#but at least my roots are dark enough that they work ok with violet or pink. wont stop me from grumbling a bit about it though

[violasmirabiles]

shaved the sides of my head for the first time since september and i cant stop scritching it it feels so goood

[firespirited]

I could hear my brain whirring and my heart hurt so I spent the day in play, there were things 'to do’ but I dunno this ended up being a sort of a half snow day: Grail doll Rainbow Dream had arrived the day before; I opened the box and felt a million miles away so just left it and went to bed early. So waking up to this doll propped up on my desk and the slime packets waiting felt like an invitation to be 10 again if just for a few hours. I made slime wondering if it might awaken some neurodivergent pleasure center - I love executive toys, lavalamps, hands in a crate of beads, bubbles and whatnot - Slime’s a hard no, very ick, much dislike even with talc added to make it putty. I like kneading bread and working with warm salt clay. Slime feels very much the way Slimer the ghost’s ectoplasm looks but cold.

Quick notes on the doll’s quality: head movement is limited. The dark t-shirt stains the armpits, the upper tattoo sealant and the doll’s torso side seams. One or two backrooted plugs are to be expected with a multicolor rooting so brush gently and stop to look closely with a metal comb when you hit a snag then pull tightly on the hair plug (if you can use your fingers I recommend it as you get a better feel for the tension in the hair, you want enough to pull the hair out of the wrong place but not enough to stretch the fiber). If you’re buying second hand, expect hairplay dolls to have stripped hair and damage from hair product and whatever comes with the doll. Mine had quite a few stripped hairs in front and pink stains in various places but when I used a qtip with some alcohol to remove it from her facepaint the combo *removed* the paint. She fits this very stretchy Barbie curvy dress but is far too small for an MSD tshirt. The slime powder, glitter and flakes all came in packaging not suited to the medium as the holofoil plastic statically charges the glitter and flakes so it either explodes out, doesn’t come out, sticks straight to your clothes or a bit of all three.

I acetoned down the paint on her oversized lips, it sort of flakes off which is annoying and repainted the upperlips with pink mika mixed with satin gloss. Then blushed the upper cheeks, tearducts and a teensy bit to the sides and top of the nose. It adds depth even to her very flat side profile.

// I highly recommend getting $5 pack of mikas if you’re kinda naf at painting, it’s like covering things with glitter when you mess up... but at doll scale, so long as you have ways of tidying edges with qtips or the point of tweezers.//

Under the top+part teal and back apple, her rooting scheme is nearly exactly the same as Amaya. Amaya’s purple is just a more matte colour. I love that they kept that crossover detail. It’s neat circular rows of Stella’s fuchsia, Poppy’s orange, Jade’s apple green, Skylars secondary blue and Violet’s purple which means that you can separate out the different colours if you want to make tricolor braids for example.

//  It reminded me a lot of working with rainbow fur which was made with just yellow, pink and blue that overlap to create the illusion of 6 different colours. My colour choices for a rainbow doll would have been similar to the fur with colour blocked patches or at least multirow layering as opposed to the single rows repeated which give a muddied effect from behind. The orange and the green merging in brown; blue green and orange practically grey. I have opinions about hair design - sue me or hire me ok! //

The transparent gimmick is just fantastic. Not with slime or liquids nuh uh. Beads, sticker flakes, nail art yes! I put plastic confetti diamonds in her boots and skirt. You have to blow in the skirt to get it unstuck from itself btw. Feel like most of us were born ready to wear clothes and shoes with transparent pouches for treasures. This line did not need a slime gimmick to be very appealing, like make me want to save up and get boots with transparent storage appealing. I have these heart shaped clear vinyl hairclips with holographic pink heart flakes in them and being a grownup is great because you get to wear stuff like that and so long as you keep it as your one or two main accents with say a matching plain pastel pink mask and laces, you can totally carry it off.

I very much like the way they carried over her design to the two Amayas and the big dark Takahashi Macoto eyes on the bigger dolls make them pretty much 3D artworks of childhood and teen magical girl dreams.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Could I request a fic of Jask and the reader on a quest (Geralt too if you feel like it) but theres an ambush. The reader sees they're lining up an attack on Jask, so without even a weapon, she throws herself between him and the killing blow. After the threat is taken care of she admits shes loved him enough to die for him for a while. I'll leave it up to you if you want a happy ending or angst

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,026Rating: T for violencea/n: I ended it happily because I am rooting for these two. Hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

Geralt had scouted ahead and been certain the way was clear. No one was supposed to even know of this secret pass through the mountains which would cut your travel time to the next village short. Geralt was ahead on Roach while you and Jaskier walked a bit behind, him serenading you with a funny song he was working on about an otter and a beaver, rife with innuendo. The moment was light and so incredibly normal that you didn’t realize what was happening until the first arrow struck Geralt in the shoulder.

They descended seemingly from out of nowhere, running out from behind crevices in rock that had looked like natural formations instead of the hideouts they were. Three men, all armed to the teeth and running straight for the Witcher who jumped off of Roach and unsheathed his swords. Jaskier pulled you close to him, holding his lute up defensively and trying to keep your body covered with his. Two of the men engaged Geralt in combat but the third turned his eyes on the both of you. You watched him knock the arrow and aim it straight at Jaskier, still stubbornly pulling you behind him and totally oblivious to the threat.

You spun Jaskier around an instant before the arrow was loosed and hit its mark, burying deep in your back. Jaskier was covering you one minute and the next he was staring into your eyes as you gasped and fell forward into his arms.

“Geralt!” he cried, helping you down to the floor, careful not to let you fall on your back and plunge the arrow deeper inside. Your breaths were shallow and strained and he brushed your hair out of your eyes, his tears clouding his vision as tried to form words. In the background Geralt hewed the man who had shot you in half, far blooder and violent a dispatch than his comrades had been given.

“Why did you do that? What did you do? What did you do?” Jaskier’s brain couldn’t form anything but these questions, confusion and horror combining to devastating effect as he pulled his hand away from your waist and saw blood. Geralt knelt behind you and said something that neither of you caught, staring into each other’s eyes as you fought to stay conscious.

“Why did you do it?” Jaskier asked again.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you asked with a little laugh that twisted into a sharp inhale of pain as Geralt pulled the arrow out. Jaskier shook his head no, hands trembling slightly as he kept brushing back your hair from your face, tender even at his most devastated.

“I love you,” you said. You’d imagined this moment a hundred times but in none of them had you seen it like this, Jaskier weeping while your lifeblood drained from your body, Geralt working quickly to try and manage your wound.

“What?” Jaskier asked, “How long?”

“Oh, ages,” you admitted with a little laugh. “It had seemed like such a scary thing to say. It’s funny how your perspective can change, huh?”

“You couldn’t have just used your words like a normal person?” he asked. You laughed and clutched him tighter, the salve Geralt applied aching worse than the arrow had.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier, I’m so sorry for the time I wasted. Let me make it up to you now. I love you, I love you, I love you,” you repeat the words as he peppers your face with kisses, his tears wetting your face as he cradles you until your words fade to silence.

You wake someplace you don’t recognize. The ceiling a soft, azure color that’s as beautiful as it is foreign to you. You try to sit up but a pain in your bad halts your progress and elicts a sharp gasp of pain.

“Y/N?” a voice from your left says and suddenly Jaskier is kneeling next to you. His hair and clothes are rumpled and there is stubble covering his usually clean shaven face. The dark circles under his eyes speak to sleepless nights.

“Oh Jaskier, are you ok?” you ask.

He laughs as tears fill his eyes and he shakes his head at you.

“You nearly die and the first thing you ask is if I’m ok? Incredible. You’re a ridiculous woman,” he says but his eyes are full of affection. He takes your hand and kisses it before holding it close to him, leaning in to be as near as possible without moving the bed you’re sleeping on.

“She’s awake,” a voice you don’t recognize says from the other end of the room. A beautiful woman with long dark hair and the most striking violet eyes walks into view, Geralt next to her.

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. We were about ready to slip Jaskier a sleeping draught to make him get some rest,” Geralt says. Jaskier’s eyes stay focused on you and he doesn’t rise to the bait.

“The wound is mostly healed, you will need to rest a bit before you are well enough to continue on your travels,” the woman says. You know that Geralt can’t afford to take that much time and suddenly you realize why you’re here. You’re going to stay here while they go on ahead without you. As though he can see the words written on your face Jaskier quickly reassures you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says fervently, as though someone were trying to tear him away. “I’m going to sit here with you every day until you’re back on your feet and then I’m going to walk or ride or swim or however you get around, I will be there with you. I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe my anything,” you say.

“And yet,” he says, a shade of the roguish man you’d grown to love coming over his face, “It seems my life is still yours to keep. Or at the very least, my heart.”

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Geralt mutters to the woman next to him and they walk away to leave you and Jaskier to talk of the future in peace.

[disasterdeacy]

Slip-Up

This was submitted to me anonymously by an incredible human being who really wanted to share their equally amazing writing with us! Please Enjoy! Again, this is not an original work of my own, by hot DAMN is it good!

A/N:Inspired by this video of Brian Harold May accidentally letting the world know what a giant sub he is. I don’t know what happened. I went in to a fever state and when I woke up, this was in my word doc. I snapped. I apologise in advance.

Pairing: 2010!Bri x young Reader

Wordcount: 2.9k (I said I snapped)

Warnings: smut, sub!Bri, age difference, spanking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), creampie ( NSFW 18+ (obviously!!)

“I really don’t read enough, so I’ll definitely try and read this–“

“I’ll have you whipped later.”

“Thank you. You promise?” 

You gape, open-mouthed, at your TV. Did he really just…? 

———————

Bri walks in the door of your flat to find you sprawled out your large, cosy couch, toying with the TV remote.

“Hi baby,” you coo, voice all sugary sweetness.

“Hello, my love…what’ve you been up to all afternoon?Just watching TV?“. He plops himself down beside you, taking your legging-clad legs into his lap and gently rubbing your feet.

“Oh yes!” You smile at him, cupping his cheek and turning his head to face yours. You lean in to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. He beams back at you.

“So…I tuned in to The Book Show specially for you.” You stroke his jawline tenderly. “Wanted to support my beautiful man.”

Your fingers travel down his neck and you cup him by his nape. Brian’s eyelashes flutter as he lowers his gaze. 

“Can you imagine my surprise when I heard your little slip-up?” Your mouth is now at his ear, teeth grazing his earlobe. Brian’s stomach plummets. Fuck. So you’d seen that. He thinks back to the moment in which the nice interview lady had wickedly grinned him at her comment. He honestly doesn’t know what had come over him. It was such an instinctual reaction, he had for a moment forgotten where he really was. He nervously fidgets with a loose thread on your leggings, trying to ignore the increasing thump thump thump of his heart stuck in his throat. He pulls back from you a little, attempting to meet your eyes steadily

“S…slip-up? I thought it went rather well,” he’s glad his voice remains at least somewhat level. You pull your legs out of his grasp and fluidly settle yourself in his lap.

“Ohhhh, sweetness. I don’t think that’s entirely true, do you?”

Pinning his head to the back of the couch by his throat, you raise yourself up a little, your knees on either side of his hips, so you’re now looking down at him. Brian glances away shiftily.

“Do you think it’s proper for good little boys to ask strange ladies to whip them?” With a jerk, you pull Brian’s chin up, forcing him to meet your calm gaze.

“I know she offered, my darling, but really” You can see and feel the pulse in Brian’s neck jump under your fingers as he scrambles for an answer.

“I…I was just kidding around, my love,” he says in a very small voice, causing a grin to spread across your face. “Oh, now…you know that’s not true. I could see it written all over your face,” you settle yourself slowly back down into his lap, “the mortification of realising what you’d just let slip out,” you shift back and forth slowly, the seam of your leggings grazing his flies, where you could feel a distinct hardness. 

“And did you seriously slap yourself, naughty boy? Oh, you knew you’d blundered,” a gentle kiss right below his left ear, “and you knew I was watching,” a sharp bite at his earlobe, “and you knew in that moment that there’d be sweet hell to pay when you got home,” a sharp swivel of your hips, causing Brian to let out a breathy whine, bucking up into you instinctively. Your hand at his throat tightens immediately and he gasps.

“No. You’ve been a wicked, naughty little slut,” you whisper softly, “sharing your proclivities with all the world, goodness me…and you were oh so turned on and embarrassed by it, weren’t you?”

You let go of him and clamber out of his lap. Brian gazes up at you with hooded eyes, cheeks flushed, mouth hanging slightly open. His jeans are looking more and more uncomfortably tight and his chest rises and falls rapidly with his shaky breaths. 

“Would you like to know what happens when little boys are especially naughty?”

A vigorous nod.

“Strip.” 

He makes a sound so needy and soft, you can’t help but feel it go straight to your core. Oh, he is in for it.

Unsteadily, not taking his eyes off you, Brian stands up. He slips off his vest, unfastens the remaining buttons of his white shirt and pushes off his dark jeans. When his hands reach his boxer briefs, he hesitates, fingers toying with the waistband. You give him a pointed look. Slowly, he slides them down his long legs, stepping out of them, finally standing naked before you. You let yourself glance down at his cock which curves upward towards his belly, read, hard, and leaking. You raise your eyes back up to his, smiling sweetly.

“Bend over.”

Brian’s cock twitches visibly and his mouth goes slack. He knows the drill. Stepping over the pile of his discarded clothes, he kneels down on the couch, bending forward so his forearms are braced on the back couch cushions. His back is arched and he stares at you over his shoulder, wide-eyed, expectant. 

You need a moment to take in the sight of him. His tanned back, his beautiful slender legs, the backs of his thighs that curve gracefully into pale white buttocks that are begging to be coloured with red, blue and violet blossoms. You step forward and run a hand along the seam of his ass, past his puckering hole, along his perineum, halting at his balls that are now drawn up tight against his body. You run your hands over them, cupping them gently. Brian lets out another needy whine.

“I-I want…just–”

You lean forward. “I beg your pardon?” you whisper dangerously.

“P-please, Miss. I need…” He arches his back further, pushing his buttocks back so your hand becomes trapped between your bodies, grinding himself against you. You stare at him in wonder. 

“Oh. Oh, you’re really gagging for it, aren’t you?” you remove your hand and focus instead on kneading his buttocks slowly.

“Yes, yes I am. Give it to me good, Miss. Please smack me so hard I need it, I want you to punish me, I’ve been so bad, dear GOD, PLEASE!!” He’s babbling now, the words pouring out of him as he arches into your touch. 

“So you admit that you’ve been a bad little slut, eh? That you were so turned on this afternoon. That you were longing to be spanked.” You lift your hand and bring it down hard on Brian’s right buttock. 

“Hhhhhhha!”

“Bet you went straight to your dressing room after that and tried not to touch yourself, because you were so ashamed, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you? Answer me, slut!” 

The crack as your palm connects with his soft skin is deafening and the blow jolts Brian forward into the couch cushions. Clinging on to the back of the couch, he cowers before you, bringing his groin forward to rub himself against the textured fabric of the couch. With awe, you note your red handprint forming on his white skin. After landing several more hard smacks while he pathetically rubs himself against the couch, you grab him by the roots of his curly hair, yanking him back.

“That’s enough. Filthy little sluts who jerk off in dressing rooms after humiliating themselves on national television don’t get to cum when they want to.” Making sure his ass remains nicely arched away from the couch, you let go of his hair and allow him to prop himself back up on the backrest.

“Nrrghhhh,” Brian warbles into the crook of his arm in which he has now buried his face.

“Full sentences darling, if you please,” you trill, delivering short, hard smacks, now moving down to the back of his thighs. But Brian is apparently incapable of forming coherent thoughts just now, instead emitting little gasps and whines as you move your smacks back towards his ass. He subtly moves his knees further apart, spreading and arching himself further towards you and your heart nearly bursts out of your chest at the sight. Here he is, one of the most legendary rock stars in the world, putty in your hands, spread out before you. You feel almost drunk with need. 

Something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. The cushion against which Bri had been grinding himself is sporting a very visible dark stain.

“Are you serious?” you growled. “Did you get your pre-cum all…over…my…expensive…furniture…you little…needy…slut!” you punctuated your each word with an unforgivingly hard smack, the last one landing right between his legs on his testicles. Brian keens in agony and slumps down against the couch, quickly realising his mistake and grabbing the head of his cock to prevent further accidents. He’s sniffling now, tears pouring down his face as he coughs and gasps for air. Concerned you’ve gone too far this time, you clamber onto the couch next to him and wrap your arms around him.

“Shit, Brian, are you alright, my love? You didn’t use your safe word, I thought you were still ok, I’m so sorry baby, I love you so much” you babble, stroking his hair and rocking him back and forth.

Brian wordlessly brings your hand to his groin. His eyes burn into yours as he manages a weak smile. His cock lies ragingly hard in your hand and you stare at him, amazed.

“M’more than ok, baby. Now please…”, he tugs scrabbles desperately at the waistband of your leggings.

You nod, mutely. Disentangling yourself from him, you hurriedly strip out of your clothes. Brian watches, perched on his knees, slowly dragging his thumb over the head of his cock. Flinging your last item of clothing from you, you saunter back towards him.

“If my strap wasn’t at your place, you know you’d be the one getting fucked into the couch, right?” you grin at him. He grins back, shakily. “Come here, please…let me kiss you baby,” he murmurs. Your chest grows warm and you are filled with the overwhelming need to be close to him as possible and you melt into his embrace, his tongue slipping past your open lips, kissing you like it was the first time. You take his hand that is not wrapped around his cock and guide it between your legs which are coated in your own juices and when his fingers find your centre, you arch into him, your moan muffled by his kiss. With his thumb gently massaging your clit, his slender middle finger enters you and you throw your head back at the jolt of pleasure that courses through you. Brian attaches his mouth to your neck as he carefully adds another finger, massaging your inner walls, hitting that spot he knows unravels you every time. His other hand lets go of his cock and it smacks against your pubic bone. Pulling you flush against him by the small of your back, he grinds his leaking cock against your lower stomach, continuing his agonisingly slow ministrations in your core.

“I-I need you so badly, baby. Please. I need to be inside of your beautiful pussy, baby. I love you so much, please, I don’t know how much longer I can take it…”, he breathes against your neck, moving to pepper your jaw with butterfly kisses, his mouth finally finding yours again and you lose yourself in his scent, his taste, his warmth.

Pulling back a little, you gaze up into his eyes, arms wrapped around his neck. The two of you are still kneeling on the couch, facing each other and you glance down at his dark red cockhead between you. 

“Of course, my love, you’ve been so so good for me. Taking your punishment – ah!!!” you gasp as he applies more pressure to your clit and warmth floods you to the tips of your toes, “–so well. Such a good boy. Pleasuring me so well…I love your fingers, baby. But I’m so ready for your cock to stretch me out, c’mon,” you shift away from him, turning so that now you are the one braced over the back of the couch. Brian lets out a low groan as you spread your legs and he scrambles behind you, one knee on the couch, one foot braced on the floor. You wiggle your ass at him, your dripping cunt on full display. Turning your head, you look back at him with shining eyes.

“Well?” you ask softly “What’re you waiting for baby boy?”

With the most pornographic moan you’ve ever heard him make, Brian slams into you. He’s got you so incredibly wet and ready for him that it’s an easy, fluid motion. You scrabble behind you, your hand finding his buttock, earning a wince and an involuntary jerk from him that has him buried to the hilt inside you. You keep your hand firmly on his ass, holding him there, inside you, trying to get used to the feeling of being so overwhelmingly full. After a full minute, you slowly pull away, his cock dragging against your inner walls as it slowly pulls out of you, the delicious feeling, eliciting a groan from both of you. You sink back onto his cock, setting the pace, slowly increasing until you tap Brian – who has been so diligently still this entire time until you’re done adjusting to his length – on the flank, signalling to him it’s ok for him to take over. He happily obliges. 

It’s fast, hard and so sloppy, but it’s what the both of you desperately crave right now. Brian’s arms wrap around you, pulling you straight up against his chest, one hand finding its way to fondle your breast, the other snaking it’s way down towards your clit where he sets up an equally punishing pace. Each thrust is accompanied by the most deliciously low groan into your neck where Brian has buried his face and you let out a breathy laugh as you feel the tell-tale tingling in your extremities, signalling your fast approaching orgasm.

“Your little pussy is so tight around my cock, baby, clenching me so good,” Brian gasps into your hair, “M’so close, you want me to fill up your pussy with my cum? God, I wanna see my cum dripping out of that sweet cunt, wanna lick you clean”

You grab the back of his head as his mouth attacks your neck, sucking dark bruises into your skin which you will marvel in seeing in the mirror tomorrow. He’s fucking feral. Your other hand covers his as his fingers strum out a punishing rhythm against your clit, making him apply more pressure. 

“Just like that…want you to cum inside me, baby boy, please. Fuck, I’m so close, shit…I’m gunna…I’m gunna–“

White hot pleasure sears through your entire body as your walls clamp down hard on Brian’s cock and your orgasm washes over you. With a strangled moan, you feel Brian tip over the edge as well, as your spasms squeeze and milk his cock and he lets out tiny whines into your hair. He can’t help but continue thrusting sporadically into you as both of you are hit with wave upon wave of pleasure. Finally, your knees are trembling too hard for you to remain upright and you have to detangle yourself from each other. As Brian’s cock slips from your cunt, you lament the sudden emptiness he leaves behind. You gasp as you’re suddenly pinned to the back of the couch, Brian kneeling between your legs, spreading your lips, watching his cum drip slowly out of you. You bite your lip as he fixes you with a stare, never loosing eye contact as he leans forward and licks a stripe over your sensitive cunt, gently lapping up his seed, cleaning you with his tongue. It’s the single most erotic thing you have ever seen and you moan in over-sensitised pleasure as he pushes a finger inside you, which comes away dripping in your combined juices. You grab his hand weakly and bring it to your own lips. Both your chests heaving, you lick his long finger clean, then pull him up and towards you for a searing kiss. Tasting yourselves on your tongue, you feel so incredibly close to him and you make sure to deliver every ounce of sweet intimacy and warmth and love you feel for him right now into your kiss. 

After a while of kneeling on your hardwood floor, Brian’s knees start complaining and the two of you finally trail into your bathroom where you shower and clean each other gently and tenderly, revelling in the warm water easing your shaking muscles. After drying off, you grab some cocoa butter and head towards your bedroom where you have Brian lie face down on your bed so you can massage the welts on his thighs and ass. After you’re done, you snuggle up to each other under the covers, Brian’s arms enveloping you He smells of your Jasmine body wash and you bury your face in the little hairs on his chest, inhaling his clean, warm scent. Brian tenderly strokes your naked back, drawing little circles all along your spine.

“I love you so much,” you murmur against his skin.

“I love you too,” he whispers back.

“M’gunna invest in a riding crop, I think,” you mumble, the grogginess of post-sex, post-shower bliss slowly catching up with you.

Brian hums against the top of your head and chuckles softly.

“You promise?”

tags: @meddows-taylors @toomuchlove-willkillyou @leah-halliwell92 @goodoldfashioned-rogerboy @glasgowkisschelseasmile @brianmayoucease @rogertaylors-lipgloss @mariekuuuuuh @unofficialbillnye @stephydearestxo @dereones98 @danamaleksworld @awkwardangelshezza @psychosupernatural @warren-lauren @womanwithahotdogstand @oujiacallme @simonedk @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @horrorsinwonderland @asgardianvamp21 @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @amor-libre @marvelstuck @softboydeacon @roger-bang-the-drum @frannyxc @reedusteinrambles @drowseoftaylor @doubledeaky @harrisunn @stormtrprinstilettos @freddiedearfriend @anotheronebitesthedeaks @bowiequeen @get-on-your-bikes-and-ride @indieblair @marymaia00 @ellywritesfics @subbysharkbabe 

[sw124]

Mythtale:Female! Child!Reader p3

Maid from a princess

Weightless....dizzy.....floating.....

The air smelled of sweet pipe tobacco, flowers and bamboo grass; everything that made your body feel heavy and weak. Your mind wandered in the haze for sometime before...before the aroma began conjuring memories in your head, memories you wish were forgotten...but...you couldn't forget...out of all of these memories there was one you wanted to hold on so tightly...

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

[One year ago]

One week, that was it, one week and you'll be seven years of age and in turn your childhood would end..so to speak. Truth be told you never had a true childhood from the start, since birth you were groomed and prepped for a life best suited to the needs of the greedy people you called your family.

Your the youngest of seven children, all girls. Your eldest sister Tabatha is 22, Silvia is 20, Lillian is 19, Matilda is 17 and finally the twins Fiona and Leona are 16. All six of them were beautiful, long locks that spilled down like waterfalls, cheeks that held the warmest of color. Their eyes were bright, their skin so soft and radiant, you on the other hand...sadly were too young to have such beauty...what made it worse was that your sisters flaunted their beauty at every chance they got.

You unfortunately had to sit and endure this torture day in and out, if that wasn't bad enough you were the target of their vindictive pranks. Always the butt of their insults and jokes, to others you'd think it simple sibling rivalry or tom foolery; what part in life does it say siblings were allowed to humiliate you for no reason other then for the sake of their own amusement. Oh how you wanted to just wanted to scream at them, tell them they were ugly....but that would be horrible. Not because they are your sisters but because of what they could do to you afterwards.

Your mother and father never did anything about the demeanor of your sisters, as a matter of fact sometimes your parents thought it was amusing at times. But as long as your sisters didn't do lasting damage to you they didn't care, how many times have you wanted to run away....you tried once but chickened out...you didn't want to get hurt...by anyone in your...so called family.

You didn't have friends to speak of, not even distant relatives that could help you. Your lovely Grandmama's and Grandpapa's on both sides of your family died leaving you alone, they were the only ones of this entire family who loved you...you knew this from the gifts they gave you before they all died. From your grandparents on your mothers side they secretly gave you dresses that were simple, never ornate or gaudy, perfect to play in. However on your father's side your grandparents gave you only one thing but you cherished it deeply, it was a pocket watch made of silver. Inside was a picture of your grandparents in their younger days....you loved it so much you hid it away in the only place your sisters or parents would never find it. A tiny cigar box tucked away in a secret passage in your closet where you hid everything you didn't want your sisters destroying or stealing.

....Though you say you didn't have any friends to speak of, that was a bit of a lie, you did have at least ONE friend. One you were eagerly awaiting...one who made you a promise, you met this stranger a while back when you found him passed out in the garden early one morning. The poor stranger was so weak and lost, you were the most merciful person in this family so naturally you had to help him. You helped him to his feet and using your body like a crutch lead him to your window, your room was on the ground floor; your window in direct view of the flower garden and its large hedge maze. So getting him to your closet and secret passage/hiding space was relatively easy.

You watched over him as best you could, sneaking away from your many lessons to sneak him food and water....this particular trip you made to your weary visitor he was conscious but somewhat dazed.

"Hello, glad to see your awake." You greeted, he turned to you.

"Where am I?" He asked.

"My home...well your in my secret hiding place in my home, sorry if its small...and dark...my parents would have thrown you back in the woods if they found you instead of me." You presented him with some bread, water and a few slices of cheese.

"You must be famished, you might wanna eat it all."

He only stared at the food, you tilted your head...was he not hungry? Maybe he wanted something different, perhaps he wasn't a fan of cheese. Taking the plate back your hand made contact with a nail jutting out of the wood work, it was a rather sharp nail...the cut was a tiny bit deep. You wince and held your hand close in your other one...you could feel the dripping in your hand.

"Ow ow ow....sorry I-!?"

The stranger was suddenly close to you, his eyes glowing a deep sunset orange..his mouth opened slightly as it dripped with saliva...you were frozen for a moment before reality hit you. The stranger wasn't human at all....looking down at your wound and then back at the stranger....fear was replaced again only with your merciful kindness...you lift your hand to him.

"I-If you need some....take what you need...its ok." You put on a brave smile, of course you were still a little shaken by what you now knew to be true...but you were a host to this weary traveler and you wanted to give him what he needed.

He took your hand and gently pulled it to his mouth, opening his mouth he hesitated..then turned to you. He stared at you for a moment before gently closing his mouth around your wounded hand and began to lap away at your blood. You winced feeling a slight sting from the wound but..other then that you felt nothing. He was drinking slowly at first....that is until you felt a halt in his feeding..you looked to see his eyes grew wider. You wondered what was wrong...before you could answer he bit down hard on your wound digging his fangs deep. You yelp a little and shake...but you kept your hand still, tears stung the back of your eyes.

He finally released you....you shiver violently as you pulled your hand back...looking down...the wound was gone?! You couldn't believe it, the wound was gone without a trace. The stranger was wiping his mouth clean, his once sleepy, drowsy nature was eradicated. He now looked far more alert, you escorted him back out into your room.

"The sun is setting soon but you should wait till the sun is completely down before heading out, just so-" you felt the stranger put a hand on your shoulder, you turn to him wondering if he was still weak....instead he was staring intently in your eyes before he spoke. "Little one, do you like your life here?"

You blink up at him...turning away your answer came out with no restraints to them. "No, everything you see here is nothing but a cheap attempt to keep me appeased. They belittle me, degrade me, parade me around like a stupid show pony or prized dog....if I could I'd abandon this place and let it rot!"

You shivered....you meant every word you said but at the same time you regretted uttering them, they were your family....a family that treated you with such disrespect....you felt your new friends hand on your shoulder....squeezing it gently.

He then asked you "Would you like to come live with me and my master instead?"

[One week later]

This was it...the night in question, the night where you'd leave this decrepit place and live with your new home. You sucessfully snuck out of your room with one suitcase filled with the gifts your grandparents gave you, a few dolls, a small writing set with stationary and lastly your silver pocket watch. You didn't have to worry about anyone checking up on you...they were to busy with the party supposedly being thrown in your honor. Despite it being for you, you weren't allowed to attended; an adult only party as your sisters and parents had said.

You had received instructions from your friend to walk to the edge of your family's property, there a carriage would come. You walked out, into the deep wooded area of your family's property. No lantern did you carry for the moon lit your way, it was only a crescent moon but it glowed as bright as if it was still in its full state. It took a fine bit of foot work to avoid the roots and rocks but you managed, you made it to the roadside. The carriage wasn't there yet...you stood there and waited. You pulled out your pocket watched and with the light of the moon checked the time...two minutes to midnight.

You watched the hands of the watch tick by...the final seconds and midnight would come. You counted down to the very time, when the longest hand landed perfectly atop the twelve you heard the church bell ring...and in the distance up the road a strange violet glow. It grew closer and closer...before long the violet glow came from lanterns atop a carriage...its wood as if carved from pitch blackness. Veils of poison colored lace hung around its windows, its door opened...out from it...stepped your friend....and his young lord.

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

Your eyes stung with fresh salty tears, oh stars how you wished the memories of your family would disappeared already; you wanted to erase these horrible thoughts.

"Human!"

You jump, blinking you looked around.....who...what....where on earth....oh thats right ...you were....you...you're in Muffet's Inn. Your body felt cold an was beading with sweat. A sharp sting came from your hand, looking down...your hands balled into two fists, clenched so tight your hands had turned white. Slowly your fingers unfurled..the tips of your fingernails were painted red...the inside of your hands were now sporting deep puncture wounds.

"Human are you alright?" Blue comes over to you and examines your hands...you whimper a little bit.

Your mind was washed in bad memories.....recalling every bad feeling you got all those years ago....you sniff...before you knew it your eyes turned into torrents of tears. You couldn't stop them...every horrible emotion felt over those years just came spilling out of your eyes.

"OH oh human don't cry shh shhhhhh." Blue threw his arms around you and cradled you, letting you cry your fill....you turn to look at Pap...

....His expression was dark, his ears were twitching...one of his folded legs was bouncing and his many, many tails...were all puffed up..each strand of fur standing at full attention. You could hear his teeth tapping the metal bit of his pipe....

"Wh-what happened....?" You softly asked yourself aloud...Blue answered you. "You dozed off telling us a story, we were about to just put you down in your futon when you started muttering something...you were shaking and doing all sorts of strange things. Then you started squeezing your fists, Pap said he smelled blood...so....I woke you up."

You look at your hands again...Blue took them back and proceeded to heal them. "It...must have been a stress dream..." you mutter.

"Maybe, if thats the case you should lay down and try to go back to sleep...weird suggestion I know but..." Blue gently laid you against the soft futon and proceeded to tuck you in. "Perhaps a proper sleep will do you some good."

Blue gently pushed the blanket around you to make sure you were safely tucked, you were so focused on you didn't notice Pap getting up...but you did feel his entire body flop down right next to you.

"Pappy you have your own bed!" Blue scolded him, but he turned and put his hand on you and gently rubbed your belly...Blue paused...then copied him only curling up next to you.

"Um...what are you doing?" You asked...they didn't answer instead Pap blew out the candles in the room and laid back down next to you.

He was facing you, his masked facing towards the ceiling...you were about to ask again when...you heard him humming. It was low at first but grew...it rumbled a little and shifted in its tone almost like a monk's prayer..like before your mind felt hazy...but unlike before you didn't smell the sweet tobacco...you shook your head refusing to be lulled. Then...he started whispering to you..softly.

"Your eyelids are getting heavy...like bags of sand their beginning to close, your body is filling with water staring from the tips of your toes up to your head...slowly...slowly."

Your body...was complying with what he was saying...your eyelids felt heavy and were closing..your body felt heavy..in...a good way....his voice began echoing in your head.

"There are no thoughts...nothing in your mind.....empty...empty....nothing but fog and haze...."

Your thoughts began to drift away, sailing on a imaginary ocean into a large fog....and....before you knew it....you were...asleep.

End

[Reminder Mythtale is made by @melle-d please check out her blog along with @mythtale for more, all other names belong to me]

[thehouseofsilverthorn]

Leaving Home

A Tale of the Early Life of Forosuul Silverthorn

Southeast Elwynn, Approximately 19 Years After the Dark Portal

“Mama, who’s that man Papa is talkin’ to?”

Emma Salter turned from her work in the kitchen to regard her son. He was tall for his age, standing a head taller than even his father, who was a tall man himself.  Of course, he also had palest blue skin and terrifically elongated ears. He was a foundling.  As always, when she recalled the day she discovered him, conflicting emotions warred within her. She felt a pang of regret for the boy’s birth mother, slain by what they would later learn were orcs invading from their savage homeland.  And to this day, she had no idea what exactly the boy was. He was like the elves far to the North in Quel’thalas, but not quite the same. Was he of some undiscovered race from an unknown land? Did he come here through some magical doorway like those horrible orcs? She sighed, thinking, It doesn’t really matter, does it?  He’s mine, and I love him as if I had borne him. 

“Mama?”

Shaken from her reverie, she smiled and answered, “I’m sorry, Goldie, I was woolgathering. Your father is talking to Jonah, his brother.”

Surprised, the boy replied, “His brother?  I’ve an uncle?  Why’ve I never met ‘im?”

Frowning slightly, Emma said, “Oh, my boy, your accent is just awful. You sound like you grew up in a barn.”

“I kinda did.”

Laughing, she retorted, “You grew up near a barn, not the same thing. You need to work on your pronunciation. If you talk like a bumpkin, that is all people are ever going to think of you.”

“Ok, Mama, I’ll work on it. So why’ve I never heard ‘o this uncle?”

Hesitating, Emma replied softly, “He doesn’t come around much.  He works for the King in Stormwind, travels a lot, you know.”

“Oh.  C’n I meet ‘im?

Wincing, she replied, “Ask your father if its all right.” The boy grinned and started to dash out the door, but was brought up short by his mother barking at him, “Ah ah! After he is done speaking. Keep your head down until then.”

Sulking, Goldie stomped out the door and back to his chores, simply saying, “Yes’m.”

“You let her call him ‘Goldie’?”

“Sure, an’ why not? He’s got eyes what glow gold from inside, all elf-like.”

Shaking his head,  Jonah Salter went on, “And why have I never heard about this foundling of yours?  Did you pick him up in the woods last week?”

“Nay, I pick’d ‘im up in the woods 19 years past.”

Blinking a few times, Jonah looked at his brother and asked incredulously, “I’ve been by at least four times in that span! Why am I just learning of him?”

Scowling, James met Jonah’s eye and said matter-of-factly, “‘Cos I kept ‘im hidden before. Same as I would’a this time if I’d known ye were comin’.”

“But why, James?”

“‘Cos, Jonah, I don’t need me son ‘earin’ yer tales of adventure fer the crown an’ runnin’ off int’a the blue.”

“Still don’t approve of my work, I see.”

“I approve of you doin’ it jus’ fine. Not my boy.”

Grunting, Jonah simply replied, “I’m not here recruiting, James.”

“Wouldn’t put is past ya.”

After speaking to his brother, Jonah Salter went for a walk.  He often needed to clear his head after talking to James. His older brother had always disliked his choice to leave the farm, and remained a steadfastly uneducated man of the soil. Speaking to him was infuriating.  He saw nothing beyond his tiny corner of Elwynn Forest.

Unbeknownst to Jonah - at least at first - he was followed.  Goldie had seen him stray off into the woods after his conversation with James, and quietly followed along, curious about the man. Goldie was unusually quiet for such a big boy. He had a natural knack for moving silently in the forest. Even so, before long Jonah, his instincts long since trained to detect danger, realized he was being followed. He began to try and see his shadow, to no avail.  Every time he thought he got a glimpse, there would be nothing there. Distracted by his efforts, he snagged his foot on the gnarly roots of an ancient oak, and went tumbling down a small hill. Coming to rest in a pile of leftover fall leaves at its base, he pushed himself up on his hands. Grumbling about his own clumsiness, he raised his head to spy a pair of booted feet not a handspan from his face. Raising his eyes, he looked into the startled face of his brother’s foundling son, his own nephew. Jonah’s first thought was, he got around in front of me! Sneaky little bugger! But that was soon wiped from his mind as the boy called Goldie leapt backwards into the shade of a nearby oak and simply vanished from sight.

Jonah blinked, shaking his head to clear it.  He was unsure of what he’d witnessed. The boy had been there, right in front of him. He hadn’t hit his head, he wasn’t seeing things. But there was no sign of him at all now. Summoning his training, Jonah held his breath, tried to isolate his senses and just listen. There was a slight wind that day, and he could hear it twisting through the tress, making the leaves rustle. Far off, a wolf could be heard to howl.  And there, just a few feet away, breathing. He couldn’t see anything, but the boy was there. His brother’s foundling could cloak himself in daylight.  It took men years to learn the skill, only the most dedicated could master it.

Incredible.

Speaking slowly and evenly, Jonah called out, “I saw you, son.  Your name’s Goldie, right? I’m your father’s brother.  I’m your Uncle Jonah.”

From the space in the shade of the oak came the whispered words, “Aye. I saw ye talkin’ to my Papa.”

Grimacing slightly, Jonah replied, “Well, you speak like he does. Too bad you didn’t get your mother’s habit there.”

“Nuthin’ wrong with my speakin’,” came the defensive reply.

“Yes, well, there’s those that would disagree.  Let me see you, son.  I won’t hurt you.” Before his eyes the boy faded into view, seeming to coalesce from the shadows beneath the tree.

“Cain’t hurt me.  Cain’t even ketch me, old man.”

Chuckling, Jonah retorted, “You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you? Your mother’s sass and your father’s brains, looks like.”

“Ain’t nuthin’ wrong with my Papa!”

“Of course not.  He’s my brother, isn’t he? Come here, son, let me look at you.” Slowly, warily, the boy stepped into the light. James had been right, he looked elf-ish, except not. His skin was a very pale blue-violet, and the ears!  Light preserve me, thought Jonah, any lord of Silvermoon would kill for a set of ears like that. They were long, nearly twice as long as the high elves Jonah had met, and they swept back like the horns of a goat. The boy was tall, taller then any man would be, and any elf, for that matter.

Warily, Jonah asked, “How’d you do that vanishing act, boy?”

Goldie shrugged, said, “Always been able ta,”

Thinking a moment, Jonah spoke a high elf greeting, “Baladash Malanore?”

Goldie just gawked at him a moment then laughed, saying, “An’ ye says I talk bad!  That were just gibbers!”

Worth a shot, thought Jonah, but he simply said, “I was speaking the elvish language, boy. Anyone ever tell you that you look a bit elf-like?”

“Aye, neighbors always givin’ me guff o’er it.”

“Yes, well, simple folk don’t deal kindly with the unknown.”

“Ah’m simple folk!”

Laughing, Jonah retorted, “Your father is simple folk, that’s for certain. Your mother, less so.  You?  That’s for you to decide.”

“What’n fel’s that s’posed ta mean?”

“I’ll explain another time.  Let’s get back.  Your father will think I’ve stolen you.” Confused, the boy made to protest, but stopped himself at Jonah’s stern look. Together, they walked back through the forest towards Goldie’s home.

Many hours later, an argument was raging at the Salter farmhouse.  One that had been going for some time.

“He needs to be trained,  Jimmy!”

“Says who? I knew you was up to no good, ye bast’rd! Git out ma home!”

“Damnit, James, listen to me,” cried Jonah with exasperation, “You cannot hide him forever!”

“Done good so fer.”

Slumping in near-defeat, Jonah, grudgingly admitted, “You have, James, to your credit. But it won’t last.  Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Don’t see nuthin’ need spellin’”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Jonah said irritably. “He is unique, Jimmy. And he has inborn abilities, perhaps mystical in nature.”

“He c’n hide, s’what?”

“He can disappear, you stubborn old goat!” At this Jonah thumped his hand flat on the table.

Upstairs, Goldie hunched in a corner, looking scared.  His mother walked over and stroked his brow, trying to calm him. “Don’t worry, my little one. Everything will be all right. They’ve always fought a lot.”

“Ain’t li’l no more, ma.”

Smiling, Emma Salter said gently, “Oh my boy, whatever happens to you, whatever you do. No matter how many years pass or where your path takes you, when you come home, you will be my little boy.” Goldie looked embarrassed but still comforted at her words. He smiled up at her weakly and seemed to relax. She handed him a small slate, saying, “Here, work on your letters.  I have a feeling you are going to need them.”

“We ain’t havin’ this talk no more, Jonah.  He’s my boy an…”

“Enough!”  Jonah slapped the table again, fed up with his brother’s short-sightedness. “If you won’t look past your own nose, I’ll show you what’s in store, Jonah. Your little farm is not many leagues off from the north reach of Stranglethorn. And let’s not forget the Black Morass to the east. You may feel safe in your little corner of the world, but creeping all around the edges are troll and goblin slavers, trying to find interesting new attractions for their gladiatorial arenas. You know what is interesting, Jonah? Unknown blue elf-people who can disappear!”

James looked at his brother with frank hostility, muttering only. “Ye son of a bitch…”

“Nice way of talking about our mother.”

“She was as ‘shamed of ye as I am at the end.”

Gritting his teeth, Jonah only said, “That’s as may be. I am not here to argue about my own choices. I am trying to protect your son.  If he is trained, he can look out for himself.”

Scowling, James replied, “And do li’l favors fer the crown, aye?”

“That would be for him to decide, Jimmy. You have my word, he won’t get drafted in. Let me have him for two years. He’ll be trained, and educated. Then he can come home and decide for himself what he is going to do after.” James Salter eyed his brother suspiciously, but deep down he knew Jonah was right.

“Damn you,” James muttered.

Upstairs, mother and son noticed that the yelling had stopped. Looking towards the stairs, Goldie asked, “Think all’s clear, ma?”

Emma, her voice tight, answered, “It looks that way, little one.” Inside, she was weeping, she knew this day would come, but hoped she’d have more time.

“C’n I go down?”

Shaking her head, she replied, “No, Goldie. Go get that rucksack you keep by your bed, and put a couple of changes of clothes in it.”

“What fer?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning.  Do as your told, boy.” Goldie moved to obey, he knew his mother meant business when she called him “boy”.

The next morning, a confused Goldie sat in a wagon with a rucksack over his shoulder. He’d awakened to learn he was going off with his uncle for some reason. He’d asked to stay, he practically begged. He hugged on his mother and cried like a child. She wiped his tears and told him it would be all right, he could come visit, and this was for his own good. So he sulked in the wagon, awaiting his fate. He never disobeyed his mother.

James Salter glared at his brother as Jonah made ready to depart. “Ye’ll look after him?” 

“You have my word, James. No harm will come to him. He’ll come visit regularly, I promise you.”

“This be one promise ye better keep, Jonah.”

Sighing, Jonah nodded, “I will.” He nodded at the teary-eyed Emma and turned without another word. He walked over to his wagon and hauled himself up to the driver’s seat. Gazing down at Goldie, he said, “Don’t look so glum, boy.  Stormwind is like nothing you’ve seen.” With that he cracked his whip and the horses started moving. Goldie looked back at his mother and father, tears in his eyes.

It would be far longer than 2 years before he would return.

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again (Collins Fic Pt 1)

Got a real bee in my bonnet to write for Collins. The events are all set after the events of the movie. There will be romance of course but mostly angst. I was writing this on the anniversary of my Dad and sisters deaths so its coming from a pretty dark place. That should be taken as fair warning. My great uncle was an RAF pilot during WW2 so some of what I’m getting is stories from his letters home. (He was shot down in July of 41)

Descriptions of battle and bombings.

Special thanks to @tomgcsglasses and @deathbylowden for talking me through such a crappy week.

This is looking to be a 4 part series.

I listened to ALOT of Vera Lynn and the Andrews Sisters while writing this. Particularly We’ll Meet Again and It Hurts to Say Goodbye.

FIC MASTERLIST

The sirens woke you, the terrifying screech and wail of them inspiring paralyzing dread. There had been drills, of course. Ever since the Dunkirk fiasco you had all be trained in what to do when the time came.

You felt cold as you jumped out of bed, pushing your feet into the shoes you kept by the bed for this very purpose. It had been strongly suggested that you sleep either clothed or in men’s pyjamas, all the women in the boarding house had been told this, but as far as you knew, very few of the shrinking violets you shared the house with could bear the thought.

More fool them, you thought as you pulled a man’s overcoat over your pyjamas and grabbed the leather case from beside the door. Everything you cared about in the world was inside it, anything else could burn.

The hallway outside your room was chaos, but much less than you had feared. A few girls cried and looked around in confusion, but most of them were simply walking toward the stairs, the fear and urgency thick in the air. You made it to the first floor quickly and out into the street. People were everywhere, the sirens screeching around you and for a brief moment you felt the panic rising in your throat.

The darkness seemed oppressive as you hurried your way to your designated air raid shelter, the barrage balloons and their almost sinister hissing mixing with the sirens and terrified voices in a cacophony of menace and terror.

But at least the streets had air.

The tube station that you descended into was hot with stale air and the press of bodies. Men and women with Red Cross insignias were busy directing people to cots and blankets, stations with bread and jam, and of course tea.

You chuckled to yourself at the sight. Never had you seen anything more british than hot tea being served in underground tunnels while bombs were being dropped on the city overhead. Only if they stopped serving tea would you know that the british Empire was truly doomed.

“Y/N!”

You heard a call from the far corner of the station and saw a group of women from the factory you worked at.

“Here, we saved you a spot.” You sat on a cot gratefully, propping your case by your feet as you sipped your tea.

The first time the walls shuddered, you almost didn’t notice it, but you did feel the sudden change in the air. The second one was certainly noticed and a few people screamed as dirt tricked from the ceiling as the whole area shuddered.

“God, they’re really doing it, aren’t they?” Dolores whispered.

“It was inevitable, after Dunkirk, the Jerrys are sure they have us on the run.” Margot pointed out.

“They came close.” you murmured. “They almost broke us.”

“But they didn’t.” Della smiled. “We got our boys home and we’ll keep fighting. Hitler will never win.”

“What does that man of yours have to say about it, Y/N?”

“He’s not ‘my man’ “ you huffed. “And he can’t say anything about it, they aren’t allowed to.”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t though.” Dolores said meaningfully.

“All he said was that they were sure Britain was going to be bombarded and that we should be prepared.”

“Is this the pilot who writes to you?” This from Violet, the youngest at 17, her beau off fighting in the French trenches.

You nodded in the affirmative, noticing the dark look that Margot was sending you all.

“I told you that was a mistake Y/N. You can’t get attached to any of them.”

“I’m not attached, Margot, he just wanted a friend, that’s all.”

“I’ll bet you a quid you have all his letters in that case right there, full of the things you can’t live without.”

You flushed, knowing she was right.

“He’s only written a few letters Margot. These boys just need to know that there’s people at home rooting for them to make it.”

“And when they don’t make it? What happens then? To those letters and your heart? How are you going to survive if he doesn’t come home?”

“Margot!”

“No, Della, its ok. Margot, I understand. To me it’s worth it, he has no one else, I couldn’t let him go back to war without someone to hold onto. Besides, you didn’t see his face when he walked off that boat.”

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Margot whispered, moving off to get some tea.

“What’s her deal then?” Violet hissed.

“Her man didn’t make it home, his ship was sunk in January. She got his last letter a few days after she got the news.”

“Oh.”

There was silence as you all thought of your loved ones. Dolores’ son was High Command and safe, but the decisions he had to make were eating him alive. Della had sent her kids to her parent’s farm in Wales for safety and she missed them like crazy. Violet’s sweetheart was in constant danger and her fear for him showed on her face, no matter how much she smiled.

You’d had no one to worry for, not really. Acquaintances, the men of women you knew.

Until Dunkirk. Until Collins.

Leaning back on your cot you wrapped an arm around Vi as she whimpered, each bomb strike raining dirt down on the masses huddled in the hole. Your thoughts wandered to that night, only a few months ago when all the boats had docked, carrying the weary soldiers from that beach. You would never forget the eerie silence as they all trudged toward the waiting trains, collecting blankets and food for the rest of their journey.  All their eyes were haunted, the horrors they had witnesses something you couldn’t even comprehend.

Then you had seen him, standing on the dock beside the Moonstone, watching as a body was brought off on a stretcher. His blonde hair was shock bright against the dingy green and brown of the soldiers around him, the yellow of his life vest and blue RAF uniform marking him as different from the rest.

“Where the bloody hell were you?” a soldier yelled at him and he winced, his face that of a man who carried the weight of the world.

“They know where you were son.” A civilian, the captain of the boat gestured to the group now disembarking.

You watched the blonde man nod wearily before turning away.

He looked lost, broken and unbearably young.

The blankets your group were handing out went quickly, to soldiers, boys mostly, with blank stares walking past you in a daze. Nothing was said, it didn’t need to be. What could anyone say to them that would make any of it alright?

The RAF man still stood in the same spot, looking around without really seeing.

The lorry you had driven from London sat behind you, your friend Margot had been frantic to be here when the boats landed and the 3 hour journey had been easy enough. Your factory owner had offered the blankets and there were few men left in London who really drove anymore. The drive home was going to be a lot more difficult, exhaustion and the sheer sadness of what you were witnessing was weighing heavily on you. Perhaps you could take Margot’s parents up on their offer of a room for the night.

“Hey! Anyone got transport to London? Got a lad here needs taken to RAF Uxbridge.”

“I have a lorry!” you called out instantly, knowing that all the supplies had been unloaded.

The Captain of the Moonstone walked over to you, the young man shuffling far behind him.

“Thank you Miss, no one else here came from London or there’s nothing else available. The trains are taking the other men to the North.”

“It’s not a thing, I’m glad to help out.”

There was a blanket on the table still and you snatched it as you walked past.

“Margot, I’m taking this man to Uxbridge. Do you want to come with me now or stay with your parents?”

“I’m staying on here a few days. Be safe though, ok. Give the poor bastard some of this.” she pulled a flask from her garter. “I’m done with it for today.”

You shared a look of understanding before turning toward your truck. The man stood there, head down as he shuffled his boots in the gravel.

“Hi there.” You said gently as you approached. “I’m Y/N, I’m going to drive you back to the base.”

“Collins.” he stuck out a hand awkwardly for you to shake. “Can ye tell me…..are there any more boats?”

You remembered the way he’d stood, watching as the soldiers milled past. He was looking for someone.

“No, there’s no more.” If possible, he looked even sadder and you had to take a breath to calm the break in your voice. “There were some that landed at Southampton I heard.”

You tried to sound hopeful, but you knew the chances of him finding what he was looking for were slim.

In silence you both got in the lorry, Collins wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and taking a long swallow of the whiskey. As you drove out of Weymouth you wanted to say something, anything but Collins had fallen asleep against the window, his face boyish and astonishingly handsome at rest. He couldn’t be any more than 20, if that, same as you. To have gone through so much so young….you felt anger, anger at the war and at the countries who sacrificed boys to fight and die for them.

Dawn was breaking when Collins woke up with a start, blue eyes darting about for a few moments before reality hit. He let out a breath, looking at you.

“So it really happened?”

“Yes.” you murmured.

“Was hopin, ye know, tha maybe it was just a bad dream.” “I wish it had been.”

“I couldna help them, there was so little time. And then….” he broke off, biting his bottom lip. “I shoulda done more.”

“You did the best you could, all of you and that was enough. You made it home.”

“No all of us.”

“Your friend? The one you were looking for at the harbour?”

“Farrier. Flew wi’ me, trained me up.”

He told you the story then, of the fighting over the channel, of getting shot down, his rescue and the knowledge that Farrier saving their lives had left him unable to make it back across. You were crying by the end of it, unconcerned with the tears streaming down your cheeks. Neither of you could say what you were both thinking - that Farrier was very likely dead.

“Can ye stop fer a minute?”

You pulled the lorry off the road beside a paddock of late spring wildflowers. Collins walked behind some trees and reappeared a few minutes later standing in the center of the flowers, his combat uniform so out of place with the beauty of the sunrise. The ugliness of war juxtaposed with such a demonstration of life. You saw hope, standing in that paddock, hope and possibility, and the end of these horrors.

Your face had been wiped clean when Collins climbed back into the truck, but your eyes were red and puffy and you knew you were pale a drawn from exhaustion.

“Donnae cry lass, in this war once ye start ye’ll never stop. Let a lad fresh home from the front enjoy the smile of a pretty girl.”

He smiled at you then and you felt your heart thud into your feet. Collins’ smile was one that simply lit him up and you felt your lips spread in response.

“There ye go. There’s too much ugly in the world now, man needs some beauty from time te time.”

The base at Uxbridge was only a few kilometers away when you asked Collins about his family. Once he got to talking there was no stopping him. He was a man who loved his parents and had seen nothing outside the Scottish borders and the Highlands until he’d volunteered.

You were discovering that you genuinely liked him, and not because you felt bad for him.

“Would ye mind if I wrote to ye?” he said, as you pulled up to the gates. “I cannae burden me ma and da wi any of this, they worry so much already. Would ye maybe write me back, about everyday things so I donnae feel so out o touch?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. You took the pencil and paper from the middle seat and wrote down your address, tearing off a piece so he could do the same.

“Ye promise, right? Ye promise that ye’ll write to me.”

“I promise. I’ll start tonight.”

You watched him walk through the gates, turning to wave before he was met and escorted away.

You kept your promise.

The sound of a bomb falling close by startled you from your memories. Vi still lay beside you and Margot now sat at the foot of your cot.

“Forget what I said ok. You hold onto every moment, every memory. It’s worth it.”

Tears pricking at your eyes, you reached out and pulled Margot to you, the three of you holding one another, united in the grief and fear you felt for the men you loved.

[oops-my-fingers-slipped]

Finish the Story (Part 1)

Author: Admin Lex Characters: BTS + you Pairing: Namjoon X Reader X Taehyung Genres: Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, Romance POV: First Person + Taehyung POV Description:
You offered to help Namjoon refurbish his old bookshop and in the process you find a peculiar book. Unknowingly, you end up diving head-first into a world of ink and parchment unlike your own. There, you meet a boy trapped in the bindings of literature and your life changes forever. I was followed into the bookshop by quarrels of Autumn’s leaves and the North Wind’s children dancing away with ribbons of my hair. The shop’s wooden door swung closed, shutting out the world outside but kept hundreds preserved in the room before me. Though tall oak bookshelves lined every wall of the store, thousands of books piled up in precarious stacks rising almost to the ceiling. Blinding rays of sun from the sky-light windows struck the mountains of literature and illuminated the specks of dust orbiting the air. In the back left corner sprouted an Acacia tree, coiling itself around a wooden beam, spiraling upwards towards the roof windows. It’s sunset-colored leaves joyfully basked in the sun amitting from the glass. However stunning the tree appeared, dead leaves from previous seasons decorated the floor and crunched beneath my leather boots as I approached the front desk.
Noticing no one behind the counter, I began to call, “Nam-” before a heavy thud sounded from under the polished wood followed by a muttered curse. Surely enough, Namjoon emerged from under the desk, scratching his head of lilac-purple hair with a pained look on his face. I failed to restrain a loud chuckle that bubbled up from my diaphragm. Namjoon rolled his eyes and deadpanned, “Ha ha, very funny.” He eyed the four books enveloped in my arms and continued, “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Don’t tell me you finished them already.”
I smirked and replied, “I hate to break it to you but I’m only 3 more books away from beating your record of 16 in a month! You better step up your game. You’re getting your ass kicked by a sophomore.” I plopped the small stack of books down onto the counter and Namjoon slid the nearest one on its side, scanning the bar code suck to its spine. A curt “beep” was heard as each novel touched the device. “Well excuse me for having an entire bookstore to manage while you have all the free time to read in the world. Unlike you, I have responsibilities to handle and customers to deal with.” 
I looked around the shop, noticing how devoid of business it was.
“What customers?”
“You.”
The comment was meant to be sarcastic but a little pit of pity bloomed in my heart, knowing that I, in fact, was one of his only customers. I decided right then and there that I would no longer be the only one who’s footsteps echoed through this building every day, but rather the silence to be filled by constant turning of pages and friendly chatter about new releases. He needed customers and that’s exactly what he would get. “That’s exactly my point! I am your only regular client but”, I lowered my voice for emphasis, “that is about to change.”
Namjoon lifted his head, temporarily distracted from his task. “You’re so dramatic. Besides, I’m managing this place just fine without your help.”
I sighed and tried a different approach. “Uh-huh, if ‘managing a bookstore’ includes not picking up after your tree -heaven knows why you even have a tree in a bookstore-, not organizing your shelves, and there are so many dust clouds in here I can barely see three feet in front of me.”
I may have exaggerated a tad but I wasn’t necessarily wrong either. And he knew it. The roots of the tree had started to lift some of the floorboards and weave itself through the infrastructure. Eventually, the more damage the Acacia caused, the more it would cost to repair it and with no steady income, where would Namjoon find the funds to pay the fees? His predicament was challenging, to say the least.
I already made my point loud and clear so my voice softened a bit when I proposed, “Ya’ know I could help out around here if you’d like? For free, at least until you gain enough business.”
He scoffed at my offer, seeming unfazed by my my bluntness and challenged, “Do you honestly think you could handle this monstrosity?” Namjoon drummed his fingers against the table-top, obviously amused at my proposition.
Did he know something I didn’t? Probably.
Ignoring the thought, I lifted my chin high and said, “Challenge accepted. When do I start?” “Now.”
•~• It’s been three days and we’ve hardly made a dent in transporting every book to the back storage. Namjoon’s plan was to clear the shop of the literature temporarily until the interior was complete and restock the shelves later. So we began with the cities of stacked books towering over ten feet….
It was a start.
A very slow, gradual start. And the finish line seemed light years away.
The “free time” Namjoon claimed I had was nonexistent, now occupied by long hours of organizing and sorting through endless amounts of novels. The more days that flew by, the more our hard work progressed and the prouder we became. The time after school to long after dark were spent in the soon-to-be-bookstore with only each other as company.
I’ve always thought of Namjoon as ‘the purple-haired dude who runs my favorite bookstore’, that is, until he quickly became the person I spent the most time socializing with. The long nickname shortened when I began to refer to him as a newfound friend. It was almost impossible not to grow this fond of him when we worked together striving toward the same goal, not to mention the shared tastes in books and writing. His company kept the boredom at bay when working and though I wouldn’t dare admit it, I started to look forward to our extended conversations, unpopular theories, or book recommendations. To put it simply, maybe fixing up this old outdated bookstore would blossom both the business of the company and our overall relationship.
Due to Namjoon’s undeniable whit, we eventually developed shifts where every few hours we would switch off between finishing up schoolwork and progressing the bookshop. The system deemed itself very effective, as we both managed to maintain our spotless GPAs.
This particular night, I sorted books sat on the newly-swept hardwood floor, the moon’s silver shadow casted down from the skylight windows cloaking my hands as I worked. Tonight seemed like a regular evening until I reached for another novel, expecting a smooth book jacket to meet my fingertips but, instead, felt the velvet fabric of a book unlike any other. My eyes landed upon a hard-cover book wrapped delicately in crimson-red velvet. The title glistened a radiant gold and read: Finish the Story. I explored its exterior, searching for an author’s name but none was found. I also noticed how the spine didn’t posses a bar code stuck to its back.
Hmm, that’s odd. Maybe this is one from Nam’s personal collection…
The spine cracked as I opened the cover to reveal the title page, which was decorated in florals of bright scarlet roses sprouting thorns of gold. The blooms of flowers dripped black ink from their buds. The artwork was absolutely, positively marvelous and don’t get me wrong, I’m not an artist but the time and effort to paint this must have taken decades. I admired it a few more seconds before forcing myself to flip to the first chapter.
Compared to the art coating the title page, the chapter page seemed mundane. Regular script ran from one side to the next just any other book. Still a bit skeptical about the art, I turned a single page and sure enough, I gaped in awe at the scene that beheld me.
Another picture enraptured my attention. A glowing castle made entirely out of bronze nails and plates loomed over rolling hills of ruby red poppies, making it appear aflame. The sky was painted with varieties of violets, dark blues, and indigos. The two color schemes clashed with one another so perfectly, I almost didn’t notice the lone fox that parted the poppy fields curving in the direction of the palace. The animal’s head turned towards the corner of the page, almost looking…. angry? I followed its eyes over to the bottom left corner where a man sat back looking up at the sky, his neck craning so eager to touch the indigo painted stars. He looked so carelessly free while the fox’s eyebrows furrowed in irritation.
I let a little giggle escape at the bit of absurdity.
What a peculiar sight!
Suddenly, my eyes darted back to the man sitting at the corner of the page, catching a glimpse of movement. To my surprise, he no longer looked up at the sky but instead stared right at me, one ebony eye charmingly winked.
Huh?!?
I wasted no time slamming the book shut.
Ok, it’s official. I’m going completely insane. Maybe these long work hours are getting to me. Yeah, that’s probably it. Right?
However I may try to convince myself that I hallucinated what I saw… I couldn’t help but wish that it hadn’t been my imagination and that something incredible was about to happen. But that’s ridiculous.
Even so, I still found myself placing the book in my bag, swinging it over my shoulder, and briskly began walking down the street to my apartment. •~•
“Ouch! Hey!”
Taehyung flew backwards from the impact of his book rudely being slammed shut. His face was now thinly coated in yellow pollen from the poppy field. It tickled his nose, forcing a sneeze to rip out from his nostrils. “Aachoo!”
The fox bounded over the sea of red and gold to stand before Taehyung, a disapproving growl hummed from his throat.
“You didn’t get to your position on time! And to make matters worse you moved, you moved. This was our first reader in ages and you had to go ahead and blow it!”
Taehyung ran his nimble fingers through his hair, ready to sit through another lecture about how to always stand statue-still when a new reader opens their story. “Ah, I’m sorry Jin. We just haven’t had a reader in forever and I thought it might be entertaining to mess with them a bit.”
He stood up as a small smile carved itself across his features.
Jin flicked his tail, not taking this for a valid excuse. “As funny as that was, next time please do your job as I’m sure Yoongi and the others are doing just fine. Try learning a thing or two from their excellent example.”
Taehyung raised his eyebrows slightly and giggled at the memory of his companions, “Last time I saw them, Kookie and Jimin were playing frisbee with the moon on page 84 and got it stuck in a palm tree. Your right, they are great exam-”
The fox bolted to the end of the page and glanced back at the man, warning him about his job as a book character one last time before he leapt through the pages, stopping on page 84, solving yet another problem.
Sighing, Taehyung plopped back down into the poppy pillows growing around him and peered up at where the reader’s face would usually gaze from. He wondered if the new visitor would open the book again. She was quite interesting, after all. Then again, all the readers were. Each one completely different from the last. Each one more exiting, new, and exotic. Each one, you know not trapped in a book like him and the other characters were. Each one free.
Taehyung knew that it was dangerous to be hopeful, to wish that the girl opened the book again. Because, well, after the little stunt he pulled today she will most likely not. But the little tug on his heart told him that maybe, just maybe she would investigate his book again. The way her eyes glittered and flew from one page to the next gave him the impression that she was a bit too curious for her own good. But, no these thoughts had no place consuming his head. He shut them out and instead focused on the stars above, daring to pretend they were her eyes.