#that tall tree you insisted on climbing back up on to cry some more after we rescued you

[wardaehn]

Grieving, First Night

How can anyone have so strong a will to live that doesn't suck life out of others? So much physical pain and internal failure but you wouldn't hear those problems by the cheerful meow of his insecure love, always treasuring his place in belongingness. Well, I hope I made it clear enough for you it's mutual, boy.

I opened my eyes surprised that I didn't dream about you,

But maybe that's how waking up in the absence of your warmth on my belly feels more empty,

Thank you for fighting for more time together, little boy,

If reincarnations were true we'd probably find each other somewhere stupid again...

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Reckoning

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst, violence, death, trauma.

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Promise I’ll update the masterlist today but here we are, we’re finally at the end. We’re saying goodbye to Bucky, Luka, and reader in this one. We’ve come a far way. This was one of the first series I started on here. It started as a one shot about the asset being the scariest but you guys turned it into something more, so thank you. (also that’s three endings in less than a week :))

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

You played with the leather strap around your thigh as you sat in the rattly train car. The freight was much like the one that saw you away from your prison so long ago and the same man sat with you, huddled behind the metal barrels and wooden crates. 

Your eyes rolled inside their lids as you thought of your son and his innocent voice as he sang his goodbye to you. Luka didn’t know you might not come back. It broke your heart to think you might not but you couldn’t let James face Hydra alone. He hadn’t let you.

Your hand settled over the gun strapped to your leg, another holstered against your chest beneath your jacket. There was a knife at your ankle and another at your belt. You were ready but you weren’t. How could you ever be ready for any of this?

“We’re almost there,” James whispered as he shifted beside you, “you alright?”

“Yeah, I…” you opened your eyes and tore your hand away from the gun, “ready.”

He nodded and got up to his feet, squatting behind the cargo as he pulled you up into a similar crouch. He checked your weapons then his own. He looked at you again and his lips thinned into an anxious line.

“Are you ready?” you asked.

“I have to be,” he answered and reached out to caress your cheek. You leaned into his hand then pulled him to you to peck his lips. He always seemed so meek when you touched him but he was softening.

“We are ready, James,” you assured him as much as yourself, “for Luka, we have to be.”

“You follow my lead. You can’t hesitate, understand?”

“I know,” you said, “I won’t. Those men, what they did to you… to us, they can never have our son. Never.”

“Never,” he echoed and turned. 

He kept low as he crept around the boxes and you followed. He unhooked the door and let it slide open with a loud grind. He reached back until you grabbed onto his arm and he stared at the moving ground.

“Up ahead, the bushes. You first, I’ll be right after you,” he said.

“I remember,” you said, “I know where we are.”

He looked at you and you let out a breath as you readied for your jump, “I lived close to here… with my mother.”

“Oh,” he uttered and went quiet.

“Come on,” you stood but kept hunched as you prepared to roll on impact, “this is about ending the past, not reliving it.”

He counted down and you leapt as the bushes thickened. You landed and rolled through the branches and dingy leaves. You heard him thumped down not far from you as you gulped the air. He was up before you and came to stand over you and offered his hand to get you to your feet. Despite it all, you barely felt the crash to earth.

“So you know where we are,” he said, “so you know where we go first.”

You pushed your shoulders back and sniffed. You said nothing and marched past him. He ran to catch up to you and you walked into the thin skeletal line of trees. He fixed the long bag on his back that held his rifle as his boots crushed the twigs and stones.

“Are you sure you’re--”

“What do we need from there?” you asked, “we get it and we go on.”

“Anything that’s left,” he replied.

You kept on, the terrain turning uneven and soon you were in the rocky passes that brought back bloody memories. That night with Luka in your arms as you walked in the boots of a deadman. You shuddered and kept on. You unholstered your gun as you got closer and James caught your shoulder before you could outpace him.

“I take the lead,” he warned, “you gotta slow down. You can’t just run in there and--”

“If there are any left, I will put them all down,” you swore as your hand shook, “you can’t understand. I have anger in my veins like none I’ve known before.”

He stared at you a moment and thoughts drew his brows together. His lips parted before he found the words, “and what else do you feel?”

“Certain,” you said, “that this will be over soon.”

He lowered his chin and puffed, his breath forming a cloud in the chill air, “this post is abandoned. They couldn’t have stayed after what happened but you stay alert and you point your gun at anything that moves.”

You nodded and he patted your arm. He turned and took the path ahead of you, the trail thinning out the further you got into the low mountains. As you approached the metal doors, he slowed and aimed his gun at the facade of the hidden compound. Rocks clattered beneath his boots and you brought your own weapon up in nervous expectation.

The doors were slightly open and he kicked one open, quickly poking his muzzle inside. He waved you on and you continued down the concrete hallway. The place was cleaned out but the bloodstains remained, painted across the floors and walls.

He led you down the corridors and checked each room as you waited without, watching each end of the hallway as he cleared the place. The further you got, the more the forlorn nostalgia took over you. You felt off, you felt every drop of blood coursing through you and the hot fury mingled with helpless sadness. You felt entirely weak but so powerful

When you got to the heart of the structure, you stopped and watched as James hesitated in turn. He braced himself and went forward into the eerily familiar room. The computers were smashed and the rusty medical equipment littered the floor. The glass chamber they used to keep him in bore the destruction of his escape and he went to it and peered inside.

You flinched as he broke away the last of the glass with his metal fist and quickly retreated. He was shaking as he began to tear open the filing cabinets, the locks cracking at the force of his intrusion.

You walked along the wall and slowly faced the windowed room. The bed was still there and the sparse furniture of your former existence. Your mouth fell open as your eyes tingled with tears. Those early days when you waited, when you dreaded his visits, when you watched him through the glass and wished for death.

You winced as he came up beside you and gently touched your arm. You looked at him and flicked away the moisture in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said and his cheek twitched in pain, “I’m so sorry--”

“James, I know it wasn’t you,” you said, “I don’t cry because of you, it is because of them.” You took his hand and squeezed it, “did you find anything?”

“A few things but not what we’re looking for,” he said, “this place is abandoned. Whatever was left of… the experiment has moved.”

“And we know it will be where we’re headed?”

“Stark’s intelligence suggests it will be and… from what I can remember, it’s likely. Bigger than this place. They took me there in the early days.” He cleared his throat and looked around, “we’ll keep going until dawn. We will find somewhere close enough to rest and then…”

“And then we finish this,” you let go of his hand and moved past him, “James, I’m ready. I really am.”

✰

After some hours in a half-burned hut, you were wired. You ate rations under the open roof before you set out again. You hadn’t slept much as you and James took turns on watch. You stretched and went out into the wild and winding paths.

You climbed the steep incline of and followed the crumbling trail. As you got higher, it got colder but you hardly felt it as adrenaline surged in your approach. You ducked down as you walked along a crooked ledge and hopped off to hide behind a tall stone outshoot.

You looked down at the monstrous gates of the compound. You laid flat as James fixed the scope on his rifle and peered through the lens. He bit his lip as he adjusted his sights before he pulled his eye away.

“I can get the guards but we have to be quick after.” He nodded behind you, “down there. Quick. Gun out and ready. I’ll be right behind you.”

“We can do this, James.”

He lined up his gun again and inhaled. He took his first shot, the noise muffled by the long silencer. Several others followed before he stood quickly and hung the gun from his shoulder. He pulled you up and you ran to the decline that led between the sharp walls of the mountain.

He was a few steps back as you made you way down the treacherous natural steps and slid down the last few. You slipped to your knees as voices sounded from the gates and James fired again.

You got up as he latched onto your elbow and continued forward. He reached to his belt and unhooked a grenade, throwing it at the gates as you ran behind him. You hung back as the metal gates shook with the blast and he directed you forward with two fingers.

As you reached the rent in the doors, he stopped and took two more shots. Men fell into the cold dirt and you raised your gun to take your first. You remembered all those hours of training though you never truly knew how useful they would be. It was always a precaution, always a what if, now it was your life or death.

You pulled the trigger and another man crumpled. You kept close to James and picked off the last few men outside the installation. A sudden siren began to whine as you neared the open doors and you could guess that one of the guards had fled inside to warn all those within.

James directed you inside and as you made your way down the corridor, you stopped at the end and listened. You couldn’t think of the hammering of your heart or the thought of the death at you fingertips. You could only think; left or right.

“We need to separate,” you said.

“No, you can’t--”

“This place is too big, I’ll slow you down and you’ll slow me,” you insisted, “I’ll go right.”

“No, we have to--”

“You showed me, James. I know what to do. I know what we need. We have our rendezvous. We know what happens if we do not get there.”

He shook his head and sighed. You heard footsteps.

“We have to go,” you said and before he could argue further, you raised your gun and ran around the corner.

The first man hit the wall after the bullet entered his chest, the second fell over him with your next shot, and the third slumped against the next corner. You heard James’ boots and his own shots as they flew in the other direction. You pressed on and reloaded before you took the next turn.

Your pulse filled your ears and kept you going. Everything felt so clear, so visible, so loud. You saw and heard it all. It was almost as if you knew what would happen before it did. You’d never felt this level of clarity.

You went deeper into the maze, bodies littered in your stead as others fled, those in white jackets, those like the men who’d tortured you. You followed them, they would lead you to what you needed.

A man surprised you as he lunged from a doorway. He slammed you into the wall and your gun fired into the ceiling. You kicked him and he grunted and you grabbed his arm as his hand stretched over your throat. Without pause, without thought, you twisted his arm and he screamed in agony as both his wrist and elbow snapped.

You shoved him away and finished the work with a bullet. You stared at his arm as the shock sunk in. How could you have done all that? It hadn’t felt like anything at all, like bending a toothpick.

You didn’t have time to linger as another appeared and you fired again. Warm blood spattered your front as your legs kept pushing through. You came to a large room but bullets preceded you. 

You peeked inside, James was already there. A flurry of men were engaged with him, those in camouflage and those in white. You downed two men before your gun was kicked from your hands. You grunted and ducked under a punch you didn’t even see was coming, you just knew. You reached to your belt and freed the long hunting knife.

The blade tore through the man's flesh like water. The sickly glide of the metal sickened you and the flood of warmth down our arm churned your stomach. You couldn’t stop, even as your fear rose, even as you realised the destruction you wrought.

Another man, this one broken by a kick that sent him into the wall. Your strength startled even you. You heard James and looked around. He was on his back, barely kicking away his attackers as he aimed desperately with his pistol. 

You broke through the wall of man, shoving them to the side so that they flew back into the machinery all around. You threw your knife at a man as he aimed at James and you wrenched back another and twisted his neck until it cracked. The third you broke over your knee.

You rolled away from them and freed the gun at your chest; one, two, three, four. They all fell dead at the pull of your trigger. James stared at you and sat up. He raised his gun as your own was too slow and you felt an arm around your neck, the pointed tip against your chin.

“Don’t,” the man warned as his white sleeve scratched at your throat, “she dies.”

James kept his aim steady as he got to his feet. The man choked you and pulled you a step back.

“Drop the gun,” he ordered in Russian. You gulped and tossed it down as the metal cut into your flesh just a little, “ah, always thought you would be back. Always expected it.”

“Let her go,” James said, “you can’t--”

“That is the problem, you see? The human emotion dampens the serum. We don’t need the mind, only the body--”

You were quick. You slid your hand up under the knife and fell to your knees, taking the man with you as the blade dug into your fingers. The shot knocked him off of you entirely and the knife fell free, your blood pouring down your hand. You sat back on your heels and reached for your gun with your uninjured hand.

“We get the files and get out,” James helped you up, “more will be coming.”

He drew you past the corpses and began to search the desk and cabinets. He took a black folder and you helped break open several of the computers to remove their hard drives. He packed it all into the compact pack on your back and zipped it up.

He shot past your head as more soldiers appeared. He nudged you forward and yelled, “come on.”

You raced away from the east wing and barrelled down the winding corridors, following the trail of bodies left by your entrance. You added several more to the floor until you reached the front door. Gunfire followed your departure, met only in defensive retreat.

You carried on past the gate and into the rocky impasse. A sudden blast shook the ground and James caught your arm and urged you on. You didn’t look back as the shots faded into thundering booms and bangs.

You kept on until you couldn’t hear the carnage, until it was silent but for the whistling of the mountain air, until the adrenaline was gone and your hand seared with pain, the rest of the unnoticed aches rising to the surface. 

James stopped you and pulled you into a dark cave. He fished out his flashlight and little up the stony walls as he led you further inside. He pushed his head back and took a breath and he let the flashlight rest on its side and cast a plume over the dark space.

“We have to bandage your hand before we press on,” he said, “we get to the bottom at nightfall and keep going.”

“What was that?” you asked as he pulled out his aid kit from his pocket.

“My orders were to burn that place to the ground,” he said, “lucky the blast didn’t take the whole mountain down.”

He took your hand and wiped your fingers clean before he wrapped them in gauze. You were silent throughout as your heart slowed and you had a moment to think.

“James, what--” you blinked and looked down as he moved around you to unzip your bag, “I’m not mad. What was that?”

“No, you’re not,” he said as he pulled the folder out of the bag and went back around you, “it’s why we need to burn these.”

“What is it?” you asked.

He handed it over silently and retrieved his flashlight. He held it over the folder as you opened it. Your picture was at the front of the pile of papers, several signed by Ilyich, detailing the progression of your pregnancy. There were several explaining how the growth of the enhanced fetus affected the carrier. How the serum seemed to have molded with the DNA of the subject.

You looked up at James and frowned. It couldn’t be. 

“You never noticed before and I never wanted to make you,” he admitted, “I thought you would hate to be like me and that would be just another thing I did to you.”

“James…”

“I know, it was the soldier but it still feels like me,” he took the folder from you and closed it. “So I will keep you from one misery in this life. We destroy this now and when we reach the rendezvous, I delete any of that from those hard drives.”

“What do you--”

“We’re going back to Luka,” he said, “they can’t know because they will want to know more. They will want to try it again. Doesn’t matter if it’s Hydra or Stark.”

You nodded and he dug out his lighter. He lit the first page and watched it wilt into ash. You sat on a flat rock and rubbed your gloved hands together. You watched him burn the file a sheet at a time.

“I was reading about Canada. There was a program on the TV Luka was watching,” you said as added the last page and he stood, “what do you think? A nice little house for us. I hear it snows there. I love the snow.”

He clapped off his hands and reached for you. He drew you up and zipped your jacket up to your chin. He framed your face and smiled down at you in the glow of the flashlight hooked on his hip, “If you’ll be there, it sounds wonderful.”

✰✰✰

END

Thank you again for all your patience and support with this series. I’m sad but happy to be done. Let’s all imagine Luka getting to sled with Bucky up in the Great North and be at peace.

[drakenology]

My Other Half. - Bokuto Kōtarō

warnings: smut, soft, passionate love making, fluff, angst?, best friends to lovers, maaaybe overstim?, praise, fem!reader, cunnilingus (a fancy word for pussy eating). just bokuto going all out to make you feel good.

Summary: Two childhood friends reunite after years of being separated to find old memories and new feelings of love.

Author’s Note: this is my first ever like fluffy piece. all my other work I feel has just been raunchy and I wanted to show yall my soft side. enjoy! <3

Bokuto Kotoro. A name you knew well. A name you knew since you were both kids playing in dirt together, running around and screaming without a care in the world. Two peas in a pod; like Peter Pan and Tinker Bell. It was a sad day when he moved away. Your only friend packed up and left for Tokyo, tears in his eyes as he sat in the backseat of his parents’ car. He waved goodbye through the glass window as the car drove away, a trail of his tears seeming to follow the car as it went. That was the last time you saw him.

When you turned twenty one, your birthday present was a small house in Japan. Some place rural and quiet to do your writing, a small creek flowing in your back yard. You packed up and left home, kissing your mother and father goodbye as you walked out the door. Maybe you’ll run into Bokuto? Hell, he probably won’t even recognize you. It’s been years after all.

You still hoped some how some way fate would bring you together again. You missed him like crazy. His laugh, his stupid jokes. That sparkle in his eyes when he saw you at school. The bear hugs he used to give when you scraped your knee playing with him at the park. It was crazy to assume he’d be waiting for you in Tokyo as if you were the only girl he’d ever meet or care to talk to.

He’s grown now, just about a year older than you. He could have a significant other by now. Your heart ached at the thought. Even though it was selfish to call dibs on a childhood crush who hasn’t seen you in over 10 years, you still hoped; prayed that he was waiting for you or at least remembered you.

When you arrive in your new home and settle in you decide to take the town. Surely you can make some friends, maybe even meet a guy while you’re out? You don’t bother to get all gussied up, walking outside your front door and walking to the nearest bar you can drink your inhibitions away in. The bar you found was small and smelled a bit like sweaty athletes and sake.

The atmosphere was lively despite the off putting smell, everyone was laughing and chatting aloud. The sounds of glasses clinking in celebration and jovial cheering filled the space. You smile softly at the sight of everyone having a great time and find a spot in a nice booth by the window.

The guys behind you must be where the sweaty smell was coming from, their clammering laughter pounding at your head. You try ignoring it until you hear a different yet familiar voice; boisterous and proud like a boy you once knew.

“Yo, Akaashi! Pass the ketchup man, I’m hungry!” He whined childishly, same as always. You turn around swiftly to see if the face matched the voice. Surely enough there he was sitting there, tall as a tree even when sitting in his seat.

God he got so handsome, his face definitely grew into his looks. Bokuto wasn’t a little boy anymore for sure. You stammer, looking between Bokuto and his messy haired friend sitting next to him and a few others. You go to say something only for your own anxiety to stop you, your heart fluttering in your chest in a new way you haven’t felt before.

Finally Bokuto’s eyes meet yours and you both sit there for a while just staring, as if each of you couldn’t believe you were seeing each other again after all this time in forever. Bokuto’s face crept into a smile; a familiar smile that melted your heart.

“Y/n-chan? Tell me you’re joking! I can’t believe it’s you!” Bokuto shouts over everyone’s conversation, leaping from his seat and running towards your booth. You’re still stuck there turned around looking like an owl gawking at the table behind you to realize what’s going on.

Bokuto practically lifts you from your seat and wraps you in one of his famous bear hugs, the ones that made you cry into his chest. As tradition called, you start sobbing into his shirt. Your arms wrap around his neck and pull him in tight almost to tell him not to let you go ever again.

“Hey hey hey.. why are you crying? Shit you’re gonna make me cry. Stop it.” Bokuto says into your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into your back with his big hand.

“I-I’m sorry I just.. it’s been so long.” You admit, sniffling as he pulled away to wipe your face. You can’t help but get emotional at the sight of him.

“Geez, Y/N if you missed me just say that.” Bokuto teased, erupting into furious laughter at your flustered face.

“Oh shut up Bokuto!” You squeak, punching him in his side like the old days. Your usual banter made you two look at each other and laugh as if you two were the only ones in the bar, his friends staring at the the two of you as if you were insane.

“Uh Bokuto.. who is this woman?” The messy haired friend asked, looking about the most confused out of everyone.

“Huh? Oh! Sorry guys. This is Y/N Y/L/N. Other than Akaashi, she’s one my closest friends. Our moms were close so we were raised kinda like siblings.” Bokuto explained, nudging you to say hello.

You wave and introduce yourself, the everyone ooing and ahhing at you. Not to toot your horn but you were gorgeous. Even Bokuto couldn’t take his eyes off you.

He was thinking of how well you grew up, so stunning and so you. Bokuto remembers the little scar you had just above your eyebrow from tripping over and rock and smiles when he sees it, almost wanting to reach out and poke it like when he did when he was 10. He wonders if you remember that day.

You were playing pretend by the trees in the park, you were good and he was evil. You were chasing him and you tripped and fell, causing the evil doer act to shed away to make sure you were alright. You both made up a crazy story about your scar to your mother; which she never believed. Good times.

The rest of the night was spent catching up and talking like he wasn’t even with others originally. Everyone else eventually had gone home, Akaashi the last to go. He waved goodbye to you and Bokuto and drove home, you and Bokuto still sitting at the bar basking in each other’s company.

“Wow! So your parents got you a place here so you can work? Nice. And you live nearby too. So I can come and visit you and- sorry I’m rambling.” Bokuto says sheepishly, running his hands along the nape of his neck. You giggle, taking a sip of your drink.

“No no, you’re fine Bokuto. Of course you can visit. My house is your house.” You smile, Bokuto’s cheeks heating up as he blushed. You check the time and notice it was far too late and stand from your seat.

“It’s late, Kō, we should call it a night.” You say, grabbing your things. Bokuto smiles and stands up with a stretch of his limbs; relishing in his old nickname.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

You two talk and talk all the way home, years of catching up to do feeling long over due. When you get to your home you almost feel sad that you’re about to depart from each other. It felt like you weren’t going to see him again. Bokuto pulls you into a hug, spinning you around a little. He laughs when you squeal and yell at him to put you down.

“Hey. I’ll come by tomorrow night so we can watch movies.” He declares, standing you on your feet.

“Hah. How do you know I won’t have plans, hm?” You teased, poking Bokuto’s forehead. It was a lot easier when you were younger since he was shorter than you back then. Boy sprouted like a palm tree.

“You just moved here. Besides. You know I’m your favorite.” Bokuto smirks, taking your hand and spinning you. You giggle and punch his shoulder lightly.

“As if, Kō. See ya tomorrow.”

A month goes by swiftly. Bokuto had been over to your house more often than you thought he’d be. You loved the time you spent together just goofing off and being big kids.

Your schedules worked perfectly together, his volleyball is usually done by the evening and your work is over just after him. Bokuto would pick you up from work with fast food waiting in the car for you both to eat together. Today was no different, the smell of fries greeting your hungry nose as you climb inside his car.

“Yo! How was your day, nerd?” Bokuto asks, fisting his fries into his mouth as you dig for yours.

“It was okay. I’m starving though.” You say, stuffing your face with your food.

You both sit in the car and eat for a while, Bokuto’s phone breaking your shared silence. You look down at where it rested in the cup holder and read the caller id. It was a girl. Bokuto answers the phone, sounding as if he didn’t want her to call him right at this moment.

“I’ll call you back. Bye.” He said, hanging up his phone and sitting it back in the cup holder. You couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, your heart sinking as your head makes up several sceanarios about who she was, what she meant to him.

You eat in silence, answering Bokuto’s yammering with no ambition. Bokuto’s so dumb he doesn’t even notice the difference in attitude as the call wasn’t as scandalous as you seemed. It was just some girl who was trying to get with Akaashi but was too afraid to say anything herself so she had asked Bokuto to set them up.

“My place or yours today?” He asked, sing songy and happy.

“Mine.” You say monotonously. Bokuto looks over at you and sees you’re not even facing him, your face stuck to the window as he drove off.

“Hey, what’s wrong? I smell?” Bokuto said, playfully smelling his armpits. You shake your head and insist it’s nothing and that you’ll get over it. But it wasn’t nothing, and you were pretty certain you weren’t going to get over it. Was that his girlfriend? Some random hook up looking for another round? It made you sick to your stomach thinking about it. You got out of the car when Bokuto parked, walking to your front door to unlock it as Bokuto followed behind you.

“I pick the movie out this time. I’ll be damned if you pick another chick flick out.” Bokuto says plopping on your couch and turning on the tv, making himself at home.

You sigh and walk into your room to change into something more comfortable, rolling your eyes as you hear Kōtarō yell about the movie starting. You walk out in shorts and a tank top since it was pretty hot inside and sit next to him, folding your arms.

Bokuto’s eating his snacks and talking through the whole movie since he’s seen it before. He always picks a movie he’s seen before so he can tell you the whole plot, forgetting that you could just watch the movie for that. You half laugh and sigh at all his mannerisms, your guard completely blocking him out from getting any closer to you.

“Is something wrong, Y/N? Seriously you’re being a little stand offish.” Bokuto says, a serious tone taking place. You scoffed, rolling your eyes to hide that you’re obviously upset by something.

“Nothing.” You snide.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me. Somethin’s wrong. Don’t make me start guessing.” Bokuto says. You sigh.

“It’s so stupid.” You admit.

“How you feel isn’t stupid. Tell me what’s up.” He persisted, pausing the movie.

“I just- well.. I-How do I say this? I’m.. jealous?” You finally admit. Bokuto raises an eyebrow.

“Jealous? About what?”

“Well. I saw a girl call you and I-I just assumed it was your girlfriend so..”

“Wait what? I don’t have a girlfriend. And besides why would you care?” Bokuto further questions, his face nearing yours with a perplexed look on his face. You flush, turning your face away from his.

“I-I don’t know I just-“

“You’re in love with me, aren’t you Y/N?” Bokuto smirks, turning your head to face him with your chin. You blink up at him, embarrassed and flustered.

“I-um-I...” You stutter. You loved the idiot sitting next to you with all your heart. But to say it was a different story.

“Because I love you too. So say it back.” Bokuto declares. You freeze for a moment, almost unsure you heard what you just heard.

“R-Really?”

“I love you, Y/N. The moment I saw you again felt like...fate. It was like everything made sense again. I never realized how much tou meant to me until I left that day. You’re my other half.” He says to you so sweetly, his words stirring up emotions inside you that were aching to be let out. Your eyes sting as you choke back tears, clutching onto Bokuto’s hands.

“Kōtarō... I-I love you too. All those years felt so empty without you. And God I just wanted to kiss you that day at the bar and I-“

Bokuto stops you midsentence to pull his face into yours and kiss you hard, your heads bumping into each other a bit from the sudden movement. Passion flowed through the kiss, your mouths exploring each others for the very first time. You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck as you go to straddle him.

Bokuto welcomes you onto his lap with ready hands, palms feeling every curve and divot of your body. Your need for each other grew with each kiss, mindlessly grinding against each other to feel closer. Every touch of his big hands made you feel alive, setting your body on fire. Bokuto starts to whine softly, his pants growing a tad bit tight at all the raw kissing. He pulled away, lips swollen and breathing uneven.

“I want you so badly. Can I-“ Bokuto goes to ask for consent, his nervousness making him struggle to find the words he’s looking for.

You shut him up with another kiss, already knowing what he wants to say as he lifts you up and carries you away. Starting in the kitchen he sits you on the counter as he takes off your top, your bare breasts popping out when the garment flies over your head and onto the floor. He’s never seen such gorgeous breasts before, he swore. Seeing you this way only made him long for you more, standing there dumb founded at the sight of your chest.

“W-Wow.” Bokuto gasps, taking both your breasts into his hands and oogling at them with love in his eyes. “So perfect.”

He takes one into his warm mouth, your body arching at the feeling and letting out a small whine. Music to his ears.

“Kō..” you sigh, closing your eyes as he suckled on your nipples.

His tongue slid over each hardened bud and looked up at you, studying your body language to learn it well. Without a word he slides off your shorts and pick you up again, hoisting you away to your bedroom after asking where it is.

Frantic kisses and breathless moans trail down the hall with a reach of the doorknob. You’re laid carefully onto the bed, Bokuto crawling on top of you without daring to pull his lips from yours just yet.

He could kiss you for hours. He could die right now and be completely content all because of this moment. Bokuto takes his hands and slides them down to the waist band of your panties, tugging them down to reveal your dripping core.

Bokuto teased his fingers along your slick folds, savoring the feeling of your wetness on his skin.

You let out the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard, urging him to draw more music from your lips. He crawls downwards towards your pussy, laying on his stomach and pulling your hips forward.

You gasp at the sudden feeling of his tongue parting your folds, mewling as you arch your back. His tongue worked its magic on you, sliding up to your clit to pay special attention to it. Breathless calls of his name fill the air, your hands grabbing fist fulls of the sheets as he fucked you with his tongue.

Your eyes roll back with every swipe of his tongue, relishing in the toe curling pleasure he gave you. That familiar knot started forming in the pit of your stomach, your moans increasing in volume as you near your orgasm. Bokuto must have sensed this and wrapped his plush lips around your throbbing clit, prodding his fingers at your weeping hole to fill you.

“Kō! I-I’m gonna cum!” You whine, your hands finding home in his hair and tugging lightly. Bokuto responded with a groan against your clit and a hook in his fingers, causing you to boil over without hesitation. Your thighs shake around his head, one hand covering your mouth to spare your neighbors the noise. Bokuto comes back up to kiss you, your slick coating his lips and chin. You taste your sweetness and kiss him with tongue, both of you sighing into each other.

“Wanna... be inside you.” Bokuto says breathlessly into the kiss, his dick aching to be let out of his pants.

You pull away and unbutton his jeans, Bokuto kicking them off onto the floor and pulling down his boxers. Your pussy throbbed at the sight of his dick, its sheer size enough to make you salivate. The way it swung a little when he took off his boxers, the prominent veins running along the shaft, its head blushing and leaking with precum. Bokuto had a gorgeous dick. You almost wanted to put it in your mouth but the heat of the moment called for a different hole to be filled.

Bokuto prods himself at your entrance and slowly slides inside you, inhaling sharply at the contact. You gasp at the dull stretch, feeling so full as you mewl uncontrollably. His hips roll slowly, thrusting deep inside your gummy walls as he rested his forehead onto yours. Your legs wrap around his waist, nails digging into the skin of his back as he picked up the pace.

“You feel so good, baby.” He spoke, kissing you gently to soothe you. You can feel him so deeply it almost brought a tear to your eye, his plunging movements sending your mind into a stupor.

He mummbled sweet praise against your neck, kissing the soft skin as he took you. A part of him wanted to go harder; really ruin that sweet face of yours and turn you into a lewd mess, but you mean more than that to him. This moment is nothing but pure love between two people who have known each other all their lives. You shriek as his hips start slamming into yours, back arching off the bed as your nipples pebbled against his chest.

“I-I love you, Bokuto.” You whine. Your eyes flash white, your vision becoming foggy as the mind boggling pleasure ripples through your body. You chant his name like a mantra, Bokuto mumbling how much he loves you as his hips do more of the talking. You feel him throb inside you, it becoming obvious he’s holding back so you can cum first. He’s rubbing circles into your clit as he pins your legs above your head. It all became so much so fast, your mewls spewing from your lips no longer caring who hears what.

“Let go for me, baby. C’mon..” He hums, nibbling on your neck. You scream, your tight cunny clenching down on his length as you cum for a second time that night. Bokuto rides out your orgasm, watching your body shake and shiver at the feeling of him sliding in and out of your weeping hole.

Bokuto doesn’t have time to think of where to cum, your walks sucking him in so well he loses all sense of control. He cums hot inside you, your pussy milking him for everything he had as he pants into your neck. You both stay in position for a while, looking at each other with love sick eyes. Bokuto rests himself on top of you, still nuzzled inside you as his cum leaks onto the sheets. You’re both out of breath, sitting in the high you both came to as you rub lazy circles into his back.

Nothing but pure love circulated the air as you rest together in bed, naked and vulnerable. You don’t say anything but soft I love yous to each other, gentle kisses on each others lips as you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

[shootybangbang]

In which peaches are eaten in more ways than one

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Prompt]: Arthur watches you seductively eat a juicy peach (from @outtricking)

[Ao3 Link]

———

The abandoned manor’s peach orchard is overgrown with tall grass and small white clusters of wild carrot blossoms. Most of its trees stand bare, choked with ivy, the vastness of their skeletons the only testament of their former grandeur. But here and there are straggled survivors, the majority of which have long since been picked clean by other travelers and passing wildlife. The only fruit left is strung up high in the topmost branches, hanging down golden-edged and plump. Ripe enough to make your mouth water.

“I don’t think climbing’s an option,” you say, pressing down on a tree’s lower branches to check its give. “We could get a big stick and try to knock ‘em off, or maybe you could just… uh… y’know… ”

You mime picking up an object and placing it on your shoulders.

Arthur sighs. “You want me to carry you.”

“It’s quicker and easier than anything else.”

“You ain’t paid me to be your horse.”

“That’s true,” you admit. At this point, the number of things you’ve had him do out-of-contract would probably fill a book. A decent person would concede his point and apologize. Instead, you try out a more oblique method. “And I’m probably too heavy for you, anyway.”

He gives you an irritated glance and shakes his head. “You tryin’ to bait me into provin’ you wrong?”

“Figured it was at least worth a shot,” you say, shrugging.

Arthur looks up at the top branches of the fruit tree, then at you, and works out a rough height comparison in his head. He sighs again and kneels down. “Alright then. Get on.”

“What — really?’

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ about this later is all.” He looks back in your direction expectantly. “C’mon. You want them peaches or not?”

You place a tentative hand on his right shoulder, leaning against him for support as you swing one leg over his left. “Then do I just… um… like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that. And now the other — yeah, there we go.”

Arthur steadies you by holding down your knees. He grips you firm but gentle, like a man trying to keep something frail and flighty from slipping between his fingers, and stands up.

The sudden shift in balance is startling. Your hands frantically search for something to hold onto for support, and you end up grabbing at his wrists as you reorient yourself. He stiffens at the contact, but says nothing.

When you’ve straightened your back enough to survey your surroundings from your new vantage point, you take a moment to appreciate the new perspective. “So this is what it’s like to be tall. Bet you run into a lot of spiderwebs.”

Arthur ignores this. “Can you reach ‘em?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You twist off a particularly large peach from a nearby branch and take off your hat to use as a makeshift basket, then swivel your hip to reach towards another that’s just barely within your grasp. “Too bad we’re not close to town”, you say, thinking already of possible desserts. “Sophia told me that over in Georgia they eat peaches with cream and sugar, and…”

For a while, you ruminate dreamily about peach cobblers and preserves, about the luxury of vanilla ice cream melting on latticed peach pie. And all the while Arthur clenches his jaw and tries as hard as he can to concentrate on what you’re saying in an attempt to divert his focus from the weight and warmth of your thighs atop his shoulders.

It’s something that he’ll carry with him for some time, he recognizes with a heavy pang of guilt. Something he’ll almost certainly keep carefully tucked away for later, when he’s alone in his own bedroll.

———

Late afternoon, you help him set up camp along the Kamassa River. After the horses have been watered and the kindling gathered, you both sit sprawled and weary against the ruined hull of an old boat half-sunk in the sand.

Resting his head against the sun bleached boards, Arthur briefly closes his eyes.

Through the woods comes the sound of cicadas, deafening in their multitude, ringing like an omnipresent hum, insistent and rhythmic in its cadence. Like a chant, a soft murmur of chitinous voices. Alongside it, the quick, clear notes of riverwater running through the rocks and the rustle of leaves overhead, the sway of branches arching from the wind in slow, lazy waves that merge overhead like a green sea.

And the distinctive scratch of graphite across paper. He drowsily cracks an eyelid open and angles his gaze downwards.

The battered notebook in your lap looks like it’s seen its fair share of miles. It’s tattered and dog-eared, with smeared ink at its edges. The leather cover is scuffed and stained, and the pages don’t quite sit flat, due to the occasional pressed flowers trapped between them.

He watches you scrawl out what looks like a brief itinerary of the day’s route, listing off landmarks passed along the road and detailing what flora and fauna you’re able to remember. Then little snippets of description that you cross out and rewrite with increasing frustration, disjointed but pretty little phrases littering the margins…

Your pencil stills. “You’re reading over my shoulder.”

“Trying to.” Arthur points to the corner of the page, where you’ve drawn a wobbly line with little stick trees atop it. Under it is a crude half-circle labelled boat. “This supposed to be where we’re at now?”

You bristle. “Yes.”

He gropes for something inoffensive to say, then opts for silence.

“Well, you’re the artist,” you say, offering him your pencil. “You draw it.”

“Sure,” he says, taking both notebook and pencil in hand. He flips to a clean page. “Not like I can do worse.”

Brushing sand off the seat of your pants, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms high and fitting your fingers together like interlocking gears. “I’m gonna go check on the peaches.”

———

The Kamassa runs cold, even in the dog days of summer. Earlier, you’d wrapped the peaches in sackcloth and submerged them in its waters, then ringed them tight with rocks to hold them in place. Now, you cut an inelegant figure as you crouch at the river’s edge and fish one out, cupping it thoughtfully against your palm to check whether it still holds the fading glow of afternoon heat.

You pick out the two biggest peaches in the pile before resecuring the rest, then seat yourself back beside him and proffer one to him.

Arthur shakes his head. He’s in the middle of sketching the sandbar in the middle of the river, drawing the shapes of shrubs and other assorted vegetation out from the blank paper expanse. “Don’t wanna get the page dirty.”

“Make sure you eat one later then,” you tell him. “So you don’t die in a ditch before I can hire you out again.”

He snorts. “Didn’t realize peaches could make a man bulletproof.”

“Ah, well… it’s more of a superstitious thing, really. Like knocking on wood or throwing salt over your shoulder.” A hint of embarrassment creeps into your voice. For a moment you seem almost shy — but then you toss a peach up in the air and catch it again, like a performance of the world’s worst juggling act, and it passes. “You give people peaches for good health and a long life. Considering your line of work, I figure you need all the help you can get.”

“Figure a decent gun’ll do me more good than any peach ever will,” he says wryly. “You eat ‘em both. God knows you need the luck just as much as I do.”

———

The rippled light reflected in the water is only just beginning to tint gold. The horizon edges pale, shifting slow to the soft, warm shades of early evening. But only the faint suggestion of it, a subtle gradation filtering in imperceptibly at the present, but that he knows will flood in all at once with the inevitable trajectory of the sun.

Golden hour, Mason had called it. Goes quick, but it’s worth it. I’ve known some photographers to set up camp and wait all day for just that little window of time.

The landscape itself feels soft and heavy, almost drunk from its own perfect interplay of light and dark. The clarity of day dims to a suggestion of itself, and everything is briefly gilded, momentarily transfigured into something striking and achingly pretty, and you no exception.

A sliver of sunset settles over your skin. A veil of amber, a veil of rose, both colors folding in on themselves like silk. The glint of light that reflects across your irises makes visible the ridged corona circling your pupils, the tiny crenellations and impurities of color. Bright and sharp as cut glass.

He watches you bite into a peach, and its dusk-pink skin breaks beneath your teeth with a wet, crisp noise as you tear through to the soft and yielding flesh beneath. Then you bite down again, and your lips are shiny with nectar now, dripping with it.

A clear rivulet of peach juice runs down your wrist like blood. You raise your arm to your mouth to catch it, then trace it back to its source with your tongue, and he can’t help but wonder at the taste — the sweetness of fruit mixed with the salt of your skin.

“Oh, these are really good,” you say with pleasant surprise. “Sure you don’t want one?”

Arthur tries to suppress the sudden twinge of arousal running through his body by staring very hard at a tree. “I’m sure.”

When he’s finally able to settle himself to a manageable level of sexual frustration, he forces his attention back to sketching. He lays out the wash of sand and silt that lies liminal between woods and water, then the ridge of grass that marks the river’s reach when swollen with rain and spring melt. The twinned, twisted alders on each shore whose roots hold fast to the ground as their boughs reach over the water and towards each other, like doomed lovers. The gaptoothed boat hull half-buried and long abandoned.

By the time he’s finished, both peaches have been reduced to their pits, and the light has begun its transition to a deepening red. A last brief cry of sunlight before it’s stifled by the cold blue of evening.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, when he hands the notebook back over. “If you finally get tired of robbing stagecoaches, you should do this for a living instead.”

He makes a dismissive noise, but there’s a clear look of satisfaction on his face. “You flatterin’ me because you want another favor?”

“No, I’m serious. This is pretty enough to belong in a book.” You touch your fingers to the page with the kind of care he’s only seen you lavish on the things he’s known you to hold very dear: the faded red hair ribbon, the well-thumbed guide to wildflowers, the thin jade pendant you sometimes wear tucked under your shirt… and now this — just an offhand scribble of his of no particular effort.

“I, uh… it’s a real rough sketch.” A flush of embarrassment colors his cheeks, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that for him, compliments are a gift as rare as they are precious. “Next time you hire me out, I’ll sit down and draw you something proper.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and nod. “I’ll hold you to it.”

———

A few hours later, Arthur sits by the fire and tries to measure the exact depth of the idiocy he’s plunged himself into.

You’d gone to bed first, citing exhaustion. And he’d taken the time spent alone to jot down a few thoughts in his journal, attempt a handful of sketches, then inadvertently kindle in himself a desperate, hopeless need for intimacy so intense that, were he truly on his own, he’d not have hesitated to take himself in hand for relief.

It’s a foolish thing to do, encouraging his own infatuation like this. But the images are fresh in his head still and his hand itches to put them to paper, wanting to keep them somewhere beyond the whim of memory.

And so he traces with his pencil the soft, indulgent cast of your eyes as you’d cupped the peach in your hand, bringing it to your mouth with the simple decadence of Eve and her apple: the innocent gesture embodying something intensely sinful. Each bite near tangible in his blood, as though it were his heart in your teeth, its every painful beat an ache of barely suppressed impulse.

Then the drip of nectar down your wrist, the pink flick of your tongue lapping it up with a quick, smooth glide across your skin. Peach juice glistening on your lips like honey. And his own base reinterpretations of it all, distorting reality to innuendo and bringing to the surface things he’s only let himself imagine in the confines of his cot, with the tent flaps drawn tightly shut.

The weight of your thighs on his shoulders comes to mind again, and if he shuts his eyes he can nearly place himself into that oft-used fantasy of his — you, sat on the edge of a hotel bed with him knelt before you, whispering hoarse and breathless praise as he licks into you. Your fingers running through his dark blond hair as you speak to him like a favored pet.

The flat of his tongue running against your clit with slow, careful strokes. Your desperate whimpers as he draws the nub between his lips and sucks, the tremble of your body, the taste of your slick. The sound of his name on your lips, the syllables of it faint and shivery with pleasure.

And afterwards, the sight of you sprawled across the sheets, eyes dreamy and soft as you beckon him towards you. Take out your cock, you’d say. Show me just how much you liked doing that to me.

Arthur closes the notebook and walks down to the river. He dips his hands through its surface, the reflected moonlight there rippling into a bright mosaic of broken glass in his wake, then cups the cold water between his fingers and splashes it over his face.

“Dirty old man,” he mutters to himself. “Oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

When he reaches down to repeat the action, he brushes against sackcloth and automatically pulls the bundle of submerged peaches from the water.

Long life and good health, you’d said. He scoffs at the very notion of it. It’s a foreign concept for someone who’s taken so many lives that he’s all but guaranteed his own to be nasty, brutish and short.

And truth be told, it’s been a long time since he’s even bothered to think about any future for himself outside of the immediate. Not much to look forward to save the small, petty pleasures afforded to him, most of which have been bought with the blood of other men. Not much to work for, save the next big score. The promise of stability — it’s not a luxury afforded to the likes of him. Nor should it be, if a man’s fate really is weighed by his deeds.

He’s made his peace with it by now. Kept his expectations low and steered clear of personal commitments. So it’s really very stupid then, that he’s spent so much time nursing the seeds of his own wretched affection that they’ve already begun to sprout.

More and more these days, he’s caught himself marking down points of interest whenever he’s out wandering. Setting up the skeletons of future excursions in his head. And with each new meeting, the possibility of the next looms in him eager and expectant.

Arthur unwraps a peach from the sackcloth and brings it to his mouth. It’s sweet — sweeter than it has any right to be, growing as it has unattended and abandoned in that red Lemoyne dirt.

The cicada song has quieted to a whisper. Fireflies spiral in arcane patterns over the grass, blinking their silent messages through the dark. Night birds are calling, their sounds strange and strident over the rush of river water.

In the midst of all this, Dutch Van der Linde and all his talk of savage utopia seem further away than ever. More past than present.

He bites into the peach again and closes his eyes, savoring the taste. Long life and good health. Probably no more unfeasible than any other thing he’s had preached to him for the last twenty years. And not an unpleasant prospect, if the days spent are anything like this one.

No, he thinks to himself, pulling another peach from the bundle. Not a bad prospect at all.

[fiddlesolo]

Hey! I adore your teen Carlesme AU, do you have any headcanons about it to share?

yes i do! it’s giving very cliche energy. the fics don’t really have much of a timeline. they’re little snippets from the universe

Esme’s parents have lived on their farm since before Esme was born but Carlisle and his father moved into a little farmhouse just outside the Platt property when they were both thirteen.

Esme is three months older than Carlisle and she won’t let him forget it.

When he first moved in, Esme introduced herself and the two didn’t hit it off. He was nervous and she thought he didn’t like her. It wasn’t until almost a year later when they ran into each other on an evening walk that their friendship was born.

Esme’s an adventurous, almost rebellious girl at times and Carlisle is far more careful and obedient. They balance each other out perfectly.

Carlisle’s father is a strict man. He’s a preacher at the Anglican church about a half hour toward the city which leaves Carlisle alone a lot. He spends time at the church sometimes but after meeting Esme, he tries to find reasons to stay home.

Esme’s family life is complicated. Her mother is a first generation American— she immigrated from the German Empire (modern day Poland) with her family when she was just a baby. She met and fell for Esme’s father when the two were teenagers themselves. He was a Catholic while she was Jewish— they burned a lot of bridges to be together. It was a radical idea for the late 1800’s. Because of this, they live a rather isolated life. They don’t have much extended family— it’s just the three of them.

Esme’s parents love her dearly but she’s often not what they expected. They wanted a son, something of importance during those times. They needed someone to take up the farm work when they were old, someone to carry on their name and Esme, as much as they loved her, wasn’t that. She was always a sweetheart but she ran her parents ragged as a young child. She bounced off of the walls, climbed trees, and always managed to find trouble. Because of that, they became pretty strict as she grew into a teenager. They were worried about her, wanted her to learn how to be the young woman that the world expected of her.

Esme finds her parents absolutely suffocating at times. She loves them but she doesn’t want to be some guy’s wife. She doesn’t want to cook and clean and all of the other things her mother insisted she learn. She wanted adventure, wanted an education. She wanted to grab Carlisle by the hand and run away out west.

Carlisle and his father have a complex, distant relationship. His father, whether the pastor realizes it or not, blames Carlisle for the death of his mother. When he lost her, all of the warmth left his body and he remained cold for all of Carlisle’s childhood. He put all of his paternal energy that remained into making sure his son was studious and dedicated to his faith.

Carlisle feels the iciness of his father’s gaze. He knows they aren’t like every other kid and their father.

Esme was the first person to make him feel warm. It was like she alone controlled the sun above them. He was absolutely enamored by the end of that first day spent together.

Carlisle makes her feel invincible. He worries for her, tells her to be careful when climbing tall trees or onto the back of a horse. But when she looks at him, his eyes betray him. All she sees is pride, is confidence in her.

Esme makes him feel brave. Makes the anxious beating of his heart fade away as the adrenaline and feelings for her take control of his body.

The first time she snuck out of her house and knocked on his bedroom window, he screamed so loud she nearly fell to the ground. He had to reach out and pull her inside only to then have to help her roll under his bed to hide from his father when he came running in.

When he admits that he’d like to study medicine one day, she encourages him. Shes the first and only person he tells for a long time. Her encouragement meant the world to him.

The first time he laid eyes on her art, he was blown away by her talent and his kind words made her cry.

[queenmuzz]

Happy Mother's Day

I'm terribly sorry, this is supposed to be a happy day between mothers and their children, but you know how I am... Note: Set Between DMC4 and DMC5

Nero’s legs wobbled with numbness as he cautiously got off the bike, making sure that the motorcycle wouldn’t tip. He really didn’t want to bring it back to Lady with a ding in it. But when she had offered it to him to borrow, he couldn’t resist taking it for a spin. The vehicle was a beaut, lovingly taken care of, and...very, VERY fast. How that waif of a woman was able to hold on for dear life, he had no idea.

After he had steadied himself, he looked at his destination and frowned, looked down at the paper in his hand, and looked back up. The address was a match, but this place, right smack in the middle of downtown Redgrave, looked like a dump. A decrepit skeleton of what had once been a magnificent manor that looked abandoned for decades. Even though it looked like a prime location for a demon hang out, Lady had insisted that Dante wasn’t on a job. Nero had gotten the feeling she really wanted him to find the elder demon hunter.

Confused, and more than a little curious, he passed through the broken down wrought iron gate towards the house.

The overgrowth was tall and suffocating, but Nero noticed, just before what had been the entrance, a new path going to the left had been created, freshly trampled grass going around the corner. Nero didn’t see any other sign of disturbance, so this is probably where Dante had gone. So, he trudged along, wondering why of all places the man would have come here.

He pulled around the corner, and instantly came to a stop. Unlike the rest of the property, this area here had been recently maintained, the grass recently shorn (Nero had a sneaking suspicion it was Rebellion’s doing) A large oak tree, with bright green newborn leaves, cast a lovely dappled shadow upon the ground. And beneath the aged trunk was Dante, his back to Nero, facing a pair of granite stones. It took a few moments for Nero to realize...not stones… gravestones.

“Lady,” Dante didn’t turn around, “I told you that I didn’t need you here. I’m fine…” Nero caught the scent of flowers, specifically roses fluttering in the breeze. The young man awkwardly coughed, startling the man in red.

“Sheesh!” Dante rapidly turned around, revealing that the scent came from a bouquet of red roses in his hand. Well, nearly all red. In the middle of the bundle, was a single blue rose. “Didn’t expect to see you here kid! Heard Lady’s bike rumbling down the street, so I thought she was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.” “Yeah,” Nero said, scratching the bridge of his nose. Had Lady used him as a tool to get to Dante? “You weren’t in the office when I came by, but Lady let me use her bike, and gave me directions to...this place.” He didn’t know the significance of this area, but it was probably very important to Dante.

“Did she eh...?” he murmured, slightly annoyed, slightly resigned for some reason.

“Yeah, Kyrie told me I needed to get out of Fortuna, to take a break from rebuilding Fortuna. And the only place on the Mainland that I knew about, was your place.” That was partially the truth. Nero had also wanted to ask if Dante would be interested in a business idea that Nero had come up with: A mobile franchise using the Devil May Cry name, centered in Fortuna, but he had the feeling that this was not the time nor place to bring up business matters.

Dante chuckled, and looked down at the roses he was holding. “I guess Lady didn’t tell you why I was here.”

“Nah, and I didn’t ask.”

“Welp,” Dante rolled his shoulders, the joints popping. “Might as well get this over with. You know what day today is?”

Nero was perplexed. It was just another Sunday in May. He shrugged.

“Ah, maybe they don’t do it in Fortuna. Here, today is Mother’s Day. Where kids and adults spend time with, and thank the women that raised them, and well… I’m visiting my mom.”

Nero felt the pieces of the puzzle falling in the place. Fortuna’s version of Mother’s Day was during the autumn, and Nero hadn’t really cared much about it, considering his background. But to Dante, the day was more significant.

Suddenly, he felt the yank on his sleeve, and before he knew it, Dante had dragged him towards one of the gravestones, the one that was older, and slightly more worn. It was simple, no words on it, but there was flowering climbing roses carved along the edges. The one stone beside it was similar, but newer, and there were no roses, just intertwined climbing thorny stems.

“Hey Mom, I’d like to introduce you to that kid I was telling you about. This,” he pushed the boy further in front of the stone proudly, “is Nero.” He stood there, partly awkward and partly proud at the thought Dante had talked to his mom about him. Dante hadn’t mentioned his mom much, but Trish had helpfully filled in the blanks when Nero had asked why Dante had a pic of her on his desk.

“Oh, that’s not me...that’s Eva, Dante’s mother. It’s complicated, but I was created by Mundus to look like her, to lure him into a trap many years ago. She was very important to him, and while I don’t quite understand it, I know that she loved him dearly she loved the bot-”

She’d been interrupted by Dante coming in the office, and Nero hadn’t pried further.

Nero tried to come up with some words “Uh...hi.. It’s nice to meet you.” God he sounded like an idiot.

Thankfully, Dante swooped back in. “She was a wonderful woman. You’d think she was soft and demure, but the moment you pissed her off, she was as hard as steel. I can still feel her pulling on my ear when she caught me sneaking into the cookie jar before supper.” He chuckled and winced as he rubbed his earlobe, “A fantastic cook, a wonderful violinist and… an irreplaceable mom.” Dante’s voice trailed off, and for a moment all that could be heard was the rustling of the wind through the grass. Strange, despite never meeting her, with no connection to this family, Nero had a feeling he...belonged here.

“She would have adored you…” Dante murmured softly, startling Nero. He turned to find the older man with a wistful, almost melancholy look on his face.

“Huh?”

Instantly, that softness, that rare glimpse of something seldom seen, was locked up behind a steel grin. Dante laughed. “It’s nothin, just me talking without thinking. So, what about you? You’re on the Mainland now, best time to talk about your mom.” Dante must have seen his sudden scowl, and placed his hands up in surrender, realizing this was a sore spot. “Doesn’t have to be your blood mom. Can be any woman that helped you grow up!”

“Well,” Nero mused, “There was Cecilia, Kyrie’s mom,” he explained, “she was a heck of a woman. When Kyrie brought me home after I’d gotten into a scrap with the other kids at school, when they took my lunch, after she made sure I was okay, she gave me a ham and cheese sandwich on two pieces of fresh bread. She was a baker by trade, you see. And every day after that, when school was day, Kyrie would bring me to her, and Cecilia wouldn’t let leave until I couldn’t eat another bite. She was always looking out for me afterwards. Making sure I got my school work done, mended my clothes, and then when the Orphanage didn’t have clothes my size, she got Credo to get me measured up so she could get me several sets of clothes. But most of all…” he continued, trying to figure out why his eyes were getting all watery. Must be from the newly cut grass. “Unlike the rest of the island, she never judged me, never made me feel like I didn’t belong. I…” he took a deep breath, “I would have been proud to be called her son-in-law. But she never got the chance to see Kyrie and me grow up, to become a couple… Maybe if I had been there when the demon attack...” he trailed off, feeling a bit lost and alone. He couldn’t feel the same pain as Kyrie or Credo had, but there was pain nonetheless. He was surprised by a firm hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see the older man giving a smile of sympathy.

“I kinda feel where you’re coming from. My mom, she died in an attack too…she died protecting me from demons.” That smile vanished as Dante looked down at the gravestone...not this mother’s, the one beside it. “Our positions should have been switched” he murmured softly, grief on his face, “things would have been so much different, so much better...” Nero was perplexed. Was Dante wishing he had died so his mom had lived?

“Well, if she’s even half the mom you claim her to be, she’d probably be happy that you’re alive, strong enough to protect yourself, and others….” Nero tried to say what he was feeling, and it seemed to be what came from his heart. It seemed to do the trick, because Dante had perked up, and that mask of a grin was nowhere to be seen.

“You’re a good kid, Nero.” Dante said, and rubbed Nero’s head, laughing at the halfhearted scowl that earned. Dante looked up at the sky, the noon sun shining happily down. “Welp, I’m famished.... How bout we get our asses- I mean butts, sorry mom, back to the office and order some pizza. I’m pretty sure Lady owes me a couple boxes of them, for what she’s done…” Dante glared at her bike, barely visible from their location. Nero didn’t quite understand, but he’d never turn down free food.

“You go ahead, bring that bike back to her, tell her I’ll be there a bit later, just have to do a…” Dante looked down at the pair of graves. “A few more things to spruce up the place.”

Nero nodded. Obviously, Dante deserved some privacy, this was his mother’s resting place, so he turned to leave, his stomach already growling at the thought of pizza. He slightly worried he was turning out like the old man. Next thing he knew, he’d be having questionable tastes in fashion, and have a penchant for shooting old men in the head without explaining beforehand that the guy was trying to take over the world. Strange, he thought as he got on the bike, and looked back at the manor. It didn’t look as decrepit and creepy as before. Instead of a carcass of a house, it was a dignified memorial of happy times long since gone. A place that seemed to welcome him to return as often as he’d like. As he drove off, he remembered that he’d forgotten, in all the emotional unloading, to ask about the other gravestone….

------

When the sound of Lady’s engine had finally faded away, Dante let out a breath that he’d been holding in for longer than he thought. Damn Lady, trying to get him to break down and tell the kid the truth. Well, there had been a few close calls, a few words slipped out, but that façade had been maintained, with the kid none the wiser.

He looked down at the bouquet in his hands, and then at the grave before him. “He’s a great kid, like I said.” He sighed, “I know you’re probably disappointed at me for not being truthful, you were always a big stickler for ‘Honesty’ but…” he pulled out the single blue rose out of the bouquet, and spun it between his fingers. “Bad stuff happens to us Spardas. You, me…” he placed that blue rose before the newer gravestone, “Vergil.... I just don’t want that to happen to him. The less he knows...the better. He deserves the stability that we never got...” He placed the roses down, and knelt down, eye level to the grave.

“I hope, wherever you are, that you’re at peace, and that he’s with you, so you can tell him what I never could, that he was loved just as much as you loved me….” His forehead touched the cool stone, and a few drops of water splashed onto the crimson blooms.

“Happy Mother’s Day”

[cursedcataclysm]

I should be doing my APUSH work right now but if I have to read one more sentence about Columbus I will tear out my own eyeballs so-

Summer Camp AU

feat. Dream Team, BBH, Sleepy Bois, Tommy and Tubbo, Fundy and Eret

DREAM 

One of the boy’s cabins counselors, helps out at the waterfront sometimes

Has this white snapback hat with a black smiley face embroidered on the front, refuses to take it off, somehow never gets dirty

Also this lime green sweatshirt, he wears it around his waist if it gets too hot though

Often paired with George as co-counselors, they’re absolutely chaotic together but surprisingly good at leading the campers, they’ve got the whole play-fighting dynamic going on and nobody is really sure if they’re dating or not, they wear each other’s clothes so often they just share a dresser at this point

Whenever there’s a spider or a bug in the cabin Dream is the designated one to kill it (or take it outside)

Actually really close friends with Techno but they have a whole fake rivalry going on at camp for the ✨ drama  ✨ (not really, they just got in an argument once and it spread across the entire camp, now it’s basically just part of camp lore that they’re ‘enemies’)

They play it up a ton at camp events and team games, but they almost always sneak out to the docks at midnight after and talk for hours

Dream and Sapnap together almost always means trouble

They’ve been friends for as long as anyone can remember

The shenanigans they get up to usually ends with them both on kitchen duty

Loves climbing trees?? Can be found just chilling in trees sometimes

Known for being a really cool camp counselor though, intimidatingly tall and won’t hesitate to step in when breaking up a fight or disagreement, has a way with kids

GEORGE

Also a boy’s counselor

George has these awful white sunglasses he won from an arcade on a staff trip, nobody has ever seen him without them, he wears them on his face when he’s in a bad mood (only Dream can talk to him without being ignored when this happens)

George is known for being a stickler for the rules, but surprisingly he’s often the counselor who starts the annual prank war, he somehow managed to dye Dream’s hair bright green in his sleep once 

A bit awkward with the campers, but he loosens up around Dream and Sapnap

Constantly steals Dream’s green sweatshirt

Makes Dream and Sapnap friendship bracelets once, is a flustered mess when he gives the bracelets to them, muttering excuses about them looking terrible because he’s colorblind, Dream and Sapnap wear them on their wrists at all times (even though the colors clash just a little bit) 

SAPNAP

Also a boy’s counselor, hosts the game nights in the main lodge every week

Has a white bandana tied around his forehead, Dream yanks it down over his eyes sometimes and they end up chasing each other around the camp for hours (and then they end up on kitchen duty, obviously)

KING of the ropes course

Spends most of his time there, actually

Ends up in the infirmary more times than he probably should after trying to do obstacles blindfolded or without a harness

Can and will carry a grudge for months on end

References a meme or vine every other sentence

Unironically wears crocs

Starts water balloon fights with Dream every opportunity he gets

Yells ‘parkour’ every time he does something cool on the ropes course, even if it’s not actually parkour

Loves giving out hugs, very physically affectionate, will sling his arm around your shoulders or punch you gently on the arm

Wrestles with Dream

Which leads to kitchen duty

BBH

In charge of sports/archery/rifle range

One of the nicest counselors, always chides the other staff (and campers, sometimes,) for cursing, helps out in the infirmary whenever he can

Campers trust him with their secrets, he knows a little bit about almost everyone but he’d never let any of it slip, he’s well aware of how important it is to the campers to have someone they can absolutely trust

Helps sort out disagreements between campers, he’s probably the best one with kids

Scarily good with a gun, holds most of the top camp records

Constantly reminding people to wear sunscreen, carries around three different types in his bag

Also a bunch of individually wrapped muffins, he gives them to campers if they want a snack

Definitely the worst at telling ghost stories

Has a lot of survival skills, will teach campers how to tie ten different types of knots in his free time

Only one who consistently wears his staff t-shirt

WILBUR

Everyone’s favorite counselor, at least according to him

Often paired with Techno

Grey beanie for the aesthetic, but also because his hair is absolutely a mess and if he shoves a hat on it it immediately looks better

Carries his guitar with him most of the time

Went through the ropes course one time with his guitar on him because of a dare

Really good at telling scary stories, but usually plays campfire songs on his guitar instead (sometimes with a kazoo if he’s in the right mood)

Absolutely torches his marshmallows and insists it’s the only right way to eat them, once ate a flaming marshmallow whole (for fun, apparently)

Coffee addict

Pretty much spends the entirety of breakfast at the coffee table

When Wilbur was a CIT he gets this black bandana from Philza, he never wears it but keeps it tied around his bed frame every summer, until one staff campfire when Tommy is a CIT. They’re all sitting around a fire and singing and joking around and Tommy surprises Wilbur when he knows all of the lyrics to one of Wilbur’s songs, and Wilbur impulsively gives Tommy the bandana (Tommy makes a joke about how it’s ‘rather plain, innit?’, Wilbur rolls his eyes and punches him on the arm, they both know how much it means to Tommy though)

Kind of sarcastic, mean in a nice way 

TECHNO

Technically a counselor but nobody knows where he is most of the time

Has pastel pink hair and will 100% help kids dye their hair too, but not before a long lecture about bleach damage and regret

Also a pink face mask (for fashion), only takes it off to eat or swim

The best at making friendship bracelets, it gives him something to do with his hands

Teaches the campers how to make friendship bracelets in the art cabin

Gives his closest friends a pink and black friendship bracelet (it’s not confirmed to be him, they just show up on your bed overnight, but everybody knows it’s Techno)

One legendary summer, Dream and Techno were paired as camp counselors for a cabin, the campers from that year all have matching pink and green bracelets, there’s still whispers about what went down then

A god at toasting his marshmallows to perfection, golden and crispy on all sides with just the right amount of melting

Gets the best care packages from home (so many cookies!!)

TOMMY

CIT with Tubbo

Only his second year at camp, but he hit it off really well with all the other staff and Philza so they offered him a position as CIT

(which he accepted, obviously)

Likes to claim it’s for all the free stuff and staff perks but secretly really wants to learn how to be a good counselor

Curses like a sailor though

BBH has to threaten to take away his access to the staff coffee table to get him to stop cursing as much around the campers

Chaotic gremlin, probably shouldn’t be put in charge of children

He’s actually very responsible when he needs to be though, likes to joke around a lot but looks out for the campers as much as possible

Self-proclaimed king of the gaga pit

Seriously, can hit the ball so hard he’s bruised some people a couple of times

Always covered in scratches and bruises and bandaids

A little too eager to throw a punch

Has a black bandana (from Wilbur) and wears it around his neck at all times, keeps it as clean as possible (even when he’s covered in dirt from various scuffles the bandana somehow stays clean)

Goes absolutely ham on a kazoo during sing alongs

Him and Tubbo sneak out one night and take a paddleboard out to the middle of the lake to look at the stars, the only reason they get caught is because Tommy falls off as they paddle back to shore, Philza yells at them for ten minutes straight but it’s worth it

Basically never wears his staff shirt

TUBBO

Also a CIT

Has been going to the camp for years

Brings his ukulele with him, sometimes he plays with Wilbur at campfires, loves sitting on the dock and playing random little tunes for the campers

Hangs out at the waterfront a lot

Volunteers for kitchen duty, surprisingly

He actually really likes cooking and hanging out with Fundy, whenever he and Bad are in the kitchen together they make muffins

Makes flower crowns!! Absolutely vibes while sitting in the fields, loves the bees, teaches campers how to weave flowers together

Lets Tommy drag him off into all of his shenanigans

Is definitely the type to laugh off insults

Very, very hard to anger but when he gets mad, he gets mad

He and Tommy have only had one disagreement ever at camp, it started with a screaming match for an hour at the waterfront, they ended up not talking for days. Wilbur’s never seen Tommy that quiet, and Eret watches Tubbo with concern when he just sits on the dock for hours, not moving. One night Tommy shows up at Wilbur’s cabin, covered in scrapes and blood in the pouring rain, he just starts crying and Wilbur carries him to the infirmary before finding Tubbo, the two finally talk for a couple of hours after BBH bandages up Tommy’s wounds, the next day they’re back to talking and laughing and causing chaos together like nothing ever happened

Tubbo still feels guilty about that

Loves hanging out with the campers, everyone is excited for when he’s an actual counselor

Wears his staff shirt most of the time, but it’s under his green flannel so you can’t really tell anyway

PHILZA

Camp director obviously

Basically a tired dad, wears a green and white bucket hat, has a fanny pack and will use it

Curses a lot but hides it from the campers

Constantly reminding everyone to wear their staff shirts even if nobody listens to him

Loves telling the campers embarrassing stories about Wilbur and Techno as often as he can

When giving Tommy a tour of the camp to prepare for being a CIT Tommy somehow manages to climb onto the roof of the dining hall, Philza has to hide his laughter while yelling at him to come down

Tommy just stands and yells “POGCHAMP” as loudly as he can, Wilbur records it on his phone and makes sure to send it to all the staff in the group chat

Refers to Wilbur and Techno as his ‘sons’

And eventually Tommy too

Also references vines and memes

ERET

Waterfront manager/lifeguard

Really chill vibes

Also makes pride friendship bracelets for the campers!! It’s kind of a tradition, if you come out to him you get a bracelet

You also can get a bracelet if you ask for one

Has a whistle, loves to sneak up on the other counselors and blow it as loud as he can

Brings a lawn flamingo to camp every year and stakes it outside of his cabin

Really close with Tubbo

Helps Bad in the infirmary sometimes

Also hangs out with Sapnap at the ropes course, loves climbing the rock wall and sitting on the top

One of the best counselors to go to for advice, along with BBH

BUDDY SYSTEM OR ELSE

You better have your buddy when he blows his whistle twice

Tubbo helps him organize the swim tests and give everyone the appropriate tag to hang on the buddy board

FUNDY

Fundy absolutely cannot be trusted as a counselor, so Philza sticks him in the kitchen as head of the kitchen crew

Fundy doesn’t actually mind, he doesn’t have to do much and he gets access to all of the snacks

Extremely chaotic when handing out snacks to the campers- sometimes he throws them, sometimes he just dumps them out into a pile on the ground, sometimes he hands them out individually, there’s no way to predict it

Needs at least 8 hours of sleep or several cups of coffee before he’s ready to interact with campers

Very sarcastic

Plays piano in the main hall sometimes

Bullies Tommy with Wilbur

A picture of him in a fox costume surfaced in the staff group chat and now everybody calls him a ‘furry’ 

He hates it

So much

Capture the flag games that go for days on end, Dream and George captaining a team against Wilbur and Techno, spies and sabotage and elaborate heists, Eret betraying his team during one of the games, water balloon skirmishes, color war but Intense Mode

Prank wars between the counselors and campers

Building epic pillow forts in the cabins and the counselors sneaking in snacks even though there’s not supposed to be food in the cabins

Just, so many possibilities

[agreementtale]

Chapter 27: The Great

Taking advantage of the fact that both human and skeleton were distracted with greasy breakfast, Flowey disappeared on the ground.

The last thing he wanted was to leave them alone with him, but after a week of nothing but jokes and not lethal pranks, he had to make a choice.

And there wouldn’t be much more time, if the determined hue of their eyes this morning was any indication.

~*~

Since he woke up on the true lab, Flowey had to make a lot of hard choices.

Abandoning his name or being guilty of all the events his previous life triggered.

Not meeting his father or being held expectant to what he used to be.

Never seeing his mother or being swallowed by her madness.

Give up on trying to help people or being merciless murdered.

Kill and live or hide and survive.

And after many and many failed resets, he had learned his lesson.

For a long time he had chosen to sneak around the cities, to help just enough so he wasn’t caught. To live just near enough to meet people and preach a more pacific way of life, but distant enough to flee at the first threat.

~*~

“Are You Ok?” the concerned voice had cut through his fear like the sharpened bone sword would cut his vines at any moment now.

It hadn’t yet, that had been last timeline, before he was captured and sent to the labs, this time he dodged the attacks in time. This time the guard looked at him with an expression he hadn’t seen in years.

“You Aren’t Dusting Are You?” The monster looked frantic, abandoning the fight instance, concern and guilt making him lower his guard “I Didn’t Lower Your HP That Much” not that Flowey could do anything to harm him, his pellets were too weak to harm a guard’s HP.

But if he lowered his guard, maybe a surprise attack now would dust him and allow Flowey to escape. He couldn’t go back to the labs, he would do anything to not go back at the labs! He thought about taking the easy betrayal kill, but he knew sooner or later he would regret the idea, and go back to his last save file.

“Your Soul” Flowey stopped, his body going colder than the snow below him “What Happened?” he looked at the new guard, really looked for the first time.

He was a skeleton, instead of eyes he had two holes on his hollow head, dim white lights trembling inside his skull. It was nothing he had seen before, it wasn’t nostalgic, it wasn’t relatable, it wasn’t recognizable in any way… But looking at those fearful eyes, something inside coiled at the genuine show of feeling, even if Flowey couldn’t feel it, he was compelled to say something to the monster in front of him “I’m fine”

“NO! YOU–/” He stopped himself and looked back to where he came from “YOU ARE NOT FINE, I CAN’T SENSE YOUR SOUL” Flowey never thought that shouting and whispering could go together, but the skeleton just proved him wrong.

“I don’t have one” There was no sense in lying, not when he could experience a reaction so genuine from a new monster, he was tired of the same faces.

“You Don’t…”

There it was, the moment of realization where every monster sported an horrified face, and gave him either pity or disgust, he wondered which one of the two his reaction would be.

“FEAR NOT” but the skeleton got on one knee, getting near his height, chest puffed with pride, like a real knight “THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL FIND A WAY TO FIX THIS” and extending his hands he started to heal him.

A guard that was ordered to find him, dead or alive, actually healed him.

And on his magic he could feel, all the kindness and sincerity of his words, not a speck of malice, nor the lingering residue of disinterest of the paid healers, no, this monster wanted to heal him, not because he agreed on a price, but just because he wanted Flowey to be better!

Flowey was capable of healing, he had learned it from his parents. But being healed was so much better…

The feeling… that someone cared… that someone was there for him…

The new monster’s magic spoke more than he could ever describe with a straight face. He would cry, if he still had the ability.

“THE DOCTOR SHOULD KNOW WHAT TO DO” the sentence drowned all the warmth of his chest, or lack of it.

“No, please!” he tried to retreat, startling the monster before him “Not her, anyone but her!” but he was caught on his grip and couldn’t stop trashing “She will cut me open, please!” but he was trapped again, that’s what he got for dropping his guard “Please, don’t let her experiment on me again”

“AGAIN?”

“It’s her fault! I’m like this because of her!”

The lights in his head went out, he was terrifying like that “She… Took Your Soul?”

He wanted to say yes, but he was scared the skeleton could see through his lies, skeletons were powerful monsters, he remembered the stories his mother would tell before he slept.

“She… didn’t build me one”

The silence was palpable.

Neither of them moved.

He wanted to escape of the other’s grip, but it was useless.

His lights were still out.

He didn’t know what to think, and the environment was too charged for him try to say anything without being prompted.

“Cadet!” Came the strong yell, the monster went stiff, getting up abruptly, and Flowey saw himself free, but more trapped than before “What are you doing standing there?!?”

She approached, and he knew that at this distance, if he so much as tried to move she would see him, if he kept completely still the skeleton’s boot gave him the cover he needed.

“FORGIVE ME CAPTAIN!” yelled, body completely stiff “I WAS LOOKING FOR THE FUGITIVE”

“And did you find him?”

“I” that was the moment they sent him to the doctor “COULDN’T FIND A SOUL, CAPTAIN” was… was he covering for him?

She shouted aggressively, hitting the trees behind with spears “What are you waiting here for?! Move!”

“YES CAPTAIN!” he made a symbol with his finger… ‘up’, Flowey climbed his boot. Hiding inside.

~*~

The first person to try to help without knowing him… The first person to still treat him as a monster once he found out he didn’t have a soul.

This memory had been lost in time, many, many resets ago…

Papyrus didn’t need to remember that. No one need to know that. He escaped the lab before the scientist could know of his existence, made a point to avoid Undyne this timeline, and was sure that this timeline neither Papyrus or Sans had the chance of using the blue magic directly on him, and finding out his secret…

This timeline he did everything right… he tried, he really tried to make a difference… but it always got to the same point…

~*~

“But... Papyrus... You are my only friend...”

The lieutenant sighed, not looking at him “YOU ARE MY FRIEND TOO, FLOWEY, Just Not In Public, Ok?”

“But…” no matter what he did, it always came to this.

“NOT IN PUBLIC! I CAN’T BE SEEN HANGING OUT WITH A FREE-EXP!”

He took a brief moment to think, was there anything he hadn’t tried to say? “... No one is going to hurt you for it” he was sure he hadn’t said that one yet, but it seemed to be the wrong choice either way.

“ARE YOU SUGGESTING I AM SCARED?” He was scared of be seen as weak, of becoming a target, everyone in the underground was, and everyone would kill before admitting that.

“I can protect us!” but Flowey had to try.

“HA! YOU SHOULD GIVE MY BROTHER SOME LESSONS ON HUMOR!”

“It’s true!” He didn’t want to lose his best friend.

“YOU CAN’T.”

“I can! I can tell what is going to happen and–/”

“AND I WILL HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. OR WILL YOU RETHINK YOUR FOOLISH IDEA OF MERCY?” He didn’t understand, Papyrus didn’t understand what he was asking.

“But no one has to die! If monsters can just–/”

“WOULD YOU KILL FOR ME FLOWEY?” He just didn’t understand… He had killed, and then he hadn’t.

“...” He always reseted after killing, it was just wrong, even Papyrus agreed that if something like this could be avoided, it should be.

“WOULD YOU KILL SOMEONE IF I ASKED YOU TO? IF I NEED YOU TO?” But he was insistent.

“I... could avoid us having to kill them...”

He gave an empty laugh, and Flowey knew he had lost him again.

Like all those other timelines.

“It’s Funny, Because Until Now I Would Kill Almost Anyone For You” Papyrus got up from the rock and walked slowly before turning to him “SEE WHO IS A TRUE FRIEND, AND WHO IS A FILTHY LIAR!”

“Wait, Papyrus!” He tried to follow when the skeleton started to walk, but a bone attack materialized in front of him

“IN THIS WORLD IS KILL OR BE KILLED, FLOWEY! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN UNTIL YOU’VE LEARNED THAT, AND IF YOU STILL HAVEN’T, I WILL MAKE SURE YOU UNDERSTAND!” he threw a wave of bones in front of him, uncomfortably close, and disappeared on the snowy path.

So this time instead of resetting a few days and trying again, like he did so many times he could swear an entire year had passed. This time Flowey left his only friend at his own luck, and went to the Ruins, to talk with the flowers.

He knew no one was listening, but it had become a habit.

He was glad he did, because a human fell the next morning.

~*~

“WHAT IS THIS OBSESSION WITH THE HUMAN?” Papyrus always paced when he was conflicted “FIRST THE DAMNED DOGS CLAIM THEY ARE ONE OF THEM” It was a sign that there was still a chance “THEN MY USELESS BROTHER TAKES THEM TO THAT GREASY TRAP EVERY MORNING” The harsh movements and the agitation were scary, but gave him hope at the same time “THEN YOU COME BEFORE ME ASKING ME TO SPARE THEIR LIFE? HAVE YOU LEARN NOTHING ABOUT THIS WORLD FLOWEY?”

Apparently not, since he was standing in front of the Lieutenant of the Royal Guard, trying to convince him to commit treason and let a human reach Waterfalls.

“I WILL TELL THIS ONLY ONCE, DO YOU WANT THEM TO LIVE?”

He nodded profusely, his leaves were trembling, Papyrus last threat still hanging in the air, only now he couldn’t come back to life if he died.

“THEN DON’T LET THEM FACE ME” His right eye light flared red as he stared directly into Flowey “BECAUSE I WILL KILL THEM AND BRING THEIR SOUL TO THE KING”

“Papyrus...” he was so tall standing in front of him.

“OR BE KILLED TRYING, IN NAME OF ALL MONSTERKIND”

“Please...” standing still…

“I ALREADY WARNED YOU, SO CONVINCE THEM TO STAY IN SNOWDIN OR DECIDE WHICH ONE OF US YOU WANT TO SEE DYING”

“There is another way” Floyey pleaded, but he had seen this end too many times to hope.

“MAKE YOUR CHOICE FLOWEY” and with this the skeleton left.

~*~

Flowey couldn’t make a choice…

It was not his choice to make, not anymore…

And somehow he was glad.

One of the two would die… many, many times… until they gave up.

He just hoped they gave up from the fight, and came back to Snowdin.

He just hoped that they weren’t like him…

That when they got stuck in a challenge too big to surpass, that they didn’t got angry… and striked the enemy down.

They were human, and humans could deliver so much damage when they were angry…

He didn’t want to see it…

He didn’t want to see his sibling’s blood… over and over again staining the snow.

He didn’t want to see his – former, he forced himself to think – best friend’s dust… blowing on the wind, just like any other monster… not even a proper burial…

But even if they did kill him in the end, they would certainly be guilty and try again, right?

They wouldn’t go ahead if they killed, right?

They wouldn’t save over a monster’s death…

They couldn’t…

He…

His leaves were still trembling, even without the eminent danger, if he still had emotions he would think he was scared.

But he wasn’t.

He didn’t have emotions.

He didn’t have a soul.

And if he, who didn’t have a soul, still had the hearth to do the right thing, and not save after killing someone. Then they could do the same.

And if they didn’t?

Well…

He just had to make sure to remind them.

The easy or the hard way.

Luckily for him, he learned a thing or two with past resets.

______________________

First

Last

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader and Zemo try to figure out what’s next.

Note: Hey, I banged this out quicker than expected. This part went longer than I expected to not as much happened as I thought hahaha. But here we go, again.(I will try to update the masterlist asap)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

Two Summers Later

The sun raised beads of sweat across your brow, even in the shadow of the tree. A gentle breeze rolled over the grass now and again, a soft sort of heat. You laid across the blanket in your thin dress, a subtle movement beside you, low babbling and grasping fingers. You breathed in the scent of pollen and watched the lush leaves sway above.

The footsteps were light but he was careful not to frighten you. The baby girl murmured, over a year old now. She stood, unsteadily, and he caught her before she stumbled too far. His shadow loomed above you as he lifted Elina and smiled at her round cheeks.

“How is my little baroness?” he cooed as he bounced her and her gibberish grew louder as she grabbed at his pale tunic, “my lady?” he peered down at you, “you look… serene.”

“She likes to watch the cloud but it’s much too bright today,” you sat up and grabbed your cane from against the trunk. Lord Zemo offered his hand and helped you to your feet, “so we have watched the bloom instead.”

“She is getting big. More agile,” he commented as she tugged at his beard. He’d grown it over the winter but hadn’t cut it even in the heat. She liked to pet it and you suspected that was the reason for his obstinacy, “how will you keep up with her?”

“I have learned,” you poked him with the tip of your cane, “still learning.”

“Very quickly,” he praised, “the accent is better,” he pinched two fingers together, “I almost believe you a woman of this land.”

“Sometimes I believe it myself,” you went to the bench and sat heavily. Your hip never healed quite as it had been before so you limped with the carved wood capped with silver and made the best of it, “bring her here,” you set the can aside and pulled the thin scarf over your shoulders, “she should eat.”

“I told you, a wet nurse would do her better,” he neared and handed her over after a final peck on her cheek, “and she is getting older. She eats at the table now.”

“She will have some proper food when we get in,” you covered her against your chest and unlaced the front of your gown, “I like having her close.”

He nodded and paced through the grass. He removed his silk cap and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He was anxious as of late, you noticed only because it was an unusual trait for him. He sighed as he tucked his hat into his belt.

“Would you tell me?” you asked sharply as Elina latched.

“Tell you what?” he tilted his head coyly.

“What makes you uneasy?” you urged.

The tugging in your chest calmed you as you cradled your daughter close. When she was born, that had been difficult. She reminded you of her father then but now she was yours. She was the only gift he’d ever given you.

“It is… complicated,” he said with a frown, “I think it best we put the child down before we talk on it.”

“If you wish,” you relented, “Werner says she is doing well. I went to him this morning.”

“And you?” Zemo crossed his arms, “does he say you are doing well?”

You kept one arm around Elina and unthinkingly brushed the scar that stretched from your hairline to your chin, a rippled line along your cheek, one of a dozen markers of that fateful day. You still dreamed of it but they weren’t so much nightmares as vague memories.

“I will need the cane so long as I live,” you said and dropped your arm back under the scarf, “the scars will fade but not entirely. I suppose none of that matters.”

He nodded and rubbed his chin as he began to pace again, “back from the dead,” he mused, “we have a legend here, about a woman, a queen…” he went on, “she married a king who did not love her nor she him. He wanted another and he was… quite intent on it. So he accused her of adultery and witchery and passed on her the harshest sentence; she was drawn and quartered, pulled apart by horses.

“We have since done away with such punishments, too savage, but the legend goes that they buried the parts of her and the king married his lover on her grave. The gods saw it as an affront, the lies, the trial held in their names, the death imparted in the same vein, and then a mocking marriage on the site of their sins…

“In her casket, her body reformed though she still showed the signs of her fate. She climbed out of her resting place and visited her king in the night. She’d never done that before you see because he had no love for her, he never even tried, and she tore him piece by piece, worse even then the horses. Fingers, toes, tongue… balls, every bit of him plucked little by little until he was nothing.

“The legend never did say where she went after that, her grave was found disturbed and her body gone. Those women who suffer with violent or cruel men, they pray to her, they burn candles for her, and even, they kill their men for her.”

“Why are you saying all this?” you interrupted as you wiped up your chest and clumsily tied up the laces of your dress as Elina slobbered down it.

“Because I see you are reformed like the queen but I wonder, where is your sense of vengeance?”

You were quiet as you fixed your dress and lifted Elina above the scarf to pat her back. Soon she would no longer take the nipple and you were stubborn to keep it up for so long but the time passed and the thought of separation frightened you. Soon she would be old enough to realise how odd everything was and she would ask questions. You weren’t sure if you could ever answer them.

“Take her please,” you held her out and he came to lift her. He set her down on her feet instead and held her hand as she took some steps. She grew more bold by the minute. He bent as he ushered her around. You planted your cane in the ground and stood, “vengeance,” you said carefully, “I remember you warned me not to trust you, is that why? Are you ready to use me against him?”

“I always knew you were clever,” he smiled as Elina bent her legs and bounced in place. He chuckled at her and suddenly scooped her up. He tossed her and caught her as she trilled in excitement, “the time comes closer but the path is not clearer.”

You watched him as he stilled your daughter and balanced her against his side, “I don’t know if I can ever face him again,” you confessed.

“That is not what I ask,” he said, “it is not what I intend but...the winds begin to blow and I must let them carry me.”

You followed him as he set off towards the castle, The Tower Zemo, a bastion of brick among the grasslands. It was so tall one could see for miles in any direction and it could be seen in turn from just as far. He was patient as your cane plunked down after each step and he made silly faces at Elina.

“You have bided me longer than I expected. And her,” you said as you approached the open doors of the castle. The stairs were another task but you’d learned to take them with your hip.

“Her? You think I forsake her her father? She is nothing like him,” he replied as he waited at the tip of the steps, “and she is all the good parts of you. All that he didn’t take.”

“I am indebted to you, I am aware of that, but you do not attempt to collect your dues,” you challenged as you came level to him, “it makes me wary.”

“Would it be too… ridiculous to say that she is payment enough,” he smiled at your daughter, “she has brightened many of my days here.”

“It is because I know how things are. How it works among you noblemen,” you countered, “there is something more you want.”

“Tess,” he called and the pudgy maid appeared, “she is hungry, see that she is fed before she is laid down.”

“My lord,” Tess took the child eagerly and poked her nose playfully, “come here, little poppy.”

You watched her go as she began to sing to Elina. Her voice carried through the corridors as her wide hips swayed and her white hair wisped from under her cap. The old woman had seen your daughter into the world and since helped keep her there.

“So what is it you haven’t told me?” you turned on Zemo.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit?” he asked slyly.

“You are welcome to recline, sir, but I would hear you now. I’ve waited long enough,” you insisted.

“Well…” he took a deep breath and walked ahead of you. He turned back and clapped his hand together as the summer flowed in through the open doors, “I must send you away.”

“Send me away?” you gulped and looked to the door which Tess had just taken your daughter through.

“You will have Elina, I am not heartless,” he said, “though I will miss the little baroness.”

“Where are we going?” you quivered in relief.

“I have a castle on the lake, Heinrich’s Creek,” he explained, “it is a lovely little place. My mother’s favourite of my family’s holds. It is far away from court, further than this, and safe. Only my blood knows where it lies and… so only me and those who I would have escort you.”

“And why? Why do we have to go? Why now?” you prodded.

“I have received a letter from your King Samuel, co-signed by my own king. A party is on the road already and I have been once more tasked with hosting the negotiations. Your people are persistent. They will come here and I will represent the kingdom in these meetings and hopefully I can appease them quick enough that I needn’t worry about them sniffing around,” Zemo bristled, “I have not been allowed the privilege to know of who I host but any in the capital for the tournament, they would know the woman who gave them such a violent finale.”

“And after?”

“We will see how it unfolds first. It will be a chance to gain a measure of the climate. I might even hear after your former keeper, then I will decide what needs be done,” his dark eyes narrowed as mischief ticked in his cheek.

“Why?” you asked, “why cling to it?”

“I am as stubborn as he,” he said carefully, “I was willing to set it aside but he could not. And, my lady, if you haven’t the fire left for your vengeance then I can simply take it upon my own wrath. 

“Perhaps it is low of me but how he treated me, how he chased me out even if it did prove convenient to my deceit, it cannot be forgotten. And your people, the war I fought against them, they come to us for help and yet they still boast of their victory. I was there, no one won those battles.”

“So it is all a game of war?”

“Oh, no, I do not long for another war but… retribution leaves few options for the wronged,” he said.

You lowered your chin and moved around him. You sat on the stool by the wall and leaned back against the stone. “And if it put Elina in danger?”

“That is the last thing I want to do. That is why I would send you away.”

“But you said it yourself, you will have need for me… what then?”

He sniffed and his sole scuffed on the floor, “I promised you Elina’s safety, her life. You knew yours wasn’t part of the bargain.”

“I know but… if you--”

“I have friends who can see to the girl. I have made arrangements for the little baroness.”

“But--”

“It was never a title I gave her lightly,” he intoned, “she has noble blood and I have no heir. She will grow, she will live, she will flourish.”

You gripped your cane tightly and ran your nails along your skirt, “when do we leave?”

“Within the month. The party will not be here so soon, their progress will be hampered by the heat. There are droughts in the west.”

“And we will be safe at the Creek?”

“Impenetrable,” he assured, “enjoy your time there with your daughter.”

“While it lasts, right?” you uttered.

He looked away grimly and brushed his knuckles against this beard, “we both knew this wouldn’t go on forever.”

“Yes, we knew,” you stood and held your hip, “but you can’t blame me for hoping it would.”

[caretaker-au]

Kindness & Justice: Backstory

The two adolescent girls huddled around a small campfire in the twilight, trying to finish their dinner before nightfall. The tall cook poured the remains of pancake batter into the cast iron pan, mentally crossing her fingers that this one wouldn’t stick as bad as the previous one did. 

“This is the last one,” the cook said, “You want it?”

“No, that one is all yours,” her friend answered between mouthfuls. She didn’t have a fork, so she had rolled up the pancake like a burrito. At some point, her black cowboy hat had fallen off her head and hung against her back by the drawstring. It was her latest attempt at bringing Western wear back into vogue. “I shouldn’t have teased you for packing all that kitchen stuff. This turned out way better than I expected.”

“Worth it?” the cook asked with a grin.

“Worth it,” the shorter girl smiled. She finished off her food and stretched, moving her hat so she could lay down by the fire. The pink-streaked clouds floated overhead. It was warm enough that the fire was a little bit uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem right to lay anywhere else.

“So…” the cowgirl ventured, “You ready to talk about what happened with your folks?”

“Ugh, not really,” she answered, prodding at the batter with the spatula, “But, after working so hard to cheer me up, I suppose you’ve earned the right to know... Mom and Dad cornered me about their suspicions, and I told them the truth about us. Well, not about us, exactly, I left you out of it. I told them about me.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t take it too well.”

“I mean, they took it about as well as expected. Shouting, some crying, the whole works. Kept saying it was their fault, but that didn’t stop them from blaming me anyway.” The cook glanced at her friend, and saw her scowling. “It really wasn’t that bad though,” she added, “I mean, it could have been a lot worse, I’m pretty lucky, when you think about it.”

“Are you kidding me?” she sat up, her face incredulous, “Your parents are the lucky ones for having a daughter like you! They don’t deserve you, and you don’t deserve to be treated like a mistake. The unfairness of it all, it just--” she clenched the fabric of her skirt, stumbling over her words, “Once we get back to the city, I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t…” the tall girl said, her voice falling low, “I know it’s not your style, but I want you to try to be nice to them.” The cowgirl rolled her eyes, so she continued with a bit of forced smile, “Not for them but for me, okay?”

The short friend sighed, “Okay, for you. Is that thing done cooking yet?”

In response, the cook jerked the pan, masterfully flipping the pancake over. One side was a perfect golden brown. “Just a little bit longer now.”

The cowgirl sat up, surveying the campsite. The two of them had never been camping before, and the hike had been much harder than either of them had anticipated. It didn’t help that they had over-packed and had to cut their climb a bit short as a result. Nonetheless, the clear warm night and birds chirping in the trees made the escape feel almost as magical as the girls had hoped for. A quiet sanctuary where no people would be around: well, most likely no people, that is. 

“Hey, speaking of miserable family members,” the short girl ventured, “Did I ever tell you about the skeleton in my family’s closet?”

“This better not be one of your weird scary horror stories.”

“It sure is!” she answered. The cowgirl jumped to her feet, clearing her voice in preparation for the tale, “Listen to this: when my grandpa was a little kid, his brother tried to murder him.”

“How very ‘Cain and Abel’,” the cook smirked, “You can’t just start there. Start at the beginning of the story. What lead up to it?”

“That’s just it, no one really knows. Everyone says he just snapped and went crazy when the two of them were home alone. Grandpa was just happily playing video games at the time, so maybe his brother wanted a turn.”

“That… doesn’t seem like a very compelling motive,” the cook said, checking the underside of her pancake, “Are you sure your grandpa’s not exaggerating?”

“It’s the truth!” the cowgirl insisted, “His brother attacked him and cracked his head against the coffee table. They found gramps in a puddle of blood in the living room, and he had to be rushed to the hospital and got six stitches! But I still haven’t gotten to the best part.” The girl paused for dramatic effect.

“Best or worst?” the cook lifted the whole pancake with her spatula and tested a small bite on the edge. It was still too hot to eat.

“The best part is…” the cowgirl swept her arm towards the dimly lit forest around them, “His brother fled to this very mountain. And he was never found again.”

“What?” the girl dropped her pancake on the ground. She quickly snapped it up and set it back in the pan. Dirt and ash was stuck to it.

“Five second rule,” the cowgirl murmured. 

“Did you just say your grandpa--”

“Great uncle.”

“--your great uncle ran away to this mountain and died?”

“Disappeared. Maybe he still roams this mountain, searching for more innocent children to send to their graves…” The short girl’s voice was dramatic, but her eyes were dancing with mischief.

“Are you kidding me, that’s so creepy! And to think coming here was your idea! Was this all a set up to scare me?” The cook crossed her arms, but her friend just laughed.

“No, no! To be honest, I didn’t realize this particular trail was a part of The Mount Ebott until we were on our way.”

“A likely story,” the cook murmured as she nibbled the edge of her pancake.

“It’ll be fine, really. Oh, I know--I have something to protect you from any undead uncles. Check this out!” the cowgirl skipped towards their yellow tent and unzipped her backpack that was laying in front of it. She withdrew a long leather holster, with a revolver already tucked inside it.

The tall girl’s jaw dropped open, “You brought your dad’s gun?!”

“Maybe,” she giggled, strapping the holster around her waist, “It will be my gun in a few years, I’m just borrowing it a little early.”

“Do you even know how to use one of those things?”

“Yeah, yeah, I shoot it every year on my birthday. Family tradition.” the gunslinger drew her weapon, pointing it out towards the woods.

“Don’t--”

“It’s okay, it’s not loaded,” she said, popping open the cylinder, “The ammo’s in my bag.”

The cook shook her head, “And I thought my family was crazy.”

The cowgirl spun the gun around her finger and holstered the weapon with practiced flourish. She spoke with an exaggerated drawl, “Don’t worry, darlin’, this lone ranger will defend you from any murderin’ spectral horrors.”

“Stop it! You’re awful!” the cook laughed, before taking another bite of her food. It wasn’t as dirty as she thought, and she swallowed a few more bites before stuffing the rest in her mouth.

“You hear that?” the lone ranger put a hand to her ear, “It won’t be safe for long, we best be getting to bed before the devil finds us.”

“Oh please, that’s enough, Calamity Jane.”

“I prefer the name--”

She was cut off by the sharp crack of a snapped branch. The gunslinger stilled, turning in the direction of the noise, “What was that?”

The tall girl huffed in response, “I said cut it out--" but the cowgirl shushed her, scanning the dense foliage around them. Her heart caught in her throat as she saw a pair of eyes glinting from their firelight. A huge creature, larger than a man, was standing on two legs and peering into the camp from about two hundred feet away.

"There's--" the gunslinger's voice strained to form the words, "There's a bear."

The cook froze. She reached for her cast iron pan and held it with both hands. "What do we do?" she whispered.

The cowgirl shook her head. There weren't supposed to be bears in this area. According to her research, none had been seen for over a decade, which is why she hadn't bothered to look up how to defend against one. The bear dropped down to all fours, and they could hear it begin to huff and snarl.

"Get ready to run," she hissed. The cook stood, and the shorter girl eyed her backpack that held her ammunition. It was sitting at the foot of the tent, but she would have to go toward the monster to retrieve it. The bag was only fifteen feet away but it might as well have been fifteen miles. 

The two didn’t have a chance to decide when to act. With a roar, the bear lunged forward, crashing through the foliage as it charged. The cook shrieked, fleeing the camp, but the cowgirl did the opposite, sprinting towards her bag. She had almost reached it when the tent surged forward, collapsing on top of her in a wave of nylon and snapped metal supports. The gunslinger fell to her back and she pushed the tangle of tent away from her face, only to see the bear looming over her, separated only by the crushed tent. The girl shielded her face with her arms and braced herself for what was to come.

“Get away from her!” her friend screamed. She had returned, and had taken to bludgeoning the bear’s hindquarters with her pan. The bear twisted around and swiped a clawed paw towards her, but the cook jumped back, turning heel to run again. With a snarl, the bear released the cowgirl and chased its assailant. The gunslinger kicked the tangled tent off her legs and before she realized it she was chasing the bear, screaming obscenities and death threats. The cook was fast, but the bear was faster, and she lost sight of them both as they crested a small hill outside the camp. 

A blood curdling shriek filled the tree tops, followed by silence.

The gunslinger tore up the slope and hesitated when she reached the apex. Her friend was nowhere in sight, but the bear had already changed directions, loping back towards her. Her fingers reached for her gun, but she reminded herself it was still empty, and willed herself to retreat. The rapid thumping of the bear’s steps told her she wouldn’t make it to the camp before it caught up with her.

Overhead, the large branch of a cedar bowed over her. Leaping, the girl grabbed it and hoisted herself onto the branch before scrambling up the next. The bear was under the tree in an instant, stretching to full height to swipe at her. Its claw caught her foot, nearly yanking her out of the tree, but only managed to knock off her boot. The girl continued to climb, and the bear snapped off the lower branches, pushing against the trunk. The tree shuddered and flexed under the weight.

With one arm wrapped tight around a branch, the cowgirl pulled off her remaining boot and tossed it down. It bounced off the bear’s shoulder, who gave it a glance before turning its attention back to the girl. She whispered a prayer before unholstering her weapon, and threw the revolver at the monster. The gun crashed against the bear’s muzzle with an audible whack, and the bear pulled back from the tree, shaking its head. She held her breath as the bear paced around the tree before leaving in the direction of the camp. The dense canopy obstructed her view of it, but the tell tale sounds of the creature ripping through bags and crunching through supplies told her all she needed to know.

The girl settled onto the upper branches of the tree and wrapped her arms around the trunk. Against the odds, she was safe but trapped. Without a loaded gun, leaving the tree wasn’t a risk she could afford to take. To make matters worse, the last rays of twilight were fading away, cloaking the woods in frigid darkness. Her flashlight, phone, and ammunition were all at the camp, hidden under the destroyed tent. There was nothing she could do but wait it out.

***

Two hours elapsed before the bear left the camp. Another 30 minutes went by before the gunslinger felt safe enough to crawl down from the tree. Her fingers and toes were frozen and her legs ached as she collected her gun and put her boots back on. However, she didn’t have the luxury to pity herself. Through the dark, she crept back to where the campfire once was and strained her eyes in the dim moonlight for the remains of the tent. It had been dragged a good distance away, destroyed beyond use. She was relieved to find her backpack still twisted up inside, and rifled through the contents. She flicked on her flashlight and put it in the crook of her neck as she loaded her gun. Only six bullets, just enough to show it off to her friend.

If only she had loaded it earlier, then that monster would have got what it deserved.

The lone ranger returned to the camp and cast her flashlight across the ransacked carnage. Clothes and supplies were strewn throughout the foliage, and all that remained of the food were shredded cans and crushed boxes. Even the cooking utensils had been mutilated with gnaw marks. Rage boiled inside her.

The forest looked very dizzyingly similar at night, and she found herself walking in circles, ending up back at the camp again and again. Finally, she accurately identified the hill she had last seen her friend and was surprised to discover a steep drop of about twenty feet not far from it, jagged granite boulders resting at the base. There she found her first lead. A conspicuous dark splatter against the white rocks: blood.

The small girl shouted her friend’s name, but there was no response. She climbed down the steep surface of the cliff side at a much slower pace than her friend would have been afforded. The blood was no longer fresh, but she could see the direction it led before the ground cover became more soil than stone. She followed the trail.

The ferns and ivy lashed across her torn stockings, but she continued forward, right hand hovering over her weapon. She stopped at the entrance of a cave yawning out of the mountainside. It looked both parts refuge and trap. Didn’t bears live in caves?

She called out her friend’s name again, but was answered only with a faint echo. At least it was better than the growl of bears. She shined her light across the back of the cave and could see the tunnel curved, making it impossible to see how deep it was. As she traced the floor with the light, something sparkled. The gunslinger ventured forward and pinched it between her fingers: a hair pin, with a small crystal embedded at the end. The last time she had seen it was in her friend’s hair. She had been here.

The cowgirl huffed out a shuddering sigh, and she couldn’t tell if it was from relief or a renewed sense of dread. If her friend had been here, where was she now?

The child took a deep breath and stepped deeper into the cave.

kindness and justice: backstory // end

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[c4pricornc4ts]

Look how They Shine for you - Sleepybois One-Shot:

Hello everyone! This was a one-shot written for a sbi writing competition on twitter. Forgive me if this post is odd, I am not good with tumblr. You can find more from me here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4pricornC4ts

Loosely based on Techno being split from Sbi for MCC. 

It had been a month since he left his hometown to work as crew on a pirate ship. He hadn’t been off the boat at all or allowed to really do anything more involved in fear he’d betray the group, but slowly they had begun to trust him. Even let him spar with some of the more trusted members. 

The masked captain had looked him in the eyes and told him he had so much potential. Something Techno never heard back home. He hadn’t really bothered with learning to read and write, instead focusing his time working on a field and sparring at night. He knew if he stayed home his entire future would be harvesting potatoes and raising his younger brother. 

He felt selfish for wanting to run from that future. He just didn’t want a dull life. Before the captain's right hand man, George, had seen him fighting and offered him a job, he thought he’d have to learn to be happy with a plain life. His dad certainly had. Raising three boys in a house with two rooms and a dirt floor and yet he was always so happy. 

Techno never understood how he was so content to live out his life the way he did. 

Lying down in his cabin, exhausted after a long day at sea, he smiles. Grateful he was shown a different way. Something he could excel at. 

The reason he wasn’t asleep yet was because the place they were headed was back home. Meaning he’d have to face the consequences of leaving. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves his dad and brothers, but he never told them where he was headed. Just ran off one night, saying he was going to fight with Deo again. Except this time he didn’t come back at midnight like he always promised Phillza. 

He knows Tommy would forgive him, just be happy he was safe, but Tommy was six. Any six year old would just be happy to have their brother back again. Wilbur would be absolutely pissed. He could already hear him calling the brunette a coward and a liar. Wilbur would have every right to be angry.  

Philza, well, he didn’t quite know how his dad would feel. 

They had all already lost their mom, and now the small family had already grieved for Techno. Showing up again just to disappear, and forever this time, would be cruel. Techno wasn’t going to wake any of his family up tonight. He wasn’t even sure he should go. 

“We’re here!” One of the crew shouts. Techno climbs out of his bunk and goes to help them dock. 

This would be an interesting night. 

----------

It was past midnight by the time the captain gave him the all clear to go off the boat. The masked leader, Dream had already told him he was free of his contract. That if he wanted he could stay and never face the seas again. However he also offered that Techno could be one of his swordsmen. 

Techno didn’t need much time to know he wanted to stay with Dream and his crew. The only difficult decision he had made was whether to go see his family one last time. 

If he was quiet, none of them had to know he ever stopped by. None of them ever had to know the boy never really died. 

He walks down the familiar rocky path that takes you throughout their fishing town. Stopping in front of a familiar wooden door. He takes a few deep breaths, closes his eyes and pushes the door open as slowly as he could. 

He sees Tommy curled up next to Wilbur on their pile of blankets they called a bed. Techno smiled at how even though Tommy was quite tall for his age, he still looked like a toddler compared to Wilbur. 

He tsks at the site of messy parchment papers strewn across the floor. Wilbur had a way with words, always writing music to perform at the pier. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Philza and Techno to be cleaning up after him when he falls asleep writing. 

What was out of the ordinary was the fact that Philza wasn’t with them. For a moment Techno fears he had died too, perhaps while looking for him. 

The fear is short lived when he hears a startled voice from behind. 

“Techno?” 

The swordsman turns around quickly. Philza hurries to set down the firewood in his arms and starts to reach out to him. 

Techno brings a finger to his lips, and nods his head towards where Wilbur and Tommy slept. Philza freezes for a moment, before nodding slowly. He walks outside, Techno follows him quietly. 

“What the hell? How the hell-” Philza grabs his hand, looking at him like he’s a ghost. Techno felt like he was. He wishes he could pretend to be just a figment of his father’s imagination. That felt easier than this. 

“I never went to spar that night.” He begins. 

“I can see that.” Philza goes to grip his face now, checking him over for injuries. 

“This man offered me a job on their ship after seeing me fight. I thought it was a chance to break the cycle, a chance to lighten your burden.” He always felt guilty, he knew it wasn’t easy on the man to try and keep three kids fed. Wilbur was already so good with Tommy. Techno didn’t feel like he did enough for his father.

“You listen to me boy, you are never a burden. If I had felt that way I would’ve ran off years ago.” Techno knows this, he remembers Wilbur’s breakdowns after their mom passed away. Where he’d tell Techno they were gonna be abandoned. 

“I know you never viewed me as one, but I was dead weight, dad. Wilbur takes care of Tommy, he’s gonna marry his childhood friend soon and is loved for his performances. Whether you want to see it or not. There’s nothing for me here.” Philza leans against the stone walls of the house and gapes at him. Techno continues.

“I saw a chance, a place I could finally belong to and I took it. I’m sorry I let you mourn me. Tell Wilbur that too.” He’s getting emotional just as he knew he would. Wiping at the stray tears on his cheeks. 

“What do you mean ‘tell Wilbur’? You’re back now, tell him yourself Techno.” He smiles at the teenager. 

“Dad I-I’m not staying. We’re stopped here for the night, they offered me a main spot on the crew. I’m going.” He tries to sound final but he can’t help the way his voice wavers. He watches his dad crumble. He watches him screw his face tight, and look up at the stars. 

His dad always took comfort in the stars. Insisting that’s where their mother was, watching over them every night. 

Techno knew the stars were nothing more than guidelines for a ship, but he’d let his dad keep his false hope. It was the least he could do. 

“Wilbur will understand this but Tommy? He’s six Techno. He won’t-” He stops abruptly and looks at Techno. They’re both crying. He regrets coming back for a moment, regrets hurting his father all over again. 

“I know I don’t deserve to ask anything of you right now, but please never let Tommy know I abandoned him. It’ll haunt me forever knowing you and Wilbur will know what I’ve done. Please just let him think I died that night.” He shakily reaches behind his neck to unclasp the necklace Tommy gave him. 

“Tell him you found this in the trees, say I dropped it from my spot in the sky.” He’s choking back sobs now, Philza just looks at him with a sad sort of pride. He gently takes the necklace and pulls Techno towards him. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for leaving, I'm sorry for leaving again. I’m so sorry you had to be awake, sorry you have to know the truth.”

“I forgive you, Wilbur will too in time. This is your life son. You shouldn’t have to stay here, no matter how much I wish you would.” The swordsman holds on tighter, trying to remember every detail of this moment. “I’ll respect your wish and keep this from Toms. It’s for the best he never knows.” 

Techno pulls back, his dad keeps a firm grip on his shoulders and smiles sadly. 

“I love you. Tell Wilbur I’ll never fully forgive myself for being such a coward. Tell him I always liked his writing even when I teased him for it.” 

“You’ll be happy out there. I know you will thrive. Wilbur will come to terms, seeing you one last time was more than I could ever ask for.” He laughs to himself before putting on the silver necklace. 

“I’ll hold onto it for a few years, give it to him when he knows not to lose it yeah?” 

Techno smiles and sighs. “I hope you can still find comfort in the stars.” With that he turns and walks back towards the beach. The wind made his coattails go wild. 

He reaches the dock and happily accepts Dream’s hand as he’s lifted up onto the ship. He doesn’t take another glance at the beach, instead he faces the ocean. Watching the moonlight bounce off the waves. 

For the first time in 17 years, Techno feels like he’s finally where he belongs.

[regrettablewritings]

Animatic/Storyboard Music

Got bored/procrastinate-y on coloring in this ultra intricate card for my mom. So I’m just gonna make a list of songs I think make for good animatic material. Because why not/I wanna foist my musical tastes on people/ @locke-writes got me in a music binge. For the most part, it’s just gonna be me explaining the meanings or the vibe or what they generally tend to be used for, but really it’s mostly subjective so imaginate whatchu wanna.

“Trust Me” - The Devil’s Carnival Originally depicting a story about the Scorpion and the Frog, it’s the perfect song for when you want to depict the dynamic between a gullible or at the very least more grounded character and a figure whose intentions . . . may be less than pure. Or good for anyone, really.

“The Dismemberment Song” - The Blue Kid I have a playlist dedicated to songs whose content and sound are just . . . not married to one another, but got a weird flirtationship situation going on. Anyway, I’ve seen people say that they like to imagine it’s sung through the POV of a scorned housewife who’s finally Had Enough™️. And . . . They’re really not wrong for it. Really, though, it’s just the right song for when a sadist is just ready to gut a fucker but is disturbingly jolly about it.

“Love Me Dead” - Ludo Continuing with my trend of songs about people in less than ideal situations, “Love Me Dead” is straight to the point: The relationship is just awful and the guy gets nothing from it, but he can’t help but be hopelessly in a state of adoration for the woman he’s latched on to (“You’re born of a jackal! YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!!”)

“Constellations” - The Oh Hellos There actually isn’t a plot to this song, it just feels really good (as all songs by The Oh Hellos are prone to be). However, if you feel a need to portray the concept of having to reorganize your thoughts after realizing that maybe they weren’t what you initially thought, and then coming to the conclusion that even though everything changes as a result, you’ll be alright? This is the song for you.

“A Kindling of Sorts” - The Oh Hellos An instrumental piece that is like . . . It’s related to another song of theirs about nationalism called “Torches”, so make of that what you will. (I personally have been using it to imagine storyboarding an opening for an animated The Witcher series.)

“The Other Side” - The Greatest Showman I know everyone and their mom has used this to portray situations like villains trying to get good guys to join their side. But I dun curr, it’s a fun song. That, and I like what Emilyamio did with her interpretation. It’s fun. For a basic rundown, know it’s another song about two characters’ dynamics being explored, with one coming to the other with a proposal that they join them in whatever endeavors they have in store. It’s often portrayed as something evil, but it really doesn’t have to be, as the original context was more about letting loose than anything.

“The Thief and the Moon” - Shawn James A much more mellow piece. Simple and straight to the point: A thief tells the Moon that he plans on stealing her light to shade the world in darkness. The Moon insists that the thief would only doom the world by doing so, to which the thief clarifies that he doesn’t care; if the world is shrouded in shadow, it means he will be able to steal with more ease (“My very existence is a race to attain wealth”). Disgusted, the Moon essentially curses the man with a warning that his greed can and will bring about his end -- and leave him to be forgotten by the rest of mankind, once it happens.

“Villainous Thing” - Shayfer James I’ve seen people say that this song is about singing to a cadaver but I can’t quite find anything confirming that (translation: I’m too lazy to look too into it). Regardless, it’s a fun ditty that yet again portrays someone with less than pure intentions encouraging someone to join him in some good old fashion villainy, as they’ve clearly endured their fair share of hardships and surely wanted to do evil anyway (“You’ll find no ever after here, it’s clear that isn’t what you came for“).

“Necromancin Dancin” - Bear Ghost Straight forward and fun as fuck: A necromancer apparently seems to cross classes and try his hand at barding by not only raising an army of the dead, but by also making them dance in order to make conquering the world easier. Because . . . a body doing Disco Duck isn’t scary, I guess.

"Aquaman” - Walk the Moon A song about one half of a couple wanting to become more involved in their relationship, but still having some nervousness about doing so. If you somehow haven’t heard this song yet, you gotta because it’s the cutest shit.

“Jenny’s Tale” - Ren I’ll be brutally honest, it’s about a woman named Jenny who just wants to get home after a long day of work and an unfortunate encounter with a 14 year old named Screech who gets way in over his head. As in, like, a death happens. That being said, I need. Like. An animated music video of this song. I imagine this shit in gritty charcoal or painted on glass, it just needs this. Somebody who isn’t me who knows what they’re doing, please look into this.

“The Curse of the Fold” - Shawn James As cheesy as it sounds, it basically boils down to not giving up or yielding. But what makes it so cool is the fact that Shawn James makes all his songs basically sound like a western gothic soundtrack. Which helps, because he admits that the title is also a reference to poker, in which giving up too often or too easily can often rob you of a delicious reward gained through perseverance and sacrifice.

“Thank God I’m Not You” - Himalayas I prefer to imagine this for an arrogant asshole of a character. Because that’s exactly what this song is about: They’re a liar and a thief, they’ve been called the son of Satan, and yet they consider themselves lucky -- ‘cause at least they ain’t you! If you have a character in mind who’s a delightful, punchable little shit, this is probably either their anthem or at least on the playlist you inevitably made for them.

"Passerine" - The Oh Hellos So there’s a common trend in The Oh Hellos’ discography that tends to explore the two founders’ experiences with faith and their growth in how they understand it or recognize it. With “Passerine”, the concept being explored is the experience they had when it came to taking a step back and realizing just how many of their supposed “fellow Christians” were actually doing some rather unchristian things, so to speak. When they “prune[d] their feathers”, it became clear that they had less in common with certain people proclaiming to be Christian while also spouting bigotry and greed. However, the desire to move away from such influences comes with the feeling of being torn, as moving too far away from the Bible leaves the singer feeling as though she is betraying something she holds dear. As a result, “Passerine” symbolizes not a breakage from faith, but a breakage from blind faith as they understood it, and the inevitable feeling of being torn that comes along with expanding upon how one views their beliefs and those around them. It’s therefore not uncommon to see Good Omens animatics using this song. (Something I also noticed is that throughout the song, you hear pieces of “Constellations”. TOH have a tendency to reference previous pieces, and considering “Constellations” is a song about changing perspective and the meanings we apply to them, it fits in beautifully with a song about reevaluating one’s stance.)

“Like the Dawn” - The Oh Hellos As stated before, a lot of TOH’s discography draws inspiration from their faith. In this case, it’s an outright retelling of the Garden of Eden, specifically when Adam awoke to find Eve had been created. What makes this iteration stand out to most, however, is that the singer is female, which seems to change the vibe you get. It sweetens the feeling of wonder we often forget the first man might’ve felt upon seeing somebody made for him, creating an air of beauty yet comfort with such lines as “And like the dawn, you broke the dark and my whole earth shook” or “You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen.” Even without the awareness or an interest in religious influences, it still manages to be a very feel-good song -- which is the mark of an overall good song in general!

“Confession” - RED Dealing with the constant battle of feeling ashamed that how you feel on the inside isn’t in sync with how you present yourself on the outside. That you should feel bad for smiling out at the world while screaming and thrashing -- like it’s a lie. But you can’t help it: It’s what you’re accustomed to. Though it does end on a hopeful note with the singer deciding that they want to reach out for help and rid themselves of this feeling of pain they have inside.

“When I Grow Up” - Matilda . . . Only if you want to cry. Seriously. When you’re a kid, everything seems difficult but you’re positive that once you grow up, everything will change: You’ll be tall enough to climb the trees you were too small to, you’ll be able to carry everything because you’re stronger, you’ll be brave enough to fight the monsters hiding in your room, you’ll finally have all the answers. . . . But life isn’t that simple. We wish it were, but it isn’t. There’s this bittersweetness about this song, about a sense of purity we unfortunately grow out of where we think things will be just the same enough for us to do what we want when we want, but things are more complicated than that. We still struggle to reach, to bear the weight, to not be afraid, to have even a fraction of the answers. But! We’re reminded that just because we’re told life isn’t fair, doesn’t mean we have to take it. After all, nothing changes when nothing happens. And even beyond that? It helps to remember that we’re never quite done growing up; there’s always more to learn, so remember to be patient with yourself.

“Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!” - Will Wood and the Tapeworms This is . . . a song. The lyrics are honestly kinda all over the place and shooting rapid fire, making it a bit difficult to discern what exactly the singer is going on about. It makes for a pretty crazy song that suggests somebody’s going unhinged, which is apparently precisely the intention?? I’ve seen a lot of people interpret this as a song about a guy who is already at a low point in his life but nonetheless is going, “. . . I bet I can go deeper. Hand me my shovel.”

“No Reason” - Beetlejuice God if i had a youtube channel the segment i would spend on this song would be so juicy just ripe and thicc with thoughts and feelings i tell ya rich like a fresh fatty peach the apple that tempted Eve and gagged Adam yes ‘Nother song that explores the dynamic between two differing people and their worldviews. At its simplest, “No Reason” is about two opposite ends of a spectrum coming to a head: Idealistic and hippie-dippy Delia is convinced that everything happens for a reason, while cynical and depressed Lydia asserts that everything happens at random and it doesn’t matter anyway because we’re all going to die. And even though the delivery is ultimately a comedic one, you get more insight as to why one another feels the way that they do: Lydia, as we’ve previously learned, has recently lost her mother to an illness, which has left her depressed and feeling invisible (a theme in the show); whereas Delia’s failed marriage and desperate attempts to nonetheless be happy have left her dependent on the idea that these things had to have happened for a reason, otherwise, her pain would’ve been for nothing. What’s important is that neither side is actually appointed as the winner, with the song ultimately ending that the universe is random for a reason.

“Barbara 2.0″ - Beetlejuice Without spoiling anything (or at least too much), “Barbara 2.0″ is about growth. It’s about learning to put your foot down after a literal lifetime of being passive out of fear of what might happen and just accepting that nothing will happen if nothing happens -- but that doesn’t make whatever happens good.

“Bleed Magic” - IDHKBTFM It’s either about a killer or a vampire. No, seriously: When Dallon Weekes was asked about what the story of the song was, that was his answer. I personally prefer to think of it as a vampire or demon of some kind, given that the song came out around Halloween. Perfect for yet another example of somebody (likely supernatural) having an upper hand on an unsuspecting mortal. ...I have way too many of these on this list, I swear I don’t have a problem —

“Feel Good Drag” - Anberlin A toxic relationship of sorts. In that it shouldn’t be a relationship to begin with. Depicts the singer being approached by an ex, who seeks a one-night stand while her current boyfriend is out of town. However, the singer is aware that trying to continue anything regardless of the situation is a moot point: Even when they were together, their relationship was doomed from the start, and nothing about that is going to change -- especially now.

“Soviet Trumpeter” - Katzenjammer (It’s kinda difficult to work with this one but I’ve seen people work with less or stranger.) Based off the life of one Eddie Rosner, a Jewish Polish trumpeter whose fame within the USSR unfortunately faded due to the Soviet Union’s heavy censorship. Even if nothing is to be done with it, it still paints a melancholic picture of a talented man’s skills being largely unknown as a result of things beyond his control. All wrapped up in a song that denotes a strange deterioration in a way I can’t quite place.

“Apple Blossom” - The White Stripes On its face, it’s a very sweet song: The singer encourages his beloved to be vulnerable enough with him to tell him her troubles and to let him “sort them out for [her]”. She’s clearly saddened, and seeing so distresses him to where he insists that he will do whatever he can to make her happy. However, the tone of the song and certain lines make it easy to twist into yet another song of a character attempting to seduce somebody into a state of vulnerability . . .

“You’ve Got Possibilities” - It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman The one singular song people actually liked from this forgotten musical. Perfect for when somebody intends on giving somebody else a makeover. Y’know, after totally roasting them on their posture and clothing. If you want to add a lil something extra, know that the context is that a lady wants to give Clark Kent a makeover, insisting that in spite of his schlubby appearance, there’s gotta be something underneath. I repeat: She is telling this to Clark freaking Kent.

 “Still” - Anastasia In the context, the show’s antagonist (not bad guy, there’s a difference) finds himself torn between obligation and personal interest: Does he fulfill his duty and live up to expectations set upon him by his father and the society he’s been selected to help uphold? Or does he let a woman he has become fond of go? Is she truly as innocent as she claims? Or is she well aware of what she’s doing? And every time he thinks he’s reached a conclusion, he can’t help but thing, “But still . . .” Good for when you want to portray a character conflicted between obligations of politics and what their heart wants.

“Two Nobodies in New York” - [title of show] Two young men plan on entering an upcoming theatrical festival but struggle with what to even submit. This song in particular focuses on them trying to figure out what to even write, the concept of fame, and if wanting the certain things that may come with fame can mean anything from being sell-outs to getting a sitcom. It’s admittedly specific, but it’s a cute and funny interaction between two guys who are, for the most part, actually in sync with their thoughts and anxieties. For the time being.

“Into the Unknown” - Idina Menzel Look, I refuse to watch that movie. I just do. But I will take this song over That Other One any day. Mostly because I personally like to imagine that the singer in this song is about to embark on a Pixaresque journey after accidentally leaving her home during the night of The Wild Hunt, accidentally separating her spirit from her body and thus giving her a very limited time to get back to it before she remains a soul trapped in a whirlwind of ghosts forever. But first: Let’s sing about that strange howling that coaxes her so.

“You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” - The Offspring I sure do long songs that can characterize a shithead . . . Anywho! The smoothest way to go is just to portray some cocky, manipulative shit who’s used to just lying and cheating their way to get what they want before slipping away without any consequences -- to a point. There’s the option of portraying the betrayer’s comeuppance, but there’s also the frustratingly delicious option of just letting them get away with whatever to lie another day.

“Why Should I Worry” - Billy Joel When in doubt, go to earlier Disney. Because like it or not, they had some bops. And when in the need of portraying a happy-go-lucky (probably idiotic) doofus and his more neurotic or cynical friend going about their life with the former just Mr. Magooing it while the latter suffers more realistic consequences? You go with this song. If you want. That’s just me.

“Transformation” - Brother Bear For when you want to invoke a mystical or otherworldly feeling. There’s really not much more I can say except to encourage you to listen to it and watch the scene if you can find it. You’ll get the vibe.

“No Girl’s Toy” - Raggedy Ann and Andy: A Musical Adventure It’s a big shame this movie is relatively unknown and never got a proper VHS release or anything -- mainly because the music in this cult classic is definitely stuff I could see becoming standards. I could see people performing “I Never Get Enough” for little shows, or recycling “Blue” for a different show. Thankfully, somebody was able to upload a clear enough sounding recording of “No Girl’s Toy”, so at least we have that. In context (just...follow me on this), Raggedy Ann’s brother, Raggedy Andy, has had enough of being subjected to “girly things” while in the nursery. Additionally, though, the way the song was written means it can also be interpreted as just a guy who refuses to let himself be yanked around regardless of how thick the sugar being laid on him is. . . . If you wanna poke fun as a character for trying to appear tougher than what he is, here’s the song. (That being said, Andy is a sweetheart at the end of the day. No amount of tough-fronting will hide that.)

“I Enjoy Being a Girl” - Flower Drum Song (It is by sheer coincidence that this song follows the above.) Really, it’s exactly what it says on the tin: The singer enjoys being a girl and what all it entails for her. She loves her feminine form, she loves the attention she gets, she loves dolling herself up, she loves frilly dresses, and she hopes to one day marry a guy who enjoys “having a girl like [her].” And honestly? Good on her! Love whatcha love, lovely! Seriously, though, it’s a cute song for anyone who just wants to indulge in some girliness.

“Chip on My Shoulder” - Legally Blonde Come on: It’s Legally Blonde. You know what this bop is, or at least have an idea of it. But since I love this song, I’ll indulge: Disheartened by her failure to both win back her ex and succeed in the fast-paced environment of Harvard, the normally bright-eyed Elle is ready to call it quits. That is, until junior partner Emmett gets involved. Unimpressed by her story, Emmett reveals that he got to where he was by busting his ass due to having a chip on his shoulder from his rough beginnings — and maybe a chip on the shoulder is exactly what Elle needs to survive. And as somebody driven by spite, I can appreciate that kind of message. Anywho, it all in all is a song about growth and learning how to be “driven as hell” to keep up with an opportunity that may not be easy to take, but is not one to be passed by.

“What Do I Need with Love?” - Thoroughly Modern Millie “What Do I Need with Love?” asks exactly that: He could date a different girl every night of the week if he so wanted, and never once had any desire to go steady before. He considers himself lucky to have never fallen for anyone -- until now. Which he’s not! He’s not in love. ...He totally is and, by his own admission, he’s got it bad it’s terribly adorable.

“Interlude IV” - Zach Callison The entire album is actually a narrative about a failed relationship of Callison’s and I’m sure the other songs are just as great fuel for animatics -- I’m just too caught up on listening to this one over and over. Sometimes, we just wanna listen to Steven Universe cuss and be openly furious. Seriously, though, even without the context of the rest of the story, you get the idea well enough: A spiteful Zach decides to get back at the one that broke his heart in such a painful way, whereas a well-meaning friend insists they just leave it be and move on. While this technically would be the better and healthier option, Zach is just too far gone with rage to let it go and decides to take care of things by himself.

“Evermore” - Beauty & the Beast Look, I know the remake wasn’t anything crazy. But also I don’t honestly care too terribly much. Besides, this song was nice and it really gets me after that key change. We all want a royal doofus to be enamored enough with us to let us go for our own happiness but still know that their life will forever be changed because they met us. Animate that shit. Over and over.

goddamn this list is long lemme just stop this now byyyyeeeee

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3) ~ 7/8 - The Ice Queen

~*~*~

Rosella wanted to be the first down the tunnel, and she was annoyed that Number One insisted on taking the lead. “I rescued you,” she said. “I’ve got this.”

“Even still, Princess. Should something attack, then you shall be able to step in and rescue me, instead of the other way ‘round,” No1 said. “You’ve already proven you’re quite good at that.”

“Well. I suppose that’s right,” she said, glumly. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought it sounded a bit like No1 was hiding a grin behind his helmet.

The lower they descended, the louder the clanging sounds got, and the less well-defined the walls became. At some point they’d passed beyond dungeon carved blocks into what felt like either natural caves or something that had been scraped out by hand tools. The guards spread out a bit behind Rosella, watching their backs carefully, hands on swords, ready to defend at a moment’s notice. They weren’t going to be caught flatfooted again, not now that they knew what they were facing.

No1 threw out a hand, a gesture to stop, and Rosella almost walked into him. She frowned, about to complain, when she realized they’d reached the end of the corridor, into a cave that swooped out around them. The Daventry team huddled against the wall, peering around the corner.

It appeared to be a tidy little mining operation. There were a large number of rock goblins with shovels and picks carving out huge chunks of snow and ice, widening the tunnel into twice, thrice its size. They were yanking stalactites from walls, shoveling huge and heavy snowman-ready globs of snow into hampers and wheelbarrows. Another team was pushing the snow laden carts up a huge ramp, feet slipping and sliding as they strained beneath the load, vanishing around a corner but probably going some distance up into the castle, while others with empty carts were sliding back into line, waiting for a fresh fill.

Graham always kept her away from the goblins. Rosella stood on her toes, as far out into the tunnel as she dared. The chance to finally see some of this species up close probably wouldn’t come again. No1 cautiously held his arm in front of her, keeping her back, and she leaned against it, inspecting the activity before them. She was eager, longing to get closer. She remembered the stories, the famous tale of the prison with its glittering fungi and be-costumed captors.

But these goblins just looked tired, not at all pouncy and fun like Graham described. They dragged their shovels along the ground between snow piles, picks rattling off walls in shaky hands. A small number of ice guards stalked among them, criticizing work, directing steps, keeping the work moving at a flurry. One of the goblins had simply stopped and was pouting in the middle of the floor, leaning against its shovel and not working. Rosella watched an ice guard march up behind it and backhand the little creature, yelling at it in that odd backwards language, and the goblin scrambled away, its tattered leather slippers failing to find any purchase on the slick floor.

“What are they doing?” No3 whispered.

“Nothing good, I’d bet,” No2 said.

No1 was glaring. “I have a suspicion,” he said. “A blizzard, from a central point. And here’s the central point’s starting point.”

“That’s what I said, nothing good,” No2 repeated.

No1 shot him a stern glance.

Rosella watched. The hampers’ wheels skittered over slick patches on the floor, and the goblins kept losing their footing, falling against the hampers and sending them spinning across the floor. They scrambled after the carts, crying out in their gravely language, while the ice guards made no movement to help. Icicles stacked like firewood logs clattered and rang against each other, accompanied by the click of guards’ feet on the floor and the scrape of shovels.

The ice curse was turning Daventry into fuel to take, to crush and chip apart, to feed to the castle. To keep the ice curse going. To keep the weather cold. To make more ice. To feed the castle. These working goblins, a likely recent addition, increased the intensity of the resulting weather, increased the power of the castle. Suffocating countries under snow as the castle traveled. Including Daventry.

“We should put a stop to it,” she declared.

“Pardon?” No1 drew back a little to look at her.

“We should stop them.”

“M’Lady,” No1 said, “I do not believe this is an operation we”—he glanced over his shoulder to confirm he still had everyone—“seven can safely control.” At least he counted her in the ranks, Rosella thought. That was more than he’d done in the past.

“We’ve already spent half the day in a cell,” Kyle added cheerfully.

“You’re defenders of the crown,” Rosella said. “And I’m the crown. And I might just need defending.” She started to step forward. A few steps more and she’d be in the mine.

No1 and No2 had known her all her life and could anticipate every silly too-tall-tree-climbing/too-high-cliff-jumping/too-deep-river-swimming/too-big-opponent-fighting move she could make. They both reached out and grabbed her arms and pulled her back instantly, fluidly, without hesitation. “Princess Rosella, please. Direct action is not the right idea here.”

She couldn’t beat either of them in the Battle of Wits board game, either.

“Oh, all right, fine, not that way,” she grumbled. “Fine. But I still say this needs stopping. You know Daventry can’t survive much more snow.”

“I agree. But I count six ice guards and at least thirty goblins. We would be able to take care of the guards if they were alone, but certainly not the others.”

The others. The goblins. Rosella sagged. This wasn’t what she’d hoped to see after her dad’s stories. He’d described them as being so vibrant. Violent and lazy, but clever in their own ways, and eternally creative. These goblins were slow, exhausted. Instead of fairy tale costumes they wore scarves and mittens, and even still she could tell they were shivering. In normal times, they probably burrowed deep in winter to stay cozy warm.

She watched the one that had been slapped picking through ice chips on the floor, throwing them up onto a cart. It kept its head low, slyly eying the ice guards, before ducking out of sight behind the cart and slumping down, curled up with its arms wrapped around its knees. It miserably huffed a little cloud of air, sulking. It was close enough to the Daventry team that Rosella suspected she could have easily called out to it without being heard by anyone else.

“I do have an idea,” she said, very slowly, trying not to scare the shreds of her thought away like the concept was wispy and delicate and easily shredded.

“Not running in swords blazing.”

“No, not that.” And she told them what she’d thought of.

“That’s just as risky, Rosella. If not more so,” No1 said sternly.

“No, I don’t think so,” Rosella said, watching the little goblin behind the cart. It had decided it was safe enough and alone enough to pop off its helmet, revealing huge drooping ears pierced with iron bangles and a scrambly tangle of black hair, and it was rubbing its eyes and wiping its drippy button nose on its arm. “I think he would like to hear a good story right about now. We simply need to convince him to come over here to hear it.”

~*~*~*~

The throne room in Daventry’s castle was warm and comfortable. Rich tapestries hung along the walls, and the carpet leading up to the throne itself was the plushest the castle had to offer. Huge twisting metal candelabrums illuminated the corners and gave the whole place a soft glow.

The throne room of the ice palace was the opposite: freezing and unwelcoming, with light that danced through the reflective walls until it was a bitter sort of bluish white, almost clinical. It had tapestries, yes, but frozen ones, arching down from the high, high ceiling. Torches cast cold flames. The throne was the most ostentatious thing Graham had ever seen, huge shafts of ice sticking out from it like piercing thorns.

Currently, the throne was unoccupied. The ice guards pushed Graham and Alexander forward anyway, depositing them in front of the empty chair. Graham supposed they were meant to wait for the owner of this castle to swoop in and make a tremendous entrance.

The throne wasn’t completely empty, Graham realized after a moment. A black cat preened there, lounging on a cushion. Cats often looked smug, but this one had a certain glowering triumphant nastiness to it. That was probably just its face, though. Graham liked cats, as a general rule. Their no-nonsense purrrrsonality was sort of endearing. A cat may look at a king, as the old saying went, and no one could tell it otherwise. He was fond of that sassy, adventurous spirit.

Alexander, though, was petrified. He was staring at the cat with open faced fear, and Graham wondered if the young man was dreadfully allergic. Maybe someone on Valanice’s side of the family? No one on Graham’s side had allergies. He tried to speak words of encouragement, but instead of comfort, another voice said, “Ahh, the brat returns, dressed in fancy airs and still short of decent manners. Moron.”

And that was Manannan’s voice.

Graham stepped back, startled, into the ice guard standing behind him, staring at...at the cat.

“And his idiot high and mighty father, too!” said the cat. Said the cat. “Now, this is too lucky. I wasn’t expecting you, Graham. The whole family, here! And I didn’t even have to do anything but show up and open the doors!”

Graham’s heart sank. Manannan knew Valanice and Rosella were here. He’d feared as much. He glanced around, nervous he’d see them tied and silent somewhere, but the room was empty other than the ice guards lining the walls, watching them.

“Manny?” he said, warily, staring hard at the cat, certain it was a trick.

“In the fur,” the cat confirmed, and he flicked his tail. “Of all the curses, I suppose this one makes being in an ice castle the most tolerable. You, Graham, look half frozen. That stupid cloak not warm enough for you?”

He ignored the cat, looking at his son instead. “Alexander, when you said ‘couldn’t do much more than scratch.’ Back when you first came home. Did you...do this?”

Alexander nodded mutely, staring at the cat, clearly wishing he was somewhere else.

“How?”

“I’ll tell you how,” Manny interrupted. “Your brat doesn’t understand boundaries. I tried to beat some sense into him, but that awful Cracker curiosity, ugh. Couldn’t hit that out of him with a thousand switches. Not that Mordack and I didn’t try. Well. Mordack didn’t try, after I ordered him. I found more...compelling methods to try and shake that abundant curiosity, right, Gwydion?”

“Don’t call him that,” Graham snapped, the anger blazing up again.

“He’s been Gwydion so much longer than he has Alexander,” the cat purred. “It’s his name. The greatest gift I gave him, birthday to birthday. You weren’t even there to celebrate a single one, Graham. My dear little Gwydion. It suits you much better, you know. Alexander is so stuffy and spoiled sounding. Not at all reflective of the hard work you used to do so well.”

“He will never be Gwydion again,” Graham said.

“Graham. You weren’t there. You didn’t raise him. Your opinions just don’t matter. In fact, I’d rather like it if you stopped talking.” Manny nodded sharply to the ice guards, and one of them clamped a hard hand over Graham’s mouth, yanking him back and pinning him, pulling him up on his toes to keep him off balance and helpless.

The king grabbed at the ice hand with his good arm, struggling, pulling, feeling the cold in his cheeks, in his teeth, but the guard was as sturdy as a glacier. He clung to the guard’s wrist, but he could do nothing. It was like being held by a marble statue.

“Isn’t that so much nicer?” Manny said, after a minute of watching Graham struggle uselessly with frightful glee. “This conversation should be between you and me, Gwydion. You’re the reason I’m here, you know. You’re the reason I bothered to come back to this drainwater ditch of a country. Daventry, ha. Piddling and useless in the scheme of the world. I’d moved on to greater countries. Llewdor has so much more to offer.

“I couldn’t imagine anything better to do to Graham than watch him destroy his own country through misplaced grief while I was privileged to raise you. Once I knew you were properly ready for it,” (beaten into utter submission, Graham thought miserably), “I was going to teach you magic. I was going to use your anger and loss and funnel it. You didn’t need to steal my magic. I was going to give it to you freely, and then I was going to set you on Daventry. It was going to be yours to rule, Gwydion. I was going to give you all the rights and power, and you would have been so much happier with my guidance. We all would have been happier. Me, with Llewdor, and you, with Daventry. We would have made it something great.”

Manny flicked his tail irately, “But you got bored, didn’t you, Gwydion. Perhaps my lessons weren’t good enough. You wanted to learn magic on your own. This curse is bad enough—what else did you steal from me? Gywdion, you’ll never be a good ruler if you steal things.”

Graham made a muffled protest behind the ice guard’s hand, which Manny ignored.

“There is still a chance, Gwydion,” Manny said. “If you return me to a human form, we could go back to Llewdor. You’ve begun your magic training already, even if it was by your own power, but you show incredible aptitude for it. My training, austerity and precision, has sharpened your mind and made it receptive. I have molded you perfectly for this.”

Again, Graham complained, and again, Manny ignored him.

“This cat curse,” he continued, “is very impressive magic. I haven’t been able to figure out its counter, despite all my searching. But I’m sure you have an answer. I had to seek you out. You took the spell book with you—did you bring it here to Daventry? I must have it. I must have you reset this. Mordack doesn’t have any magic. I suppose that’s my fault for not teaching him anything, and I can’t teach him anything in this shape, but you, you clever observant twerp must have learned from watching me. Gwydion, you must fix this.”

Alexander said nothing.

“I have been forced to call upon the services of the lady of this castle for assistance,” Manny continued. “But I’m afraid she can’t restore. She only seems to have ice-based skills, which doesn’t help me. I don’t want her to freeze Daventry solid, Gwydion, at least not at this exact moment. I want you to have a reward at the end of all of this. But if you do nothing, then I can do nothing, and the castle will remain here, and the snow will get deeper, and I’m afraid that your citizens, your Feys and your...oh, I suppose the Hobblepots are probably dead by now, aren’t they? Not even those bats could live forever, and good riddance. Well. The rest of the citizens would soon join them. It would be a pretty poor country, then, boy.”

Graham said, “Mmnhff!”

Alexander said nothing.

“I can have her move the castle away,” Manny continued. “She can go away, and we can be at peace together in Llewdor again. You needn’t be a slave, now—not that you were in the first place,” he added, thoughtfully. “You were a servant, learning patience and perfectionism. And now you’ve learned enough to move to apprenticeship.

“But if you don’t help me, Gwydion, I think she will have to leave the castle here. I’m sure by now the kingdom is struggling under the snow—but when the spring comes and it never melts, what then? What will the little lanes of the town look like? The farms? All that...ah...” he hesitated, apparently looking for something a peasant might like, “farmland?”

Gwydion said nothing.

Manny waited, tail thumping the cushion impatiently. In other shapes, he probably had a decent face for gambling, but that tail was giving away all his thoughts.

“Perhaps you need to think about it,” he said, after a very, very long pause. “But I don’t think there’s enough time for that, Gwydion. I’m sorry you’re so slow, so thick, can’t make easy choices—I can’t improve the speed of your mind, as much as I would love to. Perhaps that’s something we can work on together in Llewdor.” Somehow, Graham could hear the promise of rope and nails and various vile potions in that sentence. “But maybe we can do something else? Perhaps your father could convince you? He should try, of his own power, before I add my own pressure. Although, Graham, you should know...I do really want to add my own pressure. Specifically, to you. As a method of persuading your son, of course, no other reason.”

He nodded to the guard, and the weight on Graham’s mouth eased. The guard let go, stepped back, and Graham sagged, rubbing his mouth with his good hand. The chill from the ice creature had settled deep into his bones, and he felt his knees threatening to give out. He would have fallen, but the guard caught him again, supported him. Graham clutched at his bad arm, the dizziness only growing stronger with the persistent cold.

The cat’s face twisted into as like a frown as its features could get. “You weren’t held that long,” Manny said, suspiciously. “You’re very pale, Graham. Is something wrong?”

“No,” Graham said.

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Nothing,” Graham snapped, shifting his weight so that his cloak fell forward, hiding his entire right side.

“Then you wouldn’t be holding it like that. What’s wrong? Something painful, I hope. I want to see,” he ordered. The ice guard shifted its grip from support to captivity again, yanked Graham's arm forward—Graham yelped involuntarily, and they all heard ice crackle as his shoulder straightened, that same strange ice-in-lemonade sound his fingers had made earlier with Valanice—and the guard ripped Graham’s gloves off, revealing one ordinary hand and one clear, blue, sculpture-like hand. The digits were as inflexible as icicles, and the wrist and elbow were completely locked in place. It caught the light, reflecting chilly shadows across Graham’s chest. The ice guard released Graham’s arm after showing it to Manny, and Graham, breathing raggedly, the pain only adding to his dizziness, cradled the cursed arm close, leaning into the guard and hating his helplessness.

“Oh,” Manny said, and startled cackling. “Ohhh, look at you. And is that it there, too, spreading up your neck?”

Graham’s good hand immediately reached to check, and the look that crossed his face as his fingers brushed the hard blue surface just barely visible above the collar of his cowl made Manny curl up on the throne with peals of shrieking laughter. His tail thumped a terrible beat.

“That’s excellent!” Manny leapt down and padded near Graham—not near enough that he risked getting kicked. He inspected the ice. “That looks like the same curse the dear lady of the castle suffers, but it’s spreading so much faster. You’ll be surprised to know this wasn’t my idea, although I rather wish it had been. Look how stiff your fingers are! You, if you’ll pardon the petty little joke made at your dreadful sense of humor’s expense, are becoming a pop-sicle. I do wonder if it’s survivable if it’s spreading so quickly.”

“I came here to find a way to lift it,” Graham muttered through gritted teeth, trying to coax his stiffening shoulder back so that he might hold it more comfortably.

“Aaaah. What a pointless waste of time. There isn’t.”

Graham said nothing.

“Every pitiful second you have left must be purrfectly agonizing,” Manny said. “How delightful. I do wonder how fast it spreads. Perhaps we should pause” (paws, Graham thought, automatically) “this conversation and reconvene in a few hours to see the changes. For scientific reasons, of course. Gwydion, consider this lesson one: we shall evaluate the speed of this curse, dissect it, and then increase its power.” He barked an order, sharp and odd in his cat’s throat, and the ice guards again clamped their hands tight on Graham and Gwydion’s arms.

Before the ice guards could start hauling them out, though, a door near the throne opened and the queen of the castle swept in, her icy skirt skating over the floor. Her dress’s train twinkled behind her, little ice specks arrayed like diamonds. She looked over Graham and Gwydion with a practiced royal haughtiness, and said, “Cat, you did not tell me we had other guests. There are so many visitors to my castle today, and I fear I am being an impolite host with my attention so divided.” She flicked a hand lazily at the ice guards, and they instantly released their captives, though they did not step away.

Graham realized he was staring. Her voice had an odd resonance to it, like it was laced with an echo from the deepest, coldest cavern, but he knew that voice nevertheless. Her face was sharply lined, frozen with clear blue ice in the same way that his arm was transforming, but flexible, with features that he knew without a doubt. Her high cheeks and button nose and large eyes were features that couldn’t be hidden even under a veneer of magic.

“Valanice,” he breathed, blinking at her.

“Pardon, sir, but do you address me?” the queen asked, her voice cold as a blizzard.

“Valanice,” he repeated, louder.

He remembered. A castle, walking through the clouds. Warm blankets and pillows banked up in piles near the cooking fire to stave off the chill. Two princesses sharing the same regal name and the same trapped fate, doomed to wander until true love broke an antiquated curse. Cuddled together around a book, around a puzzle, laughing together while he tried to make pancakes.

One princess in particular lounging in a sunny patch with her chin propped on her hands as she told stories, one princess in particular slapping down the winning card in a game with exaggerated triumph, one princess in particular dancing in the starlight and the reflective glow of the spell holding them all captive. A dear friend who had slowly drifted away once they had all escaped, had cut herself off, had stopped answering their letters.

A dear friend who, Graham suddenly realized, had been still trapped by one curse even as they escaped another.

“Valanice!” Graham stepped forward. The guard behind him raised its hand ever so slightly, to catch him and drag him back again should he act aggressively.

“I’m afraid, sir, you may have me confused with another, somehow,” the ice queen said. She tossed her snow white hair over her shoulder, her blue crown glittering on her brow. “That is the name of my other guest. It is a delightful name, though. I do feel rather fond of it. I wanted to speak with her, but Cat said we both ought to rest before enjoying an official audience.”

“V-Valanice,” Graham said, uncertainly, pressing down panic starting to bubble in his chest. His queen, his wife, his Valanice, locked away in some freezing room awaiting ‘hospitality.’ With Manny as host, that probably meant something very nasty. “What have you done to her?”

“Let her sleep, of course. Cat said she must be worn out after coming all the way to my home. She was so exhausted, she could not keep her feet when we met. She couldn’t even finish the lovely tea Cat ordered for her, so I told her we would speak later and left her to her rooms.”

Graham had a pretty good idea what sort of tea Valanice had been given. Probably forced to drink at knifepoint. Chamomile almost certainly was not involved. He could only hope that the wizard, in this be-clawed shape, couldn’t craft any more of that rare but potent hypnosis powder. “Manny, if she’s hurt, you are going to pay.”

“A good night’s sleep helps us all,” the cat said. “I should like you to sleep, too.” Never had an innocuous sentence been spoken with such venom and threat.

“’Tis true,” the ice queen said, and she gracefully settled into her throne. “My name, sir, is Queen Icebella, and I welcome you to my home. May you find it a warming balm on your soul after your travels, for I fear that my home is very far from civilized parts. You may introduce yourself and your ward.”

“You know me,” Graham said. “You know me very well already.”

She frowned, her imperious expression frostier than ever. “I find that impossible, sir. We have not met.”

“I am King Graham, ruler of Daventry, and you are Princess Valanice of Kolyma, and we have traveled together in the past, together with my wife Valanice, whom you have drugged and locked up somewhere. Valanice, please! You must remember me! Remember her!”

“I do not take kindly to presumptions and liars,” Icebella said sharply. “You must be king of a very poor country indeed, unless you are lying about that as well and have stolen airs for yourself.”

Stolen airs. Stolen heirs. Stolen lives.

“Valanice,” he began again.

“My name, Graham,” she snapped, biting out his name with no trace of remembrance, not a hint of warmth, “is Queen Icebella, and I do not tolerate impertinence.” She looked like she wanted to strike him down, beginning to rise out of her throne with all the unstoppability of a glacier.

“My sweet lady,” Manny cooed, breaking her focus so easily, drawing it back to himself. He padded back to the dais and leapt onto the throne arm, tail swishing gently against her wrist. “Do not waste your temper on rabble. He certainly is not worth your effort. You are intended for better, dear Icebella.”

“Dear Cat, you are always so wise,” Icebella said, and she gently stroked the silky black fur, her frozen fingers catching the light. “This audience goes poorly.”

“My Queen, I was going to have these two ruffians removed until their tempers are more refined. I thought a brief stay in one of the guest rooms would relax them; I suspect they are as tired as your other guest. And then, perhaps, we can all meet together with manners befitting royalty. Although, perhaps, these two are entirely unmannered. It may be best, My Queen, if you did not have to look at them again. They can be removed permanently if you command it. I shall have the guards remove them from your sight, esteemed lady. Guards!”

“No, Cat, wait,” she said, raising a hand. “Permanently? I find that displeasing. We have so few guests. I do wish to speak with them and learn of what they have seen outside.”

“My Queen, if you desire that, we may. However, they are very unrefined. Another guest would be better. These two should be escorted away and replaced with someone more appropriate for your level of royalty. Guards!”

“No, Cat, I rather do want to hear more from them. The one in red is annoying, but interesting. If he believes himself a king, he may have some information for me about his country that I should like to know. Do not have them permanently removed.”

Manny’s face twisted and his tail thumped hard as some unconscious sign of his displeasure at being overruled, at having his sly manipulations ignored, although Icebella didn’t notice as she was too busy studying Graham. He said, voice tight with politeness, “As My Queen commands. They shall return for a brief audience with you later, after they have rested. Guards.” The order was flat and bored and disappointed sounding.

“Graham,” Icebella mused, blissfully ignorant of Manny’s irritation. “It is a nice enough sounding name. Pleasing. I should enjoy your company as a guest in my home, but next time we speak, do not anger nor insult me, or I shall indeed lose my temper, and that is unbefitting. In a few hours, Cat, I should like to set the appointment, and I look forward to it. Do see to it, my friend. You are so good at commanding my guards to work quickly and precisely.” She spoke with pure open honesty, not a trace of irony or sarcasm. And with that, she left the room, skirts ringing as decorative ice droplets dripping from the fabric clattered against each other.

[imherongraystairstrash]

Sophideon & Baby Thomas pt. 3!!

I’ve finally finished! I hope it’s a good conclusion! The part in bold is from the second part, since I thought it would be confusing without it. Here are parts  1 and  2

-Ana <3

“Thomas Lightwood.”

They looked at him again. He hadn’t changed since they had named him and yet, there was something else in the air: 

Hope.

…

Six weeks later, they were able to hold him. Sophie cried while she cradled Thomas and supported his tiny head in her palm. He was still so tiny, and yet he was so beautiful. He had yet to open his eyes, or even cry, for that matter. She knew her face was a mess of tears and had probably turned red and splotchy. However, in that moment, Sophie did not have it in her to care about those little things. All she thought about was how her baby boy, who had been on the verge of death far too many times to count, was breathing in her arms.  Gideon put his own arms around her and his chin on her shoulder. He stroked Thomas’ cheek with his thumb. So long they had anticipated this moment and now they relished in it. Sophie felt so lucky that Thomas had lived, even if there was still time left before they could bring him home. She kissed his tiny nose and turned her head to kiss Gideon. She knew she would cherish this moment for the rest of her life. 

…

Two months had come and gone before Thomas Lightwood was able to come home. Two months of living half of their lives in the Silent City. Both parents were ecstatic that they would finally be able to introduce Thomas to their daughters. Most of all, they were excited to be able to go back to their normal life, where they could wake up and go to sleep in the same bed, take their daughters out for walks and fall back into a routine.  

Gideon would always insist on spending the night in the Silent City with Thomas while urging Sophie to go back home with the girls. After all, she had given birth recently and she needed to recover. 

“Thomas and I will have some man-time.” Gideon would joke, always trying to lighten the mood of the situation. 

Sophie would just shake her head and kiss his cheek goodnight.  

Now, Gideon was tucking Thomas into a small basket made big with little Thomas inside. Sophie wished more than anything that nobody on the streets would stop them. Not because she was ashamed of her son; she could never feel ashamed for him. If anything she felt pride that he survived when even the Brothers did not think he was going to live. However, she did not wish to have to see the faces of people when they caught sight of Thomas. For Gideon and herself, Thomas’ current state was an immense improvement, though that has most likely been because they were the only ones who had seen him that first day. She did not wish to hear the gasp, see the look of sympathy. Most of all, she did not want to hear an apology, as though Thomas being alive were a burden to them because of how he looked. Sophie wished people could see Thomas for the blessing he was. She did not stay by his side all those hours for people to take one look at him and pity her for birthing a sickly child. 

Gideon straightened and offered her his arm. “Shall we go back home?”

Sophie couldn’t help but smile. “I would love nothing more.”

They bid the Silent Brothers goodbye, thanking them profusely for all of their help. Sophie even embraced Jem, even though it was not necessarily a correct way of thanking a Silent Brother. Gideon kept looking back into the basket as they walked down the street.

“What?” Sophie asked.

“I still cannot believe I’m carrying Thomas.”

“Because he is so light?”

“Well, I was thinking because it seemed like we would never be able to take him home, but him being so light does not help his case.”

Sophie rested her head on his shoulder. “At least he will be easy to bring down when he gets stuck in that tree, like two little girls I know.”

Gideon laughed. “However will we get three children out of that tree? We’ve run out of arms.”

“I can climb up and throw them down to you.”

“And how will you get down?”

“I think I am more than capable of getting down from a tree, Gideon Lightwood.”

“Of course you are, my beautiful Sophia, but I would have climbed up and helped you down.”

“Ever the gentleman.”

Gideon shook his head, smiling.  

After being sad for so long, their happiness felt like a cold river on a hot summer’s day. 

…

Eugenia and Barbara could hardly suppress the bounce in their steps as Gideon walked them back home. They were so excited to finally see their brother, that they practically dragged Gideon home. 

“Papa, walk quicker!” 

“Yes! What if he grows tired and leaves?”

“Silly, Genie. Thomas cannot walk yet.” Barbara said.

“Oh, right.”

The girls wiggled, trying to slip out of his grasp.

“Stop doing that,” Gideon laughed. “Thomas is very patient.” 

“But I am not! Oh, Papa, I must see him before I burst with…” Eugenia trailed off.

“Anticipation?” Gideon offered.

“Yes. I think. I will burst with an-pisi-pat-on.”

Barbara furrowed her eyebrows and looked at Gideon. He shrugged and motioned for her to let it go and not correct her sister. 

Eugenia skipped the rest of the way down the road, until their house came into view.

“We are almost there!” She squealed and jumped.

“Eugenia. You cannot scream when you get there. You will upset him.” Barbara said.

Eugenia rolled her eyes.

Gideon opened the door to the house and took them to where Thomas and Sophie were.

…

Barbara caught one look at him and ran back to Gideon. She buried her face in his leg and shook her head, not wanting to see anymore. Eugenia was more curious. She looked at his face with fascination and, much to Gideon and Sophie’s surprise, bent down next to him. Eugenia examined his small hands and took one look at his closed eyes before saying, “Isn’t he excited to meet us? How come he’s still asleep?”

Sophie catches Gideon’s eye. He, too, seemed to be suppressing a laugh; only Eugenia would be offended that her infant brother was asleep during their first encounter.

“He’s too young to understand what is going on, Genie. I’m sure if he knew, he would be wide awake.” 

“Hm, maybe someone should tell him,” Eugenia said. “Hullo, Thomas,” she announced, “I am your older sister, but not your oldest sister. I am your…” She trailed off.

“Younger older sister?” Gideon offered. 

“Yes!”

Sophie looked at him, surprised.

“Gabriel said the same thing when Tatiana was born.” Gideon said, his voice going soft at the mention of his sister.

Sophie gave him a comforting look, knowing how hard it was to speak of Tatiana. 

“Anyway, I am your younger older sister. Eugenia.” 

Perhaps it was a pure coincidence. However, it was safe to say that Gideon and Sophie did not expect Thomas to open his eyes right after Eugenia finished speaking.

Sophie gasped. Thomas’ bright green eyes looked around the room. They were beautiful. She bent down next to Eugenia. Gideon tried to coax Barbara to look up for where she had pressed her face against his neck. 

Sophie put her arms around Eugenia and hugged her tightly. 

“I think that means he is happy to meet you, Genie.”

Eugenia’s lips spread into a wide smile. 

“I like my new brother.” Eugenia said. “What about you, Barbara?”

Barbara looked up, barely, at the mention of her name. Eugenia looked at her expectantly. Barbara did not say anything.

“It’s alright, Barbara.” 

“No, it’s not.” Eugenia frowned.

“Eugenia!”

“She’s being vain and inconsiderate. Don’t you know it’s rude not to introduce yourself, Babs?”

“Genie,” Gideon said.

“Poor Thomas came all this way to meet us and you cannot even show him an ounce of respect?”

“Eugenia.” Sophie said, outraged.

“If you’ll excuse me, I would like to get to know our dear brother better.” And with that Eugenia picked up the basket and walked out of the room.

Gideon and Sophie stood stupefied. They exchanged an appalled look until Sophie realized what Eugenia held in her hands—

“EUGENIA, put Thomas down!” 

“You want me to drop Thomas?!”

“NO!” Sophie and Gideon yelled.

Eugenia popped back into view and Sophie ran to her, grabbing hold of the basket.

Eugenia’s eyes widened, looking like they were at the verge of tears.

“Eugenia, honey, I know you want to spend time with Thomas, but he’s very fragile right now. If you were to drop him by mistake—”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know, darling. The point is, he can get hurt very easily and we don’t want that, do we?”

“No, mama.”

Sophie kissed her forehead. “You can hold him if you wish, but you must sit down and be very gentle.”

Eugenia bounced on the balls of her feet. “Yes, mama! I promise to be extra careful with him! May I hold him now?”

Sophie chuckled. “Of course.”

…

Barbara did not even want to be in the same room as Thomas. Sophie was worried that she would never warm up to her brother and it absolutely broke her heart. It was evident to her that she was overreacting. Surely Barbara would come to love him. Eventually. Sophie bit her lip. Yes, there was no doubt about it. She will. Or she won’t. No, no, she will. 

Sophie pressed her lips together tightly. She looked down at Thomas in her arms, who was staring up at her. She smiled and nuzzled his face. 

“Sweet child. How different you are from your very loud sisters.”  

She looked into his green eyes. 

“Do not fret for you will grow very tall, my darling.” Sophie kissed his soft feet. “Why, all of the men in my family were as tall as beanstalks.”

Thomas smiled a little bit, perhaps at her facial expressions.

“And one day, when you can speak,” she brushed his lips with her finger, “you will tell us about how it’s like to touch the clouds.” 

She put her finger in his semi-open hand. Thomas slowly closed it. His fist was so tiny, it couldn’t fit her entire hand in it. Sophie kissed his cheek. She whispered in his ear.

“Do not tell your sisters, but I’ve always wanted a son.” 

…

Sophie looked at the photograph on her bedside table. Sophie smiled and placed her hand over the witchlight to turn it off. She looked at Gideon, who was already in bed from sheer exhaustion. He opened his arms for her and Sophie nestled herself inside. She pressed her cheek against his warm chest as he pressed a kiss to her head. 

“You’re freezing, Soph.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

She closed her eyes and smiled.

“Soph?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, I thought you fell asleep.”

“So quickly?”

Gideon gave her a sheepish smile, which Sophie kissed softly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Whether they were talking about the company of each other or seeing the sadness having finally been lifted from the other, it would remain unknown. Perhaps it was both; a concoction of pure bliss and adrenalin that comes when you finally step out of the shadows. 

Their troubles were far from over. They would have to face trials through tears and sadness in the near future but, in the present, nothing could harm them. Even if they knew they were in the eye of the hurricane, rather than the outskirts, they would still be smiling. Sadness could wait. 

Sophie combed her fingers through Gideon’s hair and rested her lips on his collarbone. His hands on her back were warm, sweet. She was drifting off to sleep when she heard it.

Her eyes flew open, and she met Gideon’s. They flew out of bed and sped to the nursery. Was he really crying? Sophie’s eyes burned. She opened the door and found someone had already come to Thomas. 

Barbara was looking down at the crib, one of her hands drooped inside. Thomas was quiet as he stared up at his sister. Sophie watched, mesmerized as Barbara smiled at her brother. She felt hands on her shoulders and smiled up at Gideon. 

Sophie and Gideon had three children. And they were their pride and joy.

Tagging: @celias

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Shrinking Violet 1.0

Going through old drafts and discovered my original idea for this g/t oneshot here. It refused to be written and since I was on a time-crunch, I went with the final result, but I frankly enjoy this version better.

-

Virgil is a reclusive Giant who keeps to himself in the Woods. Very grouchy, independent. One day he stumbles into a human mage named Patton who is collecting materials for his spells. He expects Patton to run in fear or attack him, but instead he's friendly. 

Virgil is a major Grump anyway, despite helping Patton gather a material. Patton and Virgil begin meeting in the Woods, just to talk. Patton loved getting swung about by Virgil or carried on his shoulders. Patton had to always crane his neck to make eye contact with the Giant. 

One day, Virgil doesn't go to their meeting spot. Patton calls his name, but he doesnt come. He doesn't contact Virge with the special necklace he made either. Patton keeps coming back, but the Giant is no longer there. Patton is worried and goes deeper in the forest than he usually does. He runs into trouble with some wolves (?) where Virgil jumps in and protects him. 

Virgil then goes on a rant about how incredibly stupid Patton is, but Patton is too distracted by the fact that he doesn't have to crane his neck quite as far as usual. 

"Virgil, did you shrink?"

"..."

Apparently there is a hereditary curse rampant among Giants called the Shrinking Curse. Rumored to have been cast by a powerful mage in revenge for a dispute long since forgotten. It's why Virgil lives alone. It started affecting him a way younger age than most Giants. Basically he will keep shrinking and shrinking, until he's microscopic. No one really knows what happens after that--usually people die before that stage. 

Patton declares he's gonna help Virgil, despite the Giant insisting there's no way to cure it. Virgil had started hiding from Patton after getting scared realizing how close he'd grown to Patton and afraid of the other's reaction (spoiler alert Patton still loves him anyway).

They resume their meeting spot routine as Patton sets to work researching. The unfortunate thing is that Giants generally keep to themselves and seldom interact with humans and other species. Thus there's few books on Giants to begin with. Virgil still spins Patton around, but it gradually becomes harder and harder. 

Patton grows more worried as Virgil is no longer taller than the trees and can't fight off wolves with the flick of his finger. Virgil insists he's okay, he's alright. One day, Patton's necklace lights up.

"Virgil, are you alright?!"

"N-no."

Patton finds Virgil slumped against a tree, shivering and injured. Patton nearly cries when he realizes he can easily carry Virgil in his arms. With Virgil semi-coherent it becomes easily apparent how small Virgil has become. He is only shorter than Patton by an inch or two, but still! Nothing compared to his towering height as a giant.

 Patton takes Virgil back to his home. He nurses Virgil back to health and suggests the shrunken giant should move in with him. This sparks an argument with Virgil stomping back into the woods. A few days later Virgil shows up at the door reluctantly. 

Patton and Virgil visit the human city when Virgil is still about human size, and Virgil marvels a bit. 

Patton starts asking around for other wizards, asking if they have any information on the Shrinking Curse. Meanwhile Virgil gets good at climbing, still brushing off most help as he desperately clings onto any piece of autonomy he can. Virgil hates being carried so Patton does his best to remember that. 

One day, he gets mistaken for a dwarf and angrily chews that person out. That person, upon hearing his true origins as a Giant doesn't laugh. Instead they say they know a Wizard who can help. The only thing is, he lives in the Capitol which is a long day's journey from where they are on outskirts of the Kingdom. Patton is up for it, although Virgil is terrified of all the dangers they could face--dangers he can no longer protect Patton from.

They embark on the Journey as Virgil's condition worsens. He's declining at a more rapid rate. Patton does whatever he can to get to the Capitol the quickest, even if it's a hefty sum. Virgil finds this out and chastises him for spending so much, insisting he's not worth it but Patton insists he is. 

By the time they reach the Wizard, Virgil is small enough to fit inside Patton's cloak pocket. 

Patton visits the Wizard Logan and asks about his rumored hand in reversing the curse. Logan assumes Patton is the shrunken giant. 

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," Patton draws a breath in, "I'm not here on my behalf, but on my bestest friend in the whole wide world."

"Where is he? I cannot help if he is a great distance away--"

Patton pulls Virgil out his pocket. Virgil who is a whole five inches tall and terrified. He wonders how Patton could be so brave if he looked as imposing as Logan. Logan whose eyes widen in shock. Who has never seen a giant shrink this small before. He goes on an excited rant, before Virgil yells at him to quit it, asking if he can just get on with reversing the spell and bring him back to his original height.

Logan looks saddened, "I'm afraid you're mistaken, I know how rumors tend to circle but, I myself cannot reverse the spell in its' entirety. I can only "freeze" it so to speak. I can stop it from progressing any further."

"I'm--I'm stuck this way?"

"Yes, but it'd keep the curse from progressing and killing you." Poor Virgil has a bit of a mental breakdown from this. He does accept Logan's help. But he's unusually quiet and sullen. Depressed, doesn't want to eat. Patton tries having a talk with him.

"Virgil, I understand--"

"No you don't! You don't understand what it's--it's like! To go from the biggest thing to the smallest thing in the world. If a normal giant came across me, I'd be nothing but a puny ant to them. They could easily squish me with their foot without even knowing!"

Virgil accuses Patton of seeing him as a pet, continuing to say awful things, because the only weapon he has are words. He's crying and screaming, wanting Patton to yell back--to finally squeeze Virgil until he can no longer breathe.

"Why aren't you doing something? Why--why do you care about me?!"

Patton explains he loves Virgil regardless of his stature. Virgil cries, finally acquiescing to being in Patton's embrace for more than just practical use. As the tale draws to a close, Virgil starts growing again.

[edensbuttercups]

Nulla Verbum Sine Sensum

Pairing: Jaskier x reader Request: “Hii! I have a little fic idea if you want to write it: Jaskier gets cursed by a witch he slept with and ends up losing his voice and ends up searching for a cure with Geratl when they meet the reader and maybe she's a mage or a healer or something and she ends up breaking the curse” Word count: 3.4k  A/N: Thank you anon for your request! I know it took so so long, and I apologize! I’ve got to admit, I’m not too happy with how this came out. I had an idea for the beginning and for the end, but the middle part just wouldn’t come to me. I decided to go for a less traditional “she breaks the curse” and I don’t know if it did work out, so feedback (as always) is appreciated!  Again, I’m not fully satisfied with how this came out, and I might edit it later on, but writing it was a lot of fun and the prompt was really cool! So thank you again anon, hope you like it 💕

Geralt had retreated to his room hours ago, but he had decided to stick around, eyeing a certain mysterious woman that quietly sat at the bar. She had long flowing hair with blue ribbons plaited in it forming a crown around her head and a white gown that elegantly fell all the way to the floor. She had been the only one not to clap at the end of his performance, hell, she hadn’t even looked at him once! So, he did the only thing he could think of and trotted over to her, singing his praises until they both were in bed, a breathless mess next to each other.

When she woke up the next morning, she was alone. She didn’t mind, she hadn’t expected a love story, just some meaningless sex, yet she didn’t expect to descend the stairs finding him flirting once more, this time with the barmaid. She nodded and smiled, ready to teach him a lesson, prancing towards him and placing her hands on his shoulders, spinning him around and dragging him away from the bar. “What-… Oh. Hello.” He smiled, glancing apologetically towards the barmaid. “You know, darling” he raised his eyebrows at the nickname, surprised by her almost metallic tone “Your voice will quickly rot unless you share all you’ve got, expecting nothing in return, your most prized possession you might earn.” “Ooh, rhymes, how fancy! I didn’t know you were a poet like me” he answered cheerfully, repeating the curse under his breath, trying to memorize it for possible future songs. “Good luck bard. You’ll need it.” She winked at him as she turned and walked out, her long white dress blowing behind her as he looked at her for a moment before turning towards the bar yet again, eager to get back to charming the barmaid, hoping that Geralt would enjoy his sleep for only a bit longer. “So… where were we?” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He laughed and cleared his throat, throwing an apologetic glance at the barmaid. “Pardon my voice. I must’ve caught a cold.” He laughed once more, bowing his head and trying once more, failing again. He apologized again, paying for his breakfast and taking a seat at the closest table, waiting for his travel companion to arrive. He started thinking about the words from the woman he had spent the night with, piecing two and two together and gasping in disbelief, shaking his head and hoping with all his heart that he hadn’t truly been cursed. It wasn’t long until the Witcher descended the stairs, nodding to the bard and making way towards the door, walking out and leading the way towards the stables. “Geralt!” the bard cried out, his voice low and warped, unrecognizable and weak. The Witcher didn’t hear him and carried on walking, smiling as Roach came into view. The bard looked up at the sky, annoyed at his condition, cursing as he walked closer to the Witcher, grabbing his attention by tapping on his arm. “Hmm?” The Witcher turned, raising an eyebrow at the bard. “My voice.” He coughed out, trying to be as loud as he could. “You’ve probably got a cold. I’ll get you some ginger sweets, those should help.” “No. Curse.” His voice was a mere whisper now, weaker and weaker as time went on. “Curse? Jaskier I left you last night and you were fine, you probably didn’t sleep well and now your voice is weird, don’t get all-“ “Curse.” He insisted, looking for a stick to write with in the dirt, explaining his point. He walked towards the nearest tree and jumped up towards the lowest branch, jumping up and breaking it off the tree. He marched back and started writing. “I slept with a woman… Oh that’s a surprise!” Geralt laughed, carrying on reading. “This morning she told me something weird, I think it was a curse. What do I do? Jaskier, is that drawing supposed to be you crying? You really have to work on your anatomy” the Witcher laughed as the bard threw the stick at him, frustrated by his lack of words. “Let’s get moving. Allowing a Witcher in this town for a night was already a lot for them, if we stay any longer, we might end up with rocks thrown at us.” The Witcher looked at the bard, waiting for an answer. Jaskier looked up and nodded, following behind in silence.

 You’d expect Geralt to enjoy the silence that accompanied him on the ride, but he could feel the sadness that surrounded Jaskier and couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He glanced behind often, finally offering a place behind him on Roach that the bard accepted offering a small smile, weakly climbing on and resting his head on Geralt’s back, tired from the thoughts that swirled around his head. What if I never get my voice back? What am I supposed to do? What if no one knows how to break this curse?

 They reached Zavada on a cold morning, the bard swallowing back thoughts about his voiceless future and the Witcher determined to help his friend with whatever means necessary.

 You had always enjoyed sitting near the door, often with a book in hand, waiting for customers to walk into your shop for either a chat or a fresh loaf of bread. This morning was no different; you sat with your head resting against the column, a hot cup of tea in your hands as you watched the people pass, their breaths drawing clouds in the air as they spoke. Two figures came into view, one tall and strong, his white hair framing his stern look while the other stood next to him, his arms tucked in front of his chest making him look small while a gloomy look haunted his face. You kept your eyes on them, entertained by the lost look on their faces, debating on whether you were willing to help them or not. You took a last sip, standing up and choosing the biggest loaf of bread you could find before walking out the door, closing it behind you. You felt their gaze on you as you moved through the crowd making your way towards them, your dress dragging on the ground behind you. “Hello! You look lost, can I help you in any way?” You offered them the bread, breaking it in half and offering one half each. The white-haired man looked at you for a moment before nodding. “We need a healer or a mage. Someone that knows how to break a curse” he explained, lightly moving his head towards the other man, his mouth shut tight in a small smile, his eyes bouncing from you to your surroundings. “Forgive him, he’s a bit grumpy. He’s a bard, yet he was cursed and lost his voice.” The man explained once more, smiling when the bard lightly punched his shoulder. You walked closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling. “We’ll get your voice back, I promise.” You turned towards the streets, pointing east. “That way. I know a mage that might be able to help, I’ll come along with you.”

You knocked on the door, exchanging some words with the mage and introducing her to Geralt and Jaskier, moving aside when Geralt started explaining the situation, the mage listened closely. “And what was the curse?” She asked, grabbing some paper and a quill from the shelf. Jaskier started writing, his face serious as Geralt read aloud, used to his new position as voice double for the bard. “The morning after I met her she came towards me and smiled, saying that my voice would rot unless I gave all I had. I had to expect nothing in return to gain my most prized possession back. Something along those lines.” She scoffed, turning to the Witcher with a raised eyebrow. “Standard curse. You’d expect more originality, you know?” She turned to the bard and sat next to him. “You’ll have to do something out of the pureness of your heart. You have to do something just because it’s the right thing to do.” He stared at her, his eyes darting up to the Witcher’s and then up to yours. You could read a hint of confusion in them. You stepped forward. “What does that mean exactly?” she looked up at you, an amused smile painted on her face for a mere second. “Let’s say… he’s a bard. He writes songs. By writing a song, especially when a bard does so, you expect someone to listen to it, to like it, to praise it. But if he wrote a song without even an ounce of his heart craving that validation…” “The curse would be broken?” you guessed. “Maybe.” “Maybe?” “It all depends on who cursed him. Since it was a woman, we can assume she means something more… deep. He probably has to find a selfless act towards somebody, putting their needs before his own, no matter if that hurts him in any way.” She finished explaining and sat up, leaning over to pat his shoulder in a comforting way. She grabbed Geralt’s attention as she slipped away in a nearby room. “Go and wait outside. I’ll be out soon.” he said, following the mage into the back room.  You waited outside together, the warm sun slowly heating up your surroundings after the cold night. You listened happily as the bard gently strummed one of the songs you had heard many times at the local tavern. He looked sad as he quietly moved his lips, forming words that both of you knew by heart but only one could sing.  “I’ll sing for you.” His eyes darted up to meet yours “if you’ll allow me” you added as a smile graced his face. He started strumming louder, trying to decipher from your face if you knew the words. You nodded and started singing, softly at first, afraid of being heard by anyone but him, but slowly you let go of your fears, fluttering to your feet and dragging him up with you, gently swaying to the sound of the song, moving around each other as his smile grew, mesmerised by your voice. You forgot about everything while you danced and sang, his smile growing with each passing minute. The truth was that he liked having you around, even if the two of you had only just met, you seemed to care for him more than he thought possible. You smiled often, a smile that made his heart warm, and had he had his voice he would’ve showered you with praise and love. He promised the sky, the sun, the moon and everything holy that he would as soon as his voice returned.

You spent the rest of the day together, walking around and jokingly trying to make Jaskier do something out of the kindness of his own heart, but nothing worked. You asked him to play his lute, pick you flowers, dance for you, and Geralt kindly played along by asking him to be quiet. You both laughed at the stern expression on Jaskier’s face, but once he heard you laugh he smiled, not looking so offended anymore.  “This is my shop.” you said, once you reached your entrance “I have a small room upstairs, so whenever you need me just knock. Do you have a place for the night?”  “Some rooms are available just down the road” Geralt explained, pointing to the nearby inn. “We’ll come say goodbye tomorrow.” Both you and Jaskier widened your eyes, looking at the Witcher with a confused look. “Goodbye? You’re leaving?” Jaskier raised a hand, suggesting that he was wondering the same thing.  “There’s no point in staying, is there? The mage can’t cure him, and he’ll have to solve this problem on his own. The nearby town is looking for someone to slay a beast, the earlier we leave the earlier we’ll have coins.”  “Oh.” you muttered, trying to smile “sure. Well, I’ll be waiting for you. If you stop by in the morning I’ll be sure to prepare a delicious breakfast!” you tried to sound cheery, but you felt sadness at the thought of having to say goodbye so early. You wish you could’ve talked to Jaskier - truly talked to him - but you knew there wasn’t much you could do. So you offered a small hug to both the Witcher and the bard, hugging both of them tight, lingering just a few moments longer as you took the chance to rest your head on Jaskier’s shoulder. You barely knew them, but you were going to miss them. You were going to miss him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” You said, offering a smile to the bard, trying to cheer him up while the Witcher nodded and turned. You and Jaskier shared a last look, him not daring to move and you to talk, before he smiled back, bowing as mischief tinted his eyes. 

You spent the evening baking bread for your shop, adding a few extra pastries to the baked goods for your two new friends. You looked at the final result: a blackberry pie for Geralt and a lemon one for Jaskier, along with some other berries that you had grown and a jug of freshly squeezed juice. You left the kitchen, reaching the bedroom and slipping in a long blue gown that you had managed to buy with few hard earned coins. You smiled, slipping into bed and thinking of the bard, falling into a deep sleep while wishing that a simple kiss on the lips could solve it all. 

A faint sound coming from downstairs woke you up, making you sit upright in the dark room. You glanced around, grabbing the plant pot that rested on your bedside table as a possible weapon as the moon lit the room enough for you not to trip on the clothes you slipped out of the night before. It wasn’t the first time that someone broke in, and even if the first time you almost had a heart attack, following that night you had always felt ready to tackle even the toughest of enemies, which you did. You held the plant tightly, walking down the narrow steps as your nightgown dragged behind you. You saw a shadow in front of you and swung down the pot, a soft gasp leaving your lips as you held the plant high above your head once more. The figure fell back, looking up to you with a confused expression, and you met the two eyes you had quickly grown to love. “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” you helped him stand up, feeling relieved as he nodded, a hand held on his head where you hit him. “You could’ve knocked! What are you doing here?” he looked around, sighing as he realised that he had forgot to bring something to write on. He walked closer to you, gently pulling your hand up with his, moving his finger slowly, writing a letter at a time. “You wanted to see me? Why?” you asked, your heart beating faster as you stood close, closer than you had been before. “You missed me.” you smiled “I missed you too. I’m sorry that you’re leaving.” he nodded, looking away for a moment, his eyes falling to the food you had prepared. He moved his fingers once more, forming another phrase against your palm. “It’s for tomorrow morning! Don’t be greedy, Jaskier.” you said as he dragged you to the table, sitting in front of you. You both sat in silence for a moment, before he tentatively grabbed a small pastry, taking a bite and smiling in delight. You spent the night talking, he spent the night writing, and you both laughed and ate, falling into a comfortable company. He slipped away just before the sun rose, making his way back to Geralt and falling into a short sleep, his thoughts swirling in a sea of fears, hopes, dreams and you. 

“Thank you for your help, y/n” Geralt said, after a short breakfast and an even shorter chat. “Thank you for your company. It was fun while it lasted. Have a safe trip Geralt.” you smiled, reaching from your bag and pulling out the finest bread you managed to bake, wrapped in a soft material. “For your journey.” you explained, earning a nod and a smile, before the Witcher moved away, towards the road. You looked at Jaskier, taking the chance to place a soft kiss on his cheek before taking a step back. He stood between the two of you, his eyes darting between you, the woman he felt so drawn to and him, the friend he promised to accompany on his adventures, changing his reputation with his words. And he didn’t know who to choose, because as much as writing songs was what he wanted - it was his job after all - he needed you. If just for now, he needed you. You made him smile, you understood him, no words needed. But what would he do here? Few people lived in this town, and the tavern wasn’t lively enough to grant him an earning. He’d be nothing but a nuisance after all.  “Goodbye Jaskier.” you said softly, looking at him and waving at Geralt.  Jaskier looked up to you and smiled, reaching for your hand and tracing once more.  “Thank you for everything. I’ll come back one day.” you read as he wrote. You nodded, smiling. “I’ll be waiting.” you answered.  And so you watched them walk away, the bard rushing behind Geralt, trying to catch up, and the Witcher riding tall, his white hair blowing in the wind. You turned and sat on a rock, placing a hand on your chest as you tried to swallow down the sadness you felt. 

The bard walked with his head held down low, his hands in his pockets and his eyebrows furrowed. “How are you, Jaskier? I know how you feel about her.” Geralt spoke, breaking the silence. “I feel like I’ve made a mistake leaving her.” the bard started as the Witcher came to a halt, sliding off Roach. “I really liked her. Like, really liked her. But it wouldn’t be fair. A mute bard? It makes no sense! How would I even help her? I couldn’t earn any coins here.” “Jaskier.” “I know, I know, you think I fall in love too easily, but she was just so…” “Jaskier!” the Witcher barked, shutting the bard up. He turned around and searched for you, finding your figure sitting on a rock not too far away. He called for you, smiling when he saw you standing up, waving at him. “Let’s go back, Jaskier.” “What? Why?” he asked, still oblivious. The Witcher closed his eyes and smiled, dragging Roach along with him as he walked towards you. “What happened?” you asked, straightening the creases from your dress. “It worked.” Geralt muttered, looking at the bard with the hint of a smile. “What worked?” you asked, taking a step forward. “I made Jaskier choose between two things that would hurt him. I wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but…” he trailed off, gesturing to the bard triumphantly. “Wait, I can talk?” the bard said, looking blankly ahead. “I can talk!” he said once more, jumping up and enveloping you in a hug, swaying you from side to side as laughter rose from his chest.  “Geralt!” he turned, ready to hug the Witcher, who instead simply moved to the side, making the bard hug the air for a moment before falling to the ground.  “So he had to choose between…?” you started. “Staying with you and being a weight or leaving you, granting you freedom and financial sufficiency.”  “Oh! You wouldn’t have been a weight, Jaskier! But either way, I’m happy it all worked out.” you looked at Jaskier, who was still sitting on the ground, and offered him a hand, pulling him up into a hug.  “So, what’s the plan now? Are you still leaving? Or are you going to stay for a bit?”  “We can spare a couple of days, right Geralt?”  “I guess we can.” 

You all walked back to your shop, you and Jaskier singing like fools and Geralt rolling his eyes every few steps. And as you slipped your hand in the bard’s, pulling him close into a quick kiss, you wondered if giving up your shop for some time in exchange for adventure was a smart decision. “Ah, life is short.” you muttered, knowing in your heart that you’d spend more than two days in their company. “What, love?” “Nothing.” you said smiling, pulling him into yet another kiss, the third of many more to come.