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fandom-puff · 3 years

Text

Family, Duty, Honour (p2)

Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader

Warnings: pregnancy/pregnancy symptoms including vomiting, prejudice towards dwarfism (discussion as to whether Tyrion and YN’s child will inherit his dwarfism; not a widely accepted condition in Westeros), childbirth, details of the death of Joanna Lannister (dying in childbirth/traumatic birth), reference to miscarriage

(Part 1)

Gif creds to owner

“Pardon me, Milord,”

Both Tywin and Tyrion turned around to see a young girl, one of your handmaidens, hurrying towards them, remembering a clumsy curtsey in her haste.

“Speak,” Lord Tywin said sternly, and the girl paled briefly before turning instead to his son.

“It’s Lady YN,” she said, and Tyrion instantly stood up straighter, even more on edge. “She’s… sick, my Lord. Can’t keep anything in her stomach, and just now she fainted,”

“Where is she?” Tyrion asked urgently.

“Her bedchamber, Milord. We got a squire to help her back into bed,”

As Tyrion made to hurry after the girl, Tywin’s hand rested firmly on his shoulder. “I will send the maester. He will prove whether or not you have done your duty to this family,”

***

“YN, my dear, can you hear me?”

Slowly, your heavy eyelids slid open, and you turned your head to the source of the noise. Smiling weakly, you squeezed your husband of two month’s hand.

“Are you alright, my lady wife,” he asked you gently, brushing his lips over your knuckles.

“I’m fine. I just got a little dizzy. Must have stood up too quickly,” you said gently, but you did not soothe Tyrion’s worry.

“Your handmaiden said you’ve been ill?” He prompted, and your cheeks heated slightly.

“It’s probably just… my women’s troubles,” you said quietly, still unused to talking about such delicate matters with anyone other than an old septa.

“Or lack thereof, lady Lannister?” The maester spoke up from the end of your bed and you frowned, about to say there really was no need for all this fuss. “The maids say your linen has been clean since your wedding night,”

Clean linen.

Those two words instantly reminded you of when Cousin Cat came to stay at Riverrun with her brooding husband. She had stayed for over a month, and halfway through her stay, you heard gossip of clean linen as you wandered the corridors of your home. Later on that year, she had birthed another child for Ned Stark.

“Does that mean…” you began.

The wisened maester smiled at your bewilderment. “Potentially. If my Lord and Lady are agreeable, I would like to examine lady Lannister to be certain,”

Tyrion smiled gently and kissed your hand once more. “I will give you some privacy, my dear,” he said, and once you nodded, he left the room to bang on the door to his father’s office.

***

“Have you put a babe in her belly?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes at his father’s callousness. “She is being examined as we speak,”

“Good,” Tywin said, hardly looking up from his paperwork. “You’d best hope she is with child and not ill. There aren’t many noble families willing to pawn off a daughter to us,” Tywin sighed and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit,” he said. “You clearly have something more to say,”

Tyrion was silent for a moment. “I do not want to lose her. She is young. Too young for… this,”

“She is only a few years younger than you. And besides, that didn’t stop you consummating the marriage, did it?”

If anything went on in Casterly rock, Tywin Lannister certainly knew about it within a day.

“No, it didn’t,” Tyrion said. You were nineteen after all, and you had consummated your marriage out of duty to your families.

The night-time visits, on the other hand…

“I’m scared that a baby will… that it will kill her,” Tyrion blurted out, and he could have sworn he saw some semblance of sympathy flash through his father’s eyes. “I am scared that my child will be too much like me. That it will rip her in two and kill her. That it won’t even live in her womb. That it will suffer. That… that she will suffer,”

Tywin stared long and hard at his youngest son, his bastard in all but name as far as he was concerned and sighed. “So am I,” was all he said, before gesturing to the door. And as he left the office, Tyrion knew that Tywin did not care for your suffering, for his suffering, or even for the child’s suffering. He cared only that his legacy remained.

***

Casterly Rock was alive with gossip.

No matter which corridor you walked down, people would stare, both openly and discretely at your belly, which barely showed thanks to the layers you wore (Tyrion insisted you wrapped up warm whenever you walked through the gardens, lest you catch a chill). You could not go a day without the maester inquiring about your general health, and when your swollen ankles were brought to your husband’s attention, he had the cobblers fashion you a pair of comfortable, yet fashionable flat shoes.

***

You were laying in your husband’s bed one night on the sixth moon of your pregnancy, a hand resting on your bump. “Leave the books, husband, and come to bed. I need you to tell your child to stop kicking me so we can all go to sleep. He seems to only listen to you,” Tyrion looked up from his books and sighed, shutting them over and coming to bed, his hand resting over yours. “You’ve gained a sudden interest in midwifery, I see,” you teased, but when he did not smile at your jest, you frowned. “What’s bothering you, husband?” You said gently.

“I…” Tyrion fumbled for the words, his eyes firmly on your belly. “I am frightened, YN,” he said quietly. “That the baby will… will have… will be a little too much like me.”

Of course. You cursed yourself for not even thinking that this could be plaguing your husband. You clasped Tyrion’s hand in yours. “Tyrion… even if the baby is born a dwarf, we will not treat him the way your father treated you,” you insisted, drawing small circles on the back of his hands.

“But what if it kills you like I killed my mother,” your heart ached for him, and you tipped his chin up to face you.

“Then you must promise me to love this child regardless,”

Tyrion’s heart ached. Neither of you had wanted this marriage, yet in the few short months you had been wed he had become fond of you, affectionate. He wanted to protect you from the horrors of a kingdom still reeling from the Rebellion that saw the end of the Mad King. He wanted to see you happy and comfortable and healthy. He would spend all of the gold in Casterly Rock to ensure your safety, despite the fact that your marriage was merely one of strategy arranged by his father and your uncle. You were still his wife, the most precious thing in his life.

But over the past nine months, he could do nothing to alleviate your discomfort. He could only hold back your hair and rub your back as you vomited, the only thing you could seemingly keep in your stomach was dried bread. When you could manage dining anywhere but your chambers, he ordered for the things that turned your stomach to be kept well away. When your legs and feet ached, he could only rub them in hopes of soothing the throbbing. When the baby kicked like mad at night, he rubbed your swollen belly so that you could rest, if only for a few moments at a time.

He watched as the veritable mountain that was your bump sapped you of your energy, and he knew there was nothing he could do to restore it.

And when the time came for you to birth the child, he knew his heart would ache even more as you laboured for hours in agony, with him unable to do anything to take the pain away.

***

You went into labour at night, your sharp gasp of pain as you heaved yourself out of bed waking your husband.

“My dear, are you alright?” He asked urgently, not groggy despite the fact he had been snoring like a boar just thirty seconds prior. As he lit a candle, he saw you grasping onto one of the bedposts, lips pressed together, suppressing your groan. “I will be back in a moment, YN, okay? I’m going to get help,”

“Hurry,”

True to his word, Tyrion returned a few moments later with a few sleepy maids and a septa, who laid fresh linen over the bed and began to send for boiling water. The maester was hot on their heels, scrambling to loop his chains over his neck, before shooing Tyrion and the maids out of the room.

Your groans and cries of pain permeated the walls of your bedchamber and down the hallways of Casterly Rock, and by sunrise, coins were being exchanged on the outcome of your labour. The smallfolk crowded near the walls of the castle, eager to call out prayers in hopes that the rich old lions felt generous after the birth.

Tyrion paced just outside of the room you were in, and every time a maid went in with fresh, boiled water and clean linen or came out with bloodstained cloths and empty bowls, he asked urgently how you were doing, but no one gave him an answer.

The septa left the birthing room, walking straight past the father of your child to… the grandfather. They talked in quick, hushed voices, that could not be heard over your pained cries, but Tyrion caught the two of them looking over their shoulder at him several times.

As the septa went back into the birthing room, Tywin walked over to Tyrion. He seemed to be in no apparent rush, his steps stately. Tyrion resisted the urge to scream at his father, to curse him for tormenting him while you laboured.

“When you were brought into the world,” he began, voice level and low, so Tyrion had to strain to hear what he was saying. “You were born, for lack of a better term, arse first. But then your shoulders got stuck inside the womb, and when you finally emerged, you dragged half of your mother’s womb out with you,”

Both men paled. Not only were they weak stomached when it came to the secretive world of a birthing chamber, but Tywin was plagued with memories from twenty or so years before, and Tyrion was plagued with guilt for killing his mother when he was a newborn, and fear that his child would do the same to you.

Tywin continued. “But the Septa has reported that the child is being born head first, as it should,” Tyrion nodded slowly. Tywin was about to continue when the door opened again.

“Pardon, Milords,” a maid carrying an armful of bloodied linen said. “Lady YN has asked for Lord Tyrion to… support her. The maester has permitted it, so long as Milord stays at the top end of the bed,”

Tyrion was frozen for a moment.

“Go,” Tywin said lowly, giving his son a small shove. “Your lady wife needs you now,”

Tyrion looked over his shoulder, and he was sure he could see a small glimmer of… sympathy in his father’s eye. Kindness even. And it was this look, paired with the shift in the way you screamed that had him running into the birthing chamber.

“Tyrion!” You sobbed, one hand reaching for him, the other reaching above you to grasp at the headboard. One of your trusted hand maids, who you had brought with you from Riverrun was at your other side, pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. Tyrion hurried to your other side, just in time for the maester to tell you to push, and the child was at last parted with your body.

All was silent for a tense few moments, until sharp cries filled the room. You could hear the cheering from the corridors.

“A boy, my lady,” the maester called out, and you sobbed for joy. “A healthy son. A little on the delicate side-”

“Is he-”

“No. He is not like you, my Lord. I delivered you and your siblings, and your son is exactly the size your brother was when he was born,”

“Can I hold him?” You whispered, your arms reaching out.

“Of course, my lady. He is your son,”

The child was handed to you, nuzzled against the bare skin of your breasts, his little cries soon petering out to soft snuffles of sleep. The maester left to deliver the good news to the Lord of Casterly Rock, but your world consisted only of Tyrion and your son.

“He’s perfect,” he said, letting out a relieved laugh. “And he’s going to tower over me when he’s a man grown,” You gave a laugh, happy tears streaming down your cheeks as you rested your head on his shoulder. Tyrion pressed his lips to your temple. “You wonderful, wonderful woman, I love you,” he murmured. “I swear to you on the old gods and the new that I will protect you and my son from all harm,”

You rubbed your son’s back gently, not wanted to disturb his sleep and you looked up to your husband. “Thank you,” you whispered. Tyrion, my Lord husband. My love,”

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi @fullmoonshadowwrites

#tyrion lannister imagine #tyrion lannister x you #tyrion x you #Tyrion x reader #Tyrion Lannister x reader #request #2021 #family duty honor #part 2 #got #game of thrones one shot #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine

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lancermylove · 4 years

Text

Teenager MC 8: Dad’s Home! (Oneshot)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Demon Bros x gn!Reader, platonic.

Warning: None

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Could you do a one-shot where Lucifer arrives home after a looong day and walks in on his brothers laughing up a storm because teen MC accidentally exclaimed "Dad's home!" when they saw him?

A/N: Anon, I am SO sorry for taking so long! >< I like to write one-shot in one go, and recently I’ve been very busy. I hope you like it!

Word Count: 2,287

———————————————

Everything that could've gone wrong went wrong. First, Lucifer stayed up all night to finish a report for the RAD council. Then in the morning, his brothers ended up arguing and got into a food fight, so he had to forgo breakfast. When he got to RAD, he learned that Diavolo ran away to escape his responsibilities, leaving Lucifer a tall stack of papers to read and sign. On top of that, since the butler was out searching for the prince, the Avatar of Pride had to take care of Barbatos's student council work as well. For this reason, he had to ignore his rumbling stomach and skip lunch.

Just when Lucifer thought he could rest, a fight broke out between two lesser demons. Then he got caught in the middle of a prank and got doused in water, followed by pink glitter. There went his new clothes. After he left RAD, the raven-haired man stopped to get a snack but got attacked by hungry Devildom birds and had to give up his food. When he decided to head home, Diavolo showed up and asked Lucifer to save him from Barbatos; instead of helping the prince, the Avatar of Pride gave him a lecture which drained the remaining energy from his exhausted body. So, by the time Lucifer reach the House of Lamentation, he had no strength left.

All he wanted to do was eat, go straight to his room, and drink wine while listening to his favorite CD. The demon expected all his brothers to be busy with school work, but instead, he found them in the living room in a rather chaotic state. Mammon was rolling on the ground, holding his stomach and laughing up a storm; Levi sat on one of the sofas with both hands over his mouth, trying to suppress his chuckles; Satan leaned against Asmo's shoulder, laughing and wiping his tears, while Asmo pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips and giggled; Beel held onto his stomach and repeatedly hit one of his large hands on the center table, laughing heartily; the youngest brother was curled up on the couch beside his twin, chuckling. You stood near the fireplace, biting down on your lower lip, but as soon as you saw Lucifer, you covered your mouth quickly, hoping he didn't hear your words.

Seeing the state of his family, Lucifer felt like hitting his head on a wall. All eyes turned to him, expecting him to question them or cross his arms and frown at their behavior, but the eldest brother chose to turn on his heels and dragged his feet towards his bedroom.

Asmo and Satan stopped laughing and exchanged glances as soon as they saw him exit the room. Belphie saw his older brothers' reactions and wondered what happened. He tugged on Beel's shirt to get him to stop laughing. Levi blinked in confusion, questioning why his tyrant brother walked away without saying a word. Mammon didn't get the message and continued laughing until Satan threw a pillow at him.

"Hey, whatcha do that for?" The Avatar of Greed asked as he sat up and smoothed out his disheveled hair.

"Is Luci okay?" You questioned, not expecting him to give such an unusual reaction, "Should...we go check on him?"

Before anyone could reply to your question, a familiar voice interrupted, "Pardon my intrusion, but would Lucifer happen to be here?"

"He just came home," you replied, "hey, Barbatos, did something happen to Lucifer? He...didn't seem like himself."

"I thought that may be the case," the butler touched his chin and sighed before explaining the events that took place throughout Lucifer's day.

"You know, Luci always does so much for us," you mumbled and glanced at the ground, "we always cause trouble for him, but he still takes care of us. I think this time, we should do something for him!"

Your lips tugged into a smile as you held up your curled hands close to your face, "Let's turn his bad day into a good day."

The brothers pondered for a second, and Asmo was the first to speak, "I agree. Whenever I have fashion emergencies, I can always count on Lucifer to help me."

Beel nodded in agreement, "Whenever I ask him for his food, he gives it to me. Also...he took care of Lilith a lot."

Belphie's muscles momentarily stiffened at hearing his sister's name, but he regained his composure. "He locked me in the attic to protect me...even though I caused him trouble."

Levi twirled the cable of his headphone around his index finger while mumbling, "He always makes sure my bank account is full, so I can buy all the games I want."

"He takes Goldie away from me," Mammon sighed and averted his eyes, "but to keep me from running into debt."

All eyes turned to Satan, waiting for him to add his point to the conversation. The Avatar of Wrath crossed his arms as the corners of his lips turned down, "What? You really want me to say something nice about Lucifer?"

"Come on, Satan," you pouted, "you know he has done nice things for you. Admit it! It's not like Lucifer is around to hear you praising him."

After a moment of silence, the blond man shook his head and admitted defeat. "Fine, even though I always hated him, Lucifer still looked out for me."

"See, that wasn't hard, was it?" You chuckled, earning a deeper frown from him.

"Seems like all of you have the situation under control," Barbatos smiled, "Then I shall take my leave. If you require my aid, then do let me know. Please excuse me."

----

Asmo opened the door to his elder brother's room and peeked inside. "Luci? Sorry, to disturb you."

The Avatar of Pride sat on the chair next to the fireplace with his arms crossed over his chest and head thrown back. He didn't open his eyes but motioned his brother to come inside.

"What's wrong?" Luci asked in a sapped voice, slightly opening his eyes.

"I need you to come with me." Asmo took hold of his brother's hand and helped him to his feet before Lucifer could protest in any way.

"Can this wait?"

"No, sorry!" Asmo forced a small smile as he studied his sibling's lifeless face.

Upon reaching his room, the Avatar of Lust asked his sibling to lie on his bed faced down. At first, the elder brother looked at Asmo with a raised eyebrow, but lacking the strength to protest, he gave in. While the other brothers fulfilled their duties, Asmo kept Lucifer busy with a body and face massage.

"Asmo, what is going on?" The raven-haired man asked in a muffled voice.

"Shh, no talking allowed. Just relax." The Avatar of Lust cooed as he worked his fingers to break the pent-up tension in his brother's muscles. In the meantime, Belphie and Levi snuck into Luci's room to draw him a relaxing bath with candles and soothing music.

"D-Do you really think this will help?" Levi asked while lighting the silver-colored candles around the black bathtub.

"It will help. Besides, we need to give Asmo time to sneak out and buy Lucifer a new outfit. Levi, while I add the final touches, go tell Asmo we're done."

After Belphie added the remaining petals in the bathtub, he made his way to the kitchen to check on his twin and Mammon.

"Beel! Don't touch that," Mammon loudly said as he whacked the top of his younger brother's hand, "Remember, we are cookin' for Lucifer."

"Beel, are you hungry again?" Belphie chuckled, stepping into the kitchen to find his twin pouting. The Avatar of Gluttony touched his growling stomach and nodded once.

"How are ya still hungry? You ate everything we made just a few minutes ago," Mammon sighed and shook his head in disapproval, "Belphie, will ya make sure he doesn't eat any of Lucifer's food? We don't have enough ingredients to cook everything again."

"I p-promise I won't eat anything." The orange-haired demon lowered his head and looked at the older demon through his bangs.

"Don't gimme that look. We'll getcha somethin' to eat after, 'kay?"

Beel's eyes lit as he vigorously nodded, "Let me help you with the vegetables."

"So, how's everything goin' on your end?" Mammon asked as monitored the food on the stove.

"Lucifer got his massage and should be relaxing in the tub. Asmo will leave to buy his new outfit soon." Belphie leaned again the wall and watched Beel rhythmically chopping the red, green, and orange vegetables.

“What about Satan and (Y/N)? Did they message ya?”

“Yeah, Satan said (Y/N) gave an earful to Diavolo for giving Lucifer and Barbatos a hard time,” Belphie smiled and rolled his long bang between his right thumb and index finger, “I wish I could’ve been there.”

----

Meanwhile, you and Satan worked with the prince and his demon butler to finish some of Lucifer's student council work.

"Prince Diavolo, I apologize for crossing my limits earlier, but you are the Ruler of Devildom. That means you have certain responsibilities to fulfill whether you like it or not," you huffed, "you can’t push those duties on others. Lucifer and Barbatos already do quite a lot for you, so please don't give them a difficult time. Promise me, you won't."

Satan pressed his lips into a firm line to hold back his laughter while Barbatos quietly chuckled to himself. Diavolo exhaled loudly and shook his head, feeling guilty for his actions.

"I promise. Barbatos, deliver an apology gift basket to Lucifer on my behalf. Also, let him know that he has the day off tomorrow."

"Of course, my lord." The green-haired butler glanced at you with a smile before exiting the room to purchase the present.

----

An hour later, you and Satan return to the House of Lamentation to find Mammon and Beel heading to Lucifer's room with a tray in hand. As the four of you reached the Avatar of Pride's bedroom, you saw the remaining brothers waiting in front of the door.

"Ah, seems like everyone is here," Asmo smiled and knocked on the door, "Lucifer, we are coming inside."

The Avatar of Pride was stunned to see the group enter his room but stared wordlessly. He scanned all of your faces with unreadable eyes, waiting for one of you to speak.

"Here," Mammon broke the silence as he set the food tray on the center table, followed by Beel. "We heard you haven't eaten today..."

Lucifer lifted the silver cloches to find three meals, an appetizer, main course, and dessert, messily arranged on fine china plates with intricate gold patterns. He examined the dishes but stopped to stare at the cake with a missing piece.

"B-Beel, you promised you wouldn't eat anything," Mammon rested his hands on his hips and shot a glare towards his younger brother.

"S-Sorry...I couldn't wait to eat," The Avatar of Gluttony innocently replied.

To everyone's surprise, Lucifer started chuckling, "Thank you, Mammon, Beel."

"Luci, I got you a new replacement outfit," Asmo chimed, "Though I must say, you looked quite good covered in pink glitter."

"Oh, I also have something I would like to tell you," you chirped and clapped your hand together, "you have the day off tomorrow!"

The raven-haired glanced at you with wide eyes, but before he could ask you why a loud knock echoed through the bedroom. All heads turned to see Barbatos stepping in with a large gift basket. "Pardon me, but Lucifer, Lord Diavolo asked me to deliver this on his behalf. He also wishes to apologize to you for causing you trouble today."

For a while, the Avatar of Pride grew quiet as he pieced the events of the day together. His lips curled up into a rather soft smile, "Thank you, everyone, for turning my day around, but I advise you not to get used to this kinder side of mine. I am curious about one thing though, what were all of you laughing at earlier today?"

"Oh dear, look at the time," Asmo gasped as he covered his cheeks, "I need to go moisturize my bedroom."

Mammon watched Asmo skip out of the room and quickly added, "Uh, I think I left the stove on. Lemme go turn it off before the house burns down."

Levi looked around the room nervously as Mammon ran out of the room. "Um, I w-will go get g-gasoline to put out the fire..." The Avatar of Envy stiffly walked out the room, nearly tripping over his feet.

"I need to finish a report and pull an all-nighter," Belphie mumbled before turning on his heels and quickly sliding his feet across the hardwood floor.

"I need to go burn my book," Satan said and power walked out, mentally beating himself for making a senseless excuse.

Beel tilted his head to one side and blinked, "Why did everyone leave?"

"I should return to the castle to babysi- I mean to attend to Lord Diavolo," Barbatos chuckled and excused himself.

"Uh, I need to...go summon the devil. See ya!" You flashed a toothy grin and raced out of the room. Lucifer watched all of you with one eyebrow tugged up.

"Beel," he shifted his attention to the only remaining brother, "tell me, why was everyone laughing earlier?"

The tall demon chuckled, remembering your word, and blurted, "When (Y/N) saw you at the front door, they ran into the living room and said 'dad's home'."

"Dad...," Lucifer slumped on the sofa and touched his forehead with his thumb and index finger, "is that what (Y/N) thinks of me as? I suddenly don't feel well."

———————————————

➣ Obey Me Masterlist ➣ Buy me a Ko-fi or Commission?

➣ Teen MC Series: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7]

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #obey me satan #obey me levi #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Note

"I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met." memory loss angst? 👉👈🥺

anon... fam, this turned into an emotional rollercoaster and totally stole my braincell.

3.8k words. angst with a happy ending.

tw: memory loss, minor anxiety, repressed memories, idiots to lovers, whump, angst with a happy ending, angst with a fluffy ending

---

It’s been three hours, five minutes, and forty-two seconds since the frigid breeze whipped Geralt’s angry words at him, shattering his fragile, stupid heart to pieces. Every syllable rings through Jaskier’s head over and over, slamming into him from all directions and crippling him with a bone-deep pain far worse than anything he’s ever felt before. The ache ebbs and flows, lancing through him with every step. Not even Geralt’s first frustrated blow to his abdomen had been this terrible.

Geralt… That’s the problem, isn’t it? He hadn’t been smart enough to get out of the gorgeous Witcher’s long, silvery hair soon enough. He’d overstayed his welcome, fallen in love in the meantime, and is now very out of sorts (and also alone in unfamiliar territory). The bard laughs but it’s a hollow sound. Jaskier has reached the edge of hysteria, his intelligent blue eyes now vacant and unseeing. Even as he stumbles through the underbrush, all he can picture is the snarl on Geralt’s face as the Witcher yells at Destiny to take Jaskier off his hands.

Jaskier’s own hands are covered in sap and splinters from pushing tree branches away from his face as he traverses the darkening forest. His hair is full of debris and his clothes are torn and dirty; Geralt has all of his emergency supplies, still. Jaskier is pretty sure that his lute is still strapped over his shoulder but he realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he doesn’t actually care.

He doesn’t have the capacity anymore.

He can’t care… caring hurts too much.

If only Destiny had taken him off Geralt’s hands. Maybe then it would be okay. Maybe then, if Geralt was well and truly free of him and his irritating presence, the Witcher could be happy. He and Yennefer will surely come back around, they always seem to, and Ciri will be joining them soon enough it seems.

There’s no need - no room - for a humble bard anymore.

Only five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds after Geralt’s outburst at the top of the mountain, Jaskier’s delicate human body succumbs to the stress of the day.

He drops to the forest floor without a sound, grateful for the darkness.

---

Yennefer finds the bard in a heap a few miles away from the previous night’s elevated campsite. When she presses the back of her hand to his forehead she yanks it away almost immediately; he’s burning up, and his skin is clammy and sticky with sweat. The feathery bangs he flicks about and preens so much are stuck to his forehead and temples. He’s on the verge of shaking apart and Yennefer tosses her head imperiously, swearing.

“Damnit, Geralt. You and your incredibly foolish need to be alone all the time so you can brood and self-flagellate. Me, an ageless sorceress from one of the greatest magic schools on the Continent? I can handle a thorough tongue lashing. Fuck, I’m older than you and I’ve seen far worse but this… oh, you great lummox. You absolute bastard…” Yennefer mutters to herself as she assesses the bard’s deteriorating state of health, ranting to an invisible Geralt all the while. “You’re absolutely going to be hearing from me about this, Wolf.”

--- Three days, one hour, and fifteen minutes after Geralt dismissed him forever, Jaskier wakes up with a loud gasp and a violent shudder. He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming in through a window. Whatever he’s lying on is comfortable and the sheets smell fresh and bright, like lilac and freesia. A hint of gooseberry lies beneath it all, delicate and sweet. He glances around the space and finds it to be relatively bare; a guest room, perhaps. Maybe he’s a servant at some noble house?

Jaskier only really knows that his name is Jaskier and that he plays music. He’s also rather talented with floral arrangements.

Shortly after he’s finished purveying his (borrowed?) chamber, the very image of grace, beauty, and terror enters the room. The woman, whose coppery skin and enchanting violet eyes practically glow in the midafternoon sun, smiles down at him in a way that toes the line between Motherly and Shark-like.

“How are you feeling, Jaskier?”

“I’m alright. And you?”

“Just fine. Geralt really did a number on us, huh?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He has the feeling that something isn’t right; she shouldn’t be looking at him so kindly.

Her expression changes from friendly to horrified to confused in an instant, as soon as Jaskier manages to ask: “Who’s Geralt? And, pardon me, but I feel as if something is rather amiss. Who are you, my Lady?”

Whoever the gorgeous and terrifying woman is, she grimaces briefly. Then, as if by magic, the comforting smile returns. “I’m Yennefer, of course. I saved your life a few years ago, remember?”

Jaskier wracks his brain but cannot call the occasion to mind. “Unfortunately no, I don’t remember your no doubt heroic deed. Although I suppose that means I’m in your debt, doesn’t it? Do I work for you? Is that why I’m here?”

The woman blinks a few times, slowly, and then nods. “You’re my gardener and personal musician.”

Jaskier brightens, happy to have found himself in a safe environment.

“But you’ve had a nasty illness and your mind is clearly fatigued. Rest another day or two and then we can see about getting you back into the fresh air.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Jaskier nods.

“Yen is fine.”

“Thank you, Yen. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he grins.

---

Yennefer turns away to hide her pained expression. You’d probably still be with your beloved Witcher.

She makes her way to the kitchen to fix Jaskier something to eat. He must be hungry after spending three days in a deep, healing sleep. She hadn’t been expecting the amnesia, though; it was an unexpected but not unsurprising turn of events. Heartbreak had done stranger things than a little bit of fever-induced memory loss. When she’d delved briefly into his mind she hadn’t seen any sign of Geralt. His face was absent from the bard’s consciousness; she would have needed to dig to unearth those memories. Whatever the Witcher had done was grievous, especially if Jaskier’s mind compensated with something as dramatic as burying Geralt completely to save itself from further harm.

No matter, she decides, the bard can stay here as long as he likes. It’s the least I can do for all the upset Geralt and I have caused him. Where is that idiot Witcher, anyway?

The sorceress quickly clears her agenda and her mind before returning to her guest room with a large tray of food, a bottle of Toussainti red under her arm. “Jaskier, darling, let’s get your convalescence started in style!”

---

2 months later

---

Jaskier watches a strange man ride up the long path to Yennefer’s manor, the hilts of his twin swords glinting in the sun where they’re slung over his shoulder. He has long white hair and the most devastating jawline the bard/gardener (or ‘bardener’ as he says to irritate his darling employer) has ever laid eyes on. He’s clad all in black, from his plain linen shirt to his tight leather trousers; Jaskier thinks he’d also look rather lovely in dark blue or perhaps forest green.

In front of him, wrapped securely against his chest by one strong arm, sits a little girl with ashen hair and frightened eyes. Haunted eyes. Jaskier’s mind fills with ballads, some familiar and some oddly dreamlike, their lyrics half-obscured and hazy. Ciri, he thinks for no reason. Her name is Ciri. And she is a Princess.

The brunette scurries from the garden alongside the house to the kitchen, searching for the familiar cloud of Yennefer’s strong perfume. “My Lady?”

“Darling?” the sorceress replies, coming around the corner. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrows and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “Did you sprint all the way from the west lawn?”

“There’s a- strange man- on the- drive!” he huffs. “White hair- horse!”

“Oh,” her eyes go wide with surprise. Then, in a split second, they narrow to slits. “Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, know him?” Jaskier asks, twiddling his fingers. “He’s rather handsome, Yen. Is he a former lover?”

“Unfortunately,” she growls. “I can’t believe it’s taken him two fucking months to get here. He’d better have a damned good excuse.”

By now Jaskier can breathe normally again and he straightens up, shaking his long, shaggy hair from his eyes. “He had a child with him. She looked scared, Yen.”

“Cirilla!”

Yennefer dashes for the front door and Jaskier follows instinctually. They’re always together and he can’t bear to let her confront this man alone. He’s spent every waking moment with Yen since he awoke that first day and she has grown to be his dearest friend; he’ll protect her even unto death. “Yenna, what’s wrong? Who is he!?”

“Geralt of Rivia,” she snarls. The name seems familiar; maybe from a ballad or story? Perhaps Yen has mentioned him before?

“What about Geralt of Rivia?” a low, rumbling bass asks from the front hallway. Jaskier and Yennefer arrive in the doorway together and the man, Geralt apparently, takes a shaky step back. He recoils a bit, as if he’s been slapped, and Yennefer’s smile grows cruel. His voice, still incredibly low but now with a slight tremor to it, stutters out; “Wha- Yen, what is he- Jaskier? I only came to ask for help with Ciri, I didn’t know- I didn’t-”

Geralt’s stammered speech tapers off into silence and Yennefer’s brow furrows a second time. When the sorceress sets eyes on the child, who cannot be more than twelve years old, her expression softens again. Jaskier watches the most imposing woman in the world kneel, taking one small, pale hand in both of her own. “My name is Yennever of Vengerberg, former Sorceress of Aretuza. I am honored to meet you, Princess Cirilla. Geralt has come seeking protection, no doubt, and it is easily granted. I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Lady Yennefer. And, uhm… Ciri’s fine,” the girl replies. Her voice is high and reedy, shot through with anxiety. She’s so young, Jaskier frowns. And yet she seems to have weathered an incredible storm.

“Ciri,” the bard bows from the doorway, low and dramatic. He sweeps his arm out to the side and bends his knees as awkwardly as possible, “I am Jaskier, private troubadour and gardener extraordinaire, under the employ of the magnanimous and dangerous Lady Yennefer, here. It is my greatest honor to make your very mighty and very royal acquaintance.”

“You’re silly, Master Jaskier,” the child giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hands. Geralt’s eyes grow wide and dart between Jaskier and the girl. Yennefer makes meaningful eye contact before nodding toward the door. Jaskier looks down at Ciri again when she asks: “Do you grow lots of flowers in Lady Yennefer’s garden, or just herbs and things for magic?”

“I grow lots of things all over the property,” the brunette man steps forward and offers Ciri his hand, gesturing towards the front door with the other. “Would you like to come and take a look? I know all the scientific names, you can even quiz me if you like.”

“I know some,” she smiles shyly, accepting the offered hand. “May I go take a look at the gardens, Geralt?”

“Go ahead,” the Witcher nods dumbly. “Jaskier will take good care of you.”

“That I will. Now, let’s take a look at the flowers and let these silly adults have a chat,” Jaskier grins. He winks at Yennefer and disappears out the door, exiled Princess in tow.

The two lively companions have toured through all the medicinal herbs and are halfway through Yennefer’s large collection of rose variations when the two other members of the party approach. Geralt looks sheepish, his eyes downcast. Yennefer looks triumphant; she is radiant in her victory as always.

Geralt steps forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jaskier, I’ve come to apologize for what happened when we parted.”

“Excuse me?” the bard chuckles, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly.”

“When I yelled at you after the dragon hunt. It was only two months ago, Jaskier, surely you remember?”

Jaskier blushes, glancing anxiously between Geralt and his friend, whose violet eyes are stormy with emotion, “I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met."

Geralt gasps sharply and takes a step back, as he did in the entryway. Jaskier winces, seemingly on instinct, and shies away from the larger man. “You don’t remember me?”

“No…” Jaskier sighs. “I really don't. Should I?”

“You don’t… You don’t even remember Toss a Coin?”

“Oh, that ditty from town?” Jaskier perks up. “I know that song! It always gets stuck in my head.”

“You… You wrote that song,” Geralt’s face crumples. “About our first adventure together outside of Posada. With the elves and the sylvan...”

“I’ve never been to Posada,” Jaskier laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “They hate bards. They prefer troupes of traveling play-actors. Posada is far too serious for my tastes.”

Geralt seems to be in agony. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s on the verge of tears but unable to shed them. Can Witchers cry?

How does he know that Geralt is a Witcher? Is it the two swords, the scars, or the strange eyes? How does he know that those are common Witcher traits?

His stomach lurches and he turns away from the group in case he needs to be sick. The ground spins and shivers in little ripples around him, unstable and impermanent beneath his feet. Yennefer is calling his name from somewhere far away and a pair of warm, strong arms are looped around his waist. Still, he can’t seem to breathe. Or focus.

There’s something missing.

He starts to hum, trying to remember the words of that damned song.

The rest of the world fades in and out around him, finally disappearing altogether.

---

He’s gorgeous.

Jaskier shoves another roll into his pocket. His eyes are focused on the man in the corner. He has long, snow-white hair and his shoulders are hunched forward protectively, as if he can hold the world out by sitting by himself. He’s glaring the table into submission, one fist clenched around his tankard.

I want to write him a thousand ballads. I want to know what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning, before he brushes it out again. I want to know if he snores. I want… he stops himself.

He makes his way across the room with eyes only for the stranger. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

The man looks away and Jaskier notices that his irises are gold. “I’m here to drink alone.”

Gods, his fucking voice… Velvet and gravel all at once. Melitele, does Jaskier want. “Good, yeah. Good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you.”

The man, the Witcher, Jaskier realizes, rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he wheedles, sitting down across from the gorgeous stranger. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.”

The man’s face stays stoic, expressionless. “They don’t exist.”

He realizes shortly thereafter that this man is not just any Witcher but the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He could try to disengage himself from such a daunting character; he could easily make some kind of excuse and disappear back to the troubadour’s path, heading towards civilization, but it’s already too late. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt’s side ever again; he wants to write all those ballads he was thinking about earlier, when he glanced across the room.

Jaskier has fallen head over heels in love. ---

Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest and presses his nose deep into those chestnut brown waves. “Wake up, Jaskier. Come back to me, bard, it’s been too long.”

“Don’t you usually go all winter without seeing him?” Yennefer asks from the doorway.

“It’s hell,” he replies easily. There’s no point in hiding his feelings from her. “I miss him every minute of every day.”

“Verbose this evening,” she remarks, taking a seat by the fire. “He’s dreaming, you know. He’s remembering you.”

“He’d forgotten?”

“He’d repressed it all,” she shrugs. “When I found him that day, feverish and nearly dead on the side of that godsforsaken mountain, he was barely coherent enough to open his eyes. He just kept asking for you, Geralt. Over and over he called for you, reaching his arms up, weak as they were. Gods, it was pitiful to watch.”

Geralt swallows.

“I thought you were going to come back sooner. I was surprised when his memories didn’t resurface after two or three weeks. Short-term memory loss after a fever isn’t uncommon but repressing twenty years worth of feelings and experiences-” she whistles lowly “-it was impressive and tragic, all at once.”

“He forgot me?”

“Entirely.”

Geralt glances down, shame-faced. He adjusts Jaskier in his arms, holding him close and pillowing the bard’s head against his shoulder. “I deserve it, Yen.”

“He’s remembering now, though. He’ll probably be a little less than pleased to see you when he wakes up, but he knows who you are.”

“When will he wake?”

“Can’t say,” she shrugs again. “After I brought him back from the mountain it took three days for him to wake up. The first day was magically induced but after that it was just him… exhausted and heartbroken to the point of self-induced amnesia.”

“Fuck, Yen,” Geralt groaned, pressing his forehead into the soft warmth of Jaskier’s cheek. “How can I make it up to him?”

“Stay.”

“Hmm?”

“When he wakes up and he’s angry and upset, stay. Don’t stomp off or blow up or freak out,” she instructs. “If he asks you to leave, go, but otherwise… prove yourself, Geralt of Rivia. You wanted to be a knight once, didn’t you? Now’s your chance to play Prince Charming. Get down on your lovely knees and beg and apologize.”

“Hmm. How’s Ciri?”

“Fed, bathed, and put to bed. I’ll take care of her for as long as it takes you two morons to make nice again. Good luck, Geralt, I’m sure he’ll forgive you too easily for my tastes.”

She stands from her seat and leaves just as efficiently as she entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Geralt lays Jaskier back on the bed and takes a seat beside him on the mattress, kneeling just within touching distance, should Jaskier reach out for reassurance in his sleep. Geralt closes his eyes and slips easily into meditation.

The Witcher is pulled from his trance a few hours later when Jaskier makes a startled sound and tries to sit up. Geralt opens his eyes and splays one warm, broad hand against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him back against the goose down pillows. “Stay still, Jaskier. You’re feverish and weak.”

“I’m still dreaming,” the bard grumbles, reaching to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s adorable and Geralt grins widely, warmth spilling into his chest from some newly discovered fount of happiness. “You’re being too nice to me, Witcher.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, for everything.”

“What’s everything, Geralt?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away when I was angry and confused instead of communicating with you. I’m sorry for hurting you with my brash words and foolish actions; you have always deserved so much better and I’m so afraid that I can never give that to you. I take the wrong step at every turn, it seems, and yet you stay by my side. I didn’t want to risk hurting you the way I’ve already hurt Yen and Ciri, by tying us together against your will.”

“Darling Geralt,” the bard sighs. The Witcher scoots slightly closer and Jaskier lays a gentle hand atop his thigh. “It has always been my greatest pleasure to travel the Path with you and write of our adventures. I appreciate your concern for my agency and wellbeing, dear heart, but I am quite happy spending my entire human life in your presence.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher frowns. “You’re going to die someday.”

“And? So are you. So shall Yennefer, maybe.”

“Not likely,” Geralt jokes. Jaskier grins and the sight of it is so heartwarming that the Witcher wishes he could break down into tears. At least then Jaskier could see just how deeply his feelings ran. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, for blaming you for things that I brought upon myself. I love you dearly, and I hope that someday you can choose to travel with me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hope that you’ll-”

“No, the other bit.”

“I love you?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh. Yes, I-” Geralt clears his throat and looks Jaskier in the eyes, gold and blue locked together, “I love you very much, Jaskier.”

“Fuck.”

“May I kiss you, Jaskier?”

“Yes,” the bard breathes.

And then Geralt is lifting him up into his lap, one hand cradling Jaskier’s skull so so fucking carefully. Geralt’s other arm supports his waist, holding him steady. Their lips come together softly, carefully, and Jaskier’s soul spirals up to the ceiling with joy, his body abandoned. He is merely a vessel for the happiness that comes with kissing his Witcher. When they pull apart, both men are grinning like fools. “Oh, dear heart.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Never stop calling me that.”

“I swear I won’t, my love.”

From downstairs, Geralt hears Yennefer mutter, “Fucking finally.”

It takes twenty-two years, seven months, and one day, but Geralt and Jaskier manage to figure things out.

#bounceacoinoffyouranons #geraskier #amnesia #amensiac jaskier #memory loss #rare species fix it #the witcher netflix #the witcher ficlet #geraskier fluff #angst with a happy ending #fluff and angst #whump with a happy ending #jaskier whump #yennefer #yen and jaskier are bitchy theatre bffs #and you can't stop me #anon you really got me fucked up

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thedevillionaire · 3 years

Text

The Twentieth

Okay. ~5,000 words of Underworldian stuff that happens. Well, primarily one thing, really, but not all at the same time. Sort of. Ask me anything, thank you so very much for reading, and...well, here we go.

--- This was not at all how he’d planned for the day of their anniversary to unfold.

In the back of his mind, in corners he’d quite deliberately not lingered for a moment longer than absolutely necessary, he’d known that trouble was possibly oncoming as early as the night before last, the descending fog of nascent illness as recognisable as it was unwelcome. But it had been…at least a year, perhaps close to two, since he’d last felt this way, and he was hoping that he was wrong, and that what were seeming like potential signs of bad news weren’t actually signs at all.

They were.

Cerberus sniffled.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He’d tried, he really had. Discounting those signs as unimportant even as he took precautions because of them, he’d risked nothing, pushed his luck with nothing. He’d even gone to bed several hours earlier than usual last night, and fallen asleep almost immediately on top of that. Unlike his bonded, who’d had a late night and come home at some uncertain hour from one of those social catch-up things she so enjoyed that he was…less inclined towards, even in times when he was feeling entirely well – not that he’d given that as the reason for his disinclination to participate, of course.

Hardly relevant, anyway.

And he’d slept soundly enough that he’d not woken to notice her join him – in fact, he’d been so sapped of energy that from the moment the warmth of the hearth and bedcovers enveloped him, he was out – which just made it all the more ominous that he’d woken feeling like he’d got no rest at all, bone-tired as if no respite had been granted, with a constant, dull headache that so far had refused to resolve, and yesterday’s mild discomfort at the back of his throat sharpening significantly into an active and intrusive concern.

Getting caught in that ridiculous downpour on the way here wouldn’t have helped matters either, he thought bitterly. Although brief, it had been intense, and sudden, and heavy, and though the mercy of Teleport could not have been a more welcome escape, the short time spent in headblurry indecision about whether or not he should utilise it had nonetheless been long enough that his coat had been soaked through. The refuge of the radiant heat of his Office was helping somewhat, at least, and most of his clothing had dried by now – though his hair, which he’d tied back with a loose bow of slender black velvet ribbon to keep errant strands from his face, was still noticeably and uncomfortably damp against his neck. Less so than had he left it unbound, but still…

If he’d ever regretted choosing to walk rather than taking the lazy option before – gods, the damn irony of thinking that the walk would possibly benefit him tonight, of all things – he was sure he’d not regretted it as much as he did right now.

He sniffled again.

Fuck.

---

Closing the folder of Requiem’s surprisingly competently done assignment, he sighed and added it to the small stack of completed works, vaguely wondering if he’d been too generous with the grading. Although he knew the content backwards and could in fact get away with paying very little serious attention, his mind was nevertheless, for the most part, almost entirely on other things.

This was supposed to be the night where, once respective regular mundanities and commitments were out of the way, he would take his beloved to indulge in whichever of the things she most loved to indulge in while on a Visit, utterly at her behest, and completely guilt-free for her with no mandated set goal to achieve, no limitations on immersion, no regulations at all; just an unscheduled and spontaneous trip to the mortal plane, a high-end cocktail bar all dress codes and decadence, and a veritable array of delicious, oblivious Takings there for her pleasure – ahh, darkling, a smorgasbord! – all eyes upon her because nobody, not in the Underworld and certainly no mortal, can compare, and despite his usual personal antipathy towards bothering with the mortal realm, he knew of certain excellences all the same, and he’d put his own preferences aside and simply present her with the glories and spoils she deserved, watch her dance from the shadows and delight in it.

Darkling, I will give you the world.

He’d had every intention of doing precisely that.

And it was also really starting to feel like he was definitely not going to…not going to let this happen, damn it. You’ll be fine, stop putting unnecessary emphasis on transient discomfort, it’s nothing, you know these things pass, just…

He sniffled again, more sharply this time, claimed another tissue and blew his nose, trying to disregard how doing so did nothing much to stop the continuing drip and irritation.

Just get on with it. Honestly. Vaporising the tissue, he took another sip of the honeyed tea that wasn’t doing nearly as much to counteract the sting in his throat as he’d hoped it would, and returned his attention to the job at hand. He noted with distaste as he opened the new folder that yet again it seemed that Hellion hadn’t bothered to proofread the simplest of…

Oh gods.

His breath caught, thoughts ceased, focus helplessly crumbling.

“Hh-hh…”

He rolled his eyes at the inevitability of it, and grabbed another tissue, and another, as the insistent need made itself unstoppably and urgently known.

“Hh-TSCHH-uu! *snff!* Huh-TSSCHH-uu!”

Therion, across the room and in the midst of cataloguing a stupidly confusing array of recently rediscovered and yet unsorted secondgen scrolls, glanced back over his shoulder at Cerberus briefly. “Gesundheit,” he commented offhand, not remotely surprised by this development. Given the constant sniffling that had been going on for the last couple of hours or so, he’d pretty much been expecting that to happen sooner or later. No matter how infrequently the Demon king may catch cold, symptoms were symptoms. Sounding like shit there, boss, he thought, but decided against voicing it.

Cerberus managed a quick thankyou before the demanding urge once again overtook him, and he inhaled deeply, desperately, the force of the sneeze almost doubling him over.

“hhh-AHHTSSCHHUU!”

Therion glanced over again. “You okay, man?”

Cerberus, with a strong sniffle, cleared his throat and made an incidental sound of dismissal. “Mm, fine,” he murmured, which he knew at this point was a complete lie, his head pounding. “Pardon me.” He blew his nose, sniffling again immediately. Ugh. “It’s, um…it’s nothing.”

He returned his attention to Hellion’s paper.

It was, however, no matter his assurance, becoming undeniably something.

Fuck.

---

The hours had somehow simultaneously dragged and flown by, some goals achieved, others – and, to be honest, the ones he’d most been counting on – unfortunately not so.

Cerberus sighed heavily, put aside the last of the assignments he’d reviewed, and, having had quite enough of honeyed tea for one day, poured himself a substantial glass of cognac from the decanter on his desk.

On the plus side, he’d got through a decent amount of the papers, all things considered. On the minus, though, his oncoming cold, rather than resolving into the insignificance he’d hoped for, had instead settled in undeniably, pouring into his head like cement, and he pressed the back of his hand firmly against his nose with enough force for pain to overtake irritation. He vaporised yet another bunch of used tissues, sniffling again, and tried to take his mind off Kia and what she might be thinking, expecting, dreaming, anticipating…

..and what he feared he was not going be able to deliver.

Acceptance of such, however, was still not something he was willing to entertain quite yet.

Damn it, it’s one night. Surely you can at least delay this ridiculousness for one more night. With a lengthy, determined sniffle and heavy exhalation, Cerberus, elbow on desk and hand against forehead, lost himself in a mix of annoyance and self-pity for a moment before an intense rising fury at the situation overtook it, and he frowned, sat up straighter, and drained the glass of cognac entirely.

Do. Better.

With a brief shake of his head, he rubbed his nose and opened the next assignment in the pile, read the name. Ah, Cenotaph, he noted with a slight satisfaction. Shouldn’t be dreadful. Although he nearly always…

His thoughts were jarringly interrupted by the intrusive ring of the telephone, and despite him dearly wishing he could palm this off to Therion, the phone was on the desk, and proximity demanded he be the one to answer. And to make matters worse – apparently that’s possible, and of course it is – he could feel the rising, inexorable need to sneeze again.

No. This is not happening. Just… The idea of being defeated by such a simple, base physical weakness infuriating, he sniffled with sharp determination, crushing a hand clutching a tissue against his nose, and answered the call.

“Demonics.”

Aera took a moment. “Cerbie? Okay, wow. What are you doing in Office?”

I…work here? Cerberus couldn’t quite parse what her intention was, what sort of answer she was expecting. Was that rhetorical, or…? “I don’t… What do you…” He sniffled again, his breath catching momentarily, but he fought the urge back once more, and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. “What?”

“‘Debodics’,” Aera said in mimicry of the congestion destroying his consonants, her tone flippant and biting at the same time.

Frowning in annoyance, his patience worn thin enough as it was, and in no mood to engage, Cerberus snarled a curt, “I’m fine,” and wiped his nose.

Aera scoffed. “You’re seriously going the denial route? Hate to break it to you, but you sure don’t sound fine.”

“Do you have a point?” Cerberus asked tersely, internally cursing his inability to comprehensively prove her wrong – not that she was necessarily wrong, but that was hardly the issue.

“Godssake, Cerbie, you’re such a…” Aera began, but recognised she was probably wasting her time and decided to just let it go. She knew his pattern with this sort of thing, and so she backed off a little – though by no means completely. “Okay, fine, alright, I could be wrong, maybe you’re not sick after all. So, you know, if you’ve been crying or punched in the face or something, go right ahead and clear that up for me.”

Cerberus, exasperated and increasingly distracted, just wanted an end to it all. “Damn it, Aera, can you please try to tear yourself away from the apparently fascinating state of my health for a moment and just tell me what the hell it is you want? *snf!* And you could be a bit more pleasant to me, you know,” he added pointedly. “It is my anniversary, after all.”

Aera gasped lightly in realisation, the date having escaped her notice completely. “Oh, shit, it is too! Ah, fuck, sorry, happy anniversary. But, no, anyway, this call does actually have a point. I think I might have left a scarf in your Office yesterday. Do you have it? It’s blue.”

You couldn’t have just asked that immediately? Cerberus glanced around the Office perfunctorily, not seeing anything of the kind. “N…” His breath caught again and he scrubbed his hand roughly under his nose, sniffling sharply, and took a moment before trusting himself enough to answer her. “No.”

“Really? What the hell have I done with it, then?” Aera wondered, partially to Cerberus but mostly to herself, before returning her attention to the conversation at hand. “Oh, and bless you.”

“What?” Cerberus frowned in confusion, his head clouded enough that he wasn’t entirely certain that he hadn’t missed or forgotten something that surely he ought not to have been able to miss or forget. “I…I didn’t sneeze.” It was…inescapably true that he needed to, but he’d not…

Aera chuckled briefly, quietly. “You will.”

She hung up.

The freedom afforded him by that disconnection, one staggered, desperate inhale was all it took. And in the moment, he didn’t even care that she’d been right. At this point he just wanted relief.

“hh-HH… Ahh-HEHTSSHhuu!”

“Gesundheit,” said Therion again, smiling grimly to himself. He usually minded his own business about this sort of thing – not that it came up much – and indeed still considered staying out of it altogether now. But he hadn’t known about the anniversary factor before, and playing substitute Leader for a few days was hardly the worst fate in the world, and if not tonight it was almost certainly going to come to that fate soon enough anyway, so…

He put the scrolls aside, walking over to stand opposite where Cerberus was seated at the desk. “Hey, man…”

“Huh-AHSSCHuu! *snf!*” Cerberus groaned. “Gods. Excuse me,” he murmured with a heavy sigh, his head and sinuses throbbing. He sniffled wetly, blew his nose, excused himself again, and looked up at Therion somewhat hazily. “Mm?”

Therion half-smiled, casual, non-committal. “Happy anniversary, dude. Didn’t mean to listen in or anything, just…you know. Overheard.”

A small smile of appreciative thanks crossing his face, Cerberus sniffled again and nodded in otherwise silent acknowledgement.

“Just a thought, though,” Therion continued. “If I had a choice between going home to my mad-hot bonded… How many years now, man?”

A heartbeat. An eternity.

“Twenty.”

“Fucking what?!” Therion stared at Cerberus as if he was out of his mind. “Fuck, man! Congrats and shit, but for real? If I had a choice between going home, like, immediately or staying in Office for a few more hours marking shit I could pretty easily get my Understudy to do, actually? I’d be out of here in a fucking microsecond. But, you know, you’re the boss, man. Do whatever. Just saying.” Reaching across the desk, he picked up Cenotaph’s paper and scanned its contents quickly. “I mean, this looks pretty good, I guess, but, you know, Kia probably looks better.” He grinned as Cerberus gave a dark smile in response, and paused only for a short time, but enough that the pause be noted. “Seriously. You know she’d spoil the fuck out of you.”

Cerberus sighed again, regret, bitterness and castigating self-reproach evident in his eyes beneath a haze of sickness he really could no longer deny. Yes, I know, of course I know, but... “The spoiling really was suppo… hh-HH…” He hastily took another few tissues from the box, burying his face in them just in time to catch another fierce sneeze he had no chance of stopping. “AHHTSCHUU! Goddamnit. Pardon me.” He wiped his nose, sniffling again immediately – disturbingly liquid, entirely ineffectual, and with a weariness behind it that he could not disguise. Looking back up at Therion, he returned to his point. “I’d really intended the providing of spoils to be my job tonight. And this…utter ridiculousness—” He made a vague gesture towards his face. “—was supposed to have improved, not worsened, damn it.”

With another heavy sigh, disappointment palpable, he capitulated. “I don’t suppose you keep any cold medication in Office, do you?”

“Sorry.” Therion shook his head. “Go the fuck home, man. I got this.”

Standing, Cerberus nodded briefly in reply, giving Therion a firm pat on the shoulder as he passed by. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and vanished.

---

And naturally half the damn Underworld seems to be here.

Well, he most certainly was not going to queue.

Ignoring the mixture of hushed mutterings and soft gasps from the others in the Healing centre – none of whom he recognised but it was evident from the expressions on the faces of the…many people staring at him that the reverse was not the case – Cerberus walked to the front of the line with only the most cursory of glances at those who he had no intention of waiting either for or behind, greeted Riviera at the front desk perfunctorily and, abruptly beyond caring to hear any more of the continuing intrusive sussurance, froze the entirety of the waiting room’s occupants under Stasis with a crisp wave of his hand.

Dear gods, shut up. I will set you all on fire and I won’t regret it for a second.

He sniffled strongly. “Aldiss, please,” he said to Riviera, who had already Mindsent the Healing Leader in anticipation of precisely that directive.

“On her way,” Riviera replied. She indicated the Stasis-held others. “Um, is that…are they…?”

“Entirely temporary, just expedient. I’ll undo it soon enough.”

Aldiss appeared beside Riviera at the desk, Mindsending her :Cover me for a bit. Room 5, burns, not serious, mostly dealt with already,: and Riviera duly vanished.

At a loss and clearly awaiting clarification, Aldiss turned her attention to Cerberus. “Alright, what are you doing here?”

Cerberus frowned. Why is everywhere I am apparently a surprise tonight? “I’m ill, obviously. Why else would I be here? I need cold medication.” He sniffled again, as if in emphasis, though not intentionally so, and wiped his nose.

“Again? Already?”

Again? There IS no again. I literally just got here. What the hell is going on? Cerberus briefly wondered if he could be hallucinating this entire sequence of events, so little of it seemed to make any coherent sense. “What do you mean ‘already’?” He winced as his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, which did little more than cause him a different kind of discomfort, a convulsive cough following in short order, his nose running again as a result. He sniffled sharply, repeatedly. Gods. For fuck’s sake. “Excuse me.”

“I’m not giving you anything more if you’ve taken the other lot already.”

“Damn it, Aldiss, do I sound like I’ve taken anything?!”

Aldiss did have to concede that point.

Thoroughly exasperated, Cerberus exhaled heavily in annoyance. “Why is everything always such an ordeal in this place?” And suddenly another strangeness occurred to him. “Wait – what other lot?

“The meds Kia picked up, obviously.”

“What?!” Cerberus, a fresh fear striking him – one he was entirely unprepared for, one that actually managed to distract him from his own discomforts for a moment – stared at Aldiss in unconcealed horror. “Kia’s unwell?!”

With a wry smile, Aldiss shook her head. “I swear I never personally get to experience it, but rumour has it you’re actually quite a clever man, Cerberus, so try and stay with me here, alright?” She looked at him with a certain sardonic encouragement. “The meds Kia picked up for you.”

Unfortunately, this didn’t make much more sense to him, if at all. “But what reason would…” He sniffled again. “Why would she do that?” He rubbed and wrinkled his nose against a building itch, took a tissue from the box on the desk, then another, and tried to stay focused.

Aldiss, in mildly amused bafflement that he could actually be this oblivious, stared at the Demon king as if he was a complete imbecile. “Because you’ve got a cold?”

Annoyance clearly evident despite the hitch in his breath, Cerberus frowned at her. “Yes, Aldiss, we’ve established that, but Ki…Kia doesn’t…” Ah, fuck. Bringing the tissues to his face as the itch became sharply definite, he turned away hurriedly. “Huh-ATSSCHH-uu!” He groaned, sniffling immediately, the force of the sneeze bringing to the fore anew the pulsing headache he’d almost, almostbeen able to forget, his breath still a little shaky as he excused himself. He claimed another tissue and wiped his nose, sniffling again, and took a moment before returning to his earlier point. “Kia doesn’t know about *snf!* this yet.”

“Yes, she most certainly does,” Aldiss countered. “What, you didn’t think she’d notice?”

“Well, of course she’d notice now, damn it, Aldiss,” said Cerberus in open irritation, “but I wasn’t nearly this…”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Cerberus. How long have you been together?”

“As it happens, it’s our twentieth anniversary tonight,” Cerberus replied, a bitter and rueful undertone unmissable despite increasing congestion, “which I am attempting not to completely ruin.” Another sharp sniffle. “Apparently a futile pursuit,” he muttered resentfully, and pressed the back of his hand against his nose in an attempt to see off a newly threatening, vibrantly insistent itch.

“Twenty years and you think she’d miss a thing? She knows you. She knows you really well. How do you not…”

“Ahh-HEHTSSHhuu!”

Aldiss sighed as Cerberus, thoroughly losing the battle, sneezed again, wetly and powerfully, and she passed him a handful of tissues as he murmured both an apology and a thankyou. Looking out at the significant number of people yet to be seen, she allowed him some necessary moments of recovery, then made her point. “Listen, I’m sorry you’ve managed to catch cold for your anniversary but you do have both medication and a devoted bonded waiting at home. Please go there. Kia’s probably wondering where the hell you are anyway, since – if I can I remind you – she knows you’re sick. Oh, and you can undo your…stopping people in time thing or whatever it is now, too, thank you very much.”

“As always, Aldiss, it’s been a delight.” Releasing his Stasis hold with a short wave, the murmurs and mutterings picking up precisely where they’d been cut off as if there had never been a break, Cerberus turned his gaze briefly upon his unbidden rapt audience, disregarded them all equally, internally cursed himself for having even bothered to come to this ridiculous place, inclined his head in crisp farewell, and promptly vanished.

---

Leaning back against the loungeroom wall in weary resignation upon his Teleported arrival home, Cerberus stopped still, his attentions resolutely redirected in an instant at the entirely unexpected sight of his beautiful lifebonded reclining languorously across the couch, dressed – or almost dressed, it could technically be said – in diaphanous babydoll chemise and finest lace lingerie, soft brunette darkestness falling silkenwild around her shoulders, a vision of breathtaking boudoir fantasy he was quite thoroughly unprepared for, and he paused for a moment to simply gaze at her, enchanted.

:Darkling, you are perfection.:

Kia looked up slowly, and with a sultry, indulgent smile, dropped her book onto the coffee table and stretched before sitting up just a little, beckoning him to join her with crooked finger and open invitation.

“Took your time, sweetheart,” she said, gently teasing, and opened the bottle of cognac, pouring a glass for them both. “I’d almost decided to start without you.”

“Love, I…” Cerberus began but was torn from his words unstoppably, unable to do anything about the sudden, desperate need overtaking him, and, expression crumpling and focus destroyed, he had no choice but to give in to it. “Huh-TSCHH-uu! Ah-HEHTSCHuu!” He pardoned himself with haste, groaning quietly.

“Aw, bless you, hon. Come here.” Kia repeated her beckoning motion. She regarded him a moment, frowning in puzzlement. “Where’s your coat?” She’d not seen him leave the house this morning, but she was entirely certain he’d have worn one.

“Hmm? Oh, um…” Cerberus sniffled, wiped his nose and glanced down at himself, not having given any particular thought to his outfit – his standard fine linen shirt, brocade waistcoat, tailored black pants – since leaving Office.

Which was, of course, where he’d left his coat.

“Got rained on. Earlier, that is, not… A while ago, anyhow.” He sniffled again and tried to focus. “In Office. The coat, I mean, not where the…rain was.” He sighed in exasperation as anger at the situation overtook tiredness again. “Honestly, it would be nice if I could at least form a damn sentence!” Gods, what the hell is wrong with you. Get your damn shit together. “Sorry, love. I, um…used Teleport after that, though, so I’ve not really been outside since.”

“Well, coat or not, you were supposed to have given up and come home ages ago.” Kia laughed gently. “You know, like a normal person. Why are you always so stubborn about this stuff?” She caressed his face affectionately as he sat beside her, curled an arm around the back of his neck, and kissed him with warm promise. :And don’t you even dare say a word about not wanting to give your cold to me,: she Mindsent preemptively. :Yes, I know, no, I don’t care, and there is no way I’m not kissing you on our twentieth anniversary.:

“Anyway,” she continued in satin murmur, tracing a finger along the angular contours of his jawline and kissing him again, “you know I’ll spoil you.” She looked at him directly then, sapphire eyes narrowing in challenge. “You do know that, right?”

“I…” He did, but between the desire not to need her to – at least not tonight – and rather for him to be, as he’d so very much intended, the one fulfilling any fantasies, and the desire to just try and forget failed plans and expectations and immerse in her…frankly stunning sanctuary, and his head was far too clouded to explain himself right now, and technically he had left Office early anyway so he wasn’t that late really, especially considering he hadn’t realised that he’d been expected, but what did any of this even matter when this goddess before him was so…very… He sniffled again, claiming a tissue and wiping his nose firmly, and wished he was at least a little more functional because she was so incredibly breathtaking, and that was all he could think about in the moment, really, aside from feeling like he was fairly sure he was going to sneeze again – which, when combined with the first and…infinitely preferable reason that he couldn’t think straight, provided a particularly strange contradiction in where his attentions were directed, and now he couldn’t with certainty remember exactly what she’d asked him anymore, and she was just…gods, she was everything, and his head was a mess and he…definitely had to…

He blinked rapidly, his breath hitching in escalating intensity, and turned from Kia to bury his face in crooked elbow. Gods, fuck, just…

“Huh-TSSCHH-uu! Ahh-HUHTSSHhuu!”

The force of the sneezes combined with the pounding throb of sinus-heavy headache to set the room spinning, but despite that had done very little to quiet the insistent irritation he just could not seem to escape tonight. Another staccato breath and fuck ano… hh-HH ..another and a Mindsent apology because he was entirely unable to voice one, doubling over in thrall to desperate demand, powerful, possessing. “Hhuh-AHTSCHUU! Huh…hh-TSSCHH-uu!”

“Oh, sweetheart, bless you.” Kia indicated the medications she’d collected on the table, though she wasn’t sure there was much point, his ability to focus entirely and…mesmerisingly hijacked. “You should probably…”

Cerberus, with a brief shake of his head, held up a finger in a gesture indicating that she had to wait a moment, the relentless need not done with him yet, and he inhaled deeply, unable to do a thing about it other than succumb once more, and he sneezed again – undeniable, absolute, violently ferocious. “Hh-hhAAAHTSSCHHUU! ..uhh…” A quiet groan and he pressed the back of his hand against his nose, sniffling fiercely, more than a little breathless. “Damn. Sorry.”

“Wow, bless you!” Kia said with softriveted, emphatic appraisal, and flashed him a wickedwarm grin. “Impressive. You should get a prize for that kind of effort.”

“Gods, love.” Smiling wryly despite himself, Cerberus managed a brief disbelieving laugh before having no choice but to give in to sharpburning sensation, his breath catching abrupt, deep, jagged, pleading. “hh-h-huh-TSCHH-uu! Huh-TSSCHH-uu! *snf!* Huh… huhhTSSCHHUU! For fuck’s sake! *SNFF!* Ugh, sorry.” Sniffling repeatedly, he excused himself again with clear irritation even as Kia offered him a tender blessing. He took a fresh multitude of tissues from the box and blew his nose, muttering under his breath that in any reasonable world he’d get to kill at least one person over this, and if…

“Oh, look!” announced Kia with cheery brightness, breaking into his thoughts and picking up one of the medication vials. “You win drugs.” She handed the vial to Cerberus with a kiss to his cheek, effectively short-circuiting his rising fury at the situation, and trailed a languid hand down the length of his arm, dropped her voice to a sultry purr. “I’ll even throw in the glamorous assistant.” She semi-curtseyed, winked in play.

With a soft laugh and a sigh both appreciative and self-effacing, Cerberus accepted and took the meds as proffered, curling an arm across Kia’s shoulders, drawing them closer together, and leant his head against hers, Mindsending a heartfelt, sincere :I adore you.:

“I’m so sorry, darkling.” He ran an index finger under his nose, sniffled quietly, exhaled with dismayed heaviness at the thought of having let his beloved down, in any way. “I really did mean to give you everything you desire tonight.” He sat back again; smiled at her, a little sadly. “And I truly do wish to bring you the world you deserve. All the worlds, come to that.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I know. And I know that you’re, like…literally able to do it, which still just amazes me and will forever, I swear, you’re incredible, but…really, you don’t need to be disappointed. See, I want you—” Shifting her position smoothly, Kia moved to sit on his lap, her legs astride his, and caressed his face in her hands, kissing him with passion burning. “Mmm. I want you—” Another kiss. “—to think for just a minute—” And another. “—from a different view.” Reaching behind his head, she untied the velvet ribbon constraining his hair, allowing it in release to cascade over his shoulders. She wove a gentle hand through freed midnight, tucked a few stray strands behind his ear. “If things were reversed, if I was the one who’d come home sick tonight, what would you have done?”

Cerberus chuckled wryly, softly, as he recognised her viewpoint. He didn’t pretend otherwise. “Anything you wanted, love, as always.”

Kia gave him a knowing smile. “Mm-hm.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him again, slower, deeper. “So, then, babe,” she purred, tracing a trail of kisses down his neck, shoulders, chest, “you should know that you are everything I desire, everything I dream of, and the only way you could ever let me down is to not be with me tonight, and now I am going to order you into the bedroom and you are going to do exactly what I say and that is pretty much what would have happened even with you in perfect health with your perfect plan, because you should know—” She broke off again, kissing him with a craving undeniable, abandoning speech for silksultry Mindsend.

:that all I want:

One hand now twining through his hair, the other first toying with then smoothly untying the topmost bows on her chemise, allowing it to fall away, and she pulled him closer to her again, deepening the kiss at his involuntary resulting moan.

:is…this.:

Another kiss and her hand reaching down, loosening clothing and caressing him to urgency, and he moaned again, curling one arm around her waist and another behind her head, holding her around him and returning her kiss with a fire straight from his soul, feeling her breath quickening, demanding, as she pushed back against him, heat rising. A soft growl, a gasp, a sharp inhalation as they joined together, and she met her beloved’s famed emerald gaze eye to eye, consummate, profligate, incendiary.

“Oh, and sweetheart? Tonight I am going to make you wish you caught cold more often.”

---

#inopportune timing mm-hm count on it #snzfic #my writing #my OCs #cerberus #cerbia #cerberus and kia #and she's absolutely right 😉#bit of a slow burn but we get there #supernatural soap opera

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thecatchat · 2 years

Note

found my first ever dimensions drabble! Changed the name to Cue but nothing else

---

“You know, you really should do that.”

“Pardon?”

“I- sorry, that just slipped out. I don’t mean to sound preachy.”

“No I mean I didn’t understand youse. Do what?”

“Smoke. It’s... pretty bad for you.”

The man just took another drag, staring Karl down with blank puzzlement.

“Ah, tobacco is-“ Karl was interrupted by the stranger coughing, shaking on his inhale.

“You- ahck- tobacco? You think I’m suicidal or somethin, out here puffing on coffin nails? ‘S ain’t a cigarette!” He waved his hand around as he talked, enunciating his words. Karl wrinkled his nose at the smoke but not because it was bad, only because it was strong. Different. It didn’t smell like cigarette smoke. In fact, it smelled kind of nice, like vanilla but spicy.

“Oh, uh, what is it then?”

The man put the strange-smelling stick back in his mouth. “You a sap?”

“Hey, it’s just a question!”

“It’s sugar smoke. Candy. You suck in suck in the dust, it melts and turns to smoke, you blow it out. Ya get all the flavor without needing to absorb any ‘o the junk stuff. Cigarettes don’t look nothing like them, but I guess you could get confused.”

“Oh, that’s... really cool actually. Are you trying to be healthier?”

He snorted, raising his hand to his head in laughter. “Oh, healthy. Mmm. No. I like the taste.” He pulled out a nearly empty box with a few little sugar sticks left and reached out, offering. Karl hesitated for a moment before selecting one, it was a little purple.

“So, do I need a light or...”

“I told you, it ain’t a cigarette.”

“Right.”

He awkwardly set the stick in his mouth. It tasted like sweet paper (but still paper). He guessed he should open it somehow. But, how? He bit the tip of it, jumping at the sudden sting of flavor. It was something he didn’t quite know the name of, sharp and sweet, vaguely like blueberries and red cinnamon dipped in static.

“Mmm!” He exclaimed, causing the man to smile and laugh. It was a sweet look on him, soft, genuine, happiness.

“Tastes good, don’t it?”

“Yeah, I think? It- ACHK,” Karl choked as he inhaled the sudden puff of smoke in his mouth. He forgot he was supposed to blow the stuff out.

The well-dressed man flicked away his own stick and raised an eyebrow. “Youse sure you ain’t a sap?”

“Oh, ha ha. Anyway, I’m Karl.” He stuck his hand out, a small goofy smile slipping across his face. “I’m... new around here.”

“Oh, ya don’t say?” The man half-rolled his eyes but took Karl’s hand happily. “Name’s Cue, I run the casino ‘cross the ways there.” He gestured to a flashy building down the street.

“Whoah. Cool.”

“You gamble?”

“Ah, you could say that.”

“Meaning?”

“It depends,” Karl clicked his tongue, playfully eyeing the building in the distance. “I play a lot a lot of games.”

“Well,” Cue chuckled “if you’re ever lookin for a good time, swing by. We might be able to find a game or two you can… enjoy.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Karl smiled. He liked this guy. “No, you know what? Defiantly. I’ll come by sometime, count on it!”

“I’ll hold you to that. I- fuck, speaking of my work I should be getting back.”

“Oh,” Karl frowned, sad to see his new friend gone too soon. He’d kind of hoped to talk more.

Cue seemed to share the sentiment. He stopped a few steps away and turned around, glancing to the empty road rather than looking Karl in the eye.

“Hey, uh, Karl…”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe it’s best if ya sticks with me for a bit, yeah? This part ‘o town ain’t right for newcomers to be wandering on their own… ‘specially not a pretty cat like youse. I mean, no offense, but you kinda look like a nut.”

“I-“ Karl glanced down at himself. His coat, even paled in this world’s strange light, stuck out like a rainbow in the snow. “Oh, yeah. I don’t exactly blend in. I always forget the outfits…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Personally, I think ya’d look keen in just about anything but folks ‘round here are arrogant, neighborhood reputations and business and all that.”

“I guess I should find something else to wear. Any recommendations?”

Cue eyed him up and down. “I got… a few ideas. I- you know what? Come with me. Imma get ya dolled up fine.”

“I thought you had to go back to work?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he scoffed. “Charlie can cover me for a while. I’d rather talk s’more with yo- I- I mean, I wanna see you in- I mean- I-“

“I’d love to!” Karl jumped in, saving Cue from his stammering.

“Well then,” Cue smiled and held out his arm, face just a little pink “shall we?”

Karl linked his arm. “As I said, I’d love to.”

I remember this one!!!!! I was confused about the slang and you introduced me to my first does of 1920s slang. It's so cute and Karl is being so sweet and curious!

I wonder how long it took Quackity to realize just how unnaturally bright Karl was? When did he realize that Karl's clothes weren't some kind of special fabric or that he wasn't being lit up by another light sorce? It's obvious that he's brighter than everyone else, but how bright is a fashion statement and how bright is flat out unnatural?

Like, I know they got on well enough at first but how did the whole "I travel to different dimensions" thing get brought up? How long did it take for Cue to go from "weird but cute guy" to "something isn't right here"? Maybe it's just because I've been on a horror podcast streak, but I kinda want Cue to have a moment of "What are you?" Type thing.

I think that extends to all the characters in Prowa that start interacting with him regularly. Like, Karl is obviously a sweetheart and wouldn't hurt anyone without very good reason, but what is he like from a distance? Do people see him in the park with Cue and notice how he's just a sliver too vivid? Do people catch hints of swirling colored smoke when they look at him from the corner of their eye?

#karlnapity dimensions #i love the change between the sweet story and my horror themed questions

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

Adventurer

fourth installment in the minecraft au series! Roman Time

warnings: using 'it' for someone, mild arguing, some panic

Roman paused, studying the small house in front of him.

He glanced to the nearby courtyard. This was definitely the same house he’d visited last time he was in the village, but…

No flower pots, no colorful banners on the roof, and when he peeked in through a window, the painting of cats he’d made for his friend was no longer hung up on the wall.

“Did Patton move?” he mused aloud, and then felt a stirring of nervousness in his gut.

It had been a while since his previous visit, since he hadn’t noticed any increased swarm activity heading in this direction. He hadn’t thought there was anything to worry about. Logan had personally promised him that the village would be protected, but it only took one slip-up…

He ducked under the arm of the passing iron golem, and approached one of the nearby villagers. “About our dearest Patton…”

Thankfully, the blacksmith responded with a friendly smile, rather than a mournful expression. Roman felt some of the tension ease out of him as the woman explained that Patton had simply moved to a new home on the outskirts and even gave him directions. He didn’t protest; without a map handy, he was exceedingly liable to get turned around.

Finally, he found Patton’s new house, complete with all the trinkets and planters he expected. He frowned in thought, tilting his head slightly. Why would Patton move so far away from the village center? His old home was cozy and well-worn, and this new place would be much more vulnerable, living out of the iron golem’s patrol range.

Things to ask his friend directly, he supposed. With that, he pushed the door open, announcing his presence brightly.

In the corner of the room, a shadowy figure loomed, violet energy flaring in alarm at his arrival.

Years of monster slaying instincts kicked in before anything else, and Roman’s gaze automatically dropped to his feet. In the same moment, his heart jumped to his throat.

Why was there an enderman in Patton’s house?

“Why are you here?” Roman shrieked, mostly to himself, groping for the hilt of his sword.

The enderman made a small, warped sound and teleported back and forth in the house a few times. It wasn’t aggressive, and there was no evidence that Patton had been attacked by it, which were the only things stilling his hand at the moment.

That, and he really didn’t want to trash Patton’s new house.

Despite all the spooky superstitions about endermen, they weren’t often a mob Roman had to fight. Normally, they kept to themselves, occasionally stole some crops or took a chunk from someone's wall before moving on.

They definitely weren’t known for appearing and loitering inside people’s homes. Most one-person houses were made with a low roof to prevent such things anyhow!

He frowned at the enderman’s legs, ignoring the otherworldly chirping it made. This would be easier if the creature had attacked him first.

“Get out of here,” he told it sternly, waving his free hand to emphasize his tone. “You don’t belong in here, you’re going to scare the daylight out of somebody if you stay.”

The enderman, as expected, shuffled in place and stubbornly continued to exist in his best friend’s house. Roman resisted the urge to run an exasperated hand through his hair. How was this his life? He stopped by his friends’ village for a break from questing and monsters, for thunder’s sake!

Abruptly, there was another teleportation noise, and this one was far too close for comfort. Roman resisted the urge to look up. His knuckles went white where they gripped his sword’s hilt.

A flower was thrust under his nose.

“Wha--?” He sneezed, three times, rapidfire. The enderman chirped at him, and he could almost imagine it sounded like worry.

It was still holding the flower (a single poppy) out carefully.

Roman took it, bemused, and then tried not to lose his marbles as the enderman teleported rapidly, circling around him over and over like an excited honey bee before settling back by the table.

“No, no, this curiously adorable gesture doesn’t mean you can stay,” Roman started, pointing the poppy at the monster accusingly. “Did you steal this from one of Patton’s boxes? Hey, I’m serious here! I’ll have you know I’m a renowned monster slayer. You should be terrified.”

The enderman ‘vrrp’ed, unimpressed.

Before Roman could continue arguing his case to a creature that probably had no idea what he was even saying, the door swung open again.

“We’re back!” Patton’s familiar voice cheered.

Roman, who had possibly gotten a little caught up and forgotten who actually lived here, whirled around with a panicked yelp and lunged, haphazardly smacking his hand over Patton’s eyes. “Don’t look!”

The enderman teleported directly behind him, its warning buzz in the air enough to make him break out in goosebumps. There was a loud sigh.

“Hello, Roman,” Logan greeted him mildly from where he was standing behind Patton, arms full of bags of fertilizer. “I see you’ve met Anxiety.”

“Anxiety?” Roman asked, his voice several octaves higher than his normal range. It maybe possibly had something to do with the enderman breathing down his neck.

“Hoo boy,” Patton muttered from where Roman’s hand was still splayed over his entire face. Then, at another one of the enderman’s little noises, he tensed. “No, no, it’s okay buddy, he’s a friend!”

“A friend?” Roman asked, and then realized that Patton wasn’t talking to him at all as the enderman buzz-clicked and moved away slightly. “Wait, you knew it was in here? Did you befriend a whole monster while I was gone?”

“Hey, he’s not a monster,” Patton protested, moving Roman’s hand up to frown more effectively at him.

“That’s a yes,” Logan added, moving into living area to set the bags down. “Pardon, Anxiety.” The enderman obligingly shuffled out of the way.

Roman threw his hands up, overcome. “Hang on, absolutely not. Logan was one thing, but this, this cannot stand!”

Patton crossed his arms stubbornly, frown only growing more severe. “Anxiety hasn’t done anything wrong. We had this argument about Logan, too, and we both know how that turned out.”

“Come on, I said I was sorry about accusing him of malignant witchcraft!”

“At swordpoint.”

“At swordpoint!” Roman corrected exasperatedly. “I still apologized, right Logan?”

“Would you really like me to get involved in this debate?” Logan asked, raising a sharp eyebrow. Roman wilted. “I thought as much.”

The witch turned back to his task, expertly re-potting a few odd-looking plants. The enderman lurked behind him in a manner that was liable to give Roman a stress ulcer. Several stress ulcers, even.

Roman took a deep breath, pressing his hands to his face, and then pulled back slightly at the feeling of something sticky.

He was still holding the poppy ‘Anxiety’ had given him. Sap was weeping from the parts he’d clutched a little too tightly. He loosened his grip slightly.

The enderman hadn’t done anything even remotely harmful yet. Was he really going to make the same exact mistake he’d made with Logan?

His shoulders slumped, and carefully tucked the flower into his lapel before pulling out a chair and flopping into it dramatically.

“Fine. Fine! Tell me everything. I promise I’ll listen.”

#sanders sides #minecraft au #ts roman #ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #enderman virgil #my writing #writing #in honor of enderman in smash :)

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kjack89 · 3 years

Text

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 1/?)

Because nothing says ‘independence day’ like writing the participants in a French rebellion as members of the British upper class...

The Bridgerton AU that no one asked for. Will be at least 4 chapters, probably, to be published on a schedule only God herself can predict. Developing E/R, hijinks and shenanigans. All of the shenanigans.

One might recall when, not too long ago, the author of this paper hung up her pen and retired from reporting on the drama that each new season of fresh-faced debutantes and their endlessly anxious mothers brings. But alas, dear Reader, the excitement of this season has proven too much for this Author to suffer without company – which is why the pen has been passed to a new scribe.

But the fortuitous timing of the season has not been met with equally thrilling events for sharing here, as indeed, the most recent ball, hosted annually at the start of the season by the ever-insufferable Thénardiers, was positively under-attended. Not by the eager mothers that are the backbone of any season or their equally eager daughters, but by the young, eligible men who usually at least deign to make an appearance, dance a few dances, and exchange niceties as is expected for men of their station.

Instead, the only poor sap who wandered into the Thénardiers’ den of matchmaking was the Baron of Pontmercy, who was positively beset by hopeful ingénues, the most brazen of which was undoubtedly the Thénardiers’ eldest daughter, Éponine. While this Author notes that Miss Thénardier has had a patchy history with suitors and thus cannot be fully blamed for attempting to sink her claws into one as eligible as the baron, this Author must also sympathize with Baron Pontmercy, who seemed only to find himself with one moment to himself.

Then again, rumor has it that his single moment was interrupted by an unknown young lady with an equally unknown chaperone who whisked her away posthaste. Her identity is one mystery both this Author and Baron Pontmercy are equally eager to discover, but the more pressing question is where the others of Baron Pontmercy’s gender were when they should have been equally beset by potential brides.

Never fear: Whatever answers I find, dear Reader, I shall certainly share with other enquiring minds. For a nominal fee, of course. While there are rumors of young men meeting in the backroom of a certain gentlemen’s club to discuss the overthrow of society, capitalism, and the King himself, this Author, being of the gentler sex, finds herself unable to obtain an invite, and as such, alas, cannot bring herself to comply with their lofty goals. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 20 MARCH 1831

The air in the backroom at the Musain Gentlemen’s Club was hazy with smoke and thick with plentiful conversation as its guests, all young men dressed in their dinner best, traded stories and jokes in between sips of their drinks.

At least one among them was not drinking, though – Enjolras, who sat in an overlarge armchair towards the back of the room, his back to one of the large windows that spanned almost the entire height of the wall. He alone was also not joining his friends in their merriment, his brow instead creased as he read over something.

When he had finished, he glanced up. “Combeferre,” he called, barely raising his voice despite the cacophony of the room.

Not that he needed to: the moment he spoke, the room fell quiet as all eyes glanced at him as if waiting for him to continue. In return, he just arched an eyebrow at them. “Well, don’t let me put an end to your fun.”

A dark haired man sitting at a table in the far corner playing cards with two others raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Worry not,” he called in return. “You won’t.”

Laughter broke out yet again at that, and most of their number returned to their previous conversations as Combeferre pulled up a chair next to Enjolras’s. Enjolras pursed his lips, looking unamused. “Why is Grantaire even here?” he asked Combeferre, who, quite to the contrary, looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“I imagine because you have not yet told him that you wish for him to leave and never return,” Combeferre said evenly before giving Enjolras a rather assessing look. “Assuming, of course, that is what you wish.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “That’s not the point—”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “No, the point is that you had a comment, I assume, about the pamphlet I gave you to review.”

Enjolras still looked disgruntled, but seemed more than willing to allow the change in subject. “The pamphlet is fine, but I imagine you already knew that.” He handed the pamphlet draft back to Combeferre before asking, “What do you imagine the distribution schedule to look like? With Parliament sitting this week—”

He was interrupted by a thin, rather-nervous looking man appearing at his elbow, the doorman to the establishment who was paid a decent sum by each man inside the room to not interrupt them and to report nothing of their comings and going to any who might enquire. When Enjolras had made that arrangement, he had been thinking of the police; when his friends had followed his lead, most were thinking of their mothers.

“M’Lord Enjolras, I do beg your pardon—” he started, sounding almost as nervous as he looked.

Enjolras’s brow furrowed again. “It’s fine, what is it?” he asked, a touch impatiently.

The doorman bobbed his head and cleared his throat. “There is a, ah, a woman seeking entry.”

Bahorel, seated nearby, let out a wolf whistle. “The young ladies of the season are getting restless!” he crowed, to much laughter.

“Restless, and bold, if they are coming into the city to seek their groom, and without a chaperone to boot,” Bossuet said with a grin.

“Leave to Enjolras to be the one to cause all tradition to break,” Jehan sniggered.

Enjolras could feel his ears burning red but he studiously ignored the jeers and catcalls from his friends, instead frowning at the doorman. “May I ask why are you telling me this?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice even. “Last I checked, it was your policy to restrict admittance to men, despite my protestations to the contrary.”

“Of course, M’Lord, it’s just…” The doorman quailed slightly at the look Enjolras gave him. “The woman in question claims to be your mother.”

Immediately, all jokes ceased as identical, horror-stricken looks crossed the faces of each of his friends. Enjolras blanched, all the blood draining from his face. “Did you confirm that I was inside?” he asked, a little desperately.

The doorman shook his head, his eyes widening. “No, of course not, m’lord’s discretion being of utmost importance to this establishment.” He hesitated. “That said, she did not appear to believe our denial, and is threatening to come inside and verify for yourself that you are not here.”

Enjolras groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course she is,” he sighed. He glanced at Combeferre as if considering asking for his assistance, but seemed to think better of it, instead standing and drawing himself up to his full height. “Right,” he said. “Well, I think you’ve got everything handled here, so I suppose I’ll just go, er, handle this situation.”

Combeferre again looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Of course,” he said. “And, if you do not return, I shall call upon you later this week, shall I?”

“Yes, but the question will be more whether you should call upon me at my house or at the hospital,” Enjolras muttered, and it was to Combeferre’s credit that he still somehow managed not to laugh.

The same could not be said for Grantaire, who started humming what Enjolras recognized vaguely as a funeral dirge as soon as he headed towards the door, and Enjolras gave him the nastiest glare he could muster. Of course, Grantaire was unaffected – if anything, it only caused his grin to widen, and he raised his cup in yet another mocking toast as Enjolras swept out of the room to go deal with his mother.

It was anyone’s guess whether his mother or Grantaire irritated him more.

He started to ask the doorman where his mother was, but found that he did not need to ask – her voice was echoing all the way from the entrance hall. “I am the Dowager Marchioness of Enjolras,” she was practically shrieking, and Enjolras winced, mentally calculating how much money it would take to smooth this particular incident over. Certainly less than when Courfeyrac almost burned the place down, but almost certainly more than when Bahorel and Grantaire had gotten into a fistfight and broken two statues and a chandelier.

He really needed better friends.

And a different mother.

“I demand to speak with my son!” his mother continued, her voice rising in both volume and pitch. “And do not give me this nonsense that he is not here, I know quite well where my son is!”

“M’lady, I apologize, but as I have said, we cannot confirm that your son—”

“I shall confirm it for myself,” Enjolras interrupted, saving the poor proprietor, who had never looked more relieved to see him. “Mother, kindly stop screeching at these gentlemen for doing their jobs.” His mother spluttered incoherently but Enjolras knew better than to allow her the chance to regroup.

Instead, he grabbed her by the elbow and steered her to the door, glancing over his shoulder to nod his thanks at the proprietor. As soon as they were outside the building, Enjolras dropped any pretense at propriety. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, not releasing his mother from his grip. “Coming all the way into the city to find me? Pray tell what could possibly have been so important to cause such a scene!”

His mother yanked her arm from his grasp and glared up at him. “A scene?” she repeated, her voice deathly quiet. “My dear son, if you consider that a scene, you are ill-prepared for what is soon to follow.”

Enjolras sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. “There is no need for theatrics—”

Without warning, his mother slapped him across the face. “Theatrics?” she hissed. “When I have spent every waking moment these past several years trying to ensure your future and the future of our house!”

She made as if to hit him again but Enjolras caught her wrist, staying her hand. “Madam, you may be the Dowager Marchioness but I am the Marquess of Enjolras, and I will not permit you to assault me in the streets, my mother or not.” He released her arm before adding sardonically, “Besides, think of the gossip.”

Again his mother gave him no warning to gird himself, but this time, she burst into tears, sobbing into his shirt. “Oh, for the love of—” Enjolras took her again by the elbow, gentler this time, and led her to where her carriage waited. “Get a hold of yourself,” he snapped. “You have already made enough of a scene this evening.”

“Perhaps a scene is what it will take!” she half-shouted in return. “For you to finally listen to me, to hear what I have been telling you!” Enjolras rolled his eyes, holding out his hand to help her into her carriage, but she stubbornly refused to move. “Since you clearly don’t listen to me when I make arrangements solely for your benefit.”

“I assure you, you have never once done anything solely for my benefit,” Enjolras said tiredly. “But if it will stop your screaming then please, tell me the latest way in which I have ruined your plans for my future.”

“The Thénardier ball!” his mother wailed, crying again. “All those eligible young ladies, and you could not even deign to show your face! How am I to get you married at this rate?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes so hard he half-feared he would pull a muscle. “Hang the bloody Thénardier ball,” he ground out, hesitating for only a moment before picking his mother up and placing her inside the carriage, swinging up after her before she could protest.

“What are you doing?” she cried as the carriage moved off at double speed, and Enjolras thanked whatever higher power there was that his mother’s driver also clearly did not wish to linger.

Enjolras sighed. “You wanted me attention,” he said tiredly. “So you have it, albeit not in public where you clearly wanted it.”

For one long moment, his mother just glared at him, tears shining on her cheeks. Then she sighed and sat upright, her pose turning almost prim as she drew a linen handkerchief from her sleeve and delicately dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “Very well,” she said calmly, all traces of earlier hysteria gone in an instant, and Enjolras realized immediately that he had been duped, that he had played directly into her hands.

She had anticipated that making a scene would be the easiest way to get him to leave with her.

And now she had him as a captive audience for however long it took for her driver to reach her house. And while he was not a betting man, he would wager all his money and lands that she had directed her driver to take the long way.

His mother was smiling at him, a cold, unpleasant smile, and Enjolras groaned, tipping his head back against the pillowed cushions. “Please don’t tell me that you really pulled all of that because you wished to discuss the Thénardier ball.”

“Don’t be foolish,” she said before tapping his knee. “And sit upright, you will cause your clothes to wrinkle.” Enjolras groaned and reluctantly sat upright, glaring balefully at her as he waited for her to continue. “No, I merely wished to discuss something and this seemed the easiest way.”

“Then by all means, please tell me: what do you want to discuss?”

“Why, what else?” she asked, a small smirk lifting the corners of her mouth. “Your marriage.”

----------

There were few things that Enjolras loathed more than being hoodwinked by his own mother into a conversation he’d been spending the past several years avoiding, but as he stood staring up at the rather imposing façade of a house he had been to only perhaps a handful of times, he thought this just might rank.

Still, his options were decidedly limited, and he hesitated only a moment more before climbing the stairs to the front door, knocking briskly. In telling of a house less used to visits during the season, it took a moment for the butler to answer the door, and Enjolras shifted uncomfortably on the stoop as he waited.

“May I help you?” the butler asked as he opened the door.

“Yes,” Enjolras said. “I’m here to see Grantaire.”

The butler eyed him warily. “And who should I tell Mr. Grantaire is here to see him?”

It took everything in Enjolras not to roll his eyes. “Tell him that the Marquess of Enjolras requests his presence,” he said dryly, hating the way the butler’s eyes widened when he realized just who was standing in the doorway.

“Of– of course, m’lord,” the butler said, immediately opening the door wider to usher Enjolras indoors. “Beg your pardon, m’lord. I’ll just, ah, go fetch Mr, Grantaire.”

He retreated up the stairs and Enjolras finally did roll his eyes, sighing heavily as he wandered a little further indoors. He had spent half his life, it seemed, going from one grand house to another, so very little surprised him, but he was intrigued by what he might find in Grantaire’s house. While his own park-adjoining manor had been in his family for generations, and was decorated accordingly, Grantaire came from new money, and this house had belonged to a different family entirely not even a decade before.

He paused to examine a small portrait of two young children, a boy and a girl, when he heard footsteps clattering on the stairs and he turned to look up as Grantaire joined him, a jacket rather hastily thrown on and buttoned incorrectly.

“My Lord.”

Grantaire’s voice was pitched just slightly higher than usual, in a way that indicated genuine surprise at finding Enjolras standing in his foyer, but somehow still retained the telltale lilt that Enjolras had long since realized meant Grantaire was making fun of him.

He scowled automatically. “Enjolras,” he corrected with an exasperated half-sigh.

Grantaire inclined his head, a smirk twisting his lips. “My lord Enjolras,” he said, and Enjolras’s scowl deepened.

“Just Enjolras,” he said flatly, not waiting for Grantaire to escort him into the house, instead crossing the foyer to peer into the front sitting room.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Grantaire said, following him.

Enjolras twisted his head to give Grantaire a smirk of his own. “As you seem so keen to remind me, I outrank you,” he said. “And believe me when I say this is one time I will feel no guilt using the trappings of the nobility to my advantage.”

Grantaire just snorted, brushing past him into the sitting room, ignoring the tea that had been set on the table and instead making his way over to the drink cart against the far wall. “Forgive me, but I can think of many instances where you undoubtedly used your title and your family to your advantage without any guilt,” he said dryly, pouring himself half a glass full of amber liquid before pausing, considering it, and adding another finger. “But let’s save that particular fight for a different time.” He turned back to Enjolras and raised his glass in a mock toast. “For now, before I forget my manners any further, let me say welcome to my home, and please, allow me to pour you a cup of tea.”

“I am capable of pouring my own tea, thanks,” Enjolras said, a little stiffly, and he sat down on one armchair before leaning forward to rather stubbornly do just that.

Grantaire did not join him, as if he thought keeping physical distance between them might keep things civil. “Only you would think that hospitality was an insult.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “The way you said it, it was.”

“You underestimate my capacity for being genuinely polite,” Grantaire said dryly, taking a large sip of his whiskey.

“Do I?”

“Tell me, my Lord—” Enjolras gritted his teeth but chose not to interrupt him. “—if not to insult me to my face in my own home, what brings you here, and at tea time no less?”

His voice was calm, pleasant even, but Enjolras felt himself flush in realization that he had done exactly that. And no matter how frequently he might wish to throttle Grantaire with his own hands, that was offensive even for him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking down at his tea as he stirred it. “I have been rude.

Grantaire looked briefly surprised, as if he had not expected an apology. But then his smirk was back in full force. “All is forgiven...my lord.” Enjolras really might shatter his teacup at this rate. “But you still didn’t answer my question as to why you are here.”

Enjolras set his teacup down and straightened, looking Grantaire in the eye. “I came to ask for your help.”

Grantaire laughed. “So you come to my home, uninvited, you insult me to my face, and you still have the audacity to ask for my help?” He drained half of his whiskey in one long gulp. “You are lucky you have been granted the face of a Greek god, Apollo.”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras sighed, though he knew it was a losing battle. Grantaire had called him that on the first day they met, when Grantaire was finishing college and Enjolras just beginning, and he had continued to call him that for all the years since. “Look, I am sorry, and not just because I need your help. I am ill suited to polite society and the longer the season drags on, the more foul my temper becomes.”

Grantaire made a small noise of agreement. “You and I both,” he murmured, draining his glass and pouring himself another before finally joining Enjolras, settling into the armchair across from him. “Very well. You have my attention.”

Enjolras leaned forward, sudden urgency in every line of his body. “Word has it that you were instrumental in helping Lord Joly and Mr. Lesgle avoid scandal last season when both were in love with Lady Musichetta.”

“Well, we avoided a big scandal at least,” Grantaire said, eyeing Enjolras carefully. “There must always be a little bit of a scandal or none would believe it.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Either way, all three are happy, and living at Lord Joly’s estate, and not a word about them has been wasted in Lady Whistledown’s papers this season.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “I am astonished to learn you have read any of the newly-revived Lady Whistledown’s papers, let alone with enough frequency to speak with such authority on the subject.:

Enjolras flushed a mottled red and looked away. “It’s an easy conversation topic,” he muttered, “when I am forced to speak to those with whom I have nothing in common.”

“Such as the twittering nitwits your mother foists upon you at every turn?” Grantaire asked lightly.

Enjolras met his eyes evenly. “Exactly. And exactly why I am here.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re here to better learn how to talk with women?” he asked, almost certainly purposefully obtuse. “I admit, I am an expert on the subject, but—”

“Of course not,” Enjolras snapped. “Not to mention if I did need help in that arena, you would be the last person I would turn to.”

Grantaire laughed. “Your loss, he said cheerfully. After all, to have bedded as many women as I with a face like mine requires quite the expert hand at wooing.” Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire smirked before taking another sip of whiskey. “Very well. If you are not here for my help in speaking to young ladies to finally secure a marriage match, then why are you here?”

“Because I do need to marry someone,” Enjolras said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “But I need it not to be real.” Again he met Grantaire’s eyes. “And you are the only person I can think of who can help me pull that off.”

#enjolras #grantaire #exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras's mother #les amis #les miserables #fanfiction #bridgerton au #lady whistledown #developing relationship #hijinks and shenanigans #and eventually #fake marriage #canon era sorta

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captainscanadian · 4 years

Text

Long Way Home | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 2)

MY MASTERLIST

Series Masterlist

Summary: They meet again.

Word Count: 2200+

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky Barnes x Doctor!Reader, Doctor!Steve Rogers, Nurse!Wanda Maximoff, Doctor!Pietro Maximoff

Warnings: Heart Disease, Hospital, Surgery.

A/N: Give it up for another clusterfuck from yours truly. Thanks again to my dearest @dramadreamer14 for the beta, as always. I haven’t written two parts in a day since a year ago so I got really excited to post this one. I DON’T DO TAGLISTS! Divider by @firefly-graphics <3

The moment he landed in Boston, Bucky Barnes decided to scratch his initial plan of heading to his new apartment, and instead took a cab from the airport to Massachusetts General Hospital. Despite the fact that he was not supposed to be starting his new job until the following week, receiving that email from Dr. Y/L/N about the Stark method patient had made him rather eager to get to work. Perhaps he was getting a little ahead of himself, but then again, he knew himself better than anyone else. There was no way he could have sat alone in his apartment for an entire week with his inherent need to operate.

Not that he was expecting to operate immediately after he arrived at the hospital, given that the patient he had been wanting to work with was refusing surgery after all. If this patient had refused to let Tony Stark operate on her again, he knew that he would have a much more difficult time trying to convince her to let him operate on her. But Bucky was not someone who would walk away from a challenge, and this case was as challenging as it got.

When he arrived at the hospital, he rushed inside and headed straight up to the Heart Center. He knew that he should probably check in with the new Chief of Surgery, maybe even inform him that his best friend had landed safely in Boston. But he had just been too eager to make it to his consultation, and he could see Steve when he was done.

“Hi, I’m looking for Dr. Y/L/N’s office.” Bucky greeted the red haired woman at the Nurses’ Desk with a rather polite smile.

Wanda Maximoff raised her eyebrow at the man who had just approached her, rolling her eyes as she was pulled away from her emails to give him directions. “I’m sorry, who?” She asked, as the only Dr. Y/L/N she knew did not work here at the Heart Center.

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N? She requested a consult with me this afternoon. She should be expecting me.” He replied. “I’m Dr. James Barnes. I’m the new Chief of Cardio.”

The moment those words slipped through his mouth, Wanda found herself rising from her seat. “O-Oh… you’re… you’re the man of the house. I’m so sorry!” She was certain that he wasn’t supposed to be starting until next week. Had he come here incognito to spy on the department before he was going to take charge? No, that couldn’t be possible. He had just told her his name. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s… it’s just been a long day. My apologies, Dr. Barnes.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle at her words and shook his head. “Hey, it’s no problem. I know I shouldn’t be here for a few days, but Dr. Y/L/N requested an emergency consult. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Um…” The nurse bit down on her bottom lip for a moment, not knowing how to break this to him. “Dr. Y/L/N doesn’t work here.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, she doesn’t work here at the Heart Center.” She clarified. “Dr. Y/L/N is the Director of Neonatal Surgery. She runs the Newborn Developmental Follow-Up Clinic next door.”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide at the response. “What?”

First things first, it came as a surprise to him that a neonatal surgeon had requested a consult with him. After all, he specialized in Adult Congenital Heart Diseases, so naturally he was equipped to run Tony’s department following his retirement. Second of all, why was a neonatal surgeon requesting a consult for an adult patient?

“You’ll be able to find her in the Blake Building next door. Would you like me to direct you there?” Wanda asked. “It’s not a long walk from here…”

“Uh… no, I think I got it.” Bucky smiled politely at the woman. “But I would appreciate it if you could direct me to my office.” He was here, after all. He might as well get started with work.

“Oh yes, of course.” She nodded, sitting back down in her seat. “Just give me one moment. I’ll just need to activate your key card and get you to sign a bunch of paperwork. Dr. Rogers gave me special instructions on which photo of yours to use for your profile.”

Bucky let out a rather exhausted sigh. “Oh did he really?” He asked before shaking his head.

“He said you insisted.”

He leaned against the counter before shaking his head once again. “That punk.”

“Is it true that you both attended Columbia together?” Wanda asked, rather curiously. “Word travels fast around this hospital.”

“Yeah, we did. We grew up together, actually. I’ve known him since I was twelve years old.” He replied.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? Knowing someone when you’re a kid, and then having to work with them when you’re adults?” She remarked, closing her emails for a moment so that she could activate Dr. Barnes’ key card.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, curiously. “Because you do sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“My fraternal twin, he works as a pediatric cardiologist. You'd think I'd gotten rid of him once I graduated from nursing school. But he went off to med school, and came back to work right here in this department. It’s quite the humbling experience." She explained, chuckling softly. “I know a thing or two about working with your best friend, but working for your best friend? I don’t know if I can help you with that, doc.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He nodded, laughing softly. “You know, I never got your name.”

“Wanda Maximoff.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Wanda.”

Following the formalities that needed to be completed before he could be let into his office, Dr. James Barnes eventually found himself logging onto his office computer and searching up a certain ‘Dr. Y/N Y/L/N’.

Her employee profile on the hospital’s website stated that she was a triple board certified Neonatal Surgeon, and the Director of Neonatal Surgery. He had come across a series of articles on congenital heart diseases she had published in the medical journal within the last few years. Her LinkedIn profile mentioned that she had attended Harvard Medical School, and graduated Summa Cum Laude.

As impressive as her credentials were, what caught his attention was not any of her accomplishments. It was the photo of her on her profile, and the familiarity that he felt upon seeing her eyes. For a moment, Bucky wondered if there was a time when their paths would have crossed. Perhaps, they had met at a conference of some sort, given that they both specialized in congenital heart diseases. But then again, if they had met recently, he would remember her, wouldn’t he?

But as he pondered about where he would have met Dr. Y/L/N, he was pulled out of his thoughts by a knock on his door.

“Come in.” Bucky called out, quickly closing all of his tabs.

Steve Rogers stepped into his best friend’s office with a rather disappointed look on his face. “What in the goddamn world are you doing here, ya jerk?”

“Nice to see you too, punk.” He chuckled, rising from his seat to pull him into an embrace. “I was going to come by your office, but I’ve got to head out for a consult in a bit.”

“A consult? Already?” Steve raised his brow. “Buck, you don’t start until next week.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” He rolled his eyes, even though he knew that Steve was indeed his boss.

“Actually… I am.” He pointed out, a rather wide grin on his face. “All those years of being neck and neck with you and missing out on the ranks really paid off. I made Chief before you did, pal.”

“Oh don’t be so full of yourself, buddy. I only took this job because you begged me to.” He reminded him.

“Begging Is a stretch. I simply made a request.” Steve protested. “And I wanted my best friend to be closer to me.”

“Aw you missed me, pal?”

“Yeah, I did.” He admitted, a smile on his lips as he looked over at Bucky. “Best friends like you are rare to find, and easy to lose. Call me a sap all you want, Buck. But the last eight years haven’t been the same without you.”

Needless to say, Steve wasn’t the only one who could say that. Someone could say that the last thirty years hadn’t been the same without him, if she even remembered him.

Y/N’s morning had been spent doing rounds around the NICU, having barely walked around the entire floor before her feet began to ache. Two days it had been since they had started to ache, but she paid no heed to them, shrugging them off as the consequence for having stood in the OR for fifteen hours earlier that week. Unfortunately though, she knew the exact reason why her feet were aching. She was just too stubborn to accept that.

“Pietro, I’m fine!” She exclaimed as her friend sat her down on the couch in her office and removed her shoes, noticing the swelling on her ankles before he gave her a look of utter disbelief.

“You need to stop being so stubborn, Y/N.” He said, rather sternly. He wouldn’t yell at her, but he knew that she was being extremely negligent about her health ever since Dr. Stark had announced his retirement. “This isn’t normal, especially not for someone with a history of heart disease.”

She knew that he was right. She knew that she was being stubborn, and that her symptoms were not normal. But with Tony retiring, she hadn’t managed to find that kind of trust in any other doctor.

It had taken a lot of convincing on Tony’s part for her to even consider setting up a meeting with the new Chief of Cardio. But even then, she doubted if she could trust that man with her life. Perhaps her hesitance to go for surgery was not necessarily based on trust, but her own refusal to go back to the way things used to be when she had first left her hometown in Indiana and arrived in Boston at the age of five.

Y/N Y/L/N had been a patient at Massachusetts General Hospital long before she had become the Director of Neonatal Surgery. She had spent months on end being admitted in the same Pediatrics Ward where she currently worked, missing out on her life as a normal kid even though she had been surrounded by children her own age. Her normal had been different than most people, and she refused to return to that state yet again. She had come so far, and worked so hard, to go back to that dark place.

“I have a consultation with the Chief of Cardio later today, okay?” She assured him, as though it was progress in her eventually agreeing for surgery. “I’ll have a chat with him and see what we can do about this.”

Surgery was out of the question for Y/N. She was not going to have anyone cut into her chest again, not with the way her last surgery had caused her a massive lifestyle change. She had given up her entire life to ensure that she was staying healthy. But if that hadn’t been enough, then what even was the point?

“And if he suggests surgery?” Pietro questioned. “What would you do if he tells you that he needs to operate, just like Stark did?” Given her condition, even he knew that surgery was the best option.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, Pietro.” She admitted, letting out a sigh of exhaustion as she leaned back against the couch. “You should get back to work. I’m just going to put my feet up for a bit.”

God, could anyone be as stubborn as Y/N Y/L/N? Pietro Maximoff had no idea. “Okay, but don’t walk around too much. I’ll ask Romanoff if she could handle your patients for the day. Just stay in your office, okay? This isn’t a good sign.”

“I know, I know… just go.”

Pietro could only hope that she listened to him and stayed put in her office for the rest of the day, but it seemed that she had dozed off as he was leaving her office.

“If the doctors don’t fix you, then I’ll become a doctor and I’ll fix you, Bambi.”

“You would be the best doctor in the whole wide world!”

Suddenly, there was a knock on her door as Y/N found herself waking up from her nap. She checked the time on her watch to see that she hadn’t been asleep for too long. That had to be Dr. Barnes, right?

“Come on in!” She called out, quickly removing her feet from the coffee table and slipping them into her shoes.

As Bucky walked into Dr. Y/L/N’s office, there were a thousand questions that he wanted to ask her. But not even one of them was, ‘Hey Bambi, would you let me keep my promise now?’

#aj writes #long way home #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #doctor!Bucky #bucky barnes series #doctor au #doctor!steve

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 4 years

Text

Soulmate September - Day 6

Day 6 - When your soulmate is injured you will experience pain in that area

Pairing(s): Analoceitmus [ambiguous, can be read romantic or platonic, or a mix], QPR Royality

TWs: Injury mention, swearing, Remus being Remus near the end

–

“I’m going to sue him.”, Logan hissed, attempting to sit up in his hospital bed, “Soulmate or not, how can one man possibly be so irresponsible?! I’m definitely going to sue him.”

He winced as he tried to get comfy, but the tough mattress and uncomfortable bunching of the sheets said suffer.

And boy, was he.

Logan Sanders was an immaculate, careful man. Had been since he was a child. A neat and tidy lad who - upon learning of the rules of fate - made it his utmost mission to spare his soulmate any pain or anguish for as long as he could manage.

His soulmate, however, didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

From childhood, Logan found himself with sudden knee pains from scrapes he never fell for, abrasions he had caused no friction to gain, and the occasional shoulder or back pain as if he’d been pushed over when he was standing perfectly upright. At least the universe had decided to spare humanity the anguish of leaving soulmates with the physical injuries that came with the pain, but it was only a minor comfort.

Logan couldn’t say he hadn’t expected a lot of rough and tumble from his soulmate after his elementary school years, but really; a broken leg, facial burns, and a splintered forearm? “This is absolute bullshit.”, he bitterly muttered, “Barely hours apart! How is that even possible?!”

His ranting went ignored by the nurse who came to administer his medication; thankfully science had worked out a wonderful little clear pill that could banish the pain from particularly debilitating soulmate pains. The little bastards were expensive - the true pain is always capitalism within the medical world - but Logan’s job paid handsomely. Say what you will about computer nerds and whatnot, but programming for the right people lets you make some seriously high end bread. None of that homemade farmer’s market shit.

Unfortunately, he’d have to wait about a week for his pains to ebb gently into nothingness until the klutz of a man fate paired him with got into MORE trouble. Thus Logan couldn’t get back to his work. His leg was, for all intents and purposes, broken so the staff couldn’t let him go home. He couldn’t simply drive home himself either, his splintered forearm saw to that. And Logan couldn’t even ask his roommate Emile to bring him his work laptop to try and keep his workload at bay, his left eye was too cloudy and painful to concentrate on a screen.

Yes; his soulmate BETTER be paying his hospital bills.

Realisation struck Logan; his soulmate is obviously just as injured, ergo it’s a high probability that he could be somewhere within the hospital too. Using his good hand to reach for a pen, and absolutely dreading adding to his pain, Logan poked the tip into his good arm, wincing as he first attempted to contact them with simple morse code, “My/ Name/ Is/ Logan. Who/ Are/ You?”

He waited for a response, fearing he would have to start scratching his name onto his arm when he felt the little jabs in response, “Janus.” Great. He FINALLY had a name to put on the lawsuit. Logan, already wincing at the bee-sting pain from the pen, he jabbed out another message,

“Are/ You/ Currently/ Staying/ At/ Stokes/ General/ Hospital?”

The reply came cryptically,

“Yes / I / -”

Logan wasn’t sure why his soulmate had suddenly stopped replying. Had a nurse confiscated whatever his soulmate was using to poke himself? Either way, Logan would have to be content with the knowledge his soulmate was at least close by. He truly had no idea how close until two very disgruntled voices were within earshot of his room door,

“Brilliant, I just adore being ousted from my comfortable bed so I could spend even longer looking at your delightful face.”

“Oh, like you’re the victim here, asshole! You’re the one stabbing yourself and fucking up my unbroken arm!”

Logan watched them both argue outside of his room door. Both men were sporting similar injuries to his own; the first one that had spoken, refined looking gentleman with sharp features and neat blonde hair, had the left side of his face bandaged heavily. Meanwhile the other man, sporting raven hair and eye bags that could carry a month’s worth of groceries, was fitted with a cast on his left forearm. Both of them were on crutches, though Logan couldn’t see if either had a genuine cast.

“Ahem. Gentlemen?”

Logan called to them, watching as both turned to meet his gaze. He lifted the pen in his hand and asked, “I take it one of you is Janus?”

The man with the bandages over his eye, Janus, nodded, “That would be me.”

The man with the broken arm looked confused, “Wait, so, you’re the one who was ramming a pen into their arm? Damn.”, he turned, begrudgingly to the first man, “I guess I owe you an apology then.”

“Really you needn’t-”

“Then I shan’t.”

Janus glared at the other man’s snark, but Logan found it rather delightful. Clearing his throat once more, he breached the topic, “I take it that means we three are soulmates?”

“Four.”

Logan and Janus looked to the third man as he explained, “Your leg doesn’t have a proper cast on it, this asshole doesn’t have one either,”, Janus gifted the man a half glare and a middle finger before he continued, “And since I don’t have one, it’s pretty obvious there’s a fourth musketeer.”

Fair to say, Logan was impressed, even Janus was hiding the tiniest hint of admiration as he retorted, “And are we to call you Sherlock or D’artagnan?”

The man rolled his eyes, “Ha ha, fuck you. My name’s-”

“VIRGIL!!”

The man, Virgil, nearly lept out of his skin, jerking his arm and giving the three of them a jolt of pain. Logan felt relieved he’d only have to put up with it for a few more days once the medicine took effect.

In the doorway stood a man who could only be described as unnecessarily handsome, clad in a burgundy bomber jacket and a Nightmare Before Christmas shirt that seemed out of place on someone who stood poised like the protagonist of a romance anime. Logan noted he and Janus both checked to see if his leg was broken; good to know they had similar tastes even if the man’s lack of a cast dashed their hopes. Said handsome man made a beeline for Virgil, only to receive a swat and a motion to back off,

“Jesus fucking Christ, Princey, you nearly gave me a heart attack!!!”, Virgil hissed and took a deep breath. ‘Princey’ let out a fond huff, “You should be so lucky, Bring Me The Depression, do you know how worried Pat and I were when we couldn’t find you!? This, dearest Emo Nightmare, is karma at its finest-!”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, Roman. Where’s Pat? He’s gonna wanna meet my soulmates.”

Roman blinked, finally registering Logan and Janus just watching the two of them reunite. Clearing his throat, Logan made the introductions, “I’m Logan Sanders, this gentleman is-”

“Janus Delgado. Charmed I’m sure.”, Janus butt in, “Really, Logan, I can introduce myself. Unlike some people.”

Virgil flipped him off just in time for Roman to frown in confusion, “And…. you’re all sure you’re soulmates? I mean, no offense but you don’t...”, he picked his words carefully, his face contorting at the effort, “....act like soulmates?”

The three of them looked between one another and shrugged, “To be perfectly fair - Roman, yes? - we have all literally just met today under…. Less than optimal circumstances. I doubt you and your soulmate, assuming you’ve found them, hit it off instantly.”

Roman blinked, “Kind of, we didn’t have any problems like this, quite honestly...”, he almost sounded guilty at that notion, “The worst we have to deal with is his cat allergies-”

Out in the hallway, a couple of nurses hurriedly walked past and allowed another man into the room who immediately lit up at the sight of Roman and Virgil, “There you both are!!! I got held up at the vending machine, but when I came back you were both gone!”

“Patton! How glad I am to see you once more!”, Roman beamed, pulling the taller man into a hug and planting a dramatic kiss upon his cheek, to which Logan, Janus, and Virgil simultaneously met with an ‘ugh’. Perhaps they were more alike than they first assumed.

Patton turned to meet Janus and Logan’s gaze, looking back to Virgil who explained, “They’re two of my soulmates, Pat.”

For a moment, the tall excitable ball of sunshine looked like he was about to pop with joy when Roman held up a hand to interject, “Pardon me, but ‘two of’?”, and cast his confusion towards Virgil who explained, “Our last soulmate has a broken leg, it’s the only injury we can’t account for.”

Patton and Roman shared a momentary look, drawing Logan’s attention, “Roman? Patton? Are you both alright?”. The two seemed to play eye contact rock-paper-scissors to decide who would answer, with Roman losing apparently.

“When exactly did you feel the pain in your leg?”

“Couple hours ago” “Around three?” “Precisely 3:27 pm.”

Came the chorus of answers. Janus and Virgil both shot Logan a look, to which he quietly murmured, “It never hurts to provide a little extra clarity.”

“Apparently so,”, Janus began, before shifting his partial gaze to the couple, “So, are you lovebirds-”

“Qpp’s.”, Patton corrected quietly, to which, Janus did apologise, “Pardon me. So, are you queer platonic saps going to clue us in to why exactly you asked us such a specific question?”

Roman sighed, “I ask because my brother, Remus, broke his leg at that exact same time today. Pat and I were going to visit him right after we’d checked in with Virgil.”

The three soulmates shared a collective look, but the first one to pipe up was Virgil, “You have a brother?! Why am I only finding this out now, I’ve known you for 12 fucking years, Roman! What the fuck!?”

Logan exasperatedly ran a hand down his face as he tried to maneuver himself out of his bed and into one of the hospital’s wheelchairs, Janus offering a hand to him, “Virgil, as much as I would love to listen to you and Roman bicker back and forth, could we possibly save such trivialities for after we meet our fourth soulmate?”

This time Patton piped up, “Oh, um, you may not want to do that just yet-”

As if on cue, roughly six or seven medical staff rushed by, causing Patton and Roman to quickly look around the doorway, only to turn back to the others, “Well, no time like the present. Patton, if you help Virgil, I’ll help Janus once Logan can shimmy into that wheelchair.”, Roman assigned as he offered an arm for Logan to hold onto while he got himself in the chair. Noting the context clues, Logan was rightfully worried, especially as he felt a new pain in his hand, only to note that while Roman and Patton helped them move, Virgil and Janus seemed to be experiencing more pain in their legs than before. In the moment, Logan did feel a little bad that the pill he’d taken hours earlier was saving him from too much additional pain. Approaching the hospital room the medical staff had gathered within, the group were greeted with a wild scene.

A scruffy man strikingly similar in looks to Roman - albeit sporting a thin moustache and silver hair streak - wearing a leg cast was holding a crutch in one hand and an honest to god butterfly knife in the other, standing atop his hospital bed, raving like a lunatic and gesturing frantically to an empty space in the room,

“NOW WILL SOMEBODY FINALLY LET ME OUT OF HERE?! ME AND THIS BEAR WANNA GO CATCH HORNY FISH AND SHIT IN THE WOODS!!”

Charming.

Logan glanced over at Patton and Roman, the question clear on his face just like their answer. That was Remus alright. He watched Roman talk with a nurse trying to calm Remus, “We gave him some painkillers to ease his leg pains, but it shouldn’t be affecting him this much!”

“Oh, Remus has always been like this with medication, I should’ve warned the nursing staff.”, he groaned, “But that doesn’t explain-”

“He must’ve pushed the blue button behind his bed,”, Logan sighed, already anticipating Roman’s question, “The medical staff likely assumed Remus was coding and thus went into action. That’s why they’re here right now.”

Roman’s expression confirmed that was indeed going to be his question. As Roman went to help the nurses tranquilise Remus’ wild flailing, and while his other two soulmates stood by to watch the chaos - in varying degrees of worry and strange admiration bordering on attraction for his disregard for social norms - Logan tried to come to terms with the facts.

He had three very different soulmates, and by the looks of it? He’d have to get used to frequent hospital stays….

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

This one’s probably on the weirder side, but uh, yeah, I hope it’s still a good read! [Also sorry these have been a little late lately TTvTT] @tsshipmonth2020 Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses

#analoceitmus #logan sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #royality #qpr!royality #roman sanders #patton sanders #my fics #fanfics #tsshipmonth2020 #soulmate september #this one just went wild #i dunno what to tell you #reads a little more like analogical and demus if i think about it #but whatever it was fun

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thebadchoicemachine · 4 years

Text

karl in Prowa, what will he do

“You know, you really should do that.”

“Pardon?”

“I- sorry, that just slipped out. I don’t mean to sound preachy.”

“No I mean I didn’t understand youse. Do what?”

“Smoke. It’s... pretty bad for you.”

The man just took another drag, staring Karl down with blank puzzlement.

“Ah, tobacco is-“ Karl was interrupted by the stranger coughing, choking on his inhale.

“Oh, uh, what is it then?”

The man put the strange-smelling stick back in his mouth. “You a sap?”

“Hey, it’s just a question!”

“Oh, that’s... really cool actually. Are you trying to be healthier?”

He snorted, raising his hand to head in laughter. “Oh, healthy. Mmm. No. I like the taste.” He pulled out a nearly empty box with a few little sugar sticks left and held it out, offering. Karl hesitated for a moment before selecting one, it was a little purple.

“So, do I need a light or...”

“I told you, it ain’t a cigarette.”

“Right.”

He awkwardly set the stick in his mouth. It tasted like sweet paper (but still paper). He guessed he should open it somehow? Uh... hmmm. He bit the tip of it, jumping at the sudden sting of flavor. It was something he didn’t quite know the name of, sharp and sweet, vaguely like blueberries and red cinnamon dipped in static.

“Mmm!” He exclaimed, causing the man to smile and laugh. It was a sweet look on him, soft, genuine, happiness.

“Tastes good, don’t it?”

“Yeah, I think? It- ACHK,” Karl choked as he inhaled the sudden puff of smoke in his mouth. He forgot he was supposed to blow the stuff out.

The well-dressed man flicked away his own stick and raised an eyebrow. “Youse sure you ain’t a sap?”

“Oh, ha ha.” Karl shifted, not really offended. “Um, thanks for letting me try one. I’m Karl, by the way.” He stuck his hand out, a small goofy smile slipping across his face. “I’m... new around here.”

“Oh, ya don’t say?” The man half-rolled his eyes but took Karl’s hand happily. “Name’s Quackity, I run the casino ‘cross the ways there.” He gestured to a flashy building down the street.

“Whoah. Cool.”

“You gamble?”

“Ah, you could say that.”

“Meaning?”

“It depends,” Karl clicked his tongue, playfully eyeing the building in the distance. “I play a lot a lot of games.”

“Well,” Quackity chuckled “if you’re ever lookin for a good time, swing by. We might be able to find a game or two you can… enjoy.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Karl smiled. He liked this guy. “No, you know what? Defiantly. I’ll come by sometime, count on it!”

“I’ll hold you to that. I- fuck, speaking of my work I should be getting back.”

“Oh,” Karl frowned, sad to see his new friend gone too soon. He’d kind of hoped to talk more.

Quackity seemed to share the sentiment. He stopped a few steps away and turned around, glancing to the empty road rather than looking Karl in the eye.

“Hey, uh, Karl…”

“Yeah?”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Personally, I think ya’d look keen in just about anything but folks ‘round here are arrogant, neighborhood reputations and business and all that.”

“I guess I should find something else to wear. Any recommendations?”

Quackity eyed him up and down, gears turning in his head. He nodded like he’d thought of something he liked.

“Quackity?”

He jumped like he forgot this was a conversation. “Uh, I got… a few ideas. I- you know what? Come with me, Imma get youse dolled up fine.”

“I thought you had to go back to work?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he scoffed. “Charlie can cover me for a while. I’d rather talk s’more with yo- UH- I mean, I wanna see you in- no, no, that’s worse... I mean I-“

“I’d love to!” Karl jumped in, saving Quackity from his stammering.

“Oh. Well then,” Quackity smiled and held out his arm, face just a little pink “shall we?”

Karl linked his arm. “Like I said, I’d love to.”

@thecatchat here’s the doodle

#unofficial dimensions #writing doodles

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needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas · 3 years

Note

Bathtub sex. That's it that's the request. (okay also let me tell you again how much I'm enjoying your writing. The latest one had me squealing at the sweetness of Sooga caring for his master but also... like, talk about depth when it comes to Kohga?? Of course he wants to be strong. And he IS strong, and it's hard to be vulnerable and... ahh you're so good at writing this sort of thing) So yeah, bathtub hanky-panky plz XD

Thank you for the kind words, really! Means so much to me! As for your request, you can ABSOLUTELY have some bathtub fun times! I’ve written them in the tub before, but I have NOT done hanky panky, and shame on me for that.

“I still can’t believe you let me do this.”

Kohga and Sooga were in Kohga’s bath, and both were in the middle of undoing their hair from their classic yiga styling. Kohga chuckled as he fluffed it up in his hands.

“What? Be in my bathroom?”

“Yes. Many of us find it a rather sacred place, and it means a lot, that you deem me worthy of this.”

“‘Worthy’ this and ‘worthy’ that with you. I like you, and you look good naked, it ain’t that deep.”

He held Sooga’s face in his hand, lightly squeezing his chin.

“BUT. It’s sweet, in a way, knowing it means something to you. It’s why I got you a little something.”

Kohga let go of his face, in order to dig into the cabinet. From it, he pulled out a yellow candle, giving it to Sooga.

“This is...for me?”

“Yeah, your favorite is those electric Safflina , right? Saw this candle at the market yesterday, figured you’d really like it.”

“Oh. That’s...very kind of you to remember. Thank you.”

“God you’re smiling that big, dumb smile of yours. Just light it and get in the tub with me.”

Kohga always waved off any sort of praise from Sooga like that. Such simple gestures were nothing to Kohga, but they were everything to Sooga. Sooga lit the candle (along with god knows how many others Kohga liked to have around), before joining him in the tub. There was something so indulgent about Kohga’s tub. Full of flowers, steam, and fragrances, it was like a spa. And what else did a spa have? A handsome guy there to give just the best spa treatment. Aka, Sooga, massaging his scalp in his favorite shampoo.

“Master Kohga, please stop squirming, you know it needs to sit for a moment.”

“Wouldn’t squirm if you’d stop touchin’ my damn ears!”

“...Your ears are cute, I never get to see them.”

Kohga grumbled something about Sooga being a sap, before he begrudgingly let Sooga continue. Sooga, ever since he was allowed in the bath, assumed full responsibility of making sure Kohga was clean. It was annoying, but it was cute, and less work on his end. Plus...it felt nice, having those big, nice hands roaming his frame. It was nice, how careful he was with him. And how there wasn’t a single spot he wouldn’t clean. From his back, to his arms...right to his legs. Kohga leaned up against Sooga, and stopped his hand as soon as it went between his legs. He didn’t wash there TOO much, for ‘honors sake’ as he put it, but why would he have Sooga half ass something with him? Just wasn’t right.

“You know Sooga, you really should take more care of me, if I let you do this.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m saying you need to really clean me here. If YOU’RE gonna do it, do it right.”

Kohga saw the wheels turning in his big, dumb head, and it took him SO long to process what he meant.

“Ah. I see. I suppose I have been slacking, Master Kohga. Please, do forgive me.”

He wrapped an arm around Kohga, before using his other hand to start to lightly stroke Master Kohga’s cock. He was always so slow at first. It was cute, but god dammit Kohga liked his shit right out of the gate. He was going to complain about it, before Sooga leaned down, and pressed his lips against Kohga’s, It was soft, smooth kiss, and it kinda made Kohga forget that Sooga’s hand could be going MUCH faster. Kohga chuckled once they parted, cupping the side of his face.

“Now THIS is way more like it. You know, I like a LOT of things about you, but my favorite thing has gotta be those hands of yours. Though, the hair is a damn close second.”

He wasn’t gonna be the only one getting something out of their little bathtime. He watched Sooga slightly melt as Kohga dug his fingers through his hair, giving it just an ever so slight pull. Sooga chuckled, clearly not expecting Kohga to get frisky in return.

“I like many things about you as well. Your way with words, your nice hair, your ever so skilled hands…”

Sooga’s thoughts drifted off as Kohga pulled him into another kiss, chuckling into it. Sooga lightly squeezed at his balls, before returning to stroking his nice, thick cock. It was borderline romantic, how he was treating Kohga. Not his usual cup of tea, but...Kohga liked Sooga. A lot. Kohga chuckled, lightly shaking his head as Sooga gave him such a loving set of puppy dog eyes.

“Ha. You love me. Idiot. You got the biggest, fattest crush on me.”

“I do, I really, really do.”

Sooga chuckled, quickening his pace on his hand just a little bit. He knew his Master liked it fast, but Sooga MUCH preferred it when they took things slow. It was cute, watching his Master slowly unravel in his hands. He pressed his lips against his bare shoulder, sighing at the soft, aromatic skin.

“Even eight pack Sidon?”

“I do like you. I like you so very much, I can’t imagine myself really liking anyone but you.”

“Even him.”

“Even the Goron Sweetheart, Daruk?”

“That’s you, Master Kohga.”

Kohga looked up at him, as if he was offended. So what if he was stroking his cock in a nice and hot bath? Didn’t mean he could talk shit.

“Excuse me, I can’t be the only one here who thinks Gorons are hot as hell.”

“You must be, because quite frankly, I don’t. Daruk is...sweet, and rather simple. Not my type.”

“It’s mine. Makes sense why I like you. Especially when you tie that with the pretty hair, I like the pretty hair.”

Sooga took his turn to huf, burying his face in the crook of his Master’s neck, speeding up his palm just a little.

“...who has the better hair?”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting into a pissing contest with DARUK of all people.”

“I am not. It’s just a question.”

Kohga laughed, sort of finding it hard to think as Sooga’s hand was starting to speed up still. THIS was way more like it.

“Look, I like YOU, what does it matter?”

“It doesn’t answer my question.”

“You jealous dog.”

Kohga chuckled, leaning up to peck at his neck. He sighed as he relaxed in Sooga’s arms, starting to feel that build up in his gut. He let Sooga look at him in eagerness, before he finally relented.

“You BOTH have pretty hair. But trust me, I like yours a lot better. He’s the sorta ‘dumb blonde’ type. While it’s cute, I like yours a lot better. Super soft and long. I like YOU a lot more, Sooga.”

“Good. While I have no qualms with you being in bed with others...I dislike the idea that you’d like them better than me.”

Jealous little Sooga, muttering his bitterness right into Kohga’s ear as his hand started to very quickly pump his cock, making him squirm in his grip. Kohga laughed, digging his fingers in his hair, and giving it a nice, good pull.

“It’s like food, Sooga. I like Tabantha bakes, but no way would I take them over my bananas. I don’t like anyone more than you.”

“I don’t know, I see how often you look at Rhoam’s rear end.”

“Listen, dude’s got some thunder cheeks, I can’t stop that.”

They both shared a snicker at that. While they were somewhat kidding, Kohga DID think Rhoam was such a dilf.

“You’re such a unique man, Master Kohga. I know I personally couldn’t love anyone more than you. No one. No one is prettier than you, no one is as sweet as you, no one plagues my thoughts like you do. There isn’t anyone in the world more hunky than you.”

Kohga didn’t need much else. Aside from the fact that his palm was working so fast against him, those sweet, honest words were enough to make Kohga cum, clinging onto Sooga’s arm as he did just that. He laid against Sooga as he sighed in relief, though it didn’t last long, given the fact that Sooga started to decorate his face in kisses. Kohga laughed, pushing his face away.

“Sooga come ON! You just made me cum, can you give me two seconds before you get all mushy gushy on me?”

“No. Because I love you so much, I want to be the only one in your thoughts. Not Daruk, not anyone.”

“Even Link?”

“...”

Sooga suddenly got out of the bath, covering himself in a towel. Kohga cocked his head from the tub.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a knight to neuter.”

“Sooga, come on, enough joking, that’s-wait why do you have your sword? Sooga? SOOGA NO-”

#asks #kohga #sooga #lemon #the takeaway? Sooga is a jealous jealous man #and Link was fine thankfully #kohga caught sooga two seconds before boy was about to perform some surgery on his ass #have i made it clear that link and sooga are essentially rivals

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girlofthefandom · 4 years

Text

Tales from the smp thoughts and random quotes I enjoy (essentially delayed live blogging) Part 1

I love all these npcs already

“Hurry up camera man!”

Yes! Gladiators! I remember seeing someone say that idea

Just some joes

Porkeous the 7th. Oh no I can see the fan girls now.

Yes! Punch em off!!

“Yeah same.”

“That’s good cause I don’t” “we build a new colosseum every time”

I can’t want to see the names of everyone’s characters. Especially Philz’

Stairs everyone’s worst enemy

Tubbo... sweet child

She disappeared!! Witch craft! Burn the witch!

Tubbo=Jacky (forced off streets)

Fundy=Laggius Maximus (I love this name so much with the spinning)

Please don’t kill both the boys in this fight. But also I’m cheating for Laggius.

Subbin Empire? Subbin to Technoblade!

Go Laggius! This is not going to go well... this is really not going to go well...

No I refuse to root for Jacky. I like Laggius the bit will be funnier later.

I want to know what happened to the last camera guy! Let us know!

Vertical feeling! Heaven forbid! Also look at them insulting TikTok

I love the background music. Feels magical.

A lovely jump

Surprises... well that’s ominous. And wait the first one!

Tower! Towers are always good.

We got our popcorn. Ready to watch this fight.

Laggius is... coming... maybe...

GG Jacky... he hasn’t won yet but gg.

Lava!!!! Hooray! Love us some good lava

Poor Laggius... he was burning too early

And Laggius is still lagging

Why isn’t Jacky burning?? He won???

Knocked unconscious in the lava. What is this a Pokémon game?

GG Jacky.

Nobody needs to know the way around here.

“Almost like a video game” just break that fourth wall right down

Keeps looking at sapnaps character and talking about strong. How sweet. We love some fiancé’s.

Please don’t throw Laggius to the wolves

Jack Manifold = Bartholomew

Phil having to translate. I love it.

Watson = Phil

Good pun. Very good pun.

Nobody likes Punz. Gosh everyone’s so mean

We love Watson. Let’s go Watson.

Bartholomew with the drugs and Watson.

Crazy drunk man with fire resistance

I agree with Watson why did we come to this cousin.

Sapnap in a hole

Also I love the drinking age being 3

Let’s go Watson!!!

Where are my Pom poms? I’ve got a Watson to cheer for.

Execute those architects.

And their first Borns.

Watson! Watson! Watson!

“Welcome to the land of the living Bartholomew.”

I love the slow fight.

Come on Watson shoot em!

Oh no. Oh no. Come on Watson. You’re so close!

Noooooooooo.

Why Bartholomew???? I can’t spell that! I’ve been relying on autocorrect this whole time.

Watson would be so much easier to spell.

Still must go down the stairs.

Speed running life. That’s what I do.

No one dies. Just take them to nurse joy.

Poor Punz being so bullied

Punz=Levi

Levi? Really? Oh well I like the name. He won’t like but I like the name.

Also why does Levi have such a full backstory.

Has weapon hands with a horrible southern accent. I love it.

“Hmmm”

Who is Ol’ Sap?

Sapnap = John

And no creativity apparently.

Laggius had the best name for a gladiator. All the others are too boring.

Why are we beating up BBH

Hannah=Genevieve

Genevieve! I can spell that thanks to old Barbie movies!!

Go Genevieve! Trained her life! I love this woman!

Mostly women upstairs. I love it our fandom is so biased.

“Are you sure about that?”

Darlin? Really that’s not the right word.

Go Genevieve! I probably shouldn’t cheer for her since everyone I’ve cheered for has lost.

But still GO GENEVIEVE!!

Our empire is millions in dept

Let’s step up the battle! Let’s gooooo

“Ayyyyy!!!”

Go Genevieve! Levi hush up with your gills.

Jump in! Splish Splash!

Wait why are we listening to Mario Kart music? Wait I recognize this song.

Go Genevieve!!

YES FINALLY! I PICKED THE WINNER!

Levi hush. You done lost messed up southern boi.

Go Genevieve! I can actually spell your name!

I straight forgot Porkeous the 7ths name for a second and had to check my notes.

Stairs. Woop de doo.

“Pick the most handsome” wow

Ol’ Sap = John as I remember. And he’s sticking with it. Bold man sticking with it.

Ranboo = Ran

Just Ran and it’s just the enderman part of the skin. Haha. Very funny.

BBH = Edward

He went from strange voice to normal(ish) voice

I don’t like Edwards speech pattern. At the very least. Yucky.

John v. Edward letsa go

Go John!

Wait we renaming? This is going to get confusing.

Handsome. Can you two quit flirting (not really keeping going)

Alrighty then Ugly v. Edward

Go Ugly! (Sentence I never expected to type)

The seat thing

And saying king Julien. Sigh.

Just BRB real quick.

Thinking about buying things. Oh he meant ad.

Alright Ad 1/3 let’s go.

No I can’t even open chat to watch them instead of the ad. Boooo.

2/3 let’s get this done!

3/3

Snickers just loading for forever

Alrighty we survived.

And a crown really? Just wants his normal skin back.

Let’s go Ugly!

Bo-at battle! Let’s go!

Please don’t shoot Ugly.

Go Ugly!

“King Are you ok!”

I still hate Edwards speech pattern so much

Please. Just pretend to have a fair fight.

The rabbits???? Cant rabbits swim?

Hooray rabbits! I don’t what purpose they serve but I love them.

Edward or Edwardo? Did I miss something?

Ok it seems both.

Shooting a rabbit? Disowner on you disowner on your cow.

Killing pets reference? The references are so good.

YES UGLY!!!! Thank heavens!

I’m 2/4 for choosing the winner.

I hope ugly keeps on winning

“Colosseum Remote Control”

3 in 1 battle how did they not plan correctly for an even number

Nerds hold cameras you heard it here folks

I don’t want to hear deeper for some of these stories. All I want to see is Genevieves further story. She seems deep.

“Massive pigs growling at us. No offense”

Watson trying to clean the table.

We bringing in the Harmonika.

Harmonika fits the moment.

Yes name him handsome! Haha

Grievous is how I’m spelling that stupid sounding name. But it’s better than John and ugly.

I can’t get over the name Ran.

BE GONE LEVI!

I love Watson having to take care of Bartholomew. Translating for him and waking him up.

Phil just can’t resist playing the dad.

No no stopping just fighting.

Also I love Watson saying break it up. I wish Watson had won.

Genevieve sounds like such a lovely lady and she deserves to win.

As much as I love Grevious I want Genevieve to win.

Sapnap=Grevious good gracious this is hard to follow.

Ran is cool. I’m going to kill over listening to them just saying Ran.

Complicated backstory. Found the main character.

Ran is cool.

Wait this place is going down??? Pardon me???

Three person fight is...

Grevious v. Ran v. Bartholomew

Genevieve v. Jacky

Puns! Let’s go! And of course Levi likes Puns.

Everyone is so mean.

GO GENEVIEVE!

And Watson just babysitting Bartholomew

I’m going to get good at spelling Bartholomew. Because I was horrible at it before.

Empire of women!

Cages=Lava

“Mmm what smells good”

Battle star!!

“Boing Boing Boing”

Water dome?

Water Dome in Lava?

Well he tried zombies/bunnies

Lava in the water sphere?

Only fight at top of fishbowl got it.

GO GENEVIEVE!

Come on girl you’ve got this!

No Genevieve babe please don’t lose.

“The boats going down.” “It’s yelling timber.” “Like that song that hasn’t been made yet.”

Hurry up and die. I love it.

NO GENEVIEVE!!!!!

Do do do do

That was a longer fight. But pretty good.

To the cellars! Not to the cellars!

No! The boat is gone!

That was close.

This feels like a funky Pokémon game.

Jacky is a finalist! Good for him. I’m not cheering for him but good for him.

TRIANGLE FORMATION

Who’s missing? Oh wait it’s Bartholomew

“Intense prison cosmetic surgery”

Rabbits! We love rabbits.

Oh no faceplant mode!

What is even happening?!?!

Thinking creatively.

Just don’t die. What a game.

Cant wait to watch the thinking creatively animatic.

In a boat to avoid floating.

Attack!

Go Ran!

Oh we’re lagging.

Disable the dive mode!

The zombies are a bit much. Oh everyone’s actually fighting.

Rats why weren’t there baby zombies when Watson was going. They even made a Phil reference.

No treaties.

Go Ran! Keep on running away.

I love Ran.

GO RAN! I love Grevious. But GO RAN

Faster Zombies. Zombies go zoom.

Oh Grevious won.

Wait why does Ran have grass and why do they see him again.

Placing more dirt to clean old dirt.

Poor Grevious.

I feel sorry for him now.

Stand on da dirt.

Put the rabbits in the cages!!!!

I cheer for Grevious.

And yes there are many a loser.

Everything is so spicy. As in lava is there.

You can’t kick your fiancé’s future descendent out of the gang.

A full inventory

Watson with the backup button!

Seriously all he can do is be a dad.

OH BOY LAGGIOUS IS BACK!

And he’s here for the picture.

And Watson is (still) bullying him!

Bartholomew is pure trouble.

Ooops. The root beer was on the brain.

Watson! Come get your drunk!

Oh wait he actually did! I love this so much.

Petition for more Phil in Tales.

Only Genevieve voting for Jacky

Some people refusing to vote.

I’m sorry who asked if Laggius is ok.

He is always (not) ok

He is fine. See.

I love Laggius’ character the most.

Go winners!

Reformed kinda. If that doesn’t sum up the whole of the smp.

All the grass in the cage.

And Laggius being his slow self.

Nothing v. General

I love how it went from King to Emperor to King

And there is Laggius.

I don’t know how anyone else is spelling Laggius but I like this way and refuse to edit it if it actually spelled different.

Oh we’re getting more ads.

1/3 let’s go

#tales from the smp #tftsmp #dreamsmp #dsmp #delayed liveblogging

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missmonkeymode · 3 years

Text

You sit on a root of the willow tree guarding your mother’s grave, weeping into the rags that should’ve been beautiful. This was your only day to live, to forget about your terrible life as you dance the night, but of course the world would deny you of such a privilege. You’re Cinderella after all, too dirty to be presentable, too callused to be held, and too miserable to do anything but cry.

You sniffle as you stare down, watching the grass be watered by your tears. What a terrible life you live. You sigh as your curl your arms around your legs. “Maybe this is a dream,” You hopelessly mutter to yourself. “I-I’ll wake up any minute, and I’ll be in my bed, and my dress will be fine, and Margret wouldn’t have given me impossible chores, and my sisters wouldn’t have been in my room and-.” You feel a wave of despair crash over you as your voice cracks. “And- Today would’ve only been a nightmare.”

“Dreams are a fickle thing, are you sure you want that?”

You whip your head around and spy the source of the voice. WIthin the dangling branches, you see a figure flitting between them, slow enough to spot, but fast enough to be indistinguishable.

“P… Pardon?” You say, wiping the tears from your face.

“Dreams aren’t as grand as people think they are. All form and no substance. All frosting and no cake.” The figure parts the curtain of sticks, revealing themself. They’re small, about 3 feet tall if you had to guess. They have long and delicate limbs, swaying in time with the breeze. Their skin is as dark as the tree they were hiding in, you’re sure if they were to stay quiet you wouldn’t have even noticed them. “I’m sure if you had your wish, nothing would have changed.”

You frown. “That’s not a nice thing to say to someone who’s sad.”

“I wasn’t trying to comfort you, my dear.” The figure emerges, their beetle-like wings humming behind them. They’re smiling from ear to ear, though it never reaches their fly-like eyes. They tilt their head, their antenna twitching to and fro.

“Why are you here?��

“Why are you here?”

“I asked you first.”

“And I asked you second. I don’t see why order has to do with answers.”

You sigh. “That’s…. Fair. I’m here because I’m sad. And Margrot ruined my chances to go to the ball.”

“Oh,” they say, more intrigued. “And why is that?”

“Why is- She ruined my dress! She left on the carriage with Charlotte and Maryam! I can’t walk to the ball with a dress like this!” You gesture to your rags. “I don’t even know why I still have this thing on, it’s barely even a dress.”

The figure hums. “But it’s still a dress. Interesting.” The figure lands next to you and sits down, crossing one leg over the other. “Do you mind if I have your name? I feel as though if we were to continue this conversation, it’s only fair if I know who I’m speaking to.”

You scoot away from the figure. “Cinderella.”

They smile wider, her eyes still as distant and calculated as it was when you first spotted them. “Clever girl,” They say, a bit of malice reaching their tone, “Giving me a name that isn’t fully yours. Who taught you how to be this cunning around the fae?”

“M… My father. He always told me to be careful with my name.” You look down. “I don’t think there’s anyone alive who knows my real name, besides myself.”

“Your father has taught you well.”

You look up to the figure. “Why are you here?”

They grin, flashing a row of dark, pointed teeth. “Well, isn’t it obvious? I’m here for you.”

“Why me?”

“Because I’m your godmother after all. I’d be a terrible mother if I didn’t make sure you were fine.”

You blanch. “Godmother? How in the world are you my godmother?”

“It’s quite simple. WHen you were born, your father came to me and we struck a deal. He said that if I ensured that you were fine if anything happened to him, then I would be your godmother.”

“If I was fine?!” You stutter. “I’m not fine! I haven’t been fine since my father died!”

“Yes, you have.”

“No I haven’t! Margrot has been working me to the bone every day! She feeds me the scraps of the meal I make for her! She hardly ever lets me sleep, she doesn’t let me see my friends, I haven’t had a bath in who knows how long, and she treats me like I'm a automaton!"

She tilts her head. “But you have food. There’s a roof above your head, and you’re not sick.”

You throw your hands up. “But I’m miserable!”

Your godmother hums. “Ah, I see. I can change that if you wish.”

You look at her with hope and desperation. “You can?”

“I can. Do you want this?”

You hesitate. You remember the words that your father used to whisper into your ear whenever you would walk past your mother’s tree: ‘Never trust the fae. They will promise you the world and the stars, but you will pay for it.’

But your father never foretold that you would be in such a terrible situation, did he?

“Yes,” You breathe. “I want this to end.”

Your godmother nods. She conjures a thick stick from nowhere, her head barely making it over the tip of the stick. “Do you like it?” She asks, a hand on the willow’s roots. “It was a gift from your mother.” You stay silent and your godmother humphs. “It’s rude to not respond to your godmother. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

You flinch. “She died during childbirth.”

“Ah yes, I forgot,” She says, without a drop of compassion in her voice.

Your godmother buzzes towards you, her wings beating against her back so fast that it turns into a blur. She stops mere inches away from your face and it takes all of you willpower not to flinch away. She lifts her hand, her fingers hovering over your cheek. Her eyes bears into yours.

“You must promise me that you must return to this tree before the clock strikes 12. If you promise me this, I will give you an escape. I will give you jewelery, a dress, a carriage, and most importantly, anonymity. Tell me you promise.”

“Um-”

“Tell me!”

“I promise!”

Your godmother grins a wicked grin. “A deal has been made.” She backs up and you let out a breath that you didn’t notice you were holding. She takes the branch in between her hands and spins it in her hands. It spins and spins and spins, twirling in her hand like a ballerina. You follow it with your eye as it spins around you. It turns and twirls, growing and expanding, enveloping you. In a second, the branch turns into a dress, a dark brown thing with green accents, with shoes as dainty as your malnourished figure. You feel something slimy creep onto your face, almost as if a bear is licking you. You bring a finger to your cheek, it returns covered in a clear paste as thick as sap.

"There you go dear," Your godmother cooed. "Everything you asked for and more."

You look up. "Where's the carriage?"

"In the pumpkin patch." She smiles. "Now, I will tell you this one last time: You must be here by the 12th bell strike. You promised me after all."

A shiver creeps down your spine. "Yes, I know." You gather your skirt in your hands. "Well…. I'll be off now. I'll see you later, I guess." With a wave, you treck down the hill and head to the pumpkin patch.

~~~

You really meant to leave sooner, you swear. But, it's just…

The ball was so magical. The music was light, your feet seemingly lighter, and gosh, the prince was just so… charming. You just lost track of time, but can you blame yourself?

The prince likes you- no, the future king thinks you're stunning. Nobody has ever thought you were stunning before. Nobody has ever thought anything about you before. And then you two squirreled yourselves away, running to the royal gardens to grab some time alone. But you had no time, did you, and by the time you realized, the clock was already chiming.

You decided to run by foot, kicking your shoes off to make you go faster. The carriage was too far away, the clock would've finished by the time she reached it. Your skirt's gathered in your hands, folds slipping from your grip as quickly as you grab it.

The clock chimes for the nonth time as your feet slap against the forest ground. Your heart races as the truth echoes within your mind. You're not going to make it. You know you're not going to make it, but you have to try. You must try. Your mind knows the truth, but you can't believe it.

The clock chimes for the tenth time. The sound reverberates into your core. You beg yourself to run faster, but you're running as fast as you can.

The clock chimes for the eleventh time, soft laughter following in its footsteps. You trip over a rock, falling hard on your side. You quicky get up, ignoring how tree roots rip and tear your skirt.

The clock chimes for the last time.

The forest is silent.

She holds onto her skirt, a desperate lifeline in this nightmare.

"Th-this is a dream," She stutters, "A-a nightmare. I'll… I'll wake up at any minute, and I'll be in my bed, and I'll be f-fine. The fae would only be fiction, a-and I wouldn't have gone to the ball." She takes a shallow breath. "Today- Today would’ve only been a nightmare."

She hears laughter steadily growing louder and louder, and she turns to run.

"Dreams are a fickle thing," She hears someone sing. "They’re all form and no substance. And no matter how much you wish, you still broke your promise!" A hand grabs her wrist. She screams as she's whisked away into the forest.

A moment later I emerge from the forest, my dress in tatters. I have to get home before my stepmother realizes I was at the ball.

#cinderella #short story #fairy tales #idk what else to tag heres what i was talking about last night #hope you enjoy!

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heroprose · 5 years

Note

pst part 2 for ‘write it in ash’ have mercy pLS

a/n. the fact that you’re a fan of that oldie made this one a priority….. forewarning for the regular antics when it comes to my writing LOL thanks for requesting!!

– for those who don’t know, i wrote a demon (summoning) au ft. our guy izuku over here!

you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. there’s a sliver of you that is in fact startled to find the incubus still in your living room when you returned from the bathroom. he sits so stiffly, so uneasily, that you wonder if it’s the atmosphere of your home that sets him on edge, or if that��s just how he comes across to all his clients.

you don’t blame him entirely if it’s the former rather than the latter; after all, it’s not every day you entertained demonic company in your apartment. it’s hard to know what sort of mannerisms to adopt in their horned presence. you actually think you’re grappling the situation better than most would.

and midoriya, for whatever reason, is pretending that he’s not watching you cross the room towards him, but it’s ridiculously obvious, from the way his gaze shoots about after accidentally meeting your gaze.

the living room, to your disdain, still smells faintly of sulphur and that’s not something that can be scrubbed off in a day. nevertheless, you take a seat beside midoriya, leaving ample distance between you and him for niceties.

“so,” you start, working to undo the palpable silence. “midoriya– if that’s even your real name– i’ve a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“we’re bound to confidentiality,” he confesses, finally taking in your presence directly. “there are some things i just cannot tell you. but– but midoriya really is my real name. not my whole name, per se, since demons go by many names but– um, yes.” he trails off. “yeah. ask away.”

this, of course, perks your attention profoundly, your gaze traveling back to his eyes from lingering on the impressive pair of horns that sprout from somewhere underneath his green curls. “alright. is it like an nda agreement?” you press. “who do you work for? the devil? lucifer? beelzebub? do you live in hell?”

“i– apologies,” he says, sounding genuinely sorry as he shakes his head and his green hair bounces. “i really can’t answer any of those questions. but, you know, if you want to ask me anything in regards to being an incubus in particular, i’m sure i can offer you some insight.”

you nod. his awkward ambiguity could only lead you to conclude that yes, he probably did live in hell and work for the devil. “so like, what’s the demographic of your services?” you prompt, leaning in,

“pardon?” he says, eyebrows quirked way up.

“i mean, what kind of person would summon incubi?”

he thinks this over, his green eyes glancing away for a second. “humans,” he eventually offers.

your eyes thin out, unsure if he’s avoiding the question or just really that oblivious. “right,” you say. “virgins or occultists?”

this sends him for a loop. “um,” he lets slip. “well. you know. it really depends; i can’t really say– oh! maybe… maybe humans like you?”

you shake your head, before letting yourself slump back onto the couch, your head hitting the back cushion. “midoriya,” you complain, flutters of amusement pulling at your mouth. “you can’t just keep giving me these loose answers if you’re trying to get it on with me. besides, me summoning you was an accident! a happy one at that, but an accident all the same.”

he purses his lips. “sorry,” he says hastily, brows knitted before he fully registers your words. “wait– huh? no, no, i’m not trying to do anything, i swear! this is all on you.”

“all on me?”

midoriya nods briskly.

“so does that mean you have no say in the matter? whenever someone summons you, you go?”

he reaches behind to scratch the back of his neck. “well, not exactly,” he replies, and taps the coffee table where dark, charred lines have been carved in. “the sigil you’ve drawn here isn’t mine mine; it’s a general summoning symbol for incubi. we all get the signal, but i was the one to answer your call. um, i hope you don’t mind.”

“i see,” you hum, trying to fit this all in your head with human business parallels but to no avail. no matter what he says (or doesn’t say), it is plain to see he is not of this earth. you wonder if you can somehow tease the solid answer out of him for your own interest.

“is that all you wish to ask?” he stammers out. “i’ve never met a human with so many questions.”

you stare, skeptical. “you’re kidding,” you say. “no one has asked you stuff like, whether you live in hell or not? what having horns feels like? i think these are important things to clarify.”

his fingers lift up to hover over his dark, nearly black horns that point upward. the root of the horns are mostly hidden by his hair but still, they are impressive. you can’t help but want to touch.

“all demons have horns,” he says, tapping his right one. “how many of them and what color can vary though.”

“huh,” you say. “that’s cool.”

midoriya lets out a brief laugh, dropping his hand. “i suppose. they can be a bit unwieldy, honestly. i’ve torn so many shirts with these horns.”

“damn,” you say. “you’re tearing people’s clothes off?”

he coughs. “oh, no! no, not other people’s– i mean my own.”

“such a gentleman.” your cheeks are full of mirth and humor. “can i touch?”

“y-yeah, if you really want to,” he says, still abashed.

you scoot closer and take a horn in your hand, feeling the ribbed keratin. the skin of it is powdery, and underneath the artificial ceiling lights, they gleam with a dull shine. you’re mesmerized, quite frankly, at how surreal your current predicaments felt.

feeling too polite to go down to the base of the horn, you kept your fingers around the tip and the midsection, running them horizontally for a few moments, then vertically.

your thumb rubs along the ridges, so delighted in the novel texture that you don’t notice the pleasant expression on his face until you glance down.

his eyes have fluttered shut, and his breaths came deep and rhythmically, like small sighs– but his fists, his fists were clenched in his lap as he sat cross-legged facing your direction.

afraid you were doing something strange to him, you withdraw your hand. almost immediately his eyes reopens.

“sorry–” you both say in unison. his bright gaze dart away while you laugh.

“do you sap people’s energy through your horns?” you inquire.

he shakes his head. “nothing like that. it’s just that any kind of intimacy is, well, appreciated for our kind, you could say.”

“but if i just kept a five foot radius from you at all times, you’d eventually regain your health too?”

you don’t miss the way his face falls. “well, yes…”

“okay; that said, final question.”

“yes?”

“what’s your body count?”

there’s a beat before he reacts.

“b-body count?! you mean like how many people i’ve– you really want to know this sort of thing?” he sputters, instinctively drawing away as far as he could so his backside hit the inner arm of the couch.

“please,” you say, waving your hand around dismissively, as if to ease him. “i mean, you do look my age, but i bet you’re ancient. in human years, of course. this sort of thing doesn’t bother me.”

he blanches. “i’m… uhh…” his mouth open and closes wordlessly, and in the end, you’re to understand that he won’t be saying anything too incriminating.

“if you won’t tell me, i’ll have to take an educated guess then. is that okay?” there is barely a jerky tilt of the head from him before you continue.

“low thousands,” you state. “actually, i’m being stingy. let’s say mid thousands.”

you’re certain that if he were drinking water, he would’ve spat it all over you at this point. blood seems to rush to his face, his ears turning a deep shade of red as he gapes at you. “where are you pulling these numbers?!”

“i don’t know how to gauge your reaction,” you muse, tapping your chin with a forefinger. “too low? i think it’s pretty high myself.”

“i– i think that’s plenty high!” he practically yells out of embarrassment and you nearly feel bad. nearly.

you pull your knees underneath you on the couch and lean your hands on them. “come on. i can’t be far off. you seem like the type of guy that people can’t get enough of.”

midoriya mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, and you take a knee forward.

“what?” you ask.

his mouth parts, his tongue running along his bottom lip before breathing out, “i said, wouldn’t you like to know…?” the flush hasn’t left his ears yet at all and you suspect it won’t fade for a bit.

“hm,” you say, greatly entertained. with deliberation, you bring both your hands up to cup his cheeks. “i think you have me sold.” he almost sighs again, but cuts himself short, as if in an attempt to restrain himself.

“that’s good– great, great, i mean,” he says. his eyes drift to your thighs, and his fingers find purchase on your wrists. “and i have to confess–”

his unexpected speed catches you off guard, and in a split second, his fingers are gone and instead scrabbling at your waist, sinking lower by the second.

“i feel bad for not having questions of my own this entire time,” he says, his words almost stumbling over each other. “i hope you can forgive me.”

“is a demon asking me for my forgiveness?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek. “flattering. maybe.”

midoriya’s eyes just gleam feverishly, but up close now, his gaze looks different. to be specific, you never noticed how almond-shaped his pupils really were, and how fast they were blowing up. “maybe… maybe i can make it up to you instead?” he asks and you find that there is nothing clever left to remark with.

#midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #this is on queue so who KNOWS when its gonna drop not me

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