!’ She called as she scooted down the path towards him. He turned slowly and raised an eyebrow

‘Yes?’

‘Listen William I just came to say that I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I’d hate to think that you were breaking up with Hilary because of me.’

‘How do you know were breaking up?’

‘Oh…well I did kind of hear it. You were shouting.’

‘Oh. Right well its fine I guess. She just didn’t like that were friends I suppose.’

‘Why?’

‘Ask her not me.’

An awkward silence followed and Kate racked her brains of something to say.

‘Well I suppose we can spend more time together now that you’re not together anymore?’

William glared at her. ‘I’m not completely heartless Kate. She accused me of liking you more than her and I don’t eactly want to show her that it’s true.’

‘Is it true?’

‘God Kate. No it’s not! Your my friend but I’m a bit pissed off with you right now.’

‘Why? That’s not fair!’

‘You broke us up!’

‘No I didn’t! That’s bollocks! She’s a jealous cow and you’re a git for saying that!’

‘Oh I’m a git now? Can you just leave me alone, I’m upset.’

‘FINE! I won’t talk to you again if that’s what you want! Why do you always hurt me? I lov-’

‘William?’ Hilary interrupted her suddenly, appearing from the trees. Her eyes blazed furiously at the sight of them both. Kate closed her mouth before she accidentally blurted out more of her feelings.

‘God you couldn’t wait to get rid of me before you jumped on her could you?’ She screeched approaching them both.

‘I’m getting out of here’ Kate muttered to William, who looked at her with a beseeching look on his face. Still hurt and angry with him, she glared at him and turned away from him towards the cabins trying to ignore the second screeching match of the day between the two behind her.

—————————————————————————————————————————————-

Kate watched as her breath swirled in circles in front of her, frozen in the air before disappearing. Her eyes flickered up to the beautiful view of the valley, cloaked in early morning frost and glinting in the morning sun. She had awoken early and came outside to clear her head.

‘Kate?’ a familiar voice spoke from behind her. She groaned inwardly. He was exactly the last person she wanted to see this early in the morning. His legs came into view and he lowered himself gingerly onto the wet bank beside her.

‘What do you want?’ She asked, perhaps a little too sharply as his face constricted into hurt.

‘I just…saw you out here and I thought I’d check to see how you were.’

‘I’m fine thanks.’

William turned his head towards where her gaze was locked on a single plume of smoke spiralling into the ice-blue sky above.

‘I’m sorry about yesterday. I was just frustrated, it’s not your fault at all’ He said softly and she turned to look at him for a few seconds. ‘We’ve broken up for good now so can we get back to how things used to be?’

A small, exasperated sigh left Kate’s lips.

‘How can we?’

‘What do you mean? I know I got angry with you and that Hilary sort of drive a wedge between us but surely we can still be friends?’

Kate looked into his eyes for a few seconds before making up her mind. It’s now or never. Taking a deep breath she began; ‘you still don’t get it do you? I like you William. As in I like you more than friends…I have for ages. Practically everyone could see it except you! Do you know what it’s like falling in love with someone who spends his whole time sticking his tongue down someone else’s throat? I was happy for you, don’t get me wrong. It just hurt that’s all. There. Now I’ve said it and I won’t bother you with it again.’

Without looking at him Kate leapt up and walked away, restraining herself from sprinting away from him. William sat in shock on the bank, his heart torn between elation and shock.

A few days had passed. Hilary had eventually stopped wailing and had settled for glaring at William across the room whenever she had a chance. She and Kate had made up and Hilary had told her that she was ‘welcome to him’. Kate had been avoiding William despite his efforts to talk to her. She had spent a lot of time with Marcos so that he couldn’t corner her by herself. Kate told herself she didn’t care that she wasn’t speaking to him but no amount of lying to herself or to others healed the hurt in her heart.

One morning Kate and several others were informed that they were to spend the following day backpacking across the nearby icefield. It being nearly late, Kate hurried off to her room to pack while the others went out on a walk. Switching the radio on, Kate happily began to pack the essentials into her backpack while singing quietly along to a song. She was nearly finished when the door opened softly and William’s head appeared around the doorway.

‘Kate!’

Kate looked up with a jolt and her smile froze. ‘What are you doing in here?’

‘Ella told me you were in here packing’

‘Oh.’

‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you for ages but you’ve been avoiding me.’

‘No I haven’t…I’ve just been busy.’

‘Yeah right. Listen Kate about what you said-’

‘-Yeah I get it. I like you as a friend but nothing more. Don’t embarrass me further.’

‘Not quite.’ Kate looked up suddenly and he smiled softly ‘That’s better, I can see your face.’ He stepped closer and Kate’s heart beat frantically. He chuckled softly, ‘if you’d given me the chance I would have said that…I do like you as more than a friend. I have done for a while but I don’t think I realised until a couple of weeks ago, but of course by then I liked Hilary too.’

‘So complicated for you.’

‘Indeed.’

A short silence ensued as William bowed his head closer until he went blurry. Her eyelids fluttering shut his lips touched hers, sending sparks the whole way through her body and setting her senses on fire. The sound of a door slamming awakened them both and in an instant his lips were gone, leaving her cold. He grinned at her, gave her a quick hug and slipped out of the room, leaving her reeling.

—————————————————————————————————————————————-

Kate dumped her heavy backpack onto the floor beside her sleeping bag and rubbed her sore shoulders. The two had spent the evening together, enjoying being friends again but nothing more had happened. While she had trekked across vast quantity of land that day, William had been doing his shift at the local radio station. All day she had spent thinking about the kiss whilst listening to his voice on her pocket radio. Re-entering the busy kitchen, she looked aroiund for him but was unsuccessful.

‘Hi Guys.’ She said cheerily to her friend Ella and her boyfriend Robert ‘Have you seen William?’ Ella grinned cheekily.

‘What?’

‘When are you going to do something about the fact that you two are completely head over heels with eachother?’

‘Who says I haven’t!’ She replied cheekily, giggling at Ella’s expression. Robert intervened before either girl got into a deep discussion.

‘He went that way, I think he was heading towards the lake.’ Robert told her before Ella or Kate could begin again. ‘Thanks Rob.’ Kate replied ‘I’ll tell you later.’ She mouthed to Ella and began to head outside.

It wasn’t long before Kate noticed the familiar mop of blonde hair through the trees. He appeared to be pacing angrily beside the lake.

‘Will? You okay?’ She asked, nearing him.

‘NO!’ He screeched, turning on her suddenly, his eyes blazing. ‘Read this!’ He said in response to her bemused expression. Kate reached out and took a crumpled letter from him and began to read.

Dear William

I hope you’re enjoying your time in Chile, Harry and I are both well and can’t wait to see you again soon. Unfortunately I write to tell you that the BBC is to come and film you for a few days the week beginning the 14th. As you know, this is the deal I had to make in exchange for your visit Raleigh International. They shouldn’t bother you, apart from the odd filming of you doing jobs such as cooking and you are expected to give an interview. Be charming and enthusiastic please William! Harry is taking his school exams this week so I haven’t heard much from him. I do hope he is revising properly! Enjoy your last few weeks Son and we’ll see you soon.

All my Love

Papa

‘Why can’t they leave me alone? Bloody cameras and journalists always getting into my business! Is it so hard to let me have 10 weeks away without a camera following me? IS IT?’

‘No…but William…that was the deal for you to come here…’ Kate whispered, looking at his angry face. She knew enough about him to know that when he was angry it wasn’t a good idea to get involved. He glared at her for a few seconds, breathing heavily. Kate winced under his gaze, her blood pumping furiously. Seeing him angry was making him more attractive to her every second. She lifted her gaze to see his face crumple and his anger wash away. He sighed and slumped onto the grass.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I would be just as angry’ She replied firmly and a smile flickered across his face. She sat down next to him. ‘How about we go to the pub this evening? It is a free night for us and it will take your mind off things.’ William looked at her and smiled.

‘Yeah that would be nice. Just us yeah?’

Kate felt as though her insides were on fire. ‘Yeah. Just us.’

—————————————————————————————————————————————-

The night was cold and clear and as the two walked in silence, their breath froze in the air in front of them, illuminated by the torch light. The further they moved from the camp, the closer they walked until at last they were holding hands, their bodies pressed together for warmth and the need for closeness. At last, the village’s tiny pub loomed out of the darkness and William ushered Kate inside, the warmth hitting them instantly.

‘One white wine and a lager please.’ William said in a low voice to the barman while Kate found a table in the corner of the pub from prying eyes. Minutes later, the drinks arrived and William settled himself next to her, taking her hand in his under the table.

‘It’s nice to be alone with you.’ Kate said honestly, turning to look at him. He nodded in agreement and kissed her softly, setting her lips on fire. He pulled away and chuckled at the fleeting look of disappointment on her face.

‘The less you get, the better they seem’

‘Oh really? How’s that working for you?’

‘Very well considering your facial expressions.’

‘Damn it!’

Will grinned, kissing her once more before pulling away to drink his beer. Kate did the same and sighed contently, settling back into the chair.

‘I’ve got to leave for the expedition tomorrow afternoon. A week camping on a beach.’

‘Oh really? I didn’t realise it was so soon.’

‘Yeah… The weather looks ghastly so I can imagine it’s going to be awful.’

‘You’re a big boy, I’m sure you can handle it.’ William chuckled.

‘Then when I get back, the press are arriving…’

‘Oh.’

‘Yup. No quiet time for me. I’ll have to sneak kisses from you when they’re not looking’

Kate smiled in amusement . ‘I’m going to miss you.’ She replied softly, caressing his cheek, her eyes wary but filled with affection. William caught her hand and kissed it softly.

‘Same.’

4 drinks later and both were feeling rather tipsy. Having had little to eat since supper, it had gone straight to Kate’s head. Giggling, the two left the pub, clinging to each other for support. They had barely walked very far when Kate stumbled and bumped into a tree. William caught her and laughed helplessly at the expression on her face.

‘I’ve had a bit too much to drink’ She mumbled, pulling him to her and pressing her lips to his. He mumbled inaudibly in agreement and pressed her back firmly into the tree, his arms wrapping around her body. His lips moved gently against hers, her insides aching. She deepened the kiss, her whole mind focused on him and the way he felt beneath her lips. He pulled away, both breathing heavily before dipping his head to cover her neck in soft kisses. Kate ran her fingers through his hair, before pulling his head up to hers and kissing him again. The whole sensation set her senses alight and before she knew it her hands were fumbling at his belt buckle. Suddenly, he pulled away, her lips left cold from the lack of his warm ones covering hers and his eyes wary.

‘shit’. Her eyes lifted to his in trepidation.

He snorted suddenly,

‘Here?’

‘Why not?’ She replied petulantly. Her heart beat slowing down from the previous scare.

‘You’ll freeze.’

‘William I’m boiling right now’

‘Right.’

‘Oh just shut up’ She replied, her lips meeting his while their hands ran over their bodies, unbuttoning clothing. He lifted his hand and grazed her jaw softly, his kissing slowing to a gentle and loving pace, the urgency of earlier having vanished. He softly steered her from the tree and towards a soft slope covered in grass. Holding her back he lowered her to the ground before burying his face in her neck and kissing her gently.

‘I really like you Will.’ She gasped, her hands slipping inside his T-shirt thumbing his soft skin, little gasps escaping as his hands ran enticingly over her body.

‘Like?’ He replied, amusement heavy in his muffled voice.

Kate giggled. ‘Okay I more than like you. I…think… I think there’s a small chance that I’m falling in love with you’

William smiled against her skin, ‘I think that may be the case with me too. I would give you a speech but right now I’ve had a bit too much alcohol and am rather preoccupied.’ Kate giggled and kissed him passionately, her eyes fluttering shut as their bodies began to work in harmony.

She was freezing. Although his body pressed to her under the cover of their various clothes kept the heat in, her body was still convulsing with cold. Next to her, William lay, his hair messy and a rather contented look in his face as he slept lightly. Kate allowed the thrill of what had just happened and the memory of his declaration of love, warm her body.

His eyes flickered open and he grinned on seeing her watching him. Then he shivered.

‘We should get back quickly.’

Kate nodded and began dressing hurriedly while he did the same. Getting to her feet, she jiggled up and down to get the blood moving through her body again. He smiled and leant closer

‘One last thing before we go.’ He said softly and leant to kiss her, his lips warm against hers and a jolt passed through her body to where the fire smouldered inside her rather than burning as it had earlier. Then he grabbed her hand and they ran back towards the now dark camp.

————————————————————————————————————————————-

‘Where were you last night?!’

Kate’s eyes flickered open to see Ellie’s accusing face at the end of her sleeping bag.

‘Keep your voice down!’ Kate hissed, closing her eyes again, images of the previous night flickering through her mind. The feel of his lips on hers, the way every caress set her skin on fire, the way-

‘Oh my god. You were with William weren’t you?’

‘What? No!’

‘Yes you so were! What were you doing? Come on tell me!’

Kate sighed. ‘Fine. William and I went for a drink at the pub last night to take his mind off the press coming. We had a few drinks and got back late. That’s all!’

‘Are you sure that’s all?!’

‘Yes Ellie.’

‘Phff. I don’t believe you. You look like the cat that got the cream. I bet you slept with him’

Kate blushed furiously, wincing at the gasp that escaped from Ellie’s lips as she realised the truth.

‘You did!’ Kate nodded slowly, Ellie’s excited noises increasing in pitch

‘Will you be quiet?’

‘Oh sorry. I knew you liked eachother. We’ve all been placing bets on when you guys would finally give in and do it!’

‘Bets?!’

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh god.’

‘Where on earth did you do it? Not outside..’

‘Yeah…On that little slope leading up to the path.’

Ellie burst out laughing and Kate kicked her sharply. ‘Go and annoy someone else! And don’t tell ANYONE!’ Ellie nodded, pinkie promising before skipping off, a huge grin on her face. Kate rolled over and let a huge smile escape now that no one could see it.

Breakfast was a painful affair. Both Kate and William sat rigidly at the bench, avoiding the suspicious glances from various people up and down the table. It wasn’t helped by Ellie sitting bolt upright with a massive grin on her face, watching Kate squirm under her gaze.

‘Can you pass the jam Ellie?’ William asked suddenly, breaking into the sleepy and suspicious silence. Ellie drew her eyes away from Kate’s bowed head and nodded, tossing it casually up the table.

‘So. Did you enjoy your evening Will?’ She asked loudly and William grimaced.

‘Oh yeah it was fine thank you’

Kate lifted her head from the porridge to watch William squirming anxiously along with everyone else who was either oblivious or suspicious.

‘What did you get up to?’ Ellie asked again, a wicked look appearing in her eyes.

‘Nothing much’ Will mumbled

‘Oh really? I heard you got back really late’

‘Did you?’

‘Oh yeah.’

‘Does it really matter what time I got back?’

‘Not particularly. I was just curious…you know.’

‘hmm…’

Ellie giggled and turned back to her breakfast, ignoring the glares from Kate and the grins from several others.

—————————————————————————————————————————————-

I’m so sorry about Ellie’

‘Don’t be. She cares about you and also has a wicked sense of humour’

Kate sighed and looked at him. ‘I wish you weren’t leaving me here to suffer.’

William grinned and kissed the tip of her nose ‘I’m sure you will survive. After all, if I’m gone, there won’t be anything for them to talk about, will there?’

‘Suppose not.’

‘I’d better go and pack. See you later.’ William said, kissing her gently before disappearing. Kate sighed and wandered outside to join the others. Spotting Hilary on the grass, she joined her.

‘Hi Hilary, you okay?’

‘Yeah I’m fine, you?’

‘Mmm. Good.’

‘So, you and William? Are the rumours true?’

‘You’re not mad are you?’

Hilary chuckled ‘No not mad. I always knew he liked you more than me. He would talk about you and gaze at you constantly so I’m not surprised.’

‘I’m glad you’re not angry’ Kate replied honestly and the two girls shared a warm smile.

‘Kate when the press get here, avoid them. Trust me, I’ve had my time in the spotlight once or twice and it’s no fun. My parents are quite high profile and their divorce was highly controversial and publicised. My sister and I were thrust into the media for a while and I lost my then boyfriend because of it. Let William do his thing and then you can be with him afterwards for the remaining few weeks.’

‘Thanks Hilary, I’ll bear it in mind. I’ve never been in the media so It’s good to have some advice from someone who knows.’

‘That’s okay. I hope you guys are happy together.’

‘I hope so to.’

‘KATE?’ Came William’s familiar voice from behind them.

‘Yeah?’

William approached them, holding his bag and dressed for going away. ‘I’m leaving now, I’ll be back in three days.’

‘Okay, have a lovely time. I’ll miss you.’

Will grinned and kissed her quickly before anyone else could see. ‘Bye. Don’t talk to the press before I get home, they’re journalists remember!’ ‘I won’t! Have a great time!’

As William disappeared from view, Kate’s heart sank. It was going to be a long three days.

—————————————————————————————————————————————-

On Wednesday morning, a range rover rolled up outside the lodge. Kate and several others gathered in front of the kitchen window to watch while the rest watched from windows around the lodge as five men and Jennie Bond stepped from the car and shook hands with the leaders. Kirsty, turning around and spotting the faces from each window, made a stern face and shooed them away from the windows as the team began to walk toward the entrance.

William returned at lunch time, but Kate had no chance to greet him because he was pulled into an interview immediately after unpacking. Feeling a bit down, she resolved to greet him afterwards but Hilary warned her to stay away, the last thing William wanted was for their relationship to be caught on camera or by a reporter. Therefore, when William entered the kitchen to film, she could only smile at him and move away to sit on the far side of the kitchen while he spoke about how bad he was at cooking, something she could at least agree with.

William showed them all around the village and took them down to the school and radio station while he did his shifts and activities. Kate and many others watched in awe of how easily he handled being filmed and interviewed. He was smooth and charismatic but more closed up than normal, which was to be expected. It made Kate realise how very different his life was from hers and made her uneasy.

On the final day of filming, Kate found some time alone with him whilst the crew were enjoying a coffee break. He kissed her cheek softly

‘How have you been?’

‘Not bad. I haven’t really enjoyed not being able to spend time with you though.’ William made a face.

‘Welcome to my life.’

‘How was camping?’

‘Hellish. It rained the entire time and was freezing. I sincerely dislike camping.’

‘Poor you. At least your back now though’

‘Yeah about that… Listen Kate, my father has send me another letter telling me that I will be returning to England in two days, after BBC return’

‘Oh… I never knew you weren;t finishing with the rest of us.’

‘Neither did I. But…the press being here…I hope it’s showed you exactly who I am as a person.’

‘Well yeah but it doesn’t bother me. You’re still William to me. I’ll miss you, but surely we can pick it up when I get back?’

‘You don’t get it…’

‘What don’t I get? I’m not incompetent you know.’

‘I know Kate. What I’m trying to say is… We lead entirely different lives back home.’

‘I know that.’

‘Do you though? When I get home, I will be expected to prepare for university and do engagements for the rest of the summer. My life will turn out very differently from yours.’

‘It doesn’t have to be. We could be really happy if you let us.’

‘I can’t let us Kate. I love you but I can’t introduce you to my life the way you want me to.’

Tears filled Kate’s eyes as the implication of what he was saying sunk in. she sighed, trying to keep them back so as not to make it difficult for both of them.

‘I get it. I hope you have a happy life Will. I’ve had the most amazing time with you the last few weeks, it’s made this experience so much better.’

‘Can we be friends at least?’

‘I don’t know, can we be?’

‘That’s up to you, whether you still want me in your life.’

Kate sighed, her heart breaking. She looked at him, his eyes sad but hopeful. ‘Yes I don’t see why we can’t, but in order for this to be easier for me when you leave. Let’s break it off now.’

‘I was afraid you’d say that. Very well if that’s what you want.’

‘Of course it’s not, but you’ll break my heart otherwise.’

‘I’m sorry it has to end this way Kate.’

‘Me too.’

—————————————————————————————————————————————-

The next day, the press left for England. Kate spent the day spent in her room with Ella and Hilary trying not to fall apart. William packed his things together and said goodbye to the area, the children and the radio station staff.

The following day William left Chile. He and Kate kissed one last time, breaking both of their hearts as he walked away from her and everything they’d enjoyed over the last two months.

The following two weeks went like a dull blur. Marcos tried to cheer her up but to no avail. At last, it was Kate’s turn to trace William’s steps back to England, leaving behind the place she had been so happy at.

………………………………………………………………

3 Months Later: St. Andrew’s University, Scotland.

Kate wandered along the leaf scattered path toward the lecture hall on her first morning arm in arm with her new boyfriend Rupert. The trees shone in the morning sunlight, their red, orange and yellow colours reflected in the lake as the light breeze carried a few to the ground. William and Kate had stayed in touch for several months after leaving Chile but it hadn’t been the same. Kate hadn’t looked at another man all summer until eventually coming to terms with the reality that William and her would never be together again. Rupert was kind, good looking and everything she could have wanted but no William.

William wandered along the path to his first lecture by himself, deep in thought. HE had only arrived the previous evening and was completely overwhelmed. Having not been at Fresher’s week, he knew no one properly yet apart from the odd few he knew from Eton. Looking up just in time, he caught sight of a rather shocked looking Kate on the arm of another man. His heart erupted into cheers at the sight of her familiar face. She had grown taller, her hair was in a more sophisticated style and she was no wearing makeup but she still looked beautiful to him.

‘Kate!’

‘Oh my god! William!’ She cried, rushing over to hug him. He breathed her familiar scent, holding back from kissing her and breaking his heart all over again.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I go here. Did you not see it in the newspapers?’

‘No, my Dad stopped reading them for several weeks as a dare so I didn’t read it!’

William laughed and glanced at Rupert.

‘Sorry. Hi I’m William.’ Shaking his hand

‘Rupert. Kate’s boyfriend.’

‘Oh. Well nice to meet you.’

We’d better get on, or we’ll be late. See you around William’ and taking Rupert’s arm, she wandered on leaving William gazing at her in a daze, his heart beating loudly.

Finis