#not away. i just want to run barefoot through grass for as long as i can. i wanna get away just for a bit

[spacebarbarianweird]

Would you do some headcanons for Astarion/a Druid Tav, I know druids are supposed to be opposed to the undead on principal, and I dunno, just want to see people dealing that.

It turned out a bit long and bittersweeet and, I hope, you will enjoy it! Tav \ Reader is a Forest Circle Druid since it's the most popular one.

Astarion x Druid!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You're complete opposites, even if you don't take into account the fact that he is undead.

Astarion has always been a city person, someone who feels comfortable in bustling, busy places.

Even after 200 years of torments, he is still ready to live in his favorite city, Baldur's Gate.

But you are a child of nature, born in a small village and raised by the Druids of the Forest Circle.

You love and respect nature in all its forms: animals, plants, trees, insects…

You can sleep in the dirt and feel comfortable under the starry skies.

All materialistic things make you feel sick. Meanwhile, Astarion craves them as repayment for 200 years of the most pathetic existence.

Moreover, Druids aren't really of the Undead.

The Undead desecrate nature and all your spells hurt Astarion, reminding him he will never be truly alive.

You try not to think about the future. Who knows if you even manage to survive.

But then, it's over. You are alive. The nasty astral thing in your head disappears, and you want just to wash it all from yourself and disappear into your beloved woods.

Astarion cries in pain as the sun burns him alive. He runs away and disappears in the shadows.

You look for him, in daylight and at night, but he is gone. What if he is dead? What if he burnt to death?

After a few days, you finally decide to leave the city and return home. With a broken heart.

Only to wake up at your small camp by soft steps.

You yell at Astarion. You curse him. You even cast a druidic spell that hurts him a bit.

"How could he? Why? So everyone was right about the undead; they are cruel after all."

Astarion apologizes. He was embarrassed and scared. He decided you would never want to have him by your side.

"You are a Druid, my love. You are supposed to hate the undead. I will desecrate whatever you hold dear. I just wanted to say goodbye."

And he looks like a miserable stray cat, saying this.

"I was a Druid when I met you. I was a Druid when I let you have sex with me. I was a Druid when I accepted your darkness. Nature is about a choice. You choose not to be evil. I choose you."

He is still hesitant. "It's not like you would allow me to murder animals."

"Would I forbid a wolf from eating a deer? Would I condemn a falcon for feeding its fledglings? You are a predator, Astarion, so be one. Just don't take more than you need."

You travel through Faerun—Astarion might not admit it, but he misses nature; he craves it.

He wants to enjoy the fresh air and green scenery, far from dirty city streets.

Astarion loves stargazing. You teach him to use stars to find the way in the woods.

You also teach him basic survival skills: how to build a fire, and how to find shelter. He is a good student and soon does all these things even better than you.

There is also something changing about him.

Astarion's obsession with his looks has always come from his vulnerability and lack of body control. His face and body were the only things Cazador didn't take from him.

But nature… nature has a different beauty.

Suddenly, you notice Astarion doesn't freak out if he scratches his perfect skin or breaks a nail.

He is okay wearing simple clothes even if they are a bit dirty or ripped.

He stops asking if his hair looks good, and, some days, he resembles a Feywild, not a High Elf.

First, you worry it's a sign of a soul illness, fatigue, and mental tiredness.

But, no. He is happy. He enjoys walking barefoot on grass or climbing up trees.

One day, he admits to you that he can't be happy in the cities. They will always remind him of his death, revival, and slavery. But the woods mean freedom.

But it doesn't mean he doesn't struggle. Nightmares, panic attacks—name it yourself.

He screams. He cries as if he is being tortured at the very moment.

"No one will hear you here, my love. Cry and scream as loud as you need. Cry away all the pain you've stored in your heart."

And he does. He yells. He howls like a wounded animal. Letting himself express everything he couldn't before.

It's a way of healing.

If you notice he is anxious or depressed, you make the drink for yourself, and then, when you feel the effect, let him drink from you.

You teach him to hunt.

You kill a deer. You eat the meat, he drinks the blood. Together you bury every single bone in the ground so the animals can find the path to their next lives.

There is another perk you have. You know how to polymorph.

You constantly take the form of a falcon, a wolf, or a cat. Other forms don't feel natural to you.

Astarion especially likes your cat form—a red feline with a fluffy tail.

"Oh darling, you are the most adorable little cat."

One of the issues he still has is a fear of touches. It's mostly okay. You sleep together, cuddling each other (almost always naked).

You have sex, loud and wild, not caring about being noticed.

But sometimes he just can't let you touch him. Touches are a pain; intimacy becomes torture.

He tries to force himself, but it always ends up bad.

So when you notice he is like that, you polymorph into the cat.

You crawl on his lap and start purring.

He strokes your fur and ears, pressing you tight to his chest as if you were a plushie.

You just adore being held like that.

In daylight, he stays inside the tent while you look around. Once, he notices you stand in the center of the beautiful meadow—while he, as usual, hides in the tent.

He can't take his eyes from you—you smile, opening your arms wide.

And then, suddenly, you put off your tunic, drop it onto the ground, and start dancing.

Absolutely naked.

There is nothing sexual about it—but something very wild instead.

You dance to the music you are the only one who can hear—as if praying to the sun and to the woods.

You are free. You are wild. You are part of nature.

He looks at you in awe as if seeing you for the first time.

After sunset, he dances with you the same way—naked in the moonlight.

He knows you will always be with him. Even when your time comes.

When it happens, he will bury you in the roots of an oak, giving you back to nature.

Your body will become grass and flowers, and, wherever he goes, he will know you follow him.

And when he decides it's enough, he will undress and dance till the morning comes.

He will face the sunlight one last time and turn into ashes, that will be scattered on the wind.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[holylulusworld]

Every breath you take (10)

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: stalking, being stalked, loneliness, a man out of time, secret admirer trope, longing, first date, fluff, rusty flirting skills

A/N: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Catch up here: Every breath you take (9)

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

Bucky is a gentleman. He’s just perfect, and you are swooning.

Gentleman he is, Bucky held the door for you, pulled your chair, and let you choose your food first.

He barely ate his food, busy watching you feast on your dinner. “Do you like your job?” Bucky asks as you take a large sip of your water.

“It’s…” you try not to make a face. “Well, it’s a job, you know. I make money and can pay for rent, food, and knick-knacks. Oh, and plants. I like plants.” You giggle. “Sorry if I talk too much.”

“Plants,” he hums. “What plants do you like.” Bucky already knows that you love orchids, but you’ve got other plants too and he wants to buy you all the plants and flowers you love.

“I like orchids, but all plants are pretty,” you smile dreamily. “I live in the city, without trees, and green grass. I try to have as many plants as possible because I want  my apartment to become a green oasis.”

“Why don’t you live outside of town if you don’t like it here?” He softly asks, making your heart flutter.

“I wish I had the money to buy a farmhouse. I’d have flower fields and harvest tomatoes and lots of strawberries. I’d run barefoot to feel the grass under my feet,” you giggle. “It’s a stupid dream, I know.”

You drop your gaze and shake your head. Hopefully, you didn’t scare Bucky off with your stupid daydreams.

“A farmhouse,” he hums and licks his lips. Bucky can’t believe you want to move out of town, just like he planned. “That’s a nice dream, doll. I always wanted a peaceful life, away from the city too.”

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks hearing the sweet pet's name roll off his tongue. Bucky smiles softly, making your heart flutter even harder.

“Do you like your job?” It’s your turn to ask questions. You’ve never been good at conversing with men and only hope you won’t ruin your chance with Bucky. “I mean…” You stumble over your words. “Did you ever dream of just dropping everything and running?”

His eyes darken for a second. It happened so fast you’re not sure you saw it right.

“We all do, don’t we,” he casually says, but his voice is a little deeper and rougher. A shudder runs through your body, and you press your legs together. “We dream of a better life and a nicer place to live.”

You touch your cheeks because they feel too hot. Bucky understands you so well. No man before him understood you, and your silly dreams.

“Do you want chickens too? Oh, maybe a dog,” you shake your head. “No, you’ve already got Alpine.”

“I like dogs too, but Alpine is…” He smiles fondly while thinking of his cat. “I couldn’t bring another pet into our family yet.”

You smile because Alpine means family to Bucky. “Aw, that’s so nice of you,” you swoon a little too hard. “Alpine must mean a lot to you.”

“Yeah. Even when I was at my lowest, Alpine was there to keep me going,” he murmurs. “Sorry, I didn’t want to ruin our date.”

“No, no!” You hastily say and grab his hand to squeeze it. “I know what you mean, Bucky. Sometimes we need someone or something to distract us from the things going on in our life.”

“You too?” He shifts in his seat. Your hand is still holding his, and it makes his heart flutter.

“I got an annoying colleague, my boss wasn’t always nice, and I got bad luck when it comes to love,” you feel safe around Bucky and are not ashamed to admit that things aren’t always easy for you. “Life is hard sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Especially with a past—” Bucky bites his tongue. You didn’t mention his past yet. Maybe you’re too kind. He doesn’t want to keep his hopes high believing you don’t know about his past and the things he did.

Bucky decides to enjoy the rest of your date and to lay a foundation for the future.

You eat together and talk about your life. Bucky makes you laugh, and your heart flutters more than once.

After dinner, he holds your hand while walking you home. He’s nervous, and unsure if you want him to kiss you goodnight. Bucky decides to kiss your cheek, lips lingering for a moment.

He wants to take things slow and win your heart over. Bucky crosses many lines while following you, but he wants to do this right.

“Alpine, look what she got you,” Bucky laughs when his cat immediately pounces on the toy you got for the white feline. “I see you like the toy mouse.”

Alpine toys with the mouse. The feline flings it across the room only to catch it and carry it toward Bucky to place it next to his foot.

“Our date was nice. So nice.” He sighs dreamily. “I knew she’s nice, and kind, and just perfect. Imagine Y/N dreams of having a farmhouse, chickens, and a peaceful life.”

“Perfect!” You do a little dance with the plushie your secret admirer gifted to you first. Pressing it to your heart you sigh. “Bucky is so sweet, and a true gentleman. Even though, I wish he kissed me goodnight.”

Bucky inhales sharply. He missed the chance to kiss you, but this can’t be helped now. He already asked you on another date and will kiss you next time he walks you home…

Part 11

Tags in reblog.

[kodathings]

𝑅𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠

Aeri Uchinaga x gn!reader

No warnings

Gender: Cute and cliché

"It's raining" Aeri continues to watch the rain falling gently on the bedroom window and completely forgets about the drawing they are watching together. You came to your girlfriend's house to hang out with her after the two long weeks she spent working. You decided to watch anime (she forced you) and here we are, a rainy night.

The sky is starless, complete darkness, the moon hidden between the clouds the same way you are almost hidden under the thick blanket. It's really comfortable to stay like this, your girlfriend's body being used as a pillow and you like a koala in a tree holding on just enough to make sure you're safe (Even though they aren't the smartest).

"Good for me" Your voice is muffled by the covers making Aeri smile and laugh at the way you are, she thinks it's cute how you were so good. "You're sleepy, aren't you?" her fingers run through your hair so gently it makes you close your eyes "Yes...It's so warm" "I know, you're holding on to me"

Well, you didn't intend to let her go anytime soon and that's an obvious fact even to her. The rain was heavy with some lightning and thunder that didn't bother you or Giselle, who was distracted from watching an episode of 'Toro inoue' something that you thought was too childish, but who are you to judge?

Aeri continued to watch the rain slowly calm down making her harmless to anyone. Aeri has an idea and it portends good things. "Are you still awake?" the voice in the angel whispered in your ear and you opened your eyes, so willing that it seemed like you won in a bet "uh? Yes, yes i am" scratched his eyes but didn't move from position

She laughed and turned to what she had been thinking "I have an idea" he commented happily and took the computer off his lap to get up, which made you groan in redemption "Why don't we kiss in the rain?".

Her eyes opened a little more following wherever she was going "That's cliché, we're not in a romance movie" "But I want to do it...come on, it doesn't look so bad!" She poked your head hoping you would get out of bed and go with her to the garden, but you don't move.

"No"

"Please! Don't be bad"

"Let me rest"

"No, just get up and come with me” She grabbed your arm and tried to pull you off the bed but all she did was nothing. Then she had another idea and started to infest your face with kisses until she climbed on top of you and continued leaving her lipstick on your skin like a removable tattoo.

A smile invaded and you started to laugh amusedly when she started tickling you and moved a little away from your face with a smile, and what a charming smile. "Hey, stop!" "Only if we leave now"

You quickly agreed and she kissed your forehead once again ensuring you were rewarded for going with her. You finally got up and she led you out of her room and into the garden. The grass was wet and you were barefoot, a great, horrible combination, but Giselle didn't care.

The rain wasn't as heavy as before, but it was enough that two of my clothes started to get wet along with my hair. "If I catch a cold, it's your fault, Uchinaga Aeri" you mumble and she just smiles at the bad mood that consumed you just because you were out of bed "Stop being petty, It'll just be a cold and we'll be together" she pulled you to the middle of the garden and wrapped her arms around your shoulder to pull you close.

"That's why we should go back inside, I really don't feel like-" Your girlfriend's soft lips shut you up before you started your annoying lecture. She held you close, her lips placed on hers and then began a soft and sweet dance.His arms held her around the waist but it was more like a hug that kept the lost heat close.

You felt like he was in a romantic film where the protagonist kisses his beloved in the rain. Well, couples rarely do that these days so you should take advantage of it, something you didn't even think of doing before. His hair was completely wet, his clothes were soaked and his feet were dirty with money and mud. Do you mind? No!

When she pulled away, she knew you liked it and she knew she shut you up for a long time until you both got sick afterwards "was it bad?"

"No...But we should go back inside, it's starting to rain a lot" you pointed at the house but I'm still fascinated by the way it looked in the rain. Completely attractive. Aeri smiled and gave you one last kiss before pulling you into the house.

In the end you were the only one who got a cold and, unfortunately, she had to listen to your complaints.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter Two

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: Chapter is T, overall fic is E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of guns (that are not used), language barriers, himbo!Marcus Pike, ridiculous misunderstandings

Summary: Marcus Acacius was just out for a walk in the woods at night. Now he's running for his life in a strange, terrifying world. When Marcus Pike encounters a man dressed in Roman armor, he thinks it's the break in the artifact smuggling case he was looking for. When he takes the man in for questioning, however, he quickly discovers that the truth is far more complicated than he realized...

A/N: He's here!!! The Marcus we've been waiting for!! My apologies (not really) that this story at times verges into crack territory. This entire story scenario is sometimes so insane that the silly dialogue writes itself. Also, let me know what you think of Marcus Acacius's character!! Obviously, we don't have much to go on yet, so I took all the liberties and decided what I wanted him to be like :)

Masterlist | Chapter One | Next chapter>>

(Acacius)

The General was scared. 

He didn’t like to admit this, not even to himself. 

Very little about the world scared Marcus Acacius.

The one thing he could agree on is that he is not in the same place he had been five minutes ago. Five minutes ago, he had been strolling through the small copse of trees just north of the great road. It had been dark, almost pitch-black, the nearest torchlight at least fifty paces away and obscured by dense foliage. 

Another man might have brought a torch along for a walk in the woods, but other men have also said that General Marcus Acacius was a man of many foibles. He liked the consuming darkness, the way the shadows felt like a physical presence, hiding the activity of the small nocturnal animals he could hear shuffling through the undergrowth beside him. It was a game, of sorts–to step as silently as the doe does through even the tallest grass. 

Palace life had softened him. 

He longed for the hunt. 

No, not just that. It was something else he craved: something that felt like the smell of the air he could remember as a little boy, when he used to stalk barefoot through a forest a long distance away from where he was now, setting little snares and pitfalls to trap game. No, not simply the hunt. 

An adventure. 

Five minutes later, he wonders if he had set some strange magic spell in motion with his thoughts. His footfalls no longer fall upon the dead leaves and bracken of the wood, but on what feels like unusually smooth cobblestone. It is still pitch black, but there is a hazy glow to the sky around him, as though a great army had made camp several leagues away and he is seeing the light of their many campfires. 

Just as he cocks his head to the side, pondering the source of the otherworldly glow, the world around him erupts with light as if daylight had suddenly arrived all at once, without preamble. His knees bent and ready to flee from this great and terrible magic, the General frantically casts his eyes around the odd scene. Only then does he realize that the sudden burst of light is not emanating from the sun, but from the top of many large columns. They illuminate a strange road, perfectly smooth and black as tar. There are other lights, too: emanating from countless windows in buildings that must reach higher than the seven hills of Rome combined. 

A sharp, loud voice barks from his right, and Marcus frantically spins to determine the source, and he quickly spots a man dressed in strange, black garb, striding toward him with purpose and determination. The man shouts again, words that the General does not recognize or understand, but the intent behind them is clear, as is the way the man brandishes what he thinks must be a weapon. It's black and imposing, but it’s unlike any other that he has seen, and he prides himself on being a scholar in the ways of war.

General Marcus Acacius does what any reasonable man would do in this situation.

He flees. 

The general has always prided himself on being quick on his feet.

He uses it to advantage now, and runs as though the Gods themselves were brandishing their whips behind him. 

In and out of the narrow alleyways, in-between these monstrous buildings, and across the strange, black roads, Marcus Acacius runs for his life.

He pays little attention to his surroundings, only focusing on what obstacles lie immediately in front, so when the large, shiny black chariot that seems to run entirely on some unseen source of power abruptly turns a corner, he isn’t prepared to dodge the blow. 

A terrible squealing sound emanates from the chariot, and it swerves to one side, only delivering the General a glancing blow to his upper leg before crashing into a group of large silver urns with a loud bang. 

Marcus is too shocked to continue to run, and his thigh aches keenly from the collision in any rate, leaving him uncertain of his ability to flee from whatever new evil this horseless chariot represents. 

He stares, open-mouthed, as a door opens and a man stumbles out, looking just as shocked as he feels.

This man puts the General at ease in a way he can't quite explain. He supposes it's the way his eyes are wide with concern as they rake over him, assessing the extent of his injuries. As the man studies him, however, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

The man addresses him in a tongue he doesn't recognize from any of his studies. 

Marcus says slowly, “My injuries are superficial,” but the man doesn't seem to understand him any more than he does this entire magical world he's found himself in.

The man holds up something small, white, and rectangular that seems to be attached to his odd clothing, and speaks again.

The General frowns and shakes his head. The man repeats himself, louder this time. He opens another door in the horseless chariot and gestures at it, and says it again.

Marcus tries to mimic the strange sounds. “Geddin decar,” he repeats carefully. 

The man's frown deepens. He says more words, sounding frustrated, and jabs harder at the opening in the chariot.

Seeing no other good options and feeling woefully out of his element, the General cautiously steps toward the chariot, peers inside with great suspicion, and, finding no immediate threat, sits down on the soft seat within.

(Pike)

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Marcus asks, placing a dixie cup full of water in front of the man he’d nearly flattened with his car. “Not gonna sue us, are you?” he jokes.

The man inspects the cup as though he’d been asked to diffuse a bomb, but doesn’t drink. 

“Do you understand why you’re being brought in for questioning?” Marcus asks, forging ahead and trying his best to be a good Agent despite the unbelievable circumstances.

The man continues to say nothing, as he had for the entire car ride back to HQ and for the duration of their time in the examination room so far. 

“I mean, let’s be real here–a host of Roman artifacts are being smuggled through the Rift, and here you are, wandering the streets in the dead of night dressed like some kind of Centurion. You’ve gotta see how that looks to us on the Art Crimes team.”

Still nothing.

“So let’s not feed each other any bullshit, okay?” Marcus continues. “I want to know how you entered the Rift.”

When, predictably, no response comes, he sighs, sitting down in the hard metal chair opposite the man. “We both know you got in there somehow, stole someone’s armor and some more coins to boot. I can help you, alright? I know this isn’t a one-man organization, the security around the Rift is too high for you to just waltz in there on your own. If you provide information on the other members in your organization, we can probably cut you a deal, reduce your jail time by a lot. What do you say? Gonna tell me how you managed to get past the Heroics to go frollicking around in Ancient Rome?”

The other man suddenly perks up. Cocking his head to one side, he frowns and says, “Roma?” 

“...Rome,” Marcus repeats slowly. “Did you… did you hit your head?”

The man begins speaking rapidly, in a language that sounds suspiciously like what he’d imagine Latin to sound like when spoken out loud. Marcus swallows thickly, taking in the man’s impressive armor, his broad chest, aquiline nose, and furrowed brow. 

“You’re really committed to the bit, huh?” he says, but his earlier conviction is nowhere to be seen. It fled the building, along with any goddamn sense left in the world after the appearance of the Rift. “You’re really gonna try and convince me you speak Ancient Latin?”

The man mutters something under his breath. Marcus might not understand, but the petulant tone is crystal clear.

“Or modern Latin, I guess, because we live in Bizarro World,” the tired Agent sighs. He stands, fishing in his pocket for his phone. Fuck, it’s late. Oh, you’re going to hate him, but if anything were to be considered an emergency, this would be it. 

Marcus lets the phone ring until the voicemail picks up. He listens to your perfunctory voice, instructing him to leave a message, or just send a damn text if you want a quicker response. 

Beep.

“Heyyyy, it’s uh. It’s Marcus. I know it’s late, you’re probably asleep. But I’ve… kind of got a situation here. Something you might be uniquely equipped to handle as an expert in the uh… field. So. Anyway. Call me back when you get this. ‘Kay. Bye.”

The otherworldly man is staring at him with an intensity that makes him slightly uncomfortable. His eyes narrowed, he leans forward, seemingly interested in the credentials clipped to the lapel of his suit. Marcus huffs a soft, amused laugh at the entire, fucked up situation. He unclips the badge and hands it to the man. 

“Here,” he says absentmindedly, willing to do just about anything to avoid further scrutiny. The man might not understand a thing Marcus has said from the beginning, but his eyes are intense and calculating. He gets the impression that nothing escapes this man. “I’m gonna try her again,” he explains uselessly.

The Roman–for that’s the only explanation for who this man is–continues to stare at Marcus’s badge. 

The call goes to voicemail again, and Marcus doesn’t bother leaving a second message. 

“I’m not really sure what to do, here,” he admits out loud to the room. “I’m sure the proper thing would be to notify the Heroics, but I’ll be honest, I worry about their response. You’re the first… person… to come through the Rift, and there’s a gazillion Heroics scientists ready to study anything and anyone who does. You’d be a science experiment at best, and a target at worst.”

The Roman is still staring at the badge.

“This is gonna sound crazy, but maybe I should just–”

“Marcus.” 

The Agent’s head whips upward at the sound of the other man’s voice. “Yeah?” he says automatically.

“Marcus,” he repeats. It’s spoken with a thick accent, and Marcus finds that he likes the sound of it.

“Yeah, that’s me. Can you… did you read that? From my badge?”

The man holds up the badge. “Marcus.”

“Yeah, exactly. Marcus. That’s me.” He points at his chest.

The Roman frowns. “Marcus,” he says, more insistently, tapping his own chest.

“No, me.” He slaps his chest harder. “I’m saying that’s me. Marcus.”

The man shakes his head in frustration. “Marcus!” His fist raps roughly against the material of his cuirass.

“...Marcus?” Marcus points at the man.

He grunts in the affirmative. “Marcus.”

The Agent can’t help but begin to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Chuckling, he points at the Roman again. “Marcus,” he says, then points to himself. “Marcus.”

The other man stares back, expressionless. Then, his lips begin to curve into a small, amused smile. 

(Moreno)

The ringing of his work phone brings the leader of the Heroics out of a fitful sleep. He squints at the time. It’s nearly two in the morning.

“Hullo?” he rasps, trying and failing to force the sleep from out of his voice.

“Sorry, Sir, I know it’s late, but you said to call you at any time of day with urgent news about the Rift.”

Marcus Moreno sits up in bed, the sheet slipping down his chest and pooling in his lap. He flicks on the bedside lamp, squinting in the sudden light as he replies. “What is it?”

“We found a way to close it.” 

“Thank God,” he mutters under his breath. Keeping a rift in space and time secure and maintaining the safety of the surrounding inhabitants of DC had been a logistical nightmare from start to finish. “I’ll be right there, we’ll want to have all hands on deck to make sure nothing else goes wrong.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Marcus hangs up and places the phone back on his nightstand. Just for a moment, he collapses back on the pillows with a tired groan. On the count of one… two… three…

He sighs and pulls himself upright and out of bed in one fluid motion. Stumbling to the closet and pulling on his uniform, he wonders at what age he should consider retirement as leader of the Heroics. His mother-in-law had always told him the work that was killing him, but she was wrong.

It was the hours. 

[jules-writes-stories]

Elucien Week | Day 1 | Fated

A Heart of Gold

A Retelling of King Midas, Lucien x Elain

Prologue

In a magical Court of eternal Autumn, a Fae boy made of sunshine was born with a secret. He was kept small and dim. A father’s fists often became too hot, and his large brothers would give chase. For no one had ever bothered to tell the boy with fire in his blood and shimmers in his skin, that soon enough, he would grow strong, and quick, and clever. Then he would run, far, far away. 

When his skin would glow, a golden hour radiance running barefooted along the mossy paths and loam, Eris burned into him, “never let father see.” It hurt. It saved his life.

Amma begged, “please my baby, stay dull. Stay low.” She would keep him out of the sunlight, so he did not bronze. And Lucien, whose name meant light, in this land of early sunsets and slippery secrets, learned to keep all his light inside. 

He was the seventh son of the High Lord of Autumn— unneeded, unwanted, and unexpected. The heir’s spare- spare- spare- spare- spare- rarely spared from violence. And when he grew older, and found something (someone) more, they called her lesser and tore her (apart) away from him. But gods, how he had loved her more than the sun loved the sky. Jesminda. He said her name aloud each night, a penance and a prayer. 

No one had bothered to tell him, that one day, it would hurt a little less.

*                       *                       *

Centuries later, he would meet a mortal girl, with eyes as soft as a fawn’s ear, who lived in a sad village, full of mud puddles and gray woods, who wished for sunshine, a new cloak, and to see the Continent. Elain, who wanted a quiet life, longed for the smell of warm bread, a baby’s smile, and a lover’s lips at the nape of her neck. Elain, who instead, would be thrust into Fae immortality, weighed down by metal and power, when she had wished for flowers and freedom. Elain, who asked for a garden, and was handed a battlefield. 

But no one would tell the gentle gardener to just hold on, a little while longer. To put down the dagger, and wipe the blood on the grass. Step away from the din of misfortune, poverty and greed. For the night, in all its splendor, the stars that shined like unsheathed blades, were not for her.

Somewhere, very soon, she would feel the golden cord of Fate, pulling her, and it would be easy, like a morning mist. It would glow, like pearls. It would be soft, and bloom.

So, Elain would wait, a little while longer. For the scent of sunlight and spice. Soon, she would have that lovely life. A lover’s lips at the nape of her neck. His name would be Lucien, and he would love her, like the sun loves the sky. Warm and golden. The girl would just have to get through the night, to meet the day. Just a little while longer.

For it was Fated. 

This is my first ever elucien, and I hope I do them justice. It will be a 7 chapter fic for each day of elucien week. Also posted on AO3.

Please let me know if you want on or off 🏷️ @the-darkestminds @prythian-fashion @shadowqueenjude @elucienweekofficial

[sunny44]

I’m home

Pairing: Mason Mount x mom!reader

Warnings: none, just cute stuff

Summary: Mason comes home for his girls after being away for a while.

I had been away for a month now, I had a few games in a row and a lot of training.

And now I was coming home missing my wife and my daughter.

Sophie Isabel Mount was the sweetest little girl of all, she was daddy's little girl for sure.

Y/n and I have been dating for four years, after two years of relationship we found out that she was pregnant.

At first it was terrifying, we were certainly not prepared for it.

It was something that we wanted eventually but not at the time it happened.

The first few days it was strange, Y/n did the pharmacy test and it was the only result we had at the time, so until we actually went and saw the ultrasound it was like it wasn't real.

Y/n by the time she saw the ultrasound immediately started to cry, I was still ecstatic and it didn't really hit me until that same day, but was in the middle of the night.

I was rolling around in bed unable to sleep, I spent most of the night imagining myself being a father, how my sister always told me that I would be a great father, especially if it was a girl.

The good thing about my sister having Summer was that I could practice changing diapers and get more or less a sense of what it would be like.

And that's where I burst in tears, Y/n woke up scared by the fact that I was crying at three in the morning and that's where I told her it was because we were having a baby.

As soon as I opened the door to the house, I took off my sneakers and changing to my flip-flops and putting my training things on the floor.

“I'm home” I said out loud and then I heard fast footsteps running through the house.

“Daddy” she screams and I bent down to her height taking her in my arms “I missed you”.

“ I missed you too sweetheart”.

“You took a long time to come back”.

“I know baby, sorry for that” she hugs me tight.

“I don’t want you away never again.” She says.

“I know baby and I’m sorry for that, your going everywhere with me now. I’m putting you in my suitcase.” She starts laughing.

“And what about mommy?”

“We can bring mommy with us.”

“Ok then.” She says and kiss my nose with her nose “Can we go to the park with Malcolm?”

That is the name of the golden retriever we gave her when she was a baby, they are best friends.

“Yes we can, where's mommy?”

“She is outside, we are bathing the flowers.

Sophie and Y/n had a garden in the back of the house where they took care of the flowers, there were many flowers and even some vegetables.

It was one of the activities my girlfriend does with our daughter, she made a whole schedule of activities for the week to develop her creativity, and also because it is one of the few things that keeps her mind off from thinking too much about me since when I am away she cries a lot because she misses me.

“Let's go see mommy then" I took her in my lap and we went to the back.

And there she was, barefoot on the grass, wearing a loose flowered dress and some waves in her brown hair.

“Hi love” she dropped the hose on the ground and came to me “I missed you so much”.

“I missed you too” I kissed her.

“Ew” I laughed with my lips still close to hers.

“Ew what, young lady” I said, patting her belly “Let's finish helping mommy to bath the plants and then we can go to the park and walk with Malcolm.

“And then pizzaaaaaa”. We shouted in celebration and went to bath the plant.

And I was more than happy to be home.

Bonus scene!

Masonmount instagram post

Liked by @Debbiemount, @Y/nmount, @Reecejames and others 817208

Tagged: Y/nmount

Masonmount there’s nothing better than coming back home and seeing my girls bathing their flowers 🌸

@Y/nmount you should bath the flowers with us next time

@Masonmount I need a baby boy to play football with me, what do you say?

@Y/nmount maybe yes, maybe not

@Debbiemount oh I love those cute faces

@Y/nmount we love you too granny debs

@reecejames you have to bring her to training

@masonmount I won’t because she forgets about daddy when she sees her football uncles

@lovelymase we love baby mount so much, they both look very cute

[peakyswritings]

Gilded Prison

Summary: She wanted nothing but love, and yet she found herself locked into a gilded prison.

Warnings: angst, Tommy being a jerk.

A/N: I wrote this for @runnning-outof-time ’s 3K celebration. Congrats again, darling💕

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

The soft night breeze run through (Y/) hair as she stood in her garden, the smell of jessamine and roses filling her nostrils. With her eyes closed, she could pretend she was still in her childhood home, barefoot on the grass, surrounded by the flowers her mother used to grow with so much care. There was love, and joy, and laughter. And freedom.

What else could you possibly want?

She couldn’t deny how those words stung. How much it hurt when Tommy spat them out, venom dripping from his lips.

You have fancy dresses and furs, more jewels than you can count, time to spend and a big nice house full of maids. What else could you possibly want?

How could she explain to him that she didn’t care about any of those things? None of that mattered if he wasn’t there with her. If he didn’t love her. She didn’t need the dresses, the furs or the jewels. She didn’t even need that big nice house. She needed to be listened to, to be understood, to be loved.

How could she explain to him that Arrow House had become a gilded prison? That he felt more like a jailor, rather than a husband?

Things between them were fine only as long as she showed herself to be nice, pleased and compliant. Because she had no reason to be angry or sad. They were perfectly happy, until she dared to disagree with him. Because he was always right. God forbid she told him a truth he did not want to hear.

That was the problem with him. Sometimes, it felt like to him she was nothing but an extra in his life, or a doll with no feelings or desires. But she had feelings, and desires, and thoughts, and there was nothing ridiculous about that. She was a person, and she had the right to be angry or sad, she had a right to her emotions. She didn’t have to always be nice. She didn’t have to be compliant. She didn’t have to be docile.

And God knew how tired she was of his condescending tone. Of the way he explained things to her as if she was a child who didn’t know anything about the world. Of the way he felt the need to illustrate to her all the reasons why he was right and she was wrong without even truly considering what she had to say. Without even listening to her. Every time they argued, he was either talking or thinking about what he had to say next, with little to no regard towards her point of view. And when he was the one to reach out to her after a fight, it was never just “I’m sorry”, it was always “I’m sorry, but I was right”.

And she was tired of feeling crazy or hysterical every time she snapped and raised her voice at him, even though she had her reasons. Because apparently, those reasons were not enough.

And she was tired of feeling useless.

She had been trying her best to keep everything together, to make that house a home, to prevent its walls from crashing down on them, but the weight was starting to become too heavy for her shoulders alone. The worst thing was that Tommy didn’t even seem to notice. He probably thought that her only occupation was tending to her garden and choose what dress to wear for the umpteenth dinner or event, while he worked hard. Because he was the provider, the one who granted stability and wealth. What he didn’t consider was that although she didn’t have a job, she was working everyday, every hour, every minute.

She was the one who took care of him when he drank his sorrows away to the point where he could barely stand on his feet, who tended to his injuries when he got caught in fights, who washed the blood off of his clothes, both his own and other people’s. She was the one who had spent countless nights waiting up for him when he was late home because of “business”. She was the one who held him through the night when the nightmares seemed too real, and the one who whispered reassuring words in his ear when the devils got the better of him.

But that was nothing to him.

So ultimately, she found the courage to stand up for herself, and she told him that if things were to be like that between them, then they would stay husband and wife only in name, but not in fact. They would conduct separate lives in the same house, and they wouldn’t be each other’s problem anymore. Maybe it was the best thing for both of them.

She quickly wiped away her tears as she heard steps approaching. Tommy came close to her, and she felt the back of her arm slightly brushing against his. Despite her anger, she was unable to withdraw from the contact, relishing the closeness she had craved for so long. But that only lasted for a moment, because all of the feelings she had been suppressing for months came to the surface again, causing her to take a step aside.

Clearing his throat, Tommy took a look around, taking in every detail of his surroundings as if he was seeing that garden for the first time. “Your mother used to grow the same flowers, didn’t she?”

“She did.” She nodded. “And now I’m growing them. It makes me feel home.”

Tommy opened his mouth to say something, but words seemed to fail him. For once, he was speechless. (Y/n) glanced at him, and she could swear by the look on his face that he was hurt.

“You are home.” He eventually said, after a few moments of hesitation.

Silence fell between them, and it was much worse than any fight they’d ever had. This time, there was nothing left to say. She was done taking steps back. She was done trying to make him understand.

“You can be so inconsiderate sometimes.” She just said, her voice almost too low to be heard. But Tommy heard it.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry means nothing if you’re not willing to change.”

She sounded stern. Bitter, even. And she refused to give him another glance. Tommy moved closer to her, until he was able to tenderly take her face in his hands and force her to look at him.

“Please, forgive me.” He whispered. “I know that I’m a fucking bastard and that I don’t deserve it. That I don’t deserve you-” his voice broke, and he had to stop talking for a few seconds. “I’ll change. I’ll be better.”

There was desperation in his voice, and a fear in his eyes she had probably never seen. But they had been there too many times. She had forgiven him again and again, only for him to break her one more time. She shook her head, bringing her hands on his wrists. “I’m tired, Tommy.”

“I can’t lose you. I need you, (Y/n).” He slightly shook her, tightening his grip on her as if she’d disappear otherwise.

His vulnerability - his rare, unfamiliar vulnerability - made her heart clench. It didn’t matter how angry she was at him, she still cared about him. A thousand fights wouldn’t be enough to change that. But she couldn’t let him hurt her again.

“Give me another chance.” He pleaded. “Just one. The last one.”

She moved his hands away from her face, taking a few steps back. “You want another chance?” She asked, a serious expression on her face.

“Yes.” He nodded, and a glimpse of hope lightened his eyes.

“Earn it.”

[daenerystargaryen06]

Targ Restoration

I was thinking over the fact, that what if we do have a Targ restoration, but it's not in the way we think it will happen?

My thoughts on this are- we have ample evidence from the books that there can/will be a Targ Restoration, but it won't end with the Targs on the throne.

If we are to even believe what those hacks D&D said- they were told by G.R.R.M that Bran will end up as King, but they weren't given Jon and Dany's ending. It was also stated by G.R.R.M that Jon and Dany are destined to meet; and we are given a lot of subtle cues/foreshadowing/hints of them becoming eventual lovers in the books.

Now, the way I see this working could be... Dany doesn't actively WANT to be Queen. Her goal for the throne is fed on by the fact that she is the last Targaryen left in the world. She wants to help those considered 'lesser' by others. And what Viserys has told her their entire lives. What Dany truly longs for, is home. The house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window. Something she can call home for herself, to live in peace.

As for Jon, I think that he could want to be King, but might turn away from ruling to have a live of peace as well. What Dany and Jon do most is attempt to help others. Their arcs have leadership, learning to rule, and helping the downtrodden. But it's not necessarily something they want.

A possible ending could be that Jon and Dany do fight the war against the dead, bring Spring, but decide not to rule over Westeros in the end. Allowing Bran to become King instead (if that's even an ending for Bran that G.R.R.M will give, as it was only told to us by D&D, and I hardly trust anything those idiots say about the show).

Instead- Jon and Dany could go to find a true home for themselves, and build a life together.

Dany will have children with Jon (she thinks she is barren, but one thing I do think she will eventually have is a living child of her own born from her. She had a miscarriage in ADWD, and both her and Jon think of having children of their own). I believe her miscarriage will lead into her meeting Jon, them becoming lovers, and together they finally manage to have a child (or children) of their own. Not expecting it, but finding comfort in one another and starting their own family in a home they find together.

I also believe that Dany's dragons will not be their end. There are many ideas (I've seen videos on Tik Tok covering over this) that Viserion is a she-dragon, and has exhibited nesting behavior in Meereen, and will likely have eggs. Though there's also the fact that dragons, in truth, are genderless- they can switch, they're 'as changeable as flame'. Any one of Dany's dragons could lay eggs and bring back more into the world, but I have my ideas on it being Viserion as the one to do so.

The ending for Jon and Dany wouldn't be as rulers, but together as a family. They find their own home, find a place to truly belong, and continue on the Targ restoration and the age of dragons, not as King and Queen, but as a loving, caring family in a home they chose for themselves.

That isn't to say that I wouldn't be happy if Dany and Jon wind up as co-rulers together over Westeros, as I'd love it if they did, but practically speaking- I just want them to be happy, together, and in a place they can finally call their own and feel where they belong. Dany can run barefoot and breathless through soft grass and warm soil with her children, and give them the childhood she had never known. Jon can tell their children stories of the Wall and the Others, and their children can connect with Ghost and the dragons they have. Dany can hold dragon eggs to her belly as she did with Rhaego. Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal can be parents and elder siblings to the human children Dany and Jon have together. It would be the 'sweetness' to G.R.R.M's bittersweet ending. But it can also be counted as bitter, as the last two Targaryen's do not wind up ruling on the throne, and their legacy over Westeros ends.

I just want my asoiaf babies to be happy!

[emeritus-fuckers]

Hello, could I request dancing with Copia in the rain, perhaps after not seeing him for a while? Sorry if it's vague-

Aw, that's actually super cute! - Jez

Dancing in the rain with Copia (oneshot/drabble)

Copia was the kind of man that, despite the initial awkwardness, could bring people go him. They loved how sweet he was, how comforting his presence felt. You supposed it made sense why he was chosen as the next vocalist for Ghost. And then as the next Papa. And you were proud of him, you really were!

You simply hated the idea of him being away for so long.

He would call you every day, the sweetheart that he was. You'd talk about your day, ask how he has been, pout that he was so far away from you. And he'd tell you about his day, what weird stunts the ghouls pulled, ask about the rats that he left in your loving care and join in on your pouting, wishing you were there in his arms.

It was nice, yes. Laying in your bed, watching him on the screen of your laptop as he removed his facepaint. His words were sweet, very sweet. He had a way with words, once he got past the initial blockage in his brain. And even if he had issues speaking, you still thought his stimming was adorable. You'd mimic him playfully, which always made him feel better, less weird. You just wished he would be here, next to you, so you could kiss his hands. His face. So you could wrap your arms around him while you sat in his lap in just your little nightgown. So he'd hold you tight, nuzzling into your neck.

And tonight was the night. He would finally return. You didn't care that it was last midnight. You stood there, looking through the window next to the giant door to the Ministry, but you barely saw anything. It didn't matter that you were barefoot and only wearing the night gown you knew he liked and matching panties that he got you. It was warm outside. Or maybe it wasn't and you were just hot because of how excited you felt. In more than one way.

Finally, after what felt like ages of waiting, you heard the car pull up. You used all your body weight to pull the giant door open just so you could run outside and throw yourself into his arms as he got out of the car. You didn't care about the teasing chuckles from the Ghouls (most likely Swiss and Sunshine) or the soft coos at how adorable you two were (definitely Cirrus and Cumulus), you just wanted to kiss him again.

You didn't care that it was raining cats and dogs. That you were already soaking, even though you barely got outside. It was just an excuse to take a shower with the love of your life.

Once you finally broke the kiss, both of you started giggling like idiots. Aether probably made a comment about it, considering he got smacked in the head by Sodo hard enough to let out a dramatic whine. Finally mountain started chasing the other Ghouls back to then den to give you two some privacy as you just held onto each other and giggled.

You didn't realize when you started dancing, Copia happily twirling your joyful self on the grass and dipping you dramatically, like in a scene straight out of some cheap romance movie. Lucky for you, he loved cheap romance movie, so you ended up making out again.

"We should go inside, yes? Don't want you getting sick now that I'm back." He suggested, resting his forehead against yours as you both took a moment to catch your breath, his arms holding you pressed against him. You could swear you felt a soft poke in a very familiar area, and you loved that. You'd take care of it as soon as you were back in his room.

You only got to nod before you laughed again as he picked you up like a princess. You wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling at how he looked, his wet hair sticking to his forehead as he looked at you, his eyes filled with love.

For moments like these, you could survive all the tours and weeks apart. Just to see him look at you like this, when he finally got back.

[iseos]

: dream girl

wc. 1110 archive. pairing. huh yunjin x fm!r synopsis. it was all in her head genre. fluff, angst now playing: bad dream by lexie liu

YUNJIN OPENS HER EYES TO WATCH as the clouds slowly glide across the sky while her head rests on your shoulder. you're both comfortably sat on a bench together in your backyard as you read a book with one hand holding yunjin's, occasionally letting go to turn the page.

you gasp, physically perking up suddenly. yunjin lifts her head to look at you, your hair covering the side of your face but she can tell you're facing out into the expansive field and trees ahead instead of down at the words.

“i just remembered the most perfect place where we can relax, should we go there instead?”

“but your shoulder is so comfortable,” yunjin pouts.

“c’mon,” you almost beg, “i know you’ll love it!”

yunjin still was hesitant, not wanting to ruin the tranquil air they had found themselves in, but she could feel the excitement radiating off of you and ultimately agrees with a nod.

without saying anything else, yunjin allows herself to be pulled as the two girls start running barefoot away from the house and towards the trees with their hands intertwined. the grass brushed against their ankles and the long blades left remnants of the morning dew on their skin.

they passed through the trees and other foliage low to the ground until yunjin was led into a clearing in the forest.

the trees lessened, leaving an open area for the bright sky to shine down onto the lush grass that was littered with dainty wildflowers growing all throughout.

it felt like a hidden oasis untouched by the outside world just for the two of you.

the two girls drop onto the ground in the middle of the clearing in a fit of giggles, their limbs thrown across the grass as they lay side by side. you discarded your book somewhere nearby as you laid down, no longer interested in it.

you shift to instead sit on your knees and look out into the distance. the sounds of running water in a nearby creek blended with birds singing and chirping crickets in the distance as your ambient background music.

a light breeze blew through the field, ruffling the leaves on the trees a few feet away, making the grass dance around them, it even blew your hair gently, almost teasing yunjin as she tries to catch a peak of your visage.

"can we stay like this for a little while? it's nice," the brunette sighs dreamily, making you turn your focus onto the peaceful girl.

"we can stay for as long as you'd like."

yunjin brings her hand up to shield her eyes from the bright sun hanging in the sky above the two of you, but you instead guide her hand to your lips as you leave a gentle kiss on the palm of her hand. a rosy blush begins to color yunjin's skin at the contact and she quickly turns her head away.

your quiet laughter floats through the surrounding air followed by the sound of you shuffling in the grass.

feeling your presence hovering over her, yunjin turns back to see you kneeling closer beside her, the sun behind your head like an eclipse.

you admired the girl for a moment and the small flowers that grew above her like a crown. yunjin couldn't even adjust her eyes in time to fully make out your features before you were leaning in to leave small pecks all across her face.

when you eventually pulled back from your crusade of love against her skin, yunjin had her eyes squeezed closed and a large smile adorning her lips.

playfully, you poke her arm. "jennifer," you singsong, but she just shakes her head no.

you try again, "jen." still nothing.

"yunjinie," you laugh at the girl laying comfortably in the lush grass ignoring your calls with her eyes still pinched tightly shut.

a gentle hand is felt on the brunette's leg just above her knee as it shakes her gently.

yunjin still refuses to open her eyes as her name continues to be called.

the voice gets quieter as if it starts to whisper while continuing to call out to her until it ultimately becomes silent. the sound of the leaves blowing in the light wind, the melodic voice calling yunjin's name, even the birds in the distance come to an end. 

the silence continues for only a moment before the voice returns, "yunjin c'mon," only this time it's different and less gentle than before.

the hand returns to her knee again too. like the voice, it's less gentle, shaking her now with more annoyance rather than amusement.

yunjin decides to finally open her eyes, only to be met with the harsh fluorescent light that quickly created an ache behind her eyes.

instead of you kneeling beside her in the grass with a halo of sunlight around your head, a less than amused chaewon was stood to yunjin's right watching her wake up and rejoin their reality.

a reality that severely lacked you.

looking around with a pain in the side of her neck from resting her head awkwardly on the arm of the chair was in, yunjin noticed the other girls spread through the open room stretching.

chaewon sighs at the seemingly not fully awake girl, "practice is starting again soon, get up." yunjin rubbed out the knot in her neck and joined her other members for the rest of the practice, though with a distant mind and a heavy heart.

later that night after they had all returned to their rooms, yunjin hurried to get to sleep once more, eagerly wanting to be swept away back to that field; back to you. but it never worked.

as the days went on, the brunette girl took every chance she got—every time she went to sleep—hoping to return to something she barely knew.

yunjin even went as far as recreating how she first fell asleep, sitting in the same chair in their practice room with her head bent to the side, though that always left her with nothing but a repeated pain in the side of her neck and a longing in her heart.

her mind could only replay the memories of your short time together on a loop, but the longer yunjin fought her unconscious mind to take her back to you, the more it became harder to even remember what she was looking for. and much like how you slipped out of her grasp and out of her dreams, eventually that peaceful breeze she once felt against her skin instead swept away the memory of you and your false promises.

“i recognize when our time is over, you’d be gone”

© iseos

[kueble]

Stolen Moments

I was lucky enough to work with @captnsunshine on this fic.  Please look at the wonderful art that goes with it. Please note it is on Twitter and you can't view it if you're not logged in.

Explicit. Warnings: none. 2,000 words.

Jaskier/Radovid

---

This is dangerous, but Jaskier is so full of yearning that he can hardly stand it.  It’s been months since their last meet-up, but he sent notice of where they’d be.  Geralt is busy gathering information for his latest hunt, and Jaskier had mumbled an excuse about needing to meet with a tailor in town before heading into the woods.

When he reaches the clearing he planned to meet Radovid in, he’s met with smiles and a giddy wave.  Radovid is leaning against a large tree trunk, barefoot and looking so casually gorgeous, that he wants to sob in relief.  It looks like he’s already spread a thick blanket over a patch of grass nearby.  Jaskier’s blood is already singing in his veins, his pulse racing as he realizes they have the next couple of hours to themselves.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Jaskier whispers, frozen as he takes in the stunning sight of his king.  Radovid looks as enticing as always, but he makes sure to look deeper, to make sure he also looks healthy and well cared for.  This type of love is so new, so brilliantly different to him, and he has to make sure everything is as good as it can be.

“Then get over here and kiss me,” Radovid says with a smirk, and suddenly Jaskier is moving before he even thinks about it.  He saunters over to him, pressing him against the tree trunk before catching his mouth in a hesitant kiss.

And then Radovid places a hand on his lower back, urging him closer as he whimpers into his mouth, and the kiss turns into a heated, desperate thing.  Jaskier moans against his lips before licking past them, chasing the sweet flavor of his king.  Radovid matches his hunger, nipping as his bottom lip before grinding their hips together.

Lute-calloused fingers make quick work of Radovid’s buttons and soon his chest is bare, his nipples already hardening in the cool air of their private clearing.  Jaskier runs his palms up his flanks, grinning into the kiss when he trembles so beautifully for him.  Every bit of exposed skin feels like home beneath his fingers, and Jaskier revels in how light-headed it makes him.

This is real.  He can have this, even if only in stolen moments like this.

“Missed you, too, but we haven’t much time,” Radovid says as they pull back.  He brushes their noses together, sighing softly as though he wishes things were different.

“Someday soon I’ll have my way with you on your royal bed, and we’ll see how many pillows we can ruin this time,” Jaskier promises him with a wicked grin.  Radovid’s answer is a shaky groan, and Jaskier loves how much pleasure he can bring his lover just with words alone.

But words don’t end in orgasms, and Jaskier’s been half-hard since he left the tavern.  He kisses Radovid one last time before sliding down to his knees.  Radovid threads his fingers through his hair, tugging sharply and dragging a moan out of him.  It only speeds his movements, and Jaskier tugs at the laces before yanking his trousers off.  Radovid giggles as he kicks them to the side, one leg already sliding over Jaskier’s shoulder, so pliant and open for him.

Radovid’s cock is gorgeous, thick and hard for him already.  There’s a drop of pearly pre-come beading at the tip, and he can’t help diving in to lick it up.  Radovid lets out a string of gorgeous nonsense, half praise and half wonder, as Jaskier takes him into his mouth.

Suddenly he’s surrounded by Radovid, overwhelmed with the musky scent of him, the salty flavor in his mouth, the heavy weight of his prick on his tongue, and Jaskier realizes he never thought he’d get this again.  But they can have this - moments stolen away from others as often as their schedule allows - and Jaskier is determined to make it good for his lover.

He starts working Radovid’s shaft, long fingers using his own spit to pump him as he swallows down what he can.  He wishes he had more practice, but he sinks down on him until he’s choking with it, throat fighting him while his eyes water.  Radovid whines and tugs on his hair, and Jaskier looks up at him to see him completely wrecked already, eyes blown black and lips bitten red as he stares down at him.

This is a power he could get used to.

With a smirk, he goes back to work, swirling his tongue around the head while he reaches down to cup Radovid’s balls, his thumb tracing over the soft skin while his lover cries out above him.  He grabs Radovid’s other leg, pulling it up so he’s completely encompassed by his thick thighs, the full weight of him braced between the tree trunk and Jaskier’s strong shoulders.  Jaskier reaches a hand back and covers Radovid’s hand, pressing it against his own scalp in a way he hopes the king understands.

“Oh fuck, Jaskier, you want me to?” he hisses out, and Jaskier moans around his leaking prick.  Radovid nods, whimpering as he bucks his hips and shoves Jaskier down on his cock, choking him with the force of it.

And oh, is that just that what he wanted?  It’s such brilliant perfection, and Jaskier feels his cock throbbing between his legs as he lets Radovid fuck his face, lets him use him like he wants to be used.  From the stuttering in Radovid’s hips, Jaskier knows he’s nearing his completion, and he moans around him, hoping the vibrations help push him over the edge.

The hands in his hair tighten, and Radovid comes with a grunt, Jaskier’s name falling from his lips as he spills on his tongue.  Jaskier works him through it, sucking and pumping his shaft until he pushes Jaskier away with a broken whine.  It’s all he can do to stare up at him, the dappled afternoon sunlight breaking through the shade of the trees to highlight how fucking gorgeous Radovid is.

“Let's put that blanket of yours to use,” Jaskier murmurs, and Radovid just laughs at him, his eyes lit up in mirth as he drags him to his feet.

“You’re insatiable,” he says before crushing their mouths together.  Jaskier lets himself be walked backwards as Radovid explores his mouth, running his tongue over his teeth.  It’s as if he’s licking all traces of his spend from Jaskier’s mouth, and Jaskier can’t help the broken moan that it drags out of him.  Radovid swallows it down before gently lowering them to their knees.

They strip quickly but still find time to trace over skin, remembering how each other’s bodies feel under their hands.  These are the memories Jaskier clings to when they’re forced apart, the hard planes of Radovid’s chest, the swell of his soft belly, the way he trembles when Jaskier brushes his thumbs over his nipples.

Radovid lays down on his back, body completely bare for him, and Jaskier kneels between his thighs, lost in how beautiful he is.  Oh, how he wishes he could keep this, but he’s thankful for what little time they carve away for themselves while the continent burns around them.  He takes a vial of oil from Radovid’s hands when it’s offered and dribbles it over his fingers.

He can’t help crawling on top of Radovid, kissing him lazily while his fingers circle his hole.  He tries his best not to rush, but it’s hard when his lover is spread out like this for him, whining so prettily as Jaskier works his fingers inside of him.  A warm feeling rushes through him when Radovid stretches open so easily, and Jaskier knows he’s been taking advantage of the chest of toys he left last time he was in Redania.

Jaskier aims to draw this out, but then Radovid breaks the kiss and looks at him with hooded eyes, and he’s done for.  His lips are bitten ruddy, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat covering them both already.  “I’m ready, love,” Radovid tells him, and Jaskier quickly coats his prick in oil before tossing the vial aside.

“So good for me,” he whispers as he lines up, teasing them both by rubbing the fat head of his cock across Radovid’s hole.

But then there’s legs around him, Radovid’s ankles crossed at the small of his back, and Jaskier sinks into him with a strangled groan.  He feels perfect, like he was made to be fucked like this by him and him alone, and Jaskier does his best to find a gentle rhythm.  It’s a struggle, because he’s so hot and tight and amazing, and Jaskier sucks in lungfuls of air as he steadies himself.

“Don’t care how long we last, just fuck me,” Radovid tells him, and yeah, Jaskier can do that.

The next thrust wrecks them both, and Jaskier starts fucking him in earnest.  Blunt nails scrap down his back, leaving trails of pleasurepain in their wake.  He dips his head down, raking his teeth over Radovid’s neck before running his tongue over the abused skin to soothe it.  His king clings to him, his hips bucking up to meet each thrust with a little one of his own.

He braces himself on his arms and pounds into him, watching his head roll to the side as he loses himself in their lovemaking.  It may be rough, but there’s a swirl of emotions in every movement, every brush of lips and hands on sweat-slicked skin.  Radovid keens, panting as Jaskier plows into him, and Jaskier knows he’s close.

Sitting up, he grabs a thigh and slams into Radovid, grinning at the way he trembles and whines so beautifully for him.  “You’re gorgeous, darling,” he murmurs, turning to press a soft hiss to his ankle even as he moves his hips faster, chasing his climax.  “Touch yourself for me,” he orders and Radovid scrambles to comply.

Jaskier nearly comes right then as he watches his king wrap those slender fingers around himself, stroking in time with Jaskier’s thrusts.  He’s close, so fucking close, and thankfully Radovid shouts and spills between them, his seed coating both their chests.  Jaskier lets himself thrust once, twice more, before falling over the edge himself.

He grinds in deep, shaking as he empties inside Radovid’s tight heat.  Making sure to fill him properly, he rolls his hips until he’s milked dry.  He tries to roll onto his side as to not crush his lover, but Radovid holds tight, forcing him to remain on top of him.

“I swear it’s better each time,” Jaskier whispers before kissing him gently.

They lay there for as long as they dare before cleaning up, soaking in every moment they can together.  The air is full of promises and plans for their next meeting, but a sense of desperation hangs around them.  There’s no guarantee they’ll both make it to the next time, and the sounds of Radovid’s guards stomping through the nearby woods forces them to separate.

“I love you,” Jaskier whispers before heading back to the tavern, the echo of Radovid’s matching reply still on his lips.

—

Hours later, Jaskier and Geralt are sharing a meal when the doors swing open and Radovid and his revenue walk into the tavern.  Jaskier smirks when none of the patrons bat an eye, clearly not recognizing the royalty before them.  Trust his greedy king to find a way to steal some more time with him.

“Looks like your tailor is staying for the night,” Geralt says dryly, and Jaskier throws his head back in laughter.

“Thought I was pretty convincing, but I can never fool you, can I?” he asks, still smiling like a fool as Radovid approaches them.

“Jaskier the bard!  What a delightful surprise,” he says before turning to his guards.  “Secure us a couple of rooms, I’ll be entertaining the bard in mine.  Certainly he has time for such a huge fan as myself?”

“For you?  Always,” Jaskier answers honestly.

Please check out the amazing artwork. Reminder it's in Twitter and you can't view it if you aren't logged in.

[threadbaresweater]

All the Arlin lore I could scrounge up (for now):

When we first move in together, we live in a little single wide trailer on a massive plot of land in the middle of nowhere at the end of a long dirt road. There's meadowgrass and trees and wildflowers everywhere, some horses and a dairy cow and chickens. We make/hunt a lot of our own food and live a very simple, off the grid kind of life. Sometimes I'll go with him on his work trips, sometimes he'll take a break and we'll stock up the old winnebago, load up the dogs, and go driving somewhere on our own. We've seen all of the lower 48 states, but the west is our favorite. He always brings something back for me when he's gone for a few days. There are trinkets all over the house that I have to rotate out now and then. As much as I love his thoughtfulness, he's also very much a packrat and it would break his heart if I ever got rid of anything he bought for me. A lot of our furniture is vintage or hand-me down stuff. We rarely wear shoes. Arthur cuts the grass on his riding lawnmower in cutoff jean shorts and his hat with a marlboro hanging from his lips. We love having friends over for weekend long get-togethers (think swimming in the pond, barbecues, beer, and lots of cheap lawn chairs). He teaches me to shoot a gun, I teach him to play his favorite tunes on the piano. It's a comfortable, intrinsically happy existence that brings me SO much comfort.

And then we begin to build our family. We wait about 3 years, then we talk about me going off the pill. I'm pregnant within the first month.

Our first baby's name is Beatrice, after his mother. She has bright blue eyes like her father and a fiery temperament from day one. Arthur can't believe his eyes when he holds her for the first time. He didn't think he'd ever get the chance to live a "normal" life, let alone start a family with someone who found him worthy and loveable enough to marry and settle down with. Beatrice is meant to be an only child, but the moment he meets her and experiences firsthand what it's like to be a father, he wants more. Not to mention, he loves to see his woman barefoot and pregnant, swollen and waddling around with his child cooking in her belly. Rumor has it he also likes the idea of getting her pregnant just for the act itself, but that's between him and his wife.

So then, we have Charles, a calm and peaceful little boy with big hazel eyes and a sweet disposition. Less than a year later there's Margaret and Mason, the twins, and two years after that, Jenny is born. Strong, handsome, smart children. They have mama's heart and daddy's resourcefulness. Arthur is a stern but loving father. Teaches them about respect and hard work, but also how to have fun when the day is done. Together, we teach them about love and teamwork and what family and loyalty to a cause really means.Years pass, and life is happy and full– total balls to the wall insane sometimes, but a ton of fun. We're well into our 40's when the last child- Leah- is born. She is tiny and fragile. Our miracle baby, against all odds.

On his most lonely nights when the need for each other is mighty strong, he'll video call from the bunk, but not before making sure all the windows are covered and he's tucked away from any prying eyes at the truck stop. When he does come home I make him go straight to the shower and I'll put his clothes on a heavy duty washer cycle while the kids are running feral through the backyard. We sit down to a family dinner and end the night with a little bonfire and smores in the backyard, and after the kids pass out he shows me just how much he missed me. He sleeps like a rock- well past noon the next day. and then he's on the road again the next day before the sun comes up.

@pastelle-rabbit and @wifesuguru tagging you because you asked 😘

[cookie-crumblr]

The Ghost of New Burrows

Pt. 2

F! PI Reader x Masked Yandere OC

His Info:📂✨

part 1 2 3

CW: breaking an entering, shorter part, not proofread, Gn reader in this part, pet names (love, darling), slow burn? i think that’s it?! wow another innocent part from me! lol

11:07, 2202, Gothil Hill, New Burrows

Nose twitching to the smell of fresh breakfast stirs you out of your dreamless sleep.

When has anyone you’ve invited over stayed for the morning after? and When has one ever made you breakfast?

Like never?

You dash your way into the kitchen, huh…

The glass is all cleaned up from your rampage last night too.

They are really going above and beyond your typical one night stands.

It smells like a home you’ve never had…

You feel safe right now…

Have you ever felt safe?

Peeking around the corner into the kitchen you see the back of a thinner man with a silky head of black hair…

Your stomach sinks even before you notice the horns on his head.

You take a step back, where the fuck is your gun?

You think you put it somewhere weird and stupid last night in your drunken stupor.

Wait last night…

He was there as well.

Your eyes widen in horror, he broke in and…

Took care of you?…

Basically, your enemy, infiltrated your sacred space, he could have killed you. Yet, he wrapped you up in blankets and is now making you breakfast.

You finally notice the sound of the flame stovetop is absent…

Turning your head back, you see he’s no longer there.

You take note of the shift of gravity behind you, and you know where he went.

Hands that have touched you intimately not long enough ago, slowly cover your eyes, “Humor me” He says in a voice that stirs something deep inside of you.

“Why should I” Your voice, as stubborn as you, comes out with no bravado even though you wanted to sound in power.

“You already are, Why not go all the way with me for a minute?” his whisper of a voice is soothing, funny for a murderer.

Oh how you wish he was just a one night stand that had stayed…

He took your lack of a verbal response or physical objection as an agreement of sorts.

His masked face gently pushed through your hair, and it’s cool material sent a zap to the soft skin of your neck. You jumped a little, now noticing how close his body is to yours.

He’s completely pressed against you.

Your face became hotter.

“Picture for a moment, a quietly babbling creek, it doesn’t stink like industry, the air is fresh and clean. You can smell Earth—”

“But—” you pipe up to protest.

“Nope, you’re entertaining me right now. Do as I say” he spoke firmly.

You swallow hard. Was he like this when you slept with him? we’re you really so submissive? Did something change? maybe you’re body is just remembering him… That must be why it’s responding like this.

“You’re barefoot, the grass is soft and cushions the ground. Your in flowy clothes that catch the breezes and caress your skin just right.”

Your eyes have remained closed, you can almost imagine exactly what he’s saying. His hands travel downward, gently massaging your arms.

His touch right now is nothing sexual but it’s really making your knees buckle, and your head feel light.

One of his hands moves from your shoulder to over your heart, and you both feel how hard it’s pounding.

You turn abruptly and push him off.

His grinning mask greets you, the eye is back, but the crack remains. He must’ve glued it back on or something.

If you shoot him again, it’d probably go through the mask this time.

Your mind races, as he stands silently.

Calmly and slowly, as if your a rabbit he may scare away, he raises his arms in that same welcoming gesture.

“Why…?” Your question hangs in the air. “Do… Do you just want to torment me?”

“Quite the opposite, Darling,” Strands of your hair slid through his fingers as he brushed them away from your eyes.

“No… No! What the hell is going on?!” You stomp, “you give me the run around for over a week, and then show up to make me breakfast, and… And whatever That was! you were closer to the knives. Attack me or something!”

“Woah, didn’t think you were into that, love,” He joked.

“Don’t you dare!” You shove your finger into his chest.

“I want to take you there.” He said plainly now.

“B-but… Those places no longer exist. They’re just lies to keep people working till retirement…” Your eyes sting remembering how you’ll never see nature.

“What if i told you that islands exist. Far away, that are untouched. I could take you to one.”

“…” You cant believe you’re still humoring him. This is ridiculous. “Get out.”

He leans forward to brush his mask against your cheek in a motion that must be a kiss… “As you wish,” He pulls away and heads to his shoes by the door. “But, promise me you’ll eat. I made something with your proper nutrition in mind.” He turns just briefly toward you before heading out and locking the door behind him with a spare key.

You stand there in shock.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

in the garden, early morning, just us

So I heard tumblr was popular again? Anyway, have a short Cullen and Lydia early relationship fic <3

           “Lydia?”

           She couldn’t help but giggle as Cullen hovered over her, shading her from the morning sun. He had a careless, easy smirk that didn’t mock what Josephine referred to as her outlandish behavior. Lydia owned her outlandishness, her desire to walk barefoot through the garden and lay on the grass. Once, her mother walked barefoot through the grass at Ostwick.

           “Come here,” Lydia said, thankful he wasn’t wearing his usual armor as she beckoned him to sit. He squatted and sat next to her on the grass, covertly scanning the garden to see if any of his soldiers were also rising early.

          “It doesn’t matter if anyone sees,” Lydia promised, curling closer to him. “Trust me.”

           “I trust you.”

His voice was gentler with her than with others. Did Leliana and Josephine know that? Did the whole Inquisition know they were lovers now? He trusted her. He—

           He caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes, anticipating a kiss, anticipating all of him. “We can’t kiss here,” he muttered.

           “Cullen.”

           “Don’t pout.”

           She exaggerated her pout. “A small one.”

           He took her hand. He kissed her palm. He kissed her wrist. He kissed every finger. “There,” he said, offering another, final kiss for good measure. “For you.”

           “I should love to be had. Especially by you.”

           He grinned. “I could acquiesce.”

           “What’s stopping you?”

           His voice was low. “That I should also like to be had.”

           Maker he looked so beautiful in the morning light. His beard was darker than usual. He neglected shaving solely because she told him she loved the scratch against her mouth. It prickled her fingers as she caressed his jaw and touched his cheek. Their skins were different shades, her hand tiny on his cheek. This wasn’t usually him, to lay on the grass in the garden unarmored where someone could surely find him And this wasn’t usually her, to so brazenly want. No, she couldn’t be so bold as to hoist herself on him, have him as he desired…

           He wanted to be had. Just like her. He dreamed the same dreams she did. He laid on the grass with her.

           She laid flush against him, hoisting herself on him like she always imagined. He laughed, not caring anymore that someone could see. Didn’t they kiss on the battlements where all could see? Wasn’t her love for him written on her face for months and months before this? They should let a woman be in love. They should let a man be in love. They should let him kiss, and cherish, and be hers before anyone else’s.

           His lips were pliant against hers as they kissed, and then warm against her cheek after she parted from him, savoring. “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he whispered between kisses. “Nothing matters. Only you.”

           “You don’t mean that.” She knew him too well.

           She kissed him before he could answer. She meant it to be quick and sweet but his lips parted and she could not bear to part.

           “I wish only you mattered,” he said. “In my head, at night, you are the only thing that does.”

           He smoothed a lock of hair away from her face, letting his fingers run through the loose strands. They wouldn’t alone for long now. Skyhold’s pilgrims came in the early morn to pray to Andraste in the chapel. Cullen was one of their occasional pilgrims. Lydia hadn’t seen him pray to Andraste since they kissed.

           “Cullen…”

           “I know. I shouldn’t think such things.”

           And yet he smiled deviously, knowingly. “I should be very cross with you if I wasn’t in your head. Especially at night.”

           “Oh. Well. I can’t have that.”

           She laid her head against his beating heart. They laid in the garden far longer than she would have ever thought he would allow. But his head, sometimes cruel to him, made her the only thing that mattered sometimes. By the way his heart beat underneath her ear, she knew what all mattered to him there in the garden, and perhaps a little bit more than that.

           “You are the only thing that matters almost always,” she said. “And I am sorry. Because I care. I care—and I know you do too, but I can’t stop only thinking about you.”

           “Please don’t be sorry.”

           “Cullen. I couldn’t even muster it. I couldn’t dare.”

           But they did dare, there in the garden. It still wasn’t long enough.

[ablatheringblatherskite]

"Justin and the Knights of Valor": my short story inspired by a movie title

Context: some time ago, in an art club I was a part of, we had a challenge where we would anonymously send a movie or show title, and whoever received it would have to draw/write something based on it. This was the movie title I got, and this is the movie summary:

Justin dreams of becoming a Knight of Valour just like his grandfather, but his father wants him to be a lawyer. Justin sets out on a mission to realise his dream, meeting lots of new acquaintances along the way.

And this is the story I wrote:

Justin had read about a lot of odd things thanks to his life-long obsession with the Middle Ages. For example, when knights were stripped of their knighthood for whatever reason, they were often forced to endure an embarrassing ceremony, sometimes with several embellishments: Such as; having a mock funeral played out with the shamed knight forced to lie in the coffin; dipping their feet in saltwater and hanging them up barefoot so their feet could be licked by goats; or, on that one occasion, the degraded knight being forced to walk around in public with his face in his horse’s anus. And that was only some of the things he could think of off the top of his head. 

But this? This was something else.

Justin bent down and peered under his bed. There. A whole herd of horses, each just a little smaller than his palm and fitted with little saddles and polished barding, pawed their hooves against the carpeted floor nervously. 

“It’s okay,” Justin whispered in as much a soothing tone as he could muster. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Come on.”

The horses only retreated further back into the shadows, and Justin sighed through his nose in defeat. Still a little dazed, he contemplated going outside to grab some grass, or to his kitchen for some sugar and oats. But before he could put any of his ideas into action, something small and sharp stabbed itself into his socked ankle. He let out a sharp cry of pain and pulled his foot away. He looked down furiously in search of the culprit, only for him to stop, and his jaws to drop in shock.

It was a group of knights, clad head-to-toe in shining armor and holding their swords up at him menacingly. Despite their small stature, they were a rather formidable looking group. 

“Step away from the horses, sir,” the tallest knight who stood at the front of the group bellowed up at him, “lest we slay you where you stand.”

Justin’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his eyes the size of dinner plates. He recognized these knights. They were from his History Miniaturized collectibles collection. And the horses—these specific figurines were supposed to be riding them. How—?

“Sir!” the knight yelled again. “Are you a fish, or a man? Move aside, I say!”

Not knowing what else he could do, he hurried aside, utterly spellbound, and, still holding their swords up at him warily, the knights hurried under the bed to get to their horses. 

Justin flung himself onto his chest and stared as the knights hurried to their horses, running their hands down their horses’ noses and making quiet, soothing noises. Then Justin scrambled backwards and sat up as the knights leaped onto their steeds, galloping fiercely out from underneath the bed. 

“Wh—h—how—” Justin stammered.

“Come, my brothers!” the knight roared. “We must protect the kingdom and slay the beast! If we shall die, so be it! Come—we ride! Charge!!”And with incredible vigor and enthusiasm, the knights urged their horses forward and charged in Justin’s direction.

Justin scrambled to his feet and hurried out of the way. The horses let out shocked and fearful cries at his sudden movement, and the knights struggled to calm them down. 

“Woah! Woah there!” they cried.

Justin glanced around. There was an empty trash bin in the corner. Maybe—maybe if he caught them, he could try to reason with them. While they were preoccupied, he crept towards it slowly and grabbed it. 

Suddenly, the door opened. Justin leaped and slammed the bin over the tiny group, horses, knights and all. His wife was standing in the doorway, frowning at him.

“Justin?” she asked, furrowing her brows at the overturned trash bin, then at him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, dear!” Justin blurted, smiling a little too innocently. He tried to casually lean against the bin while his wife narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeahh, okay.” She gave him and the bin one last suspicious glance before turning around and exiting the room, partially shutting the door behind her.

Justin crawled forward and shut the door. Then he turned and leaned his back against it, letting out a slow and shaky breath.

Tiny clanging noises sounded from the inside of the bin. After a few seconds of catching his breath, Justin crawled forward and placed his hands on top of it. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted it and peered underneath.

The knights blinked at the sudden light while the horses neighed in protest. They seemed to have calmed down considerably. Justin lowered his face closer to them, his eyes wide with wonder. “How—how is this happening?” he gasped. “How are you alive?”

The knights looked at each other in bewilderment. Then a scrawnier looking one slowly said, “Our hearts beat, and our mouths breathe. Is that supposed to be odd to giants like you?”

“That—no, I’m not a giant,” Justin replied. “It’s you guys who’re small!”

The knights seemed unconvinced, and Justin gestured around the bedroom. “Look. See that? That’s mine and my wife’s bed. And that’s a chair. And that’s a desk. They’re normal, regular sized things, ‘just to you they’re… bigger.”

The knights looked at what he was pointing at as he said them, but they only seemed to grow more skeptical. “That is not any kind of bed I know,” one knight murmured to the one beside him. “And what sort of chair is that? And what is a desk?”

Justin sighed in defeat. “Look, I’m just as confused as you guys. But—whatever this is? It isn’t normal.”

“Truly,” the first knight murmured. Justin sat up with his legs crossed and watched as the knights stared up at him in apprehension. Despite his bewilderment, he was rather awed by the phenomenon happening before him. Maybe he ought to have been frightened, but he couldn’t find any reason to be so.

“Who are you guys?” Justin finally asked, a little breathlessly. 

The knights glanced at each other, then looked up at him fiercely.

“We are the Knights of Valor,” they chorused, and their horses whinnied appropriately. 

There was a pause, then Justin’s face broke out into a wide, goofy grin. “Um, well then,” he said, laughing nervously. “I’m Justin, at your service.”

“And us at yours.” The knights bowed smartly. “Now, Sir Justin, I think there is much for us to discuss.”

[arotechno]

O. basilicum, part vii

By the summer that Basil turned eighteen, the state of affairs in Verdigris had begun to change.

Long before then, Jim’s mother had passed away unexpectedly, and he had followed his older sister out of town. His parting gift to Basil had been a new cane, as his old one was much too short to be of use to him now.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jim had assured him. “I don’t know where I’m headed, but wherever it is, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Basil had been skeptical, but he hadn’t voiced his concerns. It was a dangerous world out there, but who knew? Maybe Hank was right. Maybe there was a better world out there. If Basil had resigned himself to never leaving, perhaps Jim could see enough of it for the both of them.

In the weeks and months that followed, Basil took up fishing alone. Throughout the warmer months, whenever he wasn’t running errands for Frida or working in the community garden with Dusty, he could often be found down in the creek, wading up to his knees. Other times, he took long walks in the woods with his cane, staying out as long as he dared before Frida would start to worry.

She worried less, these days. That was one of the more surprising changes. Perhaps Basil was just growing up, or perhaps it was something else. Either way, Frida spent less time fretting over him and more time lauding him for how far he’d come since arriving at her doorstep, battered and broken. She did still worry for him, of course. Such was the natural way of things: the sun rose every morning, Basil did not have a heart, and Frida worried.

After all, for how much things may have changed in Verdigris, others would always remain the same. Basil liked that just fine.

All of that to say: by his eighteenth birthday, Basil had become so firmly rooted in Verdigris that the thought of calling anywhere else home felt incredibly foreign. Where he had once been a stranger wearing someone else’s clothes, now Basil walked the dirt roads of the village like he’d been born there, his unsteady gait the only visible indicator of his former life. Two more years and he’d have spent half his life in Verdigris. Already, Swallow’s Point felt like a distant dream.

Basil had long ago given up any intention of ever returning to Amistadia. It wasn’t home to him any longer; being driven out of it had severed those ties completely. Even if he wanted to return, even if he thought it was safe to do so, he doubted he could manage it. And what would be the point in returning? Nothing awaited him there. Why leave Verdigris, the only place he’d ever truly been accepted as he was? Here, they were left alone. Basil had no doubt that passing travelers knew they were out here—but whether those strangers recognized them as Heartless, he couldn’t say, and did it matter? So long as they kept to themselves out here, no one thought of them as a threat. Sure, there were some who understood—Jim’s mother had been one of those precious few—but most never would, so it was best not to bother.

Even so, Verdigris was a small place. And Basil knew, from Hank’s many stories, that the world was much bigger than this. But he was no king, no god, no hero—after everything, a quiet life suited him just fine.

Basil hefted his pack over his shoulder as he walked home from the creek, barefoot in the tall grass. In it he kept his shoes and his canteen, and his cane hung from a leather loop attached to the outside, should he need it. Fireflies rose up from the grass around him, blinking softly as if keeping time with his own steady breathing. Crickets chirped and cicadas hummed their mournful evening song, like a choir all led by the gentle summer breeze blowing through the hillside. Basil walked slowly, taking it all in, though he didn’t have time to stop and rest a while. He was already late for supper; the sun was starting to set earlier than he had gotten accustomed to anticipating.

As he crested the hill, Basil squinted through the evening’s dying light. Dusty stood at Garth’s front gate, gesturing wildly. Raising a hand to keep his sunhat from blowing away with the breeze, Basil hurried up the road to meet them. His bucket slapped against his thigh as he went along.

“...and that’s what I don’t understand!” Dusty was saying animatedly when he arrived.

“What’s this?” Basil asked, expertly dodging Dusty’s waving arm.

“Ah!” Dusty said, pointing. “You! Tell the old man here to stop being so damn difficult.”

“Oi, don’t involve the poor lad in this,” Garth cut in, voice gruff. He was hunched behind the fence, leaning on an old, sanded down tree branch he used as a walking stick.

“Don’t involve me in what, exactly?” Basil asked again, setting down his bucket with a sigh. It looked like he wasn’t going to be home for supper after all.

“Old man Garth here won’t accept anything from the town garden,” Dusty explained, crossing their arms over their chest. “Not a single bite.”

“I grow my own food,” Garth said firmly. “Save what the town grows for others who need it.”

Dusty gestured at Garth’s garden, incredulous. About a week prior, animals had gotten into Garth’s yard and eaten most of his late summer harvest. Something had also eaten one of his chickens.

“I have enough,” Garth insisted. “I preserve most of what I grow. Save your charity for those who need it.”

“Save my— I don’t understand what you think the point of a community garden is if not to feed the community!”

“Stop,” Basil said. Dusty actually quieted. Despite being one of the younger folks in town, Basil seemed to have that kind of sway over people. Even Dusty, from time to time.

Basil glanced down at his bucket of fish. Only a few measly brook trout sat at the bottom, still with their scales (he was too squeamish with a knife to skin them himself). He’d been hoping to take these home to Frida; it was a poor afternoon’s catch, but it was something. Basil frowned. Then, he picked up the bucket and held it over the fence toward Garth.

“Here,” he said. “At least take this. Just in case.”

Garth peered in the bucket, wary. He raised his bushy gray eyebrows.

“I don’t need charity from you either, lad.”

“Don’t think of it as charity.” Basil shook the bucket. The fish slapped around wetly inside. “Think of it as payment. I still owe you for this.” With his other hand, he reached behind and pulled out his cane, tapping it against the dirt.

Garth’s expression softened. “It was just scraps, Basil. Jim did all the work both times.”

“Jim’s not here, so I can’t repay him. Besides, you taught him everything he knows. Please?”

Garth was quiet for a moment, scratching his short beard in thought. Then, finally, he sighed and took the bucket.

“Thank you, lad,” he said softly.

Basil smiled wide and turned to walk off. If he stayed any later, Frida would certainly have his hide. Dusty stared after him, feigning suspicion.

“I still expect your help in the garden tomorrow,” they called after him.

Without looking back, Basil lifted a hand and waved. He understood the code for what it was: he would almost certainly be interrogated tomorrow. Dusty liked to challenge and taunt him, whether that meant a mandatory heart-to-heart or getting his hands dirty. Often, it was both. Whereas it had once embarrassed him, now Basil found himself looking forward to it. Not that he’d ever admit it.

That was the greatest change since Basil’s arrival in Verdigris, although it was mostly an internal one. In a way, the people of Verdigris had become family to him more than even his own parents had been. Thinking that way made Basil feel guilty, but he hadn’t seen his parents in eight years, and doubted if they were even still alive. Maybe they had loved him unconditionally—they certainly risked a lot for him. But Basil wasn’t too concerned with love, not anymore.

The people of Verdigris had taken Basil in exactly as he was. They’d sheltered, fed, and clothed him. They—Frida, Hank, and Ann especially—had raised him, and saved his life. Basil wasn’t very strong, nor was he particularly skilled; but he would be there for them in return, in the only ways he knew how. But it wasn’t out of a sense of indebtedness—that wasn’t the kind of debt that could be repaid, anyway. It was simply what felt right.

Frida was waiting on the front porch with a lantern when Basil finally arrived. He committed the image to memory, deep within the well of his chest, of her standing with a light in the dark, waiting however late into the night for his safe return.

She looked at him disapprovingly.

“Sorry,” was all he said.

“You’re never going to listen to a word I tell you, are you, Basil?” Frida asked fondly. She glanced down and tilted her head, as if noticing he had arrived empty handed. “No catch today?”

“I gave it to Garth.”

Frida hummed, urging him into the house, not caring for the dirt on his feet.

“You make it difficult to be upset with you.”

Basil beamed ear-to-ear, which only seemed to weaken Frida’s resolve further.

“Come now,” she said. “Supper is getting cold.”