#you know the drill like or reply and ill approach you or write you a thing ❤️

[gentlepyrate]

*grabby hands* modern verse

[weasleylangs]

if you don’t know, let me go - f.w

Pairing: Fred x Fem!Slytherin!Reader Summary: It’s always seemed like they’ve been dancing the line between friends and more, so why does he take a different girl to the ball? Warnings: Some swearing, pining that one character is too much of a dummy to see, a bit of angst but it eventually becomes fluff I promise, jealousy but nothing toxic, underage drinking but it’s like one line. Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in literally forever, so any feedback is always appreciated! Requests are open if you like this and want more! Also this got stupidly long fast, I can barely write book reviews on Goodreads without writing a novel so my bad, I’m sorry if you don’t like long fics. (Also cross-posted on AO3 as the tumblr tags don’t seem to be my friend right now.) 

- Also, thank you so much to @lumosandnoxwriting for answering all my questions on how to get back into writing!

Send me an ask or a dm if you would like to be added to a tag list!

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“Do you think he’s going to ask you?” 

It’s Wednesday afternoon, late enough for class to be over but too early for dinner and Y/N’s attempt at understanding anything in her potions textbook is broken by Alicia Spinnet talking to her. Despite the fact she hadn’t said a name, Y/N knows immediately who she was talking about and she shrugs in response, closing her book and accepting that studying was not on the table for the rest of the night now the ball has been mentioned. 

“Probably not.” She deadpans. Y/N’s been trying not to get her hopes up that Fred would ask her to the Yule Ball since it was announced three days ago. Alicia’s already been asked by George- who immediately did a dramatic reenactment of some muggle proposal he’d seen in a movie as soon as Dumbledore announced it. But Fred had been more reluctant to ask anyone, despite people’s assumption that he could get anyone he pleased. Y/N only hoped this was because he was too shy of taking whatever they were from friends to lovers.

No one really understood how the outspoken and mischievous redhead became friends with the snarky Slytherin girl, but 6 years into their schooling people have stopped questioning it. They had formed an unexplainable bond the second they met on the train to Hogwarts when they were eleven years old that may have included both shouting at blood purists and now it seems to have evolved into something beyond just a friendship. 

Lingering stares, soft touches, the fact neither of them had really dated anyone else because they were too caught up with each other. Everyone, including their friends, have all placed bets on how long it’ll take for the two of them to ‘fess up and finally get together.

“What makes you say that?” Alicia asks, genuinely. She’s heard first hand the teasing George and Lee give Fred over his feelings for Y/N in the Gryffindor common room when they think they’re alone so she finds it hard to believe he hasn’t even hinted at them going together yet. 

Y/N shrugs. “I just think if he wanted to go with me, he’d ask me by now… Y’know?” Alicia can’t really deny her logic. Fred’s never been the one to shy away from being outspoken about anything really in the whole six years she’s known him, so even she can admit it’s weird that Fred hasn’t asked her.

“Maybe he just assumes you guys are going together?” Alicia starts, and before Y/N can argue back, she holds up a hand, “I’ll ask him after dinner tonight. I can guarantee Lee or George will join in and you’ll have your date by Transfiguration tomorrow!” Y/N shakes her head and laughs, and starts packing her things, mumbling about Alicia is a meddler and that she’ll see her later.

-

Y/N’s walking to the Great Hall for dinner when it happens. Adrian Pucey, star quidditch chaser for the Slytherin team slinks up next to her and scares her enough to almost drop the books she has clutched in her hands. She’s never had a problem with Adrian- their parents are in similar friendship circles so she sees him at family friend events outside of school, but she’s never considered him a friend either, which is why his approach to her is so odd.

“Sorry about that,” he laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets as Y/N clutches her chest. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” she starts, “You’re just very quiet. I’m used to being almost tackled to the ground when I see friends.” She laughs, but she doesn’t miss the awkward tension in the air and she can’t help but assume what’s coming next. 

“I just wanted to ask if, uh, if you don’t have a date to the ball… If you’d like to go with me?” 

Y/N gulps. She knows she shouldn’t be putting all her eggs in the Fred Weasley marked basket, but she can’t help but remember her conversation with Alicia only an hour ago.

‘You’ll have your date by Transfiguration tomorrow!’

Adrian senses her hesitation and lets out a breath that sounds like he’s almost laughing. “You’re waiting for one of Weasley twins to ask you, aren’t you? Fred, right?” She hates how easily he caught on.

“Adrian, I- Ugh, I’m sorry. But yeah… I am.” She feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment at someone she’s not even friends with pointing it out. She can’t help but think maybe this is a sign though, that if everyone else is expecting it, why hasn’t he asked her yet? 

“No, it’s all good. But the offers on the table if he’s too pussy to ask you out.” He gives a kind smile as he walks off to catch up with Marcus Flint who’s drilling Malfoy about quidditch plays.

She exhales slowly and finally makes it to the Great Hall. She scans the tables looking for her closest friend in Slytherin- Daphne Greengrass and once she finds her, she quickly makes her way over to her. Dinner is relatively uneventful since she’s sitting with her house, and George manages to catch her eye at one point and mouths ‘miss you’ to which she laughs and says she misses him back.

She’s about to get up and leave when the last thing she expects to happen, happens. She hears Ron exclaim loudly that Fred can’t make fun of him for not having a date because he doesn’t have one either. Y/N feels her heart start to race, knowing if anyone’s going to prove a point to Ron, it’ll be Fred Weasley. She doesn’t hear what Fred’s reply is but Harry and Ron both scoff, and one of them says ‘ask a girl out if it’s so easy then.’ 

Y/N’s about to approach the Gryffindor table when George’s eye catches her, and he shakes his head. Fred has already thrown a scrunched-up piece of paper at Angelina and her heart sinks. 

“Angelina! Will you go to the ball with me?” 

As Angelina laughs and says yes to Fred, it feels like the whole Great Hall is either watching their altercation or watching Y/N in pity. Her heart now feels like it’s in her throat, and she needs to get out of the room before she cries or yells at Fred. She pivots on her heel and is met face-to-face with Daphne, who nods in silent agreement that they’re going back to their dorm. 

Y/N is halfway down the long tables with the door in her sights when she spots Adrian out of the peripheral of her eye. She can tell he’s looking at her in pity and in a weird way, she feels the need to show defiance against Fred Weasley. She needs to show she doesn’t need pity, especially right now, that she can get a date herself. So she stops in front of the Slytherin quidditch team and slightly smirks. 

“That offer to the ball still on the table?” 

-

Daphne spends the night taking Y/N’s mind off the Weasley family. They sit in their dorm together, once again trying to study for potions which eventually leads into ball talk yet again. Daphne can tell the idea of going to the ball with anyone who isn't Fred is unnerving for Y/N, but there’s no backing down now.

“That was kind of a badass move, y’know?” She starts, treading lightly as they eventually reach the elephant in the room, ‘Asking Adrian after what happened.”

It doesn’t feel badass to Y/N. She feels like she’s cheating on the redhead that owns her heart, but she knows that’s ridiculous. Fred clearly has no form of feelings for her and she’s decided to get over him. 

“It’s nothing…” She starts and she sees Daphne’s eyebrows raise. They’ve been roommates every year since they started school together so they’re both aware this is a big lie. “I didn’t want to go alone. Everyone else had dates already and Adrian’s nice. Plus, he did ask me before…”

Daphne nods, not wanting to press further. “Have you got a dress yet?” It had said on their packing list for the school year to bring a dress or dress robes so everyone’s already well prepared. Y/N nods and walks towards the closet before pulling out a floor-length silver gown with lace detailing. She smiles shyly as Daphne gasps in awe. 

“Eat your heart out, Fred Weasley!” For the first time all night, Y/N laughs. She knows she’s going to look stunning in the dress and while she has no ill resentment towards Angelina for agreeing to go with Fred, she can’t help but feel a little bit coy knowing Fred’s going to see her in it. 

- 

She’s sitting at her desk in Transfiguration the next day when he finally acknowledges her presence. She’s twiddling her quill in her fingers, dreading the moment the troublemaker waltzes into the class. His usual seat is the one next to her, while George and Lee sit in front of them but she can only hope Alicia takes the hint and sits with her before Fred does.

She doesn’t get her wish. She’s about two seconds away from dozing off when the seat screeches against the hardwood flooring below them and she looks to her left to see Fred smirking.

“Hi love,'' he starts, the nickname not feeling out of ordinary, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” He says, and it’s true. He hadn’t seen her since class yesterday. He had looked for her before dinner to tell her about the prank he’d pulled on Filch with George while she was studying and he’d barely seen her during dinner. 

Her heart starts to speed up at the nickname, and she forces down the bile she feels growing in her throat. “Yeah, I just ate dinner and went to bed yesterday. Been studying for potions. Sixth year is hard.” She’s trying to be short and sweet and maybe a little blunt but Fred doesn’t pick up on it. “Heard you asked Angelina to the ball too.” She’s hoping to whoever’s listening to her prayers that the jealousy isn’t evident in her voice and by the dopey smile that grows on Fred’s face, her prayers were answered.

“Yeah! Ron was being such a prat, telling me I couldn’t make fun of him for…” But she drowns his voice out. It might be a bitch move, but she really doesn’t need to hear the who, where, when and why he asked Angelina out. It’s clear to Y/N that Fred didn’t even notice her existence at dinner and that stings more than she’d like to admit. 

She can barely concentrate during class. Fred has never really shown to care about any academic success, so he spends the entire period trying to entertain Y/N and get her to speak to him but she’s being stubborn and Fred can’t help but wonder what he did wrong. He starts to think maybe she’s just had a bad day, but when the bell rings and she storms off without even saying goodbye to him he’s dumbfounded.

“Trouble in paradise, brother?” George teases when he sees the frown adorned on Fred’s face. 

“Have I done anything to upset Y/N?” He questions and he sees the way George and Lee both give each other a look. They know something he doesn’t and that leaves a feeling of uneasiness in his chest. Y/N and himself have always been closer than her and George and especially her and Lee. He was there for her when her parents were fighting constantly when she was 11 and when Marcus Flint started bullying her in 3rd year. He was even there when she cried to him last year about the guy she loved and how he was so stupidly blind to her feelings and while she didn’t give a name, Fred was dying to go punch whoever it was for not realising he had his best friend’s heart.

“If you have, it’s not up for us to tell you, mate.” Lee states and he hides behind George when he notices the scowl on Fred’s face. Lee knows better than to get between him and Y/N, but he isn’t wrong. 

“Look, Alicia said she was fine when they left the library yesterday evening,” George starts, and he knows he shouldn’t be lying to his brother and best friend, but it’s not a huge lie, and maybe it’ll push his oblivious brother to realise what he did to upset his best friend, “She was at dinner last night when you asked Angie to the ball and then she went to her dorm with Daphne. Heard something about her saying yes to Adrian Pucey asking her to the ball…” While George made extra emphasis on the fact Y/N witnessed Fred asking Angelina to the ball, Fred’s eyes glaze over in rage when George mentions Adrian and he has a feeling his twin has got the wrong idea.

“I bet Adrian did something to her. Fuck him, honestly.” And before George and Lee can stop him, Fred’s stalking out of the classroom with Adrian Pucey in his sights.

- 

Fred doesn’t find Adrian until later that afternoon, standing on the pitch and clad in his quidditch robes, yelling at someone who Fred assumes is Montague. He thinks now is probably a bad time to confront him, but he's blinded by the thought that he’s hurt Y/N. 

“Pucey!” He shouts and when Adrian turns around, he chuckles and smirks at Fred. He was expected this later rather than sooner, specifically during dinner, but he guesses now will have to do. 

“What?” He asks, but they both know why he’s here and he’s just enjoying riling Fred up. 

“What did you do Y/N?” Adrian scoffs at this and shakes his head which confuses Fred. “What did I do to Y/N?” Fred stands his ground, chest puffed up. Adrian might be a fair bit shorter than Fred but Adrian hasn’t got anything to be scared of. Sure he’s seen Fred throw a punch or two and he’s definitely been on the receiving end of a bludger from the Weasley during a game, but he knows he isn’t the one that hurt Y/N here. 

“I think you should be asking yourself that, mate. Y/N only agreed to going to the ball with me after you asked Angelina out right in front of her.” This causes Fred to look at Adrian in confusion and Adrian laughs at Fred again. He’s confused, why would asking Angelina out hurt Y/N? 

It turns out he said that out loud, because two seconds later Adrian is responding to him, “Because she was expecting you to ask her, Weasley.” 

Adrian doesn’t even wait for Fred’s reply before stalking off to the Slytherin change rooms and Fred’s left standing on the pitch, wondering why the ache in his chest is almost debilitating at the thought of hurting Y/N and questioning why he feels the need to throw up knowing she’s happily going with Adrian Pucey. 

-

Fred’s next port of call is finding Y/N. After his talk with Adrian, he needs to find out why she expected him to ask her to the ball. He would’ve happily gone with her, but to Fred, she hadn’t even dropped a single hint at wanting to go with him and when she’s finally located, she’s in the library with Daphne. 

“This is my exit cue,” Daphne mutters as she notices the redhead roaming around the library looking for Y/N. She doesn’t even have a moment to question Daphne before the seat in front of her is suddenly occupied by the last person she was hoping to see again.

“Why are you going with Pucey?” Is the first thing that leaves Fred’s mouth, and it wasn’t what Y/N was expecting. She splutters, only for a few seconds, before eventually replying.

“He asked me.” 

Fred’s eyebrows furrow, but didn’t Pucey say she wanted to go with him? “A little birdie said you wanted to go with me. So, how come you’re going with him.”

Now Y/N scoffs and Fred can’t help but notice how many people are scoffing at him today just for asking questions and it’s getting annoying. “You didn’t ask me. He did. So, I said yes. Don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” She’s intentionally being short, hopefully not spilling anything about her feelings for the boy in front of her. 

“I didn’t know you wanted to go with me, Y/N. How was I supposed to know?” At this, Y/N goes from feeling hurt to angry and she can’t explain why her hands start to shake. 

“How were you supposed to know?” She exclaims loudly which causes her to receive a rather nasty ‘sh’ from Madam Pince and a few O.W.L students surrounding her. 

“Have you seen the way we act around each other Fred?” She’s now whisper yelling and the confused look on Fred’s face as she says this just aggravates her further and she’s convinced no one is this daft and he’s pushing her buttons on purpose. “Because everyone thinks we’re fucking dating already, Fred. You have to constantly be touching me, we’re always together, you call me darling and love and you kiss me on the forehead when I fucking bring you sugar quills from Hogsmeade because they’re your favourite and whenever you have spare money you always buy me Honeydukes chocolate because you said you like seeing me blush when you buy me things. You’re telling me now that we’re just friends?”

If the ache in Fred’s chest was almost debilitating on the quidditch pitch earlier, right now it feels like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. Her cheeks are flushed, her fists are clenched, pieces of her hair are falling out of her bun that’s resting on top of her head and, worst of all, Fred’s noticed the tears of anger and frustration pooling in her eyes.

She sighs before continuing, trying to compose herself so he doesn’t see her crying over him, unaware he’s already noticed the tears threatening to fall. Her voice is sad and broken, and it feels like the ending point for her. 

“I was just stupid enough to assume this year was the year we would finally admit we’re more than friends, Freddie. But I guess all this time it’s been one-sided. I hope you have a good time at the ball with Angelina.” 

Fred grabs her wrist as she starts to pack up her things and looks at her, scanning her face for any form of emotion. “Let me go, Fred.” She looks at him with pleading eyes and he lets go of the grasp he has on her wrist.

Fred doesn’t try to stop her again as she hastily packs up her things and he sadly watches her leave the library without turning to look at him. 

-

Y/N doesn’t care if it’s considered dramatic, but she lays in bed and cries for the rest of the day. While she hasn’t gone through a literal break-up, it feels like her friendship with Fred is over. At least, she’s decided, it’s over until she gets over her feelings for him. 

Daphne tries everything in her power to comfort her. She rubs her back, plays with her hair and even puts on ABBA to try and get Y/N to dance just to cheer her up. Y/N feels horrible she’s basically conned Daphne into babysitting her breakdown but Daphne constantly reassures her it’s okay. 

“Do you want me to go beat him up? I might be short and weak and he’s the size of a tree but I could take him.” Y/N sniffles a laugh at this, and smiles. She’s truly grateful for everything Daphne’s been doing for her and she makes a mental note to get her an extra special Christmas present next time she goes to Hogsmeade. 

However, it turns out essentially ending the friendship with Fred ends her friendships with most of the Gryffindors. She was expecting this, but when George can’t even meet her eye in class her heart breaks into even smaller pieces. George has always been like a brother to her, someone she could tell anything too without worry of being judged. He was the first person she told when she realised she liked Fred and Y/N was the first person, besides Fred, that George told his feelings for Alicia for. 

Y/N feels alone but she’s stubborn so she refuses to show it. She sits with Daphne in every class, essentially kicking poor Cassius Warrington who’s been pining after Daphne for 3 years into a different spot in class and she sometimes even sits with Adrian during lunch. It turns out they have a lot more in common than just the fact they’re in Slytherin and pure-bloods and Y/N’s pain in her chest is slowly but surely disappearing. 

While her feelings for Fred still exist, her heart slowly feels like it’s being mended. It’s only when she spots Fred sulking during lunch one day that the ache returns. She was usually the one who he went too when feeling bad- him being too embarrassed to go to George. She hopes he’s okay, but she shakes the idea of approaching him, knowing he’s got Angelina to keep him company. The pang in her chest stays a little bit longer that day. 

-

The Yule Ball arrives quicker than expected and Y/N and Daphne spend all day getting ready with a bunch of other Slytherin students. It’s nice, while they don’t all usually get along, the house loyalty between them is unmistakable. 

Most of them are acutely aware of Y/N’s ‘Weasley Situation’ and while some of them give her pity looks, most of the younger girls have expressed their jealousy that she’s going with Adrian. This makes her laugh and shake her head and she often replies that boys aren’t all that and no boy is worth being jealous over. She feels like a wise mother almost, never wanting them to feel the way she’s felt the past few weeks.

Daphne and Y/N arrive at the Great Hall together, giggling about how bad Y/N is at walking in heels and placing bets on how quick they’re going to come off. While Daphne is counting her galleons in her purse to confirm the bet, Y/N catches a glimpse of Fred and Angelina. He looks so handsome, his dress robes a mixture of gold and black and she can’t help but think how well they’d go together. But when she looks at Angelina she feels like she’s going to pass out.

Angelina is stunning, and there’s no doubt about it. She’s in a floor-length dark purple gown that compliments her skin perfectly and Y/N thinks if Fred was going with anyone to the ball, she’s glad it’s Angelina. 

Cassius and Adrian soon appear by the girls and take their arms into the Great Hall that’s been transformed to look like a winter wonderland. The roof tonight is bewitched to look like a winter, snowy day and Y/N can’t help but admire it. She’s grown up with magic her entire life, but she can’t help but constantly be amazed.

Adrian pulls a flask out of his dress robes jacket which makes Y/N snort and he smiles happily at her. Of course he snuck Firewhiskey into the Ball. The action reminds her of something Fred would do and she shakes her head, trying to get the boy out of her mind, tonight of all nights.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” Adrian states as he takes a swig of the flask, and she feels her cheeks heat up. She can hear the sincerity in his voice. “You don’t scrub up so badly either, Pucey.” 

“A dance, m’lady?” He jokingly bows to Y/N and she smiles while she takes his hand and he leads her to the dance floor. As Adrian twirls Y/N around the dance floor, albeit messily because neither of them paid attention in dance classes held by Snape of all people, she forgets about the redhead who’s stare is burning holes into the back of her head.

“You’re a shit date, y’know.” Angelina laughs and Fred’s broken out of his trance. “Shit, Angie, I’m so sorry.” 

Angelina isn’t wrong. She’s a smart girl, and she’s well aware of Fred’s longing stares towards the Slytherin girl. “Did you know? That you wanted to go with her?” Angelina questions, out of sheer curiosity. Even she was shocked when Fred asked her, but she was too dumbfounded when he asked and with everyone watching at dinner, the pressure to say yes was immense but it was not worth all the pain and heartache she’s watched her two friends go through. 

“At the time? No, definitely not. She’s…” He trails off as he tries to find the right words, “She’s always been there, y’know? I just assumed she’d be in my life forever and what we had was what we’d always be… It felt normal, like I didn’t feel the way I feel about her with you, or Katie or Alicia but it felt like that’s how you’re meant to feel about your girl best friend?” 

He looks over at them again, and the gross feeling of jealousy rises in his throat. “But then she said yes to Pucey, and all I can think about is how no one should be holding her but me and that he'll walk her all the way back to her dorm tonight and probably kiss her and I feel like throwing up, and...” He pauses and looks at Angelina and the pity in her eyes is obvious. “And you don’t think about your best friend like this.” 

Angelina watches in pity as Fred clearly drowns his sorrows in pumpkin juice and she drags him onto the dance floor. She’s not letting Fred have a bad night and she refuses to have one as well. Fred is one of her best friends, and even though she might not be the girl he wishes he was here with, she’s determined to cheer him up somehow. 

Fred finally starts to have a good time when he spots George slyly leading Alicia out of the Great Hall and he loudly wolf whistles causing a red hue to form on both their cheeks and George to flip Fred the bird as they leave. Angelina spots Y/N grab her purse across the room while Fred’s distracted and she quietly leaves just after George and Alicia.

Alone.

“Y/N just left, Fred. Alone.” Fred’s confused why Angelina is telling him this when he looks over at Daphne and Adrian, who both look at him like ‘Go you fucking idiot’ and before he can even mutter a goodbye to his friends, he’s out the door almost as fast as George was.

-

He finds Y/N sitting on a bench in the courtyard. She’s looking up at the stars and Fred stars to recall last summer when she visited The Burrow. She spent all night trying to point out constellations to Fred and as he watches her mutter to herself, Fred wonders how he didn’t realise that they were in love this entire time.

He clears his throat, careful not to startle Y/N and when she turns Fred can see the hesitation in her face as she quickly goes to jump up and leave. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have stolen the prime make-out spot of the night.” She awkwardly laughs but then quickly realises Fred is alone. “Nevermind… Where’s Angelina?” 

Fred shrugs, and sits down on the bench she was sitting on originally. Y/N stands awkwardly before sitting down next to him. As much as she hates to admit it, she’s missed being close to him. The warmth that radiates off him despite it being the middle of winter causes her to shuffle just that slightly bit closer to him and Fred can’t help but smile. 

“You look beautiful tonight. I know Adrian probably told you already, at least I hope he did, but you deserve to know.” Fred could feel himself rambling and he doesn’t miss the blush that rises across Y/N’s neck and cheeks. It’s the exact same blush that appears whenever he buys her chocolates and his heart soars. 

“Thanks Freddie,” the nickname feels foreign on her tongue, “you look pretty handsome yourself. I hope Angelina told you.” She retaliates and Fred hates it. He hates the awkwardness between them. He wants nothing more to wrap his arms around her and hold her close but they feel like strangers. 

“Thanks,” he laughs and Y/N looks at him confused. “Did you have a good night?”

“Can we not have this awkward small talk? I’m sure Angelina’s waiting for you somewhere.” Fred’s taken aback by her abruptness and stares at her for a few seconds. “What?” She asks when she notices Fred looking at her like she has nine heads.

“Angelina’s not waiting for me. Is Adrian waiting for you?” He asks but he doesn’t want to know the answer. He’s gone through a rollercoaster of emotions these past few weeks and he truly doesn’t want to know if another man is waiting for her to sweep her off her feet and walk back to the Slytherin common room. But when she shakes her head, Fred lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. 

“I need to apologise.” He blurts out and Fred wants to smack himself in the head. This was not the romantic moment he had envisioned in his head as he followed her outside into the courtyard. “I need to apologise for a lot of things. Mostly, for not realising how ridiculously in love with you I am, and also for not asking you to the ball and for ruining our friend-” 

“You didn’t ruin our friendship.” She cuts him off but she doesn’t know what else to say. “You didn’t. I did, if anything.” Fred has to stop himself from starting an argument on who ruined the friendship but he wants to backtrack. Did Y/N just ignore him confessing his love to her? 

“Well, I’m still sorry for not realising how ridiculously in love with you I am?” He tries again sheepishly and Y/N gives him a double-take. She heard him the first time but she was convinced it was just her ears playing tricks on her or Fred being a menace. After all, this is Fred Weasley in front of her, he’s always looking for a joke and as she’s about to accuse him of pulling a sick, twisted prank on her, she looks at him properly.

And he’s looking as serious as he did the day he told her he plans to open a joke shop with George after they graduate. 

“You’re in love with me?” She asks quietly and her heart is racing again. She thinks back to the day she accidentally confessed to Fred and how she’s spent the last few weeks trying to fall out of love with him just for him to admit he’s fallen in love with her. “Fred, if this is some sick and twisted joke I will never forgive you.” 

Fred almost looks hurt at this, that she thinks he’s capable of something that cruel. So instead of speaking, he softly cups her face in both his hands and runs his thumbs across her cheekbones in a loving manner. He looks her directly in the eyes and Y/N doesn’t think she’s breathed in the last 30 seconds.

She’s been craving being this close to Fred for as long as she can remember. Their lingering touches were never this intimate and right now, she feels like she can look into Fred’s eyes and see into his core, his soul. And he can do the same to her.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly, and Y/N gasps before nodding, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips against hers. 

As he leans in his eyes flutter close, as do her’s. Y/N hasn’t kissed a lot of people in her life, but nothing could ever compare to the way she feels right now. The love and adoration Fred is pouring into this kiss almost brings tears to her eyes and she can only hope he can feel the love and adoration she has for him back.

Their lips move in perfect synchrony, neither of them pushing each other too far, but when Y/N drags her fingers through Fred’s hair and he lets out a groan, she can’t help but pull away and giggle. 

“I’ve missed hearing you laugh.” Fred’s arms are now wrapped around her middle and he’s leaning down to press his forehead against hers. Now he has her in his arms, he’s never letting her go. 

“I’ve missed having you make me laugh, Freddie.” She says sincerely and it’s Fred’s turn to blush. He knows they need to eventually leave their little bubble of happiness they finally have but he doesn’t want too. But he knows they need to talk about what happened, about them, what they are and Fred so desperately hopes this means Y/N is his. 

She senses Fred’s thinking and she looks up at him, doe-eyed and innocent and Fred’s heart melts. 

“Stop overthinking.” She mutters, running her hand through his long hair again and Fred almost looks like a cat purring as he feels her fingernails rake across his scalp and he leans into her touch. “Can’t help it. Don’t want to lose you again.” 

Her heart pounds, this is all she’s ever wanted to hear and now she wants to hear it every single day. So she tells him exactly that.

“I’m yours, Freddie. As long as you’re mine? If you don’t know what you want it’s okay, I promise we can take it slow-” Fred cuts her off, laughing as he kisses her again and he feels how warm Y/N’s cheeks are, as she blushes over Fred silencing her with a kiss. When he pulls back, her face is flush, her hair is falling out of her bun. It reminds Fred of that day in the library, except this time, the happiness in her face is unmistakably there, and finally he’s the cause of it. 

“Of course, I’m yours, darling. I’m never letting you go.” 

- 

Late the next morning, when Y/N is trying her best to sneak out of the Gryffindor sixth year boys dormitory with a dark purple hickey adorning her neck, she spots three 4th years whose names she doesn’t even know, giving Ron Weasley five galleons. 

Ron sees her, and smirks. “My bet was at the ball. Thanks, Y/N, you and Freddie boy have made me a very rich man.”

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

[miracleonice87]

69 with Tyler

“So… what are your plans for New Year’s?” ✨with Tyler Seguin, our mutual love

quick note: I took this in a way different direction than I’d originally planned. I blame my withdrawals from hockey for my need to write about the actual game in a holiday piece. (remember when we had NHL hockey around the holidays? le sigh.) also Jamie and Katie are still together in this one, as they always are in my head, except when I’m writing about him as the MC. she’s my idol — sue me.

quick warnings: hockey injury involving blood, swearing

_____

No matter how many times it happened, you still felt ill each time. You’d never get used to seeing the love of your life get injured before your very eyes.

The same sensations of the blood draining from your face, your pulse becoming unsteady, bile rising in your throat. They happened every time.

The next thing you felt after the initial physical reaction was Meg Dowling’s hand gathering your hair at the nape of your neck, stroking it slowly in an attempt to soothe you from the seat behind yours. Katie, ever by your side during Stars games — your left side, per the request of both your boyfriends, after they found out that she had been on your left during most of their best games — immediately took your hand in hers. You swore that Andrea Bishop must have jumped across the bar between where she stood and the seats at the front of the suite where you were, as you felt her hands come to squeeze your shoulders, the only one speaking around you as she coached, “Baby, breathe. He’s okay. He’s gonna be okay.”

You finally found your voice when you saw Tyler move his shoulders after what felt like an eternity, though he was still splayed on the ice after a nasty late hit, with Jamie knelt beside him, Klinger hunched overtop. Rads, Esa, and Bish stood near the goal, wordless. The men at the bench all stood, waiting. Bones looked like he could either start screaming or pass out on the spot. The entire arena was hushed. 

“He’s moving,” you squeaked shakily, the women surrounding you in the suite breathing a collective sigh.

He was moving, yes, but even from high above the ice, you could still see that his eyes were squinted, his hips and legs moving slowly from side to side as he writhed in pain. Terrified, you watched the trainer carefully extricate the helmet from Tyler’s head, and nausea struck when you noticed a significant pool of blood pouring from... where? Where? Where was it coming from? His nose? Ear? Mouth?

“Oh, god, I’m gonna be sick,” you moaned then, pressing a clammy hand to your forehead. Andrea cooed, “Okay, okay. Put your head between your knees. Just breathe — in through your nose.”

Katie rubbed your back as you followed your other friend’s instructions, the girls exchanging frightened looks once your eyes were no longer focused on them, nor on the scene below.

Once you felt that the imminent wave of sickness had passed, you slowly sat up once more, breathing through pursed lips. Upon seeing that Tyler was still lying on his back, the white towel pressed to his face already stained with blood, you turned helplessly to Katie, knowing she would be able to tell what you were thinking.

“You wanna go?” she asked, arranging your hair behind your shoulder. You offered a slight nod. “Okay, let’s go,” she agreed, standing with you as Meg hung your crossbody from your arm.

Alandra Dickinson, your best friend within the group besides Katie, met you at the top of the suite stairs, pressed a kiss to your cheek, and forced a cold bottle of water into your hand.

“Drink that,” she ordered as she pointed to the beverage. “Small sips.” She then pulled you in for a tight, brief hug, and urged you along, Sarah Pavelski squeezing your trembling hand with a sympathetic expression as you reached the door of the box.

As you turned the corner and approached the private elevator, the mechanical doors opened to reveal John, your favorite arena security guard.

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, one that didn’t meet his joyful eyes the way it normally did, and he tilted his head to the side, inviting you to join him in the elevator.

“I figured I might meet you here. Come on,” he spoke. You sighed with a thankful half-smile and, with Katie right on your heels, stepped into the elevator.

“Just heard on my radio that they got him up,” John told you quietly when the doors shut. “Needed help, but no stretcher.”

You nodded silently, your hands gripping the water like a vice.

“This was supposed to be a fun game,” you finally said in a strangled murmur. “New Year’s Eve, hang in the box, all go out after.”

Katie placed a tender hand to your upper arm, covered with the denim jacket, yours embroidered with “Seguin 91,” that each of the WAGs had worn tonight to represent their significant other.

“I know, babe,” Katie concurred softly. “It sucks.”

You glanced at her anxiously as the doors opened to the tunnels. John led the way, the other security staff along the corridor nodding knowingly as you and Katie trailed behind him.

Finally, you reached the medical room, where John peeked into the window. One of the medical staff spotted him and nodded, so John opened the door a crack.

“I’ve got Mr. Seguin’s better half here,” John announced. You heard a worried “ah, fuck,” leave Tyler’s lips, which actually left you feeling relieved. “Think she could come in?” John asked. The team doctor, without taking his eyes from Tyler, encouraged, “Yep, send her in.”

You whispered a “thank you” to both Katie and John as you rushed past them into the room. The first thing you saw was Tyler’s arm outstretched from where he sat propped against the exam table, his back to you.

“I’m okay,” he insisted the moment he heard your footsteps. 

A choked exhale fell from your mouth, and you closed both your hands tightly around Tyler’s, careful not to jostle him as the doctor flashed a pen light at his eyes, testing his pupillary reaction, while an assistant held a fresh towel to the right side of his face. You noticed the first towel, now nearly soaked in red, lying on the counter, tossed aside. You shifted your eyes away from it and toward your boyfriend, who, despite his condition, currently had a smirk on his pink lips.

You couldn’t help but smile yourself. “What in god’s name are you smirking about, Seguin?” you asked incredulously.

“Were you sitting on Katie’s left side instead of right today?” Tyler asked hoarsely, the only brow that was visible quirking upward. “Just wondering if I have you to thank for this too or just Neal.”

You sighed, ghosting your hand along the bare skin of his forearm, and your eyes flickered to Katie, a smile slowly spreading across her face from where she stood in the doorway.

“Just Nealer, baby,” you informed him as you turned your attention back toward him, the doctor turning to prepare what looked like a suture kit. “Katie and I know better than to pull that shit.”

Tyler smiled, turning his head to face you as the medical assistant stepped away to help the doctor get prepped. Only then did you lay eyes on the enormous gash on Tyler’s upper cheek, dangerously close to his eye.

Tyler’s expression shifted as he watched you assessing the damage.

“What... is it bad?” he asked innocently.

“What tipped you off?” the assistant joked, glancing at the two of you briefly.

You tried to shake yourself out of it, but struggled to find your words.

“What, am I that ugly?” Tyler joked, attempting to lighten your mood. You opened your dry mouth, shaking your head.

“Uh, no, no,” you replied. “It’s just, um, it looks... um...”

“It’s big,” the doctor supplied as you trailed off. “It’s significant, Tyler. We’re gonna stitch you up, but we’re gonna have to bring in the optometrist to check you out before you leave. He should be here very soon. I don’t think it will affect your vision long-term, but we just want to be sure. And, to no one’s surprise, you do have a concussion as well.”

Tyler rested his head against the cushion behind him, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Great,” he grumbled.

“Hey,” you warned. “None of that. You’re lucky it wasn’t any worse. It looked... it looked like it would be.”

As the doctor wheeled his stool back in front of the table, Tyler gave you a pained look. “I’m sorry I scared you, baby,” he told you softly, lifting your hand to his lips.

You shook your head, pushing back some of his chestnut brown curls from the unmarred side of his face to brush a kiss across his temple.

“Don’t be sorry,” you said. “Wasn’t your fault. It was that little shit James Neal.”

Chuckles erupted from everyone in the room, and the doctor shook his head in amusement as he approached Tyler with a syringe.

“Alright, 91,” he began as he uncapped the large needle, making you feel woozy all over again. “You know the drill. Gonna numb you now. This is gonna hurt.”

Tyler took a breath and you felt his grip on your hand tighten as the doctor inserted the needle. You focused on Tyler’s wincing eyes instead of the object being poked into his face. He hissed and swore, then, a grimace still on his face, quipped, “So... what’s everybody doing for New Year’s?”

You snickered sadly at his attempt to deflect, hanging your shaking head, and squeezed his hand a couple of times. He gave you his best smile.

“I’ll tell you what you’re not gonna be doing is going out gallivanting tonight,” the doctor told him as he finished the injection. “So it looks like your New Year’s plans just got a lot less exciting.”

Tyler scoffed. “C’mon, doc,” he tried to reason. “Do you see this girl standing beside me? She’s an absolute smokeshow, and I know she’s got some pretty dress picked out for tonight, and you’re telling me I can’t take her out?” he argued, motioning toward you dramatically.

You felt yourself blush, and the doctor threw you an understanding smirk.

“Unfortunately, Tyler, yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you,” he said. “You’ve still got a long season ahead of you, and if you want to recover quickly, you need to go home, lay low, and get as much rest as possible. Now, hold still.”

Tyler huffed as the doctor began suturing his cheek, and you cupped the near side of his neck soothingly. He shifted his eyes toward you and gave you an appreciative, if disappointed, smile.

“So much for those big, fancy New Year’s Eve plans with everyone,” he muttered as he laced his fingers with yours. “I’m sorry, love.”

“Whaddya mean?” you teased. “I’m gonna have a great New Year’s. My boyfriend and I are gonna have a nice, quiet, relaxing evening by the fire with the dogs. After he gets his face sewn back together.”

Tyler breathed a laugh, bringing your hand close to his chest. “Well, the fire part sounds like fun, at least.”

[redhoodedjaybird]

Guidelines Update

In light of recent events regarding some unacceptable behaviour toward myself, I’ve made another update to my rules - See either below cut or or on my rules page here

Writer Intro

Kellen

30+

Transmasc. Nonbinary - He/Him, sometimes They/Them

Neurodivergent

10+ Years RP Experience

Caffeine Addicted Eldritch Horror with several chronic illnesses

The Basics

You know the drill – Don’t godmod. That includes moving my muse from one location to another without allowing my muse to move themself, significant timeskips without prior discussion, assuming prior knowledge of my muse/existing relationships outside of what is reasonable for canon characters or without prior discussion, etc.

No vagueblogging/callouts/drama. I have neither the energy nor inclination for that shit.

Leave me out of discourse and ship wars, thanks. Let me play with my fictional disaster children in peace.

Sorry, but I will not interact with real-person/celebrity/self-insert RP blogs or anyone playing a cartoon/anime character – especially Disney characters or characters known to be children/portrayed in a child-like manner.

An exception will be made for comicbook/Superhero muses, though these are preferred to have faceclaims where possible, thanks.

If you don’t have a basic bio/muse page or rules on your blog or I find something in your rules that I think will make us incompatible, I generally won’t follow/follow back.

I may occasionally follow some non-RP/personal/general fandom blogs from time to time. However, I will not RP with them unless they have an RP sideblog on that account.

If English is your first language, literate partners with a good grasp of proper grammar, spelling, etc., are preferred. Of course, spelling and grammatical errors happen from time to time, and that’s perfectly fine. I just prefer people who make as much of an effort in the quality of their writing as I do.

Non-native speakers are more than welcome to approach me for interaction, so please do not be put off if you think your English skills aren’t strong. I assure you, you most likely speak it better than you think you do.

I write in third person past-tense, I don’t use any fancy formatting and am flexible in the use of gifs, icons, or iconless threads – I prefer 100x100 for icons and small to medium-sized gifs. I do not expect that from who I write with though, so please don’t worry about matching formatting or reply length, so long as you give me at least a paragraph to work with (unless we are doing a short-format, conversational style thread. Then single sentences with no description are fine)

I may have issues reading your replies/blog if you use a lack of capitalization, excessive spacing, randomly bolded/italicized words that aren’t used for emphasis, or illegible/cursive/tiny fonts below 8px because it gives me eye strain and triggers my migraines.

Canon, cross-fandom, and fandomless OC’s are very welcome, so long as we can figure out a way for our muses to interact.

OOC =/= IC: Muns ideals and morals are not to be equated with the muse’s expression/actions/thoughts. Some of the muses I write are irredeemable assholes. That does not mean I approve of, condone, or am glamorizing their behavior in the slightest.

Due to several chronic illnesses and having a life beyond Tumblr, I have a lot going on outside of RP, which sometimes means I have to prioritize my health, mental wellbeing, and other RL commitments from time to time.

My timezone is GMT, and I will often throw replies into my queue or go for a couple of weeks where replies get extremely slow just because I get burned out sometimes, or my brain just isn’t focusing and cooperating for things (yay, neurodivergence).

I may also prioritize threads I have more muse at any given time, and I cannot guarantee a timeframe for a reply, but I try to get things answered in no more than three weeks if I’m feeling particularly run-down or struggling with brain stuff.

I might take breaks/hiatuses when my health needs attention, or RL stuff gets especially busy (usually when school is out on a break and around the holidays). If you’re the kind of person who guilt-trips someone for needing to take time away from RP for personal reasons, please do not interact with me. I’ve been through that shit before on more than one occasion, and it’s completely non-negotiable.

I DO NOT OWE ANYONE A FOLLOW, NOR AN EXPLANATION FOR UNFOLLOWING OR BLOCKING YOU.

If I haven’t followed you back, it is likely that you are either a personal blog, you post things I do not wish to see, you don’t have any muse info/rules on your page, you use formatting I have extreme difficulty reading, or we simply haven’t interacted at all after a long period of time and I’m just cleaning up my dash

If I block you, it’s usually because you’ve behaved inappropriately towards me/my muses, and/or I found things on your blog that are a major red flag for me and I do not wish to interact/be associated with that shit.

Also, and I hate that I even have to say this, but due to at least one rather unpleasant situation that has happened to me on here – DO NOT SEND ME UNSOLICITED PORN/EROTIC FAN ART OR TELL ME ANY KINKS YOU HAVE WITHOUT FIRST GAINING MY CONSENT/ASKING ME IF IT IS OKAY TO SEND/DISCUSS THESE THINGS BEFOREHAND. IT IS A FORM OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND MAKES ME EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE, ESPECIALLY IF WE DO NOT KNOW EACH OTHER VERY WELL.

Age Rating

The Mun is over 30, and Jason is written entirely over 18 years of age here (aside from in drabbles/backstory stuff), so he will already be Red Hood by default no matter the verse he’s in, unless I decide to create a verse where the events of his death didn’t happen, but that is extremely unlikely due to how intrinsic that is to how I play him.

While Jason may interact with muses under 18 (for example, the younger Batkids – I,e; Damian), Jay will remain over 18 in all verses and will not ship or engage in any other “Adult” situations with a minor under any circumstances.

As such, I reserve the right not to interact with any muns under the age of 18, as I am literally old enough to be your parent.

That being said, I am not your parent, and I will not be held responsible for how you curate your own online experience. This blog is clearly marked as containing mature content, including but not limited to potentially NSFW/sexual situations, mentions of abuse, self-harm, recreational substance use, acts of violence, and other potentially triggering/adult-themed subjects.

I generally don’t use read mores for replies, but may use them in drabbles if I think the content may be distressing/triggering to someone, or because it is particularly long and I don’t want people to have to scroll through a wall of text on dash.

I will tag trigger warnings at my discretion where I see fit, so if after being warned that you may find some of the content on my blog to be triggering or upsetting in any way, you ignore them and still choose to consume it, that is on you. If you ignore the warnings, you have no right to complain or try to censor what I write because you have no business coming into an adult space if you cannot handle adult content.

Welcome/Open Starters

I don’t write welcome starters at all. Open starters are extremely rare, and if I post one, existing mutuals will usually be given preference.

I sometimes get tired and bored of introduction-type starters, so I will often switch things up and jump into a thread where the muses have already gotten past the meeting point.

I’m also not chronologically locked so that threads may jump back and forth in the various verse timelines.

Shipping

Jay’s orientation stated in his bio and not subject to change unless he decides the interpretation needs adjusting.

Shipping is not a priority. However, Jay may occasionally seek out threads prediscussed to potentially become that way – this is most frequently with existing partners with whom I have well-established chemistry for both mun and muse (these are usually literally the handful of people I have been writing for literal years with at this point)

Shipping is entirely chemistry-based, for the mun as much as the muses. If we don’t vibe too well OOC, shipping between muses may be less likely to happen.

I usually disregard canon ships at the beginning of an interaction. Please don’t assume that just because our muses ship in canon that it automatically means we acknowledge said ship. As I mentioned already, there needs to be chemistry, even for canon ships.

Jay flirting right off the bat is not an immediate indication of attraction or intent to ship. Sometimes he’s just naturally flirty or may be using it as a coping behavior.

Pre-existing/backstory romantic relationships may occur, but only if discussed and approved OOC beforehand.

As per the above, force shipping will not be tolerated under any circumstances.

All ships are entirely separate and independent of each other unless otherwise specified as mutually agreed upon in advance as part of the plot.

Neither I nor Jay will acknowledge any jealousy a muse or mun has over a ship that does not involve them. The only exception will be if a muse being jealous of something is specifically part of a previously discussed plot.

NSFW/Smut

Do not thirst-cruise my muse. Yes, I may have an fc who is attractive, but Jason is more than just a pretty face. I put a lot of work into developing fully fleshed out characters, so if I get the impression you are coming to my blog looking only to ship/smut because you see a face you like, it is very likely going to result in the opposite from happening

Due to Jay having some rigidly set boundaries regarding shipping/intimacy, please do not send any anons/memes that involve putting him into a potentially sexual/romantic situation unless either our muses have interacted previously and the nature of their relationship has become comfortable in that way, has been discussed with me OOC, or the meme itself specifically contains questions of a sexual/romantic nature for the purpose of defining headcanons/preferences.

If a ship does naturally develop over time into something sexual, smut may be written on this blog. However, it is very rare and we are also happy to let things fade to black/timeskip, as I am generally only comfortable writing smut with well established/long-term rp partners who I have built an existing rapport with.

[spinbitchzu]

citrus kisses

Darling, you don’t need to say what you mean, ‘cause your kisses taste like tangerines. Aka: cole’s love language is tart and sweet and reminds Kai of things he thought he’d lost. 

hey uhhh so. I don’t write ninjago fic often but apparently when i do, it’s about the inherent romanticism of peeling an orange and also action-oriented love languages. anyway you know the drill. lavashipping, a bit over 2k words. unbeta’d bc we die like men. 

The oranges that grew in Ignacia grew in huge groves.

It’s one of Kai’s only memories with his whole family: walking between his parents in the long aisles stretching between the lines of trees, Nya’s tiny, chubby hand clasped carefully in his own as she toddled along beside him. The smell of oranges was everywhere, and that day they picked enough to last them for weeks and weeks. 

He can still recall his dad’s hands braced around his ribs as he hoisted Kai up to pick a Valencia orange bigger than his head from a high branch, eyes squinting against the bright sun on his face. He’d felt such pride that day, as he carried his treasure around for all to see.

He remembers summers of frothy fresh-squeezed orange juice in the morning, afternoons of fragrant orange cake, and evenings of carefully-partitioned segments that exploded juice on his tongue. His mom used to make ambrosia for Saturday morning breakfast, the orange slices piled high with coconut shavings and thick, fluffy whipped cream. She’d scold him when he peeled the oranges himself; his forceful little thumbs always dug too far into the flesh and sent the juice squirting everywhere. Instead, she clucked her tongue and peeled it for him with easy, deft movements while he sucked the stickiness off his fingers.

Those days—patchworks of hot nights and sunshine through the kitchen windows and the smell of citrus on his mother as she leaned in to kiss him goodnight—they’re days Kai can hardly remember the older he gets. 

After his parents disappeared, no one took Kai and Nya to the Valencia groves; no one whipped the cream for ambrosia; no one lifted him to the highest branches for the best oranges. He simply had to wait until he was tall enough to reach them himself.

He doesn’t think about those memories very often, and Nya was so young, he doubts she remembers it at all. It’s not like he ever gets a summer off to return home either, so instead he lets the memory fade until it’s almost entirely forgotten. He locks it in the part of his brain that he’s sectioned off because it’s too painful to keep clinging to when things were that good. It’s okay. 

The past tastes like oranges and coconut cream, and Kai has left it behind.

...

Kai forgets why they’re making a stop over Ignacia, but it just so happens that the nearest rural area place for them to moor is over the Valencia groves he had nearly forgotten about. 

He stands at the front of the ship, leaning over the railing with his chin propped up on his pillowed arms to study the trees extending in every direction, the dark leaves bejewelled with not-quite-ripe January oranges. The sun overhead is more of a pale, cold disk, and Nya is somewhere below-deck, but it makes him melancholy anyway.

Footsteps approach from behind him—heavy but soft: Cole. He leans over the railing beside Kai, bracing his forearms against the wood as he surveys the landscape. “Hey. Whatcha doin’ out here, stranger?”

“Just lookin’,” he murmurs back. He hums to himself. “Did you know I used to come to this grove with my family as a kid?”

“I didn’t even know you liked oranges,” Cole replies, giving him a sideways glance. He smiles when Kai glances back, dark eyes crinkling. “Do you want to go down now? I’m sure we could grab a few and no one would miss ‘em.”

“Nah, that’s alright,” Kai says with half a grin. “They’re not ripe. And I don’t like oranges that much anyway. Too hard to peel. They just made me think about—things I hadn’t let myself think about for a while.”

“What kind of things?” Cole asks, nudging him with an elbow.

The touch grounds him and he’s grateful for it. He shrugs in a way that’s neither here nor there. “Just things. Home, I guess. My life? Before all the...ninja stuff.”

“Is that a good thing?” Cole tilts his head. In this light, his eyes turn from obsidian to sunlight through whiskey as he waits for an answer.

Kai makes a contemplative noise. “I don’t know. Hurts less than I expected, after everything. It’s bittersweet.” He sighs then, shoulders falling with the motion. “It really is making me miss oranges, though. I don’t know why I lied before—I really do like them.”

He looks back at the groves below and misses the look Cole gives him—measured and curious.

“What about you, do you like oranges?”

“Some. The sweet ones.”

“You’d like these ones, then,” Kai tells him, cheeks rising as he smiles. “The oranges from Ignacia are the biggest, sweetest ones around. They’re good just by themselves, but my mom made a mean ambrosia with them.”

“I bet Zane could replicate the recipe if you told him what it was,” Cole replies.

Kai just shrugs. “Maybe so. He’s sharp like that.”

They fall silent. Kai can physically feel Cole worrying about him and his rare bout of melancholy, so he squares his shoulders and musters up a grin. “Hey, Cole, you—,”

“You don’t have to,” is what Cole interrupts him with, paired with a weighted look that settles around him like a blanket. “I don’t mind the quiet. You’re allowed to, Kai.”

All the feigned bravado drains out of him. Kai stares at him for a second and wonders when Cole got so good at gauging his moods. There’s so many words unspoken inbetween what he says and that earnest, draping look in his eyes and Kai kind of aches with it.

“Okay,” he says instead, shoulders slowly falling. His chin dips to rest on his crossed forearms again and he leans into it when Cole slips as arm around him. “Okay.”

The nippy January wind dances around them, stirring their hair and whipping at their gis, but Kai tips his head against Cole’s shoulder and feels warm down to his toes.

...

“Holy crap, what the hell did you do?” Kai can’t help asking a week later, as Lloyd and Zane walk into the kitchen carrying groceries.

“There was a sale on tangerines at the grocery store,” Zane answers primly, setting his paper bag on the counter. “I thought it prudent to take advantage of it.”

“We have like a hundred pounds of these things,” Lloyd adds, setting his own bag down. “We’re going to be eating tangerines until we get old and grey.”

“Zane, man, you know I love a sale as much as the next guy, but this is a little overboard,” Cole says as he comes in, two more bags of tangerines hoisted on his shoulders. Kai does not stare, thank you very much, as much as he’s been finding it kind of hard to avoid when it comes to Cole and lifting things recently.

“Proper intake of vitamin C is important in preventing scurvy,” Zane replies, though he’s blinking the way he does when he’s getting embarrassed. “It’s a common illness in sailors.”

“Does that still apply  if the ship can fly?” Lloyd wonders.

“Or if we’re in the twenty-first century?” Kai adds wryly, eyebrows high.

“I’m sure we’ll find some way to finish them all,” Cole pipes up. “Don’t worry about it, Zane.”

“I was not.” Zane turns away to put away the rest of the groceries while Kai and Cole exchange an amused look. As he bustles back and forth, Kai grabs a tangerine from the bag behind him and turns it over in his hands, studying the way the light catches on the dimpled rind.

“Hey,” Kai says quietly, leaning across the kitchen counter. “Did you do this?”

Cole just shrugs with a crooked grin. “I didn’t do anything. You know Zane and sales. Can’t resist ‘em.”

“You did,” Kai deduces, eyeing his teammate’s reddening ears. He feels his expression soften. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” Cole says in response. He reaches over Kai, coming very, very close, until their noses are close enough to brush. His eyes are very dark and very close and Kai would very much like to kiss him right now.

“Um, uh,” Kai says, very eloquently.

“Not in the kitchen, please,” Zane calls from the pantry, because he hasn’t a romantic bone in his body (or any bones, to be fair to him).

Cole just grins and pulls back, displaying the tangerine he’d grabbed from behind Kai with a flourish. “I’m heading to the training deck. See you around, Hot Stuff.”

“R-right,” he mumbles (like an idiot), fighting the heat settled in his cheeks. He watches Cole go and feels distinctly like an opportunity has sailed over his head.

...

Cole smells like oranges these days.

Kai only notices because that isn’t his normal smell, which is much more organic soaps and something earthy and fresh. It’s a smell that clings to the hoodies Kai keeps pilfering from his closet—comforting in its familiarity. 

The abrupt invasion of tangy citrus makes him do a double take the first time he smells it. And then he reaches into the pocket of the hoodie and finds a tangerine. It’s store bought, with a little sticker on the side, and it’s not exactly a strange sight for any reason, but it sort of confounds him.

“Hey,” he says, walking into the kitchen, the object of confusion held gingerly in his hand. “Is this a tangerine?”

Cole looks up from where he’s making a sandwich and raises an eyebrow. “Is that my hoodie?”

“I asked first,” Kai replies quickly, before he has time to pink up.

“I mean, yeah, five points for powers of deduction,” Cole says cheekily. “Congratulations, it’s a tangerine. We gotta finish them somehow, don’t we?”

“I—yeah,” Kai says absently. Cole holds out a hand for it and he tosses it over wordlessly, before he even thinks too much about it.

“You said they’re hard to peel, right?” Cole asks, digging his nails into the rind. He peels it in the shape of a flower and then splits the orange in half with his thumbs to hold out to Kai. “Here.”

Kai looks down at the segment being offered to him in an open palm and then back at Cole with his earnest, crinkly-eyed smile, and feels something stutter fatally in his chest.

“Thanks,” he manages to say, as his heart cracks open to let sunshine stream all in, filling his ribcage with warmth.

He bites into the fruit and feels his mouth fill with juice and thinks about how his mother used to peel oranges when he was too clumsy to and then about how Cole leaves tangerines in the pockets of the hoodies he knows Kai will steal and peels them for him in the shape of a flower, even though it turns his nails all yellow. He thinks of it so hard he forgets to make a face that doesn’t show about seven years of adoration on it and when he looks back at Cole, he’s already looking back with realization blazing across his expression.

“Kai?” he asks, voice wavering as his throat bobs with his nervous gulp.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and then grabs Cole by the collar of his shirt and kisses him, soft and open-mouthed, across the kitchen island. He’s so filled up with sweet oranges and sunlight and the heat of Cole’s skin that he forgets to even be afraid of this, as much as it’s frightened him in his fantasies. He stops being afraid of it altogether when Cole sighs into his mouth and cards a hand through his hair.

When they finally draw back, Cole’s pupils are blown huge and dark and he’s looking distinctly Kissed with a capital K. Kai would very much like to continue that endeavor.

“You taste like oranges,” Cole chuckles as he tugs Kai around the island to pull him closer.

You taste like home, he wants to say, but then Cole leans over him to cup his jaw and kiss him breathless, and Kai decides to let it go unspoken. There are more important things to attend to.

…

In the early summer, Cole and Kai negotiate with the others for a three-day vacation in early June. They drive in a rented car to the Valencia grove outside Ignacia and pick enough oranges to last the ship for weeks. Cole boosts him on his shoulders to help him reach the huge oranges at the tree tops and they laugh the whole time, chasing each other through the orchard and trading citrus kisses. Kai wonders if it’s possible to burst with happiness.

“I’m sick of eating oranges,” Lloyd complains when they come home bearing the (literal) fruits of their labor, newly sun-tanned and smiling.  

“Really?” Kai tilts his head, considering. “Seems to me like I can never get enough of ‘em.”

“Was that some sort of romantic metaphor?” Lloyd asks with a wrinkled nose. “Gross.”

Cole laughs from where he’s watching and sidles up from behind to rest his big hands on Kai’s hips. 

“Yeah,” Kai says affectionately. “Gross.”

“Not in the kitchen,” Zane calls from the next room, but Kai just leans back against Cole and closes his eyes to drink in the moment.

It’s worth it, he decides. All the fighting. All the losing. All the danger. It’s worth it to eat oranges in the kitchen with people he loves.

“What are you thinking about?” Cole teases, his voice rumbling low in his chest against Kai’s back.

“Nothing,” he says with a smile, opening his eyes. “I just love oranges.”

[punksarahreese]

I haven't had another episode, except last night was touch and go + Mr Crockett

Episode | Crockett Marcel

Excerpt from a psych!AU I’ll never write; Crockett is an inpatient in the psych ward and he has therapy with his favourite Psychiatrist

Prompt: “I haven’t had another episode, except last night was touch and go.”

Word count: 1797

CW: Psych ward, talks of depressive episodes, brief mention of dermatillomania, schizoaffective disorder, child death

***

“Mr. Marcel?” the voice at his door made Crockett groan, recognizing the voice as the nurse who always disturbed him at ridiculous hours. He wanted to have a talk with whoever decided pill time would be at six in the morning, how was he supposed to “heal” if they never let him get any sleep?

“Maggie, can’t you let me sleep for another hour,” he rolled over and sighed when she shook her head. Medication and vitals were a morning routine, every day before the sun even thought about rising completely. Routine was good, they told him, a routine would help with figuring out what was reality and what was his mind playing tricks. He didn’t think so, nothing would stop the fact that he saw his daughter clear as day despite the 5th anniversary of her death steadily approaching.

“Up and at ‘em, mister,” the nurse mused as she marched over with his tray and the cart carrying the monitors. He obliged because he had no choice but to do so, even though he hated the way the pills made him feel. Antipsychotics were something Crockett hated, ever since his diagnosis back when he was just twenty-one. They made him feel incorrect, as if he was floating through life with blinders on. He knew they were supposed to help, to show him what was really there, but he couldn’t help but think it made him more miserable.

“You have one-on-one therapy today,” she reminded him as she watched Crockett take his pills and then checked under his tongue to ensure he wasn’t hiding them. He had tried that a couple times and sometimes it worked on the younger nurses, but not Maggie. She knew all, especially these kinds of tricks, and Crockett wasn’t about to risk mandatory IV medications for another month just for one day without the drugs.

“Oh lovely,” he muttered, “Not that Charles guy again, right? He’s insufferable.”

Maggie laughed, “Oh please, Daniel is just fine.”

“Insufferable,” he restated with an eye-roll, still complying when she held out the pulse oximeter to clip it to his fingertip. Maggie just hummed, watching the machine for a moment before speaking.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. If it makes it any better, though, you’ll be seeing Doctor Reese today.”

That brought a smile to his face, though it was one that never quite reached his eyes. Maggie wasn’t sure if she had ever seen a genuine smile from Crockett, certainly not since Harper’s death and the worsening of his illness. Still, if one thing made his days more bearable it was sessions with Doctor Reese, who Crockett had started to consider more of a friend than a physician by that point.

“Our Sarah,” he hummed as she took the device off his hand, “She’s lovely.”

“She is,” the nurse agreed, “Now go get ready for the day, Crockett. You’ll be expected in the dining hall by 7:00 and I certainly won't have you slumming around in your pyjamas all day; you know the drill.”

***

By noon, Crockett was ready to go back to bed. Breakfast had been as dull as always, with his friend Ava in solitary for the next two days he didn’t have many people to speak to. Well, Natalie liked to talk to him but, if he was being honest, she could be a little much. She was just excited, Maggie insisted, but she tried to get Crockett to talk about his hallucinations far too often for him to be comfortable.

Jimmy sat with him that day, though. He didn’t talk much, or ever really, but he was decent company. They played cards together sometimes and always partnered for the team-building exercises in group therapy. Crockett didn’t press for verbal communication and Jimmy never judged him for his episodes; it was a friendship built on silent respect and they were both pleased with that arrangement. Still, Crockett often preferred to be alone, and that day was no different, so he retreated to his bedroom the second they allowed him to.

When nurse April arrived at his door with her tablet in hand, Crockett had been staring blankly at the TV. It wasn’t on, never was, but he watched it as if the most riveting program was playing. He wasn’t focusing on a delusion, though, and he promised April that when she asked if he was okay. The meds got rid of most of his visual symptoms, though the auditory ones were still a frequent occurrence with or without the drugs. He just liked to look at the TV, letting his mind wander to a time where he could actually enjoy television. It had been about five years by then, the last movie he remembered watching being the Princess and the Frog. Harper had loved that movie and talked excitedly of visiting New Orleans to see where her papa and Princess Tiana were both from. She never got there, unfortunately; the cancer taking her before her dad had the time to buy plane tickets.

“Come now, Crockett. Sarah is waiting in the conference room for you.”

He let the nurse lead him down the hall, silent because his head was still miles away. He was alert and lucid, that wasn’t the problem. Today it wasn’t delusions that plagued Crockett, instead it was the memories that had started to hurt him the most. Sarah would ask about that, especially once she saw the semi-lunar marks along the inside of his wrists, turning to scratches that curled up towards his biceps. Maggie hadn’t seen them because of his long sleeve shirt that morning but Sarah would check, she always did. It’s not as though Crockett did it on purpose, but when he couldn’t sleep at night and his skin was crawling all he could do was dig his nails in and pray for it to stop. The bugs weren’t there, Sarah always said they weren’t real, but his skin felt wrong and nothing would stop it. He had to scratch, he would tell her; it was the only way to make it stop.

“Crockett,” she greeted him cheerfully the second he stepped into the room, “Have a seat.”

“Hello, Sarah,” he replied as kindly as he could, though he was a bit distracted. His mood had been pretty low all morning, which was probably evident in his posture and demeanour.

“How have you been doing?

Crockett just shrugged, occupying himself with studying Sarah’s name badge. She had gotten a new one, the piece of plastic now boasting “psychiatry fellow”. She had been his secondary therapist since she was just in her second year of residency, so it was nice to see her climbing the ranks. It was well deserved, of course; Sarah had been the one constant in his most recent stay that kept Crockett relatively sane.

“Crockett?”

“Fine, I guess,” he muttered, “I haven’t had another episode… except last night was touch and go.”

“How so?” She was always so patient, not pushing too much, but she did need answers. If he was still having episodes on his antipsychotics, they may need to adjust the dosage again. He hoped she wouldn’t, though, because he hated the constant brain fog that came along with high dosing.

“A low, again.” he was fidgeting with his sleeve, not able to make eye contact at that point. His depression was a topic he never liked to discuss, since it was an aspect of his disorder he hadn’t been aware of until after Harper. Before it was just schizophrenia, a diagnosis that came about after a paranoia episode landed him in handcuffs in the security office at his university. However, when he hit a major low after Harper’s leukaemia was found, his primary psychiatrist noted that his diagnosis may be more than they expected. Schizoaffective disorder with the depression variant, he was told, and that was probably a factor in why he didn’t respond to the medications in the beginning.

“I see,” Sarah typed something onto his chart before looking up at him with gentle eyes, “Do you want to share how you felt?”

“I miss her,” he admitted softly, “It’s hard.”

“I know, I’m genuinely sorry, Crockett. Harper must have been so loved, I’m sure she misses you.”

“The meds…” Crockett huffed, “I can’t see her anymore.”

“Crockett, she’s not there,” Sarah’s words were gentle but still firm, as if he needed a reminder that his only daughter was dead before she even got to live a proper life. That reality was something that never left his mind, a nagging feeling that haunted him every single day. Meds or not, it was hard, but without seeing Harper daily, Crockett began to feel like he would forget her.

“Sarah, I need to see her.”

“I can’t do that, you know how unsafe it can be to take you off such a high dosage. I know you are upset but we can talk through this, okay?”

“No!” he was getting frustrated, even though he hated to yell at Sarah. She didn’t understand how important this was. He didn’t care if she was dead and she claimed the delusions weren’t real, he just wanted his daughter back. Even if it wasn’t the proper reality, maybe Crockett didn’t want to live in one without Harper. He told Sarah that much, upset that she would claim that she isn’t there anymore. She is always there; sitting on his bed and playing with her stuffed bunny, singing songs from those Disney shows she adored so much. Crockett saw her, held her close when the bad feelings returned and he felt like he was drowning. His baby would never leave him, she couldn't; Harper was all he had left.

“Hey,” Sarah spoke quickly when she recognized his agitation, “I’m sorry. Tell Harper I didn’t mean any harm, next time she’s around, okay? Can we start over, please?”

He frowned, knowing what she was doing, but nodded all the same. He didn’t want to fight with Sarah, she was one of the only staff members around here that he properly trusted. She didn’t want to upset him and she didn’t want to take his daughter away, it was just hard to recognize that sometimes. She wanted to help, to understand his mind, and maybe it was time for Crockett to let someone in again. It had been far too long.

“Start from the beginning,” she prompted as he slowly relaxed again, “How long ago did this low start?”

[jounetsunosymphonia]

Sympathy for the Angel (Mankai Stage Autumn & Winter 2019 translation)

translation for the stage version of winter’s debut play! the song can be listened to in full here.

woooo sympathy time. i decided against putting the stage directions in like i did for lucifer because like...they’re less detailed since we kinda know how sympathy is supposed to go anyway? yeh.

cast list

Tsukioka Tsumugi (Aramaki Yoshihiko) as Michael Takato Tasuku (Kitazono Ryo) as Raphael Mikage Hisoka (Ueda Keisuke) as Uriel Arisugawa Homare (Tanaka Ryousei) as Metatron Yukishiro Azuma (Ueda Kandai) as Philip

-

All Feelings that cannot be A sorrowful destiny A song of lament For an angel who fell in love with a human

Metatron This is Heaven, where the angels reside High above the land of mortals There, three wonderful angels lived—Michael, Raphael, and Uriel.

Raphael: You've fallen for a human woman?

Michael: ...yes.

Uriel: Eh. So that's why you've just been looking down there lately.

Raphael: Don't be stupid, Michael. If you fall for a human, you're only going to get yourself hurt.

Michael, Raphael, Uriel I want to keep her safe I want to offer my protection

Michael My beloved, so fragile and fleeting

Michael, Raphael, Uriel Even if all that awaits is a miserable fate where I'll only become unhappy

Michael: Even then, I—

Uriel: I won't stop you, but...her death is soon approaching.

Michael: Eh���?

-

Raphael: Uriel is the angel who carries the souls of the dead to Heaven. The list of deaths is definite. You should just give up on her.

Michael: You're worried about me, aren't you, Raphael? Even if it leads to my own misfortune...I want to make her happy.

[winter telepathy time part 1]

Tsumugi: (Isn’t it strange, Tasuku? All my other thoughts until now have just vanished.)

Tasuku: (Yeah. All that going around in circles before finally arriving here must’ve meant something after all.)

Tsumugi: (In this moment that we can only have onstage...I don’t want to let a single second slip by.)

Tasuku: (It’s cause you say things like this, that you’re the one I want to act with.)

-

Metatron: Hm. Interfering with a human soon to pass is forbidden.

Michael: Just watching over her would be enough. Please.

Metatron: You’re going to lose your abilities as an angel as every day passes. And yet...you want to go, don’t you. I understand.

Michael: Thank you, Metatron.

All Feelings that cannot be A sorrowful destiny An angel who falls for a human will only reap misfortune

Raphael: Why did you tell him about her death!

Uriel: Not knowing the truth. Being unable to do anything for someone precious to him. I didn’t want Michael to suffer that pain.

Raphael: But now that you’ve told him, of course he’ll go.

Uriel: I know that! ...since the three of us have always been together.

[winter telepathy time part 2]

Hisoka: (The three of us were always together...it’s only a line in a play, but I know this feeling. Maybe if I stay here, I’ll be able to find them. My real self, and the person important to me.)

Homare: (Their feelings are permeating this heart of mine that cannot understand others. No, even those of the audience. So this is theatre...how truly fascinating!)

Homare, Hisoka: (Now, on to act 2!)

-

Raphael Michael descends to earth, and makes his way to her hospital

Uriel There he meets Philip, the doctor in charge.

Metatron Angel wings are invisible to the human eye

Raphael, Uriel, Metatron Michael earnestly asks about her

Philip: You’re her friend? She’s terribly ill right now. I’d like to cheer her up a little.

Michael: Yes, and I have something to tell her too, but...I can’t meet with her directly.

Philip: It’s strange you can’t meet her even though you want to tell her something, but...why don’t you try writing her a letter instead, then?

Michael: A letter...that’s right! I’ll do that!

Metatron And so, Michael began to write letters day by day

Uriel He was delighted when she began to reply

Raphael But Michael’s wings slowly shrink

Uriel: And a few months pass since Michael first arrived on earth.

Philip Michael, I have something wonderful to tell you She’s recovered. It’s a miracle!

Michael: ...really? Is it true? That’s such a relief…

Philip It seems she was really encouraged by your letters. You brought happiness with you You might just be an angel.

Michael: N-no, I’m just a regular human.

Philip: Haha, I know. But to us, you were an angel.

Michael: ...us?

Philip: Yes...after she’s discharged from the hospital, we’re going to get married.

Michael: ...congratulations. Please give her my regards.

(the two of them stand on opposite ends of the stage)

Philip: That wasn’t a fair way to tell you, was it. ...I’m sorry. Even though I realised how you felt about her, I…

Michael: She recovered from her illness. I can’t make her happy. It’s fine like this...it’s...fine…

[winter telepathy time part 3]

Azuma: (So this is how expressive Tsumugi can be...well done! Since you can understand people’s pain, you’re so kind.)

Tsumugi: (I can’t believe this is your first play either, Azuma-san. Actors can really learn anything from life.)

Michael Even if it’s a love that can’t be

Philip A love carried by an angel

Michael, Philip If you can happily laugh, I’m glad

-

Uriel: He can’t even be with her, and yet he’s still happy. How very like Michael, so noble.

Raphael: Michael can come back, the girl gets to live happily, it all turned out well.

Uriel: Have you forgotten? Angels can’t interfere with humans’ deaths.

Raphael: ...what do you mean.

Uriel: Her name hasn’t been taken from the list. No matter what Michael does, her death won’t change.

Raphael: Huh? Then why did you tell him about her?

Uriel: I told you, didn’t I? I didn’t want Michael to suffer, unable to do anything.

Raphael: She’ll still die, then.

Uriel: But Michael changed her life. He brought her happiness!

Raphael: But isn’t this just too painful?!

Uriel: ...that’s why this time, I won’t tell Michael anything.

Raphael: Why are you telling me this?

Uriel: I think it would be best if you decided whether or not to tell him for his own good.

Metatron: You’re always left with these painful roles, aren’t you.

Uriel: No, it’s...because we’re friends.

Metatron, Uriel Even if it’s a love that cannot be With a voice that cannot reach I’m watching over that path that you believed in

-

(the inst goes quiet as michael and raphael sit together on the stairs in silence.)

Raphael: Are you going?

Michael: ...yes.

Raphael: She has a fiance.

Michael: She does.

Raphael: This time, you’ll completely lose all your power if you go. You won’t be able to come back.

Michael: ...right.

Raphael: ...you fool.

Michael: Thank you, Raphael.

-

Metatron: I thought you were always together. Is this alright?

Raphael: It’s my duty to push him along.

Uriel: Since it’s you, I thought you would choose this.

-

(philip is walking and holding hands with...you, the audience, when michael throws himself in front of a car that’s about to hit them. yeah.)

Philip: Michael! (he pulls michael into his arms)

Michael: Are you two...alright…?

Philip: We’re both fine, but...why would you…!

Michael: That’s a relief...please...be happy…

Metatron: Saving a human...Michael, you’ve achieved the angel’s true desire.

Raphael: Michael!

Philip: Who are you?

Raphael: I’m his friend! Michael? Hey!

Michael: Raphael…?

Philip: Michael saved us from a car…

Raphael: Please take her to a hospital. She might be injured somewhere.

Philip: But—

Raphael: I’m here for him. (more fun comments! in the soundtrack recording he is like, yelling. in anguish. but in the live ver of the finale, he just sounds so calm. and idk what’s worse.)

Philip: Angel wings…?

Uriel: This time, her name has disappeared from the list.

Philip: You’re...you’re really an angel, aren’t you?

[winter telepathy time part 4]

Azuma: (Being connected with everyone through theatre...this is what it’s like, isn’t it. I’m not alone...I’m not lonely!)

Hisoka: (...is it alright for me to be here...this is where I belong…)

Homare: (This singular place where I can stand next to my friends with whom I feel a connection…)

-

(philip leaves, and michael is now cradled in raphael’s arms.)

Michael: She’s...okay now, right?

Raphael: Yes, don’t worry.

Michael: Being able to protect the person I love, having my soul carried by you, my closest friend...I’m...happy…

Raphael: Michael...you fool…

[this is listed as being a telepathy segment even tho the sound cue isn’t there but lbr if they straight up said this onstage very quietly i don’t think it would be that out of place]

Tasuku: (Tsumu...I’m glad I got to act with you again.)

Tsumugi: (Me too...Taachan.)

-

Winter Once more, with feeling From here, with these comrades

and then it goes into don’t cry, you know the drill, from the wiki as always

Michael, Raphael Don’t cry… I'd like to watch over you. That's all I wanted.

Raphael If I could be by your side,

Michael Even if we couldn't meet,

Michael, Raphael That was happiness to me.

Michael, Raphael Don’t cry… I won't regret that I loved.

Raphael Don't go.

Michael Smile for my last moments...?

Michael, Raphael The tears we shed held all our wishes...

[bush-viper-cutie]

“Back as Chaser” || YEAR 3 – Ch.16 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter                          Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 9/1/2020

Word count: 3, 040

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

-----

A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

-----

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

It had been a few weeks into the Quidditch season and she was still not allowed anywhere near the Quidditch pitch. Draco had just taken off his sling, telling everyone he felt much better, and was walking up the dungeon stairs for the Slytherin’s fifth day of training.

Heather kept a steady pace with him. “Alright but – What does Marcus think about it? Is he still upset Cassius replaced me? Just tell me!”

Draco sighed. “I don’t know! He’s still giving Warrington a hard time… Making him do extra drills and all that… But I don’t know if he’s upset because of you not being on.”

“What do you mean?” They were heading down the entrance hall stairs now.

“He’s just upset Professor Snape took control of his team. Flint’s captain and HE makes decisions.” Draco sped up, looking at the sky as they stepped outside. “I’m sure next year you’ll manage to make it on the team, Potter.”

Heather stopped on the last step and crossed her arms, letting Draco head down the grassy slopes alone. She looked up at the greying sky, filling with dark muddy clouds as the wind blew them nearer. By the looks of it, there was a storm approaching, and a nasty one at that.

She shivered and headed back in, feeling incredibly defeated. She’d been back to Professor Snape’s office a few times to beg to be put back in, but he wouldn’t even listen. He’d just shut her up and send her away unless she could come up with a potions question worth his time.

She really didn’t want to bother Professor Lupin with her problems, but she didn’t know what else to do but ask him to fight her battle again. She rubbed her arms and headed up the stairs to his office. The corridor was quiet and his room door was shut, which normally wasn’t until late in the evening, closer to after hours.

She knocked on the door a few times and didn’t hear a thing. Having been used to Professor Snape’s avoidance to students, she knocked again and then a third time and waited. Finally, she heard a chair scrape and the light that seeped from under the door showed a shadow at the door.

Very slowly the door opened and Professor Lupin leaned against the door, slightly ajar. He looked down at her and frowned with concern, opening up further.

“Ah, Heather… What can I do for you?” He gave her a tired smile. He had baggy eyes with dark circles and was looking very pale. The hints of scars on his face he normally had were much pinker now, clearly visible, and he seemed to stand a lot more compact, like he was trying to bring his limbs in to stay warm or keep from shivering.

“Professor? Are you alright?”

He chuckled and stood straighter. “Oh I’m just… feeling a bit under the weather… Storms coming and I think I’m just sensing that.”

Heather nodded. “May I please talk to you?”

“Of course! Any time, Heather.” He stepped aside and let her in, keeping the door open. He slumped into his seat and rubbed his eyes. “What’s this about then?”

She blew out hot breath and tried her best not to sound whiney, like Professor Snape had accused her of sounding like this morning. “I’m not allowed on the Quidditch team… I’ve been kicked out and replaced with Warrington because Professor Snape found out he was held back that day of the try outs.”

“Ah… yes… I-I heard about that. I’m very sorry. Professor Snape can be very vindictive, as I’m sure you realize.”

Heather nodded. “But surely… I mean… Maybe you could talk to him?”

Professor Lupin laughed suddenly, seeming more tired. “I’m not sure, Heather… He’s not the type of person to be convinced. Is he?”

The sound of thunder rattled the window and Professor Lupin stared out. She crossed her arms again and looked down, knowing that convincing Professor Snape was as slim of a chance as it was for Lockhart to have found himself actually helpful last year.

“But you could try, couldn’t you?” She looked back up, leaned forward, and brought her voice to a whisper. “You could tell him I really had nothing to do with it… If you told him you really did have reason to hold Cassius back that day, then he’d see he’s taking it out on me for no reason.”

He looked at her and nodded slowly. “Alright. I will try.”

Heather perked up and smiled. “Now?”

“Now?” He frowned. “Why now?”

“Well, it’s the last day of practice before the match Friday. Gryffindor’s got the next few days all booked up.” She tried to look hopeful.

Professor Lupin leaned back and stared at his desk for a few seconds and sighed. “Let’s go now then. I did get you in this mess… And I suppose my cold will only get worse as the days go. So now’s as good a time as any.” He smacked the desk and stood, giving her a weak smile.

Heather jumped to her feet and headed for the door.

They walked down extra slowly but surely and made their way to Professor Snape’s office. Heather shook away her jitters and knocked on his office door several times until he finally called out.

“Enough. Just – Enter.”

She poked her head in and pushed the door open. Professor Snape rolled his eyes at first sight of her and grumbled.

“Twice in one day. How lucky of me.” His brows pulled down deeper as he saw Professor Lupin shuffling inside. “Lupin?”

Professor Lupin nodded. “Professor Snape, I wanted to talk to you.”

He set his quill down and folded his hands on his desk. “I do wonder what about.” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

Professor Lupin chuckled and reached for his chin. “Well… I think you might be mistaking the events of the day of the Slytherin’s Quidditch tryouts. Heather here has informed me that you might be under the impression that she had something to do with Mr. Warrington not showing up.”

Heather bit her lip. She wasn’t too sure telling Professor Snape that he’d made a mistake was such a good idea. She watched his eyes and saw them flicker to her as if wanting to stare her down like he normally did, except he never took his eyes of Professor Lupin for more than a split second.

“See, I needed to talk to him about the essay he’d handed in. I wanted to talk to him about a second chance at doing it, with a bit more information added in before I took it for grading… Which he did do.” Professor Lupin stood there, waiting for a reply.

Professor Snape stared up at him for a few seconds. “I see.” He smiled. “Still no.”

“But I had nothing to do with it! I made it on the team and Flint kept me on despite Warrington still trying out!” Heather pulled the chair in front of his desk back and sat down. “Professor Snape, please let me back on the team!”

He glanced at her. “You’re whining again.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. She really was kicked off the team for the year, and all because of her stupid attempt to up her chances of making it.

“Severus, you’re being a tad bit unreasonable.” Professor Lupin held his hands up as Professor Snape stared daggers at him.

“This conversation is over,” he growled.

Heather hung her head and stood. Professor Lupin sighed and turned when a sudden shiver ran down his body and he gripped the back of the chair until it passed.

“Lupin.” Professor Snape stood. “You need more of my potion.”

“No, no. I’m alright. It was just a shiver. I’ve drank enough of that for now.” Professor Lupin straightened and crossed his arms shrugging. “See? All better.”

“‘Better.’” Professor Snape glanced at Heather again. “For now… But as colds do go – you’ll get worse, won’t you Lupin.”

Professor Lupin stared back at him. “That is how colds go, Severus.”

“Then perhaps you’ll be too ill to teach Friday’s lesson. I wonder.”

Heather looked back at Professor Lupin as he pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded at his words. He was looking slightly annoyed.

“Most likely. Yes.”

Professor Snape smiled then. “I could teach your lessons, with ease. Until the cold… passes.”

Professor Lupin rubbed at his chin and looked at Heather, giving her a wink. “I was actually going to ask Mrs. Sprout. Maybe next time, Snape.” He turned to head out the door when Professor Snape groaned.

“Stop with your theatrics, Lupin. I’ll get Potter back on the team.”

Professor Lupin sighed. “Then it’s a deal. Have fun teaching my lessons Friday.”

Professor Snape smiled. “I’ll be by later with another goblet-full.”

Heather had the feeling she’d just been played somehow, but that was unlikely… Wasn’t it?

“Let’s go Heather, before he snakes his way into having more.” Professor Lupin pushed her out the door and closed it behind them.

Heather felt her grin pushing her cheeks up as far as they’d go. “Thank you, professor!” She could still make it to the last hour of practice if she hurried.

“Heather, I did you a favor… and I’d kindly ask you to do me one. Don’t tell anyone about today, alright? I’ll let Professor Snape tell the classes I’m a bit ill.” He looked down at her from the steps and smiled warmly.

She nodded. “I won’t even tell Harry.”

Professor Lupin nodded back and headed slowly up the dungeon stairs. She turned on her heels and ran into the common room and into the dorms, hurrying to get changed. She ran back out and took the stairs two at a time, hurrying down the corridor and bursting through the castle doors.

It was freezing cold and the wind howled like crazy, whipping her hair around and stinging her cheeks as she ran down the grassy lawn. She pulled out her broom from the shed and calmly walked into the Quidditch field, looking for Flint up in the sky.

She waved at him and he came down.

“Potter? You’re not allowed on the field.”

“I’m back in! Professor Snape will probably tell Warrington tonight or something.” She smiled but Marcus’ frown did not lift.

“So he’s decided you’re back in, did he?” He looked over at the castle and bared his teeth. “Maybe he should be captain then. If he’ll be making all the decisions.”

Heather shifted her weight, not liking how things were going. “Well… I can resume practice…”

Marcus stared down at her. “Warrington can throw farther than you, Potter. Who says I want you back on my team?”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

“What’s she doing here, Flint?” Cassius came down and hopped off his broom, stepping towards her. “You’re not allowed anymore.”

Heather shook her head. “Professor Snape’s letting me back on. H-he’ll tell you… t-tonight probably… or t-tomorrow…” She didn’t like how close Cassius was getting to her face.

He leaned down and poked her collar with the end of his broom. “And who says I’ll leave? You, Potter? Think being related to big shot ‘Harry Potter: boy who lived’ gives you free reign of the school, dirty-blood?”

More of the team was down on the field again, and Heather’s face was going red. She saw Draco out of the corner of her eye, shaking his head and looking down.

“No, me, Warrington. Your captain.” Marcus was on the ground, crossing his arms now. “Why should I let you back on? You’re the one messing with my team.”

Heather stepped back from Warrington and looked at Marcus. “Because I’m more valuable to the team.”

Marcus and Warrington laughed.

“How do you figure, Potter?”

She mulled over Marcus’ question for a minute, hoping for any reason to pop into her head. “Because… I have better ideas... I had the idea to have Malfoy and I on the team last year because we were faster and that worked out. And I have an idea now.”

Marcus looked at Warrington and nodded at Heather. “Go on.”

Heather smiled, ignoring Warrington’s death glare. “Are we really going to play in this weather? The Gryffindors are practicing and expecting we will, which means they’ll be training against OUR style… So, let’s switch on them. Trade with one of the other teams.” Marcus was nodding at her so she continued more confidently. “Obviously Ravenclaw would never agree under this weather, but Hufflepuff would. Gryffindor beat them in under five minutes last year. They were humiliated. They’ll want a rematch.”

“And what excuse do we have for that? Huh? Matches are decided among the heads of houses. We can’t change that.” Warrington turned to Marcus. “It’s not a good idea if we can’t do it.”

“Think outside the box, Warrington.” She smiled at the look he gave her and faced Marcus again. “Malfoy will just say his arm hurts still. Professor Snape won’t care if it’s true. And he’ll be able to handle convincing Professor Sprout.”

Warrington was fuming but Marcus nodded and smiled. “Malfoy, your arm still hurts right?”

Draco walked up to them and smiled at Heather. “Oh loads. I don’t know if it’ll feel any better until – how long do storms last?” He laughed.

Marcus nodded and smiled wickedly at her idea. “Potter. I’ve decided you’re back in. Warrington, out.”

Heather grinned again, feeling the day’s rollercoaster of events back at a high.

Warrington threw his broom down and stormed off.

“Wipe that look off your face, Potter. You’ll be staying an extra hour with Malfoy here to show you the new plays.” Marcus mounted his broom again and instructed the team back in the air.

Heather turned to Draco, “Thanks…”

“Whatever, Potter. It was a good idea. Besides, your brother’ll be furious.” Draco laughed and mounted his broom. “He makes the dumbest face.”

Heather snorted. “Sure.”

The next hour Marcus made her drills extra intense and she almost fell off her broom twice. It had been several months since she had practiced her drills and she felt very rusty. She was sweating buckets and half of it was probably from nerves that Marcus would change his mind about keeping her on the team.

After the team had gone she was exhausted and sat in the locker room with Draco, who was looking very tired as well.

“These are the new plays,” he scratched out the formations on the chalkboard. He went through each one sloppily and refused to let her ask questions. “That’s the thick of it. If your plan works you’ll have another month to understand these.”

Heather nodded, giving up on learning anything more from him. “So, when’ll you tell Professor Snape about your arm?”

He shrugged. “I was thinking during potions tomorrow.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. Actually, I’ve got an idea.”

Heather nodded. “Alright well… As long as it works.”

They headed out and shined their wands in front of themselves to see through the darkness. The wind was pulling their Quidditch robes and pushing them back hard. It had started raining and Heather had an odd sense she was being watched.

She turned around, feeling her heart rate quicken and stared out into the darkness. Draco looked back and turned too, shining his wand out brighter.

“Potter? Don’t tell me your easily spooked too.”

Heather shook her head and turned back. “Of course not… Though… If Black made it into the castle… and he still wants to kill Harry… and possibly me – wouldn’t he be hiding out in the forbidden forest? I mean… That’s where I’d hide…”

Draco turned and looked out into the darkness and into the forest. He went a little paler and shrugged. “Let’s just… get back in. If you’re that scared, Potter.”

Heather scoffed. “Why’re you shaking, Draco?”

He was about to respond when a nearby sound of displaced rocks sent them bolting the rest of the way up the lawn and stumbling through the castle doors. They panted at the entrance and looked out into the night, spotting a distant rabbit nibbling on some grass by the bottom stone steps.

“Scared of rabbits now?”

Heather rolled her eyes. They headed into the common room and Heather made very sure to stay as far away from Warrington as possible. He seemed a little too eager to pick on her, and the last thing she wanted was for him to call her blood dirty again for not being a pureblood.

It was an unspoken rule among Slytherins that blood status should not be revealed unless the status was that of pureblood. Purebloods spoke about it all the time, but aside from a very select few who let it slip, she didn’t know the status of anyone else. If the house was made up of mainly muggle-borns, no one would ever know except maybe Professor Snape.

She took a shower and got dressed. She headed back down to the common room with her potions textbook and parchment to finish her essay due the next day.

Warrington was still glaring at her so she decided to sit with Draco and Pansy and their friends.

“Back on the team, Heather? Realize your life needed meaning?” Pansy snickered. “At least now you’ll be useful again.”

Heather breathed out. “Yeah, back on as Chaser.”

She watched Pansy roll her eyes and continue talking to her friends as she wrote. Draco talked to his own friends and Heather was sitting there feeling invisible. She was safe from Warrington’s wrath, but she still felt out of place. She wished she had something to make her interesting or cool. Something Pansy liked enough to give her reason to be nice to her.

“How long is it supposed to sit for? Twenty minutes or something?” Pansy looked around at all their essays but no one spoke up.

“‘No less than twenty-seven minutes when using cooked gilstones, no more than thirty when uncooked.’” Heather quoted Professor Snape word for word as everyone wrote what she said down.

Pansy nodded, “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” Heather looked back at her essay and smiled to herself.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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[crimsonrae]

Across the Road, At the Brothel

Chapter Twelve

Summary: Jaskier fell in love any day that the sun rose in the East. It was a trifling, pleasurable experience for him. Even when he was jumping out a window to avoid cuckolded husbands. So what happens when his trifles start to become more significant? Jaskier/OC. Some Yennefer/Geralt

A/N: Jaskier is just too adorable not to write about. This is a relationship development story with an OC. There will be smut in later chapters and plenty of angst. Okay, so this chapter is a bit of filler to get to the next plot point and character development. Bear with me and apologies for any grammatical mistakes I didn't have time to do a thorough vetting of this chapter. Thank you for all your support, I love hearing from you guys. Please enjoy.

Rating: Mature

@dancingwith-thesunflowers​

Jade Eyes and Trees

The chill from the creek water was both refreshing and uncomfortable. Geralt held in a hiss as the frigid current rushed almost too harshly against his new and healing wounds. He wouldn't deny it felt good to remove the blood and grime from his skin, but he rather wished he had been able to do so in a warm bath. He washed quickly, not wanting to be caught in a vulnerable position. It mattered little to the witcher that Lyrra had proven herself to be a friend, he was still out in the open and despite his capabilities the years of surviving alone had his instincts screaming to move quickly. It didn't help that the cottage had a steady stream of strangers due to him stupidly walking into an unknown situation unprepared. He doubted the man who had attempted to save him would have been so direly wounded had Geralt brought more than a dagger with him. It had been careless and stupid, an act of hubris, and not one that he was typically prone to. Cold water was more than he deserved.

Grunting quietly, he gingerly removed the bandages from his shoulder and rinsed the wound. The skin had broken open slightly. Not as bad as it could have been, but still annoying. His movements felt sluggish in their haste and he bit back another hiss when he slipped against the bank of the creek.

Fuck.

A scowl painted his mien as he pulled himself out of the water and to his clothes. He didn't bother drying properly and instead yanked on his trousers and boots before sliding his dagger into his boot and another in his belt. A thin stream of blood began to trickle down his chest at his sharp movements which only deepened his scowl as he caught the faint scent of jasmine and cedar.

"I thought I told you to rest." Geralt paused in his movements and arched a brow as he turned to look over his shoulder. Lyrra stood only a few feet away, hidden by the shadows of a tree, but he still saw her. What bothered him was that he hadn't heard her approach.

She met his glare with a raised brow, "You were under the impression that I would listen?"

His glower turned exasperated as he briefly thought of how perfect she and Jaskier were for each other, "I don't need a nursemaid."

Lyrra bit back a smile as she drew closer, "What can I say, I'm a worrier."

Geralt sent her a disbelieving look before laying out the bandages and a small rag he had taken from her cottage. His shoulder wound had already clotted, but his chest was still stained with his blood and would only get worse once he applied his healing poultice. Lyrra stepped just within arm's reach and he barely graced a look to her open palm before sighing and nodding to a bag behind him, "Grab the balm inside."

He ignored the rustling behind him as Lyrra did as he bid, he noted that even that soft sound was almost nonexistent. Briefly, the thought crossed his mind that she had made noise on purpose, instinct told him that she could have removed his supplies without him being any the wiser if she so chose. The thought mulled about as she snagged his rag. Geralt sighed quietly but leaned back to give her space as she tended to his shoulder. Admittedly, the process went quicker when it was done by another set of hands, but he wasn't inclined to admit it.

He raised a brow at her as she finished tightening the bandage and handed him his shirt, "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Lyrra intoned back with that same dry tone.

She avoided his awaiting gaze and barely kept from fidgeting as he remained silent. Geralt wasn't stupid and he was patient. Something was on the former Princess's mind, other than his wound-care. Her grey eyes flickered to his golden stare before darting away again. Where he had grown used to Jaskier prattling incessantly to fill these silences, Lyrra seemed to be more inclined to endure it.

At least until he began gathering his things together. A shuddering breath escaped her and he turned his awaiting gaze back to her face. Lyrra's mouth moved silently for a second before halting words flowed forth, "The creatures... from the Croorey House... if there are no further ones up there, Glynedol should be safe, correct?"

Geralt tilted his head as he studied her, he had the suspicion that her inquiry had different motives than the town's safety. Slowly, he gave a nod, "As safe as it's ever been anyway."

"Would that mean your business is finished here?" She asked softly, her grey gaze flickering away from his again.

Geralt blinked, "Should it be?"

He wouldn't be surprised if the locals were pushing for his departure. It wouldn't be the first time his presence had been ill-tolerated... Except his presence had been chiefly ignored in Glynedol. He had been given a few suspicious looks from a local or two, but most had level a measuring eye to him, sniffed, and then moved on with their business as if he were no more a burden than a traveling merchant.

Lyrra seemed to sense his line of thought as she grimaced faintly, "No one's demanding you leave. It's just your wound actually isn't too far from healing fully; despite the new collection of bruises you've acquired. You mentioned you'd stay as long as it took for you to heal..."

"I also said I would stay until your attacker wasn't a concern." He reminded her as he tugged his bag over his shoulder, "It's been a week and I'm not satisfied with your training progress."

Lyrra rolled her eyes and muttered something about overprotective idiots in Elder under her breath. Flushing faintly when he responded in kind about stubborn princesses.

She hummed curiously, "How many languages do you know?"

"Enough." Geralt grumbled quietly, "As for overprotective – will I get that lament when I tell you not to go to the Croorey House tomorrow?"

"Yes." Lyrra huffed with a light glare, "And I'm going anyway."

The witcher frowned, "It's dangerous."

"So's waking up, yet I do that too." Lyrra mouthed petulantly and he was tempted to smack her upside the head or make her go through a training drill.

He breathed out through his nose and began to meander back up the pathway to the cottage, "You're not going by yourself."

Another huff reached his ears, but no protest followed his words. He wasn't sure if that meant she was agreeing to his terms or was merely placating him. It didn't much matter either way. He stood by his statement; he wouldn't let her up there alone.

                                    »»————-　　————-««

"Two hundred crown?" Jaskier grimaced as he looked about the cozy little inn the dice tournament was taking place. There were, maybe, thirty other potential gamblers present, surely the entry fee shouldn't be so high for this motley little crew, "Bit extreme, don't you think?"

A pallid man with wireframe rims that seem to extended passed his nose near to his mouth frowned unimpressed at the bard, "Two hundred is the buy-in. If you don't have the coin then piss off."

Jaskier scowled churlishly as he handed over his coin purse, suddenly glad he had paid for his room and board before entering the tournament. Now, he just hoped he didn't lose it all.

Wireframes handed him a green tassel to mark him as one of the players. He pulled the soft fabric through his fingers as he meandered away from the entry table. Lazily, his azure gaze flicked about the room as he took in others waiting to add themselves to the tournament and those who had already gained their green tassels. Strangely, he noted there were more than a few noblemen participating. At least Jaskier assumed they were noblemen based on the expensive cut of their clothing. Actually...

Jaskier spun languidly on his heel as he realized there weren't many who didn't look like they had a fair amount of coin... To be fair, he supposed, the buy-in for the tournament was a little extravagant, but not wholly unattainable. It did make him pause; however, he did not want to end up on the bad side of some landed gentry. Well, not through gambling anyway. Lords tended to hold grudges over lost money far fiercer than they did their wives.

"You look lost."

The bard startled slightly as a voice of warm honey breezed right by his ear. His head sharply turned more curious than alarmed, already rambling out, "No, I'm...uh..."

His words petered off as jade green eyes enraptured him and he felt a rush of air escape of his lungs as he murmured a soft, "Oh..."

The vixen before him smiled coyly. A dark lock of curly hair fell across her forehead and into her eyes and he wanted nothing more than to reach up and brush it away. She giggled lightly, "Oh?"

"Hello." He uttered, unblinkingly. His gaze devoured this woman's delicate features and smooth skin. She was stunning and he was caught unaware by the flow of arousal that suddenly spiraled through his veins, "I'm Jaskier."

A delighted trill seemed to purr from her mouth as she repeated his name, "Jaskier...Buttercup. How sweet. You're a bard."

Despite the fact that she hadn't paid him any true compliment, Jaskier's chest puffed up in diminutive pride as he replied, "I am, milady."

"Oh no, please... call me, Inara." She simpered prettily and reached out to trail her fingers lightly across the back of his hand.

Jaskier felt flushed at the contact and he swallowed tightly, suddenly unable to focus on anything other than the desirous fires that lit his veins. Somewhere a small voice screamed at him that something wasn't right, but he couldn't bring himself to listen. He nearly choked on his breath as he fought to remember how to form the words with which he made his livelihood. Finally, he managed to breathe out, "Inara..."

Her smile widened slightly in satisfaction as she proceeded to ask, "Do you sing as handsomely as you look?"

"I... uh... I." A clever retort danced at the tip of his tongue, but yet his struggle to remember how to make his voice work continued. As did the strange war of lust and hesitance waging inside him.

He was interrupted from further replying as Wire Frames made a call to the end of the participating entry. The small man's shrilly dull voice was enough to break his stare from the enchantress before him as his azure gaze swung briskly toward the front of the room. Instructions were being spoken of the tournament's rules and penalties for those caught cheating. Yet, the brief interlude was enough to cool the flames the mysterious Inara sparked.

Once again feeling in control of his faculties, Jaskier turned to address the lady but found that she had disappeared from his side. He searched almost wildly about the room but found only a man watching him intently from a far corner. He arched a curious brow but quickly followed the other gamblers into the main room. He felt unsettled and uncertain as he stood at the table for his first game.

What the fuck had he stumbled into?

                                 »»————-　　————-««

It was just before the light of day that Lyrra made her escape from the cottage. She pulled on her trousers and shirt next to the creek where she had found Geralt only hours previously. Her sleep had been restless as she listened to Nyria and Myer take turns watching over Tyllan thru the night. The old blacksmith had barely given Lyrra and Geralt a glance when he arrived, his focus firmly planted on his ailing son. Lyrra was still trying to determine if his current dismissal was boon or not – worried parents were an enigma to the former princess.

Biting back a sigh, she tugged her boots on and pulled a light vest over her shirt. She had briefly considered grabbing her headscarf and hat, but the Croorey House laid on a long-neglected path. There was only overgrowth and light forest between it and her cottage, no one would see her dressed so. She had tethered her hair into a long braid, but that was more for practicality than vanity. Once she deemed herself ready for the four-mile trek she set off at a brisk pace. She hoped to be back before the rest of her cottage's inhabitants broke their fasts for the day.

Of course, best-laid plans and all that... she was halfway to her destination when she realized she was being followed. She would have panicked, the thought of her attacker still lingered in the back of her mind, if it weren't for the fact that she had a decent idea of who exactly was following her. Holding in a quiet sigh, Lyrra made her steps as quiet as possible as she trekked onward.

The foliage around the path to the Croorey House began to thicken and she knew that it wouldn't be much longer until she reached the safehouse. Quickly, she stepped off the path and began to use the shadow of the trees for cover. Despite that Geralt had killed the creatures he had encountered in this area, even he had been hesitant to say that the fleder infestation was completely clear. It was why he hadn't wanted her to come up here alone. However, he didn't understand it was quicker for her to do her work when she had no one accompanying her. Also, she had the distinct impression that the hulking witcher was beginning to put the pieces of her past together and she wasn't quite ready to divulge any more about herself to him...or Jaskier.

A small pang of guilt and hurt continued to resound in her at the thought of the bard. Lyrra knew that he was giving her space, but she hadn't expected him to vanish completely. Yet, even that seemed unfair when she realized they had been parted for less than a day. Somehow, without his chatter or quiet strumming to fill the silence, it seemed like he had been gone for much longer. It uneased her how quickly she had become used to his presence...expected it even. She had to remind herself that his absence was a good thing, even though it was beginning to make her feel wretched.

All of this played through her mind as she swiftly ducked under branches and sidestepped small dips and burrows in the ground. An ominous quiet had fallen over the section of the forest she scurried through – she was close. Unthinkingly, Lyrra leapt and grasped a low hanging branch. She dangled for a moment and then took a deep breath before gently swinging her legs.

One swing.

Her hands lifted up slightly as her legs kicked back.

Two swings.

Again. she gained a little more height.

Three...

The momentum was enough for her to heave up on top of the branch before scaling a little higher. Her arms weren't nearly as shaky as she expected them to be. It had been a long time since she had performed any type of acrobatic feats, but then trying to hold a sword against a witcher was bound to reform her muscles. She had been tediously sore the first few days of Geralt's little training regime.

With a swiftness, she didn't quite feel, Lyrra jumped from one tree to the next until she was at the edge of the Croorey property. From the ground, the old house look liked a grouping dilapidated ruins and overgrown weeds. This had been done purposefully, a marker for those who knew what to look for, and an uninteresting spot for those who didn't. However, if one climbed high enough - as Lyrra had – the view of the Croorey House became much different.

Gone was the image of the old ruined site and its place stood a modest rock and log cabin and a well. Perfect for a person, maybe two, to stay in, but not much more than that. This could only be accessed from a specific spot to the North of the house.

Not too far from the entrance, the bodies of the slain fleders and bruxa lay rotting. Lyrra grimaced at the sight but tried to keep her sharp eyes focused on the windows of the cabin. She didn't want to enter the property if she didn't have to – despite setting off without the witcher, she actually was rather averse to violent danger and had a healthy respect for staying alive. She wouldn't chance to encounter one of the foul creatures below if she could help it.

So, she stood.

Quiet and watchful.

Looking for any hint of movement or life from inside.

Nothing.

She leapt to a nearby tree as nimbly as a squirrel and viewed the property from this new vantage point.

Again nothing.

She repeated this process a few more times, but encounter no sign of someone staying in the cabin. At least no human person. She had heard of fleders before and were fairly certain that they were creatures of the night... she would need to ask Geralt, but if that were the case then she may see no movement if these creatures were resting.

Sighing, she gingerly dropped to the ground and abruptly froze as she looked up into a pair of unimpressed golden eyes. She pursed her lips, suddenly feeling like a child caught stealing sweats before hesitantly asking while gesturing to the tree, "Heard me?"

"Smelled." Geralt grumbled.

Lyrra crinkled her nose in faint disgust, "That's lovely."

A faint hint of amusement shined in his gaze before he raised a brow at her, "Well?"

It took her a moment to understand what he was asking before she replied, "I saw no one, but it is light out now... those creatures? Are they nocturnal? They may be resting."

Geralt pondered her words. Fleders were sensitive to the sun, but that didn't necessarily preclude they'd be inside. He'd rather be thorough with his check of the property. He licked his lips, "How do I get past the illusion?"

Lyrra was silent a moment. She only knew of the Croorey House because of her need of it years ago, part of her felt like a snitch to divulge its secrets now. Yet, Geralt already knew so much, giving him the last of the secrets would likely do little harm, "There's an entrance to the north. You'll see a glimmer of blue light. Enter. That's how you get inside."

Geralt nodded and pulled his sword from its sheath. She noted for the first time he was more properly clothed for a fight than he had been last night. His leather armor still had a rent in it, however. She would have him take it to Hillard to be repaired when they returned.

"You will stay here, Lyrra." Geralt ordered with a dark look. He hadn't forgotten her disregard of his instruction not to come up here alone.

To his surprise, she nodded and leaned against the trunk of the tree she had disbanded from, "Alright. Just be careful. I don't think I could get you back to Nyria by myself."

He snorted at her but kept from commenting as he slipped silently from her side. Lyrra watched after him amount before she scaled the tree again, this time to watch his progress.

Geralt was quiet...more quiet than she expected for such a large man and fast. His speed did not surprise her as much. Training with him had allowed her to be on the receiving end of his speed far too often. She observed how he quickly located the glimmer and stepped past the illusion. He seemed to pause once he had entered the property and she didn't understand why until she found his golden gaze locked on her again. A shiver spurned down her back... this was the first time she became fully aware of what a predator the witcher truly was. She had never known someone to be so aware of their surroundings.

It was vaguely terrifying.

In all, it took him maybe ten minutes to clear the property, inside and out. A look of mild consternation coated his countenance as he returned to her. Lyrra raised a brow at him from her place on a branch as she reiterated his earlier question, "Well?"

Geralt glared speculatively at her before replying dismissively, "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

The witcher said nothing. His mind elsewhere as he started the walk back into Glynedol. Lyrra stared after him, perplexed before dropping to the ground a second time and running to catch up. She didn't understand. What did Geralt mean by nothing? Was there no sign that anyone had stayed there or just no one present?

She didn't ask, not sure how to frame her questions correctly to gain the maximum information. Geralt was hardly verbal at the best of times, something she didn't ordinarily mind, but now her inquiring mind wanted to know.

She finally parsed out what she would ask when they arrived in town, but it hardly mattered as she was instantly waylaid by Hillard and Owain. Both looked grim and she suddenly feared the worse had happened to Tyllan.

She tensed at their approach and felt more than saw Geralt do the same. Hillard was the one to start, "Lass..."

"Is he dead?" Lyrra asked quietly, not liking the awkward look on either man's face.

Hillard blanched for a moment in confusion before realization took him, "No, Tyllan's still bein' watched by Nyria and Myer. It's yer boy."

"Jaskier?"

Hillard nodded, "He's left, lass."

Geralt stared intently at the barkeep over her shoulder, "What do you mean he left?"

The older man seemed to falter for a moment, having forgotten that the bard traveled with the witcher. Owain had no trouble taking over, "He mentioned somethin' about a tournament an' said he'd be back in a day or two."

"A tournament?" Lyrra muttered bemused as she tried to remember what the gossip in the Pine had been.

Geralt sounded weary as he asked, "A tournament where?"

"Bellhaven." Owain answered.

That made Lyrra's eyes spring wide. She cursed under her breath as she remembered what exact tournament the innkeeper spoke of, "The dice tournament?"

Owain shrugged and Hillard grimaced. It was all the answer that Lyrra needed as she rubbed tiredly at her face. When she looked up Geralt was watching her expectantly, "We need to go get him."

The witcher quirked a brow at her.

"Jaskier's about to be introduced to Toussaint's Syndicate." She all but mumbled.

Geralt stared at her for a moment before heaving a sigh and quietly cursing...Fuck.

Previous Chapter

[dracimexidae]

@lives-ruined-and-bloodshed replied to your post “@lives-ruined-and-bloodshed mentioned you on a post “You wanna try and...”

Yeah, I think May would definitely win in a real fight but I think they have so much fun just sparring, they know each other so well and probably sparred plenty of times so they know most of each other's moves and well, it's just really hot to imagine them going at it lol of course AoS couldn't give us that. We even saw Coulson fighting but ofc not with May, that would be giving too much to the shippers.

OF COURSE RIGHT, GOD FORBID THEY GIVE US EVEN JUST A FLICKER OF CONTENTMENT LMAO, WHO CARES ABOUT THE FANS ANYWAY... Sorry for the capslock, but I couldn’t express this any other way than shouting it because I’ll always be annoyed by this! Yeah, they don’t owe us anything, they should be able to tell the story they want without feeling obliged to indulge in the fan-service, bla bla bla, don’t care, I’ll stay pissed off, I’m sure the writers won’t mind, and at this point it’s the level of resigned annoyance that doesn’t ruin my day, so I can stay “fueled” without feeling miserable about it like I was some time ago, when I was more invested (not that I’m not invested in the ship now, but I made peace with the fact that I won’t get the satisfaction - and there is no “compliance” involved here :p - I need from the show so I’m looking for it elsewhere)!

I am convinced it would have been so amazing seeing Phil and Melinda spar because I found adorable (ok, maybe it’s not the best term to describe sparring sessions, but I have big family feels about it because Philindaisy obviously so for me that adjective stands) the sparring scenes Daisy had with both Phil and Melinda so yeah, it was a huge waste of potential, but what’s new when we talk about Philinda’s treatment in the show...

I do see their relationship as a bit unbalanced. There are so many times we saw May showing in words and actions what Coulson means to her, even her freaking robot was out there declaring her love and willing to die for him and the team. I think you're right that Coulson being the director is one of teh reasons for that difference but I think who they are is another.

For Coulson there is Humanity, SHIELD, Daisy and ofc May cares about that too but I mostly see her putting him ahead of pretty much everything, she's so ridiculously loyal to him, even Garret knew that about her, it wasn't follow SHIELD to the grave but Coulson. Watching gifsets of S1B was actually making me ship them less lol, he believed she was Hydra up until she was about to be killed too and then he was a raging dick, to hurt her, and not even an apology after.

Nothing much to add here, I agree with you, let me just underline the awful treatment Phil reserved to Melinda when he thought she was Hydra... All right, I get it, he must have felt overwhelmed discovering such huge betrayal from people in his organization to the point he felt he couldn’t be able to trust anyone, when he was raised in SHIELD with the “trust the system” drill in his head, valid for him until he died and was brought back, at least, not to mention the fact that he was kept in the shadows about this goddamn GH-325 secret by his closest (at least that’s what he thought she was) friend and ally, but just because he seemed to rely on Melinda so much that he decided to choose her as his “right-hand” for the task he accepted, I was flabbergasted that, after the first (comprehensible) moment of shock, he didn’t give her just a glimmer of benefit of the doubt, straight up assumed that she betrayed him and all... So was there nothing at all to be saved from their relationship until that moment that he could just pause just a second and consider that that was Melinda May he was crucifying, and I’m aware that it all happened so fast that there wasn’t a moment to breathe, let alone the chance of having a proper, lenghty conversation with her, but it took him too long, in my humble opinion, to realize that he couldn’t just throw whatever they had out of the window so rashly... Anyway, after the “epiphanic” Audrey episode the writers OBVIOUSLY never addressed the situation again, making us believe that between them it was all good again just by magic... mumble mumble... Thankfully there is fanfiction to fill in the gaps, because there is not a chance in the world I’ll be convinced that that evening, after Melinda brought Phil the infamous pendrive with the video about the TAHITI project, didn’t end up with them spending the night discussing everything and both apologizing AT LENGTH (in my universe there would have been also moments gradually and steadily reaching the R rating, but I would have been perfectly fine watching a scene with just them talking and making a real effort to clear things up and it would have actually made more sense considering canon, but they gave us nothing so whatever, I consider myself free to imagine whatever it pleases me :p )

I remember watching all of that some months ago and thinking he's going to to redeem himself by showing she the same kind of loyalty but then S2 and May was again with that massive devotion of hers, with the alien illness and the "real" SHIELD but what I got was Coulson lying to her repeatedly for no good reason. 3A was weird, I don't mind they had LIs, I actually really liked Andrew but they barely felt like friends imo. When Andrew/Lash was happening *Mack* was the only one who thought that maybe she could use a friend, that was bizarre. 

WHEN HE ASKED HER TO KILL HIM IF THINGS GOT OUT OF CONTROL (and just that, my god, I understand that he trusts only her with everything at this point, not only SHIELD but even his life, but it’s rather a terrible thing to ask anyway), AND SHE INSTEAD HAD ALREADY PLANNED TO SPEND THE REST OF THEIR LIFE IN A GODDAMN CABIN IN A PLACE SHE KNEW HE WANTED TO VISIT, DECIDING TO STAND BY HIS SIDE AND SUPPORT AND HELP HIM UNTIL THE VERY END... AND BY S5 SHE HELD UP TO HER WORD AND DID IT, EVEN IF IN A DIFFERENT PLACE... 

“NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, I’LL TAKE CARE OF YOU, THAT’S MY PLAN”  

EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO DIG MYSELF A HOLE IN THE GARDEN AND CURL UP IN THERE FOR THE NEXT DECADE IF THAT ISN’T LOVE I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS??!?!!!!! That sentence and her actions show her love for him more powerfully than any “I love you” voiced out, but ok, let’s carry on...

I could even let the fact that he didn’t tell her about Theta Protocol slide because of all that classified crap and such, even if she called him out brilliantly about him not having the right to know that as well him not being Director anymore (HA, sorry Coulson but take that!) - I’m not really sure it was that a valid reason the fact that he should have told her because Andrew was involved, I mean, idk, they were not even married anymore, I don’t think that officially it should have been her business to know, but surely, as his best friend, Phil maybe should have felt more of a moral obligation to inform her, also because I can’t really recall if Phil started seeing Andrew before he confessed Melinda about his writing impulses, but at some point she knew, so what was the harm on letting her know? Where was the logic in keeping at least that hidden from her? I’ll be damned if I know! 

Anyway, what I seriously would have kicked Phil’s ass for is the fact that he, TWICE (as far as I remember at least) affirmed that he didn’t want to go to Melinda after the whole Andrew/Lash debacle because “she wouldn’t want me to go after her right now” “she’ll talk when she’s ready”... Phil... pal.... buddy... what the fuck???!!! I mean, ok, Melinda would have assured you that she was fine, especially if you approached her in public, but... you know... we know... THE WHOLE WORLD knows she wasn’t, how could she???!!! One fucking sentence, one “you know I’m here if you want to talk or anything” like she said to him, more than once, would have killed the writers to insert it?????!?!?!?! But no, not only he doesn’t reach to her (at least, we don’t see it and it isn’t even implied in the show)but in the meantime he proceedes to go out and have drinks and slEEP WITH ROSALIND AND START A RELATIONSHIP WITH HER WHAT THE HELL KINDA BEHAVIOUR IS THAT?????! His best friend is anguished, tormented and in pain, he should have at least stood by her bunk’s door all night just to reassure her he was there for whatever she needed, or at least stay at base, work, go to sleep, idk, with what spirit you go out and go on a date and everything???!! Why is that, to distract yourself?? Oh yeah, but he’s also working an angle here, yeah all work and duty and no play, eh, Coulson?! MELINDA NEEDED YOUR SUPPORT AND FRIENDSHIP FFS!!!!!!! Damn it, at least find time to show a scene in which he makes an effort to reach for her, then she is free to do anything she wants with his support and if she asks he’ll be considerate enough to leave her alone, but show us he tries, because that’s something I think Coulson would do!!!! Instead he apparently just straight up assumes that she doesn’t want anyone close in that moment so he doesn’t even bother to assure her that if she needs it, he’s there for her... I get it, we all know she closed off after Bahrain and all and she’s the kind of person who tends to keep things for herself, but it doesn’t hurt to at least let her know he’s available if she needs help, especially because she’d hate to bother him knowing well that he has a lot more to think about than just her? Listen, Coulson in certain instances could be a little dense, but I think he’d make such a reasoning, idk? Or am I assuming too much about him? But, as you said, even Mack voices his concerns about leaving her alone, someone who is not particularly close to her, but not Phil 

3B was better but still too little. It's funny but two of my favorites scenes of the show were the one about the boundaries, SO much to unpack there and when called him on it when he said she was too quick to the trigger and Daisy wasn't Andrew, the murder vest was bad enough but damn he still went the extra mile, but if he's going to be a bastard, at least have May fight back because I don't think I could take more of him being a dick and May just taking and getting no apologies like in 2B. 

Oh my god, OH MY GOD yes, that was the peak of the idiocy!! “You’re always so quick to the trigger” JESUS CHRIST PHIL HOW COULD YOU EVEN CONCEIVE TO SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO HER, TO MELINDA, HOW THE FUCK DOES YOUR BRAIN WORK????!!?!?!!? I seriously tend to erase all this stupidity in s3, I know it’s not fair to the show but I’m sorry, I really can’t stand that Phil could say shit like that to Melinda, I can barely recognize it as canon... Maybe it’s me who has created this version of Phil in my head that actually got things wrong about his character, maybe I’m misreading him and don’t really understand him fully (not that I have ever claimed that I do, anyway), because no matter how stressful this moment is for him and no matter how much pressure he is under, I can’t for the life of me accept that he would say those things and behave like that... S1 behaviour I understand even if it still pisses me off a bit but it’s definitely more comprehensible, but these aspects no, just no, no way... The writers kinda saved it with May taking no shit from him (thank god for that, at least) and him apologizing, even if that was still pretty mild according to me, but oh well, better than nothing at all I guess? Let’s try to convince ourselves of that...

S4 was kinda funny to me because they just turned it up to eleven but I appreciate we actually saw him showing love/devotion/loyalty, without S4 I don't think I could ship them as much and since S5 was also disappointing in my I need to believe Coulson loves her as much as she loves him thing there was little Philinda, but still we had May showing in actions and words her love for him and Coulson, well, I believe he loves her and I guess he kissed her, said he didn't want to leave her and invited her to spend a few days together before he died in front of her. Her SL in S6 was about how much she loved him but I knew that already lol and then emotional torture and death. 

Definitely, I seriously don’t know what happened during s4 writing that convinced the writers to suddenly push on the accelerator with their relationship, but I’m actually grateful (see? I can also say good things about them lol ), even if in terms of continuity for their dynamic I’m not sure how much sense it makes unless you take for granted that interactions must have happened in between the seasons, things we obviously weren’t witnesses of... As you pointed out, otherwise it would have been pretty hard to root for them to get closer, because May deserves the world!

It’s kind of ironic in a way to see, despite her being not openly vocal and expressive in her affections, how much more Melinda has said and done to and for Phil compared to him for her - again, as it has been said, he had far more things to worry about than her, whose mission was mainly Phil from the very beginning, so he obviously was more preoccupied to allow himself the luxury of devoting himself to just one person, but still...

S6? What is that? I really have no idea what you’re talking about here... :p

And that's why I appreciate so much how the fics do the work on Couson's part because I don't think I would love the ship as much without it either. And I just find confusing why AoS decided to go for the ship if they didn't care much about committing to their relationship on screen.

Yes! And ah, at this point, especially after S6, I’m so deflated about some choices that were made that I hardly care about trying to understand what goes through the writers’ heads, so again, I’ll just take what I want and run away quickly before they catch me and throw me in the pit of misery again (lol, look how confident I seem, as if I firmly believe that I won’t be affected at all by S7... Mh mh, yeah, sure, stay tuned to find out how much I’ll fail despite me training myself not to get involved with the show like I used to be...)

[idv-ask-servais]

Where is fiona's 📖? i want my fiona's 📖. Or you can do Kreacher or Lydia instead.

(I've been writing this for two hours my brain is dead I feel like this turned out more for Helena than Fiona I'm so sorry but I really have no idea what to write)

Fiona was a very dedicated person. No matter what task she had been entrusted with, she would do her best to complete it. Regardless of how unpleasant said task was, she would still fulfil what was expected of her dutifully, and sometimes even more so.

Once, she came up to me, her expression hopeful.

"Sevais," she twisted a stray strand of red-gold hair round and round her finger. "You are well versed in the arcane magics, correct?"

"Depends on what type of 'magics' you are referring to," I replied nervously, images of cultic rituals and human sacrifices flashing through my head. While one could say Fiona would never harm a fly in all her kindness, the same could not be said about the rituals her fellow believers were rumoured to have practised.

"In that case," she continued eagerly. "Could you perhaps teach me the way to open up the spiritual paths of communication between the human mind and that of the brethren of nature?"

It took a while for me to actually understand what she was referring to.

"I think you're asking the wrong person. I'm an entertainer, not an animal whisperer."

"Ah, I see..." the disappointment on her face was evident as she sighed and turned away.

I was inclined to leave her and be done with it but the curiosity got the better of me.

"But why do you need to know that?" I questioned as she moved to the door. "Surely there's a reason for the sudden interest."

"Well..." she hesitated for a moment, before taking her hand away from the doorknob. "To be honest, it's somewhat trivial."

"That's alright, just tell me what it is that's troubling you."

"It's Eli," she said finally. "He seems...troubled recently. I've tried asking him what the matter was but he keeps telling me not to worry about it. And I've tried to not worry, but I can't help but think about what could have happened..." she glanced despairingly at me. What a considerate person.

"I see, but how does that correlate to...animal whispering?"

"So you see," she continued. "I thought that if Eli wouldn't tell me or anyone else, perhaps his owl could! Since it follows him everywhere, and knows everything that happens to him..." she trailed off. "I know...it sounds silly, but I don't think I'm clever enough to work it out the way detectives do, and Eli doesn't seem to be talking about it any time soon."

"I see why you'd try that approach," the idea of talking the the owl was...unconventional. On the other hand, the inhabitants of this manor certainly had curious abilities. If one could turn invisible and another could share a body with two souls, then I wouldn't be too surprised if someone turned out to be able to actually communicate with animals. "Have you had any leads so far? Aside from me, that is."

"No," she admitted. "I was sort of counting on you knowing that kind of thing."

"Ah..." I fell into thought. Out of all the survivors, the only person I could think of who could be a potential animal whisperer was Eli, and...clearly, we couldn't ask him. As for the hunters, I wasn't so sure, not having interacted with them as much as I did with the survivors. So, we decided to ask someone who was a frequent visitor to the hunter's side of the manor.

"Hmm? Animal whispering? I'm not sure about that," Helena tapped her finger against her chin, her legs swinging back and forth below the dining room table. The fat ball of fur she had dubbed Alexander the Great daintily pawed at the tablecloth and stared intelligently at us. "From what I know, none of the hunters really do that kind of thing."

"But what about leads?" Fiona clasped Helena's hand, her gaze sincere. Alexander patted her cheek with his paw. "Do you know anyone who might know the way?"

Helena fell silent, her expression thoughtful. Fiona glanced impatiently around the room, frowning as she rubbed the cat behind the ears. Alexander purred, and smiled, much like the illustrations of the Cheshire cat in children's Alice in Wonderland storybooks. He stared at me in such an unnervingly smug way that I couldn't help but look away.

After what seemed like a decade, Helena hummed and hopped off her chair, her stick tapping against the ground as she strolled off towards the door leading to the hunters' end of the manor.

"I have two candidates," she announced, the rhythmic sound of her stick hitting the ground loud as gunshots in the silent corridors of the other end of the manor. "The first is Joker, and the second is Bane. If neither of them can provide a solution to our problem, then I shall resort to extreme measures and enlist my third candidate."

"I see why you'd pick Bane," Fiona nodded sagely, her tone much lighter than it had been a few minutes ago. "But why Joker? I didn't think he'd have anything to do with...animal whispering."

"Why, that's because he's- oh hello, Yhdhra!" Helena stopped to greet what seemed to be thin air. I felt a shiver run down my spine as the air greeted her back and went hissing down the way we came. Neither Fiona nor Helena seemed perturbed by this. I wondered why I was even still here.

"But anyways," Helena continued. "Joker once worked in a circus. I hear he knew an animal tamer, so I was wondering whether he picked up any animal whispering tricks from them."

Well, unfortunately enough for us, he didn't.

"Do I look like a-what do you call it? Oh, a 'lover of nature and all her creatures'? No!" he leered at us, his wide smile as terrifying as the dangerous glint in his eyes. "Go find that fool, Bane. He's the one wearing a deer head on his face." Then, more meekly, he bent down and said to Helena. "Sorry for hitting you in the match earlier, little miss. I know you're a good girl. But I gotta do what I'm told to do."

"Yes, I know," Helena patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Thank you for the help, Mister Joker."

As we left the room, Fiona seemed to have gained a new perspective.

"They don't seem all that bad at all," she remarked to me, glowing with admiration for the blind girl before us. "Joker, at least. Do you think I could have such a good relationship with the hunters too?"

"I don't know..." Why was I here again?

"I wonder if they'll like me more if I made them snacks," Fiona said dreamily.

Our second candidate, Bane, was not much more help than Joker.

"Skgifkjdhevvfkfk!" He exclaimed after listening patiently to our predicament. "Aidhebenekwk, ekjfjeieifhf, roeodhfn!"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't understand you," Helena shook her head regretfully.

Bane scratched the top of the deer head, before raising his hands and launching into a rapid burst of sign language, his fingers twitching eagerly at the end of his speech.

Sadly, none of us knew sign language, and the mission was deemed a failure.

"Usually Leo's there to translate for me," Helena sighed as she thumped along the corridor, Fiona trailing dejectedly by her side. "But he's in a match right now, probably won't be back till tomorrow morning. I'd suggest we ask again later, but the manor owner doesn't take too kindly to us getting too cozy with the hunters." If I were the manor owner, I'd say that Helena had gone past "too cozy" and deep into "extremely friendly" with the hunters.

"Why do you think Eli's in a bad mood anyways?" I asked Fiona the question that had been on my mind throughout the entire process. "Isn't he always that stoic?"

"Well, he's been sighing a lot more than usual lately," Fiona's expression went worried again. "And he keeps stress eating. I know it's stress eating because I've seen him do it before matches with the hunters that intimidate him."

Helena whistled and told us that this meant she would have to resort to extreme measures. Fiona just nodded grimly, her hands wringing repeatedly as we made our way to a workshop at the very back of the manor.

Before we entered the workshop, Helena stopped, and turned to Fiona.

"Are you sure you would like to know that badly?" she asked. "This measure is very extreme."

"Yes," Fiona's eyes were filled with the determination of someone who had made up their mind. "I won't let anyone be unhappy if I can do anything about it."

Helena shrugged and pushed the door open.

Inside the small workshop, we found an old man with mechanised limbs drilling away at a rusty piece of metal.

"Why, if it isn't the little mouse!" Burke grinned, the gaps between his teeth showing as he hobbled over to us. "What brings you here to this drunk old man's lair."

"I need you to get Eli to spill his troubles," Helena raised her head to talk to him. "Fiona's worried."

Burke turned and surveyed Fiona, who smiled nervously and waved. He harrumphed and addressed Helena again.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do," he clanked out of the workshop, his metal parts hissing with steam as he went. "I'll be back, so sit tight."

Seeing as this was none of my business anymore, and frankly, this place scared me more than I was willing to admit, I bade the two girls goodbye and returned to the survivors' end of the manor.

Two days later, Fiona came up to me again, beaming and looking terribly pleased with herself.

"The situation is solved now," she said cheerfully. "Eli was just feeling ill recently and it made him a little anxious about going into matches, so I fixed him up with some stew and he's all better now."

I raised my eyebrows. Fiona nodded convincingly, her smile unfalteringly radiant.

"Well then, how did Burke get him to talk?"

"Oh," her tone grew disapproving. "He force fed Eli whiskey until he got drunk and ranted to everyone nearby about his troubles. I don't think it's a good move towards someone who's sick, but it's an extreme measure, as Helena calls it."

Her face brightened up again. "But he's not sick anymore now, and that's good I suppose. I'd really hate it if anyone in the manor were suffering all on their own without telling people about it," she laughed, her expression serene. "Wouldn't you agree, Servais?"

[verbumincarcerem]

The Fanged God

So I started writing this because I wanted to write something dark, something without any good people, something that was solely for me and me alone. The only person in the world who’s ever read this is @editoress, and she? Really loved it? Even said it’s some of my best work, which I do actually agree with?

I was inspired by a few things when I wrote this. Uprooted by Naomi Novick, for one. The Hades/Persephone dynamic, only where Hades is evil and Persephone isn’t too upstanding herself. And then there’s the whole Chaos vs Cosmos thing in Dissidia: Final Fantasy. All of this pushed me to craft this story about a young Sith getting herself entangled with the literal embodiment of the dark side of the Force, the Son. It’s about exploring power and the things we’re willing to do or sacrifice for it--and the things we’re not willing to do or sacrifice. It’s about the things that get taken from us anyway and how we get them back.

Here is the beginning.

I.

They didn't want her to be chosen.  

If this was to be the one time every Sith in their company agreed on something, Melody was glad it was about this. She didn't want to be chosen either. Perhaps Ventress or Savage did, but that was to be expected. They were prone to rash decisions in their mad rushes for power.

She liked to do things a little differently. When it came to attaining power, Melody preferred to take her time, the same way she’d taken her time to assume her Sith title, Darth Inferna.

Melody loved the name, but she loved the one she’d always had with her since birth, too. A weakness of sentiment, as Darth Sidious would only be too pleased to remind her. Maul walked by her side, a fiercely comforting presence, as he drilled her once more. "Don't pull ahead or fall behind. Stay with the pack. Don't do anything to stand out or draw attention. Nothing special, no surprises." It was rare for Maul to say so much in one sitting and so quickly, a sure sign he was worried.   "Yes, master," she said. "No funny business or showing off, I get it. I’ll keep the fireworks to a minimum." But her smile was as feeble as her attempt to lighten the mood. It didn't assure either of them. A tense silence passed and she finally voiced her fear aloud. "But what if I do get chosen?" "You won't," Maul said with utter certainty. "Not if you do as I've ordered." "But what if, despite that, I do?" Maul halted in his tracks and she slowed to her own stop. Blazing, sulfuric eyes bored into her icy blue ones pretending at calm. Maul was the first to break the connection, continuing to stalk forward. He didn't say another word. He didn't have to. The promise of vengeance, of war and destruction in his gaze was all too clear as to what his answer was. 

At least, Melody thought with dry consideration, this event wasn't to be holovised. She'd almost expected it, given the Fanged God's rumored vanity, but in truth the Choosing was rather clandestine. In the end, it made sense. Somewhere else in the galaxy, the Winged Goddess was choosing her own champion, a Champion of Light to pit against the Fanged God's Champion of Darkness. Neither wanted to share information as to who those champions would be. Not for the first time, Melody wondered why all this was necessary. Light and Dark were fighting each other just fine without the gods' interference during the Clone Wars—which had been abruptly halted, the fighting forced to a stop and the lines divided as if the war had never happened to begin with. Melody got the sense that it wasn't so much about the conflict of Light and Dark but about neither immortal wanting to directly and personally fight the other. That was all well and good, but her sympathy was limited, coming to a clear stopping point against anyone who threatened herself and her people.

With one last look, Maul left her to join the other masters, who for reasons unknown were as barred from being a contender as the apprentices were all forced to compete. Dooku didn’t seem to care, but Sidious was furious. Even now she could feel it. It was the only thing about this matter that made her smile. But her smile faded when she thought about Plagueis, at his noticeable lack of reaction, how he’d only wished her luck. It was moments like this one which reminded her that, despite their camaraderie, he was a true enigma, his seeming omniscient wisdom something beyond her reckoning.

Despite the hundreds of people, human and alien alike, gathered in the space—a cross between a training ground and a courtyard—finding Ventress and Savage was remarkably easy. She only had to look for the nearest brawl, which had been swiftly brought to a heel by the sadistic pair.

Ventress had her foot planted on some poor human’s throat, a cruel smile on her serpentine face, while Savage spread the crowd into a wider and wider circle, warding off any would-be rescuers.

Melody slipped right into the circle, and the crowd noted how Savage let her approach. To Ventress, she lifted a dark eyebrow. “"Busy winning friends and influencing people, I see."

Ventress’ throaty laugh was enough to send shivers down any hardened warrior’s spine. She matched Melody’s tight smile with a dark smirk. “I was provoked. Don’t make the same mistake as the General by thinking you hold my leash, Inferna.”

With a pang, Melody was reminded that Grievous hadn’t been allowed into the Choosing, either. Though deadly efficient with a lightsaber or four, he wasn’t a Force user. A real shame. She could have used his gruff humor and sparking anger right about now.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, throwing a pointed look at the human, who was currently having trouble breathing. “But perhaps now isn’t the best time. Save your energy. He’ll be here soon.”

It was the reminder of their would-be host that caused Ventress to draw back than any regard she had towards Melody or mercy in general. She pushed off the human with her foot, leaving him sputtering and coughing as he rose to his elbows. The crowd parted easily for them as she, Melody, and Savage walked on.

“There’s a lot more people here than expected,” Savage noted, his towering mass able to look around them with ease. “Who would have thought that there were so many dark Force users in the galaxy?”

“Maybe they’re not all a part of our galaxy,” Melody noted.

“Does it matter?” Ventress replied. “All of them will fall under my saber regardless. The same is true for either of you if you get in my way.”

Savage scowled, his hand drifting to his own lightsaber. Melody raised her hands in a placating gesture. “He’s all yours, Ven. Honestly, I’d rather take a nap against the wall.”

“But you’ll be competing the same as the rest of us,” Ventress coolly observed.

“Not like I have a choice. Orders are orders.”

“Such a perfect soldier you’ve become,” scoffed Ventress. “At least it’s clear who holds your leash, little dog.”

“Woof,” Melody scoffed right back, not riled by her taunts in the least.

Savage laughed. “I’m sure, Ventress, that Master Dooku will be devastated to hear how badly you want to toss him aside for a new master. I’ll be happy to take your place.”

“My dear, sweet Savage, never fear. I penned him a strongly-worded letter.” Ventress’ saccharine tone was offset by her baleful smile. “But feel free to tell him for me, if you’re still alive.”

Their banter could have continued, would have, if not for the sheer presence that descended on the training ground with all the swiftness and stifling air of a lowering ceiling. Its weight increased, determined to break and crush, and the silence it brought was one of both anticipation and fear.

And even though no one had been in the center of the grounds, suddenly he was, standing in the midst of them.

The Fanged God was even taller than Savage’s seven-foot frame by a few inches, but far lankier, all sharp angles and pointed joints, his black and red garb clinging to him like a second skin. His build wasn’t malnourished or ill fitting, however, as lean muscles broadened his shoulders and defined his long arms, legs, and torso. Red tattoos adorned his bald head as well as under his glowing red eyes—which were stark against solid black sclerae—forming a thin line down both of his high cheekbones. His thin, colorless lips were pulled back in a pleased smile, and when he spoke, his voice was deep but with a deceptively soft edge. It carried effortlessly in the space around all of them, commanding their attention and bringing with it an unseen dread.

“Ah, so many. So many.” He brought a finger to his lips, a pensive gesture, but his quick smile was a joke he wasn’t sharing. “I wonder how many will be left.”

An alien of a species she'd never seen before stepped forward, clicking and spitting in an unknown language, but their inflection was unmistakable. They were issuing a challenge. The Fanged God smiled lazily, hardly bothered by it at all. "Oh, yes, we shall certainly get to it, since you're all so eager." His gaze found hers in the crowd easily, jolting her to attention. But he passed on, sweeping it over the others, and she realized how catching Maul's paranoia over this whole thing was. The god hadn't noticed her, no more than anyone else. He hadn't even been looking at her but at someone behind her. She was fine. "You know what's at stake here,” the Fanged God continued. “The Light has issued us a challenge. It's only sporting that we meet it. Use any weapons or skills you have, crude though they are. Survive until I'm—more or less satisfied." He waved a hand as if he severely doubted that any satisfaction would be met. "I will select my Champion from however many of you are left.

“We will return to Mortis, where you will serve me, and only me, as your true master. There, your training will really begin, until that fateful day where champion is pitted against champion, and then—” Pitiless eyes surveyed each of them, and his razor sharp smile attracted as much as it repelled. “You will win. You will destroy the Light, and the Dark will reign supreme until the next Choosing. And if you do not…”

It was only when he trailed off that Melody noticed the silence. Tense, fearful, rapt. And angry, so destructively angry, barely kept in check by desperation and quiet hysteria. (She wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be here, whose ambitions lied on other shores.) And it was all feeding him, she knew. He was preening with the pure power of it.

“If you do not, you will die, along with everything you care about.” And with that, he snapped his fingers and the whole terrain underneath them began to shake. Savage and Melody threw alarmed glances at each other as they fought to keep their balance. Next to them, Ventress was steady, her mouth widening in a smug, victorious smirk.   "Do enjoy yourselves." The Fanged God was no longer among them, but his voice sounded clearly and effortlessly over the noise, as if he were bypassing all vibrations of sound to speak right into her head. "I know I will." And then the chaos started.

Melody slowed her sprint to a light jog, keeping an eye on the tree line as she approached the forest.

Three days. She had been out here on this backwater Outer Rim planet, competing in this insane mess, for three days, and she was still alive.

She stopped, panting and leaning a hand against a tree for support. Her blue eyes flicked to her surroundings. No enemies here. She was safe to rest for a moment. Bracing her back against the tree, she uncorked her flask, spilling a few precious drops of water on her parched tongue.

Who else is still alive?

She hadn’t seen Ventress since that first day. With only a final word of warning, she’d leapt into the fray, full of bloodlust and laughter, her lightsabers shattering the chaos as only their distinctive hums could. She and Savage had quickly lost sight of her, leaving the strange courtyard far behind.

The morning of the second day, Melody lost Savage, being separated from him during an ambush. She still had the blood and gore from that encounter coating the front of her tunic and her gloves. She didn’t regret the lives she’d had to take, not when they were so heavily invested in taking hers. But still, she worried about Savage, who didn’t have as much training as either herself or Ventress. It had been three days, and dusk was coming.

Melody glared at nothing in particular and gripped tight the hilt of her lone lightsaber, the last one she had left after its twin had become damaged in a recent skirmish.

What the hell was the Fanged God waiting for?

A sudden disturbance in the Force was the only warning she had. The sound of a singing blade suddenly cut through the air, and Melody dove to the ground just in time.

Igniting her lightsaber, Melody pushed herself to her feet and turned, searching for her assailant.

It was another species of alien she’d never seen, this one with two legs and four arms, built like an ox but with the fur of a bear crossed with a wildcat. His pointed snout was turned up in a snarl, and the axe in his hands was so large it could cut through at least three men at once. The tree, at least, hadn’t made it. The towering pine crashed to the ground, bark flying in all directions, leaving behind a decapitated stump that was almost as tall as she was.

“I’m sorry. Was that supposed to be my head?” She mocked, spinning her lightsaber with an unnecessary flourish. Inferna the Sith had come out to play.

The alien roared at her and charged, handling his axe with obvious finesse and skill. Inferna held her ground, widened her stance, and brought her lightsaber up to block.

The pure energy in her saber sliced clean through whatever metal his axe was made of. She dodged the ricocheting steel, expecting it, and with a final slice, she relieved him of one of his hands.

The alien’s roar this time was full of pain and shock. The remaining half of his axe clattered to the ground between them, his missing hand still wrapped around the handle, and he staggered back, eyeing her red blade with fear. She pursued, stepping forward with light, casual steps, and he swung wildly at her with his remaining hands. Dodging them was child’s play. She wondered if he was so surprised and in pain that he’d forgotten how to access the Force.

It didn’t matter. It was clear that even she didn’t need it for this fight.

“Never seen a lightsaber before, have you?” She smiled. Then, with a quick lunge, she gutted him, the tip of her saber protruding from his back. “That’s too bad. They’re kind of great.”

She cut clean through several organs, scorching his insides, and when she jerked her saber out of him, he was dead before he hit the ground.

On impact, dust and dirt kicked up around his fallen form. She stared down at him for a moment, saw how the red glow of the sun glinted off his metal breastplate and the remaining axe fragments. How archaic, she thought. Then she looked up and took in a truly breathtaking sight. Her lightsaber bled and blended against the harsh sunset like an oil painting. In the far distance beyond the plains, night chased the fleeing sun, the faint light of distant stars dim on the edges.

After so much struggle, so much raging need to survive, peace had descended, just like that, almost as if she’d never even killed another living being. Time marched on. All was forgiven.

She’d taken four steps from the body when her lungs seized and stopped working.

You’re kidding me was her last coherent thought, before her hand came up to claw at her throat, which was working furiously to draw breath and failing. Distantly, she felt her feet leave the ground and kicked out in reflex, but stopped when the movement only expelled her remaining oxygen faster. There wasn’t a single physical block around her throat. Someone was Force choking her to death.

At last, she sensed him, but it was too late to do her any good. Her attacker stepped out from one of the trees, and around her dimming eyesight, she saw that he was a Rodian, a blaster in his hand instead of a lightsaber. His other hand was extended out to her, mimicking a choking gesture.

“I thought that beast would destroy you,” he said in Huttese, closing his grip ever so slowly. “But it seems that pleasure will now belong to me.”

I am not dying at the hands of a Rodian, she snarled to herself, irrationally.

Despite what Maul told her—for surely he didn’t want her to die at the expense of remaining inconspicuous—she kicked out with her right foot, intending to send a burst of fire blazing towards the Rodian to scorch him alive.

But her lack of oxygen made her fire weak. As quickly as it formed, it died, burning a sputtering flicker of light as opposed to the inferno she planned. Darth Inferna, the Firemaker, indeed. The Rodian only laughed at her efforts, and his hand closed. Melody’s vision went black and her heart beat a scattered, terrified rhythm in her chest. Any second now, she was going to die! She was going to—she was going to—

Another roar broke through their surroundings, much more familiar, and Savage was there, barreling straight for them. The Rodian raised his blaster, but it was too late. Savage deflected the first shot with his lightsaber, and the next thing Melody knew, she was on the ground, and she could breathe.

Gasping, she gradually sat up, inhaling large gulps of air into her burning throat, frantic and disoriented. A presence approached her on her left, and she jerked, intending to protect herself, to kill if necessary.

Her lightsaber was blocked by another, and the matching red glow threw her next attacker’s face into a severe light. Deliriously, Melody thought she had attacked her master, that Maul had somehow made his way here, but when he opened his mouth to speak, it wasn’t Maul but Savage that spoke.

“I save your life, and you try to kill me?”

She backed off instantly, internally shaking herself. “Savage. You found me.” She gave herself another shake, another blessed breath, and then she looked at him with utter sincerity. “Thank you.” "Don't mention it," Savage demanded, a gruffness to his usually authoritarian voice. "Do you have any idea what Maul would do to me if I let you die?" "You’re his brother. Whatever you're imagining, I'm sure it wouldn't be that bad.” She smirked, jerking up her chin at movement over Savage’s shoulder. “But here, let me return the favor."

A female Bith rushed them, or tried to. Harnessing all her pent up rage, every shred of fear from her near-death experience, Melody unleashed it all in a wall of fire from her left hand and targeted it at the Bith. The flame consumed her instantly, eating through her flesh like a living thing, and the scream it wrenched from her was the crackling, snapping sharpness of burning wood. A smoking husk fell to the ground, the fire still greedily consuming it, but neither remaining Sith had time to celebrate their victory. That scream had attracted others as had her display of power. Soon, Inferna and Savage were surrounded again, but instead of separating, this time they stuck together.

Two more days passed. There was still no sign of Ventress.

After a week, it appeared that the Fanged God had finally grown satisfied. Or bored.

One moment, Melody was with Savage, picking their way through a series of crystal caves, and the next, they were back in the courtyard, along with the other survivors, whisked there as effortlessly as they had all been initially to this single point in the galaxy.

There weren’t many. Where hundreds of Sith apprentices and dark Force users once stood, only around twenty were left alive and mostly whole. A human female lay on the ground, clutching what remained of her leg, and a Twi’lek sat against a wall, dazed and unseeing as if his body had made it through but his mind had not.

Melody spun and searched the crowd frantically, looking for the familiar lithe frame; the dark, faded markings; the twin, curve-handled lightsabers.

“There!” Savage pointed, and Melody breathed a sigh of relief.

Ventress, for her part, scowled when she saw them. She sauntered their way, barely any the worse for wear aside from her own gory tales marring her smooth face, and the disgust perched there was unmistakable.

“Are you two still living?”

“You’d miss us if we weren’t,” said Melody. She would have embraced the Dathomirian if it weren’t an almost certainty that Ventress would kill her. Quite frankly, Melody didn’t want to have come all this way just to die like that. She would have been better off with the Rodian.

But her good mood ended when the air shifted, becoming cold and stifling all at once.

The Fanged God’s voice commanded the very air they breathed. “Well, now. There are certainly less of you than I hoped.” He emerged from pure darkness, free of both light and shadow, and stepped forward, gazing at them all with mild interest. He steepled his long, gloved fingers, tip to tip, and said with a mocking smile, “But definitely more than I expected.”

Melody knew about toying with her opponents; she did it often, especially if she felt they deserved it. But this was different. This was all a sick game to him. Their lives meant nothing in the end. Only his Champion mattered, and even that was debatable. She glared at him with hatred and fury, the feelings coming innately in his presence or perhaps because of it, and she hoped he felt them.

Instinctively, they all seemed to know what he wanted. One by one, the survivors—the ones who could stand—lined up single file, knuckles white around their weapons, prepared to defend themselves if necessary. Just how they intended to go about doing that against a god—against the living embodiment of the dark side—was a mystery that no one wanted to think too hard about.

Melody brushed shoulders against a fellow human who flinched away from her. She barely sparred him a glance. He had enough demons to fight without her adding one more to the list. Savage stood strong and vigilant beside her with Ventress on his opposite side, one hand perched on her hip, utterly assured. She was just waiting to be named the victor.

Melody almost hoped that Ventress was the one chosen. As much as she didn’t want her to go, Melody believed that Ventress was by far the most prepared, the most skilled out of all of them. For as long as Melody had known her, her proficiency and relationship with the dark side had never wavered.

Like they were cattle and he the wealthiest, pickiest buyer, the Fanged God strolled lazily down their line, sizing them up one by one. To some, he stopped to speak, adopting that strange tone that was painfully earnest and teasing all at once. Melody allowed herself to relax, to zone out. She wouldn’t be chosen. She knew it. She’d narrowly avoided being killed, and even though she’d survived, she never once did anything substantial or noteworthy, aside from perhaps saving Savage’s life. But that was hardly something that appealed to the dark side. That was weakness, that was—

“Ah, yes. You.” The Fanged God’s voice rumbled from right over her head, shocking her back to the present. The cool material of his glove brushed her face, tilting her chin up so that she met his unnerving gaze. Her neck craned back painfully to take in his height, but she kept her features blank and uninteresting. He only moved closer to her, studying every facet he could. “Tell me. Is it the rage that hides the sentiment, or the sentiment that hides the rage?”

She clenched her jaw and remained stubbornly silent. He didn’t seem to mind.

“And pyrokinesis. Not exactly a common power in mortals, but nothing special.” He tilted his head, eyes tracing her brow, the straight line of her nose, her lips, before flicking back to her eyes, searing and determined. “But what you did wasn’t mere generation, was it? There weren’t enough molecules to manipulate to create a fire that powerful. They were just the flint; your emotions were the fuel. And in the end, there was nothing left of the body. What you did was pure creation and destruction both.”

He released her and stepped back, assessing her for one final time. Melody kept waiting for him to move on, but he didn’t. In fact, he never once looked away from her, and his smile was turning towards both dark and gleeful.

“Yes,” he breathed, the hunger evident in his eyes and his voice, “you’re the one I want.”

“What?” Ventress hissed and stepped forward, but Savage held her back, eyes steady and wary on them. Melody barely perceived anything beyond the Fanged God’s sly smile and the hand he reached out to her, expectant and pleased.

But Melody knew the truth that very few of her kind wanted to admit. The dark side was a relentless temptation, looking for the most opportune moment to appear, waiting until you were at your most vulnerable, the most desperate, and then it would appear like a reassuring friend, like a panacea for all your despair. It dressed itself in the most attractive splendor, choosing the form of the poison you wanted most. But in the end, the dark side could only tempt you. It couldn’t force you.

The decision to choose it, to use it, was yours alone.

So in the end, it was obvious what she had to do.

“Not interested,” she said softly, steel wrapped in silk. She stared him down, and that by itself was one of the most terrifying things she’d ever done, including the fortnight Maul had once spent hunting her down, all in the name of training. “Choose someone else.”

His smile faltered at first, but when it returned, it was tinged with regret, with something akin to pity. But those same emotions weren’t in his eyes; there was only a depthless, remorseless cruelty inside those glowing red orbs and the dark that surrounded them. It dawned on Melody then that her truth was a lie, that she was wrong about the dark side, so very, very wrong.

And with a mere eight words, the Fanged God proved it. “Then I guess I’ll have to force you.”

That’s when the screams started to erupt all around her.

[veiledflattery]

Hi! I saw you opened for requests and I love Lockwood & Co., so I was wondering if you could write a Locklyle story? Thank you! ♡

Here you go, good old Locklyle ghost-fighting plus some kissing. I haven’t come up with a name for this fic yet, so I’d love any suggestions if you have them. 

Lucy’s first kiss went exactly how she’d have expected it to – rushed,fumbling, and in the dark. Well, maybe the strands of ectoplasm steaming all around them were never reallypart of the picture she’d imagined. But really, with her luck and her line ofwork, it wasn’t such a surprise. Oh, who was she kidding? 

It had started with a particularly mysterious case, as so many of thesedisasters did. A haunted hotel room, two guests badly ghost-touched postrenovation work. “Why were they so spread out, though? According to these records, MrSullivan died almost four months after Mr Donovan did." "Yes, and apparently other guests stayed there between the cases andreported no ill effects. A Mr and Mrs Fulbright, these two collegestudents…” Lockwood ran his long fingers over the list, considering.“Maybe the Visitor has trouble materialising?”Lucy shook her head. “It’d have to be a weak type one then, and couldn’thave such a nasty ghost-touch.”Lockwood nodded, leaning back in his armchair. The lantern they’d lit in themiddle of the landing sent shadows flickering across his features. He had thatcalm, focused look he only had when they were on a case – brow uncreased, lipsupturned. It was rare sight these days, and if Lucy had left the skull at homejust so that she could admire that look in peace… no one had to know.Lockwood tilted his head towards her grinning. “We’ll figure it out, Luce.We always do.”“Let’s get on it then, the night’s as dark as it’s going to get,”Lucy replied, smiling back. She checked the chains around the lantern one last time while Lockwood ruffledthrough the kitbags. She loved these moments, when they worked in tandemwithout having to say a word. It was like the old days, before Holly or Flo orany of the crazy things that had been happening lately.Lockwood passed along her bag before leading the way down the narrow corridor.They went slowly, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. As they neared theroom Lucy opened her Senses, inner and outer. There was the creaking of thefloorboards, the dim howling of the wind outside. But on a psychic level…silence. They secured the door open using George’s stopper (Lucy refused to call it aDFD) and started doing their regular assessments. “Just two death glows, as expected…”“Temperature eighteen degrees, point five lower in this corner…”Nothing alarming, really. They set out chains in the middle of the room andsettled in to wait. “So, why couldn’t Holly make it today? I know George stayed back to doresearch, but we’re pretty caught up on all the filing work." "Oh, I gave her the night off. Figured you and I could handle this.”Lockwood said, flashing her that smile.“Ah,” not for the first time, Lucy thanked the darkness for hidingher slight flush. “Well, yeah, I just thought you liked having her as abackup.”Lockwood examined her expression for a moment, then sighed. “Luce… youknow Holly could never change your place with me, right? You and I used to dothis all the time. It doesn’t change now just because Holly’s part of thecompany.”Lucy puzzled over the words for a few minutes. What did that wording mean? Thatstrange tone?But before she could figure it out, Lockwood’s tone changed again. This one wasdecidedly warning. “Luce,” he said, breath pluming in the air infront of him. Lucy cursed internally. How had she missed the sudden temperaturedrop? Blasted Lockwood and his tones and his shiny flop of hair.They both got to their feet, Senses on full alert. Lucy cautiously stepped outof the chains and ran her fingers over the green wallpaper. Still nothing. Sheclosed her eyes, Listening and feeling along the wall. No traces of death orpsychic activity.Then she bumped into the vanity. 

The onslaught of sensation was instant, and devastating. Loss, suchterrible loss. A gravestone and screams of bereavement, echoing and echoing,never leaving, so empty and alone… so alone…Lucy yanked her hand away, whirling across the room to put as much distance aspossible between her and that terrible feeling. “The vanity,” shegasped, “it belonged to someone. A woman. She lost someone, she used tocry there. I think it might also be the place where she poisoned herself.”Lockwood put a warm, steadying hand on her shoulder. “That’s probably theSource then, a straightforward Cold Maiden haunting. Well done, Luce. We’lljust seal it up and – oh.”Lucy turned to see what he was looking at. Frost had crept over the mirror of the vanity. Whatever Type this was, it wasmanifesting fast. Tendrils of ectoplasm swirled through the forming ghost fog,curling into a vaguely humanoid shape. A figure with her head in her hands. Sheraised her featureless face towards them. Lucy caught snippets: alone… so sad,lost… no one…It was strange. Tendrils of ectoplasm were jabbing towards the chains where sheand Lockwood stood, but they weren’t menacing, somehow. The feeling she gotfrom them was almost… benevolent. Like they were doing them a favour bytrying to kill them.She was snapped out of her thoughts by the snick of Lockwood drawing hisrapier. “Plan C. You know the drill. I’ll engage, you seal.”He leapt into action, criss-crossing his rapier through the ectoplasm andpushing the ghost back and away from the Source. Shaking off her daze, Lucypulled a large silver net from her bag and made her way towards thevanity. And then, another humanoid shape started forming in front of the mirror. Lucyreeled back, brandishing the net in front of her. “Lockwood! There’s twoof them!”She felt backwards with her foot, trying to find the chains, but her leg hitsomething else instead. Something tall, and solid – “Luce, stop kicking me.”Oh. They’d backed into each other. The ghosts approached from both sides,cutting off their path to the chains. Lucy failed with the net for a second,then dropped it and drew her rapier.She could make out the second ghost more clearly now. A man, lean and probablyyoung. He wore rider’s slacks and a worn jacket. A bloodstain bloomed over hischest. She knew, instinctively, that this was the lover that woman had lost. Hemoved towards her – again with that strange feeling, as if the ectoplasmstriking at her was just him trying to help. But help with what? Lucy shook her head to clear it. The attacks were getting stronger, and the ghostsbrighter. Even Lockwood was tiring; she could hear his labored breathing behindher. “Iron filings on three,” he muttered, “one, two, three!”Lucy lobbed the largest canister from her belt and shielded her eyes asectoplasm fizzled everywhere. Then they rushed towards the vanity. “We need to find the second source,” Lockwood said, pulling out hisown silver net.But before he could use it, ectoplasm was swirling towards them again. Lockwoodwhipped out his rapier again. “How are they reforming so quickly?”“They’re determined,” Lucy said, flinging a salt bomb. But theectoplasm reformed almost as quickly as she destroyed it. “They think theycan… help us, somehow.”“What?”“I don’t know!” Lucy was fighting to stay calm. She’d backed intoLockwood again, trapped in a cocoon of ectoplasm. Words drifted through hermind in a jumble, both the ghosts’ voices melding together. So lonely… alone… death better…together… only together…“And in a flash, Lucy understood."Mr and Mrs Fulbright,” she said out loud, “that college couple.They weren’t attacked.”Lockwood’s voice was tense. “Lucy, maybe we should wonder over those later.”She ignored him, yelling at the ghosts, “we’re not alone! We’re together,look, there’s two of us.”The ectoplasm continued to press closer… but was it swirling a little slower,jabbing a little less aggressively? The voices floated through her mind again. Deathbetter… alone… no one… no one alone…

Lucy thought back to the vanity. She’d felt the depth of that woman’slove, the all-consuming pain of her heartbreak. Now that she and herhusband were reunited, in death, the purpose coming off the reanimated spirits wasclear – their need to make sure that no one ever faced that kind of lonelinessagain. Even if that meant killing to spare them the misery.Really, I’d rather have the misery, Lucy thought to herself as she cutward-knots through the air. The ghosts had renewed their attack.

On and on, she and Lockwood thrust and parried and flung canister aftercanister. Lucy’s mind whirled. How could they convince the ghosts they weren’tlonely? They’d lost the whole concept of self-sufficiency, believed you neededsomeone else to be happy.

“I’m out of iron.”

Lucy reached to her belt and found it empty as well. “I don’t supposeyou brought any flares?”

“We already have a burned house on our resumes. Figured we don’t need ahotel too.”

The ectoplasm was still closing in from all directions. Lucy’s arm feltleaden, and despite his incredible stamina Lockwood couldn’t be doing a lotbetter. “We’re not alone!” she tried again, but she could almost sense thedisbelief coming off the Cold Maidens. She needed to be more convincing.

Refusing to think about what she was doing, Lucy sheathed her rapier andspun to face Lockwood. He was still fighting. Taking a deep breath, she grippedhis shoulders and whirled him around to face her.

She took a millisecond to process the confusion on his face, thesurprise in his dark eyes, before grabbing his face and pressing her lips tohis.

For a moment he was rigid, rapier still clutched in one outstretchedhand. Lucy brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones and pressed against him moreinsistently. The rapier clattered to the floor, his mouth opened against hers,and his hands grasped her waist above her belt.

Everything melted away – the ghosts, the weight of her sword, the factthat she was his employee – and shekissed him deeper, losing herself in the softness of his lips and the subtle,familiar scent of his cologne.

She lost track of how long they stood there intertwined, but eventuallythey pulled apart for breath. For a moment they gazed into each other’s eyes –dark brown and hazel, open and raw and asking – and then Lucy came to hersenses, stumbling back and whipping her hands to herself. Suddenly it wasimpossible to look at him.

The Visitors had disappeared, except for a few scattered flecks ofectoplasm shimmering here and there. Lucy pointedly went through all themotions, retrieving her net and sealing the vanity. Lockwood went through the drawersand found an old, monogrammed pen, the Source of the second ghost. Lucy wascareful not to touch his fingers as she passed him a silverglass case for it.The silence and awkwardness weighed on them throughout their packing and thetaxi ride home. It was only as they walked up Portland Row that theexplanations came tumbling out of Lucy.

“Those ghosts, they were killing all the single people staying in thehotel and leaving all the couples alone. To them, a life alone seemed basicallyworse than death. They thought they were helping, but they were going to killus.” She still couldn’t meet his eyes, even as they walked up the front stairs.“I- well, I had to convince them that we were a couple, so they’d leave usalone. I’m sorry.”

Lockwood shut the door behind them, and then deftly stepped in front ofher. She was forced to meet his gaze. He was smiling, but it wasn’t thegigawatt. Just the automated imitation he used in awkward conversations. “Don’tworry about it, Luce. You did what had to be done, and just in the nick oftime, as always. It quieted the ghosts, we sealed the sources, and the case isclosed.”

Lucy nodded, her throat feeling oddly tight. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

Lockwood hung up his coat, elegant and composed as always. Beforewalking down the hall, he turned to her again. “All the same, let’s avoidmentioning this to George, shall we?”

“What are we not mentioning to me?”

On the table beside the door, the skull cackled in amusement.

I’d love your feedback, reactions, and thoughts, positive or negative. Don’t hesitate to let me know – it really makes my day :)

[somevirtualnolife]

Flexibility

2176 words Rating: T  Pairing: Female Rogue Hawke x Cullen Rutherford Summary: Now that Aerianne has settled into Skyhold life, Cullen asks her if she could help out training with the new recruits. Previous One Shot:  15 Minutes Author’s Notes: I posted this one a little while back on Ao3, but realized I never posted it here. ^^;   A chance to write two of the most typical tropes in romance, but also two of my most favorites. Forgive the terrible innuendos, I should be thrown in the trash. Cullen does feel a little OOC here and there, but I’m hoping to figure that out a bit!

As the weeks went on, Aerianne slowly started finding her place in the Inquisition, making herself of use. Leliana needed an extra pair of eyes, she would take on a few missions that would last a few days, see if they couldn’t convince some unsure apostates to join their cause instead of Corypheus. The Champion, after all, was still considered an ally to many mages, someone who’s opinion they could trust. With the Inquisitor being a mage, and the Champion offering her support, it at least shook some of their support of the magister darkspawn.  

In addition to fieldwork, it came to a bit of a surprise when Cullen had requested to help-out with training some of the recruits.  

“Spending more time working with me? That doesn’t sound like one of your ideas. If anything, it sounds a Rutherford Nightmare,” Aerianne joked, sitting on the side of his desk as she passed him a plate filled with today’s lunch, a routine that was becoming more and more common as of late.

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Leliana suggested it after reading your reports in the field. My men have lots of experience with dealing with magic now, and facing opponents larger than them. They’ve yet to really go up against someone who’s smaller and faster than them. Who can strike without warning,”

“I suppose I can lend a hand,” she said with a bit of a shrug. “Let’s see… oh! Recruits, if you ever want to beat Commander Cullen, just get a pretty lass to tell him how handsome he is. Just do the same to Corypheus, and it’ll be fine,”    

She then let out a slight yelp as she felt a firm hand push her off the side of the desk by Cullen himself. His little way of retaliation.

The first morning Aerianne arrived, Cullen and the recruits were already warming up. It brought her back to her time in Ostagar; all morning drills, the loud counting, trying to make sure no one caught you doing less push-ups than the others, getting called out by your commanding officer because of the lack of push-ups. Being a soldier wasn’t exactly her first choice in occupation, but it supported them when her father had passed, and their mother could feel a little more assured that Carver wasn’t on his own out there. And she had to admit, it set her up for her future from then on.

“Hawke, good morning,” Cullen nodded as the rogue approached him. “We’re just finishing up with a few warm-ups and we’ll jump right into some practice. I was thinking we can start with some demonstrations with you and the lieutenant. Some of Leliana’s spies will also be lending their support as adversaries. Oh, and The Iron Bull will be joining us as well a bit later on. Apparently he’s curious to see you in action, considering you did take down the Arishok,”  

“I hope I don’t disappoint then,” she said with a slight yawn. “Maker, watching them is already making me tired,”

“You don’t want to join in now then? Do a few push-ups yourself? Get the blood flowing,”

The Champion let out a disgusted noise which made Cullen chuckle softly. That a good enough answer.

“Alright then. Recruits! Fall in!” he called out and they quickly stopped what they were doing and fell into their lines and rows. “We have a few special guests today, so let’s make the most of it!”  

Despite her aversion to mourning drills, Aerianne was more than engaged in the actual training session. She took a softer, jokier tone than Cullen usually would, but it was still very effective. She went through and explained different maneuvers that they may encounter, and what strategies they could use. Once hey were all set, it was then that they broke off into groups and the actual sparing started.

Cullen had to admit, it was quite impressive, watching Aerianne in action. It had been awhile, and she was still as skilled as ever, maybe even more so. She may have been jokey and always trying to get on his nerves, but she was serious when it really counted.

“She’s got nice form,” Cullen heard and turned his head to see that The Iron Bull had finally made it and was also quite involved in the matches around them. “She’s not afraid to get in there and do what has to be done, but then she creates the distance that she needs to be safe. Not bad. Not bad at all,”  

“She is the Champion after all. Hawke has a lot of experience fighting. She keeps herself nimble and fast,”

“Not to mention flexible,” the qunari added as Aerianne managed to slide between one of the recruit’s legs and taking him down from behind.

Cullen. “That she is. I once saw her wrap her leg around the head of a bandit and slam him to the ground while sitting on a chair,” No doubt a move she learned by Isabela. It quite practical, to say the least.

“Does she show off that flexibility in your office from time to time?” Bull grinned. “You’ve been looking a lot less stressed lately. Less ill-tempered. It’s a good look,”

“I… what?” it then dawned on Cullen what the qunari mercenary was implying and he immediately felt his face get hot. “No of course not! Our relationship has always strictly been work-related. Acquaintances a most. I would never think of her like that. She’s the Champion,”

“Uh huh,” Bull crossed his arms, smirking. “You know the only people who say ‘I would never think like that’ are the ones that think about it all the time,”

Cullen muttered a few curses other his breath. Maybe he had thought about it a few times, but who hadn’t? Just look at her; she had these remarkable long legs, and her violet eyes were absolutely mesmerizing. Not to mention her sharp lips, that always seemed to have this certain…

Okay no. Stop looking. Stop thinking.

“Nothing is going on. We have lunch on occasion. That’s it,”  

“That’s it? No nights between the sheets? Once? Not even back in Kirkwall?”

“She was… taken then,” he said sternly, crossing his arms.  

“Ah, so it’s unresolved sexual tension that I’m getting off you right now,”

“That’s not it at all! We barely got along back then. I once had a warrant for her arrest,” Why was he telling him all this? It was none of Bull’s business, but there was a part of Cullen that just wanted to defend himself.

“Meh. I had a woman stab me in the stomach after we had sex. Turns out she was trying to collect a bounty on my head. Still, really hot,”

Cullen closed his eyes and massaged his brow. He really didn’t want to be having a conversation like this, right now, let alone with The Iron Bull of all people.

“Bull!” Aerianne called out as she ran towards the two men looking very energetic than she did earlier. “Up for the next match? I want to see if I could fight a qunari without having to resort to running around in a circle,” A classic rogue vs. Arishok tactic.

“Oh, trust me, I’m looking forward to it, but I think Cullen said he wanted next match,” Bull replied, pushing the commander towards Aerianne with his large hands with ease. The only one in the entire Inquisition who was physically capable. Other than Cassandra, perhaps. “He was telling me he never sparred against you before and always wanted to. Probably thinks about it all the before he goes to bed,”

Cullen wanted to kill him. Right here, right now.  

“I bet he does. I’ve caused him enough trouble to make him want to draw his blade on me,” Aerianne laughed which only made Cullen more embarrassed. He couldn’t even take her phrasing normally anymore.

Either way, Cullen found himself on the field, facing across from Aerianne. Andraste’s Grace, why did it have to come to this? He just wanted to have a practical training session with his men. Real preparation for Corypheus’ spies. Not some weird fantasy that the damned qunari put into his head. Could he stab Bull? Would the Inquisitor mind terribly?

“Commander, are you ready?” she said with a smirk, twirling a dagger in her right hand. “To lose of course. Don’t worry, I assure you I won’t completely embarrass you in front of your recruits,”

Much to his relief, her arrogance did calm his nerves a bit. It was much easier to focus on fighting an antagonistic Hawke. Nothing was more satisfying than making her eat her words.

The match started quickly, with Aerianne almost immediately trying to get behind the Commander, knowing all to well that it would be dangerous to attack him head on. But Cullen was quick to maneuver, quickly lifting his broad sword to block her strikes. It was as he expected. She was smaller and nimble, which made her much harder to hit. Cullen would go to swing his weapon, but she was already either out of range, or slipping by his legs or around his sides. It was dizzying. A smart tactic, to say the least.

“Keep up, Commander!” he could hear her chastise him.

“I’m barely breaking a sweat, Hawke. Give me something to work for,” he shot back.

“Oh, is that so?”

To his surprise, Aerianne charged right down the center, far faster than he was expecting and slipping right past his broadsword. Cullen just had enough time to pull out his smaller dagger from under his mante before Aerianne scooped his leg behind one of hers, tripping him. But he wasn’t going to go down alone, for he quickly wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her down with him.

He really had wished that Bull hadn’t filled his head with all that drabble. Just seeing her face just above his, red-faced from the fight, and her hair a mess, ... it was so tempting. He swallowed hard. Maker preserve him, he wanted to devour those smirking lips of hers. But he just couldn’t.

“Looks like it’s a draw, Commander,” she said a little breathlessly. Cullen felt the edge of her dagger touching the back of his neck while his own knife was aimed at her side. She then pushed herself off him and stood up, patting down the lower half of her tunic.

“Now that’s a fight,” Bull cheered, as he clapped his hands. “Not too bad. Not too bad at all,”  

“Does that mean you’re actually ready for a match, Bull?” she said turning towards the large qunari, a confident grin on her face. “Or are you still too scared to face me?”

“Ha! Scared is quite the opposite. If anything, you’ve got me all hot and bothered with that leg thing you keep doing,”

“Oh~? Then maybe I’ll show you how to do it sometime when we have some down time. Drinks tonight?”

“I like the way you think, Aerie. My kind of girl,”

Cullen didn’t understand how it came so naturally to Bull. He could make any sort of off-handed flirtatious comment with no shame or embarrassment. Not to delve too much into pointless kitchen gossip, but was this what made Iron Bull first? He was already giving Hawke a cute nickname and she was flirting right back. How did he do it?

Cullen eventually just let out a long sigh and slowly got up as well, sheathing his sword. It was then that he felt playful punch on his shoulder, snapping him back to reality.  

“And you, Cullen Rutherford, are all full of surprises,” Aerianne grin was beaming, something that he hadn’t seen in quite some time. It made his head spin as much as she did just moments ago.

“Am I?” he said, trying to behave as normally as he could.

“For a man who wears probably thirty pounds of armour, you move very quickly,” she nodded approvingly. “Oh, but I so wanted to beat you,”

“It was a good match. It’s been awhile since I’ve had one like it,” Well, you know. Nothing was quite like this one, if he was being honest.

“You’re going to join us tonight as well, right?”  she said, adjusting her hair so that it was out of her face again. “For drinks that is,”

“Oh um, I’m not really sure,” Cullen said. “I have a few things I need to take care of. I’ll think about it though,” Maker’s Breath, why couldn’t he just commit to an answer?

“Well, the offer is open, regardless,” she said with one last pat as the commander made his way off the field, making his way towards the sidelines.

As Cullen passed by The Iron Bull, he could feel the qunari’s hand grab his shoulder and lean in.  

“You should join us, tonight. If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll try that leg around the head thing you mentioned,”  

“Just go and get your ass beat, Bull,”

“Ha-ha! Sure thing, Commander,”  

[raywritesthings]

Forging Ahead, Chapter 2/2

My Writing Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor Pairing: Doctor/Donna Summary: On an alien planet, the Doctor falls under the influence of a mysterious force and it is up to Donna to save them all. AO3 link

Smoke billowed dark and thick in a growing cloud above them the further they went down the path. The silent town she’d left the Doctor behind in was long out of sight and what could be called daylight here seemed to be fading fast. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“It’s coming out of the canyon,” her young guide told her.

“Is there anything in the canyon?”

“Caverns,” he shrugged. “We’re not supposed to play in them, but sometimes we do anyway.”

“So no reason why there should be smoke coming from them,” she surmised. “It’s awfully dirty, isn’t it? That can’t just be a wood burning fire.”

They walked on, until Donna could see the edge of the canyon and the great plume of smoke rising out of it obscuring the other side.

Beside her, Pac stilled. “I can hear something, in my head.”

“It must get stronger the closer you are,” she reasoned, “and you’re older than the others. Do you think you might have some empathic ability?”

Pac squeezed his eyes shut, his head shaking. “I...I’ve never used it before. This isn’t what they said it’d feel like at all. It’s wrong.”

“Okay, that’s — that’s good. You know it’s not supposed to be there, Pac, you can fight it,” Donna encouraged. “Don’t listen to what it says. You need to go back to the others.”

“No,” the boy stubbornly shook his head. “If I leave you now I won’t remember why I’m supposed to stay away from this place. I said I would show you the way. That’s the only thought keeping them out — you’ll stop them.”

He sounded so convinced. Donna had no idea how to tell him she hadn’t the faintest clue what was happening on this moon or where to begin putting an end to it. But that was also precisely what he didn’t need to hear right now. Donna could pretend for one young boy. She could do that if it’d keep him safe. It was what they did all the time, her and Doctor, and while he couldn't be here she'd make do.

“Alright then. You stick with me. Tell me if it gets any worse.”

Pac nodded, then took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “There’s a safe passage down into the canyon this way.”

He led her around to a slightly steep and rocky path. Donna was so glad she’d worn sensible shoes for this outing. Pac took the lead, having a better handle of the narrow path and she was careful to follow in his exact steps. It was slow going, in part as the less noise their approach made the better, but as the path curved more and more on the descent they began to get a view of what all was below them.

What looked like countless people were milling about, all with the same vaguely blank expression. Some of them were entering one of the largest caverns, while others were leaving with baskets full of what seemed to be rocks, at least from a distance. Still others were working on the construction of something totally separate from the caverns. It looked like a giant drill. So this was the oh-so-appealing Forge the Doctor had been drawn to. All these people being forced into what looked like terribly hard labor not of their own will.

There was also a fairly small spaceship sitting on the canyon floor. In front of it stood two more aliens, though these were clearly not local. They were taller and a slightly greenish color. Also, they did not appear to have mouths. Or ears.

As they watched, the two aliens turned as one and began walking over to the drill, leaving their ship unguarded. Donna supposed they didn’t have to worry about that sort of thing when they had everyone in the immediate area under their control. Well, almost everyone.

“If we want to know what they’re doing, that’s the place that’ll have the answers,” Donna whispered, pointing at the ship. “Come on.”

She and Pac hurried the rest of the way down to the canyon floor, then crept around the side of the spaceship trying to avoid being spotted. They needn’t have bothered; the few people who she thought might have seen them did not have a visible reaction. They must not have been given any commands regarding intruders. The two of them slipped through the doors and had a look around.

There were two main areas of the ship. Half of it comprised of what she supposed was a cockpit of sorts, and the other half seemed more like an office. There was a desk and chairs at any rate. A large map of the moon was tacked up on the wall along with star charts like the ones her grandad showed her sometimes. Their course appeared to have been charted on them, and it looked like a return trip was being planned at the moment. Only it didn’t seem to be a round trip; so far, it looked like their next destination would be orbiting this same moon.

A couple pieces of rock sat on the desk, some of them misshapen but even more of them in the shape of cubes. She picked one up and found it much heavier than she expected. “It’s some kind of metal. Silver, or — platinum, maybe. My mate Veena, she dated a jeweler once. She was really hoping for a good ring.”

Pac did not appear to be listening. He had his eyes squeezed shut again and looked to be putting every effort into fighting off the influence of those aliens so nearby. Donna decided it was definitely best to keep moving and then get them out of here. She went around to the other side of the desk and tried one of the drawers. It opened, much to her relief — God, why hadn’t she thought to take his sonic with her? Even if it was rubbish with wood. — and she removed a sheaf of important looking papers and flipped through them.

“This looks like a map of some kind. It’s of one of the caverns.” It had plenty of helpful annotations, like the fact that it was platinum ore deposits they were after, and the spot they planned to engage the drill.

“Some of these diagrams keep going on about structural integrity. I’m not really sure what they mean about that.”

“Donna,” said Pac.

“Just a minute. This isn’t talking about the structural integrity of the mine. It’s talking about the moon.” She looked back at the map on the wall. “Spaceman said it’s barely six miles in diameter. That’s way too small for a drill like that. They’re gonna destroy the Sixth Moon of Kazzarack just to get at the platinum,” Donna realized with horror.

“Donna!”

“What is it, Pac?” Was the voice in his head becoming too much? “Is it them?” She spun back around and froze.

The two aliens had returned and stood in the doorway, staring at them and blocking any path to escape.

“Yeah,” said Pac.

—-

The Doctor awoke with a muffled groan and a pounding headache. It felt as if he’d been walloped over the back of the head and left to lie in the dirt somewhere.

Oh right. He had.

He turned his face to the side, blinking his eyes open to see a little girl standing a ways off. Something told him she wasn’t of any concern, not while he needed to be on his way to the Forge—

“Oh no you don’t,” the Doctor growled.

The little girl jumped. “What?”

He winced. “Not you. Sorry.” It wouldn’t do at all the frighten her any more than he must have already. Slowly he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. That was quite the lump; did Donna really have to strike him that hard? Given the choice, he would have preferred a slap.

In fairness, he had caught her rather unawares with his ill-timed admission. In his somewhat weakened state the words he’d spent so long reigning in had left him freely as he’d pitted his hopes and trust and very love of Donna against the unwanted influence in his mind.

And now thanks to that his very friendship with Donna was probably about to be called into question. Hang on, where even was Donna?

“Where’s Donna?” He asked the little girl suddenly, or at least it must have seemed sudden to her for she jumped again.

“She went to the Forge,” said an even smaller voice, and he turned his head — ohh not so fast, really not a good idea to move that with any speed at all — to see a little boy sitting in a far corner of the room. “She promised she’d come back.”

“Right, I’ll just go get her then,” he said, pushing himself onto his feet. The rational side of him knew it was pointless worrying too much about Donna; she'd already proved immune to the as yet unknown mental influence. The rational side of him didn't seem to have much success when it came to matters of Donna, however, as had clearly been proven with this little exercise.

“I don't think she meant for you to follow her,” the little girl asserted quite accurately as he reached the door.

“She doesn't mean for me to do a lot of things,” was the Doctor's flippant reply.

He took the dirt road out to the growing smoke plume at a jog at first, then increased it to a run when it didn't prove too bothersome to his head. There was a lot of time to be made up for, after all, and the faster he got there the less time he’d have to dwell on how he was ever going to fix things with Donna.

Unfortunately, he was forced to draw up short at the edge of what looked to be a very deep cavern. The smoke was coming out of it and distantly he could hear the sounds of machinery — the missing Kazzarackians had to be down there, and Donna with them. But how to get himself down there?

The Doctor paced back and forth with increasing agitation. He could go back and ask one of the children or simply take the TARDIS straight down to the bottom, but would that take too long? The compulsion was still trying to get another foothold in his mind, and it was even stronger now, which meant whatever or whoever was doing this hadn't been stopped. What if they'd gotten Donna first?

But then, abruptly, the Doctor noticed a shift in the voice. It was no longer soft and soothing; it sounded insistent, almost forceful. He nearly staggered under the weight of it, and it was only his fear that kept his mind his own. There was only one thing that could have caused such a change.

The Doctor cupped both hands over his mouth and drew in as much of the smoky air as he could stand.

“Donna!”

—-

The creatures hadn't made a single move, merely continuing to stare. Not one for tense silences, Donna finally broke it.

“Look, there's no point pretending. We know what it is you're here for and what you're planning to do to this moon. Well we're not gonna let you! You can let all these people go from your mind control or whatever and fly away in your ship right now!”

The only reaction they made was to narrow their eyes. One of them tilted their head to the side, as if struggling to understand what she'd meant. But that made no sense; the TARDIS was supposed to translate for her!

“Oi! I mean it. If you don't want reported or whatever the space equivalent is you’ll clear out!”

Again they didn't give her the slightest indication one way or the other. Were they just ignoring the fact she was talking? Donna fumed. If there was one thing she couldn't abide, it was being ignored.

Beside her, Pac shuddered. “They're irritated.”

“Yeah, well they're not the only one,” she muttered.

Yet still, neither of them were making a move towards her or to respond. Were they just stuck in some kind of standoff then?

“Donna!”

Donna and Pac both started at the sound; the other aliens started only after they’d started.

“That sounds like your friend,” the boy said.

“Yeah,” said Donna. The Doctor sounded a long way off, and just what state was he in?

Deciding the invaders could wait since they were proving so uncooperative, Donna pushed past them, dragging Pac along by the hand. It wasn’t like they’d had any weapons, and they seemed taken aback enough at the sudden move that they were easily bowled over.

Once outside, Donna looked around but didn’t see a sign of her best friend. “Spaceman?”

“Up here, Donna!”

She looked up and even further up to just make him out standing at the top of the canyon.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay! Are you?”

“Oh, just fine me! Just looking for a way — nevermind, no time.”

The two aliens had finally come running out of the ship after her and Pac, though they did little more than stand a few paces back and glare at her a bit. Though Donna couldn’t really be bothered by that when she looked back up to see the Doctor had begun to lower himself over the side of the canyon and seemed to be feeling around blindly for a foothold.

What was he doing? “You’re gonna break your neck! Go around, there’s a path thirty feet to the left!”

“Your left or mine?”

“Your left is my left right now, Martian!” She shouted up at him, watching with no small amount of panic as he attempted to scramble back up over the edge of the canyon.

“Donna,” Pac was tugging on her sleeve, and she turned to see what he was pointing at. A few of the people had stopped in their tracks, blinking and staring at them curiously.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Asked one of the women nearest to them. “And what are we all doing here?”

“All I remember is the strangest urge coming over me to dig up some rocks in the caverns,” remarked another.

“Pac!” Cried a man, running forward and embracing the boy.

“Dad!”

She only had a moment to appreciate this unexpectedly happy reunion before she was grabbed up in a hug of her own. “Oi!” Donna was about to hit whoever it was until they spoke.

“Just me, just me,” said the Doctor, and she relaxed and returned the hug, only for a moment before she pulled back and looked him straight in the eye.

“You’re not here for the Forge?” She checked.

“No, I’m here for you, he answered plainly. “Anyway, looks to me the Forge is over.”

Several of the people who had only just minutes ago been toiling away unawares were now approaching the two aliens with their tools in hand, clearly having identified them as the source of all the trouble.

“But, how’d they break out of it?”

“You,” he told her. Donna stared at him. “The Telarpians — the Kazzarackian’s would-be invaders — are a purely telepathic species. They have written communication to keep records and history, but no verbal. They’ve never needed it, never encountered a non-telepathic species before. Until you.”

“So that’s why they didn’t act like they got what I was saying.”

He nodded. “Right. Apart from them not remotely understanding speech, they were rather cross you weren’t out here mining with everyone else no matter how many times they tried to impart that command. Must have been like being sent straight to voicemail. The Telarpians redoubled their efforts to control you, which weakened their influence on everyone else. And when the Kazzarackians all saw you standing there, loud and free, it broke through to something in them, something that wanted the exact same thing. You shouted at the world and the world heard you.”

He was looking at her with pride, maybe even a little bit of awe, and Donna was tempted to bask in it a little. She’d saved a whole moon on her own.

But then, that also meant she’d saved Spaceman, and not with the bat.

“Hold on, that wasn’t the mind control talking when you said—” Donna faltered; her face felt warm again and there was something making her insides all fluttery “—what you said?”

The Doctor blanched and couldn’t seem to meet her eyes all of a sudden. “Probably best to head back to the TARDIS,” was his non-answer. “I think the Sixth Moon of Kazzarack is about to have their first ever fight.”

“Yeah, alright,” she agreed for the moment. But if he thought they were just dropping it completely, he had another thing coming!

The walk back to the town was uncharacteristically quiet for them, but then, she supposed they were both thinking about it. He had to be thinking about it, right? She was.

Though she was momentarily distracted when the door of the small building they’d briefly stayed in opened and out ran Wen and Gil again.

“You came back!”

“Where’s Pac?”

“He’s with his father,” Donna answered. “The grownups are okay now. They’re just getting rid of the Forge and then they’re coming home.”

The two kids cheered, and she could see other children poking their heads out of doors or looking out the windows at them. Donna smiled.

The Doctor had continued straight on to the police box, however, and so she apparently was being left to make their excuses. Typical. “Listen, we’ve got to be on our way now. You take care of yourselves.”

“Thank you!” Wen hugged her briefly around the legs and she patted the girl on the head.

“Bye now!”

It really was a nice town. Even if they hadn’t gotten round to that market. Maybe she could convince him to try for it again after a few trips. And after they talked. Right. Donna drew in a breath, then entered the TARDIS. Her Spaceman was already standing by the controls, but he waited silent and still as she came up the ramp.

“Right, so,” the Doctor began. His gaze had fallen to the grating. “Home, yes?”

Donna gaped and her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch. “What do you mean? What’d I do wrong?”

That got him looking back up at her. “You? You haven’t done anything. Actually, that’s the problem, you’ve done everything right and I — I can’t keep lying to you, Donna, or pretending.”

“Pretending what?” Her voice hardly sounded her own, soft and yet oddly choked.

He grimaced. “You’re really gonna make me say it again?”

“Well I’m still finding it hard to believe you said it the first time! Why would you say it?”

“Because it’s true?” His voice was rising to increasingly high decibels. She was starting to worry about him.

But still, she had to know. “Is that a question or is it actually true, Martian?”

The Doctor groaned. “Look, let’s just forget I said it altogether. You want to keep traveling clearly, and I’m fine with that. More than fine, obviously, but — it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t have to matter, Donna. Donna?”

He approached her haltingly, like he was unsure of his welcome. She supposed he had good reason to be.

“It’s just, I thought you—” she paused, and rethought how she wanted to say it. No point bringing up old pain unnecessarily. “You’re really sure it’s me you’re in love with? The Telarpians didn’t cross some wires in your brain?”

He sighed. “No, Donna.”

“But how can you know for sure?”

“Because I remember being in love with you before we ever came here.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh.”

He was looking down again and fiddled with a knob on the controls. “Yep.”

“And you — hold on, why am I supposed to forget about this?” That was the part Donna couldn’t wrap her head around. He loved her, but he wanted to act like he didn’t? “Is this one of those ‘I love you, but I just can’t be with you’ things? There was a bloke who tried that with Susie Mair, you know, but really he just wanted what they all want.” Her eyes narrowed momentarily. “So if that’s what this is about, you can forget the whole thing!”

He was staring at her like he’d only got half of that. Almost like the Telarpians, really. Eventually he shook his head. “No, Donna, it’s an ‘I love you, but you don’t want to be with me’ thing.”

She froze. “Oh.”

“Yep.”

Donna replayed the whole conversation in her head. Had she really not said? Well no, because first he’d started off with the whole dropping her home thing and that had terrified her, then she just couldn’t believe he’d meant it, and then she’d had to make sure just what he’d meant by it — but in meantime she’d clearly given him the completely wrong impression.

“Doctor.” She stepped forward, but he walked around to the other side of the time rotor.

“Seriously, Donna, I’d rather we stop talking about it.”

“Well I’d rather we not,” she said, following him. “You’ve barely let me talk about it! You don't even know what I think about it!”

“I told you how I felt and you hit me over the head with a bat,” he reminded. She winced, watching as he touched a hand to the spot in question. “Really hard.”

“Well I thought it was the mind control!” She defended.

“Why would it be mind control?” He sounded incredulous. “What would be the point in that?”

“I dunno, you could've been — dazzling me, so I'd let you go and you’d be free to do bad stuff!”

“Why would you be dazzled?”

Donna's mouth opened, but she couldn't seem to say it. She'd spent all this time holding it in that she just didn't think she could.

“I...dazzle you?” The Doctor asked. “Donna?”

She turned away abruptly, knowing her face had to be about as red as it could get. “I didn't say that,” she muttered.

“Donna.” He was cajoling her now, reaching for her elbow to spin her back around. Oh this was so shaming. How had he turned this around on her?

More than a little flustered, she prodded him in the chest. “Oi, you were the one who said you just wanted to be mates!”

“Well you said I was a long streak of alien nothing!”

“Right!” Donna agreed. “So how’d we end up here?”

He shrugged helplessly. “Love?”

Donna felt the beginnings of a smile tug at her lips. She reached for his hands. “Will you say it again? Please?”

“You haven't even said it once,” he pointed out, but when she stared him down he caved. “I love you, Donna Noble.”

He had to catch her round the waist because she threw her arms around him, but he was soon returning her hug with equal fervor. Donna pulled back, and, that strange fluttering sensation having returned in full force, pressed her lips to his. She hadn't thought she'd ever get another chance after the detox, and this was already miles above that mess of a kiss!

The Doctor broke away disappointingly soon, however, looking at her with big, brown pleading eyes. “Are you gonna say it ever?”

She rolled her eyes. Was it seriously still in question? Admittedly he’d obliged her and she had given him a rather hard time today; her fingers, where they were now tangled in that ridiculous hair of his, were able to find a sizable lump on the back of his head. She'd have to get a proper look at that later, but in the meantime there were other ways she needed to tend to her alien.

“Yeah, alright.” Donna pecked him on the lips once more for good measure. “Love you too, Spaceman.”

[kodyshivblog]

Why I have PTSD

While speaking with my therapist yesterday morning, I confided in her that, out of all of the traumatic events I experienced throughout my childhood, I believe one of them did the most damage. Of course, there’s always an accumulative affect when it comes to trauma—a stacking effect that, once it reaches its peak, eventually causes the overall structure to come crumbling down. Most of these events I refuse to speak about in an open forum, as I feel they’ll contribute to nothing but heartbreak and conflict. I will, however, detail the one event that I feel affected me the most adversely.

So, without further ado, I present to you:

Why I have PTSD.

I grew up in a small town in the middle of Southeastern Idaho, where any difference could either ostracize or make you an easy target. Be it your religion (or lack thereof,) your weight, your appearance, your disabilities (as minor as they may be,) anything could be used against you to make you feel as though you were small. The kids were mean, as some would be fit to say, and once settled upon you like a pack of angry wolves, they wouldn’t often let you get away.

I’ll forego the meatier details of the bullying I experienced throughout my early childhood for the sake of brevity. What I will say, however, was that I was picked on mercilessly—be it for my weight, the fact that I wasn’t Mormon, the fact that I had acne, glasses, an odd group of friends and, at the time, was struggling to figure out whether or not I was gay. I went through this from about the second grade (when I was seven) all the way up until I was eventually driven out of school when I was fifteen.

Yes. I said DRIVEN.

The event that would ultimately change my life for the worst began on an early evening in April—when, while walking outside to accompany my father and younger brother to the local fast food establishment to get ice cream cones, I was confronted by the sight of a police cruiser in our driveway. Lights on, officers standing, we approached with confusion only for one of them to ask, “Is Kody here?”

“I’m here,” I replied.

“Is something wrong?” my father then asked.

“We’re here to investigate reports that you posted a death threat against [REDCACTED] High School on MySpace.”

I froze. LITERALLY froze. My heart seemed to stop beating, the blood in my veins chilled. I could do nothing more than stare.

The officer then said the one thing I never wanted to hear:

“We have proof that you posted a death threat against [REDACTED] High School on MySpace.”

I couldn’t believe it—could not, absolutely, one-hundred-percent believe it. I’d never done any such thing—would never in my life ever conceive of threatening someone in such a way—but there they were, two officers, standing there, declaring something I could not even imagine.

That was when they continued by saying, “Let’s go inside.”

My mother—who had been drawn by the attention from flashing lights outside in the descending darkness—could only watch and stare as my father, my little brother, and myself led the two police officers up to our front porch, then nod as they explained the situation and let themselves inside. At the time, we were too shellshocked to ask about a warrant, too scared to refuse access when we could’ve been able to, too intimidated to even begin to think to call a lawyer. The situation, as grim as it happened to be, skewed all sense of thought. So we let them in.

And thus the interrogation began.

Most of those first two hours are a blur to me. I remember simply sitting on the living room couch while the two officers drilled me on the aspects of my high school life. Having already accessed my MySpace account, they were privy to all sorts of information—including whom I talked to online, whom I interacted with, what groups I had been invited to. They kept claiming that they had proof that I had posted this death threat even though they would not produce it, and though I tried to access my computer at the time, it was slow as hell (and in hindsight, likely infected with a virus to make it that slow.) Thus: there was no way to produce my MySpace page for them to comb through.

At one point, an officer pulled me aside—away from the eyes of my parents—and said, “Just admit it. It’ll make things easier.”

“But I didn’t do it,” I replied.

That was when it only got worse.

No less than ten minutes later, an agent from the FBI walked through the door.

Thus began the next two hours of torture.

I was, at another point during the interrogation, pulled away from my parents by the FBI agent and asked whether or not I had anything I would like to tell him. Completely isolated from my parents, I could do little more than stammer out that there was nothing I could tell him, no leads I could give. He confided in me that this report had come from a school bus filled with kids on the way back from an after-hours field trip, and that was the moment I immediately knew that this was a practical joke—an anonymous ‘tip’ from someone who wished to destroy my life. Shortly thereafter, we returned to where my parents and the other police officers were and my interrogation continued. They worked to dismantle my family computer, seized the jump drive which held all of my life’s writing, then departed the home.

By the time it was all over, four hours had passed from the police officers’ initial arrival to the time they and the FBI agent had left.

Thus began their investigation into the matter, and the hell of not knowing what they might find that would come soon after.

During this time, which stretched over the course of two weeks, I was subjected to extreme anxiety—first because I irrationally feared that they would somehow find something to show that I had done it (even though I hadn’t,) then because I feared they would lose everything I had ever written. At one point they called my mother and tried to claim that one of the stories I’d written—which featured a CARRIE-esque destruction of a fictional high school—was proof enough that I hated school and had an agenda against the local high school. My mother, in response, claimed that it was simply a story and nothing more, and as such left it at that.

I wasn’t allowed to go back to school during this time—and was encouraged not to do so by the principal himself, whose thinking was that: if someone was willing to go this far to pull a prank, who was to say that they wouldn’t resort to physical violence?

I was still allowed to attend driver’s education, however (which was sponsored by the high school.) It was here I learned, from a fellow classmate, that a ‘rumor about me posting a death threat to the entire school’ was floating around campus—which, according to the officers who interrogated me, was ‘not supposed to be happening.’ A friend was even threatened to be charged with ‘impeding a police investigation’ when she tried to get to the bottom of the rumor to try and find out who spread it.

After those two horrible weeks were over—and after I was cleared of any wrongdoing—I finished out the last of my coursework for the year at home. Teachers offered condolences over the act that had occurred, offering me support in folded and stapled messages in schoolwork they sent home or by giving me passing grades simply for my prior attendance, and life continued on as it normally would—but not for me.

No.

The damage had already been done, the act already perpetrated, the person whom reported the case never found. I was told—in no uncertain details—that they could ‘probably, possibly’ find the person who anonymously reported the call, but by that point was so emotionally and mentally exhausted by the ordeal that I just wanted it all over.

So it ended—then and there, without resolution.

Come time the next school year came around, I tried to attend a high school the next city over. As I mentioned, however, the damage had already been done. I lasted all of three days before extreme paranoia that a similar event would happen eventually caused me to call home, crying my eyes out and faking sick, and never go back again.

I was homeschooled until sixteen, then dropped out when I couldn’t take the back and forth struggle of online schooling when teachers would not respond to queries and my grades began to fail. It would be two years—when, finally away from that area and down in Texas—that I would apply to take and then receive my GED.

It’s been around ten years to the date since this occurred, and I still sometimes have nightmares over what occurred. The fact that I never allowed it to be resolved (or attempt to be resolved) still bothers me at times, as that person should have been punished for doing what they did to me, but there’s little I can do about it now.

So… there you have it.

Though many events throughout my childhood (some spoken of previously, others not) contributed to my multiple mental illnesses, this was likely, and probably undoubtedly, the one that affected me the most.