#bury me next to this lad cause he killed me with words!!!!

[thebroombroom]

I KNOW BEING RECKLESS AND YOUNG IS NOT HOW THE DAMAGE GETS DONE!!

[badassbutterfly1987]

Drabble

post Battle Grounds Harry meets AU Shiloh because of dimension hopping

just a drabble but hoping to fill it out later

Ever since the Battle of Chicago, it was getting harder for regular civilians to ignore the supernatural. They were also very, very jumpy about it. The Paranetters were kept busy, sorting between the false alarms and actual problems, trying to help before things escalated. Harry helped out when they called, a good break from the higher politics trying to erode his morals.

The situation, as far as he could tell, was that there was some kind of explosion at a local shopping mall at three in the morning. The security guard noticed that something killed the security system and found a mess in the clothing store. He called the cops and they found a teen girl and a horse trying to sneak out.

The teen was in custody. The horse disappeared.

Harry could feel a headache coming on. “How do you lose a horse?”

Reynolds, the officer explaining the situation, grimaced. “Things escalated. The girl threw one of our lads through a window after an attempted pat down. We caught her when she made it to the door but we didn’t see the horse.”

She probably wasn’t human then, maybe a practitioner. The horse had either been an illusion or an assisting fae. Strong but inexperienced, maybe someone desperate in need of guidance. If she wasn’t malicious, he could recommend her to the Paranetters before the Council tried to snatch her.

“Has she said anything since you brought her in?” Harry asked mostly to distract himself from the weirdness of being back in a precinct. He kept expecting to see Murphy around the next corner, a reminder that ached.

Reynolds shrugged. “Gave her name as Shay, insisted she wasn’t an enemy and wanted to speak to you or one of your people, and hasn’t said a word since.”

The sergeant hesitated at the door to the interrogation room. “You have your special cuffs?”

Meaning thorn manacles. There was currently a debate whether Special Investigations should be allowed to carry some around in case they came into conflict with a problem warlock, or if this would just cause more problems. Right now the community leaned towards the latter.

Harry patted his shoulder bag. “Yep, just in case.”

He opened the door and went right in. The girl was sitting with cuffed hands on the table. Strands of black and white hair peaked out from the gray hoodie. She lifted her head at his approach, a flash of a relieved smile. “Have you come to bail me out?”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. She looked… familiar. Just his mind playing tricks on him, he assured himself. It didn’t mean anything that this teen girl reminded him of Justine. Just his guilt messing with him again.

Bury it, keep moving. Harry tried to keep his voice even. “All right, Cruella, who are you and what were you doing at the mall?”

He saw the switch to hurt confusion, then how it melted to disappointment. She slumped in her seat a little. She was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and looked terribly alone.

“Shiloh of House Raith,” she said after a moment. She took a deep breath. “And this is going to take some explaining.”

[buchananbarnes1991]

Unus Annus Sentence Meme Starter

“Hey buddy buddy buddy buddy!”

“Our long time colleagues are 419 hours a day deny you here!”

“Peoples dream, must first be full of blood!”

“When we arrived in my backyard, we stopped the fire.”

“We quickly eliminated the enemy, and the fight was depressing.”

“Boy am I hungry!”

“Zip zap zop!”

“I don’t know if this was your idea, but we’ll roll with it.”

“This wouldn’t be the first time like, ‘hey I’ve got an idea.’ when we told you it weeks ago.”

“With the guidance of a guardian angel, you can do anything.”

“What am I teaching you how to do?”

“You don’t need to make it! I’m making it!”

“Have you washed your hands? You should wash your hands.”

“You can have the knife when you need the knife.”

“Close the door and never go back!”

“I want you to do something for me. Take a balloon, stretch it out..nice and wide.”

“Some of us are more gifted than others.”

“Okay, so what are we doing here? What is this?”

“I think that the way that I’d kill you is..’take you by the hands. come this way. I’ve got something to show you. just something you HAVE TO SEE.’ “

“In highschool. I dated a girl...her name was, Abigail. Very smart and driven. I was a stupid boy.”

“I still hadn’t let go, but they called me to tell me. She’d let go.”

“She looked down at the ground and then looked back up me. She giggled a bit and then said ‘Oh, don’t you know? I have feelings for Troy.’ “

“When you’re a late bloomer and you spend most of your time alone in a dark room with various ‘websites’,  it turns out that feeding my entire adolescences with perverted thoughts from various unsavory sources makes a distorted impression of the act of making love.”

“After about thirty minutes of dry thrusting, I found myself incapable of completion.”

“The first time I ever had sex, I had to fake my own orgasm..just to get it over with.”

“I too was a late bloomer. I didn’t know anything about intercourse or foreplay or anything.”

“We heard the tent unzip, her thirteen year old brother came through the tent! He didn’t see us. But, we were there. He said ‘Dinner’s ready.’ Under the protection of the sleeping bag we were replied ‘OKAY!’, He exited and I-- *giggles* exited.”

“I think that’s enough therapy for one day. Remember, it’s okay to talk about embarrassing of your life.”

“You stand here..I’m gonna take my shoes off.”

“I need to climb around you.”

“Using teamwork and trust and...t-t-t....team work, you get one person from one end of the body, all the way around to the same end.”

“You think you know us, but we only show you what we want you to see.”

“Let’s get climbing.”

“I thought we were gonna watch a movie.”

“And then I PILE DRIVE YOU’RE SPINE...paralyzed for life.”

“I AM ALWAYS STABLE. Don’t even try to unstablize me.”

“Felt like an emotional burden unloaded.”

“Death comes for all of us and we’ve gotta prepare.”

“It’s a beautiful world, with a lot of caskets.”

“I’m just thinking about America...it’s not a great time to think about America.”

“Can we see some different caskets? Can you show us some metal ones, some wood ones?”

“Let’s start with the highest! And then we’ll work down to where we’re comfortable.”

“Why is Mahogany like the universally known wood? It’s used in all the movies, everyone talks about it. If they want quality, they want a Mahogany.”

“Obviously it’s a beautiful wood, but what makes Mahogany so special?”

“With Mahogany if you look at it. If you pass your eyes to the side, it changes. It goes with you.”

“You are supposed to be buried in dirt. From dust to dust.”

“I don’t want it to be too comfortable. I’d like to stay alert.”

“I don’t know, what does it mean to be afraid? I’m not afraid of death.”

“I don’t like the feel of velvet. I mean, I’ll touch it.”

“Mmh....velvet...”

“That’s the thing! Like old production stuff was built to last, FOREVER!”

“For now you can kneel.”

“They’re Nigerian dwarf goats. They’re gonna be your yoga partners today.”

“I twisted a man into a pretzel. I could do the same to you.”

“I twisted myself into a pretzel.”

“It’s so much more fun to do a plank with a goat on your back.”

“The goats come to you. The motto that we like to have it ‘trust the goats.’ “

“Oh, wait. Wait! I didn’t know we were competing.”

“When I did hot yoga. I kicked everyone’s ass.”

“There’s a lot goatin’ on.”

“You flinchy bastard.”

“Alright, there’s a goat there.”

“I always tell people that they will fire their massage therapists because goat massages are way better.”

“Yeah, it’s real firm.”

“Ow, oh god. Your tallons!”

“Oh, tight pants..tight pants!”

“Those are quitters who think that you have to have the perfect conditions to do things but if you can do things in times of adversity that’s when you know you’re really committed to a cause!”

“Anyone want kisses?”

“It’s okay to show emotions.”

“CRY LITTLE BITCH, CRY!”

“No one’s crazy enough to do it!”

“We knew this year was going to be hell.”

“Hey! Seven days..”

“There’s always still time for things to go wrong.”

“We’ll save them for the future.”

“No, there’s no future.”

“I hope I die in a hilarious way. I hope my death can be told as a joke, like it’s so funny how I died. People can get one last joy. One last laugh.”

“I’m not afraid of death, but I am afraid of dying.”

“Okay, we only have our sixth sense to see with. Okay? Much like Bruce Willis in the show Sixth Sense, spoiler, I know it’s new. He sees dead eggs everywhere.”

“You can do it with dominoes too, but be careful with that one cause once to get a hundred or more dominoes and you spill ‘em all over, it’s gonna take all afternoon to set ‘em back up.”

“So you better fucking see with your brain or else you won’t be able to have a good time.”

“Ouch ouch ouch! That’s not an egg.”

“I think you need to go a little slower.”

“Oh...Puppies!”

“Should we turn on the emergency camper light?”

“I’m just such a neat freak.” “You know we need to try and escape.”

“What a profound man, that shot out the load that is Tony Stark.”

“This is a literal don’t show it. Oh god, all of his nudes are right there!”

“Gone gone, forever.”

“Two idiots cause ten care pile up from buttplug dropedge.” 

“Hook car batteries up to my nipples? I’ll say yes every time!” 

“I’m not a masochist. I’m really not. I’m glad I have this uninterrupted moment to talk about this. I’m not a masochist. I’m just curious.” 

“I’ve never been hit by a car, outside of my car? What’s that like? I DON’T KNOW!” 

“Sometimes, I am an idiot and..I match your intelligence level. THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

“We’ve been edging father time for a year.”

“Recognize my face, thank you.”

 “Oh it was terrible. You didn’t tell me about all the bears along the way.”

“Nice camel toe.

“Do you want me to get nurse Tracy?”

“When we tried to crush those melons, SHE TOOK TWO!”

“I was thinking the other night, what if the next melon is [insert muses’s name here] skull?”

“I just like doing what I’m told.”

“A man of few words, a man of action.”

“Are our faces being used as Capchas’ now?”

“Thank you god, thats’s a good idea.”

“God said we could!”

“Doesn’t matter what you do, to keep it from ending. Once it ends. It’s gone forever.”

“I don’t know you but you’re here, a lot. I guess you’re fine.”

“I couldn’t get it off, I felt like I was gonna rip your skin off.”

“YOU WERE GONNA RIP MY SKIN OFF.”

“We got all this time that we can relax! We’ve got like a week to relax...”

“Neither of us have ever been pepper sprayed. Let’s get pepper sprayed!”

“It’s burning as if there’s some hot oil.. on my eyes.”

“My eyes are okay now.”

“This fucking sucks so bad.”

“I would not recommend getting pepper sprayed.”

“When I was a young lad. All I had was my imagination and the woodland creatures.”

“You shot me twice! I get to shoot you with a paintball at some point in the future.”

“There is no easy!”

“Math wasn’t my strong suit, nor was anything.”

“He’s an idiot but he can read well.”

“Look at me in the eyes boy, you’ll never be stronger than me.”

“How do you have time for anything, do you not sleep?”

“Your shirt needs to be off.”

“I think you just want me to take my shirt off.”

“Ugh...I’m fine.”

“I need gloves, I need gloves, hang on, I gotta get gloves!”

“I don’t wanna do anything with drainage.”

“What bone would you say hurts?”

“That’s what the picture said to do, breast feed your patient.”

“Your bed’s not very comfortable.”

“THE GONGOOZLER!”

“It not over, it’s close.”

“In six hours, we’re done.”

“It’s hard to say goodbye, but it’s important.”

“Beautiful, a sailor’s dream to come across the mermer.”

“DELETE ME!! CUT ME OUTTA HERE!!”

“I’m being an asshole now.”

“It’s not hope, it’s delusion.”

“You can’t speed your way into heaven!”

“Have you ever looked at your tongue too long in the mirror and it no longer looks like it belongs to you?”

“Biology is just a constant nightmare.”

[cocosstories]

Harry Holland One Shot

What about Harry Holland catches (Y/n) on her phone a lot more when Tom isn't around so he assumes she's cheating on him but she is actually reading spiderman x readers? So she's a lil embarrassed when she has to admit that she's pretty much cheating on Tom with himself.

"Bye baby, I love you."

You say to your boyfriend Tom as he takes off for the airport, headed to Atlanta to do some press.

"I love you more."

He says, kissing you one last time before getting in the car.

Once, he was out of view, you sigh and close the door, heading over to the couch, sitting with Harry, Sam and Paddy.

"Now what?"

You ask as the boys look between each other.

"Movie?"

Sam suggests and you all agree.

You and Tom had been dating for three years and just before quarantine had begun, you had moved in with him and the boys.

The next day, you wake up to an empty bed, sadness washing over you as you remember that Tom left the day before.

You get up and make your way towards the couch, pulling out your phone.

A while later, Harry walks in to find you staring at the screen, giggling to yourself.

You look up and are startled to see him standing there and quickly lock your phone.

"Make some noise next time will ya?"

"What are you doing?"

He asks curiously.

"Just scrolling Insta."

You lie and Harry accepts it.

Later that night, you are in your room, laying across your bed, laughing when Harry knocks on the door.

"Come in."

You call out.

"Are you talking to Tom?"

Harry asks after walking in, seeing you were looking at your phone.

"No. Funny tik tok."

You lie again.

Harry looks at you suspiciously for a moment but again drops the subject, leaving the room a moment later.

The next day, you are in the kitchen, making some tea when Harry comes in and sees you smiling at your phone yet again.

You don't notice him coming up behind you until he tries to see what you are looking at.

You lock your phone and walk out of the kitchen without a word, leaving Harry to wonder if you could be cheating on his brother.

"Hey lads, I need to talk to you about Y/N."

Harry walks out to the back yard to find his brothers hanging out.

"I think she may be cheating on Tom."

He admits, causing the other two boys to laugh.

"No way, mate."

Sam says.

"Why would you even think that?"

Paddy asks.

"She's been smiling and giggling at her phone constantly since Tom left."

Harry explains.

"She misses him. They have probably been talking since he landed in Atlanta."

Sam says and Harry shakes his head.

"No, I asked her last night and she said she wasn't talking to him plus if she was, she wouldn't be all secretive and jumpy."

He replies.

"Should we tell Tom?"

"Not until he gets home."

Harry says and they all agree.

A few days later, Tom finally comes home and before you even have the chance to see him, Harry pulls him aside and lets him in on his theory about you.

"So, why does my brother think you are cheating on me?"

You look up to see Tom standing in the doorway of your bedroom.

"What? Tom, I'm not cheating on you! Is that what Harry thinks?"

He nods.

"He said you have been smiling and laughing at your phone a lot and acting really jumpy and secretive when he asks you about it."

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

"I'm not cheating on you."

You get off the bed and walk towards him, turning your phone to show him exactly what you have been doing while he was gone.

Tom stares at the screen for a minute then bursts into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny?"

Harry asks as he and his brothers come running down the hall.

"Y/N isn't cheating on me. Well, not exactly. She has been reading Spiderman fan fiction on tumblr. So I mean I guess you could say, she is cheating on me...with me."

Tom laughs harder, teasing you a bit while you look down, a little embarrassed.

Harry, Sam and Paddy all join in laughing.

"No wonder you didn't want me to see your phone."

Harry says and you roll your eyes at him, mock laughing.

"Did you really think I would ever cheat on Tom?"

You ask him and he stops laughing, realizing how hurt you must have felt by his accusation.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I should have just asked you."

He apologizes.

"It's alright. I was acting pretty weird. I probably would have jumped to the same conclusion to be honest."

You admit, giving him a quick hug.

"And I guess it is kind of sweet that you were looking out for Tom."

You add in, still feeling a bit hurt that Harry could have thought such a thing in the first place.

Harry apologizes again before the three boys leave you and Tom to get reacquainted.

"So, Spiderman fan fiction huh?"

Tom says after the two of you climbed into bed, cuddling together.

You sigh and bury your face in his neck.

"I swear, I am going to kill Harry."

You groan as Tom laughs again.

[blackjack-15]

Dead Weight — Thoughts on: Tomb of the Lost Queen (TMB)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, RAN, WAC, TOT, SAW, CAP, ASH

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.  For this meta and the next (DED), there will be a section entitled The Theme between The Mystery and The Suspects.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with my list of previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: TMB, DED, massive spoilers for SPY; quick spoilers for the Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Supermystery Secrets of the Nile.

The Intro:

Here we are already (finally?) at TMB! This one’s gonna be a bit different, lads.

The next two metas in this series — this one for TMB and the next for DED are gonna be a little bit of a two-part sort of endeavor, mostly because the two games are thematically juxtaposed against each other. They should be uploaded within a week of each other (fingers crossed!) to make the comparison a little easier between the two games (and two metas), so if you haven’t played one or the other, you might want to do that before jumping in.

Obligatory heads-up out of the way, let’s get our mummy on.

TMB is a game that, if you were a kid like me obsessed with ancient Egypt (and an adult like me obsessed with ancient Egypt), was one of the most hotly anticipated Nancy Drew titles to hit store shelves. Fortunately, unlike a lot of the “anticipated” games in the series, this one actually delivers – and delivers in spades.

Heh. Spades. Archaeology. You get it. Moving on!

TMB is an interesting game that plays double duty with its literary significance; in other words, it’s one of the few games to have both a definite theme and a definite mission statement, and to have the two be entirely separate from each other. We’ll discuss the theme below, so this introduction is mostly going to be talking about the game’s mission statement — in other words, the main topic of the game, versus the theme it revolves around.

If it sounds like I’m splitting analytic hairs there, it’s because I am. But hey, ‘splitting analytic hairs’ could be the mission statement of this meta series.

Both this game and the title of the meta are about the dead — and more specifically, the weight that the dead have on the events of the game and people in the game themselves. Abdullah (archaeologist and artifact smuggler), Nancy (death of her mother; interest in ancient civilizations), and Jamila (mother; her lineage) are the big, obvious ones who are living under the weight of the dead, but they’re not the only ones.

Lily’s future is “dead” in a number of ways: her academic dishonesty, her position as an archaeology student, and her interest in dinosaurs. Jon’s position as the head of the dig isn’t his only tie to the dead — he also spends most of the game in a hospital after a brush with death itself. Dylan even gets in on it with his false IDs; not only could those be referred to as “dead” identities — they were never alive to begin with — but someone with that many identities could easily have their original said to be dead, buried under the weight of compounding lies.

The weight of the dead extends beyond even our characters and their backstory and motivations, however. The game takes place in what can easily be called a “dead zone”. Nancy’s odd ability to have perfect cell service aside, the camp for the vast majority of the game is in a secret place where neither people nor supplies can get to them, and they even run out of water, which will kill you quicker than anything in the desert.

The most concrete representation of the weight of the dead in TMB is the curse. Thought to be lethal for a lifetime after entering an ancient tomb, curses are little more than superstitions backed up by ‘mysterious’ deaths (usually due to ingesting bacteria within the tomb), but the curse in the first chamber that Nancy opens does press down on the game, with accidents and unfortunate or suspicious things happening one after another after the seal is broken.

Of course, it’s not the unquiet spirit of a dead queen causing the mischief and mayhem, but she is the reason that our cast is gathered in Egypt, and Nefertari’s presence — or lack thereof, due to the erasure of her by history and by those who followed after her — is, in effect, the curse itself. If it wasn’t for her presence, the mystery surrounding her, and the disappeared team of archaeologists decades prior, no one would be at the tomb in the modern day.

But she is there, like a magnet for those with ulterior motives, and she’s there to pull our cast tighter and tighter into her own personal land of the dead. “She’ll never let you leave”, indeed.

The last thing I want to touch on is the Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Supermystery that very, very loosely forms the basis of this game: Secrets of the Nile. A well-known Supermystery for the fake marriage plot (the Hardy Boys and Nancy and Bess) and for the Frank/Nancy kiss on the balcony before they are like “oh yeah we’re dating different people huh”. The game doesn’t take much from the book other than the location and a financial motive for crime, but it’s interesting that they chose this book when very little was kept at all.

Now, let’s take a closer look at the pieces that make up this game, shall we?

The Title:

Tomb of the Lost Queen is a classic-feeling title for a Nancy Drew mystery, and accomplishes a few obvious things right off the bat. It first establishes that this is a game about the dead — as said above — and the presence that the dead have in the world of the living. Second, it gives us our location — “Tomb of the Lost Queen” immediately brings Egypt and its many royal tombs to mind — and the focus of the mystery that we’ll be solving.

And if that were all the title could mean, I’d say it’s a solid title – better than Secrets of the Nile, by any metric — but the title’s work isn’t quite done with that.

The last question that the title asks is who is the Lost Queen? We learn about Nefertari fairly quickly in the game and her history definitely qualifies her as a lost queen, but, in my opinion, there’s another candidate that the game title references: Jamila’s mother.

She was a woman of a royal bloodline, disappearing under mysterious circumstances, leaving behind only a trace that her presence ever existed in a tomb buried in the sand — if ever there was a story that would qualify you as a lost queen, it would be hers.

The Mystery:

Job shadowing archaeologist Jon Boyle (and once again showing off her interest in archaeology and ancient civilizations), Nancy is just settling in to the Kingston University dig site when a massive sandstorm hits camp — and someone attacks Jon, sending him to the hospital, whipping up talk of a curse that ended this expedition 60 years earlier, and scaring off much of the excavation crew.

Left behind when the dust finally settles are archaeologist Abdullah Bakhoum, PhD student Lily Crewe, and Nancy herself — and none of our three characters are interested in leaving, despite the shadow of a curse hanging over their work, and the ever-present feeling that the desert does not want them there.

They aren’t alone for too long, however; after Nancy discovers a secret room and hidden sarcophagus, the friendly yet secretive tour guide Dylan Carter and the alien aficionado Jamila El-Dine both show up (despite the dig being a closed and secret location), and it becomes clear that, whatever their own personal agendas might be, no one is at this location for scientific discovery.

The hunt is on to find out why everyone has congregated at this site, who hurt Jon and is causing incidents all over camp, and — most importantly — what exactly the tomb of the lost queen is truly hiding…

As a mystery, TMB holds plenty of turns and side plots worthy of a much longer game than it is, and as a result feels quite packed with story. Not only do you have the story of Ramses II and his Queen, but you have the story of Jamila and the Daughters of Nefertari, the black market scheme, Dylan’s past, and the storyline revolving around who hurt Jon.

Add to all of that Hotchkiss and Bess’ asides that give new meaning and perspective to the events in the mystery, and you have a solid, character-driven mystery that drives its suspense not from being a whodunnit — that’s not really a question through the whole game, as we know from the beginning that Abdullah is up to some shady crap — but from putting characters in a stressful situation and seeing what they’ll do.

The Theme:

TMB is interesting for many, many reasons — most of which will be detailed in this meta — but I think the most interesting thing about it is its theme. At its core, TMB is a game about fear — fear of death, fear of failure, fear of obscurity, fear of abandonment, fear of ignorance — and how this fear preys on people, but also how fear is a pathway to knowledge. As is nearly always the case with Nancy Drew games, it’s our villain who gives us the theme:

“For thousands of years, the lion spoke and no one understood. But understand the fear and you understand the man.”

This sentiment is added to a little further on in the game:

“When people feel like they can get away with anything, they change.”

In other words, it’s fear that defines who people are and what they do. Understand that fear, and you’ll understand the person. Remove that fear, and a person necessarily changes, because they’re not defined by that fear anymore.

This theme plays out through our main characters. Dylan’s fear is a fear of discovery — of being discovered by Nancy that he’s there to try to join the black market. When that fear is removed — or rather, superseded — by the fear of death after being a human paddle in a boulder pinball game, he’s able to be understood for who he really is — a bit of a con man, but not there to hurt or kill anyone.

Lily’s fear at first seems to be of the curse, but the curse really is just a stand-in for her true fear: the fear of repercussions for her actions. Once the fear is understood, it’s easy to see that she’s helping Abdullah in his black-market scheme by trying to injure — sometimes fatally — those who would stand in their way.

Jamila is a character tightly wrapped up — in every way — which illustrates her fear of exposure. When that fear is understood, it’s obvious that she’s hiding things about herself, which leads us to the Daughters of Nefertari plotline, and the discovery of just how bloody the tomb’s — and the queen’s — history is.

Last of the suspects is Abdullah, who fears a lack of notoriety — obscurity, basically — which parallels him to Nefertari nicely, who became obscure due to the actions of others and the passage of time. Once that fear is understood, it’s easy to understand who Abdullah is and why he does what he does — fakes finding artifacts, sells things on the black market, and constantly puffs himself up in conversation.

Because this game is centered around fear, let’s look quickly at how that fear affects Nancy. Sure, the fear of others causes them to try to damage her in one way or another, but Nancy tends to be somewhat fearless in her mystery solving. Her talk with Bess — more on that below — does expose one fear: ignorance.

When you’re in a situation where knowledge keeps you alive, which Nancy often is, it’s easy to say that fear of ignorance is simply the fear of bad things happening to you. But Nancy’s is a bit deeper than that; she defines herself as a curious person, and gets frustrated when things are purposely hidden from her. Nancy fears not knowing things, pure and simple, and it’s due to that fear that she puts herself in danger again and again to ferret out the truth.

The Suspects:

Our first suspect is the venerable and totally guilty Abdullah Bakhoum himself, preeminent archaeologist, egotist, and black market crook. A sort of dark shadow of Alejandro in SSH, Abdullah doesn’t think much about the taking of Egypt’s treasures to different countries’ museums, and is determined that if anyone is going to make money off of history, it’s going to be him.

As our preeminent Bad Guy, Abdullah is the rather obvious choice — which would be a problem if this mystery was concerned with hiding his presence in it, rather than building off of it. As it is, however, his presence strengthens the mystery, allowing for not only a focus for Nancy’s suspicions, but also a source of tension in the tomb, making it feel dangerous even when Nancy is simply exploring.

Of note is Abdullah’s decision when arrested at the end of the game to take the blame for everything that happened, eschewing Lily’s involvement completely. I’m of the opinion that it had to be Lily that attacked Jon — she was already above ground, he wouldn’t have been on his guard being around her, there were plenty of heavy things in the tent to hit him with — but Abdullah doesn’t try to reduce his sentence by offering information or implicating her in anything.

It’s a wonderful character moment that shows us what these later games really are capable of — villains with complex and consistent characterization. Abdullah is an egotist, a narcissist, and a smuggler, yes, but he has his own personal code of conduct, and ends the game not on the note of having tried to kill everyone, but on a singular note of mercy to a fellow student of history.

Next on the docket is Lily Crewe. Originally a paleontology student, she switched majors and ended up on the site by Abdullah’s request — a strange happenstance, considering the strong allegations of cheating on her record. Of course, that record is exactly the reason that Abdullah asked for her to be on the dig, as he needed help smuggling artifacts off-site.

As one half (possibly one third, depending on how culpable you think she truly is) of our Bad Guy Team, Lily is at once more sympathetic and less laudable than Abdullah. Having cheated — and been caught — she obviously was Abdullah’s best bet for a partner that wouldn’t betray him, as he was her chance at shoring up her rocky academic record.

However, a person of stronger moral fiber — or who appreciated her second chance — would have exposed Abdullah as soon as she had evidence in order to show her commitment going forward to honesty, so one can’t be too sympathetic. It’s worth noting that after Abdullah’s arrest (and sacrifice on her behalf), Lily goes back into paleontology. One can only hope dinosaurs have fewer opportunities for graft, and that she’s learned something from the tomb.

The next to show up is Dylan Carter, a man of many names (though only one handsome face) who moonlights as a tour guide. He also would really, really like to be part of Abdullah’s smuggling operation, but other than that, he’s really here for a good time.

And to be crushed by rocks.

As a culprit, Dylan would have been a little bit of a cheat, seeing as he wasn’t there from the beginning — though a reveal of him being the culprit would have necessitated showing that Dylan had been there the whole time, hiding in plain sight as part of the dig crew or something. While that would have been a cool reveal, it ultimately wouldn’t have accomplished the thematic goals of the game, and so is better left undone.

Last on our list of suspects is Jamila El-Dine, visiting the tomb under the guise of being a bat-crap-crazy Follower of the Annunaki — the alien race that supposedly built the pyramids, among other things — but who is actually a member of a secret society called the Daughters of Nefertari, dedicated to finding Nefertari (as they are her direct descendants); each daughter must search for her until she is found.

I will point out, reservedly, that Jamila definitely should not have been searching until she had a daughter of her own, in case she died the way her mother did, but I digress. It does point to Jamila being more of a firebrand (and more doggedly determined to end the search) than those before her, so kudos for that.

Like Dylan, Jamila as the culprit would have been a cheat, given her entrance into the game a good portion of the way through the mystery, but it also would have defeated the purpose of having Jamila in the story, which is to be a foil to Nancy.

Jamila is bound by the fate of her mother (and her mother’s mother, and on and on), who died under mysterious circumstances thought to be a car accident, but later revealed to be due to her performing dangerous work. Jamila thus journeys out to the world to find out exactly what happened and is tasked with doing what her mother had been doing at the time of her death, feeling the responsibility to prevent further deaths by completing her mother’s work. In order to do this, she pretends to be someone she’s not, uses those around her, and ultimately has to trust in a shady man with facial hair and a girl who frequently goes undercover for her job, fighting against a skinny man involved in a larger scheme with a heightened sense of his own importance.

Oops, should I have warned for SPY spoilers there?

Yeah, Jamila is basically playing out a future of Nancy’s (and one that happens, albeit with important differences, in SPY), and foils her in her sense of responsibility and curiosity about what happened to her mother, and in finishing the job she set out to do. While Nancy doesn’t immediately understand this, Bess does, and calls her out on it:

“That’s sort of like you…after your mom…I mean, I always thought it was your mom — the way she died — that made you so interested in mysteries.”

Nancy responds with “I guess I never thought of it that way,” and it’s clear the idea has knocked her off balance, because, importantly, Jamila exposes a characteristic of that becomes important in this and the next game: she’s not what we’d call self-aware.

And that leads into us talking about Nancy Drew as a character in this game. Pursuing one of her interests by job shadowing a professional, Nancy is thrown into a world that she’s far more comfortable in — that of solving mysteries without direct supervision — when Jon is attacked and sent to the hospital. From there, she goes on a rapid pace to figure out who the other people at the dig really are, and in so doing discovers a bit about herself.

Like a Lifetime movie, except without the Big Misunderstanding and the secret lost will of a dead parent.

Like I stated above, what this game really does to show us who Nancy is (besides showing us her reaction to someone exactly like her) is to show us her lack of self-awareness. Nancy spends so much time trying to figure out the motives and secrets of others that she doesn’t really spend any time soul-searching or figuring out how she, in particular, reacts to the world around her

Well, prior to the beginning of the Nancy games, she doesn’t. But she’s in for a whole lot more of that in the next few games as we unwrap (heh) more of her foils. As it is, Nancy herself tells us who she thinks she is in this game:

“I’m a curious person. I find that tact often gets in the way of truly getting to know someone.”

Joining us on the “Nancy Side” of characters are one new character and two familiar faces.

Jon Boyle is the leader of Kingston University’s dig site, and definitely the person that you want to get out of the way if you’re up to shenanigans. He’s basically in the game to give some dirt on Lily and Abdullah, and to save the day at the very end by (as is his job) taking care of those he’s in charge of.

Just, you know, more physically than academically.

While she was a playable, seen character in the last game, it’s here in TMB that Bess Marvin gets a little more characterization and becomes more fully fleshed out. As Nancy’s lifeline to River Heights and normalcy, Bess is here to watch pulpy Egyptian horror movies and to drop some stone-cold truths onto Nancy.

Bess is wonderful in this game, full stop. Not only does she expose a few of Nancy’s character traits to the clueless girl detective – the whole mom thing, Nancy’s tendency to keep everyone in the dark but to get frustrated when she’s kept in the dark herself — but she also helps to show the difference between what the River Heights crew finds fulfilling — relaxing, internships, etc. — and what Nancy finds fulfilling — dangerous tombs hiding mysteries in the desert.

Last of all is Professor Beatrice Hotchkiss, academic extraordinaire and expert on lost and maligned queens — and heaven knows, Nefertari fits both qualifications. Hotchkiss is here for more reason than just to light up my life, however; she’s here to help Nancy understand the traps within the tomb and figure out exactly what — and who — she’s dealing with in the ancient past.

Hotchkiss is a proper choice here, and I probably would have been disappointed had she not shown up. She’s the perfect mix of spacey academic and, well, brilliant academic, and though Nancy isn’t too fond of her, she’s probably my favorite reoccurring phone friend outside of the Hardy Boys.

The Favorite:

There’s a lot to love with TMB, so let’s jump right in.

First off, my favorite puzzle(s) have got to be the word puzzles for unscrambling the special hieroglyphics. Longtime followers of this meta series (or those who read my ASH meta) know that my favorite thing in a Nancy Drew game is always the word puzzle, and these are so much fun that it’d be impossible for them not to be my favorite puzzle.

My favorite moment in the game is probably the finding of Jamila’s mom’s journal pages, culminating in the line “she’ll never let you leave”. Like I’ve said above, so much of this game is about the weight of the dead and the effect they have on the living, and Jamila’s mom weighs heaviest of all as our intensely personal, recent stake in finding Nefertari.

I’ve said before (in a previous meta about my favorite surprising moments in the ND games) that there’s shades of Kate’s last correspondences in Jamila’s mother’s journal, and those shades are never so present as they are here.

There’s not really another place to put it, so I’m gonna put a shout-out to the cover of the DVD case here. It’s really well-designed and captures the feeling of the game without being overly spoilery, so massive kudos to the developers and designers for it.

The last thing I note here (though I could go on and on about the small details in this game that make it great) is the feeling of continued exploration. In a lot — I’d say most, honestly — of Nancy Drew games, once you explore everywhere, there’s really nowhere left to go other than sometimes a new location at the end of the game while chasing down the villain. Here, the game is continually expanding through the new tunnels and passages in the tomb. It makes it really feel like this a real location you could explore, and not just a few screens limited for time, space, and design restrictions, and it’s wonderful.

On the less wonderful side, however…

The Un-Favorite:

The biggest problem I have with TMB is that the first fourth of it — pretty much until Nancy finds the first sarcophagus — is fairly unintuitive. Even replaying it multiple times doesn’t make it any easier to remember what I have to do and when I can do it, and playing it through the first time results in not a few times where you stare at the screen, wondering what it is you’re supposed to be doing. This is a rare problem in Nancy Drew games, but it’s fairly present through the first part of the game here, and that is a problem.

My least favorite puzzle is probably the lifting-the-rocks-off-Dylan puzzle, if only because it always takes me five or six tries to do it. It always feels like a sort of trial-and-error sort of thing, which (excepting its place in logic puzzles) isn’t really my personal favorite. It’s not that I think it’s a bad puzzle, it’s just my least favorite in the game.

My least favorite moment in the game is more of a meta moment, but it’s when Nancy asks for “a few tips” for translating hieroglyphics, and Abdullah mocks her a bit, saying that oh, yes, at first he was also confused, but then he learned a few tips. It would be a great moment in the game — and in the story itself, it is — if it wasn’t, well, immediately contradicted by the nature of the hieroglyphics puzzles. Like I said above, the unscrambling of the hieroglyphics puzzles are my favorite in the whole game, and I love them to death, but in a meta sense, this moment does stick out in a “you can’t say it’s stupid and then include it as if just saying it’s stupid makes it okay for you to do” sort of way.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Tomb of the Lost Queen?

The big thing that needs help in TMB is to make the beginning more intuitive. Whether this should be done by Jon giving Nancy a set of tasks to complete, having a checklist of what needs to be done that day (even if it’s vague), or some other method, there definitely needs to be a little more direction in the first part of the game.

I’m not saying that the game should hold the player’s hand — especially considering that the average age of the fanbase is well above the age 10+ marker — but a Nancy Drew game should always have something to do at the start, rather than wandering around to explore a place that Nancy has ostensibly already been for a bit.

With that change in mind, there’s really honestly nothing else that I would fix. TMB is a game devoted to the idea that the dead are ever present in life, especially for those who have lost people, and it really accomplishes delivering that idea through a myriad of characters, scenes, and clues that Nancy finds along the way. It also goes a long way in developing Nancy more as a character, and — perhaps most importantly — begins the task of setting the groundwork for a truly Nancy-centric story in SPY.

[whitherliliesbloom]

fragrant sorrow

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #10 - heady ]

[ implied kaye/lily ] ★ [ 1,805 words ]  ★ [ wozwald au ] content warning- features use of dr*gs, alcohol and tobacco. passing mentions of sex too but it doesn’t happen on screen or involve the main characters. kaye also kills a man. be warned, this is wozwald au, after all.

heady: intoxicating; affecting the mind or senses greatly

even after all these years, the scent of flowers brought the god of death the most amount of pain. 

It fucking reeks. 

His lungs hurt to even take a breath, nose filled with the cloying stench he’s grown all too familiar with. With fists balled tight in the confines of his pockets, he takes heavy steps deeper through the sickly grey corridors, with only the weight of the scythe strapped to his back serving as a reminder... or rather motivation for moving forward. 

Flashing lights leak through the gaps of the rusted metal door that lets out a deafeningly ear-piercing shriek as he pulls it open, and the scent of complete and utter depravity floods his senses.

There’s the familiar and known - the odor of cigarette smoke and bitter alcohol intermingling in the air... so heavy and concentrated it would almost be enough alone to dull his senses. Like an old friend he hated to know - but comforting in it’s own sickening, addictive way, even if it hurt him to indulge in it.

And then there’s everything else that Kaye loathed that kept his disgust for the place increasing triple fold - distinct notes of burnt chemicals and sweet, heady musk that has him scrunching his nose up and resisting the urge to raise a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It fucking reeks. Even more than me. 

The carpet beneath his leather boots feels damp - soiled and damp with a concoction of wine and bodily fluids. To even hear the very squelch with every step he took caused the man’s nerves to shrivel... though he has long since learned to hide whatever discomfort he feels. 

And the sights are no more better than the scents and sounds - used needles lay discarded upon tables and couch cushions, crumpled smallclothes neglected and equally well worn strewn about... along with the numerous bodies of both warm and cold that littered the space of the club.

Most of the stiff bodies, as far as the man could tell, were caused by overdose of some kind... poor sods whose life essence had been willingly but not full knowingly given up to fuel the debauched existence of the pathetic excuse of a god.

It was a good thing he’d convinced Lily to stay behind at the camp - though he did promise to make his way back within an hour or she’d feel compelled to come storming through the place out of worry, which she has full right to.

But he didn’t quite feel like having her bear witness to what he’s surrounded himself with now. It’s sure to take several hours worth of comforting, soothing and a patience from him that he’s running thin on. It wasn’t that he disliked her presence - or hated to reassure what was to be the closest thing he’s had to an actual... companion or friend in god knows how long. 

But the stench that was depravity has seeped too far into his own bones, tainted his own blood so much that to even think he was even in any position to separate himself from the very things that the far too innocent for her own good lesser goddess... it was a hypocrisy that made his blood begin to bubble and boil. 

It fucking reeks. But this is exactly the type of scent that suited a monster like him best.

Kaye stops, expression morbid though unchanging and sharp gaze hardened as he stares down at the lesser god of all lesser gods lounging lazily upon the throne made of discarded plush cushions. 

And like the sheer weakling he is, he is wholly unaware of the immense power disparity between himself and his visitor, so much that he’d looked up with a cocky smirk, drawing a sharp inhale of his cigar before blowing the smoke in Kaye’s face.

The further one is away from divinity, the more detached they become from the natural order... with senses so dulled by their own foils that they could not even recognize one of the original pantheon in the flesh.

But that only made Kaye’s job easier, as he silently eyes down the lesser god of carnal pleasures.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, lad?” The bastard has the audacity to act cordial with him. It would seem he’s as much of an idiot as he was perverse. “Yours is an unfamiliar face.”

“Of course it is.” Kaye responds, voice sour and aloof by comparison. 

“Then what’re here for?” The man asks again, leaning forward to bear his rotten, blackened teeth in a wide grin as he spreads his arms out in a gesture of welcome. “The ladies? The booze? You seem the straight and narrow type. Thinkin’ about losing yourself to your carnal pleasures for the first time huh? Everyone always gives in to it eventually after they remember how worthless life is.”

Kaye grits his teeth beneath sealed lips, and with jaws tightened, he reaches behind his back with one hand.

“’Appreciate the offer... but I’m several millennia too old for this shit.”

“-Wait- What are you-”

The scythe takes another life, clean and effortless as ever. Blood spills freely, pouring over the altar of the now dismantled god.... and Kaye can hear the demented screams of what little of his worshippers assaulting his ear drums.

The smell of iron and death permeates the air, and Kaye turns to leave before he can become drunk on it.

It fucking reeks. 

---

He didn’t have much luck in convincing Lily this time - stubborn as she is whenever she wanted to or felt like she had to be... and him not having enough energy to fight her enthusiasm. She’s younger, more energetic... and he’d admit to no one that he’s envious of that at times. 

But she’s also naive and kind, traits that alone are praiseworthy... but certainly not something that belongs in the modern age - it was a miracle she even came into existence as she did on account of the state of things.

That was also part of the reason why he hadn’t wanted her to come with him on this visit - though that reason had been far more selfish on his part this time than before. 

Because whereas his earlier refusal to let her join him in disposing of the god of carnal pleasures was out of a pure protectiveness for her wellbeing that Lily could fully understand, she could not fathom why Kaye would be so unwilling in letting her visit the abandoned altars of one of the original six. 

He’d even brought a bouquet of flowers, something Lily thought she’d never in all her life get to see the ultra god of grouchiness would ever hold - even if the man did seem a tad put off by his own gift for some reason, for lack of a better term. 

And so she’d followed even in his protest... deep into a forest away from the main city as they walked further and further away from the gaudy neon lights and street lamps into the cold glow of the moonlight through a canopy of dense forest tree branches and leaves.

Lily can tell as Kaye pushed past the overgrowth with practiced ease that he has the route memorized... despite there being no real set path to their destination at all. 

And when they finally reached a clearing in the woods and reached the stone altar, surrounded by crumbled stone walls and mossy bushes, Lily finally gained an inkling of why Kaye had been so hesitant in letting her come visit the pseudo-grave of one of his old companions. 

There was next to none left of the original shrine... now left with a singular stone with a shape of an hourglass carved into its surface that Lily instantly recognized.

It was the emblem of the late goddess of creation - the last god of the original six to have died barring Kaye himself. 

Lily has read tomes about her - about the goddess who, despite her relative weakness in comparison to the other five... possessed within her the great gift that was the ability to create... to give life and change to the very essence of the world. 

In a sense, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that this goddess was Lily’s predecessor.

And though the current goddess of change could not possibly know what type of person the goddess then had been... the fact that she had faded away due to the lack of followers and not due to the judgement passed on by the god of death’s scythe was enough for her to understand now the pain Kaye must feel even just thinking of her.

And it was apparent- even with the lack of emotion in his tense expression as he bends down on one knee to place the flowers beneath the stone before rising to his feet and forcing himself to feign a relaxed demeanor by burying his hands in his pockets and slouching... which only made it more obvious to Lily just how on edge and uncomfortable he was.

She hesitates for a moment, but she finally fights all of her natural instincts telling her to stay quiet to speak and ask him a question.

“What was she like? The goddess of creation?”

Kaye stiffens, and Lily almost mistakens him for a statue as he bows his head and gazes down at the flowers with sorrow welling in his dark eyes.

It takes a while for him to respond... but when he does, the pain in his voice shatters Lily’s heart.

“She was gentle. Kind. An idiot, all things considering... Not unlike you, I guess.” 

This world as it is had no place for the softhearted, Kaye knew that the moment he had started to note this old friend’s power growing dimmer and dimmer. And yet even on her deathbed... even counting down the days to her inevitable disappearance, she held a gentle, weak little smile upon her face.

“She liked flowers...” He thinks to add, and his nose scrunches up once more.

It reeks. The whole altar reeks. He can barely even remember what her voice sounded like or what her smile looked like. And yet the scent of flowers would ever stay fresh to haunt him. 

It’s a fragrance of floral notes and fresh wind... an intoxicating blend of gentle lavender, lilies and chrysanthemums. It was a kind, gentle, sweet and beautiful scent.....

And it ill-suits the rotten state of the modern age... It ill-suited him.

Just recollecting old memories has made the god of death wobbly on his feet, and he turns to leave before Lily can stop him. He needs a cig. 

But not here... Not here where the scent of flowers still rung fresh. Not where his greatest sorrow and regret has yet to be tainted by the odor that he now carried. 

[ofmermaidsandmarauders]

stolen dreams took our childish days - chapter 3

read on FF or AO3

I hope you all enjoy this next chapter in Jamie and Claire’s foster care adventure. It’s a bit shorter than usual, but... Enjoy! xoxo

March 2020 

It’s about three weeks before they’re able to arrange a visit after school for Fergus to see his mom. It means Jamie has a few extra hours to kill before he has to pick him up from the visitation center. He’s finishing up at the office when his phone dings. It’s on do not disturb which means the notification is from Claire, the only person whose number will bypass the setting.

Maybe you should pick up a treat for Fergus. I’m sure that he’ll be sad to be leaving his mom. He told me that he loves chocolate chip cookies. Or maybe ice cream. Or idk, Jamie, maybe he won’t need a snack and his mom will have brought him something.

He could sense Claire’s frantic energy in the text, a grin splitting his mouth wide open. 

Breathe, Sassenach. What a fine idea. I’ll pick him up something special. See you tonight.

Glancing at the time, Jamie decided the workday was done and that he’d need a few spare minutes to pick up a treat for the lad. 

It didn’t take long at the bakery to pick out a cookie, and before he knew it, Jamie was waiting patiently in a vinyl chair with no support. He kept glancing at his phone, answering a few emails before he heard a door open and looked up. A kind woman with cropped curly hair and dark skin with a badge around her neck stood in the doorway of one of the rooms just to the right. “Mr. Fraser?” she asked, at which he stood and nodded. “I’m Veronica, I’m the one covering the visits.”

“Aye, I am. It’s nice to meet ye as well,” he responded softly, taking a few steps toward her. 

“Fergus is having a difficult time leaving his mother. I’m not sure if you have a few minutes, the transition during the first visit is always the hardest,” Veronica explained, gesturing to the room.

“Would it be alright if I said a quick hello and tried to help ease the lad back to my home?” Jamie inquired, the bag from the bakery in his left hand, lifting it as if showing that he had brought bribery.

“Well, alright… As long as you’re comfortable.” Veronica turned back into the room and Jamie stepped toward it, stopping in the doorway as he saw Fergus crying in his mother’s arms, the woman’s own eyes appearing glassy.

“Fergus, lad?” he called softly, knocking on the dark wooden door. Fergus’ head peeked up before he started to cry harder, burying his face back in his mother’s neck. 

“I don’t wanna go!” Fergus cried out, his knuckles white from the grip on his mother’s shoulders. 

Jamie took a moment to observe the interaction. Fergus’ mother appeared younger than he expected. Very young, actually. Jamie was preparing to turn thirty-two in a few months and made the mistake of assuming that Fergus’ mother would be close to his own age, but she looked as though she couldn’t be older than twenty-five. 

Her curls were thinner than his wife’s, but she had the same dark hair. For a moment, Jamie envisioned her as a younger version of Claire, like a younger sister who had lost her way in life. Claudia was nothing like the monster that he had created in his head. She looked tired, her eyes were sunken in a bit. Her skin was pale and the lass was thin. Eerily thin. 

What Jamie then noticed was how fiercely she was holding Fergus, like she was afraid to let him go. He felt guilty, as if he was the one forcing the two apart, but he had to remind himself that this wasn’t the case.

“Och, lad. Are ye no’ going to introduce me to yer mam? I ken ye’re sad but I’d like tae meet the lass!” Fergus looked at Jamie and cracked a smile, likely at Jamie’s accent.

“Mama, this is Jamie. He talks funny, but he’s real nice. He and Claire… that’s his wife, you ken? They’ve been really nice. Claire said that maybe me and you could talk on the phone before bed at night if you’ve got a phone. And Jamie makes Mickey pancakes really good and…” Claudia held up a hand, a pained smile on her lips, though Jamie was sure Fergus couldn’t tell the difference. 

“Maybe I could introduce myself to Jamie, now?” Her smile became softer and more teasing as she kissed Fergus’ forehead before placing him on the ground, stepping tentatively toward Jamie. He squared his shoulders before holding his hand out.

“It’s a pleasure tae meet ye, lass. Fergus speaks verra highly of ye. He’s quite the lad. Brilliant and funny and charming,” Jamie trailed off, his cheeks going pink as he realized he was telling her about her own son.

“Oh, well… I thank you for that. It’s obvious he’s fond of the both of you.” Claudia looked at her hands, picking at the cuticles. She swayed on her feet before looking back at Fergus.

“I hate to say it’s time to go, lad, but ye have yer schoolwork to finish, aye? Say goodbye to yer mam,” Jamie instructed, feeling uncomfortable with the fact that he had to be the one to end the visit. Wasn’t Veronica supposed to step in at some point and do this? Why had he said that? Maybe he was being too forward?

“Mr. Fraser is right, Fergus, but I’ll pick you up from school again next week and you’ll get to see your mom again, alright?” As if on cue, Veronica stepped in and began tidying up the toys in the room, speaking softly to Claudia before Fergus gave his mother one final tight hug and kiss. Jamie picked up the lad’s knapsack in his free hand, gesturing for Fergus to lead the way from the room.

“I bought ye some cookies. Claire told me they’re yer favorite. Ye can have one in the car if ye promise to be careful with the wee crumbs. Do ye have a lot of work to do tonight?” Jamie filled the silence on the walk to his car, helping Fergus into the booster seat in the back. Fergus, normally chatty after a day at school, was noticeably silent as Jamie prompted him again with the question. Refusing to leave until Fergus had spoken to him, Jamie squeezed himself into the floor of the backseat, looking up at Fergus’ sad face.

“I don’t want to leave my mama. I don’t want to be apart from her anymore. It’s not fair!” Fergus sounded frustrated, and Jamie didn’t blame him. To only be eight and have to leave your mother not once, but twice. With no say in the matter, either. He didn’t blame Fergus for thinking it wasn’t fair.

“Och, weel, the both of us ken it’s not quite fair, but ‘tis what must be done until yer mam can keep ye safe and healthy. And in the meantime, ye’re always welcome with me and Claire, whether ye want to be there or not. We love having ye in our home, lad. I hope ye ken that.” Jamie was worried that his attempts at reassurance were a waste of time, but Fergus appeared to be comforted by them as he reached his small hands down to pat Jamie’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” the boy whispered softly, letting his eyes close as he sunk back into his seat. 

Assuming the conversation was over, Jamie moved back into the driver’s seat and began their journey home. He had much to discuss with Claire before bed that night.

_________________________________________

“Claire, ‘twas mebbe the most horrible thing I’ve seen in my life. The lad wouldna stop weeping. ‘Tis a shock my own heart isna torn in two at just the thought of it!”

Claire couldn’t contain a giggle at his dramatics, even if it was a depressing thought.

“Jamie, of course he’s sad! He had to leave his mom after finally getting to see her. I can’t believe you met her. What was she like?” she asked, the question coming out before she even knew it was one she had.

“Kind. And sad. Thin. Tired. Young. Verra young. Mebbe ten years younger than you, Sassenach. Sae thin, sae young. The lass looked like she would fall apart. She’s got a heid of curly hair just like her son. Much like yers, in fact. She was… She was just his mam.” Jamie’s shoulders felt at this last statement, his body settling into the mattress for the night. He hadn’t expected the thought to shake him so much. Jamie hadn’t even planned on meeting her, but something had pushed him to go in that room and coax Fergus out. Rolling onto his side, he thought deeply about what brought them to take in a child in foster care. Their goal had been to provide a safe and healthy home to a child in need. He thought he was protecting Fergus, but in fact, he was worried he may have been doing the complete opposite. Were they keeping the boy from the one person in life who would unconditionally love him?

Claire could sense that Jamie was deep in thought, and she took the opportunity to wrap her arms around him, climbing on top of him. Her cheek settled against his chest and she let out a little sigh when his hands found their place in the curve of her lower back.

“She’s just his mam,” Jamie repeated, the words causing a shiver to run down his spine.

“It’s not your fault that he’s here, Jamie. We’re just keeping him safe and giving him a good home until they can be together again, that’s all. You’re doing a good thing.” Claire peppered kisses along his skin between her statements. Her left hand rose to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the curve of his upper lip. She felt her fingers start to dampen and realized that Jamie had been so shaken that he was crying. It was only then that she realized Jamie had lost his own mother, Ellen,  at Fergus’ exact age. 

“Oh, Jamie,” she breathed out, her hands going to his shoulders, holding tighter to him. “It’s alright. He’s going to be alright.” 

“I ken, I just hope we are more help than hurt for the lad.” Jamie’s voice was hoarse, his hands stroking at the soft skin on Claire’s back. 

“I love ye, Sassenach.” The words meant many things, more than he knew how to put into words, and he knew that Claire would understand the hidden meaning.

“She would be proud of you,” Claire whispered, the words coming out before she even knew they were there. Jamie stiffened beneath her for a moment before letting his body relax. His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before loosening his hold so that his hands could stroke beneath her t-shirt. “You’ve turned into an amazing person, Jamie. Ellen Fraser would be so proud of the man you’ve become.”

Jamie didn’t say anything else, just let the tears he had been holding in freely flow while his wife wiped them away.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Fever Dreams

So here’s my first Uhtred x Reader fix. I hope you guys enjoy it. My requests are still open so if any of you have some story ideas let me know. 😊

Pairings: Uhtred x Reader

Prompt: fever dreams

Warnings: smut, swearing

Your Lord was sick. He was very sick. Ever since he had met Skade his strength had dwindled. He was no longer Uhtred of Bebbanburg, the Dane Slayer, the infamous warrior. He was weak and he was dying. You had been travelling for a while when Uhtred suddenly collapsed, falling from his horse into the snow. You and Finan had rushed to his aid in a attempt to get him back onto his horse but it was no use. That was how you ended up here. Sat in the woods, huddled around a fire, waiting for Uhtred to pass into the next life. “He is not longed for this world.” Osferth said, returning from where he had been trying to feed Uhtred some broth. “He is no longer himself. He sees things.” “He sees someone.” Skade interrupted, from where she was sat tied up by a tree. “Who the hell gave you permission to speak.” You stood up, a marching angrily towards her drawing your sword. “If it wasn’t for you none of this would have happened. I should kill you now and be done with it!” You lunged are her but someone caught your arm, pulling you round towards them. “Let me go.” You snarled. “(Y/n) I can’t let ya do this. You know what the curse says. Ya can’t kill her like this, not now. What happens if she is the only reason Uhtred is still alive? What then? Your not going to sacrifice him like that. I know ya won’t.” “I wouldn’t be so sure.” I said, lunging toward Skade again but Finan once again held you back. “I know ya hurting (y/n) alright. Ya love him I understand but I won’t let you do this.” You froze as soon as he mentioned love. Yes you loved Uhtred with all your heart but you would never admit your feelings for him. He was a warrior and he had been with many women whilst you knew him. Not once were you one of those women. He never saw you like that. You were just like any other member of the group. One of the lads. You were never going to be a lady to any of them and so you excepted this. But it hurt. A lot. As a young girl you had the dream all young women have, that one day you would find the man of your dreams and settle down and have a family. This was not your path. When your village was massacred by Danes you went to Winchester for safety that’s were you met Uhtred and his men. You begged them to let you join them, saying you wanted to learn how to defend yourself. After that you fought many battles with them and fell deeper in love each day with their fearsome leader. Which is how you ended up in your current situation freezing in the woods waiting for the man you loved to die because of some witch. Finan steered you back towards the campfire, seating you between Osferth and himself. “Come on (y/n), have a drink.” Finan said, handing you a cup of ale. “Thanks,” you mumbled.

A few hours passed in comfortable silence around the fire, when Uhtred began to stir. You were the first to hear him, sitting bolt upright and staring across the clearing. “Uhtred,” you whispered, rising from your seat to sit by his side.You took his hand into ours. It was cold and clammy, sweat beading on his forehead. “(Y/n),” he grumbled, looking at you through half closed eyes. “It’s alright Uhtred. I’m here. I’ve got you.” “Don’t go (y/n).” He struggled against the furs he was under. “NO DON’T TAKE HER. NO STOP PLEASE (Y/N)!” He screamed. “Uhtred please,” you whimpered. Finan and the others had joined you now. “(Y/n) what’s happening?” Finan asked, concern evident on his face. “I don’t know it’s like he isn’t here.” “He’s having a fever dream,” Sihtric said, “I’ve seen many warriors suffer from it. The fever burns them out and they begin to hallucinate. What he’s seeing isn’t real, but it is to him.” “How do we stop it?” Osferth chimed in. “You can’t. You just have to wait.” You sighed, defeated. Uhtred began to stir again. “Please don’t hurt her. I love her. Take me not her. Please not (y/n). Not her.” Everyone turned towards you. “Did I hear that right?” Finan asked, confused. “He loves her.” Osferth repeated. “He loves you (y/n).” “No he doesn’t. He can’t. Not me. It’s never me.” You stood up, defiantly. “Don’t repeat what you’ve just heard. Like Sihtric said it’s a fever dream it’s not real.” “(Y/n)!” Finan called to you but you had already made your way back to your tent. Butterflies danced in your stomach as you were filled with hope that what he said was true. Did he really love you?

Within a few weeks Uhtred was back to his normal self, seeming completely unaware of what he had said while he was sick. He treated you like he always did, joking with you like he did with the rest of his men. It was what you were used to and yet it broke your heart even more. That night had given you a small glimmer of hope and yet life had snatched it away from you. Your friends knew this and tried to cheer you up as much as they could, up to their normal antics. You no longer cared for their games though and spent much of the time by yourself down by the river. It was peaceful there. The clear water lapping rhythmically at the bank, in time with your heart beat. You stayed there every day for, dawn til dusk before you headed back to your home. Uhtred had noticed this change in you and mentioned it to Finan one evening. Finan, knowing that you couldn’t stand much more heartache, played ignorant to the situation and Uhtred dropped the subject. Until a few days later when you were bathing down at the river. You had gotten up early and gone down to your usual spot by the river. No one would be around at this time so you stripped off your clothes, leaving them on the bank before climbing into the cool water. Although freezing, swimming in the river made you feel alive, it brightened your spirit and you loved it. Plunging your head under the water, you come up taking a deep breath and pushing your blonde hair out of your eyes. When you opened them, to your horror, you come face to face with Uhtred.

“Good morning (y/n),” Uhtred smiles at you cheerfully. He was sat on the low hanging tree across the river, legs swinging. “Uhtred... I... what are you...” you fumble for your words trying to cover yourself with your hands. “I just thought you might want some company.” He winked at you cheekily. You sighed, “Uhtred please just leave me alone. I’m trying to bathe.” You turned away from him going back to washing yourself. “I know. I also know that you have been avoiding me like the plague and as this is where you’ve been spending most of your time I thought I’d come and see you.” “Uhtred...” “What’s wrong (y/n)? Why are you avoiding me? What did I do wrong?” “Nothing you didn’t do anything wrong. Just… just go Uhtred. Leave me.” There was silence behind you for a moment before you heard the rustle of clothes. You could hear gentle splash of water. You didn’t dare look round. You couldn’t. You couldn’t face him. “(Y/n) please,” his voice was soft and comforting, something you usually sort. “Hey look at me.” Soft hands caressed your shoulders and you sighed, enjoying his touch. “Please,” he begged, taking a few deep breaths you turned round to face him. “Your so beautiful.” He smiled, gently running a wet thumb over your cheek. You closed your eyes, savouring the moment. His fingers began to run down your neck, dancing along your collar bone. “Uhtred,” you whimpered. “Don’t resist it (y/n) I know how much you want this. I want this too.”He smiled at you then. “I want you.” That was the last straw. You grabbed him, looping your arms around his neck, pulling at his hair. His strong hands found their way to your waist, lifting you up so you could wrap you legs around his toned, muscular body. “I love you (y/n),” Uhtred whispered. He looked vulnerable for the first time since you had met him. Stroking his cheek lovingly you put your lips next to his ear, causing him to shiver.“I love you too.” After that it became a frenzy of hands and kisses. Before you knew it you were led on the bank, your cloak underneath you and Uhtred on top of you. This had happened in all your fantasies but you still couldn’t believe this was happening. Uhtred wanted you. You wanted Uhtred. “Uhtred please,” you begged as he began kissing down your neck, nipping at your ear lobe. “Please.” You began grinding your hips against his, trying to create some friction.

He groaned like a wild animal, biting down harshly on your neck. “Don’t tease me (y/n). I don’t know wether I can control myself for much longer.” He whispered, looking at you with eyes full of love.“Oh Uhtred I don’t want you to control yourself. I want you buried deep inside me. Filling me with your seed.” Uhtred need not be told twice, he gripped your hips harshly, pulling you further underneath him. His finger slipped between your legs.“God your already so wet for me love.” He praised. He began pumping his finger inside you, creating friction. You moaned softly as he added another finger, stretching you. “Uhtred. Uhtred please...” you begged. “Please what (y/n) I need you to say it.” He grinned up at you. “I...I...oh... I...shit.” You sighed, unable to form a sentence. “Tell me what you need.” “Fuck me! Fuck me Uhtred!” You all but screamed. “That’s my girl.” Uhtred praised, kissing down your neck. He lined himself up to you, gripping his thick cock between his fingers. “This might sting a little.” He warned, “ if you want me to stop just tell me ok?” “Ok.” You nodded, to say you were nervous was an understatement but you had wanted this for so long you weren’t about to pull away now. Uhtred gave you a tender kiss as he pushed into you. His cock stretched you, causing you to wince. A single tear ran down your cheek. Once he was completely inside you he stopped. “(Y/n) are you ok?” Uhtred asked, concern evident on his face. “I’m ok just... just give me a second.” Uhtred hovered over you, placing gentle kisses along your collar bone. You could feel a tingling sensation in your stomach and you felt restless. “Uhtred please...please move.” At that Uhtred pulled out of you before pushing back into you slowly. The pace was excruciating but he soon picked it up and was slamming into you. Panting and moaning surrounded you, as the coil in your abdomen began to tighten. You scrapped your nails down Uhtred’s hard, muscular back. Groaning, Uhtred bit down on your neck sending shock waves through your body. “Ah...ah...Uhtred.” You whimpered, his pace relentless. You were panting, gasping as you gripped hold of his shoulders trying to anchor yourself. You felt Uhtred’s hand drift from your hips down your thigh before reaching between your legs. He pressed firmly at your bundle of nerves and you shouted his name. “Gods yes (y/n)” Uhtred continued to pound into you. He lifted one of your legs up over his shoulder so he could reach a different angle. “I can’t hold on much longer.” You cried. “It’s alright my love. You can let go. Let go for me (y/n).” With that the coil unravelled and you came shouting his name. After a few more thrusts Uhtred came with a roar, spilling his seed inside of you. You lay on the bank, trying to catch your breath. Uhtred kissed you softly, before pulling out. You could feel his seed running down your leg and were left feeling empty without him. “Gods (y/n) that was... it was...” “Amazing.” You breathed. “...something else.” He finished, “I’ve never been with a women like that before.” You looked at him puzzled. “Your not a v...” “No I’m not a virgin.” He laughed. “No I mean I’ve never been with someone like you. You are perfect (y/n). I don’t know why it took so long for me to admit it but you are.” He pulled you close to him, kissing you. “Well if I’m so perfect.” You grinned, biting your lip. “Then what would you say to round 2?” Uhtred grinned, “it’s like you read my mind.” He pulled you in for another passionate kiss and it was at that point you knew you weren’t getting any sleep that night.

Tags: @sihtric @beowulfsdottir @maggiescarborough @rileybots @finantheagile @bonaofsavoy @geekandbooknerd @lauwrite1225

[jaskierswolf]

The Witcher, The Bard and Their Guardian Angel Pt.1/4

(Other parts will be linked on my pinned Masterlist/AO3 - TW: Graphic violence, Canon-typical but still a bit nasty)

“Fuck!”

Geralt jumped back and dove into a roll to avoid the swooping talons of the griffin, but he was too late. The talons had already caught him in the chest, piercing his armour as if it were butter. Blood was already soaking into the black leather of his chest plate. He gritted his teeth and gripped his sword tighter. The potions were dulling the pain of the wound but he could tell by the amount of blood dripping from the gash that it wasn’t good. The air moved above him, and he moved his fingers quickly to form Aard. The pulse of kinetic energy knocked the griffin from the sky and quicker than any human could track his sword was buried into the poor beast’s brain. The griffin pulsated on the ground as it gave one last dying screech.

Geralt sighed and collapsed down next to it.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled to the dead creature.

It had been terrorising the path just outside Vergen which had forced the alderman to hire a witcher. He’d been the unlucky sod to pick up the contract. He’d scouted the area and discovered that the human villagers had killed the griffin’s mate as a trophy. The remaining griffin had sought revenge and the dwarves had practically bribed the alderman to post the contract to hire a witcher. Even then the bastard hadn’t offered Geralt the full amount, he’d kept back half of the dwarves’ coin for himself.

Geralt pressed his hand to his chest. The blood was oozing quickly from the wound, too quickly even for his witcher healing.

“Shit!” He gasped.

The pain was still numbed but the fight was done. The griffin was dead, humanity protected as was his job, but this time he wasn’t getting paid. He didn’t bother cutting off the head of the griffin. He wouldn’t make it in time. There was no point in mutilating and humiliating the beast any further. He could neck back another potion to help the healing but his toxicity was already too high, another potion would do more damage and kill him faster.

He half stumbled, half crawled back to Roach. She whinnied when she saw him and trotted over until he was able to sling his arm around her neck.

“I know, I’m a mess.” He croaked as they slowly hobbled back towards the town. He wondered how far he would get before the blood loss caught up with him, before the toxicity in his blood stopped masking his looming death. “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew this time Roach. Got too slow.”

He coughed and choked up blood into his hands. “Fuck.” He groaned and slumped down to the floor. His vision was spotted and unfocussed. He didn’t have long now, but at least he had Roach. His trusted companion.

“Hurts less than I expected.” He slurred. “Got the potions to thank for that I guess.”

Roach reared and whinnied loudly, tugging away from him in a panic. The stench of his blood had probably become too much for her and she bolted. He was too weak to use Axii to calm her down so he let her go.

“Guess we do all die alone.” He laughed weakly before he choked on another coughing fit.

His vision faded to black as he eyes fluttered shut for the last time.

____________

Jaskier was whistling a new song under his breath. He hadn’t managed to work out the lyrics yet but the he couldn’t stop dreaming of the melody just before he fell properly asleep each night. His lute case was strapped to his back as he walked along the dusty path. The villagers had warned him not to go, especially not alone, but he had sung too many times at the taverns in Vergen and the coin was shit, once the food started flying he decided it was time to leave.

No griffin was going to stop him. He had a dagger tucked into his boots for the more nefarious human types but he doubted it would be very effective against a beast like a griffin. He was secretly hoping to see the creature, at least from a distance. He’d never seen one up close before and he could only imagine how magnificent and regal they were.

He was startled as a bay horse came charging onto the path. The horse was saddled but there was no sign of a rider. The horse was clearly distressed as she stamped her feet and whinnied restlessly in a circle around him. After a few attempts he managed to catch the reins and slowly steady her to a walk. He pulled a slightly mouldy apple from his pants, a gift from his latest performance in Vergen. The horse sniffed it indignantly but took his peace offering.

“Hello there.” He cooed as he patted her mane as gently as possible. “Where’s your rider, hey?”

The horse whinnied and stamped her feet, tugging at the reins back in the direction she'd ran from.

Jaskier frowned and blew his fringe from his eyes. “You want me to follow you?”

The horse pulled harder at the reins and Jaskier stumbled off the path. He licked his lips as he contemplated what to do. He was a confident rider but he knew that mounting a horse when they were so distressed was not a good idea.

“Oh fuck it. Look, horsey, I’m going to just hop on up alright? And then you can lead me to wherever your rider is.” Jaskier cooed at the horse.

She didn’t immediately run away so Jaskier put one foot in the stirrups and hauled himself up onto the horse. He almost overshot and landed on his ass the other side of the horse. It had been a long time since he’d last ridden a horse, not since his lessons as a boy.

He grumbled under his breath at the memory and managed to steady himself. No sooner was he in the saddle than the horse lurched underneath him and they were galloping off into the wilderness.

“Oh bollocks!” He groaned as he gripped the horse tightly with his thighs. “Be gentle with me, horsey.”

They hadn’t been riding long, although it felt like a century to Jaskier’s tender arse, when the horse slowed to a trot and Jaskier spied a body in the road.

“Fuck!” He hurried to dismount from the horse but caught his foot in the stirrup and fell onto his arse with a yelp.

It was a witcher. More than that, it was Geralt of Rivia. He’d heard of the silver-haired witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken.

He ran to the wounded witcher’s side and rolled the man onto his back with a grunt. He was heavier than he looked, and still breathing, just about.

Jaskier hauled the witcher onto the horse. It wasn’t easy but the horse seemed to understand what he wanted to do and stayed still. Geralt draped over the saddle like a dead body but Jaskier couldn’t think of a better solution. The man needed a healer, a mage and quickly. Jaskier pulled at the horses reins and ran beside the horse as he led them both back to the village. He screamed for help as he approached the first row of houses.

“I need a healer!” He cried. “Or a mage!”

The human villagers wouldn’t look him in the eye as he passed them.

“You bastards!” He yelled indignantly. “He saved your weak human asses and this is how you repay him?! Melitele help us all.”

“In here.” A nearby dwarf waved him down. “We have healers. I’ll send one of the lads to find you a mage.”

Jaskier slumped under Geralt’s weight but managed to pull him into the building. It was… a tavern? But not one he’d been in before and he could instantly see why. The tavern was filled with dwarves and other non-humans only. They must not normally allow the humans into this one.

“Thank you.” He said breathlessly as Geralt was laid on the nearest table.

“A friend?” The dwarf asked.

Jaskier laughed and shook his head. “Never met him before.”

There wasn’t much speaking after that. Jaskier was ushered out of the tavern whilst the dwarven healers got to work. After a few more minutes a tall man in flowing robes pushed past him into the tavern.

The mage.

Jaskier sat with the horse outside of the tavern, stroking her mane and telling her all about his day to the tune of his newest song. The words didn’t fit properly and the rhymes were dodgy but the singing helped his nerves. He didn’t know why he stayed. He didn’t even know the witcher.

They were strangers.

And yet, here he was.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave until he knew the witcher’s fate.

He sat outside the tavern, plucking half written melodies from his lute strings until dusk fell over Vergen and the tavern door flung open behind him. He jumped up with an undignified squawk and turned to face the tall, dark skinned mage. His eyes were a rich warm brown, the most beautiful brown eyes that Jaskier had even seen. Jaskier felt as if he could fall into the abyss of those eyes. The mage’s hair was mostly covered by his hood but Jaskier noted the beginnings of beautiful intricate braids in the shadows of the hood.

He was unbelievably handsome.

The mage watched him intently for a few minutes without moving or speaking. Jaskier was helpless to do anything but bask in the enchanting gaze of the mage.

“You owe me a debt, bard.” The mage eventually said cooly. “I saved your witcher’s life. A life debt is owed.”

Jaskier’s hands gripped tighter onto his lute and his chewed on his bottom lip as he contemplated the mage’s words. He nodded slowly. “Right.” He drew the word out, buying time as he gathered the right words to say that would cause him the least problems later on. “Well. If you were a witcher you could call the law of surprise.”

“But I am not.” The mage smirked.

Jaskier shook his head. “No. No you’re not. Why isn’t it Geralt that owes you? It’s his life?”

The mage laughed quietly. “Your witcher was ready to die, bard. It was you that called me here. Not him.”

Jaskier nodded. “So my debt.” He surmised. “I mean, I didn’t exactly know I was offering up a life debt here. So what about a song?” He tried to bargain.

“I will collect my debt in time, bard.” The mage began to wave his hands and Jaskier’s hairs stood up on the back of his neck as the air crackled around them. “My name is Mihangel. Remember it, Julian.”

The mage, Mihangel, passed him a heavy sack that was blood soaked and dripping at the bottom then stepped through a portal and vanished from Vergen.

“Oh cock!” Jaskier swore.

Taglist (Let me know if you want to be added): @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks

[thedreammweaver]

You really thought I’d leave? (Burton-Schumacherverse riddlebird , trans!Oswald)

Warnings: Dysphoria, misunderstandings, accidental misgendering, Clueless Ed is clueless, brief mention of suicidal thoughts of no physical consequence, medium to mild amount of blood, forced to come out by stupid dumb uterus, so. many. penguin. tears., A N G S T, pain, suffering, the lads talk about their trauma, 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃 (it turns out okay though)

Ed was still feeling his post heist high when he threw himself onto Oswald’s bed while Oswald was hanging up his coat, hat, and umbrella. Ed looked over when he heard Oswald sigh, he was rubbing at his back like it hurt. “I’m sorry..” Ed blurted out.

“It’s not your fault.” Oswald said flatly as he went behind an ornate screen in the corner of his bedroom to change into pajamas. Ed had wondered a few times why Oswald didn’t change in front of him but after all they’d only been in a relationship for a few weeks, it felt like longer to Ed, but maybe the other man just needed more time. Ed rested his head in his hands, feeling guilty

“I was being theatrical and I took too long...if I had hurried up like you said batman wouldn’t have gotten there in time to hurt you..”

Oswald scoffed “It’s OK, Eddie! I needed to let off some steam anyways.”

“If getting thrown into a cement wall where you could’ve been seriously hurt and I would’ve spent forever wishing it had been me instead because..” ‘Because I love you. C’mon, Ed, just say it!’ Ed screamed at himself in his mind “well... because it just wouldn’t be right..I mean if that’s you’re idea of letting off steam then sure.” Ed pouted, kicking himself mentally and burying his face in Oswald’s bed, the comforter smelled like him which lifted Ed’s spirits a bit. “I don’t wanna go home tonight.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud but didn’t regret it either. “Then stay,” Oswald said, coming out from behind the screen now dressed in black and purple satin pjs “I mean...if this- or- we work out you’ll probably be staying here half the time anyhow, right?” “Yeah, I guess so.” Ed said absently getting off the bed to peel himself out of the green glittery spandex suit he was in, he only had his briefs and a plain tank top underneath, he’d learned to wear some sort of undershirt with the spandex if he was going to Oswald’s after unless he wanted his core to feel an ice box. “Look! The bat got you too, we’re even.” Oswald chuckled pointing out bruises on Ed’s arm and shoulder as he got under the covers. Ed rolled his eyes and crawled into bed next to Oswald he had been afraid this would be awkward but the idea of falling asleep next to Oswald came naturally and he was soon asleep.

Ed was stirred awake just as easily as he’d drifted off by Oswald quicky getting out of bed and muttering curses “Shit, shit, shit...goddamnit..” Ed sat up a bit “Wha...Ozzie, what is it??” He asked groggily. “Uh- it’s- just- nothing, nothing just uh-uh stay there or you maybe better sleep on the couch instead uh...just- go back to sleep. Don’t turn the lights on.” After that panicked deluge of unclear instruction Oswald ran off to the bathroom down the hallway. Ed still drowsy, now worried and curious he turned on the lamp by the bed and looked over to Oswald’s side of the bed, all he could make out was a blurry red blob. He huffed and clumsily reached for his glasses, he’d left them on the nightstand before he and Oswald had gone on the heist as he’d gotten changed at Oswald’s too. His eyes were slowly adjusting and the red blob revealed itself to be a sizeable bloodstain, Ed’s heart dropped. He got up and ran down the hall to the bathroom as well. When Ed went to open the door there was a shrill “DON’T COME IN!!” which made him jump and step back. “But Oswald you’re bleeding!”

“I know, Ed, it’s normal...” Ed could hear that Oswald’s teeth were gritted. “That was a lot of blood Oswald! You could have internal damage from “letting off steam” with the bat earlier. I have to take you to the hospital, I know you hate doctors but-“

“It is normal, Edward! Now leave me be!!”

Ed was taken aback, Oswald had never yelled at him like this before. He put his ear to the door, he could hear plastic ripping and crinkling, was Oswald trying to tend to the damage himself? “Oswald, please please let me help. I know you have a lot of weird..stuff going on but bleeding like that isn’t normal.”

“Yes, it is. This has nothing to do with that son of a bitch Batman, this happens every month..”

“EVERY MONTH?! Since when??”

“...since I was about twelve or thirteen..I don’t remember.”

Ed was bewildered “Since you were- you mean as in years old right??? Oswald! That could be indicative of SERIOUS health problems!!”

“Ed just leave me alone please...stop worrying, it’s fine.”Oswald’s gruff voice was beginning sound shaky. Ed was wracking his brain trying to figure out what was going on. “Oswald please talk to me, if this is “normal” I want to understand why..I-I mean is it like the stuff that comes out of your mouth or-“ “No! It’s not like that...”

“Then what??-“

“Gimme a minute! I’ve never really had to..vocalize it..before..”

Ed leaned his head on the door, now he felt confused and impatient. Oswald cleared just throat nervously “So...I’m a man right except I- Except I got born with the wrong sort of...equipment for that..”

“What??” Ed asked, more a noise of exasperation than a question. “Jesus, Ed- I...got born with a chick’s body but later I figured out I’m not a chick alright, not really..not on the inside-We’re both guys but if you wanted to narrow things down to a strictly physical matter I have more in common with the catbitch than with you..”

Ed’s brow furrowed “So you’re a woman?”

“NO!! GOD NO, ED!! DID YOU EVEN HEAR A WORD I JUST FUCKING SAID?!”

“Okay! Okay! I-I-just-“

“DON’T EVER SAY THAT SHIT TO ME AGAIN!!”

“OKAY!!” There was an uncomfortable beat of silence before Ed spoke again “So.....what are are you?” Oswald scoffed, a pitiful tone to the noise “You’re just trying your damndest to make me feel like shit aren’t you?” Ed’s heart broke when he heard Oswald’s voice break. “No! No! I- Oswald, I swear I’m just trying to understand. S-So you’re a guy? Right? On the inside..that’s what you said? But you have...girl..parts? Then-so the blood.......oh......you-...you’re just..menstruating?” Oswald didn’t answer him. “Oswald??” Ed gently pushed the door open. Oswald was on the floor leaning against the bathtub, he was just in his underpants and pajama top now, the blood stained bottoms tossed aside. Parts of his thighs were also bloodstained, he was sobbing into his flippers, a pathetic gasping hitching noise. Ed got on his knees beside Oswald, he’d never seen the man cry before and it was making him panic “Oswald, please...I didn’t mean to- did-did...I get it right the last time at least..?” Oswald whined “Yes!...yes...but it doesn’t matter...you don’t like me anymore..” “What?? Of course I still lo- like you.” Ed grabbed the other man by the shoulders to make them face eachother. Oswald took his flippers down from his tear drenched face “Just wait, you say that now but in time..you’ll get frustrated and you’ll leave, your need for a “real man” will win out over any feelings you claim to have for me. Eddie, I’ve been through this before..I know how this works..” Oswald broke down into sobs again “Except it’s worse this time..because you actually fucking matter to me, you’re not someone I paid to tell me they love me just because I needed to to hear it on a shitty night.” He was beginning to hyperventilate now “I-I never needed anyone before like I need you and I-I didn’t mean to keep this from you but I got so scared! I was so SCARED!! Scared because I think if you left me especially because of this I’d-I’d just have to go and find the tallest building in Gotham and throw myself off...see if maybe one penguin an fly after all...this poor old bird couldn’t take that, not after everything....not after all this. I thought about it so much and I’d really rather die than have you leave me, Eddie, leave me like every other little sparkling thing that cuddled up to me as if I meant something to them! Like my parents the night I was born!! They doomed me to a life of being thrown away. Th-They cursed me that night do you understand?! An-and I so need you to be the one that breaks that curse cause I. AM. telling. you! I can’t stand that happening again..not one time more...please...not once more..please.....pleease...” Oswald begged as he collapsed into Ed’s arms, sobbing, burying his face in the other man’s chest. “Oh...Oswald I- please don’t talk like that...like you’re nothing..” Ed felt tears flowing down his own face as he cradled his bird. “I..love you. God, Oswald, I love you..you really thought I’d leave?” Oswald raised his head a bit “...Eddie, people get killed for being like me...you can never tell how people will react to what they don’t understand..” Ed absently rocked himself and Oswald softly “...I love you...I wanted to say it for so long but I was scared too, I thought you were gonna be like these type of guys I messed around with in school, they’d call you baby when you’re alone and act like they really care but then you see them with their girlfriends the next day, acting like they don’t know you...and you just feel like a fucking idiot all because they don’t like who they are... I never thought I could mean as much to you as...how you said.” Oswald wrapped his arms around Ed’s waist. “You love me? Why?” There was a pitiful wistfulness in his voice. Ed didn’t have to think for long “You’re warm. You’re the only thing that makes me feel held, only thing that makes me feel safe, wanted. It’s like I wasn’t even real before I met you...I was just here..barely. I carry your warmth with me everywhere now, so I can feel real all the time..instead of like I’m floating away. You...obviously love me too, why?”

“You make me feel human. I got too used to being an animal after being treated like one...manipulated like one. You talk to me like- I don’t know...like you care..” They sat there holding eachother for a few minutes more until Oswald’s crying resumed “It wasn’t enough that I had to get born like this..” he sobbed gesturing to his flippers and nose “I had to get born with the wrong insides too...as if I wasn’t a complete freak already..” Ed held the shorter man tighter “No, no, no, no, no, don’t say that, Oswald, don’t say that,” Ed cooed, stroking Oswald’s hair “I promise I’m going to learn how to treat you right, after all this time you deserve it..I promise I’m gonna learn, okay? And I’m not leaving, you don’t have to be scared anymore..” Oswald was still crying, Ed scooted back a bit so he could see Oswald’s face. “Look, look, I-I can run you a bath so you can get cleaned up and I’ll take care of the bed, then you don’t have to think about it anymore tonight. Would that be good...if I did that?” Ed offered earnestly. Oswald sighed and nodded, Ed smiled weakly and cupped the other man’s cheek “Good-..good, so I’ll- I’m gonna do that and you can stay here and just relax, please.” Ed kissed Oswald’s cheek before getting up and turning on the bath to let it fill while he stripped the bed. Before leaving the bathroom he just had to say it once more “I love you, Oswald.” “I love you too, asshole..” Oswald grumbled, while wiping the dried, drying, and still wet tears from his face. Ed sighed happily knowing that his bird was starting to calm down already, and basking in the knowledge that he was loved back.

[wayward-mikaelson]

Centuries Twelve

Word Count: 1363

Pairing: Reader x Dean

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam, Rowena, Cas, Jack, Michael, and Hezekiah

About: A new lead is found on Hezekiah. Michael has a new vessel.

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Language, Angst, Michael’s new vessel (I pictured this vessel super fucking hot so yeah it’s a warning. sue me) 

A/N: With this gif, let’s pretend that the boys are at the other end of the table so when the Michale in his new vessel comes in that’s the greeting he gets.

*18+ Content. If you are younger than 18 please scroll/move along. I do NOT want to risk my account being thanosed. 

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It's been two days and there is still no sign of Michael.

Dean tells me the bind removal was successful and that Michael hightailed it out of here with only the words "I'll be back." But I didn't really care, I mean, I did care in someway. He was a ticking time bomb without that bind to me. He could literally kill thousands upon thousands of people. I pray that he found his way to the bottom of the ocean and if that were the case, then so be it then. A door on my life will finally be closed for good.

After Rowena undid the bind and after Michael ran off, Dean told me that it too another twelve hours for me to wake up. And when I did wake up apparently I was still under the influence of that powder that smacked me in the face back at the house. I don't remember much of what happened but I guess that Rowena had been prepared for it cause according to her, I drank a sleeping potion and was out again for the night.

When I woke up again, I was feeling normal.

Now, I sit in the bunker kitchen twirling the spoon in my soup round in circles. Chicken noodle soup. From a can. Once things are back in order and Hezekiah is gone for good and maybe Michael too, I will have to get this kitchen back in order. Making homemade soups and dinner again like the good old days.

"Oh, you got that look on your face," Dean steps into the kitchen. He stops when he see me. The outfit he's wearing, although super normal, is super hot right now. "Whats on your mind?"

Sitting back from the bowl of soup, "Just the possibility that we might hear of a nuclear bomb going off and killing thousands. Plus, I'm not eating this." I push the bowl away from me.

Dean looks a little heart broken when I say that. "I made that and it was all we had. Sort of been busy to go out on a supply run. But no worries, I'll eat and I'll take you to get a greasy burger while we go for that supply run."

I smile and reach across the table and move the soup. Dean looks at the empty space and then at me. "You want to know what I really want?"

Dean swallows whats in his mouth. "And what's that?" He raises an eyebrow knowing what's about to happen and go down.

I get and walk around the table. As I do, Dean pushes the chair he's sitting in away from the table and leans back with his one eyebrow still raised. "Hmmm," I straddle his lap and slowly run my hands up his chest to the top button of his shirt. "I was thinking, something quick. Something pleasurable. And just maybe, something a little naughty."

I feel Dean's member get hard under me. A low growl is heard deep within his chest and came out as a small groan. Dean wraps his arms around me and in the next minute he's pushing me up on a wall next to the coffee bar and knocking a few things off it. My legs are tightly wrapped around him while he pins my arms above my head while his lips attack mine. Nipping and bitting at whatever bare skin he can.

Dean releases my arms and pushes my legs off him. He takes both his hands and grips the neckline of my shirt and rips the fabric in half all the way down to the bottom. Dean looks me over and smirks. "No bra?"

"Nope, I hate those things with a passion today."

Dean licks his lips and attacks mine again before kissing, nipping and bitting his way down to my neck. Down between my breasts as he takes hold of both and gives them a gently but firm squeeze. Down to the button of my jeans. I look down and see his raised eyes looking into mine. Waiting for permission to go on.

"Well," I say softly. "What are you waiting for?"

Dean smiles big and as soon as he gets the button undone, Sam comes walking into the kitchen.

"I heard something fall in here, are you guys-" Sam's voice is cut off by what he sees. I quickly cover myself in my ripped shirt as Dean stands up and positions his body in front of mine. "You know there is something called a room, right? I'm going to just pretend I didn't see what was going to happen."

"Yeah well, you should have just done that in the beginning instead of interrupting." Dean takes his button up off and hands it back to me. I grab it and quickly put it on.

"Well sorry for being concerned for your well being," Sam snaps back. "No worries though, I'll let you get back to it."

I peek around Dean, "Sam, you kind of killed the mood."

Just then, we hear the bunker door open. The three of us walk towards the war room of the bunker where we can hear whoever came in walking down. When we get there, we see a talk blonde hair man in a grey suit walking down the stairs. As he's fixing the cuff links on his sleeves,  Dean steps in front of me and pulls out his gun. Sam does the same. I look down to make sure the button down shirt I now wore was actually fixed.

"Who are you?" Dean asked firmly. "How did you get in here?"

"How did you find the place?" Sam adds.

I peek around Deans side and see the man look up and make eye contact with me. His eyes are a piercing blue. The way he looks me over, feels oddly familiar. But I've never seen this man before in my life. "YN," His voice is smooth and not deep. He straightens his body and holds himself high just like...

"Michael?" I whisper walking around Dean. Dean tries to pull me back but I push his hands away. "Is that..you?" I ask tilting my head to the side.

"Yes," he replies taking a step towards me. I feel my back tense up. "I'm sorry, I should have found a way to contact you but I didn't have your numbers or stuff for a simple spell."

"What poor bastard said yes to let you in?" Dean steps beside me and I can feel the the tension in his body.

Michael looks down and smiles. "Ah yes, Gillian Branson. He was an accountant until he was hit by a truck. I found him dying in the the ambulance and told him he will no longer be in pain if he let me in. And with the promise that he will see his lost wife in Heaven."

"Is he, still in there?" Sam asks lowering his gun and putting it away. I look next to me to see Dean still has his gun in his hands. I touch his hand to assure him it's okay. He gently pushes my hand away.

"Sadly, he passed on after he said yes and after I entered him. So it's just me in here." Michale pulls a chair out and sits down.

"Oh, who is this handsome fella?" Rowena walks into the war room and her eyes get wide as she looks over Michael.

"Michael and his new meat suit," Dean finally puts his gun away.

"Oh, such a lovely pick," Rowena walks around Michael. Feeling his shoulders and muscles. "Firm, this lad used to work out. You can hold down a woman with those." Michaels eyes snap over to me. My stomach starts to feel tight. I don't know if it's Michaels vessel stirring something up because his new vessel is pretty attractive, or the way Michaels dig deep into mine trying to find something buried.

"Rowena, you're drooling too much," I say startling the witch out of her day dream.

"Alright," Rowena gives Michael one more rub down before walking away. "I'll get the things for the spell to make his vessel stronger and last longer."

Michaels eyes never leave mine. "Perfect, because I know where Hezekiah is. We can end this tomorrow night."

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 1

A wind passes through an apple orchard, and the world is changed.

Chapter 1: Apples First

Dragon chapter icon – does that mean we get to see Rand post-Dragonmount? I am… very curious.

Though apples in this story just make me think of Perrin, what with his entire family buried beneath the apple trees.

But first, the Wheel, and the wind.

Crisp and light, the wind danced

That’s a marked shift in tone from how the wind has been introduced in the last few books, as a darker and more violent or vicious force. It is entirely possible that I’m overthinking this. But the wind has always felt like something of a binding thread in the whole idea of ‘the Dragon is one with the land’ and it would be fitting for the wind to change as Rand does.

Then again, it does accelerate somewhat in the next paragraph or so.

Are we starting off in Seanchan? That wind sure does get around.

These were towers meant for war. By tradition they were unoccupied. How long that would last – how long tradition itself would be remembered in a continent in chaos – remained to be seen.

That’s an excellent line. It reminds me of another one from an introductory wind sequence: Trade slowed for winter and wars, and the Dragon Reborn, but it never really stopped, not until nations died. I’m not sure why, really; there’s not a huge amount of similarity there beyond an abstract concept of socioeconomics phrased in a particularly lovely way, but there you go.

Beyond that, though… how long tradition itself would be remembered in a continent of chaos is applied to Seanchan here, but it also touches on a rather central theme of the series overall: the tension between past and future, the weight of story and tradition, of myth and legend, against the inevitability of change and the passage of time.

The wind continued eastward, and soon it was playing with the masts of half-burned ships at the docks of Takisrom.

I like the contrast here between playfulness and violence, between caprice and destruction.

The Fields of Peace were aflame

Well that’s… an image. Okay. Damn.

Semirhage really did do her work well. She may be dead now but before she died, I think she made a pretty solid case for herself as one of the most effective Forsaken. Throwing an entire continent into utter chaos, even while helping that empire bring chaos to another continent? Driving Rand across the last of his own thresholds? You could even argue that her death was itself a triumph, because in pushing Rand to the point where he was willing to kill her, she achieved precisely what she needed to.

I mean, Moridin’s nihilism certainly played a role in Rand’s ‘none of it matters’ on Dragonmount, but Semirhage played a rather starring role in getting him there, and for that she deserves some villainous accolades in whatever terrace of hell she’s now decorating to her tastes.

Eventually, the wind encountered another continent, this one quiet, like a man holding his breath before he headsman’s axe fell.

Well. Depending on the exact timing of this – and I certainly have my guesses – that’s… exactly what’s happening. The land waiting, breath held, for the Dragon to decide its future. Salvation or destruction. And so of course the wind arrives to bear witness.

By the time the wind reached the enormous, broken-peaked mountain known as Dragonmount, it had lost much of its strength.

No, I’m not having emotions about wind, you’re having emotions about wind.

But…yes. Because by the time Rand reached Dragonmount, so had he, for all that he held more power than ever before (but power is not strength; the last several books have been a testament to that). Rand is the wind and the wind is Rand and the land is one with the Dragon and the wind both represents that and carries it outward and I just love how this is done.

I love how this sense is created of everything looking towards Dragonmount, and of this silence as the world holds its breath to learn its fate, as the whole dance that’s been spiralling out from Rand at its centre for so long now pauses, draws back towards that centre, and it all turns on the edge of a decision, a perspective, a single choice alone on a mountain that represents at once death and rebirth.

Hi, I’m Lia, and we’re like two pages in and not even done with the wind sequence and I’m already having a Situation about it. Anyway, what else is new?

An orchard of apple trees rather than a grove of olives at the base of Dragonmount. I mean. That works too.

Two figures stood there: a youth and a sombre man in his later years.

Tam? And Rand?

Oh wait no.

Hang on, Almen Bunt? As in, the NPC cart driver from all the way back in The Eye of the World? Wow. That’s some true dedication to conservation of characters right there.

The boy of thirteen had golden hair from his father’s side.

Uh oh, you’d better keep an eye on that one, Almen; sounds like a potential future protagonist and possible long-lost scion of a royal line you’ve got there.

And during the night, every single one of [the apple trees] had shed their fruit. Tiny apples, barely as large as a man’s thumb. Thousands of them. They’d shrivelled during the night, then fallen. An entire crop, gone.

Damn it Rand. (But also… how appropriate. Apples for innocence, and all of them lost).

‘I don’t know what to say, lads,’ Almen finally admitted.

I think in this situation, ‘…fuck’ would not be inappropriate.

So their storehouse looks about like a grocery store’s shelves during lockdown. No grain, no fresh fruit, probably no toilet paper.

Almen’s determined to make the best of it, but it’s hard to make the best of ‘cosmic shenanigans turned to possibly destroying the world with a stray thought because there really is only so much pain a person can stand and when that person happens to be tied to the fate of the world, things get a bit dicey’. But best of luck to you, Almen. Hold on a few minutes and things might get… better.

In all his years, he’d never seen anything like this. This was something evil.

And yet it’s caused by the one who is meant to be the champion of all that is good and bright in the world. He never turned to the Shadow, but with what he had become by the time he reached Dragonmount… he didn’t need to.

I like the way we see this, as well, not just by watching Rand directly in the latter half of TGS, but also in these brief thoughts and viewpoints of complete outsiders, who really don’t know what’s going on. I like that, from that perspective, there isn’t even any doubt. That it’s so obviously something evil, something wrong, something terrible. It serves to highlight just how far wrong everything had gone. Because watching Rand, book by book, you see it happening, but it’s slow. Gradual. So easy, a step at a time, to justify and understand. But then you take a step back and look through a pair of eyes with more distance and see only what he is now – or rather, what he was right before that realisation – and that realisation is terrifying.

The land is dying all around them and at the centre of it is the Dragon Reborn, who is one with the land and yet dying himself even as he lives. Who, at this point, no longer wants to live. And so the land obeys his will. It’s a slow suicide of a world because the weight of that world is too much for the one who has to carry it.

Staring down those neat, perfect rows of useless apple trees, Almen felt the crushing weight of it. Of trying to remain positive.

Rand your nihilism is contagious. Well. Moridin’s nihilism. Which sort of proves the ‘contagious’ point.

I like this as well, that Rand’s own despair is mirrored and echoed not just in the land, but in the people who inhabit it. Like a very slightly less literal wind; the wind is the land’s version of ‘something that reaches everywhere, far beyond where it originated’ and this despair – for now – is the more metaphorical.

This is it then, isn’t it? He thought, eyes toward the too-yellow grass below. The fight just ended.

Well. Yes, very possibly. But not quite in the way you might think.

This is so well done: the way you can tell precisely where we are in Veins of Gold by the thoughts and despair of a single farmer. The way it shows so clearly the reach of Rand’s… self? Effect? I can’t think of the right word, but it’s like how we see the wind brushing across Almen’s shirt, and now Rand’s despair brushing across his mind. Land and Dragon, and it’s all tied together.

Maybe it was time to let go.

He felt something on his neck. Warmth.

Oh no this is beautiful.

It just tracks so perfectly to Veins of Gold, and none of that even needs to be shown. And you can see the precise moment where that despair (‘none of this matters!’) turn to hope.  Which is entirely the point, in a way: it may just be one lonely broken hero on a mountain finally trading despair for hope, but it touches everything. He may be alone and unwitnessed, but the entire world feels it. The sun, the wind, a change.

And I think part of what I love about this is that it’s not dramatic. Neither the despair nor the warmth. Instead it’s this soft almost aching gentleness, because that’s all any of it is. It’s not a battle or a dramatic pronouncement or a cheering crowd or a display of power. It’s just… a thought. A shift.

A gentle warmth rather than a… well, a force of light, if you will.

Which serves as the perfect contrast, really, to one of Rand’s darkest (for all that it was blindingly bright) moments. At Natrin’s Barrow he shone with all the cold brilliance of the Light’s power bent on destruction; all light and nothing of warmth. Now, though, in the moment that truly matters, the moment where everything changes, it’s as simple as the sun emerging from behind the clouds, a warmth on the back of a farmer’s neck, a quiet, unseen but all-encompassing realisation that there is something left to fight for.

He hesitated, then turned weary eyes toward the sky. Sunlight bathed his face.

I just… I love that such a simple statement can carry so much weight behind it. It’s the mark of an extraordinarily well-crafted plot point, that this is all it takes to invoke all its effect, and to convey that effect so perfectly. We know what this means, and it’s neither subtle nor heavy-handed; it’s just… right.

And I still can’t get over how perfect it is that we’re seeing this through the eyes of an utterly random and otherwise unimportant character, because that’s the whole point. That’s what Rand, finally, realises he’s fighting for. The chance for people – any people, random people, villagers and farmers and merchants and monarchs alike – to just live. And so of course we see this through the eyes of, to borrow another chapter title, just another man. Because that’s all any of them are.

The apple trees were flowering.

Oh.

I’m.

This whole scene is just hitting the exact tone of gentle yet powerful beauty-in-simplicity, little-things-that-mean-everything that just gets me.

The apples fell and famine seemed certain and yet here they are, flowering once more, a second chance. A rebirth, if you will.

OH NO OH NO HERE HE IS I’M NOT READY FOR THIS

Almen spun to find a tall young man walking down out of the foothills.

Coming down from the mountain like a benevolent wind and bringing flowers with him like the Aiel and the Nym of old, bringing life back to the land like a goddamn messiah and it’s all done so gently and I’m fine.

‘Ho, stranger,’ Almen said.

I don’t even know why this gets me but it does. Stranger, and yet he is the centre of everything. The centre of everything, and yet at the end of the day he is just another man, another stranger.

It’s been a long time since Rand has walked unrecognised. Maybe that’s it.

‘Did you… did you get lost up in the foothills?’

Well. That’s one way to put it. But the point is: he found his way back.

Or his way forward.

Or something.

‘No. I’m not lost. Finally.’

I’m FINE, this is FINE.

Maybe what really gets me about this scene is that it’s hard to remember the last time there was a scene involving Rand that wasn’t overshadowed by pain and desperation. And now it’s… yes, the pain is still there on some level, but it’s like this weight has been lifted, and so the gentleness of this scene stands as a – well, not sharp because the whole point is it isn’t – contrast to everything that came before, and it’s only in the absence of that pain and despair that you realise how heavy it was.

‘There’s nothing back there of use.’

Except for everything.

‘There are always things of use around, if you look closely enough. You can’t stare at them too long. To learn but not be overwhelmed, that is the balance.’

Ah. And so at last he understands. The importance of balance, but also in this specific circumstance which, I think, is in reference to his memories of his life as Lews Therin.

Because at last, at long last, he has accepted those. He has learned to accept them without losing himself, without fear of losing himself, without feeling as if it is an existential struggle, as if he must keep a barrier between them, as if accepting those memories means accepting that fate.

But now he understands: that he can remember, and learn, but still move on, move forwards, grow. Try again, try differently. Have a second chance, informed by but not bound to the doom of the first. To be himself, but to accept the entirety of what that means. Who he was, who he is.

The man’s words… it seemed they were having two different conversations.

It’s okay, Almen, you get used to him.

Perhaps the lad wasn’t right in the head.

No, see, the thing is, he finally is.

‘Do I know you?’ Almen asked. Something about the young man was familiar.

‘Yes,’ the lad said.

Okay, I love this? On so many levels.

Because sure, there’s the literal: Almen has in fact met Rand before, and Rand answers honestly. And then there’s the next layer down: Rand is the Dragon Reborn and therefore known to most at this point, and he answers that honestly as well.

But then there’s this sense of something even more figurative, less tangible. The Dragon is one with the land, and Rand stands as the Light’s champion and the land personified and the centre of the fight and the wind that brings the apple trees to flower. He’s a part of the world and so Almen knows him, as all know him, as all will know him, even those who have never met and never will meet him.

And finally, I love that Almen has to ask. That there’s still this sense of anonymity, for all that it’s threaded through with a familiarity deeper than any acquaintance. That Almen looks at him first and sees a man, a lad, a stranger, rather than the Dragon Reborn: saviour and destroyer, rather than a monster or a madman or a force of nature. That they’re just two strangers in an orchard, and yet they’re not.

Honestly any kind of play on names and naming and identity gets me every time, and when you combine it with my other fictional love of the space between humanity and divinity and monstrosity, you get a very happy Lia.

‘Gather your people and collect those apples. They’ll be needed in the days to come.’

I mean, for projectile weapons you’d be better off sticking with Aludra’s fireworks, but sure.

‘Gather those apples quickly. My presence will hold him off for a time, I think, and whatever you take now should be safe from his touch.’

There’s just this almost startling and yet utterly peaceful sense of calm to him, that we haven’t seen since… honestly ever. Calm and accepting of who and what he is, and for the first time since he left the Two Rivers, not fighting himself in some way. And what a difference it makes.

It's also remarkable how differently it comes across compared to the icy emotionlessness he surrounded himself with after Semirhage. Because that, too, was conveyed as a perfect calm – but there was a wrongness there that’s lacking here. It’s only a few lines of dialogue, and yet it’s so clearly different.

‘I do know you,’ Almen said, remembering an odd pair of youths he had given a lift in his cart years ago. ‘Light! You’re him, aren’t you? The one they’re talking about?’

HE FINALLY REMEMBERS HIM AND IT’S AS THE BOY RAND AL’THOR FIRST, RATHER THAN THE DRAGON REBORN. I’m sorry, but everything about this just gets me. That for once, he is the person first, and the role second. That the true recognition is of a boy from a dusty road.

It's a lovely kind of irony – rather than cruel, for once – that it’s only after he truly comes into his power and accepts it and stops fighting himself and his role and everything he was and is, and is finally ready to face the world as the Dragon Reborn as the Dragon Reborn is meant to be, that he is at last recognised as human by a stranger who sees him.

Meeting those eyes, Almen felt a strange sense of peace.

Well that’s new. And a welcome change. How long has it been since people looked at him and felt anything but fear, or saw him as anything but dangerous?

‘It is likely,’ the man said. ‘Men are often speaking of me.’ He smiled, then turned and continued on his way down the path.

Peaceful and wise and making his way through the orchard like the wind, knowing and acknowledging but not forcing his place in the world. A force of nature still, but this is worlds away from ‘I am the storm’.

He just… is. And he understands that. And accepts it not begrudgingly, or out of duty, or despite the pain it causes, but entirely and unreservedly and with the understanding, at last, of why.

‘Where are you going?’

The man looked back with a faint grimace. ‘To do something I’ve been putting off. I doubt she will be pleased by what I tell her.’

I would bet actual money that means he’s going to see Egwene, and I had to laugh at how even this new wise, calm, peaceful Rand is fully recognisable as the boy from Emond’s Field in this moment. Because those two are never going to be anything but at least a little exasperated with one another at all times, and it’s such a perfect childhood-friends-turned-sweethearts-turned-basically-siblings dynamic and the faint grimace really sells it. (I would not be remotely surprised if there is name-calling. ‘Woolhead’ and ‘stubborn’ will likely be thrown around)

But it also serves as a reminder that, for all his newfound wisdom, Rand is still human. Which... even that little touch is perfect, in this scene. To ground him, just a little. I just love everything about this entire chapter.

Almen thought – for a moment – he could see something around the man. A lightness to he air, warped and bent.

WHERE ONCE THERE WAS DARKNESS. Because he is who he is meant to be now! The champion of the Light in truth! There is finally light to Rand, in more ways than one, and it’s really kind of surprisingly beautiful.

Everything is different, even if no one but Rand will understand why.

I still just love the way such an absolute change came not from a battle or a crown or a display of power, or even an achievement, but purely from… himself. So much played into creating that moment, yes, and so much was focused on it, but ultimately it was just Rand, alone on the mountain of his suicide and birthplace, coming to terms with himself and seeing something in the world worth saving.

And I’m struggling to express precisely why I like that, but I think it’s something about, I don’t know, the power of the individual, I suppose? The way something so existential can come from something as simple as acceptance? The way nothing has changed, and yet everything has changed, and the cause of it all is finding a purpose, a reason, a last decision to choose a chance at hope over the certainty of despair.

I mean, so much of epic fantasy is about the magic and the power and the politics and the battles, about everything taking place on a grand scale, about the fantastical. But sometimes you also get moments like this, where balanced against all of that you still see the importance of just… a person, and a choice.

Next (ToM ch 2) Previous (ToM prologue pt. 3)

[brighteyedjill]

Whumptober Day 3: Forced to their knees

Coën can't help but try to do the right thing, even when it gets him into trouble with villagers who are suspicious of witchers. This time, however, he may not be able to get out of trouble on his own.

One Fewer Griffin

Coën could only be what he was. That was the thing. He knew that some witchers wouldn’t have given a pile of wyvern shit for the life of a peasant girl, but Coën couldn’t see things that way. The girl had been desperate enough to escape her situation that she’d thrown herself on a witcher’s mercy, which meant whatever she was running from was more frightening to her than a murderous mutant freak. So of course Coën had agreed to escort her to the next village.

What exactly went wrong he’d probably never know, but when he arrived to fetch the girl at sunset, as they’d agreed, he found the whole village turned out to greet him. They held blazing torches and the weapons they favored--scythes and pitchforks and axes. Coën drew his blade, ready to defend himself, but then he heard a short, stifled cry and his eyes zeroed in on Vasya, the girl who’d asked for his help.

Her father, a broad-shouldered brute of a man with a perpetual sneer, was holding Vasya by the hair. He had a knife pressed to her bare throat, and he was staring right at Coën.

“Come here, witcher,” the man called. “I have something to say to you.”

Coën could leave. He had no contract here; the girl had offered him no coin. But he’d promised. He’d given his word. He stepped forward into the light of the torches, keeping his eyes on Vasya’s father while he tracked the other villagers around him, who were alert and watching but didn’t seem to want to get too close.

“You’ve ruined my girl. No one will have her now,” the man shouted at him, and the crowd gave a low, angry rumble. Vasya whimpered, and her father shook her. “Shut up, harlot.”

Coën could have pointed out that he’d not so much as touched Vasya. Hadn’t gotten close enough to know her eye color or what she smelled like. But there was no use defending himself to this man. A witcher’s word would mean nothing against whatever horrible trespass this man already assumed.

“Let her go,” Coën said, keeping his voice calm and level. “And we’ll both leave.”

“You shan’t have her, demon spawn!” the man shouted. Cries of “demon” and “devil” bubbled up around the village square, and the bolder of the crowd pressed forward to brandish their weapons. “No, you won’t be leaving here. Get on your knees, witcher, or the girl dies.”

Coën looked at the knife pressed to Vasya’s throat. Dull, or it would have cut her skin already. But the man held her like an animal he meant to slaughter. He <i>would</i> kill her, of that Coën had no doubt. And they stood far enough away that Coën wasn’t certain he could prevent it if the man tried.

Coën held his sword steady and took a step back. The crowd closed behind him, encircling him. They weren’t all armed. He could kill them. Igni to punch a hole through the circle and panic them, his sword to cut down anyone who got too close, grab the girl and run. But when he thought of the screaming and terror, the smell of burnt flesh and hair, the scrape of his sword against bone, he knew he wouldn’t.

<i>Butcher of Blaviken</i> echoed in his mind. He remembered when that story had been on the lips of every witcher in Kaer Seren: their contempt and anger that one of those over-emotional Wolves had caused such harm to the witcher reputation. Work would be more dangerous than usual in the next season, with peasants warier than ever and everyone reluctant to engage a witcher at any price. Coën couldn’t be the cause of another such incident. He wouldn’t do that to what few of his brothers remained.

“Witcher! I said kneel.”

Coën dropped his fighting stance and let his sword slide from his hands into the dirt. Master Keldar would have scolded him for being so careless with a weapon. But Master Keldar was dead, along with almost all the Griffins. And soon Coën would join them.

Vasya’s father grinned and lowered the knife, though he kept hold of his daughter’s hair. “Take him.”

The villagers surged forward. Coën saw one of them grab his sword, then grunted as someone struck him in the face. Many hands were pulling and pushing at him, bearing him down to the ground. He wondered if they’d beat him to death, or stone him. Perhaps they’d make it quick and turn his own sword on him.

Then the eager shouting around him turned to screams of terror. The hands holding Coën disappeared, and he looked up in time to see a column of fire light up the sky. The ground shook underneath him as the village’s herd of cattle stampeded into the square, bawling and tossing their heads as the villagers scattered before them.

Coën dived to scoop up his sword from where it had been abandoned in the dirt. He had no idea what had happened, but he didn’t intend to waste the distraction. He searched the square for Vasya. She was cowering against the wall of a house as the cattle rushed by, and her father was nowhere in sight.

Coën dodged running villagers and cows to get to her, and held out his hand. “We need to go.”

She looked up, eyes wide with terror, and recognized him. Then her eyes narrowed and she slapped him across the face. “Get away, demon. You’ve caused me nothing but harm.”

Coën stepped back, opening his mouth to protest, but she screamed at him, “Get away!”

Another column of flame roared into the sky. The villagers and cattle were causing equal amounts of chaos now, bellowing and running in panic. Coën looked around for what had caused all the fuss. If some kind of monster was attacking, Coën couldn’t just leave the villagers to its mercy.

At the far edge of the square stood a figure on a horse, a bastion of calm in the midst of the chaos. Two sword hilts protruded over the man’s shoulder, silhouetted in the fading twilight. Another witcher? Whoever he was, the man seemed to be searching the crowd for something. His yellow eyes fixed on Coën. Then he spurred his horse forward, cutting neatly through fleeing villagers and wandering cows right towards Coën.

The horse skidded to a stop at Coën’s side, and the man reached a hand down. He was older, a grizzled face with hair slicked back from his forehead and armor neatly kept and polished. Definitely a witcher, but beyond that, it mattered little at the moment. Coën clasped the man’s arm and swung up behind the saddle. He held on tight as the man kicked his mount back into motion, and they galloped into the darkness of the woods, away from the village.

As soon as the screaming had subsided behind them, the witcher slowed his horse. “You have a mount around here, lad?” he asked.

“By the river,” Coën said. In the dark, he wasn’t sure he could have pointed the way, but the witcher only nodded and turned his horse aside.

It wasn’t long until Coën could smell water. Soon after, he caught sight of his horse, grazing placidly on the greenery around where she’d been tied.

The witcher stopped his mount, allowing Coën to slide off. When Coën had assured himself his horse was all right, he turned back to the other witcher, who sat watching him with an unreadable expression.

“Thank you for the rescue,” Coën said. He felt that more than that was in order, though he wasn’t sure what. He tried offering his name, “I’m Coën.”

“Vesemir,” the man said. “You’re a Griffin?”

“I…” Coën looked down at the medallion resting against his chest. It must have come untucked from his shirt in all the confusion. “Yes.”

“Aren’t many of you left,” Vesemir said.

Coën tried to answer, but his breath caught in his throat, thinking of the corpses buried in the rock along with the place that had once been his home. There had almost been one fewer Griffin today.

“Well, I’m a Wolf,” Vesemir continued, graciously ignoring Coën’s speeding heart. “Aren’t many of us, either.”

“I, ah, haven’t much to repay you,” Coën said reluctantly. As the weather had turned cold, contracts got scarcer: everyone conserving and storing what they could for the long winter ahead. If Coën had had somewhere to hole up and be safe, he’d have been doing the same. Instead, here he was, eking out barely enough for his and his horse’s keep. And now, he wasn’t sure how he would bring himself to ride into another village looking for work. He tugged open his purse, which was almost empty. “Whatever I have I can give you.”

“Not necessary.” Vesemir waved a hand dismissively. “Griffins are decent. You’d have done the same for me or one of mine.”

Coën nodded. He would have helped another witcher, if he’d come across one in the kind of danger Coën himself had faced today. But if he ever met a Wolf in trouble, he’d make certain to do whatever he could.

Vesemir turned his horse back towards the road and nudged it forward. At the edge of the path, he reined in his horse and turned in the saddle. “Where will you go? For the winter, I mean.”

Coën said, “As long as there’s work to do, I’ll do it.” He wanted to look away, stare at the ground, but Vesemir’s yellow eyes held his.

Vesemir grunted. He looked at Coën a long moment, then said, “Kaer Morhen’s not what it once was, but it stands. The Wolves still winter there. You’d be welcome to join us, if you’re willing to work for your keep. There’s no idle hands among us--too much to do to keep the old place fit to live in.”

“I… Would I be allowed?” Coën asked. He hadn’t ever heard of a witcher who wasn’t a Griffin wintering at Kaer Seren, but that had been before, when things were different.

“I’m inviting you, aren’t I?” Vesemir said gruffly.

“Yes. I… yes.” Coën clasped his hands and bowed his head. “I would be very… I’d be honored.”

“All right, grifflet, there’s no call for all that.” Vesemir made a shooing motion. “Let’s get moving. We’ll need to make good time to get there before the snows.”

“Of course.” Coën scrambled into the saddle, feeling the weight of the day’s events slide from him as he mounted. Vesemir waited for Coën to reach him, then led the way north, towards the promise of something like home.

Also on AO3.

[letsyesnomaybe]

Never Gonna Wanna Let Me Go | Part 6

Zayn Malik is one of the highest paid escorts in London. He’s good at his job, he knows this. But it’s not his chosen field, it’s easy money so he can have a chance to pursue his chosen field without becoming homeless. His employer Caroline has many rules to keep him safe but Zayn only has one ‘Don’t Get Attached’. Of course, there was always going to be one, the guy who would come in to the picture and make Zayn’s easy job almost impossible.

Liam Payne. Twenty Six. Made his money by inheriting his father’s music business after he passed away. Quite well known so expect publicity. Wants a pretty face on his arm to cover the events he has to attend while in town on business. Make sure he knows if he wants extra he has to pay. You’ve got your usual expenses on your card, don’t go overboard like last time. I mean it, Malik! Your share for the weekend will go in your account on Monday when you’ve done your job.

Love you babes, stay safe, C x

Part 1, 2 ,3, 4 & 5  (also on ao3)

“I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

Those were the last words Louis had breathed before he’d walked out of the hotel room and out of Zayn’s life. He was eighteen and heartbroken and he swore from that day, he’d never let another person break him the way Louis had. 

“It’s worse than it was then,” Harry whispers to Niall, when he thinks he’s out of Zayn’s hearing. “He was heartbroken over Louis but this, it feels like it’s so much more.” 

“He’s a smart lad,” Niall would always reply. “He knows what he’s doing.” 

Harry would always sigh, as if it wasn’t the answer he wanted to pacify his worry over his best friend. He’d always come to Zayn afterwards, curl up next to where he was binge watching the walking dead or spread out on the floor of the art room, to watch him paint. 

Zayn knows he’s trying to be a good friend but now he’s not working, there’s no escape. It’s twenty four seven Harry and as much as he loves the lad, it’s a little too much of him to handle. 

It’s been four days since he left Liam at the cabin (not that he’s counting) and quit his job with Caroline. It takes Niall and Harry’s usual morning activity to push him out of the house. 

He only goes twenty minutes down the road, to their local café and tucks himself at the back with his laptop, hoping to get some graphics done that he could sell to local business for a tiny bit of income. 

But he’s barely there ten minutes when intrusive thoughts lead him down a different path than intended. 

He’s a glutton for punishment, he thinks, as he googles Louis’ name and gets greeted with thousands of articles about him and Stella because they had recently announced they were expecting a baby boy. 

Zayn slams to laptop shut when he sees a cosy photo of them in Paris where they’d travelled to the night of his championship win for a little R&R. 

He decided to head back to the flat, hoping the hour he had been out of said flat would be enough time for his friends to get done with their activities. 

The moment he steps foot back in his apartment, all he can think about is Louis, he can’t get those stupid blue eyes and curled smile out of his mind. 

Which is probably why the moment he gets to his room, he absolutely rips it apart, trying to find one particular thing. 

He finds it tucked in the very back of the draws he keeps his hoodies and he has to give it a hard tug from where it had managed to jam itself in the corners of the drawer. 

When he finally gets the little brown envelope out from inside the drawer, a polaroid falls out on to the floor. When he picks it up he’s greeted by the image of two grinning boys. Two young lads who don’t know the world yet and had no idea of the pain they were about to cause one another.

The only other thing in the envelope is a key to an apartment that Zayn had never visited.

‘I want you to have a place where you’re safe,’ Louis had said. ‘It’s yours, for whenever you’re ready.’

“Zayn?!” Harry calls out suddenly. 

Zayn shoves the key and polaroid back in the envelope and tucks them it back where it was. 

“Z?!” Harry calls again, only this time closer. 

“I’m here.” Zayn calls back. 

Harry’s head pops around Zayn’s bedroom door and he gives him curious eyes. 

“What?” Zayn asks sharply, which he instantly regrets when Harry’s lips twitch in a way they only do when he’s upset. 

“Liam’s here,” Harry tells him softly. “I said he was only allowed to see you, if you wanted him to. If not, then me and Ni will throw him out.” 

“I’d quite like to see you try and throw him out.” Zayn teases. 

“I’m stronger than you think, Malik.” Harry retorts and a big smile graces his lips, the earlier hurt easily forgotten. “So, shall I send him down?” 

Zayn nods his head but before Harry can leave, he calls after him. 

“Yes, darling?” Harry asks, the grin still gracing his lips. 

“Don’t stick around to listen, okay?” Zayn pleads. “It’s probably not going to be nice but I’m good, yeah?” 

Harry looks curious but nods his agreement before continuing out of the room. 

Zayn doesn’t know what to do with himself and he’s spends so much time fretting over if he should sit or stand that he’s still stood dumbly in the middle of the room when Liam appears in it. 

“I thought you wouldn’t see me.” Liam admits as greeting. 

Zayn shrugs and tucks his shaking his hands in to his pockets because if he’s honest, he thought he wouldn’t see Liam again, not in person anyway. 

“I’ll get straight to the point then.” Liam decides and rustles around in the back pocket of his jeans for a few seconds. 

Zayn raises his eyebrows because his curiosity is slightly peaked and if it is something painful, at least he’ll be amused when he has to call Harry back for him and Niall to attempt to throw Liam out. 

“I was packing my things and this fell out of my bag,” Liam explains and holds out the drawing Zayn had done in the hotel room. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

Zayn stares down at the crumpled paper that contains a real life drawing of a heart that he’d converted in to a home.

“I thought it was about Penny,” Liam admits. “I thought it was your way of saying that the people we loose will always have a home in our hearts. But that’s not the meaning behind it, is it?”

Zayn looks to him and then back to the drawing.

“Is it?” Liam asks a little more desperate.

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” Zayn tells him and tries to hand the drawing back.

Liam snatches it from his hand. “That’s bullshit.”

“I can’t tell you what the drawing means to you, Liam.” Zayn says with a shrug.

“I don’t care what it means to me,” Liam argues. “I want to know what it means to you. Why did you draw it?”

“I draw a lot of things that have no meaning.” Zayn replies and folds his arms.

Harry snorts loudly from the other room.

“I told you to fuck off, Styles.” Zayn shouts at him.

There’s a scramble and then a loud crash before the door to Zayn’s room opens and Niall’s head pops in.

“We’re heading out,” He informs Zayn. “If you need us then give us a ring, yeah?”

Zayn drags his fingers through his hair and nods his head.

“If Liam was going to kill him I’m sure us being here wouldn’t stop him.” Niall shouts at Harry as he must lead him out of the flat.

Liam steps towards Zayn as the sound of the front door closing echoes through the flat.

“Did you draw this because you’re trying to tell me you’re letting me in to the only place that’s yours to protect?” He asks. “The last place you’re allowed to call the shots on who comes and goes.”

Zayn stares at the crumpled paper in Liam’s hand. “It’s just a drawing.”

“I know Louis was let in and he didn’t treat it well but we’re not the same people, Zayn.” Liam tries.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Zayn scoffs.

“What don’t I get?” Liam pleads.

“He trashed the place but you still broke the windows,” Zayn replies and moves away from Liam’s touch. “You both lost your right to the key, the way you went about it doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Liam tells.

‘I’m not trying to hurt you,’ Louis echoes in his head. ‘I love you, Malik, maybe not in the same way but I still want to take care of you--’

“Shut up!” Zee cries.

Liam hushes him like he’s a small child throwing a tantrum. “It’s okay, Z, you’re okay.” 

The nickname cuts Zayn deep and he takes a step back, to put space between him and Liam. 

“What did Louis tell you?” He asks, thanking the heavens above that his voice holds out and doesn’t crack. 

“He told he that he was a dickhead who really hurt you,” Liam explains. “He shouldn’t have done what he did, you didn’t deserve to be treated like that.” 

“Did he tell you that I was barely an adult when we met,” Zee starts because the anger he’s been harbouring for the past six years is finally bubbling over. “I was a kid and his manager used to pay me to fuck him because he was terrified Louis would be one of the braves ones and would come out and then he wouldn’t see as well.” 

“That’s disgusting.” Liam decides. 

“Right?” Zee agrees and then laughs but it’s not joyful, it’s pained. “We used to talk about it, after the fucking was done. We’d talk for hours about how much of a dickhead his manager was and how homophobic his chosen career path was.” 

Liam looks sad like it was something he’d already been told but Zayn’s too far gone, he’s finally letting him relive the memories he’d buried deep for so many ears. 

“Falling in love with him was so easy,” Zayn decides. “Christ, he only had to suck my dick good once and make me laugh a few times and I was gone.” 

‘I’m not gay,’ Louis’ voice echoes in his head. ‘It was like shagging a mate, there weren’t any feelings involved, I’m sorry’. 

Zayn should have known really, they never really kissed and when the sex was done they wouldn’t touch. They would share a blunt and talk about fixing the world but the conversation never really went deeper than that, they never really got to know each other past the obvious. 

He knows now, what it’s like to shag a bi guy who leans more in favour of girls. Louis could get hard for a guy, he can find men attractive but for some reason when it comes to anything more than physical, his brain won’t let him get passed it. 

He remembers being so cruel when Louis had finally ended it, he’d told him he was as bad as the people who had forced them together in the first place and the hurt expression Louis had given him following that outburst still haunts him to this day. 

But he knows now, Louis was a kid himself, he was trying to figure out himself too. It was sad that he had to use Zayn to do it but Zayn doesn’t resent him, not for that anyway. 

“Zayn?” Liam asks softly, after a silence had fallen over them for quite a long time. 

“I need you to leave,” Zayn decides because he’s about to break apart all over again and he doesn’t want Liam here for that. “Can you leave, please?” 

“That’s what you want?” Liam checks. 

Zayn nods his head but can’t lift it to meet the younger lad’s eyes. 

“Alright,” Liam agrees  “I’ve got a plane to catch anyway.” 

“You’re going to LA?” Zayn asks, finally looking up. 

Liam nods, looking hopeful. “The offer is still there for you to come with me?” 

“What as this time?” Zayn replies spitefully. “Can’t be much left on the roaster, right?” 

Liam nods, taking the hit because he must know he deserves it. “Well, it’s there if you want it, I’m sure Caroline has Amara’s number, she can book you a flight, if you change your mind.” 

“I don’t work for Caroline anymore,” Zayn informs him, though he’s not sure why he has a need for Liam to know that information. “But I won’t be needing Amara’s number so I suppose it doesn’t matter.” 

“You don’t work for Caroline anymore?” Liam asks shocked. 

Zayn shrugs.

“Why?” Liam pushes. 

Zayn shrugs again and drops his gaze to Liam’s stupid air max trainers, they’re the most recently released ones and it’s just a reminder of how much money is in this guy’s bank account. 

“Why, Z?” Liam pleads this time. 

“Because I’m done,” Zayn answers finally and looks back up to meet Liam’s eyes. “It’s my turn to call the shots over my body and life.” 

Liam steps forward tentatively. “Come to LA with me?” 

“You can’t buy me anymore, Liam.” Zayn reminds him. 

“I don’t want to,” Liam promises. “I want you come willingly, I want you to come because you want to, I want you to come because...” 

“What?” Zayn demands when the sentence trails off. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” Liam concludes. “You’re so fucking much, Zayn. You’re too much and I probably don’t deserve you but if you were willing to give me a shot I’d really hope you could fall in love with me too.” 

“It’s been one week.” Zayn says a little breathless because he wasn’t expecting love. 

“My sister always said I went in to things heart first with my head taking a long time to follow,” Liam admits and reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. “She said it what made me such a good song writer but it has led to a lot of heartbreak in my lifetime, I’ll admit.” 

Zayn lets that information sink in to his brain and realise he’d spent a lot of their time together, putting a lot of his past traumas on to this boy, all because of who had made their interaction happen. He’d never thought there would be a chance that while he was so focused on his own haunting memories, the beautiful boy he’d been spending his time with might have been returning his feelings. 

“It was her on the phone.” Liam tells him. 

“What?” Zayn asks confused. 

“It was Roo, my sister, she was who I was talking to when you overheard the conversation.” Liam explains. “She worries a lot, if I told her I was with you at the cabin, I would have got a lecture.” 

“Because you were falling in love with a prostitute?” Zayn asks because hearing that conversation had still hurt him. 

“I rang her on my way back from Scotland,” Liam continues with a sad smile. “She called me an idiot, said I had my very own pretty woman moment and I’d been the idiot who had let it go.” 

“If you’d tried to climb up out fire escape you would have probably died.” Zayn admits. “It’s not safe, at all.” 

Liam looks very confused by that response. 

“You really need to watch the damn film if you’re going to reference it, Liam.” Zayn says frustrated. 

“We could watch it on the plane to LA?” Liam suggests. “I have a meeting with Simmons but I was thinking there might be a few studios we could check out.” 

“I don’t--” 

“Want my money,” Liam finishes for him. “I know, I thought about that--the hour long flight back from Scotland was a long one, okay? I had a lot of time to plan and think.” 

Zayn nods for him to explain his idea. 

“I’ll buy a studio,” Liam starts and when he’s sure Zayn isn’t going to interrupt. “Then when your art starts making money, you can pay me rent for that studio.” 

“It’ll be at a discounted price?” Zayn guesses. 

“I could think of another form of payment.” Liam jokes, it’s a bad one considering how they met. 

Zayn frowns. 

“It was a joke,” Liam assures him. “It’ll of course be at a discounted price but I don’t even know if it’ll have to be, I’ve seen your art, Z. The kids in LA, they’re going to lap that shit up, lots of rich trust fund kids have nothing better to do than pretend they understand your art.” 

Zayn snorts. “Great, I’ll be pouring my heart and sole in to pieces for them to be hung up in rooms of rich college kids so they can stare at them to stop themselves coming to quick.” 

“If you don’t like that idea,” Liam says quickly. “We have a design team at the label, they work with artists for like album covers and posters and shit. They could really do with an artist like you, someone to think outside the box.” 

“You really have thought this over.” Zayn observes. 

Liam nods his head several times. “The minute you left the cabin, I couldn’t think of anything but how to get you back.” 

“You love me?” Zayn checks again. 

Liam nods, the smile Zayn adores taking over his face completely. “I love you.” 

“Fuck,” Zayn replies and finally closes the gap between them. “I think I love you too.” 

“You do?” Liam asks, worrying his lip between his teeth. 

Zayn reaches his hand up to tug it out. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Liam replies. 

Zayn’s the one who leans in and seals it with a kiss but Liam’s the one who slips a hand around his back to tug their bodies completely together, not an inch of them not touching. 

They stand like that for the longest time until Harry and Niall’s overpowering personas fill the apartment again. 

Zayn breaks the LA news to Harry softly but it’s Liam who makes the news easier for his best friend by promising to fly them both out whenever they want for however long they want. 

Harry still looks a bit reluctant but it’s one simple gesture that has an easy smile pulling at his lips and it’s Liam kissing Zayn on the cheek before he gets up to help Niall make a round of teas. The moment a happy smile pulls at Zayn’s lips, it mirrors on his best friends and like that he knows he’s got his blessing. 

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 1: Chapter 24

Surprises: November 2015

Word count: 1.8k

SkyFire 1 MASTERLIST

>Instagram posts

Tears flooded her eyes, running down her face as she clicked through countless videos, each one breaking her heart more than the last. The tweets that accompanied the videos did nothing to stop her heart breaking. 

>Harry crying while singing You & I because he’s thinking about Rori and how it’s her favourite song is killing me

>I’ve been seeing the videos of Harry crying at the last few shows and it’s genuinely breaking my heart. You can see how much he loves Rori and he just wants to be with her, but he’s got a job to do and it just hurts my heart. 

>Harry crying = me crying

>can people stop posting videos of Harry bursting into tears on stage because my poor heart can take much more. 

Aurora was sobbing, gasping for breath when Steve rushed into her room, Tony a few steps behind him, JARVIS having alerted them once again to her emotional state moments earlier. 

“Baby what’s wrong?” Tony asked, both men crowding her from either side, their arms wrapping around her as they tried to calm her. “Is it your hand? Are you in pain? Do you need us to call a doctor?”  

At first, she couldn’t speak, still gasping for breath as she shook her head no, trying to answer her fathers panicked questions until slowly her hysteria died down enough for her to stammer out an explanation. 

“Fans,” she began, “fans have been posting videos from the last few shows and Harry’s a mess. He’s hurting and it’s my fault.”

She showed them a few of the clips while they both tried to assure her that none of it was her fault and that everything would be ok. 

“I need to go to him,” she told them. 

“You can’t baby, you’re still healing from surgery,” Tony replied. 

“I don’t care, I need to be there. He needs me,” Rori argued. “I’m already so much better than when he left last month. He needs to see I’m ok. It’s the only way he’ll stop beating himself up for not being here.”

“No,” Tony replied stubbornly. 

“I don’t need your permission,” Aurora reminded him, her stubborn tone matching her fathers, her determination drying her tears the way nothing else could have. “I’m going.”

“Tony she’s right,” Steve mumbled, causing his husband to level him with a glare. 

“Well of course you’d agree with her, Mr I’ll just crash this plane into the ice!”

“I’ll go with her and make sure she’s safe,” Steve continued, ignoring Tony’s snipe. “We’ll take the jet, go for a few days and then come straight back.”

“I’ll only agree if your surgeon signs off on it,” Tony conceded with a deep weary sigh.

xXx

Tony had been banking on the doctors agreeing with him that Aurora was nowhere near healed enough to be flying to another continent only a month after surgery, so he was fuming when they agreed that her abdominal incision was healing nicely, likewise her bicep injury was fine and both her clavicle and scapular were well on the way to mended. Aurora had smirked at him when the doctors had given her the all clear to travel, providing she take it easy and use the painkillers prescribed to her as needed. He had only ground his teeth together, clenching his jaw in annoyance, but knowing that he had no choice but to agree to the trip. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his daughter, or even Steve for that matter, it was that he knew she was a selfless person and even if she wasn’t up to the trip she would do anything for the people she loved and right now that meant flying to London to ensure Harry wasn’t blaming himself. Despite his objections, he drove the pair to the airport and hugged his daughter tightly on the tarmac before both she and Steve boarded the StarkJet.

xXx

Aurora had wanted to surprise both Harry and Louis with her arrival, so she had contacted Niall to help her organise everything and he sent a car to collect them from the airport. The blond Irishman bounded out of the back entry to the O2 Arena when the car pulled up, a bright grin lighting up his face as he opened the door and pulled Rori through the door and into his arms. “God, I missed you Darling,” he said as he hugged her tightly. “How you feeling?”

“Excited,” Rori replied, pulling back from the hug with a matching grin on her own face. “Missed you too, Ni.”

“Come on,” he chuckled, turning back towards the door, “let’s go make Harold cry.”

Aurora laughed loudly, letting him lead her into the venue, Steve following in their wake with a soft chuckle, glad to hear her laughter again after the last month. When they reached the green room, Liam saw them enter the room first and his eyes quickly flicked towards where Harry and Louis were chatting, facing away from the door. He smiled widely, running forward to quickly hug her, trying to remain quiet so as not to ruin the surprise and whispered in Rori’s ear. “So good to see you. I missed you.”

“Missed you too Liam,” Rori whispered back, returning his tight hug before pulling back and walking over towards her finance and their best friend. Niall had already walked over to them ahead of her and thrown his arms around their shoulders.

“So, lads,” he said, “second last show tonight. Thought I’d get you a surprise gift.”

“What on earth have you got planned Irish?” Louis asked sceptically.

“Oh, nothing much,” Niall shrugged, before turning both boys around to face Rori. “Just this!” he announced with a flourish.

“Aurora?” Harry gasped, frozen in place for a brief moment before quickly closing the distance between the two of them. He pulled her into his arms, cautious of her injuries, but desperate to hold have her as close as possible. She buried her head in his chest while he placed kisses to her hair. “God, I missed you,” he sighed. “Can’t believe you’re here.”

“I saw the fan videos,” she explained in a soft whisper. “I couldn’t sit at home, knowing that you needed me.”

“Always need you,” he murmured in reply.

“Quit hogging her mate,” Louis complained after a few minutes. “I want a hug too.”

Begrudgingly Harry let go of Aurora and allowed Louis to pull her into his arms.

“God it’s good to see you love,” Louis sighed, placing a kiss to her temple. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

“Missed you too Lou,” Rori replied. “Sorry I scared you.”

“I guess I’ll forgive you.”

As soon as Louis ended their hug, Aurora found Harry’s arm instantly around her waist and it remained there for most of the next 3 hours until the boys took to the stage. Aurora watched from side of stage, a huge grin on her face for the entire show, secure in the fact that she had made the right decision to be there as she watched Harry smiling and dancing across the stage. Gone was the haunting look from his face that had been present in every fan video from the previous shows and back was the man who loved performing more than anything else in the world.

Following the show, everyone headed back to the green room and drinks were flowing as they all just hung out. After a while, Steve decided to leave the kids to have their fun and made his way across the room to where Rori was sitting on Harry’s lap happily chatting with Louis while Harry was talking with a member of the crew.

“I’m gonna go back to the hotel bug,” Steve said after gaining his daughters attention. “Don’t stay up too late and if Dad asks, I never let you out of my sight.”

“I don’t think we’ll stay too much longer either,” Harry promised.

“See you in the morning kids,” Steve replied, hugging his daughter gently before leaving the room.

Not long after Steve left, Aurora was sitting with the 4 boys, Harry and Louis sitting on either side of her on a sofa, while Liam and Niall sat opposite them.

“So, I’ve had an idea for tomorrow night,” Louis announced. “Since it’s the last night of tour and Rori’s graced us with her presence, what if we pulled you out on stage with us love and you joined us for a song?”

“Lou…” Harry began, a warning tone in his voice.

“No,” Rori interrupted. “Tomorrow night is about you boys. It’s the last tour show and the night before the album drops. I don’t want to step on that.”

“But the album is just as much yours as it is ours,” Louis argued, pouting slightly as he threw his arm around his friend, a little drunk and feeling very sure of himself. “The fans’ll love it. We could do If I Could Fly.”

“I don’t know,” Rori said, looking to Harry hesitantly.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Liam added, Niall nodding along beside him with a giant grin on his face.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to love,” Harry murmured, worried that the boys were pressuring her into something she wasn’t ready for.

“It could be fun?” she replied, her voice lifting at the end as if in question, hesitant to seem like she was inserting herself into a moment that should be theirs.

“It’s decided then,” Louis announced. “We’re doing this! I’m thinking we slot it in after Little White Lies.”

“Ease up Lou,” Harry chuckled at his excitement. “How about we wait until the morning when we’re all sober to start planning anything out?”

“You’re such a bore, Harold,” Louis replied with a sigh.

20 minutes later, Harry found Rori and Louis sitting in the corner of the room with their heads together conspiratorially whispering and writing something down. When he peered over their shoulders, he saw that it was the lyrics for If I Could Fly and they were working out the arrangement to add Aurora into the song.

“You too are impossible,” he said, causing them both to jump as if they were children caught stealing snacks.

Louis tried to smile innocently. “Not sure what you’re talking about mate.”

“Of course you don’t,” Harry chuckled. “It’s getting late, love,” he added, turning to face Rori. “And by the looks of it, tomorrow’s gonna be a busy one so what do you say we turn in?”

Aurora nodded a let Harry lead her out of the room.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[panimation]

Spellcaster II

Here it is lads, part 2

This might be my last fic for a bit, I have nothing else to write, no motivation to continue other fics, thats how it be sometimes.

its been a fun rodeo, cowboys

Part 1

word count: 3.9k

“Dirt?” I asked for the fourth time. Stiles had put me on the couch when we got to his house after school, telling me to stay still. He paced around, checking his phone and glancing at me to make sure I wasn’t going anywhere.

“No, and you know what? You aren’t going to be doing anything after the stunt you pulled today! I can’t- you-” He struggled to talk, making a weird noise and then deciding to stop talking altogether. 

During one of his classes, he stuck me in the janitors closet, telling me to sit still until he came to get me. After a while I had heard jingling so I left the closet and followed it outside of the school. I was nearly at the woods, ready to follow the fairies when Scott found me, him having been on the lacrosse field practicing when he spotted me. When he got me back to Stiles, I thought I was going to need the calming spell like I do with Derek.

“The fairies wanted me to follow them!” I defended myself, knowing that I would’ve been fine. Fairies loved me.

“Enough about the-” He wiped a hand over his face, letting out a harsh breath. “-Okay, look, you follow the fairies, I die because of that! Derek will literally murder me with his nasty wolf claws because of you, so no more following fairies!” 

I stared at him, appalled.

“No. I had to.” I stated, crossing my arms over my chest. His vibes were atrocious, and I was not going to stand for them.

“No, you really didn’t, and if you do it again, I’m gonna tape you to the uncomfiest chair in this house and I won’t let you out until Derek comes back- if he comes back!”

“He will! Derek wouldn’t leave me!” I yelled, catching Stiles off guard. “He wouldn’t! He won’t,” I whined, dropping where I was and sitting on the floor.

“Look, I didn’t mean-”

“-He won’t leave me here forever. He knows my food, he knows my radio, and I want my food and my radio! A-And- And I- Dig!” I shouted the last word, slamming my hands down on the wooden floor, not knowing any other way to put it.

The doorbell rang, leaving Stiles with no other option than to walk around me and answer it, knowing that whoever was out there would become persistent. I sniffled, and kept my eyes to the floor, tracing the wood with a single finger.

“Hey, kid.”

I froze, eyes wide as I turned to look at Derek, his eyes tired and body tense. Stiles stood to the side, looking back and forth between both of us, eyebrows raised while he waited for something to happen.

“I see you missed me a lot.” Derek did a once over of me sitting on the floor, and stepped forward. 

I rushed to stand, and I threw myself at him, coughing at the air I knocked out of myself. He hugged back, letting me pull at his jacket and twist the zipper around. It was so close to breaking and a few more twists would make it mine to bury. Just before I got it off, he pushed me back to look at my face.

“You alright? Nothing broken, nothing bleeding?” He asked, looking closer this time, ignoring the small tears that came from my eyes. I shook my head and leant forward to hug him again, but he held me still, making me look directly at him. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, eyes shifting because of the eye contact.

“No, I need to hear you say it.”

I sighed, swaying a little. “I’m okay.”

He pulled me back into a hug immediately, giving me a few small pats on the head before letting go completely and looking around at the house, settling his eyes on Stiles after a few moments. 

“Can we talk?” He asked, and Stiles nodded, staying still. Derek tilted his head, motioning to the kitchen. “Privately?”

I swallowed thickly, rubbing one of my eyes and going to sit on the couch, hugging one of the pillows and waiting. I don’t think either of the boys realized I could still hear them talking, but I tried my hardest to not listen, only catching a few words. I soon didn’t have to try too hard, as I heard something more important. The faint bells grew when I stood and got closer to the window, and I saw the small lights in Stiles’ front lawn. I sighed, making a face at the small lights, knowing Stiles would yell at me again if I followed them. The lights twirled around, ringing louder, and I sneered, turning to go sit back down.

The bells became even louder, and I turned again, seeing the fairies now at the window.

“Kid.” I jumped, turning my head back to see Derek had come back to the living room. When I looked back to the fairies, I saw that they had gone. I frowned, but turned back and walked to Derek. He had a sour look on his face, and my frown deepened.

“I know you wanna go home right now, but I need one more night. I have to clean up for you.” He kept eye contact for as long as possible, but looked down when my eyes widened.

“No, it’s home time.” I stated, crossing my arms over my chest. I spotted Stiles hanging back at the kitchen doorway, and I leaned to look at him clearly. “You said I could go home when Derek came to get me.”

He struggled to find something to say, coming up with “Yeah I did.”

I looked back to Derek, raising my eyebrows.

“Please, kid, just one more day. I mean, you’ve lived for the time being, surely one more night here won’t kill you?” He smiled, before turning around and giving Stiles a deep glare, then turning back and smiling again. I sighed and moved forward, pushing my arms under his to hug him tightly again. He patted my back, letting me hold on before he pushed back, giving a similar pat to my head. He turned, going right back where he came from: through the door. I rushed to the window, watching as he walked back to his car, and got in, and left. I let myself relax on the chair next to the window, sighing sadly. I heard Stiles shuffle behind me.

“Wait, should I have asked what you usually eat? That was something I should’ve asked, huh?”

***

“Bedtime, okay?” Stiles dropped a pillow on me from where he was standing, just off to the side while I got comfy in my nest of blankets on the floor. I hugged the pillow, pulling it over my face to stop him from talking to me any more. “You can’t avoid me forever, or- the rest of the night.”

I wiggled a bit, keeping the pillow over my face. Letting my arms drop to my sides, the pillow balanced so I didn’t have to keep a grip on it. I flinched a bit when the corner of the pillow was lifted and Stiles was leaning his head to see my face. He smiled when I made eye contact.

“One more night, alright? Just go to bed and Derek will be back when you wake up.” He said, moving the pillow to the side, resting it beside me. I huffed, bringing my arms up to cross them over my chest. I gave him a pointed look. He rolled his eyes. “Look I know I said that you’d go home when he got back but I didn’t know he was gonna say that, okay? This time you’ll actually go home.”

I let the look go and relaxed again, pulling the blanket to my shoulders and closing my eyes. I heard the click of the light and then Stiles getting into bed, then I was out. But not for long.

There was a scratching that made me shift, and roll over. Then came a small squeak. I realized that the sounds were real, and not just my mind. When I finally brought myself to sit up and open my eyes, I saw one of the last things I wanted.

A bat.

I gasped, pushing the blanket and extra pillow off of me quickly, turning to make sure Stiles was still asleep. He was on his side, facing away from me. I turned back to the bat, glaring at it.

“Get out now!” I spoke quietly, words laced with urgency. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh fuck. The bat flew low and exited the room, causing me to duck and follow, glancing back just to make sure that Stiles wasn’t awake and watching. I closed the door behind me as I left the room, softly walking to where I thought the bat had gone. I heard some squeaks behind me and I ducked, looking up slightly to see that the bat had flown above me, landing on the stair railing to look at me. I straightened up, staring it down until it moved to fly downstairs.

Following it, the wooden stairs put up a challenge as I had on some soft socks, and I almost slipped a few times. Stepping down off of the last step, I spotted the winged little shit staring at me from the kitchen. I ran, hands stretched in front of me to grab it, but it dodged me easily, and I jumped up high to try again, failing again. As I jumped around the kitchen, I knocked into the counters and nearly hit the lights hanging from the ceiling.

Oh god, what will Stiles say when he sees this…

The thought of it gave me a rush of anxiety, and I opened the window above the sink, getting myself on the other side of the bat so it would fly towards outside. It did, and I cheered, panting as I stared it down until it had completely flown out the window. “That was easy.” I sighed.

“Why are you down here? Why’s the window open?”

I stumbled and turned around, leaning on the counter that was now behind me. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, arms out and palms to the ceiling in a ‘what’ manner, hair a mess. I smiled, sheepishly looking down and then over my shoulder at the open window. “Fairies?” I could’ve captured the moment that Stiles lost his mind in a picture, and I smiled wider as he walked over to close the window before pulling on my arm to lead me back upstairs.

“It’s four in the morning, do the fairies hate me?”

“No, they just don’t particularly like you.”

***

Stiles had fallen asleep quickly, being so tired and all, but I had stayed up, hands gripping the blanket tightly as I looked around the pitch black room. When the sun started to rise, it peeked through the blinds and I stared straight at it, waiting for the right time to get up and wake up Stiles. When there was a knock on the door, I froze. This early? No way. I got up and climbed onto Stiles’ bed, shaking his shoulder, knowing Derek’s rule of not answering the door, and also knowing that Stiles would get mad if I wandered off again, even if it was just to go to a different part of his house.

“Get up! Derek’s here! Get up!” I shook harder, watching his face as he slowly woke up. He finally opened his eyes and pushed my hands away, sitting up. I smiled.

“What, what’s happening?” He asked, pulling at the shirt he was sleeping in.

“Derek’s here.” I whispered, knowing to use an inside voice, and at this hour an inside-er voice so I wouldn’t be too loud.

He pushed the blanket back slowly and I moved quickly, nearly hopping to the bedroom door and then to the stairs, waiting for him to catch up. There was more knocking, and I almost pulled Stiles down the stairs by his messy hair.

When we finally got to the door, Stiles opened it and I hesitated, making sure it was actually Derek, before I pounced, wrapping every limb I could move around him. He grabbed onto my shirt so I wouldn’t fall off of him, and walked in, setting me down on the couch when we got to it. He ruffled my hair and smiled. “Ready to go, huh?”

I nodded, yawning. Stiles had shut the door and fallen back on the other end of the couch, eyes closed. Derek went over and kicked him. The spaz jolted and went into a fighting stance but then just gave Derek a ‘really?’ look.

“Go get all your stuff, I have food ready at home.” Derek told me, and I nodded again, leaving the two boys at the couch. Once upstairs and in Stiles’ room, I grabbed all my stuff and pushed it back into the duffel that I came with, my hand coming in contact with something sharp. I gasped, holding the hand to my chest. I carefully reached back into the bag and found the pin that I took from the board in Stiles’ room. I put it in a different pocket, finally getting everything else to fit and zipping the bag up.

Hearing footsteps, I looked up to stare at the doorway until the person walked in. Stiles. He gestured to the shoes near me, the ones he had let me wear.

“You can keep those for now, just have Derek bring them back when he can.” He said, moving around me to sit on his bed. I nodded, grabbing the shoes and slipping them on, then lifting the small pile of my stuff to carry it out.

I stood still for a moment in front of Stiles. We both stared at each other, the room going very quiet until I broke the silence.

"Bye…"

"Bye." He repeated the word, playing with his fingers and looking away when I turned to walk out.

Derek was waiting by the door when I got down the stairs, and he grabbed some of the stuff in my arms, letting me walk out first.

"Ready to go home, kid?" He asked after we were both settled in the car. I didn't look at him to answer, instead looking out the window to watch the second floor window to Stiles' room.

"Yeah, 'm tired." I finally said, leaning my head on the window as Derek drove away from the curb, turning towards the loft.

***

“Go wash your hands.”

We had gotten back to the loft relatively early since Derek had come before the sun, but we spent all day resettling, and by the time is was night, I needed to dig like a crackhead needed crack. Derek finally let me dig until the sun came up, keeping a loose follow as I jumped through the woods to dig. He had restocked on jars, and the nice fairies had left more coins. Plus, in the small duffel bag by my bed, there were so many buttons and a pn to bury. All of it had gone into the ground, the pin taking more time as I kept poking my fingers on it.

When I ran out of things to bury and energy to dig, I fell asleep on the couch, hands covered in dirt and legs hanging off the soft cushion so the dirt on my pants couldn’t get it dirty. Waking up had been the worst, my head hurt, my throat hurt, my stomach hurt. Derek seemed worried, but I couldn’t bring myself to worry just as much. I was too tired to.

“Let me feel your forehead, kid.” Derek said, sitting on the coffee table in front of me. I pushed my head forward, the blanket slipping back from where I had pulled it. When he set his hand on my forehead, I shivered. His hands were so cold. “Okay, kid, stay here, I’ll be right back.”

I laid around for maybe a few more minutes, eyelids too heavy to open before I forced myself to. The entire loft was dark, and I didn’t even realize that Derek had left, despite the giant sliding door being as loud as Stiles on an off day. My head calmed down a little, and I could finally sit up without it throbbing, so I slowly crawled to my bed, reaching under the mattress to grab the shoelaces I had slipped under it.

I looked around for the bag that had the borrowed items from Stiles, but it was gone, and I knew that Derek had took it with him. Gripping the shoelaces tight in my hand, I forced myself to stand and find a jar. The first one I saw was the one I had taken to Stiles house, the coin still sitting at the bottom. I grabbed it and held it tightly, not bothering to put on shoes or a jacket, and went to leave, but the giant door was hard to open. I settled for slipping through, then made my way outside and into the woods.

I found the small items I needed for the spell as I walked further, the fairies having left them in a small trail leading to the spot where I was supposed to bury it. Just as I got to the destined spot, I felt my legs give out, but it didn’t matter, as I needed to sit to dig anyway. Soon enough, however, with my hands deep in the Earth, my eyes closed and I slumped over, knocking over the jar and just barely hearing the clink of the coin before I was completely out.

3rd POV.

Derek sat in his car once he got back to the loft, relaxing before he had to go in and worry over the girl he called Kid. Returning Stiles’ stuff went smooth, given that the spaz had asked lots of questions about Kid.

“How is she?”

“She’s... fine. She dug all night and caught a fever, but it might be stress, so I’m not worried.” He had lied to the spaz.

“Dug all night?”

“She likes to bury things. She didn’t get to cast spells while with you so she made up for it last night.”

Derek got out of the car, putting on a brave face so Kid wouldn’t be worried about being sick. He wasn’t sure she’d ever been sick before, but since he’d found her in the woods, completely healthy, there was little chance she even knew what it meant.

Walking into the building, he froze, the brave face melting away when all he smelled was death. He took the stairs, almost bending the rails when he pulled himself up multiple steps, sweat starting to build up and panic filling his chest. The door was opened, only by a foot maybe, but opened, and when he went inside to look for Kid, she wasn’t there. He started to heave, pulling his phone out to call Stiles.

“Is she there?!” He yelled, not letting the spaz say anything. “Is she at your house?”

“Wha- Who? The spellcaster? No. Why?” Stiles had been standing in his room, trying to fix the giant murder board after he saw that a pin had fallen out. He didn’t find it on the ground so he decided to leave the problem to future Stiles when future Stiles stepped on it. He stopped working when he answered the call, sitting down on his bed, glancing around. His eyes landed on the shoes that were near the returned items. “Did she take my shoelaces, by the way? They weren’t in the shoes.”

“Dammit Stiles, have you seen her? This better not be a sick joke or I’m going to tell Scott to plan your funer-”

“No! She’s not here! What’s going on?”

“She was gone when I got back, she might be in the woods but Stiles, she got so sick she couldn’t open her eyes.” Derek’s voice wavered, eyes burning in worry. “She couldn’t move, she was so weak. She’s never been sick before.” Stiles sat tense on his bed, listening so closely that he could’ve sworn the ADHD and anxiety had left him.

“I’m coming.” Stiles hung up before anything else could be said and ran, starting the jeep up, pulling out of the driveway and pushing Roscoe to the edge and then some. At the same time, Derek ran to the woods, trying to distinguish the smell of Kid over death, terrified of what he would find if he followed either.

“Come on, Roscoe, help me here.” Stiles muttered to the jeep, staring forward sternly, pushing harder on the gas when he saw the tall building he was needed at.

Derek had ran the edge of the woods, hoping she didn’t go too far in, but with the mention of fairies from Stiles when they had talked, he knew they would have led her deep. He took a deep breath, finally taking a step into the trees.

When Stiles had parked and rushed up to the loft, he frantically looked around, only to realize that Derek had said she’d be in the woods, and he ran out, breathing heavily. He got outside and made his way around the building, seeing the long treeline, and ran into the nearest clear section, hoping he could find Derek, help out, and get her home safe. Then he would tell Derek about the school, only when she was safe.

“Derek?” He yelled, stumbling over roots as he walked fast, checking around and up trees. “I’m here! Where are you? Derek?” He pressed a hand to the nearest tree, stepping onto a steep root to get over a fallen tree. It got darker the further he walked, and he squinted, seeing what looked like the stump of a cut down tree. He kept going, ready to use it to get over the next fallen tree.

He didn’t.

“Derek?”

The wolf turned his head to look at Stiles, eyes wet, tears falling for the first time in years possibly. Stiles stared, a slight twitch of his head asking the question. Derek only stared back with an expression that he’d never used, eyes filled with anger, and confusion, and bleeding pain.

Kid laid in front of them, dirt all over her, the jar with the coin in it tipped on its side near her head, a hole dug in front of her. Her eyes were closed, and Stiles tried to convince himself that she was just asleep, and that they would take her to the loft and get her cleaned up, and she would wake up, but deep down he could feel it.

She was dead.

Derek pulled her up to him, flinching at how cold she felt compared to how she felt only a few hours earlier. “Kid?” He asked, petting her hair and rocking her back and forth. “Wake up, kid, we- we have to get you cleaned up.”

Stiles stepped forward, kneeling down to reach for the wolf. “Derek, stop.” He mumbled, afraid of what would happen if he talked any louder. 

“Come on, kid,” Derek continued,”We’ll get you a meal, a-and we’ll listen to the radio…” His voice gave out, and he stared down at the one person he didn’t hate, cradling her head and pulling her close.

“Derek…” Stiles couldn’t say anything other than the name, worried he would start crying and never stop. He blinked away tears, trying not to look at the spellcaster, instead looking at the dirt, spotting his shoelaces and a small note next to them. It was small and fragile, and when he unfolded it, he let himself cry.

Stiles

Clarity, Calm, and Protection

I’m tagging as many usernames as I can remember as well as people who have asked:

@dumbass-stilinski​ @writingsbychlo​ @venus-calum​ @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone​  @fan-child​ @rogue-of-sound​ @shantayok​ @dylinski​ @thelittlestkitsune​