and it's such a deep bow too

Angel of the morning

A/N so i know that there has been quite a few fics (all terrific, by the way)of Alec and Magnus waking up together and this is another one *groans loudly* but i just couldn’t help myself so here is my contribution to add to the list. Hope you enjoy it and please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think or give me any further prompts that you would like to see as a fic.

The smile curved Alec’s lips even before his eyes were open. Even though he was facing away from the window he could feel the warmth of the morning sun heating the skin of his back and he rolled the muscles, reveling in the luxurious feel of it like a large jungle cat in a sun spot.

He slowly raised his eye lids, taking in the sight before him that had him feeling like a big goofy idiot.

Magnus’ body created a sensual landscape below the red satin sheets and matching quilt. Long legs and narrow hips gently sloped upwards from the foot of the bed. A gentle fall, down to the slight dip of a waist; a contradiction of soft skin and firm muscle. Although he couldn’t see them, Alec knew the corrugations of Magnus’ ribs came next and he closed his eyes briefly, remembering how his hand had undulated over their surface the night before. So damned sexy.

There was yet another rise and then the sudden hill of a broad shoulder, the arm and hand extended outwards in the bed between them as if it were reaching for something. Something, or someone, Alec thought. The soft silky sheet stopped there and the rounded fall of the top of Magnus’ shoulder lay bare. The tanned skin glowing in the morning light. The temptation to lean over and place soft warm kisses against it was almost overwhelming but Alec managed to keep himself in check so his boyfriend could sleep and he could continue his admiration. Just.

The ascent of his beautiful neck led to the angle of a firm jaw, proud and strong even in sleep. His eyes had finally reached his face, that handsome, exotic countenance, that he could quite happily stare at for the rest of his days. He took it all in; the elegant dark curve of each eyebrow, the slightly curved almond shape of each closed eye with their fringe of black lashes. The slope of a small nose, that begged for tiny kisses on its tip and then the perfect cupid’s bow of pink lips.

Alec loved how serene and relaxed Magnus looked in his sleep, all previous worries and stresses banished into the void of a deep restful slumber. By the angel, how had he gotten so lucky, he thought to himself as he continued his adoration. He clutched at the top of the sheet, his fingers gripping the slippery material so hard, his knuckles turned white. No, he can’t touch him and wake him up, he looked way too peaceful and the last few weeks had been so hard on him.

Oh, but those soft pink lips, slightly parted, warm air escaping from them were just so irresistible.

Alec bit his bottom lip in thought. Just one light little kiss wouldn’t hurt, would it? He was sure he could do that without disturbing him. No, no, he shouldn’t it wasn’t fair to wake him up when he was so sound asleep.

Just then Magnus stirred in his sleep; his smooth brow furrowed just a little and he murmured something unintelligible before rolling onto his back, his face still turned towards Alec. Alec stilled and looked hopefully at him. Was he finally waking up?

Magnus made no further sound or movement and Alec couldn’t help the slight pang of disappointment that hit him. He settled back against his pillow again, his eyes never leaving him once, however. After another five minutes of silence and internal arguing, it got the better of him and he moved carefully closer and then raised himself onto one runed forearm. He smiled as he looked down into the face of the man he loved and he doubted that there would ever be a sunrise or even a sunset that he would see that could make him feel the way he did when he looked at that face. He lowered himself, millimetre by excruciating millimetre, to that beautiful mouth and ever so lightly, touched its surface with his own.

It was the very barest of contact between them but it was enough for Alec to feel the thrill of it travel from his head to his toes. Before he had even realised he was doing it, his hand had come up to gently brush a few errant strands of dark hair from Magnus’ forehead. Alec repressed a moan of pleasure as he felt the softness beneath his fingertips. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, taking in the scent that was Magnus Bane, a scent that was like no other and he would know even if he was blindfolded and in a room full of other people.

Magnus made no indication that he had been disturbed so Alec felt emboldened enough try again. He dampened his lips with the tip of his tongue and took his mouth again, this time lingering a little longer than he had before, the feeling of their sweet softness too good to rush away from.

Magnus gave a quiet purr deep within his throat and Alec’ eyes flew open to see a definite curve framed by his thin goatee. He went to pull back, now feeling guilty for waking him up but a slender fingered hand had gone to the back of his neck, pulling him back down so their lips met for a third time.

This kiss had more definition than the last two and Alec could feel the difference straight away. Their mouths worked in tandem to each other and each movement filled Alec with a warmth that no other source could ever hope to achieve. He allowed his hand to go back up to rest against the side of Magnus’ face, his thumb brushing the surface of his cheek bone, hard below the smooth skin. He could feel another hand at the back of his shoulder, pressed firmly onto the working muscle as if it were trying to hold it in place.

The tip of a wet tongue flicked out to touch his bottom lip, sending sparks firing through him and he deepened the kiss even more. God, he could never get enough of this, Alec thought as his entire nervous system began to fire up. A soft sound from below told him that Magnus was feeling the same way. The pressure of their lips increased as did each of their breaths that were now coming in deep draws of air through noses that were mashed against each other. Alec felt like a drowning man that had finally been given the air that his lungs had been craving and he took in as much of the precious gift as his body would allow.

A few minutes later, they had finally had their fill of each other enough that they could allow themselves to break the addictive contact that they shared. Magnus’ delicate eyelids raised slowly and his deep chocolate brown eyes latched onto Alec’s hazel ones as if there were a homing device hidden behind them. His hand left the back of his neck to come around to rest near his stubbled jaw, his soft fingers moving slowly over the roughness. He was smiling with so much feeling, Alec wasn’t sure the shaft of morning sunlight through the curtains could ever hope to compete with the way it lit his whole face.

“Good morning, my love.” He purred softly.

“Good morning to you too. I’m sorry for waking you.” Alec confessed. The smile got bigger somehow.

“Never apologise for loving me that much, Alexander. I could never be angry with you for waking me up like that as long as you promise me one thing.”  Alec smiled down at him and raised an eyebrow in expectation.

“I would promise you anything.” He said softly.

“That you let me wake you up the same way sometime.”

Alec gave a soft laugh and felt a burst of heat go through him at the delicious thought.

“Anytime you like, babe. I love you.” He whispered and took his mouth again this time the kiss was soft and delicate and filled with emotion.

“I love you too, Alexander.” Magnus said between kisses and allowed himself to be filled with the unique radiance that was the essence of their love for each other.

what a holy union, she thinks - small vulnerable boy, powerful athena of a girl. she could drink his blood like cherry wine, and all the while he would beg her to pour herself another glass.

she can read men in anything from greek to brail - this boy looked at her in plain english, a simple enough sentence: make me sacrificial. he all but offered his heart on those glowing eyes, those eyes like bright blue skies trapped in the depths of burial shrouds: she could see it, the deepest red and beating like clockwork, buried so deep in his underground skin she wasn’t even sure he knew it was there. he is another city to conquer, another nation to bring to its knees, and he is hers for the taking - she could see it in his hands, quaking like california faults, and in his skin, shining the news forth like ten o’ clock tv.

and it could be she is his too. in the right light she could stumble too deep into those eyes to get out - in the right temple she could bow to his altar, sing his hymns as he sings hers. athena has never fallen, but aphrodite has, and hard enough to shake the earth in its orbit. this two-sided coin of a girl is too sweet and too ripe to stay on the vine for long; soon she will plummet to the earth and smile the whole way down, bruises and bleeding be damned.

the cemetery he was in smells like clean, like old, like nature’s truest state of cloudless, silenced sky. she imagines his skin would smell just the same, with a hint of silver like his small smile and honey as his desire. and cherry wine for his worship.

she smiles to herself like a secret and feels her fingertips tingle with the honeyed-poison potential of war. he will crash down like a burning city, she may take a spear straight to the heart and fall like the greatest tree in a forest of redwood, but oh, either way it will taste sweet.

- cherry wine // part three of “seasons” // abby

The Suriel - Flower Girl (fanfic)

@fireheart-cursebreaker - As requested and promised. A fan fiction of the Suriel as the Flower Girl at Feyre’s wedding. I had to decide if I wanted to make this funny or serious. And I had to choose if the Suriel would enjoy the experience or loathe Feyre for all eternity because of it. In the end, I tried to stay as true to the Suriel’s character as I possibly could, which led to some very interesting content. And there’s a little twist at the end that I hope you love. Enjoy!

@acourtofrhysandandcassian @nikkgeo12 @zoev1623 @elentiya-white @rhystrashforever 

All rights to the story and characters belong to SJM.          


          There was too much bustling about for Its taste. Too many people running to and fro with fabric and flowers, jewelry and crowns, platters laden with honeyed tarts and other disgusting, foul smelling delicacies.
           Blood. Fear. Screams of agony. The pleas of the dying for mercy. That is what the Suriel longed to feast upon. It had been in this damned city far too long. But It had made a promise. And the Suriel never broke Its promises. Whether they were promises of eternal torment, or promises of truth and friendship.
           Friend. That is what Feyre had called It the day she once again trapped It deep in the Illyrian Mountains. It had smelled her coming long before she arrived, and was curious to hear what Feyre-Cursebreaker, Defender of Velaris, High Lady of Night would wish to ask.

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Title: Show and Tell
: The Walking Dead
Pairing: Rick Grimes/Michonne
Rating: M
Summary: Aaron volunteers to join Rick and Michonne on their next scavenging trip and, despite his good intentions and their best efforts, they’re both far from pleased.
Author’s Note: Here goes my first foray into the Richonne fandom—I can only hope I did the fabulous pairing justice!

Spoilers for 7x12.



“I could’ve gone a couple more days. I would have liked that,” Rick had said.

And, if she’s honest with herself, she would have to.

If she’s honest with herself (and she has no reason not to be at this stage), she doesn’t think she’s had what she has with Rick with anyone else. Mike came close during the good days, she thinks, but it didn’t stick.

When things fell apart, Mike fell apart with them, and there was no bringing him back—not for anything or anyone.

That’s not to say that Rick hasn’t had his fall from grace, more than once by all accounts; but he always came back (to Carl and Judith, to the group, to her).

The time they spent on the road, alone, together, only served to cement her belief that this was it for the both of them. The things he said, the things they did—it was what she wanted that, again and again and again.

And so, when Aaron volunteers to join them on their next scavenging trip, Michonne’s heart drops in a way that doesn’t quite surprise her.

It makes sense that he’d want to come, makes sense that they seek they increase their numbers on these runs because, as capable as the two of them are, there are a myriad of things that can go wrong without another pair of eyes.

But, there’s so much more that can go right when it’s just the two of them.

It takes her mere seconds to see that Rick feels the same way.

He’s quiet throughout the day, supplying her with little more than small smiles and short answers when prompted with questions, clearly lost in thoughts she isn’t privy to just yet.

It isn’t until she’s put Judith to sleep and joined him in the kitchen that she’s finally awarded with the clarity she’s craving.

He has two of the ready-to-eat meals they found laid out with a single candle between them, an arrangement that pulls something at the pit of her stomach. Who would have guessed that Rick Grimes was a romantic of the highest caliber after all?

“We really hit the jackpot that day, didn’t we?” She smiles, seeking to lighten the mood before prying.

“Yeah, we did,” he says.

In more ways than one, she thinks, but does not say.

“Aaron wants to join us, one our next run,” he says after a few moments of silence.

She stops chewing almost instantly, and looks up to find him watching her. She wonders if he can see the enormous pit that just landed in her stomach, the disappointment that settles into the back of her throat.

“What did you tell him?” She asks with a casualness that she does not feel.

“What could I tell him?”

And he’s right, he is. How were they to turn away help they so desperately needed?

“Well, the more, the merrier, right?”

“No,” he simply states.


“I know, I know. I’m being selfish,” he shakes his head, and her palm finds its way to his cheek before her mind directs it. “It’s just… it was good. Just the two of us, doing our thang out there. I liked that.”

“I did too,” she admits.

They’re silent for a few moments, his head bowed in what she knows is a keen disappointment.

Suddenly, before she spares a thought for what she’s doing, she leans closer to him, close enough that she can bring her lips right against his ear.

“You know what else I like?” She whispers, her lips brushing against the lobe in a way that draws a deep sigh from him.

“What?” He asks without turning to her, eyes closed and breathing heavy as she buries her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck (the way she knows he likes).

“This,” she tilts her head to the side, and presses her lips over his own, an invitation he’s clearly been waiting for if the way he instantly deepens the kiss is any indication.

They stay like that for a while, exploring each other in the leisurely way she’s grown to love until he pulls back, forehead resting against hers while his hands cup her face as if it’s the most precious thing that’s ever stood between them.

“What else–what else do you like?” He pants, and she can already feel herself growing wet.

She spares a brief thought for the fact that Carl isn’t home, and can potentially walk in on them any minute, before throwing caution to the wind.

She cups him though his jeans, and it’s obvious that she isn’t the only one who’s getting worked up. His constant hunger for her is another thing her body is still adjusting to, the intensity of it–the sheer frequency.

She’s stoking him now, and she can feel him growing harder still as her palm traces the length of him. He places his hand over her own, putting an end to her ministrations. It jars her enough that she tilts her head back so she can get a good look at him.

“Tell me what you like,” He says again, voice still raspy, but more than a whisper.

She swallows, unsure how to proceed. She’s no stranger to heated sex, far from it, but words don’t normally play a role. How can she tell him that she likes (loves) him, every brush of his hand, every kiss, every inch of him sliding in and out of her?

“You,” she simply states.

His eyes soften and, just like that, he’s kissing her again, nearly frantic in his movements before he wraps both hands around her waist and places her on the table directly before him.

His heat emboldens her, and the moment she’s able to break the kiss, she speaks.

“I like the way you look at me,” she whispers, and he pulls back to study her with hooded eyes, travelling from the planes of her face, to the exposed skin of her chest just above the opening of her tank top.

He takes his seat again, confusing her momentarily before he speaks.

“Show me then,” he gestures to her shirt, no doubt promoting her to remove it.

She doesn’t need to be asked twice, pulls it over her head in one swift motion, and is left in nothing but her black lace bra and his eyes mapping out a heated trail over her bare skin.

When his eyes meet hers again, she’s already undoing her bra, one quick click before she’s pulling the straps off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

He swallows then, and she knows it’s taking everything he has not to lay her across the table and bury himself inside her then and there.

She makes quick work of her jeans next (though she needs to stand for this one, close enough that he’d barely have to reach forward to touch her), but something keeps her from moving right to her underwear.

When Rick senses her hesitation, he gestures to her mid-section, wordlessly prompting her to remove them like she did everything else.

But something is still holding her back, keeping her from treading past the full-blooded state of exposure eliminating the garment will leave her in.

As if sensing her hesitation, Rick wraps both his hands around her waist, drawing her nearer.

He places an open-mouthed kiss on each of her breasts, the feel of his tongue and the scrape of his beard eliciting a quiet moan from her. He kisses his way down her stomach, all the way down to her navel, where he plants another kiss through the fabric of her underwear.

He wraps two fingers around the thin fabric, slowly drawing it down her legs until she’s lifting one foot, and then the other, to be rid of it completely.

He wastes no time in setting her atop the table again, drawing her legs wide open so he can stare right at her center, so two of his fingers can rub against the wetness of her lips and drive her mad with the need of him. The heat she feels blooming across her cheeks is almost unbearable.


“You like that?” he drawls, his breathing just as heavy as hers.

“Yes—oh, yes,” she moans.

He sticks both fingers inside her then, pulls them in and out with the sound of her wetness making the gesture seem almost obscene.

She pulls him in for an open-mouthed kiss, while his fingers work to drive her mad. He curls them inside her, just the way she likes, and her moans between kisses are growing louder than she’d normally let them.

She needs him, all of him, now.

It’s with that resolve that she begins undoing his belt, her hands moving with a practiced precision that her mind can’t quite mimic.

When she pulls the length of him out, long and hard, she begins stroking him just way she knows he likes. She’s awarded with a long sigh and a shudder that has him breaking this kiss.


It’s his turn to find himself at a loss for words, and it has her smiling. She seizes the moment.

“I like when every inch of you is inside me,” she whispers against his ear, and, vaguely, she thinks that this may be the most brazen thing she’s ever said to a man.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, before raising both her thighs, pulling her against him, and sliding the entire length of his cock into her with one solid thrust.

She gasps, her head falling back while his lips latch onto her neck, sucking and biting as he’s thrusting in and out of her, fast and hard and desperate.  

“It’s good?” he pants against her, and it takes a few moments for the words to register with her.

“Yes, so—so good,” she moans back.

It doesn’t take more than a few trusts to have her coming undone, the angle and the work his fingers put in before paying off in the best of ways.

She stifles her small scream against his lips, still taken aback by the desperate sounds he manages to draw from her.  

He comes undone very soon after, pulling out just in time, his seed a stark contrast against the skin of her abdomen.

He grabs the nearest cloth and begins cleaning them both up, as is his habit, head bowed and eyes focused on his work. She succumbs to the urge to pull him in for a kiss on the cheek, his stubble prickling the skin of her lips in a way she’s grown to love.

“Next time,” She whispers, “you’re going to tell me what you like.”


When you think you have let the whole world down
Just remember you are an altar
That every star in the galaxy is bowing down too
And shining for
When your bones ache under
the weight of life and pain
Remember you have been crafted by hands
made of porcelain
Even when you taste poison down your throat
Because you think you have failed or you are broken
The same water that swirls blue lagoons
is leaking liquid gold deep inside you
You are the Goddess mystics have worshiped for centuries
You are the aperture where light makes its entry
Thank you for continuing to breathe for me
You live this life magnificently 

anonymous asked:

Okay I'm in love with this new AU. I'm especially fascinated with where Mark falls into play. It looks like he has tape on his mouth? The thing is I know that Mark hates following orders or doing what he's told, so I can't see him giving into this. What's his lore? Why the tape? I'M SO CURIOUS PS you're so creative I love you okay bye 😳

The tape is because his voice really really is powerful and moving. Whether its just inappropriately making viewers squirm in their chairs when he speaks low or its strong and deep and clear with emotion and rebellion. Mark would never willingly bow down to this, none of them would. and Mark, just like Felix with their formidable fanbase would definitely put a notch in their armor as a big evil corporation. But….they cant just KILL him, because he has too many fans. their channels are also too profitable. It cant just disappear overnight without there being backlash.  

most of them are brainwashed to varying degrees. Some were completely rewired in their brain to behave correctly. Others were just tortured into submission. Mark was more tortured than brainwashed. Their findings show that people like Mark for his genuine emotion. both highs and lows. somehow when he cries, its not upsetting, its comforting. so, Mark is not all smiles like most of them. mostly happy but not all the time. They had to let him keep some of his brain. but they just conveniently muted him. and now they can subtitle whatever they need. Use his emotion for whatever THEY need.

And thank you, dear!! I didn’t intend for it to become its own au, just an extension of FFFelix’s backstory, but I guess theres no turning back now!

anonymous asked:

here it goes: Midorima and s/o start dating,they are very pure and affectionate compared to midorima who doesnt like physical contact, this causes the s/o to think he actually doesnt like her and when she tries talking to him he ignores her, even to the extent to which he wouldnt recognize her as her girlfriend if other people asked, she got upset and mad and decided to break up, he realises his mistakes and confesses to her again.happy ending please,hope its not too complicated or long!

WAAAAAH I don’t think Shin-chan would be like this but since you requested it here you go dear! (iДi)

Thank you for requesting! 💋

“Alright class, you’re dismissed. Have a nice summer.” their teacher waved, bowing and walking out of the classroom.

Immediately, everyone started making their way outside, excited to start their summer.

To (Name)’s side, the sun started to set. She turned to the side, where she would always turn to look at the megane.

Surprisingly, he was still there. He stared at the front, in deep thought, what he always did whenever he was thinking of something.

And to make it even more surprising.. the two of them were alone in the classroom.

She smiled to herself, before sighing and shouldering her bag. “Well, Shin-chan,”

Maybe they were a bit close. And with a little bit of a push from Takao, he insisted to call him by the nickname.

“I better get going. Summer’s just around the corner.” she laughed awkwardly, lowering her head and standing up only to be blocked by Midorima himself.

Her eyes widen as she stared up at the taller male.

He blushed and looked away, a sweat dropping from the side of his forehead. “(Name)..”

She gulped. “Y-Yeah? Is something wrong?”

He had his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes landing on every item inside the classroom but her. And she had to admit, he looked adorable.

“I like you..” his voice faltered as (Name) locked eyed with him. This time, he didn’t look away, but god, was he blushing madly.

She shrugged and stood up. “… I like you too.”

He looked taken back at first. “.. You?”

“Yeah.” she smiled up at him. “You’re nice.”

He cleared his throat and put on a calm and cool composure. “Would you.. would you like to.. go out with me, nanodayo?”

Her eyes lit up. “I.. I’d love to, Shin-chan!”

“Well then..” he pushed up his glasses to make him look cool and all. “Let me walk you home.”

She smiled widely and intertwine her hand with his, and Midorima blushed so hard he swore he would have a nosebleed any sooner.

“Come on!”

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SessKag Week Day 6 - Fireflies

Finding Happiness

Post-Canon / Romance / 1,323 words

The long summer day was turning to night, when Kagome slipped out of the village and climbed towards the shrine and the Bone Eater’s well. The sounds of merriment followed her up the stone stairs as she left the wedding celebration behind her.

At the top of the stairs, grass brushed at her ankles. She had just wanted a moment for herself, some peace and quiet – but when she walked past the well she knew where her feet were taking her.

Somehow, she thought, a small wry smile touching her lips, that seemed appropriate.

She paused before the tall tree, admired its wide trunk. She stepped even closer, rose to the tips of her toes and extended her hand. Her fingers brushed against the rough bark, caressing the scar she knew only too well.

She drew a quivering breath and bowed her head.

“I didn’t expect to feel bitter today,” she breathed, the God Tree the only audience for her quiet confession, “but I guess a part of me is, a little.”

“You left your home to come here, to a time you do not belong, just to be with him,” a deep voice remarked from behind.

Kagome jumped. Her hand that had been resting against the bark of the Goshinboku balled into a fist.

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anonymous asked:

you're taking trans lazytown headcanons?? *whispers* trans boy stephanie possibly getting new clothes, cutting his hair, picking a new name, and everyone else being positive and supportive, and learning to use the correct pronouns

Sorry I couldn’t hit all the things you listed! Hope you enjoy this :3

Stingy and Seth climbed out of the car, Stingy’s driver holding the door open for them. Seth fidgeted with the hem of his basketball shorts. This was the first time he had been out of Lazytown since changing his pronouns and his nerves were piling up again.

Beside him, Stingy straightened his bow tie. “Ready?” He asked.

“I think so but… is this really necessary?”

“Of course it is. You can’t keep wearing the same ‘boy clothes’ over and over. You need new clothes. Good clothes. Trust me Ste- Seth, you’ll feel a lot better once we’re done.”

Seth sent him an understanding smile. It hadn’t been easy getting the town used to his new name but everyone was trying their best to switch. Seth felt lucky to have so much support. 

Stingy turned to the driver, “Davenport, come back in five hours.”

“Yes sir.”

Seth’s face fell, “Five hours?”   

Without answering, Stingy grabbed his hand and led them into the mall. 

It didn’t take Seth long to figure out why the shopping trip would take five hours. The first shop alone took them a whole hour. Stingy kept Seth practically imprisoned in the dressing room, tossing various clothes over the door for him to model. 

Finally, when Seth felt like he had tried on the store’s entire inventory, Stingy declared them done. The disproportionately small pile of clothes on the checkout counter had a lot of pastel colors in it. 

Seth turned to Stingy, “Is it okay to wear that many… you know, girly colors?”

“Pink looks good on you,” Stingy said, seeing right through to Seth’s main concern, “It doesn’t matter what gender you are— if a color looks good on you, you should wear it.”

Seth smiled. He had been a little afraid of letting go of the color pink. It still remained his favorite color but he had felt odd wearing it recently, scared it made him look too much like a girl. Stingy’s statement gave Seth all the confidence he needed to take out his wallet 

“Oh no you don’t!” Stingy grabbed Seth’s wrist and pulled it back, pushing a gold credit card into the cashier’s hand.


“No arguing! This is my shopping trip for you. I’m paying.”

It was like that for the next two stores they visited. By the end, Seth was weighed down with bags full of tee shirts, polo shirts, non-sport shorts, formal wear, summer clothes, winter clothes, and, Seth’s favorite, a package of boxers.

“One more stop,” Stingy announced. He stopped in front of a store with a pair of scissors on the sign, “This is my hair cut place. But I’ll let you get your hair cut here, if you’re ready.”

Seth gulped, “I think I am.”

As soon as they walked through the door, a tall woman with short blue hair waved at them She was wearing a half apron with the salon’s logo on the front. “Hello, Stingy!” Her smile changed when she saw Seth. It became mischievous, “And who might this be? You’re girlfriend?” She winked.

Shoulders slumped, Seth let out a sigh. He placed the bags on the floor by the door and tried not to look as dejected as he felt. It was natural that strangers would still mistake him for a girl. So why did he feel so frustrated?

Actually,” Stingy crossed his arms and picked his chin up, “This is my boyfriend, Seth.” Then his face turned a deep red, “I- I mean, this is my friend Seth. Who is a boy. Not my boyfriend, it’s not like that, but he is a boy.”

The woman looked taken aback before giggling. She held out a hand to the still shocked Seth, “Sorry about that. I like to tease him. It’s very nice to meet you, young man!”

Seth grinned and took the hand, “Nice to meet you too!”

Stingy coughed and straitened his bow tie again.  

A little ‘Back to the Barn’ aftermath fic

Full credit to @love-killed-the-superstar​ for the use of Garnet’s temperature-changing abilities in Pearl care. This is very fluffy and has all the ships if you squint and not if you don’t.

‘I love her even MORE now! How is that even POSSIBLE?’ Stars sparkled in Steven’s eyes, just visible over a wobbly pile of robot parts.

Amethyst grinned. 'P’s full of surprises.’

As Steven and Amethyst ran ahead to the trash heap, Garnet hung back, keeping a watchful eye on Pearl through the barn door, noticing her deepening bruises and the way one pale hand fluttered over her ribs, tried to rub them and then flinched away. She was still talking animatedly to Peridot, but when Peridot looked away for a minute, Pearl held on to the blackboard for support.

Garnet caught up with the others in a few easy strides. 'It’s time to get her home.’

Steven bounced to the barn door and called out, 'Pearl! Peridot!’ The two Gems turned to look at him. Peridot’s swollen jaw was dark green now, but Pearl looked worse. Livid blue bruises had blossomed on her grazed cheeks, showing just how hard her delicate body had been battered against the ground. One eye was half-shut, and she had a huge bump on her head, painfully close to her gem. Another inch and it would have cracked. And the rest of her probably looked just as bad under that spacesuit.

'Awww….’ Steven’s hands went to his heart, 'you both need a dip in Mom’s fountain!’

'What is this Mom’s fountain?’

Pearl froze, looked at Peridot and then looked away, acutely uncomfortable.  

'I don’t think Pearl’s ready to show her that yet, Steven,’ said Garnet quietly. Steven blinked for a moment, and then went into action.

'Orrr…. Better idea! Peridot, why don’t we go get you some ice?’


'Frozen water! It’ll make your face feel better. C'mon, Dot. Don’t be scared.’

The small Gem obediently took Steven’s hand and trotted off with him. Amethyst whistled. 'Impressive.’

The soft evening wind ruffled Pearl’s hair as she stepped out of the barn. Above her, the first stars were coming out. She looked like a hero, battered but unbowed. All three of them just looked at each other, full of feelings beyond words. She smiled softly.

Garnet and Amethyst went to her, as one, and enveloped her in the gentlest, most supportive hug they could manage. Pearl tensed for a moment, then relaxed as she realised even Amethyst was being careful not to hurt her. 

'Shall I carry you?’ said Garnet.

'No, no, I’m fine… Oh, Amethyst, that’s nice,’ she added as Amethyst lightly stroked her back.

'How bad does it hurt, P?’

'It doesn’t matter,’ said Pearl - words they’d heard so many times before, but the feeling behind them was so different. The unspoken words, 'because I’m just a pearl,’ were gone from her voice. 

It doesn’t matter, because I stood up to her. It doesn’t matter, because I’m too happy to care. I am a Pearl.

Garnet noted the spot Amethyst was stroking, somewhere that wasn’t too painful to touch. As they started walking, slowly, one on each side of Pearl, Garnet laid a hand there. Under the sweat-damp fabric of the spacesuit, she could feel the warmth of Pearl’s skin and the muscles in her narrow back, tense and hard, with little throbs and tremors running through them.

'Heat or cold?’ said Garnet quietly.

'Oh, heat,’ sighed Pearl as if it was the most wonderful question in the world, 'please…’

'Is this the right spot?’ Garnet asked, as her hand started to radiate a soothing glow.

'It’s all the right spot… ahhh.’ Pearl’s battered cheeks flushed and her eyes almost closed with pleasure as she melted into the touch. Garnet felt the taut muscles begin to relax. She kept her hand there as they walked, steadying and guiding her. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Amethyst holding Pearl’s hand, being careful there too, because the knuckles were bruised.

They warped into Rose’s garden like that, together. The scent of late roses filled the air, sweet and nostalgic. Pink and white crystals lit up the gathering dusk, and shimmered on the pool full of floating petals. Rose’s statue stood still at the heart of it all, with her arms outstretched and her faint eternal smile, and the only sound was the quiet music of her tears.

'Do - do you want some privacy here, P?’ said Amethyst hoarsely.

'No,’ Pearl said firmly, holding on to both of them. The three Gems walked up to the edge of the pool, and Pearl turned and kissed both of them on the cheek. 'Thank you.' 

She stepped into the water, onto the water, walking lightly on the surface of the deep pool of tears. Garnet and Amethyst drew closer together, without taking their eyes off Pearl, as she approached the statue. Pearl stood before her Rose. Not kneeling, standing. Her posture was straight and perfect, dancer and warrior, in spite of all the pain. The statue’s open arms framed her small figure, and above her its head bowed and Rose’s tears fell.

'Tears of pride,’ said Garnet, too quiet for Pearl to hear. Amethyst sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand.

Pearl sank down gracefully into the water, leaned back and let it hold and cradle her battered body. She floated among the petals, eyes closed, hair flowing like a halo. As the bruises faded from her skin, she visibly, blissfully relaxed from head to toe, and her gem glowed.

'Whoa…’ whispered Amethyst. 'I didn’t see how bad it hurt until I saw it stop.’

Pearl moved in the water, stretching her arms in an elegant arc, and then she was rising upright, weightlessly. She phased into her familiar costume, the sash streaming in the air, the small skirt of her tunic rippling around her hips, her bare legs and arms and shoulders whole and unblemished. Rose’s tears were sparkling on her iridescent skin. She pirouetted, and the water flew from her body like a shower of jewels.

Without meaning to, Garnet and Amethyst broke into applause. Pearl looked startled, then bowed with a smile, then curtseyed, and then ran across the water to them and leaped into their arms. Now they could really hug her, without fear of hurting her.

'THAT WAS AWESOME!’ yelled Amethyst, and the solemn atmosphere was well and truly broken.

'Well, you know,’ giggled Pearl, smushed in between them, 'one does their best. Now if you two would, ah, disengage, please - there’s one more thing I need to do.’

She took a small bowl from her gem, and dipped it in the water. 

Garnet frowned. 'Is that for -' 

'Yes, for Peridot.’

'You don’t have to do that.’

'Oh, I think I’ve made my point quite nicely by now, don’t you? Besides, it’s what Rose -' 

She looked at the statue for a moment, then back to her team, and smiled. 'It’s what I want to do.’

Danger Is Upon Us

Request: “6, 44, 67, & 73 (73 is optional I just would like to see how tie it in) with Draco. Please…if you’re still doing that.”

Summary: Post Deathly Hallows/war Draco. Draco invites you to a ball with him, and trouble ensues.

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Universe: Harry Potter

Word Count: 3,074

Warnings: Violence/blood talk. Angst.

A/N: When I first got this request, this idea popped up into my head immediately! I hope you like it, love! Tell me what you think! xx

Times were rough after the war with Voldemort. Draco had to become accustomed to muggle ways, certain things they did being slightly different than the magical world. Draco had bought his own flat on the edge of Paris. It was something he had to warm up to, but Draco was willing to open his mind up to knew things.

He had grown closer to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and had soon became close friends with them. Before the war, Draco had become close to you. You two became close friends his fifth year, and when his sixth year had come along, he realized his true feelings for you.

Draco had fallen in love with you.

You were beautiful in his eyes. Around you, Draco felt as if he could be himself.  He felt comfortable in his own skin when he was around you. However, during his sixth year, Draco had distanced himself from you. You constantly asked him what was wrong, but he didn’t want you to become involved with his situation. He wanted you out of it.

He wanted you away from the danger and consequences his choices had brought him. He wanted you to stay you, and not change because of his family’s history and destiny. He wanted you safe.

Unfortunately for him, the only place you felt safe was near his presence.

You had soon found out his secret and stood by his side, shocking him. You supported him the best you could, promised him you’d never leave. He had never told you how he truly felt, and neither did you. However, as if it was a calling from the angels above, Draco was given a blessing and an opportunity.  

Harry had recently been invited to a ball, and had received a few more invitations that spoke of bringing a plus one. He had handed Draco one with a wink, tilting his head over to you standing in the corner talking to Hermione.

“Use it wisely.” He whispered before moving on to Ron.

It took Draco a while to build up the courage to ask you, but he had no choice to do otherwise as he suddenly had shown up to your flat in the middle of the day, a week before the ball.

“Draco!” You smiled at him sheepishly, opening your door wider to invite him in. “This is abrupt! Do you need something?” You had asked as he entered your flat after a hesitant pause, a light blush tainting his cheeks.

“What, I can’t randomly visit my best friend in the middle of the day?” He teased, wrapping his arms around you in a hug, greeting you.

You faked a smile, the words ‘best friend’ echoing in your mind.

“Of course you can’t!” You laughed, squeezing his side as he pulled away.

The contact had made his heart jump, his cheeks burning. “You have a point. I actually do need a favor from you. If you don’t mind, of course.” He announced sheepishly.

You genuinely smiled at him, nodding. “Go on, spill.”

Draco hesitated. What if you denied his invitation? What if this one question would cause you to hate him for the rest of your life.

Nonsense, Draco! Just ask her!

Draco shook his head and opened his mouth before he could panic any longer. “I was wondering if you would like to join me to a ball Harry had invited me to.”

Your mind froze at the question, panicking slightly.

Is he asking you out on a date? What if he is?! What if this means he has feelings for you?! Wait, he can’t possibly like you, are you kidding! That’s utterly impossible!

“Or you could say no if you don’t want to go.” Draco blurted, bringing his arm up to rub the back of his neck timidly.

You had realized you hadn’t answered and you panicked, blurting, “I’m not wearing a dress.”

Draco looked at you in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing. “I-It’s a ball.” He stuttered, his eyes flitting everywhere except to you.

A sheepish laugh escaped your lips and you felt your cheeks start to burn. “R-Right! Okay! I’ll go! With you!” You blurted.

Draco then smiled at you, relieved you didn’t deny him. You had then asked him if he wanted some tea, and he nodded, sitting down on your couch. And you two had spent the rest of the day together, cuddled against the couch with a warm blanket wrapped around you both.

Later on that week, it was the day of the ball. Draco had been stressing himself out all day, trying to find the best suit he had in his closet. His efforts were to no avail as he had ended up empty handed, immediately panicking and calling Harry.

“Alright, alright, Draco! Calm down! I’ve got a suit you could wear; it’ll look great on you! She’ll love it, don’t worry!” He explained before hanging up on Draco, later bringing the suit over and examining it on him.

“What do you think? Do you think she’ll like it?” He asked rapidly, shaping up his hair in the mirror frantically.

“She’ll love it, Draco. Now stop stressing, she’ll be here any minute!” Draco nodded, turning toward Harry as soon as a knock sounded at his door.

“That’s your cue,” Draco explained as he began fumbling over his tie. “I suppose you’ll disapparate any minute now.”

Draco had rushed to the door, immediately swinging it open after you had sent another knock upon it. Instantly, he froze, his eyes widening as he looked you up and down. Thick curls cascades down your shoulders, the vibrant red dress you had on shaping your curves perfectly.

Draco was at a loss for words as he suddenly dropped his tie on the ground.

“Draco!” You laughed, bending down to pick up the fallen tie and immediately pulling it around his neck, attaching it yourself. You watched as Draco’s bright blue eyes suddenly turned a darker shade, now a deep sea blue as he ogled at you. “Stop it.” You blushed as you finished his tie, tightening it only enough that it wouldn’t choke him.

He smiled at you, a blush creeping its way upon his pale cheeks. “S-Sorry. You’re just- you’re just beautiful.”

You grinned shyly at him, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself, handsome.” You had finally took in his appearance.

He wore a black suit that hugged his slim figure well, a small white bow tie finishing the touch. He looked bloody adorable and handsome all at once.

He cocked a brow your way, taking your hand in his and leading you out of his building. “Do I now?” He asked, layers of confidence dripping past his tone. He smirked at you as he noticed the blush on your cheeks get darker.

“Yes, indeed you do.”

These were the moments Draco cherished. Being himself. Being the old Draco, the carefree, open-minded Draco. And it was all because of you.

“Merlin’s beard, this place is magnificent!” You gasped as soon as you and Draco walked into the ballroom, hand in hand. You laced your fingers together when Draco had helped you out of his car, making Draco’s heart lurch at the action.

He utterly adored you, and you had no idea.

He grinned at you, admiring the twinkle in your eyes as you looked around you, your mouth agape. “It is. However, I’m quite positive I’m looking at something a bit more beautiful than the scenery.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked to your right to see Draco smile at you. Your cheeks began to burn for the thousandth time today, and you weren’t sure if you could ever stop the season change after tonight.

“Only a bit?” You teased, a smirk lacing upon your lips.

Draco scrunched his nose up in thought, the sight utterly adorable. “Maybe quite a lot more than just a bit…”

An airy laugh escaped your lips as you and Draco made your way over to Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione. You had greeted everyone with a kind smile then looked back at your surroundings.

The lights hanging from the ceiling had mimicked crystal in the air, the illusion causing a sparkle in your eyes. Beige and brown decorations littered the numerous tables in the ballroom, people scattered around wearing all different colored and designed formal-wear. Some people had vibrant smiles on their faces, lighting up their features, while others had been frowning.

Light music echoed throughout the room, certain couples dancing in the space provided to them. A grin painted itself upon your lips, watching the happy pairs on the dance floor live their life the way they want to live it.

Suddenly, as you spot the desserts that had been strewn on a table across the room, you felt a large hand place itself on the small of your back.

With a small gasp, you twisted your head back to Draco to see him staring at you with a small smile on his face. “Would you like to sit, love?” His tone was soft and kind, the nickname ‘love’ tainting a blush on the tips of your cheeks.

You nodded softly, following Draco as he led you to a table not too far from where you two were standing. You didn’t notice the wink Harry had sent Draco, too focused on the way he pulled out your chair for you before sitting down in his.

Draco grinned, finally feeling normal for once as he looked at you to see you grinning at him. “What?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows, a shy smile on his face.

“Nothing.” You shrugged, a giggle slipping past your lips.

“It was bloody wild!” You exclaimed, Draco cherishing the way utter excitement outlined your features. You had been speaking about the time you were knocked off your broom during a Gryffindor Quidditch match.

Draco remembered quite vividly how you had been hit in the head with quaffle and knocked off your broom. He frowned as the memory of you violently falling through the air had resurfaced to the top of his brain.

“Did you ever find out who had casted the ‘arresto momentum’ spell to save you from hitting the ground?” Ginny’s voice had pulled Draco from his thoughts, his eyes widening slightly.

He watched as you shook your head.

Little did you know that Draco had casted the spell to save you. It was your forth year, and you Draco had just started to warm up to each other. He watched you play from the stands, and for a reason unknown to him at the time, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. He watched you fly gracefully through the air, your hair whipping behind you as you pelted the quaffle through one of the rings on the opposite team.

Angering your opponents, one of them had violently hit the quaffle, and he had noticed that it had been pummeling straight toward you. His eyes widened, a scream threatening to rip from his throat. He watched it hit you on the side of your head, your hair flying rapidly through the air as you fell off your broom. He had whipped out his hand, and shouted “ARRESTO MOMENTUM!” just in time to see your body pause in the air, inches above the ground.

Everyone’s eyes were on you as gasps escaped their lips, watching your body limply float in the air, McGonagall immediately coming to your rescue.

Draco’s heart had stopped, his breathing rapidly frosting through the cold air that surrounded him.

He was so worried about you, but he tried to push the thought away as much as he could, the fear of his father or anyone else finding out about his feelings consuming his mind.

“Draco?” Your gentle voice had interrupted his flashback, and Draco had looked at you with worried eyes, old feelings resurfacing his brain. You furrowed your eyebrows in concern, lacing your fingers through his for comfort. “Something wrong?”

Draco’s hand tightened around yours, a breath escaping his lips as he closed his eyes for a second. “Yes.. I’m fine.”

You shook your head, your hand going up to cup his cheek. “You’re not.”

Suddenly, as Draco snapped his eyes open, a scream had ripped through the air, everyone’s eyes immediately going to the entrance of the ballroom.

Three burly men stood beside each other before everyone, the wands in their hands pointing right at Draco.

“Malfoy!” One of the men yelled, storming up to the table closest to them.

Your hand immediately went to the strap against your leg that had been  holding your wand the entire time, but the man had saw you and pointed his wand to you, Draco instantly pushing you behind his body.

“Don’t you dare point that bloody thing at her!” He yelled, the grip on your arm tightening.

The man laughed maliciously, a wicked grin planting onto his face.“I see I’ve already found your weakness, Oi Malfoy?”

“Listen, I-”

“No, you listen!” The man had interrupted Draco, waving his wand through the air. You creep your hand down to your thigh as the man becomes distracted with a speech. “You deserve to be dead! Taking commands by the Dark Lord?! You shouldn’t even be breathing right now! You don’t deserve to be here! Which is why I’m going to finish what Voldemort had started. AVADA KEDAVRA-”

PRIORI INCANTATEM!” You had immediately counteracted the man’s spell, reversing the effects so that he were the one that had been hit. Your hand shaked beside Draco’s face as you watched the man collapse to the floor, dead.

The other two men that were with him were immediately furious, causing both of them to raise their wands in the air.

SECTUMSEMPRA!” They had shouted at the same time, along with Harry knocking out one of the men. However, before he could stop the spell from touching you and Draco, you two immediately flew back into the air, landing on a table far from where you were standing before.

You gasped as you and Draco landed harshly onto the table, the legs breaking under twice the weight and force. You possibly felt a few ribs crack from the impact, your body aching and quivering. However, you had not heard a sound from Draco as he tumbled on the crumbled pieces of the table beside you.

You twisted your head to his and noticed he had been knocked out, the gashes on his stomach deep and pooling with blood.

“DRACO!” A scream ripped through your throat before you grabbed his unconscious body and disapparated, immediately reapparating in your flat. “Draco!” You cried, tears slipping from your eyes as you shook his limp body. His eyes cracked open, a broken gasp escaping his lips.

“Y/N…” He began to raise his bloody hand up to your face, but you grabbed it, shaking your head.

“Don’t speak.” You sobbed, your lips quivering as your hands attempted to place pressure on his bleeding wounds. 

Draco smiled weakly at you, tugging his hand out of yours to cup your face and wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“You need to see a doctor.” You demanded, trying your hardest to lift him up from the ground. Your efforts proved to be no avail as you two were still lying on the floor, Draco cradled to your chest, blood seeping through his clothes.

“No.” He whispered, his voice hoarse, both his hands now cupping your face.
“No. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re bleeding all over my carpet.” You explained, your lips quivering as you ran your bloody hands through his hair. “I need you to see a doctor. You can’t leave me like this. Not like this.” Harsh, violent sobs were now raking through your chest, echoing in Draco’s ears.

“Please don’t cry over me. Please don’t.” Draco begged, tilting his head up to yours to plant a soft kiss upon your lips. “I love you.” He whispered against your lips. You pushed your head harder against his, holding his neck as his body finally went limp in your arms.

“NO!” You sobbed, pulling away from him and shaking his body violently. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS! YOU CAN’T, YOU JUST CAN’T!”

You sobbed against Draco’s chest as minutes, possibly hours flew by, his body immobile. He was gone. And you had lost the only ounce of happiness you had ever had.

It’s been hours since Draco’s death, and you hadn’t moved from your spot on the ground, his pale, lifeless body still cradled to your chest. Small sniffles were the only thing heard throughout the room as Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione suddenly apparated in front of you.

A gasp escaped every single one of their lips as they saw you on the floor, covered in Draco’s blood and you rocked back and forth, dry tears staining your cheeks.

You ignored them as Harry and Ron collected Draco’s body, and Ginny and Hermione went to comfort you. The room was immediately with deafening silence, depressing and tense. No one spoke as you looked ahead of you at the pool of partially dried blood that had stained your carpet.

Draco’s blood.

A broken, violent sobbed escaped your chest, the numb feeling of loss escaping your body as your vision blurred. Everyone has immediately ran up to you, hands grabbing your body and you flailed across the floor, a scream belting from your throat.

He was gone. He was dead. The only person who could make you happy at your hardest of times. The only man that could be so broken yet so strong at the same time. The only man that had been by your side constantly and had saved you so many times without you even knowing it.

He was the light to your darkness, the daydream to your nightmare, the Clyde to your Bonnie. He was all you had. And now he was gone.

And as your sobs calmed down to a silent whimper and you had turned your eyes back to the pool of blood on the carpet in front of you, all that had came out of your mouth was a croaked, “I need a place to stay.”

You were not going to sleep in the one place you had experience your worst nightmare. The place where you had lost the love of your life.


Summary: Punk looking Phil Lester moves to town and attends a school full of cliques. He doesn’t see his life going anywhere until he somehow manages to befriend the mute kid in school. Now he’s beginning to learn that life can take you anywhere, and is full of friends in unlikely places. But in the wake of a tragedy, Phil must learn to understand not just words, but actions. Because sometimes, the loudest cry for help can be soundless.

Warnings: Swearing, Violence 

Word Count: 3,960

{Previous Chapter}

Chapter 3

The rest of the week was a drag. It was the same everyday: groan when waking up, skip breakfast, sulk until lunch, be curious about Dan, be annoyed with Luke, fight with Scott, and then go home. Phil’s life was this endless cycle of the same routine, and he was getting tired of it.

It was Saturday morning–or afternoon rather–and Phil didn’t know what to do with his life. He didn’t have anywhere to go or friends to hang out with, and he didn’t particularly want to stay at home with his parents all day. He supposed he could ask Luke what he was up to, but he didn’t want to hang out with him. Seeing him in English and at lunch was enough for Phil.

There was only one person Phil didn’t get annoyed with, surprisingly, and that person was Dan. But according to Luke, Dan doesn’t like to hang out with people outside of school. So he was out of the question.

It was raining hard outside. Phil could hear the heavy drops of water splattering against his window, making the day seem calm yet eerie. It rained quite a lot where he lived, and whereas most people get tired of the rain, Phil actually prefers it. Maybe it’s because of his “emo” like nature. He snorted a laugh.

“Phil, why don’t you actually try getting out of bed at a decent time?” his mum asked from his doorway. “I came to make sure you were still alive.”

“Barely,” he mumbled into his pillow. “It’s not like I had anything better to do today. Why would I get up earlier if I had nothing to do? That just means I would have to suffer a few more hours of boredom everyday.”

Phil’s mum chuckled. “With that kind of attitude, you will always be bored. Why don’t you go out and do something today? Explore the town?” she suggested.

“It’s raining.”

“Your point? A little rain never stopped you from doing anything.”


“Leave the house. I don’t care if it’s by yourself or with a friend, but I want you gone for at least an hour today,” she said.

Was she being serious? “An hour!?” I’m sure this town doesn’t even have an hours worth of things to do,” Phil whined.

“Well, I guess if you go out, you’ll find out if that statement rings true,” she said happily. “So, get up!” she said loudly. Phil shoved his head under his pillow and groaned. He was really getting tired of waking up.


Phil sat in the woods. There was a long stretch of trees on the far end of town, right outside the shopping district. Phil was able to sit inside the treeline, and watch everyone who passed in and out of shops. It was quite relaxing, if he said so himself.

He checked his phone to see he still had twenty minutes before his mum said he was allowed back inside. He was annoyed that she even made him go out and “do something.” He thought about heading home early and saying to hell with it, but that’s when he spotted Dan Howell wandering down the middle of the road, soaking wet from the rain. He had no jacket or umbrella on him, and no one around him offered him one. In fact, everyone around him acted as if he wasn’t there.

Phil got up off the muddy ground, and was going to head over to Dan and loan him his jacket, but Dan looked suspicious. He seemed to be taking in all his surroundings, noting everyone around him. Dan began skimming the trees Phil was hiding in, and out impulse, Phil leaped behind a thick tree to hide. He made himself seem as skinny as possible to his whole body would fit behind the trunk. He didn’t think he would have a problem with it, considering he was already small like a twig.

Phil waited a few minutes before peeking around the tree, only to find Dan gone. “Damn,” he muttered. Where did he go? Phil turned around, and that’s when he spotted Dan.

Dan was quite a bit away, almost far enough to where Phil couldn’t see him. Dan was walking quickly, trying to dodge the tree branches and fallen over logs.

Phil debated. Should he follow Dan or leave him be? If Phil followed him, that might be too nosy and intrusive. But Dan was being so damn suspicious. Why was he out wandering the woods, while it was pouring, without an umbrella or jacket at the very least? It was too off for Dan. So Phil followed.

It took him a minute to catch up. At first, he thought he had lost Dan for good. But he spotted him standing in a decent sized clearing, wide enough for the rain to fall freely and not hit anything on the way down. It looked straight out of a movie: the small opening the trees left for the sky to rain down its worst, the small bit of sun peeking behind the clouds, shining in the small portion of the circle, and a lonely boy standing in the middle of it all, looking like he’s contemplating his own life and everything that went wrong in it. But why was Dan here? In this lonely clearing? It was obvious that people don’t know about it. It was too deep in the woods. They couldn’t be seen here. That must be the point.

Phil remained still and silent behind a tree, watching Dan as he ever so slowly, got down on his knees and bowed his head. Was he praying? Phil never thought Dan to be the religious type.

Dan’s body began to wrack, and that’s when Phil knew he was “crying.” No noise came from Dan. Only his body shook with the illusion of crying. Phil wanted to so badly walk over to Dan and comfort him–whatever it was he was upset over. But he knew he couldn’t. What if Dan got mad that Phil followed him into the woods? Obviously this was a private moment Dan didn’t want anyone to see. Phil couldn’t just reveal himself now.

After a few minutes of silent crying, Dan stretched out on the squishy ground, and lied on his back to face up at the sky. It was still pouring, and he was still soaking wet. Phil cringed at the fact that Dan was lying on freshly rained on grass. He hated the sound it made and the way it felt after a good rain. Dan didn’t seem to mind it, however.

“What are you doing here?” an ominous voice asked behind Phil.

Phil whirled around to come face to face with none other than Scott. Scott as soaking wet as well–no umbrella, no jacket. What the hell was wrong with people in this town?

“Answer me!” Scott whispered harshly so Dan wouldn’t hear.

“I don’t have to answer to you,” Phil spit back. “It’s none of your business what I’m doing out here.”

Scott’s eyes showed anger, hatred. He actually looked a bit terrifying. “I bet you wouldn’t want Dan over there to know you’re here.”

Instinctively, Phil looked over his shoulder at Dan, who was still lying on the grass, letting the rain fall on him. “I was already out in the woods,” Phil said. “I just happened to see Dan passing through, so I followed him.”

“Well, leave,” Scott said darkly. “I don’t want to see you here ever again.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “That’s rich. You don’t even like Dan. What’s it matter what I do around him?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Phil remembered what Mr. Bureau said to him earlier in the week about Scott and Dan having a past together. Now if it was good or bad, Phil didn’t know.

“I said leave!” Scott shouted. This time, Dan did hear them. He shot off the ground and immediately caught Phil’s eyes. He looked over at the seething Scott, unsure of what to make of this encounter. “Now!” Scott screamed at Phil.

“Fuck off, Scott! Don’t talk to me like that.” He had no right.

Scott’s eyes flared with anger, and that’s when he pushed Phil.

Phil fell into a tree, catching himself before he could hit the muddy ground. He charged at Scott, who was slightly prepared for the attack, but not fully as he fell to the ground, taking Phil with him. Scott began throwing hooks, and he landing one right in Phil’s jaw. Phil threw one back, hitting Scott square in the nose. Blood gushed from it, covering Phil’s fingers in blood.

Strong hands grabbed Phil from under the arms, yanking him off of Scott. He almost threw a punch at the person lifting him up, but didn’t when he caught the warm gaze of Dan’s eyes. That was when everything stopped. Phil shrugged Dan off, stepping away from Scott who was still lying on the ground. He was gingerly touching his nose, wincing each time he did.  

Phil let the rain wash away the slick blood on his fingers, though it didn’t help the dried blood under his fingernails. He would have to scrape it out when he got home.

The three boys looked at each other in silence. All were soaking wet and now covered in mud. Phil used to be dry, for the most part. Now he wasn’t. Scott and Dan still looked the same, only covered in slightly more mud than they previously were.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” Phil threatened to Scott.  His voice was dark, deep.

“Don’t come out here again,” Scott threatened back.

Phil scoffed. “You can’t tell me where I can and can’t go. These woods aren’t yours, Scott.”

“You want to see about that?” he says.

This time, Dan rolled his eyes. He stepped in front of Phil, blocking his vision of Scott. Dan leaned down and inspected Scott’s nose.

“It’s probably not broken,” Phil says. “Just a little bleeding is all.”

“I should tell the police you assaulted me,” Scott says, spitting on the ground.

Phil laughed. “Why? So I can tell them you hit me back? There’s a witness here,” Phil said, gesturing to Dan. “He saw both of us hit each other.” Not to mention that Dan’s dad is a police officer. Surely he would believe anything Dan told him.

“Dan won’t say shit, will you?” Scott said harshly. “You haven’t uttered a word in years, and you’re most certainly not going to now, are you?”

Judging by the sound of Scott’s voice, which was low and threatening, Phil concluded that they must have some deeper meaning to them. A meaning Phil has no clue about.

Dan flinched at Scott’s words, saying nothing. All he did was back away, getting closer to Phil. Dan stopped in front of him, taking on a sort of protective stance.

Phil was entranced by the scene. He didn’t know what to make of the tension between Scott and Dan, and Dan’s need to feel protective over him. He was flattered, in an odd sort of way, but also slightly annoyed. He could handle Scott. He was just another average school bully.

“Yeah, hide your boyfriend, there. If I wanted to hurt him, I would have.” Scott looks pas Dan, directly at Phil. “This is a warning. I don’t want to see you out here again.”

“Whatever,” Phil said, shrugging it off. The chances of him actually coming back to these woods to hang out were slim, but now that Scott told him to stay away, well … “You can expect to see me here again. These aren’t your woods. If I want to come here, I will.”

Scott snorted. “And next time you do, I will hurt you. To the point where you wish I would have killed you instead.” Scott stood up, throwing a warning glare at Dan and Phil before storming out of the woods and back to wherever he came from.

“Moron,” Phil muttered.

Dan spun around, panic lacing his features. He grasped Phil by the shoulders, shaking him slightly while shaking his head side to side. He was trying to tell Phil something–warn him about something. But what?

“Dan, I–I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.” Phil felt bad for making Dan’s silence seem so … inconvenient, but there was only so much Phil could retain and comprehend with a few hand signals and head shakes. He was going to have to write this one out.

Dan patted down his soaked hoodie, reaching in the pocket for his cell phone. He kept his phone is a clear baggie, making it dry and safe. He’ll protect his phone but not himself? Phil thought. Dan began typing rapidly on his phone, handing i tto Phil when he was done. The message read:

Don’t come out in the woods again. Please. Scott is serious.

“Yeah, well Scott doesn’t scare me,” Phil replied with a frown. “Why are you even afraid of him? Why is anyone? He hits like a small dog and only uses words as his attack. They’re not even harsh half the time.” Phil folded his arms across his chest. He was annoyed with the day, and he’s only been awake for a little over an hour.

Dan snatched the phone from Phil’s hand, and typed something else.

I don’t want him to hurt you.

He’s not going to,” Phil assured. “I’ve dealt with violent bullies before. He barely even counts as a bully. He’s just someone who is more annoying than most.”

Dan didn’t seem too convinced. If anything, he looked terrified. Phil couldn’t place why, though. Scott and Dan must have had a rough past.

“It’s all good, I promise. I probably won’t come back here again. I was only out here because my mum told me to leave the house and not come back for an hour. I was hanging out, saw you, and then–” Phil stopped there. Does he tell Dan he followed him to the clearing?

Dan nodded slowly, as if he knew what was going to come next anyway. He knew Phil had followed him.

“Sorry,” Phil said. “I was just curious as to what you were doing going deeper into the woods.”

Dan shrugged. He must not be too bothered by it. But he doesn’t answer what exactly it was that he was doing out in the woods in that clearing. It also doesn’t explain why Scott was out here, too. Was it a coincidence that they were all out here at the same time? Phil liked to think not. For him, at least. Maybe Scott had some other motives neither of them knew about.

“Well, my hour is probably up. I should go home.”

Dan nodded, and began walking in the direction he came. He looked back at Phil, jerking his chin towards the exit of the woods. Phil followed. Dan must be ready to go home as well. Phil didn’t blame him.

They both walked in silence, much to Phil’s dismay. Dan didn’t talk (which wasn’t unusual) and Phil remained quiet, not wanting to say anything, because if he did, he would end up rambling about unimportant things. He didn’t figure Dan wanted to hear any of his pointless nonsense.

They arrived on Phil’s street, and finally, the rain let up. It was barely drizzling now, causing Dan to shiver. His teeth clattered together.

“Perhaps next time you should wear a heavier coat?” Phil said, laughing a little to lighten the mood.

Dan looked glum.

“Then maybe not.”

Dan smiled.


“Philip Lester!” A voice yelled behind him. He knew the voice all too well. His mum stood at the front door, eyes wide. “What are you two doing soaking wet!? Get in here!”

Shit. “He’s got to get going, mum!” Phil yelled. On any other day of the week, Phil wouldn’t care if Dan went inside his house to just hang out. But today … no. Phil wanted to be left alone after that episode on the woods.

“I don’t care! Both of you, come inside and dry off before you get sick.”

Phil rolled his eyes when only Dan could see. “What is it with mothers thinking that one drop of water out in the cold will get you sick?” he muttered.


“Fine!” he yelled back. “I guess …”

Dan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. He gestured for Phil to go first, so he did, and Dan followed.

Phil’s heart hammered with nerves. Why was he so nervous? He’s talked to Dan everyday for the past week. It must be because Dan was going inside of Phil’s home. Entering someone’s house was a sacred act. It was inviting them inside your personal space–a place where one can learn all about you. It freaked Phil out.

“What have you been doing?!” Phil’s mum exclaimed when they walked through the door. “You’re covered in mud! And you … oh my. You’re soaked!” she said to Dan.

It just now occurred to Phil that his mum had no idea that Dan Howell was standing in their entryway, shivering from the lingering rain on his skin. He should probably tell her.

“Were you two mud wrestling?”

Phil shot a glance at Dan, who waggled his eyebrows up and down. Phil’s face heated up immediately. “Uh … um, no,” Phil stammered out. “Just got rained on and slid a bit on the grass. Ended up falling at one point. Hence the mud.” He didn’t need to tell his mum he got into a fight in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t that serious.

She made a “tsk” noise with her tongue. “Go upstairs and find something dry to wear. Get something for your friend, too. I’ll make some hot chocolate or something.” His mum shooed them away.

“Mum, D–”

Dan placed a hand on Phil’s shoulder, shaking his head no. So he must want to stay then.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing. Come on,” Phil said to Dan. He took Dan up the stairs and to his room. Phil began digging through his dresser for something to wear, as Dan stood idly in the middle of the room, looking around. “Now, you’re like a fucking giant, so I don’t know if I have anything that will fit comfortably.” He plucked a black jumper from a pile in his second drawer. “We are about the same height, so that shouldn’t be a problem. You just have larger muscles than me, so …” he was rambling. He really needed to cut it out.

Phil spun around to hand Dan the dry clothes. Dan was holding up a piece of paper that said:

Very dark in here. Like your attitude. I like it.

Phil became immediately flustered. The look on his face must have been noticeable, as Dan scribbled something else onto the paper.  

I like how your room represents who you are inside.

Oh,” Phil said, his face flushing. “Thanks.” He looked for something else to day. Anything at this point would be good. “Where did you get the pen and paper?”

Dan smiled, pointing to the notepad next to Phil’s small TV.

“Ah,” Phil said. This was beginning to get awkward. “I’ll go in the bathroom and change. You change in here.” Phil gathered his clothes up into a ball and headed out of his room, shutting the door behind him.

Once in the bathroom, he shut and locked the door, slowly sinking down to the floor. “I’m so stupid,” he muttered. “Always rambling about shit. Fuck.” He threw off his muddy clothes, tossing them into the hamper, contaminating all of his other laundry with water and mud. He pulled on his deep blue jumper and sweatpants before hurrying back to his bedroom. As he opened the door, he was stunned by the sight.

Dan stood in the middle of Phil’s room, with only a pair on pants on. He was fiddling with the shirt, trying to get it to face the right way, but what Phil was really focused on was Dan’s back. It was muscular and covered in scars. The scars varied in different sized and thickness. It looked bad. Well, not as bad as what it probably looked when he first got the scars. But they lined every curve and edge of his back.

Phil wanted to move; jump back behind the door and pretend he didn’t see anything. But all was too late when Dan began pulling the shirt over his head and turned around, catching Phil’s blue eyes mid-stare.

The funny thing was, Dan didn’t look horrified, or even bothered by the fact that Phil saw all the scars on his body. If anything, he looked sympathetic. Dan grabbed another sheet of paper and scribbled on it.

They’re old. Don’t worry about them, I’m fine.

Phil stared at the chicken scratched letters without uttering a word. Dan added:

Just don’t tell anyone. Please.

Phil nodded. “I … won’t tell a soul. I should have knocked. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t thinking since this–”

Dan cut him off by putting his finger to Phil’s mouth. He smiled as he wrote:

You’re rambling drives me crazy. Stop!

Phil smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”

“Phil! The cocoa is ready!” his mum called from downstairs.

Phil was silently relieved that his mum interrupted them, as Phil didn’t have a reason to be so awkward anymore about Dan’s body. Or rather, his scars. “Well, guess we better get it while it’s hot. Maybe we could watch an anime or something while my mum washes our clothes?”

Dan nodded eagerly. So he liked anime. That was a good bonus in Phil’s book.

The two went downstairs and grabbed their cups of cocoa from the kitchen counter. Phil grabbed some marshmallows from the cupboard. He plopped a few in his drink, then threw some into Dan’s. “I’ll be right up,” Phil told Dan.

Dan nodded curtly, heading back upstairs to Phil’s room.

“Your friend is pretty quiet,” Phil’s mum said from the laundry room. “Is he shy?”

Phil swallowed. He couldn’t avoid telling her forever. He didn’t fear that his mum would disapprove of their friendship, but he knew she would be all weird about it once she knew who was in their house. “He’s not shy,” Phil said. “That’s Dan Howell.”

His mum had a blank stare on her face. “Oh. Well, then…”

Phil groaned. “Mum, don’t be weird now. Dan is just like anyone else in this town.”

“I wasn’t going to be weird,” she said. “I’m just curious.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Phil mumbled. “Please … just leave us–him–alone.”

His mum chuckled. “I wasn’t going to do anything, Phil. Stop being dramatic and go upstairs. He’s waiting on you.”

Phil sighed, taking his cup of cocoa upstairs to the waiting Dan. Phil put on SAO to watch, which made Dan rather happy.

Dan fully submerged himself in the show, but Phil’s thoughts were elsewhere. Every now and then, he’d catch himself staring at Dan’s back. Of course, Dan had a jumper on now, so Phil couldn’t see what lied underneath. What Phil did now, however, was that it wasn’t just scars underneath that shirt. It was also secrets and curiosity, mixed with a dash of pain.

Even long after Dan changed back into his regular clothes and went home, Phil’s thought still lingered on Dan. Now, more than ever, Phil wondered who Daniel Howell really was behind his silence.

{Next Chapter}

When you think you have let the whole world down
Just remember you are an altar
That every star in the galaxy is bowing down too
And shining for
When your bones ache under
the weight of life and pain
Remember you have been crafted by hands
made of porcelain
Even when you taste poison down your throat
Because you think you have failed or you are broken
The same water that swirls blue lagoons
is leaking liquid gold deep inside you
You are the Goddess mystics have worshiped for centuries
You are the aperture where light makes its entry
Thank you for continuing to breathe for me
You live this life magnificently


All night I cuddle with every soft daydream I have about your eyes. I whisper to my self, good night, and hope that you might still be listening to what I want, but can’t say. There aren’t much kisses on my cheek that can compromise your absence; only layers that saturate and disappear in the moments of goodbye, or see you again. Not much space in me left without knowing how to stop feeling empty. All I have are black and white tattoos of your words hanging on every strand of my hair, instead of your lips on mine saying them. I’ve got your eyelashes, but I kept them wishless. I’ve wasted so many yet nothing happened.

So when you’re here, I hold on too tight into your world so I can spin fantasies around my anxious heart. I wrap my arms over the creases of your waist, the outline of your abdomen, to feel its rhythm. I traced my hand over your bare chest, lined it with tickles, and closed my eyes to remember that when I sleep I’ll be familiar with the sound that calms my insomniac heartbeat to rest. Your back is on me, and so I fit my face on the deepest arch between your scapula, and gently plant kisses while hearing myself thinking its loudest words of I love you. I let every bit of you warm my skin, if you want you can burn me until my bones can’t lift this heavy weight of missing you once this moment’s over. Drench me in your presence, grasp my skin until it curls the way your smile does, because I only know of nights I spend holding my own shadow until it stops hurting in the dark.

I want to stay here in the spaces of this bed with you now beside me, where I don’t have to break pieces of me just to feel I’m not alone. I want to hear the deep mumbles of your insides when you speak, hear your heart pick up its pace, and smile knowing I was the reason. I want to draw your lips, and use your bow to paint me its bright red, and then give it back to you with my own tongue. I want this tangled kind of bed, your beautiful kind of mess, breaths too short, lips protruded to speak silently of sighing. I want you here now, more than ever. I really wish you could be.
—  s.c

TITLE: Silver tongued Silence


AUTHOR: Roozenboom


As a fierce but mute warrior, you have always faced the brunt of Loki’s jokes regarding your capabilities. When his famous Silver Tongue is sowed shut as a punishment, guess who he has to turn to for help. 



I want to quickly remind you that this story takes place just before, during and after Thor receives Mjölnir. I am following the Norse Mythology with this one… Also I have no idea when I will post the next chapter soorryy ><

‘I see that I can have a quiet training today.’ Loki snickered as he walked onto the training grounds where I was currently training. Loki, or actually prince Loki, had this nasty habit of looking down upon me. His patronizing behaviour was mostly just annoying, and I had enough smarts to not engage him about it, for as smart as he might be he would never understand. He was a prince after all, bred and raised to feel superior to those around, and boy did this one think so. I had some form of respect for him on the battle field, he was a fierce warrior and his skills were of notable rank, but that was where the respect ended.

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anonymous asked:

Imagine Jamie & Brianna's Gaelic lessons on Fraser's Ridge. So much of their bond seems to be built during these lessons, yet we don't see the exchanges and the building of their rapport.

The arrival of the first frost meant the coming of shorter days. Twilight lingered longer now, deep blues and purples casting their shadowed glow upon the Ridge. Demons laid to rest walked more freely when the sun bowed to the moon, sinking to its knees and rising only when the crows called it forth. The world spoke in whispers, too, drawing in on itself and shrinking. The little homestead on Frasers Ridge grew slow and sleepy, caught in the wintry purgatory between light and dark, life and death. Its usual hubbub of activity became that of tip-toed steps, hushed lovemaking, quiet prayers before bed…

Brianna sat in the one-room cabin, notes and books sprawled across his desk. She burned bright against the room’s waning light, painted as she was in the colors of autumn: crimson hair, pinked cheeks, a dress of deep copper. Observing her from the doorway, Jamie thought many a wanderer could find his way if she were to merely stand ahead, a fiery beacon in the night.

His daughter’s eyes were strained in the growing darkness, seeking words scribbled in Jamie’s clumsy penmanship. He felt suddenly ashamed of its lack of uniformity, the ink spots left behind from the stiffening of his finger joints. Writing Brianna’s weekly vocabulary lists was more difficult than he cared to admit, but each one was worth the price of a cramped and aching hand…

For it was during these evenings spent studying the Gaidhlig that Jamie Fraser had come to know his daughter. And while they shared the events of their days with the impassioned fervor of natural storytellers, Jamie found he knew her best in moments of companionable silence. He liked watching her unawares, seeing, from a slight distance, the barely-perceptible ways in which she mirrored himself or her mother. They might be strangers to one another, but even their mutual self-consciousness could not hide the similarities between them.

Jamie had kept a steady catalog of her tics during their nightly lessons. She bounced her right knee in frustration. She hummed when she was avoiding something, cried when she was angry. These were the things that Jamie Fraser committed to memory while his daughter, in turn, memorized the Gaelic he assigned her.

“Mo chridhe,” he said, stepping forward into the study. “Surely you canna see in this light?”

Brianna twisted around, startled. Mind befuddled by a rush of English and Gaelic, she managed only a stereotypical Scottish grunt. “Ach”, she said, an echo of her father. He laughed.

“I was preparing for our lesson. Seems I lost track of time,” she explained sheepishly. “I’ll have to look in the pantry for some candles. We’ve used all the ones in your desk.”

Jamie smiled, remembering pools of molten beeswax, remnants of lessons that had lasted long into the night.

“Ach,” Jamie repeated, clearly teasing her. “Dinna fash yourself. You willna need the light tonight. I’ve something else in mind.”

Brianna leaned forward, always ready for a challenge. “What, then?”

“Come, lass,” he beckoned, “I want to show ye something.” He made for the door, knowing she would be fast on his heels with a mind full of questions. Even pregnancy could not keep Brianna off her feet.

She followed, interest piqued, as Jamie led her outside.

They walked single-file into the shadowy wood, following trails visible only to her father’s eyes. Jamie’s hair – so much like her own– shone briefly in the moonlight, a flame passing through the blackness and rousing the slumbering beasts around them. He led the way, full of purpose, though their destination remained as elusive as ever.

They finally stopped beneath a towering oak, folding their long limbs to sit and lean against its trunk. Jamie titled his face upwards, suddenly reverent. This was the place then. In this light, Brianna thought, her father could be a Viking vigilante - all angles and sharp lines, the Fraser nose thrown into stark contrast by the branches’ mangled shadows. He was beautiful in the way only a man could be.

“Listen closely, a nighean.” he said. “What do you hear?”

Brianna tuned an ear to the sounds of life stirring around her: the rustle of leaves, the howling wind, the pitter-patter of scurrying animals. Each sang their song into the wintry darkness, creating a symphony of both forlorn longing and abounding joy.

She felt a creeping sense of fear wash over her, as though her humanness were an unwelcome intrusion in nature’s kingdom. Icy fingers drew invisible patterns up and down her flesh, arm hairs rising as though reaching out for half-forgotten memories. Remember, the wind seemed to shriek, stealing the breath from her lungs.

“What do you hear?” Jamie asked again, prodding gently. “In the Gaidhlig, a leannan.”

“Tannasgan,” she replied. Ghosts. Though she had never placed much stock in the comings and goings of the supernatural, she felt certain of an otherworldly presence breathing down her neck. The child in her womb begin to stir, an apex of warmth in the cold. Did it sense something too?

Jamie said nothing but only nodded, pointing to the canopy above.

“I once prayed under a tree much like this one,” her father began. “And looked up at this same sky.”

The sky in question glowed an eerie grey, neither black nor white.

“Did you hear them then as well?” Brianna asked, suddenly sounding like a little girl.

“The spirits? Aye. Always. They cried of loneliness then, too. I prayed with them, for them. That we might all find peace.”

Brianna closed her eyes, willing the voice of Frank Randall to echo in the rush of the forest. Had he found peace in death? Found relief from the shadow cast by the man beside her?

“I am no’ a holy man,” her father continued, a small tremor of laughter in his voice. “But there are times when ye’ve nothing for company except the words in yer mouth, the ghosts around ye, and the God above.”

Brianna knew he was speaking of his time at Lallybroch, of the seven years spent an exile in his own lands. She nodded, understanding, too, the pull of one’s faith during times of such hopelessness. In the midst of tragedy, she had witnessed even the most pragmatic men and women seek refuge in the pages of Scripture and Tradition. In a world so ravaged by change and turmoil, a comforting sense of permanence could be found in the preservation of ancient beliefs. They have persevered and so, too, shall I.

“I prayed to keep the loneliness at bay. Prayers my Mam taught me, ones I’d heard from priests, or read in books. But the tannasgan’s prayers were always louder than my own. I could hear them even when I was half-asleep, starved wi’ hunger.”

“And you weren’t afraid?”

“At first, maybe,” he admitted. “They spoke in a foreign tongue that sent the fear of God straight through me. But I came to understand them in time, and I was none so afraid of them then. No, they werena there to harm but only to remember what was lost.”

Brianna imagined her father as he would have been, his usual imposing physique reduced to the skin and bone of a cave-dweller. Alone and surrounded by ghosts – the men of Ardsmuir, his family, Jonathan Randall. Her mother.

The thought unnerved her, and she shivered. Mistaking this as a sign of coldness, Jamie wrapped his arm around her, offering warmth.

“I should like to teach ye a blessing, a nighean. One which a tannasg said o’er me as I laid in darkness. Would ye mind it much?”

“No,” she said. “Of course not.”

A moment of silence. He looked to the ground, voice growing quiet.

“I dinna ken if you’ve plans to stay here wi’ us in this…time. But I ken well that life, here or there, isna always easy.”

When Jamie turned his gaze on her, she was startled by the pain she saw there.

“A heart can break in a million ways, a leannan.” At this, he looked to his palm, smiling at the scar just at the base of his thumb. “And it can heal, too – in just as many. But the road is sometimes long and lonely. It knocks ye flat on yer arse more often than not.”

He elbowed her playfully in the side, though his tone was serious.

“And so I want to give you this, Brianna. You and the bairn.” Jamie placed a tentative hand on the swell of her belly, suddenly thoughtful. She recognized the fear in his movements – fear for her and for the child, for another left to live with the ghost of rape.

“This blessing is something to keep with ye always. To whisper to yourself or the bairn when life grows too heavy and home seems a distant place. It may not be much…But Brianna, I do hope it will carry you just as it once carried me.”

Brianna nodded, surprised at the tears stinging her eyes.

“You’ll recognize some of the words, but listen first, a nighean. Then we’ll repeat it together, aye?”

O, chì, chì tu na mòrbheanna,

O, chì, chì tu na còrr-bheanna,

O, chì, chì tu na coireachan,

Chì tu na sgòran fo cheò.

Chì tu gun dàil an t-àite ’s an d'rugadh tu,

Cuirear orm fàilte ’s a’ chànain a thuigeas tu,

Gheibh tu ann aoigh agus gràdh ‘nuair a ruigeam,

Nach reicinn air tunnachan òir.

Chì tu na coilltean, chì tu na doireachan,

Chì tu na maghan bàna, as toraiche,

Chì tu na féidh air làr nan coireachan

Falaicht’ ann an trusgan de cheò.

“Da,” Brianna asked sometime afterwards. “Why that blessing? Out of all others?”

In truth, there seemed nothing particularly special about it, save only that its rhythm allowed for easy recollection. She saw herself as a little girl, lulled to sleep beneath woolen blankets and the sound of her father’s Gaidhlig. Another life, perhaps.

“I dinna ken,” he said softly. “There are some things that canna be explained…”

But he cleared his throat, making to try.

“It was one night…when I lived in the cave. I was up to my ears in snow, half frozen wi’ the cold. I’d fallen asleep against the tree, ye see.

He shook his head, mouth quirked up at the corners.

“No verra sensible, aye? Praying about in the winter wi’ barely enough skin to cover my bones. But even so, I ken well enough that I was good as dead if someone didna find me by morning. Though I didna care overmuch either way, mind.”

“It was easier to sleep. Much easier than staying awake, feelin’ as though I might shatter wi’ the wind. And so I closed my eyes, thinking that death couldna be so bad so long as the cold and loneliness didna follow me there.”

His voice changed, at once pained and infinitely tender.

“And then I saw her. Do mhàthair.” Your mother. “And you, a nighean.”

“Me?” Brianna asked, dumbfounded.

“Aye. I didna ken if I was awake or dreaming, but she was there, carrying ye inside her. I felt as though I knew ye already. As if I’d met ye once before, long ago.”

Jamie smiled, eyes far away.

“She was dressed in no’ but a wee shift, flickering like a faerie and saying words I couldna understand. But when she came to me, I recognized theGaidhlig. ‘O, chì, chì tu na mòrbheanna…’” He snorted, “Then I knew that I was dreaming.”

Brianna giggled, recalling her mother’s stilted Gaelic.

“I hadna heard a tannasg speak in the Gaidhlig before, but she did. ‘O, chì, chì tu na còrr-bheanna’…I thought my heart was going to burst.”

“The blessing,” Brianna breathed. “The tannasg was Mama, then?”


“But – how?”

Jamie’s smile grew, reaching his eyes. As with his hair, they matched her own, and she wondered if she might one day be saved by the ghosts of her past. Roger, she thought silently. Where was he now?

“Ah. ‘There are some things that canna be explained.’” Brianna repeated.

“Do ye ken the blessing’s meaning, lass?” he asked, expectant.

She did, but only vaguely. She said as much.

“Aye, weel…It’s about home. For a place someone doesna think he’ll ever see again.” Jamie cleared his throat, translating Gaelic to English:

O you will see, see the great mountains,

O you will see, see the lofty mountains,

O you will see, see the corries,

You will see the peaks under mist.

You will see, without delay, the place where you were born,

A welcome will be put on you in the language you understand,

You will receive in it joy and love when you arrive,

That you would not sell for tons of gold.

You will see the woods, you will see the groves,

You will see the fair fields, more fertile,

You will see the deer at the foot of the corries

Enshrouded in a mantle of mist.

Brianna slowly repeated the words to herself but stopped abruptly, looking up.   “But what happened then? After Mama – the tannasg – said the blessing?”

The sharp planes of her father’s face seemed to soften. His shoulders eased, body and mind relaxing into the memory.

“She knelt beside me then, and laid her hand upon my chest. Right – here.” He pointed to the spot just above where his heart lay. “Her hands glowed a wee blue color when she touched me. “‘Mo ghaol ort’, she said.” My love is with you. “And then she held me there – like that – until I woke.”

“When I opened my eyes, I looked down the hillside. She was there – a deer and her fawn, both white as snow and surrounded by a blue mist. They must’ve thought me no threat, for they heard me wake but didna run. Only watched me.”

“She disappeared after a time, taking the fawn and the mist wi’ her. It was only then that I noticed the snow was all but gone. And the sun – God! you should’ve seen the sun, mo maise. As bright as I’d ever seen it. Colors so vivid I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. But no, I wasna dead and I wasna in Heaven either. My skin was on fire, and I burned like the Devil himself.”

“You had a fever?” Brianna asked, incredulous.

“Aye. Fergus found me by noon, slick with sweat as though it wasna the middle of winter. Jenny said it was a miracle. A fever in the snow? The first thaw and it only bein’ late February? I said I didna ken what it was, only that I needed a full cask of whisky to thaw my bones.”

“And did you get it? The whisky, I mean.”

“Ach, of course. If there’s one thing you’ll learn, lass, it’s that a Fraser canna be denied his whisky.”

“No wonder Mama married you.”

“Aye, maybe. But I never told my sister about the tannasg’s blessing. Or the white deer. I wanted that to be mine and mine alone.”

Brianna looked down, cheeks flushed with gratitude.

“But you’ve given it to me now.”

“Aye, lass. It’s yours now, to do wi’ as ye wish. Hold it tight against ye when it grows dark, knowing that home is never far away.”

They both fell into silence then. Brianna rubbed absently at her stomach; Jamie worried at a loose thread along the hem of his shirt. He looped it around his finger once, then twice, before he pulled it fast and tight. Brianna watched as his fingertip was drained of blood and oxygen, turning blue. At last, he released the tie, letting the normal flow of life resume once more. He sighed, looking to the sky as if in prayer.

“Ah Dhia. Sometimes I think I have died a hundred deaths. And it was she who brought me back every time.” Jamie took Brianna’s hand within his own, and kissed her knuckles. “When I canna see ye safe, mo chridhe, have faith that the tannasgan will watch over you. They will lead ye to where you must go.”

Brianna rested her hand over her father’s chest, keeping it there as the forest began to stir with the dawn of a new day.

“Móran taing, m’athair.” Thank you, father.

“Daonnan, a nighean.” Always, daughter.

ficlet: Spinning, Spinning, Spun

Anonymous said: So I saw this text post floating on tumblr that says “stuck on the thought of naked, sweaty cophine having slow, stoned sex in a dimly lit room with hazy smoke swirling around them” and I think you should totally write that. If'n ya want :)

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