#we are at 7k words for chapter 5 of liar liar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imissjoongsmullet · 4 years

Text

My Prince (5)

Pairing: Minghao x reader

Genre: fluff/(angst)

Summary: Life is not exactly easy being the royal gardeners’ daughter but at least it’s simple. When you’re suddenly called upon to serve as the prince’s personal servant, things get a little more than complicated, especially considering the secret history you and the prince share.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Warnings: general angstiness, a bit of a slow burn, very romantic, very soft, the fact that this will most likely become a long series cause I have no chill

Word Count: 7K

Author’s Note: this is long overdue but also, this is just long! I just couldn’t stop writing and so now this chapter is 7K so yeah ENJOY!! ✌️

Let me know what you think, good or bad, I love the feedback ♥

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Fine.

Those last words he'd said to you kept playing in your mind the following days. Technically he'd said other words since but they'd been cloaked in formalities; commands from a prince to a servant, nothing more. You'd really screwed up this time, you'd lost him forever. It was a thing you'd known would happen from the start but that didn't soften the pain now festering in your chest.

Minghao had met with Zhong Mei, as he had supposed to that day. He'd been a perfect picture of royalty, graceful and pleasant; and she'd been lovely as she always was, smiling all the way through the meal. Meanwhile you had stood flanking the wall with Tou Ma, trying to keep your tears from spilling over. You'd kept your eyes down, counting the colorful mosaics that threaded the shiny black flooring until the whole thing was over.

Not that any of it was over of course.

After the prince and his bride's first official meeting, the two were ushered out into the gardens to "spend some time alone" while you helped Tou Ma with a another seemingly endless string of wedding-related tasks.

Slowly but surely your body reverted to autopilot, working your hands raw and your legs sore. You barely realized you were spacing out until at last, you lied down in your sheets on the floor of the maid's quarters and cried. You cried and cried in stuttered silence, praying the sun would not come up again. You didn't know how you'd face another day. You thought about feigning illness but knew Tou Ma would not be so easily fooled.

“You’ll be out in the gardens today,” the head maid explained with a weary expression. This whole wedding business seemed to have taken a toll on the old woman as well. “Floral arrangements need to be decided on and I need you to oversee the whole thing gets done in time. Can I trust you with that?”

Your head bobbed up and down faster than was polite. A rush charged through your chest at the idea of spending time with the flowers. Despite your frequent complaining as a gardener, you’d always enjoyed taking care of the vivid, fragrant plants that grew in the royal gardens. But more than that, you knew what this request must mean.

“Mother!” you cried, breaking out into a run. She looked older and shorter somehow, but her embrace was as tight as ever.

Of course, your parents would be working on the flower arrangements as well.

“Look at you!” she said, holding your face in her dirt-stained hands, “my daughter, a real part of the castle.”

Overwhelmed with grief for the life you’d left behind, a sob welled up from the back of your throat but before it could break free into the morning air, Tou Ma interrupted.

“There is lots of work to be done so we better start at once,” she said matter-of-factly, unrolling a long piece of parchment, “I have sat down with both the royal family and the Zhong family respectively and decided on a theme and color scheme for the celebration. I have listed all requirements specifically. The types, the arrangements, the placements, all of it has been meticulously planned.” She then turned her head your way. “I’m leaving you in charge of making sure everything is accounted for on the day. This is a big task, but regrettably, I am far too busy taking care of everything else to take this on as well. And you are the gardener’s daughter, after all. Do not disappoint me.” With another one of her stern looks, she handed you the scroll, gave a curt bow to your parents and walked away.

Now this was a task you were up for. You gazed around you, at the stretches of colorful flowers that ran as far as the eye could see. There were rows and rows of chrysanthemums that spawned in colorful formations, bushes of peonies flanking cobbled pathways, a whole field of the most delicious-smelling lavender, lilies and azaleas and roses and narcissus flowers and you felt all at once, at home. For a moment you seemed to forget the prince and your feelings. It was like a giant slimy toad had just slipped right off of your shoulders, leaving you feeling light as air.

Looking over the list, you were up for quite the challenge. The sheer amount of flowers that would need to be harvested for this event, on such short notice, was startling. But with the help of your parents and their staff, you were confident you’d be able to pull it off. You spent the whole morning and most of the afternoon rushing from one end of the garden to the other, figuring out which plants would be needed, when they’d need to be cut and who would craft what particular piece. It was a little strange, being in charge when all the gardeners were quite a bit older and definitely more experienced than you, but your parents kept encouraging you whenever you stuttered.

“I’m so proud of you,” your mother said as you both sat down for a rest underneath a pine tree on a hill overlooking the garden. She pulled out a packed lunch for the both of you: rice wrapped in bamboo leaves with plum fillings.

“Mother,” you sighed, not knowing how to react. You felt like a fraud. You weren’t what she thought you’d become at the castle. You weren’t some high-standing servant, near and dear to the king and queen. You were a screwup. You’d caused so much trouble since your arrival at the castle you were quite frankly surprised you hadn’t been banished yet.

You could see most of the royal gardens from here; well, the most beautiful parts anyways. There was almost no one out there today. Everyone was most likely busy preparing for the wedding except—

Minghao was strolling through the rose garden ways away from the hill you were sitting. You could see him clearly, his upper body sticking out over the bushes. Zhong Mei was beside him, wearing a white robe with some sort of lilac pattern on it. You couldn’t see the expression on their faces but the close vicinity with which they walked by each other made your stomach turn upside down. Your eyes followed the two figures until their path ventured right and a large chestnut tree obscured your view.

“Let’s just keep working,” you said, getting up as you folded your lunch back closed and slid it in your pocket.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, child.” Your mother’s voice hadn’t changed at all, croaky like a frog but filled with warmth.

You kept your back turned to her, hugging yourself close.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“My little flower,” her voice came from behind and you felt a hand land on your shoulder, “something is bothering you.”

“I’m fine.”

She chuckled at that. “Liar. I can tell by the way your shoulders hunch,” she said, turning you around to face her, “and look, your eyebrows are all droopy.”

You shook your head. “First of all, that doesn’t make any sense and besides, I don’t want to talk about it.” You knew at once it had been a vain attempt to fend off the stubborn woman. You watched her heave a deep sigh. She was shorter than you but somehow always managed to make you feel like a baby. Her wrinkled eyes scanned your face quizzically for a few seconds before her lips curled into a knowing grin.

“You need to let go, flower,” she said, poking you in the chest with a dirty finger.

You stared at her incredulously. “Let what go?”

The old woman rolled her eyes, smiling still. “Whatever it is that’s causing all of this good-for-nothing heartache!” She patted you on both shoulders. “Go on, away with it!”

A tiny smile crept its way onto your face. “It’s not that easy.”

Your mother sighed deeply once more and turned to look out over the gardens and the castle.

“I know, dear,” she said, “the castle comes with complications these gardens could never carry. That’s why me and your father stay out here, between the fruits and the flowers. You on the other hand,” she went on, turning back to you and taking your hand, “you have some reason for staying at the castle, no?”

Your face burned at the words. You didn’t know what exactly your mother was implying but the way her deep eyes bore into yours now made you feel awfully exposed.

“You can always come back to us, of course,” your mother explained further, squeezing your hand, “but if your heart lies no longer here—”

“It doesn’t matter where my heart lies,” you cut in, taking a step back, “how I feel doesn’t matter.”

Your mother’s eyes creased as they filled with something you hated to see. Was it pity? Understanding? Whatever, you didn’t need any of it. For the smallest of moments you’d thought your problems might be solved with some wise parental advice but that had clearly been a child’s thinking. This problem didn’t have solving. You just had to learn to live with the fact that Minghao was gone forever and he’d never look at you the way he had that night under the orange trees. He’d never smile at you the way he had when he taught you how to read, he’d never touch you the way he had that evening in his chambers— or even— you couldn’t bear remembering his kiss. It was too much. It should haver have happened.

“Let’s just keep going, please,” you said at last, keeping your eyes on the grass between your feet.

The rest of the day went by like a tidal wave. In a matter of hours, you’d crossed the whole of the gardens at least half a dozen times, hauling around heavy equipment, making lists, delegating tasks and making stupid amounts of mini mock-ups of the flower pieces Tou Ma had asked for. By the time you entered the castle, you were so exhausted you thought you might just crash in a closet on the way to your room. The hustle and bustle inside the castle walls had died down as well. Aside from the occasional servant, the dark hallways were deserted and quiet. Yawning freely, you shuffled your way through them, only to get startled by the sudden noise not so far away.

“Silence, son,” a voice whispered irritably, “the castle is asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hao.

Without thinking, you approached a door you’d passed before. You didn’t know what lay behind it, only that, right now, it was being occupied by the emperor and his son, prince Minghao.

“You’ve heard by now the protests haven’t seized I assume. We’re losing not only the Shingmin people but all the highlands. I have tried to protect you from your destiny for far too long I’m afraid.”

There was a long pause. You felt the pain of it right through the wood of the door.

“My son,” the emperor added wearily, “I did not want to leave this country to you on the brink of war. But the season of peace has run out. You are young and overly frivolous at times but we must believe you are capable. It is time to stop thinking about yourself and take on the responsibility you’ve always known was yours to take on. You have the power to free us all. Your legend will be told for centuries to come.”

“My legend,” Minghao spoke at last. His voice was dry and void of emotion. You wanted to go to him. You wanted to help but you didn’t know how.

Krrrr

The floorboard creaked under your feet as you’d subconsciously leaned in closer to the door. There was no way they hadn’t heard that. You pushed away from the door and set off at a run, heart racing, all the way to the maid’s quarters.

Your covers were warm and your eyelids heavy but regardless, you couldn’t seem to find your way to sleep. You tossed and turned until you were sure your hair would be a rat’s nest the following morning. Your body was lying on the floor, between dozens of happily snoozing servants, but your mind was still at that door, listening in. You knew Minghao wouldn’t appreciate it but you felt sorry for him. The weight resting on his shoulders was colossal compared to the slimy toad that tended to bother yours. His legend was beyond famous. Every person in Namin knew it like they knew the color of the sky. Every person in Namin was counting on him. You could tell by the way they looked at him. He was a savior to them. But he was just a boy. You knew that. He knew that. He was a boy, desperately trying to figure out how to live up to a legend that was born with him; a boy trying to solve an impossible riddle, trying to unlock some big secret, trying to somehow heal an entire nation.

All these thoughts floated haphazardly through your head, bouncing and clashing within the walls of your skull until, sudden as a bolt of lightning, they clicked together.

A Vast Unfathomable Secret.

That’s what the book must have been for all along. You shot up from the floor, wide awake now, and set off towards the prince’s library.

It made so much sense you cursed yourself for not seeing it before. You burst through the heavy oak doors and went to light a candle. The room looked beautiful at night, moonlight shining through the circular windows, casting hazy glows on the walls of books.

You had no idea how to start. You’d searched for this book so many times. Then again, you hadn’t been able to make your way through the entire room yet. Filled with stubborn determination, you grabbed your candle tightly and climbed up to a section you hadn’t explored yet. You could read the spines now, thanks to Minghao. In this particular section alone were books about geography, fortune telling, animals and plants you’d never even heard of, as well as poetry. You were tempted to open some of them but knew you had a more important goal. You made the mental note of reading as many books as you possibly could when all of this was over; if Minghao would continue allowing you to come here, at least.

When the first section revealed nothing, you moved on to another, and then another. You’d finish off the whole room before you’d give up. You had to help the prince in any way you could; if you couldn’t be with him, at least you could still be of use to him.

When you woke up, bright sunlight was already streaming into the room generously and your body ached in all kinds of places. You immediately knew you were in trouble. You’d fallen asleep slumped against a bookcase and were now most likely extremely late for your appointment in the gardens.

Tripping over your tunic, you burst through the library doors and onto the long deck. It was a humid and hot day. Up ahead in the distance, like tiny brown specs against the vibrant green grass, were the gardeners’ huts, where you were supposed to meet with everyone to start harvesting and putting together the flower pieces for the wedding.

Oh shoot, the wedding. The wedding was tomorrow. It was actually tomorrow. Not wanting to waste any more time than you already had, you jumped over the railing and tumbled into the grass below. One of your feet landed in something wet but that didn’t matter now. You ran to the huts, not caring about how the long grass and prickly bushes dirtied your clothes, but when you finally arrived, panting like a dog, there was no one there. Instead, a note hung lifelessly on your parents’ door.

Flower We’ve gone ahead and started harvesting See you soon

A huge wave of gratitude coursed through you at those words.

Thanks mother

You raced through the gardens, catching up with everything that was going on.

Thanks to your parents, you were still somewhat on schedule. Aside from delegating tasks, you helped in creating bouquets and garlands and wreaths in rich oranges and reds, as well as deep pinks and purples. The air was sticky and dense. Sweat crawled down your temples as you worked beside your parents, but you were glad for the hard labor; it distracted you. Your nails blackened and your hair filled with twigs and pollen. It felt good. You were surprised when the sun had only just started going down as the last of the decorations got finished.

“Don’t underestimate us,” you dad said with a grand smile, “I don’t know how you fancy people do it at the castle, but we work fast.”

You smiled back at him, glad to have made it in time.

You moved the decorations to a safe place they could be preserved until the morning, which took another hour or so but after that, you were all done. Tou Ma hadn’t even given you any other tasks for the day, which meant, you were free.

All at once, an unavoidable exhaustion took over you. The hot sun and humid air had drained your body that had grown unaccustomed to the life of a gardener. Another reason was probably the fact that you’d slept propped up against a bookcase the night before. A hot bath sounded amazing right about now. And after you might even be able to take a nap? Yes, that sounded good. You needed sleep.

Sighing and panting, you dragged yourself back to the castle. Instead of the main entrance, you chose a smaller door on the left wall that was meant for servants mostly. Coming around the corner you let out a sudden gasp, finding the door blocked by a broad-shouldered man with a long scar across his cheek.

“Identify yourself,” he said sternly, looking your muddy form up and down. The side door had never been guarded before. You supposed it was another wedding-related thing.

After explaining who you were and what you’d been doing outside, the man stepped aside, grunting something inaudible as you passed. Whatever, you thought, entering a modest-looking corridor. At least you’d be able to reach the maid’s quarters without running into—

“WHAT IS THIS MESS?!”

Tou Ma.

The tall lady strode towards you, looking like an underfed but furious bull.

“Look at the floors, they have been polished just this morning and now!” her voice reached a crescendo, “look at this! You want me to seizure!?”

"I'm sorry," you blurted out, "I've been preparing the flowers and—"

"Are they done?"

"They are—"

"So something has gone right today at least! Honestly it's suffocating, all this work in so little time I swear the emperor wants me to lose my marbles I've still got so much to do, this whole thing is ridiculous! Could they move the wedding to next week so the castle can prepare to its fullest abilities? Probably but will they? No, no of course they won't that would make my job too easy, wouldn't it?!"

You were staring into the face of a deranged woman. Tou Ma was sweating the white powder right off her face, fanning herself for dear life.

"Um," you tried, once the woman seemed to be taking a break to catch her breath, "is there anything I can help with?" You regretted the offer the moment the words left your lips but you couldn't stand seeing her this way. No matter how much the vile old woman tormented you, seeing her usually strong personality weakened like this made you feel sort of bad.

Tou Ma eyed you suspiciously for a few moments before she caved.

"Very well," she said, "you will run an errand for me. In my haste I forgot to bring the empress' scarf out with the rest of her robes for the celebration. They need to bask in the moonlight tonight."

"Of course," you replied, though you had no idea what she was talking about. Wealthy people really did have all kinds of strange rituals.

"They will be in her private chambers," she went on, "I'd fetch them myself but I'm on my way to a meeting with the chef and I've yet to go over the guest list with security and her majesty will need her bath before nightfall and I haven't had a scrap to eat since sunrise and—"

"That's alright," you cut in, for the head maid was panting again, "I'll grab her scarf and bring it to the deck, I guess?"

"The south east deck on the top floor, child, that's where we're leaving them out," Tou Ma explained, clutching her chest.

"Got it," you said, turning on your heels.

"It is a scarlet thing," Tou Ma call after you, "silk with gold-thread details."

"Okay," you called back as you made your way down the corridor.

"Child!" her screechy voice cried before you could round a corner, "I beg of you, wash up first will you?"

You did as you were told and had your bath. It was not the long, relaxing bath you'd hoped for but it did manage to wash away some of the exhaustion from your body. You allowed your muscles to relax for a few minutes, hopped out and hurried towards the royal quarters. You'd only ever visited Minghao's chambers; his parent's area was completely new territory. The place was guarded heavily by men who only let you in after a thorough interrogation and once inside, you realized you had no idea of where to look for the scarf.

You were in a rectangular room with shiny, red-toned walls and floors. It was completely bare save for the golden candelabras that lined the walls. Two black and gold doors that faced each other waited for you.

Clueless, you tried the first door. You knocked twice and waited until you were sure you weren’t disrupting something. When nothing happened, you opened it. You were met with complete darkness. With a bit of a struggle, you pulled free one of the candelabras from the hallway and entered the dark room.

It was extremely minimal. There were no windows. Only a simple bookcase and a large writing desk. Scrolls of parchment and bottles of ink lay spread out across it. Seeing them made you feel suddenly feel as though you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to. This was the emperor’s private study.

Backing away fast, you found yourself in the hallway once more. You tried the room opposite the study, entering after knocking. This room was anything but dark. The whole west wall was non-existent, giving sight to stretches of grassland and the mountains up in the far distance. As the sun set, it cast a breathtaking pink veil over the master bedroom. The bed, sitting on a raised platform was impeccably made. You could just envision Tou Ma arranging the perfectly white pillows by size, making sure not a single crinkle was left in sight. The room was so clean though, you couldn’t imagine the scarf would be here. There was no closet or dresser for it to hide in either, however, there was a small doorway in the corner of the room, half-covered by a silk curtain. As you approached you smelled the sweet aroma of incense. Gently pulling back the curtain, you peered inside, finding a room that was more or less the same size as the bedroom, but which felt smaller due to the abundance of stuff that was in it.

The walls were virtually covered with dressers, all identical, ornate and black lacquered. There were ottomans in various jewel tones on which piles of discarded robes lay, and in the corner stood a intricately carved wooden vanity with a mirror that reached the ceiling.

This must be it, you thought as you entered. You carefully went through the clothes on the stools. You wished you had time to admire their craftsmanship but Tou Ma’s exasperated expression kept your mind on the mission at hand. The vanity was cluttered with all kinds of trinkets you’d never seen before. You supposed there were the creams and powders used for beauty purposes. There were a couple of small drawers that opened to reveal more beauty products and a couple of scarves that clearly weren’t the one you were looking for. You began to feel tired again. Gingerly, you sat down in front of the vanity. Gazing at yourself in the mirror it occurred to you how much you didn’t belong in a room like this. You let your eyes drift over the the reflection of the cluttered space, until they landed on something they hadn’t noticed before. There was an unlocked chest sitting in a corner by the entrance. Multiple colored fabrics were spilling out from its mouth. You rose up and hurried over. There were so many scarves it was hard to make out where one piece of fabric ended and the next began. Getting impatient, you started pulling out the contents of the chest, keeping a lookout for anything scarlet and gold. Your heart sank however as you were reaching the bottom without having found something that even remotely looked like the empress’ wedding scarf. Not before long, the chest was empty, except for something dark and solid that lay all the way at the bottom, and bunches of fabric lay all around you on the floor.

What were you going to do? You’d promised Tou Ma.

Sighing, you peered into the chest. You now noticed the leftover item was a small book. You knew you should leave it alone; this was clearly an item the empress liked to keep to herself, but your curiosity got the better of you. You pulled the book out of the chest and held it up to the light. It was a small book, the brown leather cover a bit tethered and the gold writing on the front slightly faded. The golden lily, however, was still unmistakable.

You heart lurched as the title registered in your mind.

A Vast Unfathomable Secret.

It was right here in your hands; exactly as Minghao had described it. What wisdom was inside this little, brown book? And why was it here, in the empress’ wardrobe of all places? Nevermind. You forced your questions behind closed doors. None of those things mattered right now.

This was it: your chance to help Minghao.

You were at his door in no time and in your haste, you didn't even pause to knock before coming in.

"Minghao, I found it! I f—" you gasped as something warm crashed into you, sending you to the floor.

Minghao stood over you with a blank stare on his face. The coldness in his eyes sent a pang of doubt through your system. You shouldn’t have barged in like this. What were you thinking? Just as you were about to apologize and leave however, his eyes landed on the book clutched tightly in your hand. They widened, his eyebrows crinkling slightly, his lips opening in stunned silence.

"I found your book," you tried again, barely able to look at him.

Nothing happened for a good few seconds in which you wondered whether Minghao had fallen in some sort of trance, but then he knelt down beside you and took your hand. Your heart leapt as he pulled you up. His hand was so warm.

“You—” he said, staring from you, to the book held between you and then right back up to you. You noticed his eyes start to burn with intense emotion. He looked happy at first but you soon realized there was much more than joy behind his expression. He stared at you unblinkingly, standing perfectly still as a statue, but clearly waging a violent war within himself. You thought for a moment he might cry, his eyes turning sadder and sadder until, to your surprise, his lips formed the tiniest smile and he let out a sigh. You had not a moment to react to this strange turn of events because the next thing he did was grab tight hold of both your arms and kiss you.

This was nothing like the kiss you’d shared in the gardens. This kiss was the unleashing of desire. He held you close as his lips claimed yours with desperation. He did not let go when you thought he would and neither did you want him to. The book lay forgotten on the floor as, at last, you were all his. You felt his hand move up to your face, brushing a bit of your hair back, then cupping you by the back of the neck, begging you to stay close for those few last moments before, inevitably, reality struck.

He pulled back abruptly, looking completely stunned.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said, his face swiftly filling with hurt again.

“Hao,” you replied, out of breath yourself, “wait,” because the prince was already pushing past you.

“I have the final wedding rehearsal,” he said, hurrying out the room before you could do anything to stop him.

You stood with yourself in quiet for quite some time, staring at the door.

Emotions were starting to bubble up inside you but you were so sick and tired of crying you forced your tears at bay by focusing on the only thing that could possibly distract you right now.

The book was still on the floor and now, it was begging to be read.

You sat down on the floor and picked it up. It didn’t feel heavy at all. You always imagined the book Minghao had been looking for would be huge; some grand exposition of wisdom. Maybe battle techniques? Or secret information on dragons, perhaps? But what could a tiny book like this one do to save an empire, or in the least, its prince? Heart pounding, you opened it, only to stare in confusion at something that made no sense to you at all.

Once upon a time, it read.

Once upon a time, there was a mountain. On that mountain stood a castle so tall it could reach the clouds in the sky and in it lived the great ruler. The ruler was very proud of his castle, because it stood taller than any other castle. The inhabitants of the castle sometimes complained about the cold winds that blew through the windows. They muddled up their long hair and blew away their paperwork. But of course this was all worth the magnificent views they got when they looked outside, according to the ruler. At the bottom of the mountain was a cave that lead to a whole underground town. In that town lived many people. Their days were clouded in darkness but the earth around them kept them warm and safe. One night, the ruler’s son was asleep when the wind whooshed right into his bedroom. It picked him up like a newborn baby and took him out through the window. The son shouted and cried for help but no one could hear him over the raging wind. The little boy shrieked all the way down until the wind plopped him down unto the grass. There he continued to cry in the darkness, helplessly, for no one would be able to hear him so far down. Little did the boy know, someone did hear him cry. All the way down in the cave town, a girl was sitting up in bed, wondering what that whining noise was. Curious, she crawled through the tunnels of her town, following the strange sound until she was at the mouth of the cave and saw the boy sitting in the grass. “What’s wrong?” she asked the boy. The boy jumped up at the sight of the girl, his cheeks flushing. “I fell down,” he answered. “From all the way up there?” the girl asked with big eyes. “Of course,” the boy said, “where else would I come from?” “I live in the ground,” the girl said, “how strange is this?” The boy and girl sat together in the grass, talking about their homes all night. The boy explained how cold his room was, and how the wind took his toys away from him, tales to which the girl hollered in disbelief. She then told him that she couldn’t even see her toys because it was so dark in her house and the boy laughed at how silly that was. When the sun came up the boy and the girl noticed a black dot in the sky. They watched as the dot grew bigger and bigger until the boy recognized his father. He was hanging from a big balloon that was slowly letting him down to the ground. “What is this?!” he bellowed when he noticed the girl. “She is my new friend,” replied the boy with a big smile, “she lives in a cave.” Just then, murmurings roused from the mouth of the cave. People emerged from it, chattering to one another until they set their eyes upon the scene in the grass. “What is this?!” they all cried at once. “He is my friend from the mountain,” said the girl, eyes sparkling, “the wind brought him to me.” The ruler and the cave people were outraged. It was plain as day that people from the castle shouldn’t get along with people who lived underground. “You should be ashamed of yourself!” shouted the ruler. “It’s a disgrace!” the cavetowners roared. The ruler grabbed his son by the arm and tied him to his big balloon, just as the cave dwellers took hold of the girl, dragging her back into the dark. Days and weeks and months passed and the boy and the girl didn’t meet, at least, that was the people around them thought. Every night, the boy crawled onto his father’s balloon while everyone else was asleep and drifted down below, where the girl would greet him with a smile and they would spend a wonderful time. Over time, the boy felt something grow within him; it was a secret. It started small as a little firefly, hovering around his empty chest. But by the time the boy was as tall as his father, the secret had become so vast and unfathomable, it was like a fiery blaze that enveloped him entirely. At any moment, he felt the secret might burst free. He could not let that happen. It frightened the boy so much, he began to keep his lips shut tight. When people around him spoke, he just stood by and watched. When his father asked him a question he simply nodded or shrugged. Only at night, when he ran free with the girl, did he open his mouth. The most beautiful sounds spilled out, laughter and song and shouts of glee. As he did so, he felt the secret grow and grow but he did not care in the night; he did not care how the inferno within him swelled against the confines of his body, how it roared on inside, begging to break free. As much as the boy ignored these happenings, like all secrets, break free, it did. He felt it rumble in his stomach first, then move up towards his throat, just as he’d sat down for breakfast. He clasped his neck in surprise. He wanted to shout at the people around him to hide, for the secret was surely coming, but not a second later, it exploded from his lips like a flaming tornado. It took over the room in an instant. Soon, the whole castle was set aflame. People cried for help but they were too far up for anyone to hear. They crawled up on the roof, shouting to the clouds in desperation but no one called back. Trapped by the flames, the boy knew only one thing to do. He heaved himself over the ledge of the dining room window and looked down. In a voice as loud as he could muster, he called for the girl. His ears picked up something of a reply but he couldn’t be sure; after all, the fire around him crackled obnoxiously loud. But she must be there, he thought, she would never abandon him. Gathering all his courage he leaned over the edge and let go, falling away from the castle and his father and the people who didn’t understand, towards the arms of freedom, where there was no need for secrets, where he was alright, just the way he was.

The book trembled in your hands as you finished the story. This was nothing like you’d imagined A Vast Unfathomable Secret to be about. So many things ran through your mind but right at the forefront was, overwhelmingly, Minghao. Minghao, Minghao, Minghao. All this time, you thought the book would reveal some kind of clever solution to help him save Namin. In the end, the book had revealed nothing more than his heart.

You knew you weren’t supposed to be here. You were probably supposed to check in with Tou Ma and help prepare for the celebration but you couldn’t do that. You had to see him, even if it meant watching him from the sidelines as he ran through his final wedding rehearsal. You were half hidden behind a wooden pillar, feeling as if your knees might give out. Minghao walked aside his mother to the front of the room, where a tall monk waited on a raised platform. The room wasn’t decorated properly yet but it had been filled with so much candlelight, the whole thing looked enchanting nonetheless. Zhong Mei came out as well, skin glowing in the warm firelight. She joined Minghao on the platform, facing him. There was a bit of a pause as Mei’s parents did some fervent explaining to the monk. The spectators in the room began murmuring amongst themselves. Your eyes never left Minghao though. He looked nervous. His cool mask wasn’t sliding on as easy as usual. He looked down for a long time before starting to scan the room. A shiver ran up your spine when his eyes suddenly met yours. He was quick to look away though. It seemed like Mei was saying something to him then because he nodded awkwardly at her in reply, though he couldn’t look at her.

Finally, Mei’s parents stepped aside and the monk stepped forward. He cleared his throat as he straightened out his robe, ready to start his speech.

BANG

A thunderous crashing sound broke the silence and the whole room shook.

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finitepeace · 3 years

Text

fics i read this week:

I read some bucky x natasha fics:

Head Is Not My Home by taralkariel

Summary: The Black Widow is a legend. Legends aren't made cheap.

Shaken by the events of Civil War, Natasha Romanoff goes back to familiar ground to hide. To hide and remember how she became the Black Widow. How Natalia Romanova would do anything to save her father-figure. How she was one of 28 ballerinas with the Bolshoi - no, one of 28 Black Widow agents with the Red Room. How the only thing that made her feel human was a man with a metal arm.

(A story to show what really happened in the comics Red Room and how it could fit into the MCU)

19k words in 12 chapters, not rated (maybe T&up?), bucky nat up to IW, i think. it’s not very dark themed <3,

tell me baby, do you recognize me? by xocean

Summary: "You're a liar." Natasha is shaking. "You're a heartless, lonely, lying murderer."

He doesn't even blink. "We both are."

The Winter Soldier's game is up, and Steve's not letting him go this time. Enter the only person who doesn't want a part in this shitfest: Natasha Romanov.

Or, as James Buchanan Barnes remembers her: Natalia Romanova.

63k words in 10 chapters (from 11), angst.

and an IronDad x SpiderSon fic:

This B.S. Better Be Worth It by losingmymindtonight 💙

Summary: Originally, Tony's plan had been to just surprise Peter with the fact that he would be on campus for a semester.

He’d never actually expected Peter to sign up for his class.

7k words in 4 chapters, tony acting like a dad (and awesome professor)

as usual, the rest are Stony fics:

American Dream by NobodysBloodyPrincess

Summary: Tony is trying, but try as he might he just can’t find the silver lining of this particular disaster.

After all, what happiness could possibly be derived from the knowledge that the perfect little girl in his arms is now motherless? What relief could be drawn, when his boyfriend of ten years, the love of his life really, is probably, currently, right at this moment in the arms of ‘Peggy’ his new fiancé?

13k words, no powers au, tony-centric, stevetony has broken up and tony adopts a kid, steve is depicted a bit insensitive (idk what the word, like unable to read the room?) here.

Where Our Restless Monsters Sleep by Mizzy 💙

Summary: Years after Tony Stark saved the universe, the Avengers realize there’s a major problem: his body has gone missing. And he isn’t the only one. Fallen heroes all over the galaxy have had their graves pillaged.

An old foe is stealing the bodies of fallen warriors, but for what nefarious reason? There’s only one solution. To find out why it’s happening, Steve’s gotta die.

He probably shouldn’t be so eager to do that.

233k words in 12 chapters, post endgame resurrections (?), gladiator trope, lots of action scenes, and THERE’S MORGAN x STEVE INTERACTIONS!!!!!

The Culling of the Stars by dirigibleplumbing

Summary: Tony dies saving Steve's life on the courthouse steps. Now Steve is left with the fallout of their Civil War, expected to take charge and preserve Tony's legacy. He doesn't know how he can do it alone—not when he can't stop thinking about Tony, or keep track of the days, or even feel.

9k words, comic book’s civil war not MCU’s, angst but gnidne yppah

Together, Always by Sapphic_Futurist 💙

Summary: He swallows hard, a prickle of tears in his eyes because this is his husband.

This is Tony Stark and Steve’s husband, and Steve gets to have this. He gets to have this for the rest of his goddamn life.

30k words in 3 chapters, embodiment of stony’s “together” T_T, read the tags if you want to be spoiled lol if not then enjoy! (and I don’t regret not reading the tags tbh)

And I'd Buy A Big House Where We Both Could Live by shinkonokokoro

Summary: Missing: Tony Stark, billionaire businessman, heir to Stark Industries, reward: none

Only Steve didn't know that when he picked up the waterlogged unconscious man from the bank of a river.

59k words in 29 chapters, non-power au, kid clint and peter as steve’s brothers

i stole the keys to this guy by kellifer_fic

Summary: Where it was Nick Fury's idea, but he didn't mean it like that

6k words, fake dating into real dating

Home Is Where the Time Machine Is by Wordsplat 💙

Summary:Steve and Tony's daughter accidentally falls back in time, and learns that impossible time travel phone calls can and will be made just to ground you, big brothers are awful snitches, and parents used to date other people. The past blows.

23k words in 5 chapters, domestic, stony being married

don't know why it took me so long to see by goodmorningbeloved (3799steps)

Summary: “Oh, watch this,” Natasha says, propping her chin against her knuckles and turning a sweet gaze on him. “Tony, what’s it like dating a superhero?”

Tony bristles in irritation. “We’re not dating,” he snaps. “Captain America probably thinks he can get into anyone’s pants just ‘cause he’s got a mask, costume, and reputation, but not me, buddy. That shield? Gotta be overcompensating for something.” He adds, a bit petulantly, “Oh, and all that blue? Definitely more Steve’s color than his.”

- In which Tony is a genius in all matters except recognizing his boyfriend past a mask.

11k words, tony being peacefully oblivious while the whole world isn’t.

I Started a Joke by Naferty

Summary "Tony?"

"Who the hell is Tony?"

102k words in 11 chapters, tony is the winter soldier

Take Two by Wordsplat 💙

Summary: Steve loses his memory but he gets the feeling he's lost a lot more. Who exactly is Tony Stark to him and why won't he come out of the basement?

24k words, i just love it.

Sunrise Over the End of the World by Sapphic_Futurist

Summary: When Dr. Strange arrives at an Accords Committee Meeting and warns of the coming of an alien megalomaniac set on destroying the world, the Rogues are pardoned and Tony finds himself exactly where he never wanted to be. Back at the Compound with Steve, who still can't take a hint and won't leave him alone.

In which Tony is broken and Steve finds redemption.

35k in 11 chapters, explicit, civil war fix-it up to infinity war

Far Away And Long Ago by Ragdoll (Keshka) 💙

Summary: Steve steps into the past and discovers that hope held on a pedestal is as insubstantial as smoke. Then he sees Tony. And that's when things get complicated.

Full summary contained within.

18k in 4 chapters, mature, seems like abandoned WIP :( endgame fix-it au when steve returns the stones...

Something More Than What They Are series by Sapphic_Futurist

An exploration of love, denial and propensity for change.

38k in 4 works, explicit, Steve and Tony are married during the civil war madness but seems like their love is not enough to stop it from happening or reconciling T_T

the marks you choose to leave behind by masterlokisev159

Summary: The Stane faction has been around for many years, long before Tony was bitten. And since he was forced, his life has been nothing short of misery and pain; a prison he will never escape. As a low member of the faction, his only hope at survival is to remain a loyal pet to Ezekiel. So when Ezekiel mentions the growing threat of the Avengers of the Undead, and the dreaded Captain, Tony is adamant to step up and do what he can. It’s also his last chance to see the outside world before he’s bonded to Whitney forever.

But what he finds instead is an unlikely companion with golden eyes. A strange werewolf by the name of Steve.

35k, general, vampire tony/werewolf steve, based on earth-666

La La Love by Wordsplat

Summary: "To be perfectly clear, Tony always knew that Stephanie Rogers was the best thing that would ever happen to him."

4k words, teen up and audiences, female Steve, highschool au, awkward tony

Meet Your Heroes by Wordsplat

Summary:Tony gets rescued by a highly concerned, very handsy Captain America. This is confusing for a number of reasons.

4k words, identity porn AU,

Hashtag Finally by Wordsplat 💙

Summary: Tony doesn't ever actually ask the Avengers to move into his house, steal his wifi, eat all his food, and become the best family he's ever known. They do it anyway.

15k, teen&up, domestic avengers a.k.a. tower life, hyperactive Clint lol, super cute, everyone are stony supporters

Thanks For the Memories by Wordsplat

Summary: When Tony is sent crashing-all too literally-into the 1940's by an alternate-universe Loki's spell, neither Tony nor Steve are prepared for the consequences.

9k words, time travel au, secret pining

#stony #stevetony #irondad #bucknat #fics read

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flowercrown-bard · 4 years

Text

The Boy who Ran: Final Chapter

Note: Pretty much just Shakespeare’s “King John” Act 4, Scene 1

Whumptober Prompt 6: Please

Read on AO3. No, seriously, read on AO3, this has become a bit longer than I intended (7K)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Cool air brushed against Geralt’s face, as he stood outside the blacksmith’s shop. It wasn’t enough to ease the burn in his chest.

“Master Witcher?” The burly man, Jakob sounded more timid than anyone had probably ever heard him be. No wonder. He was in the presence of a monster, after all. Two monsters.

Geralt grunted in acknowledgement, but didn’t turn to look at him, eyes fixed at the rising sun, as though he could will it to slow down and delay the inevitable.

“I… what do you want me to do?” Jakob hesitated. “It’s been hours since you brought him. Shouldn’t… forgive me for asking, but why haven’t you done anything?”

Geralt’s fists clenched at his side. It was a question he had tried his best to ignore. Why hadn’t he done anything yet? Whether he did it now or later – it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change the heaviness of what he had to do. So why couldn’t he do it?

“He isn’t well,” the blacksmith continued. “He doesn’t scream, but he is in pain. I don’t want him in my forgery like this.”

It was only due to his training that Geralt’s heart remained steady. The blacksmith wasn’t alone in not wanting the creature Geralt had captured to be in pain.

The only reason why the blacksmith hadn’t turned Geralt away, was because he had been told to do whatever Geralt told him to. Geralt briefly wondered, whether Jakob regretted whatever he had done that had left him to grant this favour. It was clear that if it weren’t for that burn in his chest, the blacksmith would have been too terrified of Geralt to endure his presence. The air had stunk of his fear, as Geralt had dragged his prey towards the blacksmith’s shop, a wild expression on his face.

Geralt closed his eyes at the memory, the sharp pain in his chest getting worse and worse with every moment he dragged out the inevitable. He wasn’t sure if his hesitation was a mercy or torture for the creature being bound inside of the shop.

“Master witcher?”

“I will go to him.” Geralt said it more to himself than to Jakob. Saying the words was making it real. He couldn’t take it back anymore. “Prepare hot irons. It must be pure iron.”

The man flinched, the stink of fear coming back.

“What are you going to do with it?” There was a tremor in his voice, but Geralt knew he didn’t dare – wouldn’t physically be able to - disobey. Geralt wished he would.

“What I need to do.”

No more words were wasted. Geralt watched the blacksmith disappear into the forgery, before he went after him and into a side-room of the shop.

It was dark, the only light provided by a small window in the back, through which the first rays of the rising sun fell. It was enough to reveal the man – creature! – sitting on the floor, head leaned back to rest against the wall. Bruises covered his skin, where Geralt had grabbed him too tightly, and burns where the iron chains the blacksmith had laid him in, cut into his flesh. Only another reminder for what Jaskier truly was.

Geralt wasn’t sure if Jaskier had even heard him approach. So he remained there, silent and still as a statue, until Jaskier lifted his head and flinched at the sight of him.

An ugly monster reared its head inside of Geralt. This was all wrong. He was supposed to protect Jaskier, not be the reason why his heart was racing with fear, his eyes wide like a fawn trapped by a hunter.

It didn’t hurt any less the second time around seeing that look. The first time he had seen it had been mere hours ago. Finding Jaskier hadn’t been difficult, even after the eternity Geralt had hesitated, naïve enough to think that he could refuse to do what he knew he had no choice in. Geralt knew Jaskier’s scent, though the sting of fear – and heartbreak? – had been new. So had been the uncertainty and the terrified tears in Jaskier’s eyes when Geralt had finally caught up with him. He wasn’t sure what had hurt more – the fear or the glimmer of hope in Jaskier’s expression. Jaskier hadn’t even tried to fight. That had been the worst part.

He hadn’t lifted a finger against Geralt, when he had grabbed him by the arms, rougher than he ever had before, when he had dragged Jaskier to the nearest town and into the blacksmith’s shop, growling instructions at the man who had no choice but obey, and left Jaskier bound and alone in this room to stand outside and try to remind himself that he had no choice in this either– that it might even be the right thing to do.

For an endless moment, they were just staring at each other, neither daring to break the silence. Acknowledging the situation meant that they would have to continue, one way or another.

He saw Jaskier swallow thickly, and Geralt’s heart clenched, as he silently yelled at Jaskier to stay quiet, to not make him do what he had come here to do. Of course, Jaskier didn’t hear his silent plea. Or, more likely he ignored it.

“Good morning, Geralt.”

It stung. Hundreds of time had Jaskier said those words to him, voice hoarse from sleep as he snuggled into Geralt’s embrace or cheerfully as he told Geralt that it was the perfect morning for an adventure. Now, his voice was guarded, as though he didn’t know how much emotion he was allowed to feel. Or maybe he had realised that there was no need to pretend to have positive emotions towards Geralt any more.

“Good morning, little Fae.”

Jaskier winced, as though Geralt had hit him. He might as well have.

“I don’t… I’m not…” for the first time since Geralt had known Jaskier, he seemed to well and truly at a loss of words. There was no way to deny what Geralt knew was the truth. A stone sank in Geralt’s stomach, as he watched Jaskier helplessly search for a way to talk himself out of this. Finally, Jaskier’s attempts stopped and he sighed instead. “Geralt, please don’t look so hurt. You seem … miserable.”

Geralt scoffed. “I’ve been happier.”

He didn’t say that he had been happier, when he had still been able to hold Jaskier in his arms, blissfully ignorant of his true nature. He didn’’t say that he couldn’t help but being hurt when his companion of years, his best friend, the man who held his heart in his hand, had turned out to only have used him.

Jaskier nodded, as though he could understand what Geralt even wasn’t able to fully comprehend himself. A cracked smile appeared on Jaskier’s face, a hollow imitation of that impish smirk he always wore, when he teased Geralt.

“You know, I somehow feel like I should be the hurt one between the two of us, you know, being a prisoner and all that.” He held up his bound wrists and Geralt’s stomach clenched when the burn marks mocked him. “I didn’t realise how much freedom I had. I could have become a sheep keeper. It would have been boring and dirty, but I still think I would be as happy as the day is long.”

Nothing of what he said made any sense. It was as though Jaskier didn’t even care what he was saying, but he needed words, any words, to cling onto, like a drowning man clinging to rotten wood that would surely break soon, but kept him afloat for the time being.

Jaskier let out a shaky laugh.

“I suppose I could also be happy in this blacksmith shop. We have slept in worse places.” He paused, a shadow passing over his face, cracking the barely- there mask of carefree joyfulness. Geralt wasn’t sure if Jaskier’s next words were ever meant to pass his lips. “That is, if I wasn’t so sure I would die here.”

“You are a Fae.”

Geralt hadn’t meant to say it. Voicing it once had been bad enough, the second time only felt like a knife twisting in his chest. But he needed the reminder, the reassurance of what Jaskier was. If he forgot, for even a second, he wouldn’t be able to do this.

Maybe he shouldn’t?

Jaskier’s eyes glistened and for a brief moment Geralt was sure, it was anger shimmering in them, before the first tear broke free of its prison and ran down Jaskier’s cheek.

“Is it my fault that I am what I am?” Jaskier said, voice thick and almost broken. “No, it isn’t. Fuck, I don’t even know what exactly I am. Geralt, I swear if I could, I would become fully human again, in an instant. I would, if it meant that I could spend the rest of my miserably short human life with you.” His smile came back, wobbly and fragile. “If I could, I would become human, only so you could love me again.”

Geralt staggered backwards, the words hitting him harder than any blow of an opponent’s sword. Irrationally, he longed for what Jaskier said to be true. For as long as he had known Jaskier, he had been so sure that he was human. And oh, he had loved him. Loved him still, though it shattered his heart. Why would Jaskier be any different now than he had been before?

The burn in his chest returned with renewed force, burned the doubt away, and let the bitter certainty creep in. A sweet voice whispered venomous truths into his ear. It didn’t matter what Geralt felt. Jaskier was a liar, he had lied to him from the moment they had met. He shouldn’t let him talk and plant those thoughts in his head that made him hesitate. This was a Fae’s tongue speaking. Geralt had to do what he came here to do, and quickly, before Jaskier’s lies poisoned his heart.

It felt wrong listening to this voice. Though it spoke the truth, everything inside of Geralt rebelled against it.

A new wave of heat pressed against his heart, making Geralt gasp for air.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, all false cheerfulness gone. “Are you alright?”

Geralt grunted, unable to answer, the pang he felt at the honest concern in Jaskier’s voice making the burn only worse. When Geralt made no move to ease his worries, but instead clenched his jaw against the pain, Jaskier stood up from where he had cowered before.

“Talk to me, Geralt.” Panic threatened to spill from Jaskier’s words. “Something isn’t right with you. Are you sick? You look so pale.”

Geralt saw him move closer and flinched back. The voice inside of him told him not to let him come any closer. If Geralt felt his loving touch, he would crumble, he wouldn’t be able to do what he had to.

Without thinking, Geralt snatched the crumbled up letter he was carrying with him out of his pocket and thrust it at Jaskier. It was the letter that had started mess. If it hadn’t been for this damned letter, he would have been able to let Jaskier go, to live his life as he was meant to, hunting alone. He would have never had to cross the path of the man who had lied to him ever again. But the letter had made that an impossible fantasy.

Geralt could barely repress the tremble of his hand as Jaskier took it from him, with a confused expression.

Geralt held his breath, as Jaskier smoothed out the paper and read over the words. Jaskier’s eyes widened with every second that passed. It was a short note, Jaskier must be reading it over and over, just as Geralt had done so many times, as though the words would change.

Geralt’s breath got stuck in his throat, as he watched the hated fear once again settle into Jaskier. He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t. Not now that Jaskier knew what Geralt was about to do to him.

“This letter is too nicely written for such a horrible message.” Jaskier finally said, voice forcibly even. It didn’t hide the tremble of fear.

Jaskier held the letter out for Geralt to take back.

He didn’t take it. He never wanted to have anything more to do with this damned piece of paper and the horrors it demanded. He watched it flutter to the ground as Jaskier dropped it in front of his feet. It lay there harmlessly, as though it didn’t contain Jaskier’s damnation.

“Tell me this is a joke, Geralt.”Jaskier licked his cracked lips and Geralt could see the uncertainty clearly written on his face. “ ‘Burn the half-bred Fae’s Jaskier’s eyes out with a hot iron. Blind him as he has been blinded by his delusion’? What the fuck, Geralt? That is sick! Tell me you don’t really have to do that.”

The heat in Geralt’s chest got brighter, hotter.

“I do.” He said as though he was a groom on his wedding day and not the garrotter of the man he loved.

“And will you do it?”

“And I will.”

He kept all emotion out of his voice, trying and failing to make himself believe that he was the emotionless monster that people took him for. Maybe he truly was.

Something flashed in Jaskier’s eyes, a desperation Geralt had only seen once before. When he himself had been bleeding out, almost slain by a griffin and Jaskier had been standing over him, yelling at him not to leave him.

“Don’t say it like that,” Jaskier hissed. “If you tell me that you will hurt me like this, don’t do it as though you don’t feel anything. You cannot pretend, Geralt, not in front of me. I know that you aren’t unfeeling. I know that you feel more than any man could explain and it is breaking your heart.”

The words shot a spike though Geralt. They were just so…Jaskier. For decades he had defended Geralt and not even now would he stop, it seemed. When Geralt had been hurt on a hunt, Jaskier had always been there, wiping the blood away, not even once complaining that the blood was ruining his fancy clothes. When Geralt had shivered in the night from the aftereffects of his potions, Jaskier had held him with the same hands that were now bound with chains specifically made to hurt a Fae, to hurt him. Only moments before, Jaskier had asked him to talk to him, to tell him what was wrong, when he had thought Geralt might be in pain.

All this he had done when no one else would. Jaskier had stood by his side, when everyone else was throwing hateful glares at him.

Maybe Jaskier had sensed his thoughts, or maybe he just knew Geralt well enough to read him like a children’s book.

“You don’t have to pretend that you don’t feel,” he repeated. “I see you. I know you. You might think that my love was only pretend. Call it cunning or a ploy, if that’s what you want. That doesn’t make it any less true. I know what I feel – what I have felt for decades – and you know it too. Pretending that both of our feelings don’t exist won’t change a thing.” He took a shaky breath. “I know you aren’t cruel. Will you truly blind my eyes? Eyes that never so much as frowned at you when everyone else wasn’t even able to look at you without fear?”

No. No, no, he wouldn’t do it. Not when he had the memories of all the loving glances that couldn’t have been pretend. Not when despite the fear, Jaskier still refused to look at him with hatred.

Still, the burning inside of him spread, gripped not only his heart, but also his tongue, forcing his words.

“I have to. And I will.”

The words sounded foreign, as though they were not his own.

Another tear spilt from Jaskier’s eye. There was no trace of the weak smile on his face left, only a broken expression.

“Anyone could have told me – Melitele herself could have descended and told me that you were capable of doing this and I wouldn’t have believed it. I wouldn’t have believed anyone telling me you were cruel; so don’t think I will believe you.”

His mouth went dry. How could Jaskier still be so foolishly trusting? Maybe it was just the last shrapnel of a cruel hope that he wasn’t ready to see as the danger it was yet.

The silence that stretched out between them was interrupted by footsteps and a nervous cough. Geralt turned around, glad to have a reason not to look at Jaskier anymore.

What he found instead was worse. Jakob held an iron bar with one end hotly glowing and offered it to Geralt.

“It’s ready,” Jakob said, his nervous eyes jumping between Geralt and Jaskier.

Everything inside Geralt screamed at him not to take the iron, but he had no choice. His body moved on its own accord. Despite the protection of his gloves, the iron was hot in his hand, almost painful. How much worse would it be for Jaskier to receive the hot end? He had to do it fast. He couldn’t take the risk of Jaskier struggling and burning more of his face than he had to. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Hold him down,” he growled at Jakob, who paled, but complied.

Geralt swallowed hard, as he watched the blacksmith push a struggling Jaskier onto his knees and hold him in place, like an executioner holding a criminal down to face justice. Except Geralt was the executioner and nothing about this had anything to do with justice.

“No, let go of me!” Geralt watched, frozen in place by the heat burning inside him controlling his every move, as Jaskier tried to wind out of the blacksmith’s grip who was bound to obey Geralt’s every command.

“Geralt, please,” Jaskier’s voice was thick with tears. “If it’s only you, I can bare it. But don’t let me be hurt by him.”

The words sounded so terrified and with a sinking feeling Geralt realised that he had no idea what the blacksmith had done to Jaskier, while Geralt had stood outside the shop for hours, unable to go inside and do his duty. Unable to realise that while he was stalling for time he didn’t have, the blacksmith might have hurt Jaskier. ‘Make sure the Fae doesn’t escape. Bind him with iron and use force if you see fit.’ The earlier command came rushing back at him, choking him. Why had he been so vague? He hadn’t meant it. He hadn’t meant for Jaskier to get hurt. Those hadn’t been his words. And still, he had been the one to utter them, the one to sentence Jaskier to agony he didn’t deserve. Just as he had done now.

Every instinct in Geralt screamed at him to help his friend. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t even consciously acknowledge that there ever had been such a thing as friendship between them.

Jaskier cried out, tried to push the rough hands away, but even if he had ever been a fighter, with his hands bound and the iron blocking any magic he could have accessed, he stood no chance.

“Stop it, please!” His voice cracked with panic and he turned his pleading eyes to Geralt. “No more, I beg you! I promise, I won’t struggle. I will be still as a stone. Just please, take off these chains that burn my flesh! Listen, tell him to go and I will be quiet. I will do anything you say. I won’t struggle or wince or even say a single word. I won’t condemn you for what you will be doing to me. I will forgive you, whatever it is you will put me through, but please send him away.”

The unnamed force inside of Geralt burned him. Unbearable agony with every moment he hesitated, only comparable to the witcher trials. But all of the pain was nothing compared to the terror and desperation in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Go,” he said harshly. He shook from the effort of getting his lips to form the word. The fire inside flared up, making him grunt and tighten his grip on the iron. Iron, like the bindings around Jaskier’s wrist that were burning him. “Take off his chains.”

“Witcher?” Jakob looked unsure, as though he hadn’t quite understood.

“Do it!”

Seeing the chains fall to the floor with a clang should have felt like being able to draw breath again after being under water for too long. Instead the fire inside him raged. This was the opposite of what he was supposed to be doing.

It was worth it, if it meant watching Jakob get up and leave. Geralt didn’t hear if the blacksmith was saying anything as he left, didn’t see him retreat. All he could focus on was Jaskier’s shaking body, as he collapsed forward.

He was mumbling something. His voice trembled so much that Geralt could barely understand what he was saying over and over again.

“Thank you, thank you, Geralt, thank you.”

It was like a punch to the gut.

“Don’t thank me,” he growled. He couldn’t bear the sincerity in the words, knowing that he had no choice but to hurt Jaskier.

“I have to.” Jaskier looked up, tears streaming down his face, but that smile that broke Geralt’s heart was back. “I knew you were still in there. I knew somewhere deep inside, you were still the man I love and who loved me. Despite what I did – what I am.” The smile fell. “Let me go, Geralt. I promise, you won’t ever have to see me again, just please.”

Geralt was not the master of his body, as he said in a cold voice “Prepare yourself, Fae.”

As if not calling him by his name would make it easier. As though Geralt could fool himself into thinking this wasn’t fundamentally wrong.

As if it didn’t break him to see Jaskier’s face falling at his words.

“Please, Geralt, I’ll do anything. I cannot see you be so cruel.” A sob escaped him. “Is there nothing I can do?”

“Nothing but lose your eyes.”

Jaskier could run, run as fast and far away from Geralt and it wouldn’t be enough to safe him. This wouldn’t stop until it was done. Geralt would track him down, hunt him like an animal, no matter where he went. And he wouldn’t regain control over his actions until it was too late. His muscles strained and shook at the effort it took to hold the iron – now almost cold again, as if the weapon refused to do the unthinkable crime - without thrusting it at Jaskier’s face.

“If there is only one speck left of my friend,” Jaskier said as though he was composing his last song in Geralt’s dedication. “One grain that remembered us as we were – what we were to each other…” His voice trailed off, ended in a disbelieving, hopeless laugh as Jaskier’s head sunk down. “Your hate for me must be immeasurable if it is able to outweigh all the good we had together.”

It didn’t. By the gods, nothing, not even Geralt’s initial shock at finding out what Jaskier was could ever be enough to let him forget what Jaskier was to him. Nothing, but that insistent burn that reminded him of what he had to do. He wouldn’t be able to stall for much longer. Every one of Jaskier’s words cut him, made it harder.

“Is this your promise? You said you would be quiet.” As if Jaskier would ever be quiet. Not once had Geralt seen the bard without a song, a quip or aimless chatter on his lips. Or a love confession. Jaskier being silent would be wrong. Just like everything else that was happening.

“Don’t let me be quiet, Geralt. Don’t make us go back to the time where you scoffed at every word I spoke.” He hesitated, head lifting with a newfound foolish hope. “Or better yet, let me be quiet! If you have to hurt me, cut out my tongue and let me keep my eyes! Spare my eyes, if only so I can still look at you.”

Geralt’s stomach twisted. If his body was still his, he would drop the almost cold iron and fall to his knees in front of Jaskier, begging him for forgiveness. His voice was Jaskier’s everything and yet he would give it up – was hopeful at the prospect of giving it up – just so he would still be able to see the man that would hurt him more than anyone.

“I don’t want to do either.” Geralt’s voice shook, the ice in his veins that had appeared with Jaskier’s words the only thing combating the burning heat that forced him to do the unspeakable. “I don’t want to be here.”

Jaskier’s brows drew together. “But then why – You don’t hate me?” The last words were nothing more than a breath, but they sounded loud as thunder in Geralt’s ears.

“Never,” he pressed forth. “This” he pointed at the crumbled up letter still lying between them in its false innocence. “isn’t just some contract I can refuse. This is the fucking favour I owe the Fae. If it were my decision, I would be as far away from you as I can so I can’t hurt you anymore, but I can’t. I can’t move as I want to and I can’t refuse to move and do what that fucking Valdo wants me to do!”

All colour drained from Jaskier’s face and for a moment he seemed unable to speak, an expression of pure horror on his face as the understanding dawned on him.

“They make you do this? You are being forced into this?” His tone was something between fear and wild rage. “It’s all fucking Valdo. Hence the iron. Of course. They use you to prove a fucking point to me?”

Disbelief washed over Geralt. This was Jaskier’s takeaway? He had just heard that he wouldn’t be able to persuade Geralt to have mercy, because it wasn’t his choice and instead of focussing on what that meant for himself, he got angry on Geralt’s behalf? What was wrong with him? He should be worried about his own safety! He should try to flee and get as far away from Geralt and hope that the burn inside of him would get too much and kill him before he could harm Jaskier. That was the only outcome Geralt could hope for. If it didn’t take all of his strength to hold himself back, he would tell Jaskier so. He would tell him to run and safe himself.

“But how? I – that necklace was supposed to keep you safe. Valdo was supposed to never be able to come near you. I thought – Oh.” That little sound held so much vulnerability. Jaskier’s gaze wandered from his face to his chest, where his medallion rested – only his medallion. “Of course. You don’t have it any more.”

He wanted to speak, wanted to ask, what on earth Jaskier meant by that. For the first time since Geralt had found out what Jaskier was, he was glad that he didn’t have the pendant anymore. It would be cruel to Jaskier, if Geralt still carried the reminder of his love with him, as he was about to take away his sight. Still, even without the necklace, Geralt was filled with the certainty again. How could he have ever doubted Jaskier?

Geralt let out a pained groan, almost doubling over as the fire flared up again, trying its hardest to distract him from the knowledge of his love for Jaskier. Suddenly, Jaskier was on his feet again, his cold hands gently touching Geralt’s face. The force telling Geralt to attack Jaskier became unbearably strong.

“You are in pain.” Blue eyes searched his own. A beautiful blue, eternally youthful and usually full of cheer. And Geralt was the one who would end this blue. “Every second you don’t do it, you are hurting. Why?” A thumb stroked over his cheek and Geralt wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and lean into the touch – nothing but look into Jaskier’s eyes for as long as he would still be able to. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Jaskier…” The strangled word was the only thing Geralt could bring himself to say.

“Do it.”

Oh how wrong Geralt had been. He had thought the worst part of this had been Jaskier not fighting against him before. But Jaskier’s passivity had been nothing compared to the eagerness in his voice as he now offered himself up to ease Geralt’s pain.

He wanted to refuse, to tell Jaskier that he shouldn’t sacrifice himself like that. That Geralt wasn’t worth it. That if he could, he would prolong this for long enough that it would kill him instead of hurting Jaskier, but his mouth didn’t move. This was it.

Jaskier took a shaky breath, tried to put on a brave face. He failed miserably.

“I’m scared, Geralt.” He looked so unbearably small and breakable. “I – Do you think you can hold on for just a moment longer?” Geralt couldn’t answer, couldn’t give any indication of his answer. But he could gather all that remained of his resistance to stay still as a stone and give Jaskier one last moment to prepare himself. He didn’t know if it would be more merciful to just get it over with and not prolong Jaskier’s fear, but if that what he needed Geralt would do his damnest to give it to him. “Can you… can I hold your hand while you do it? If I won’t be able to see you afterwards, I want to at least feel that you are still there.”

The last remains of Geralt’s heart shattered. He couldn’t move, but as Jaskier carefully reached out a hand to hold his, he felt a tear slip out of his eye. He hadn’t been sure he even knew how to cry, yet here he was, tears spilling over, as he was about to burn his beloved’s eyes.

By now the iron was cold in his free hand. The metal would burn Jaskier nonetheless, slower, crueller.

Geralt’s jaw twitched and he lifted the hated iron. He hoped with all his heart that Jaskier could see in his eyes that he didn’t want to do this. No. Maybe it would be better, if Jaskier didn’t have to see it. If Geralt had never told him that he had no choice in this, if Jaskier still believed that Geralt took even the slightest pleasure in this, Jaskier would be able to hate him for it. It would be better than Jaskier accepting his fate.

Geralt shut his eyes tightly. He could still feel his arm lift the bar, unable to do anything against it, no matter how hard he strained his muscles.

A sob escaped Jaskier and his hand squeezed Geralt’s. And then Jaskier was pressed tightly against him, hugging him with his free arm as if his life depended on it.

He couldn’t hug him back. He couldn’t reciprocate as Jaskier’s lips brushed against his cheek. He could only let the bitter-sweet pain of it consume him, knowing that his body would push Jaskier away, even as his mind and heart wanted nothing more than hold him close and never let him go.

Jaskier must know it too. He must know that they were running out of time, for he spoke faster than ever. “It’s useless now, it’s too late, but it’s still a reminder.” Geralt felt Jaskier fumble clumsily. He didn’t know what Jaskier was doing, but he soaked up these last words before Jaskier’s voice would turn to broken screams. “I meant what I said when I gave it to you. It should remind you that I love you, always, no matter what.” Finally, Jaskier managed to slip something around his neck. It didn’t weigh much, but Geralt felt it heavy against his chest, next to his medallion, next to his heart where it belonged. “No matter what I am and no matter what you do. Please, love, remember. It’s not your fault and I love you.”

Jaskier’s hand trailed over the Buttercup pendant he had given him back. And like a door being kicked in, his breath came back. The fire retreated with a hiss, like a campfire fighting – and losing! – against rain.

“I love you too.” Geralt still shook with the effort of the words, still fought for control over his own body, but now something else surged inside him, battling the fire. This time, he could win the fight.

The magic that bound him to his deal with the Fae continued urging him on to do it, now! But it couldn’t force him anymore.

There was a thud as the iron bar clattered to the floor. Geralt’s arms twined themselves around Jaskier.

“Geralt?” He sounded uncertain, fear mixed with something sweet. Hope.

“I am here. I…. I don’t know what happened, but I am back.” He kissed the top of Jaskier’s head, felt Jaskier’s tears wet his shirt. “I am sorry. I am so so sorry that you had to go through that.”

Jaskier didn’t answer, just buried his head into Geralt’s chest, as though it was the safest place on earth.

He didn’t know how much time passed as they clung onto each other, neither wanting to let go, like their lives depended on the closeness. As though the nightmare would come back as soon as they let go.

When they finally parted, Jaskier’s eyes were trained on the necklace. A smile danced on his lips, the first real one Geralt had seen since Jaskier had exposed his chaos. It was so unexpected that Geralt’s breath hitched. He hadn’t thought he would ever see this smile again.

“It worked,” Jaskier said with a voice like the sun. “The necklace works!”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

He took the pendant into his hand to get a better look at it. Jaskier laid his hand in top of his, pressing it gently against his chest.

“I will explain later.” Jaskier bit his lip. “For now, can we please get out of here? I don’t … can we please just leave?”

“Of course.” Geralt stepped back, giving Jaskier the space he needed. “Tell me where I should take you and I will. Is there a place where you will be safe?”

He prayed there was such a place. Thanks to him, Jaskier wouldn’t be able to go home to the Fae world ever again. They had been on the road for so long that Jaskier had no safe place to go back to on the continent either.

“I don’t care. Can we just go somewhere nice? The coast perhaps, just to get away together from all this…”

“Together?” Geralt’s voice was thick from the lump in his throat that had appeared at Jaskier’s words. “You don’t… Jaskier, you don’t have to. I can get you there and then leave. I don’t want you to think for even a moment that I would put you through this – through being in my presence for longer than necessary after what I have almost done.”

“No! I want you to be with me!” Jaskier said hastily and makes to close the space between them again, only to falter. “That is… only if you wanted to. I – I am still less than a human, I know what you said about Fae and after everything I couldn’t blame you if you don’t want to have anything to do with me anymore.”

“Jaskier.” His voice was soft. “You could never be less than anything. Whatever else you might be, you are my everything. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

A new smile broke through the doubt on Jaskier’s face, the sun finally beating the storm. “You won’t. We have all the time in the world.”

All the time in the world. It took a moment for the words to register and then it was like all the pressure inside of him left, like a bird that didn’t took to the sky after not knowing if the opened cage was a trap. Jaskier wasn’t fully human. He wouldn’t lose him to time and for as long as Geralt lived, he would make sure that death would never claim Jaskier for any other reason either.

“We have all the time in the world,” Geralt repeated. And he would spend every day, every minute of it loving Jaskier. “Let’s go to the coast.”

***

He breathed in the salty breeze. A smile danced on Jaskier’s lips and he leaned back against Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s arms sneaked around his waist holding him close.

Jaskier closed his eyes. He still couldn’t believe it. It had been years since they had acquired the cosy cabin by the sea, years of travelling the continent together, while knowing that there would always be a home they could come back to, and still it felt unreal. Jaskier didn’t think he would ever get used to it. It was too good. Too perfect. There must be some catch to it. It was impossible that the world would just let them live in peace, let them have their adventures and not bother them.

“What’s on your mind?” Geralt said, nuzzling his face into Jaskier’s hair.

“Nothing, dear.”

A soft kiss was planted in Jaskier’s hair. “You know you can talk to me. I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. I am with you and it couldn’t be better.” He trailed of, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“But?”

Jaskier hesitated. “But I’m not sure how long it will last. One day I am going to mess up and what we have will break.”

The arms around him tightened. “That won’t happen. What we have isn’t that easy to break.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Jaskier felt the pendant press into his back, where he rested against Geralt’s chest. “You just have to lose the necklace and you won’t be protected anymore.”

“Then I won’t lose it,” Geralt said firmly. “I will protect it with my life, just as I will protect you. I won’t put you through the horrors of what my deal brought with it again.”

For a while, the roaring waves and the seabird’s cries were the only sound, as they both just took in the other’s presence.

Finally, Jaskier broke the silence again.

“There is one other thing I could do.” He hesitated. “That command, that damned Valdo gave you, it was specifically about what you were to do to me, Jaskier.” Geralt tensed behind him. Before he could say anything, Jaskier continued. “So, what if I wasn’t Jaskier anymore?”

“What do you mean?” Jaskier didn’t have to turn around to know that Geralt’s brows were drawn together in confusion.

“I… I have not always been Jaskier. That name - that identity - it was a gift from a Fae.” His throat became tight. “I could try to give it back. I could become fully human again. Become Julian again.” The name tasted bitter on his tongue and his stomach churned at the thought of becoming that scared little boy again, who had run from everything. He didn’t want to run anymore. He wanted to stay here, as he was with the one he loved. But he would do it, if it would free Geralt from the threat of the Fae’s influence for good.

“Would that even work?” Geralt said, the doubt and confusion evident in his voice. “Back when… on that day you said you couldn’t become human again.”

He hesitated. “I am not sure. It hadn’t even crossed my mind then. I have been me for so long that I almost forgot ever being someone else. So, no, I don’t know if it would work. If it did though, it might cancel the deal. You wouldn’t need to wear that necklace anymore-“

“I like that necklace.”

A smile lit Jaskier’s face up at Geralt’s defensive tone, but he continued. It wouldn’t be fair to not tell Geralt about this option. “If it worked, the humans would forget Jaskier ever existed.” He turned slightly, so that he could face Geralt. He lifted his hand to gently lay it on Geralt’s cheek. “Only humans would forget me. We could still be together, far away from everything.”

Geralt leaned into the touch and pressed a quick kiss against his palm. “The world would have lost something precious if it lost you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier paused. “You… you don’t want me to do it? Geralt, this could make life so much easier for you.”

A tiny smile quirked Geralt’s lips. “Since when has a witcher’s life been easy? I would choose a happy life with you over an easy one any day,” he said and his words made Jaskier’s heart speed up. “But it is your choice. Just know that whatever you choose, I will love you for you. If you decide to leave this name behind, you will still be the same person to me. No Fae magic can make you into someone you’re not.” The way Geralt said it hit something inside of Jaskier. He could put down the name he has been given by that Fae in the forest so many years ago, and Geralt wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t even know. It could be Jaskier’s secret and it wouldn’t matter, who anyone else thought Jaskier was. Geralt would know who he truly was. “I love you, Jaskier.”

“I love you too.”

Jaskier leaned towards him, kissing him softly. No matter, what else he might decide on his name, he knew one thing for certain. This was who he wanted to be. The man who didn’t need to run anymore, because he was safe in his beloved’s arms.

#whumptober2020 #no.6 #Please #the witcher #fic #Geraskier #Geralt #Jaskier #fae!jaskier #I guess #this was supposed to have a very different ending but alas #Am I going to needlessly bring Shakespeare into this?#Yes. Yes I am #my writing #angst #kind of open ending I guess?#longfic

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