#this IS the problem of Hamlet. the heart of Hamlet. to me at least

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[longing-for-the-past-times]

Their reaction to seeing you reading

Task Force 141 x Reader headcanons

notes: I don't know if this was done before, but once I got the idea, I couldn't get it out of my head before writing it down. This is my first time writing headcanons, I hope I did the characters justice :). Let me know what you think about it!

find it on a03 masterlist

Captain 'John' Price

He is headed towards the lounging area after staying overtime because of due paperwork. It is already dark outside and, when he sees the lights on, he thinks someone just forgot them that way.

You may understand his surprised reaction when he sees you sitting cross-legged on the couch, a book in your hands.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack, kid!”

You give him a sheepish smile and hide your face behind the book, staying true to the principle: out of mind, out of sight. You didn’t mean to stay long - you just wanted to finish the chapter. But it ended in a cliffhanger so you had to at least begin the next chapter and the vicious cycle went on.

It doesn’t take him long to realise that you are, in fact, holding a book. And he can’t hide his grin when he figures you must have lost track of time because of it.

“Didn’t take you for a reader, kid!”, he raises an eyebrow as he joins you on the couch, his eyes drifting to the cover. “And certainly did not know you read classics!”

“Always full of surprises, Captain!”, you smile at him as you look around, searching for something. A triumphant smile graces your lips when you find the piece of crumpled paper, and you proceed to put it on the page you remained at, before closing the book.

Definitely asks you about the book you’re reading and what else you’ve read, proceeding to compare your literary preferences

He may not read as much as he did when he was younger, but he can and will boast with the filled bookshelves he has at home

Encourages your reading habits when you are at the base and brings you reading snacks when you decide to spend your evenings in the base’s lounging room, curled up with whatever book you’re reading at the moment

Might sometimes join you with a book of his own. Nobody dares to say anything about the two operators who occasionally spend their lunch break with their noses stuck in a book.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley

Never been much of a reader as he simply did not have the time, or the available resources

So at first, he does not understand why you are sobbing by yourself in the kitchen, frantically highlighting something with a neon marker

Who did that to you? Did he need to hunt down someone?

It was when he got closer that he realised you were actually reading something and the content must have made you upset

No problem, he’ll track the writer down and-

"Oh, Ghost, didn’t see you there!", you looked up at him, a shy smile on your face.

He is at a loss for words and ends up nodding towards the open book: “Is it any good?”

“Well, I think it would be an insult to say Shakespeare is ‘just good’, don’t you think?”

All he’s thinking of are those literature classes he should have paid more attention to.

He quickly steers the conversation in another direction, asking you about training and whatnot. Something blooms in his chest when he sees you setting the book away in an instant, a warm smile gracing your features as you turn your attention towards him.

He spends the following evening researching Shakespeare’s works as much as he can. He’d caught a glimpse of the book you’d been reading, Hamlet, and he ends up ordering an annotated copy.

It takes him an entire week to get through it, but the look on your face when he asks you about the book is priceless.

You spend the entire afternoon talking about it (you talk, he mostly listens), and he was surprised he didn’t notice your reading habits earlier. When you talked about books, you could light up the room with your enthusiasm and passion.

Is the kind of man who would build you a bookshelf from scratch

“Your books wouldn’t fit in a standard bookshelf anyway. And I can paint the wood to match the tone of your walls.”

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish

The type of man that says he’ll wait for the movie to come out

And if there is a book adaptation, he'll definitely make you watch it with him to prove his point

You spend the next hours pointing out why the book was better than the movie, while he tries to convince you otherwise

Constantly teases you about your reading habits, but secretly, he loves to watch you read. The array of emotional states you seem to go through when reading fascinates him.

"Maybe we should start calling you Belle from now on, bonnie. You know, the Belle from Beauty and the Beast - the one who's always with her nose stuck in a book?"

One day a recruit decides to prank you and hides your current read in the men's showers.

Soap takes note of your distracted state, but doesn't push it. He knows you'll come to him when it feels right.

Until he stumbles upon what was left of your book when preparing to take a shower. He recognizes it only by the vibrant colour of the cover as the pages are wrinkled and illegible, due to the water exposure.

It does not take him long to find the culprit. He was too busy boasting about his "achievement" to his team-mates, in the locker room.

Soap makes sure he regrets his actions by assigning him to latrine duty for the following month.

He also makes it his personal mission to buy you another copy of the book. The only problem is that he does not remember the title. Or the author. Or the plot.

"It has this orange cover, with two people on it! And there's white text on it too!"

Safe to say, the librarian is unimpressed by his comprehensive description.

So he has to spend an entire night scrolling through an online library page to find it.

But it's all worth it in the end. He'll never forget the shocked expression on your face when he handed you the hastily wrapped book. Or the wide smile that spreads across your face, followed by a tight and warm hug.

He might buy you more books in the future, just to have you grin at him like that.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Like Ghost, he didn't particularly care for reading. It was not that he didn't like it, he just had other priorities

He wasn't even aware of your reading habits until you were both stuck in a safe house, waiting to be evacuated.

You were leaning against the wall, next to him, when you pulled a book out of your pocket.

He had to do a double take- why did you have a leatherbound book in your pocket? Were you carrying it throughout the entire mission? What if you got shot - was the leather thick enough to stop the bullet if it got past your tac vest?

"Gaz, you're staring."

"Just took me by surprise, love."

You playfully rolled your eyes at the endearment, your hand leafing through the pages.

He knew you could feel him watching you, but he couldn't help himself. He felt like he just unlocked a new part of your personality.

"Is it any good?"

"Do you want to read it?"

"I wouldn't mind you reading to me..."

Once again, you rolled your eyes in fake annoyance but complied with his request and went back to the beginning of the chapter.

The story was quite gripping, something about a rich bachelor who must be in search of a wife. Kyle tried to focus on the story, but he was more intent on enjoying your calm and soothing voice.

He unintentionally fell asleep and you did not realise until you felt the weight of his body leaning against your shoulder.

As retaliation, you forced him to join you on a trip to the library. He did not bother to hide the fact that he did not see it as a punishment, not when he knew it would make you happy.

He let you drag across the entire fiction section and patiently listened to you describing all the books you've read. He also took a lot of mental notes on the books you intended to read in the future- if only the covers did not look so similar!

Eventually discovers he's more of an audiobook person.

So he would listen to the novel you were currently reading, excited to meet with you at the end of the day and discuss it with you.

[silverview]

amazing bracelets @spcvarney made for me, i love them so much 😭💕💕💕 had a great time again at s/f, got to see a bunch of people from here who were all so cool & lovely, i feel so lucky!!

reece & steve DID come out to sign things this time! we were told not to ask for selfies, so i just got my s9 script book signed by both of them. i asked reece if he'd had a good time & he looked up at me, smiled, and said yes he did, and thanks for coming. 🥹💗

there was also merch for sale in the theatre, and that poster i mentioned is s/f specific, but in a way that's not obvious until you've seen the play.

some further unorganised thoughts about the show + audio links below the cut, spoilers obviously ⚠️

new recordings added here (18-01) [edit 20-01-2025: removed the link] in case you want to compare & contrast (@lapis-lazuliie!) there were a few small changes & the scene change with the video screen was much smoother. i accidentally cut off the coda to the song at the very end in my haste to get to the stage door

in the opening sketch, there’s a reference to an 80s-style production of taming of the shrew. certainly a reference to the play where reece first laid eyes on steve. theatre at the heart of their relationship from the very beginning. it really is all about them and their love story

(when you know the twist in this bit, you notice that toby leaves when steve comes onstage, and then once s & r are onstage together, s just stares at r for a moment too long)

in general, i just love the shakespeare in it. love hamlet obviously and love the range of their theatrical references. i get emo about reece on gbbo “jokingly” griping that he’ll never get to play hamlet, because you know he thinks he'd smash it, and you know he knows he never will. and that he still slightly blames his comedy career for the fact he didn’t get to. and that it's specifically a dream that dies when you get too old. (“the most devastating moment in a young man’s life…”)

goudron & hugo are doing it blake & drew style. as in, here’s a creepy guy. here’s the methods he uses to sexually abuse his female patients. now here he is doing those same things to a man. now let’s not address the subtext of that ❤️ yay ❤️ i honestly am thinking about writing self-indulgent fic about them but not till after the run at least. OH AND the set for that whole bit is turquoise, like the trolley problem. alright.

they've changed that bit slightly so that when hugo comes back in, he's already in the chair, and doesn't need to be restrained. which makes much more sense, and it's clear they should have done it that way from the beginning, except force of habit and reece's need to be strapped to a chair made them try it the other way first.

sidenote, i need goudron carnally, i’m sorry. if i’m acting more than typically horny for steve, you know that’s why. i think the drastic & abrupt shift in fuckability levels from act 1 to act 2 doesn’t help. white coat, sleeve garters, moustache, brown hair.

speaking of clothes, reece as himself at the beginning was wearing smart brown shoes + smart trousers + pale blue shirt + soft grey sweater vest. as marcus at the end he's wearing a jacket over a turtleneck, very cute. also very cute as marcus in hugo's stripy pyjamas with a big cosy cardigan over the top. hugo has curly dark hair with a grey streak, and a big curly moustache that gets a laugh when he takes off his surgical mask.

the guest this time was kevin eldon! he did the line from zanzibar and reece went fully into the hokey cokey!!! i would post the clip but it is mostly just me laughing

i mentioned this briefly in my original post, but it really is crazy that they make it so obvious how len has written his real feelings/anxieties about the relationship into the kidnappers sketch. purely because like… lads YOU are sketch writers. you are making it very clear that YOU put your real feelings/anxieties about your relationship into your work. we knew this already but it's too much too much

it's easy to not tell bf what happens in the show (we're seeing it together late feb) but it is very VERY hard to not walk around the flat constantly singing tears of laughter

on the final night at the end steve really does need to just grab reece and kiss him

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 27, Unhinged - Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of violence, human trafficking.

Word Count: 949

Previously On...: You watched some home movies of Jade in her Hydra facility. It was... disturbing, to say the least.

A/N: Rock me, rock me, rock me, Sexy Jesus! He died for our sins, you gotta believe us! Seriously, Hamlet 2 is a gem, and now this song is stuck in my head forever.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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You and Bucky were silent as you closed your laptop. What could one say after watching a person you knew, personally, rip through a group of people as though they were wrapping paper on Christmas morning? There were no words.

After several long minutes, Bucky finally spoke. “After seeing that,” he said, “I think it’s all the more reason to make sure you don’t leave this safehouse unless you absolutely have to.”

“Yeah,” you said, devoid of all your previous fight. How could you argue with him about your safety after having seen that?

Bucky looked at you in surprise, as though he had expected you to challenge him. He nodded curtly. “Good,” he said. “Alright. We need a game plan. Did you come up with any leads about that Chloe girl that we can follow up on?”

You sighed. “Yeah,” you said, opening up a new tab in your browser. “So, Chloe mentioned her family was having money problems. I was able to figure out where her mom and step father do their banking; I thought we could take a look at their accounts, see if there’s any unusual activity that might point to them getting a share of her auction price. Then maybe we could trace the deposit back to whoever did the sale.”

“You think her parents knowingly participated in trafficking their own kid?” Bucky asked in horror. “Pocket, that’s dark.”

You avoided looking at him as you opened up a backdoor into the accounts in question. “You’d be surprised what people are willing to do when money gets involved. Not even a mother/daughter bond is immune from that kind of greed.”

 Bucky’s gaze on you was almost tangible in its intensity. “I’m sorry. It’s so hard for me to envision a mother betraying her child like that; sometimes I forget you had to live it.”

“But you told Carthage about it,” you said softly. “At the mission debrief. When she said trafficking was below our paygrade.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky turned your chin so you were facing him. “I told her that human trafficking was something you and Nat both cared very deeply about stopping; that’s it.” He frowned. “I don’t expect you to believe me and that’s okay, but I would never divulge your past to anyone. Not when I know how few people you trusted with that information. I just wanted her to stop acting like it was some kinda game and to treat it as seriously as it deserved to be treated.”

“Oh,” you said after a moment. Something in his words rang true, but there was still the lingering doubt that he was being honest. “Don’t worry about, Barnes,” you said, studiously avoiding eye contact as you breached the bank’s security system. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You could feel him staring at you, and you didn’t need to be looking back to envision the look he was giving you— the one that let you know he thought you were full of shit. Fortunately, he allowed your lie to pass without another word while you continued to breach the bank’s system. 

“Okay, I’m in,” you said after a moment. Bucky got up and came to stand behind you, looking at your monitor over your shoulder.

“Anything?” he asked.

You scrolled through Chloe’s stepfather’s transaction history. Liquor stores, smoke shops, some escort services. “Real classy guy,” you murmured. And then, you hit it: the night Chloe had left the club for good, there was a substantial deposit made to the account in the amount of $250,000.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “I figured he might get a cut, but I had no idea it would be that much.”

Bucky let out a long, low whistle. “If that’s their finder’s fee, I can’t imagine what the final sale was for.” 

You were furiously copying down the depositing account’s information. “I’m going to send this info back to Nat,” you told him. “See if they can reverse-search it and find out where the money came from. Once we know the source, we might be able to break into their systems, get info on who won the auctions. Maybe some of the other girls are still alive…” Your voice trailed off. You were too jaded to allow yourself to hope you could save all of them, but if you could save even one…

Bucky began moving toward the apartment’s front door, grabbing his leather jacket from where he’d hung it on a hook.

“Where are we going?” You asked him, closing your laptop and standing up.

“We aren’t going anywhere,” he informed you as he put the jacket on. “I’m going to go have a little chat with Chloe’s stepfather, see if there’s any additional information he’d like to generously offer us. You are going to stay here, locked securely behind the door and not opening it for any reason until I get back.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the images of Jade moving through the Hydra compound, slaughtering everyone in her path rose to your mind. You nodded. “Yeah,” you said. “I’ll stay here.”

“Thank you.” Bucky released a relieved sigh, then walked over to you, kissing the top of your head. “If anything happens, call me, and I’ll head straight back. If Carthage shows up, there’s a gun in the bedside table. Aim to kill.”

“Obviously,” you told him. “I’ve only been fantasizing about it since I found out about Russia.”

“I’m being serious, doll,” Bucky said. “Now that we’ve seen what she’s capable of, I don’t want you taking any chances.”

“Yeah,” you said as you walked him to the door and opened it for him, “I was being 100% serious, too.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[mojo-bro-tho]

Blood Sugar… Ch.11

~PLEASE READ! So many things to say! So first of all, in case any of you haven’t seen it yet, I did commission some art for Blood Sugar recently! So if you’d like an artist’s rendition of “the scene” from chapter 7! Click here!! But to the actual author’s note… I did once again split the chapter. But to be fair, if I didn’t then this would’ve been 14k I think at least. If you see a timeline error in this… I’ll fix it. I think I got them all. But get ready for fucking four whole Hamlet chapters because I’m a disaster! I hope you like them though!~

Tags: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

Word count: 7.4k

Content warnings: Suggestive themes and elements, philosophy???, choking (but debatably in a bad way), references to illness

AO3 link!

Previous!

Something Rotten

Balmy darkness pulsed all around. The sound of the tide, ebbing closer and closer, rolled over her mind. Salty air and the heaviness of her heart matched the coarse texture of sand between her fingers while long hair swept over her arms thanks to the breeze. When she finally opened her eyes, they were greeted by the pink and orange painted sky of Salle just before twilight. There was no sun on the horizon, much less a horizon at all, just the colors and flat light that cradled her skin.

“Found you.” A voice called out from behind her. Slightly graveled the way it usually was.

“And you snuck up on me again.” She smiled, always liking it when he managed to. Not like she ever earnestly tried to hide from him, though. Turning over her shoulder, she found a handsome face. Dark hair that seemed too short but was swept back as though it were longer. Tired brown eyes. A light amount of stubble… was that new or old? She couldn’t remember. “How do you always manage to sniff me out anyway?”

“You like to walk a little too close to the edge. So I check there first.” He remarked and she found him kneeling down to sit beside her.

“Bit hypocritical coming from you isn’t it?” The words formed with a chuckle woven between.

“At least I know I’m doing it. For you, it’s subconscious.” Fingers brushed the back of her hand. “Why are you here this time?”

She thought to herself for a moment. Feeling the hot air mix with a cool wind that didn’t feel like it belonged to the beginnings of summer. “I don’t know.”

“Try to.” The fingers wrapped around her wrist, pushing her hand deeper into the sand.

“I used to come here the night before summer break started. Before I’d have to go back home.”

“This is your home.” Lucanis interjected. She laughed.

“They both are.” She sighed nostalgically. “So maybe I came here because of that. Going home.”

“You looked lost that day. I told you that.”

“Yeah, well, I definitely felt like I was.” Her head turned, finding Lucanis’s eyes on her mouth.

“You said you’d miss me.”

“Because I did.”

“But you didn’t call. Didn’t tell anyone back home, this home, that you were okay.” He countered.

“Because I wasn’t.” She said.

“If leaving the person you love to fester in worry, not knowing if something had happened to you or if you had died, is what you do when you aren’t okay then I guess that justifies not going back for this long.”

“Damn, are you here to make me feel better or to lecture me?” She tried to pull her hand away but he held firm, something coiling in the pit of her stomach.

“Neither.” He said, gentle but unyielding. “You didn’t deny what I said. That you love me.”

“I did. Or maybe it was just a crush, I don’t know. But I’m fine now.”

“Do you hate me, then?” He asked, and it made her heart crack just a little.

“No. I could never hate you.” How could she? Lucanis did so much for her.

“So what changed?”

He looked… pained. Fatigue was a normal expression on him, but not real anguish, not for her. So it shifted to something she recognized as pity. “Love is about proximity. Both physically and metaphorically.” Foam lapped at the sides of her feet. “Loving you was like wanting to be crushed by the sea. The problem with always walking on the edge of it was that the tide shifts. It’s never consistent. I was never where I was supposed to be. And then, when I was gone, there was no proximity. So I chose to stop.”

“You have a very pretty way of taking all the romance out of liking someone.” He muttered. “And I don’t know if you really believe that.” His retort was gifted with an inquiring expression.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” The sky was starting to darken. Purple bleeding into the vast expanse like wings forming from his silhouette. “You can’t love something you’re not tethering yourself to in one way or another. People, places, things, emotions. If you only have the concept of something, you aren’t exactly loving it, right? That’s infatuation. You have to know something to love it. And the only way you can learn about something is to have it close by. Proximity.”

“By that logic, wouldn’t that mean you loved him too?” Lucanis questioned, and she felt his presence bare down on her form. He didn’t need to say who he meant. She just knew.

“No. That wasn’t love. It was desperation.” She groaned.

“Then perhaps proximity isn’t actually the answer.”

There was a cushioning weight at the back of her head. A plush crunch. When had she ended up on her back? Looking to the side, the licking waves seemed so far away. Back up to the sky, and there was Lucanis, hovering above her. His breath smelled like coffee.

He had told her once that a first kiss tasted like lavender and honey cream. But a kiss goodbye was bitter and sweet. What if a first kiss was also the last one? “Are you afraid to find out?” He asked her. She must’ve been talking out loud.

“You know me. I’m not afraid of anything.” Her retort caused his eyes to darken.

“Liar.” He replied. “You fear. Just never the right thing. And never at the right time.”

There was a pressure at her hips, Lucanis had somehow found a way between her legs. A radiating sensation formed at her right side. Not pain. Numbness that could dance beneath her skin. He was so close. So warm. Her eyes lulled back into the blackness as lips pressed into one another.

Too hard, too fast. The sound of the waves twisted. Pitching up, picking up speed, but perfectly tempered. The beating in her chest matched its tempo. Or it matched hers. It was hers. Mechanical and sharp. Everything was sharp. It was beeping. Sharp in her ears and spiking with her heart rate.

The air was sterile and cold. No breeze, no movement. Agonizingly still. But the mouth grew more fervent. She felt no stubble, nor any essence of coffee. All blue-raspberry because it just tasted like her and nothing else. Even with a tongue slipping past her teeth, it was just the flavor of herself folded over again and again. Sickly sweet and cheap. Impatience nipped with canines at her lower lip but she felt it in her hip again. It hurts, stinging and ripping like stitches torn open. And after what felt like an eternity, she heard a voice. A shudder and gasp, nearing a growl, it spoke a single word.

“Vhenan.”

The beeping grew louder. Sheets between fingers. Limbs wrapping around and tugging her back upright. On to bended knees, on to a lap. There was no more kiss and instead the weight seemed to exist all around her. It was still dark but her eyes had opened. Slightly harder to breathe with fabric pressing into her mouth and nose. Something cold glided past the backs of her thighs and she pulled away. A massive gasp for air filling her lungs.

The body beneath her went still. Her vision filled with a ceiling that couldn’t decide if it was made from stone or formed by thick books. She looked forward once more. “Are you alright, Darling?”

It was Emmrich. Just Emmrich. Had it always been him? She hoped so. Choking a few more breaths, she nodded. But shoulders treacherously trembled. “I’m okay.” She said with a shaking voice. Hands cupped at the sides of her face, thumbs swiping at her cheek.

“There, there.” He cooed. “I have you now.” A pleased smile turned at the corners of his lips. “Maker, you sound pretty even when you cry.”

Was she crying? Her face felt wet, and her chest was heaving. If she was, then it was far from delicate. It had to have been a full, throat clenching sob. She shook her head.

“No, I don’t.” She sniffled, and it sounded far more childish than she’d prefer. But Emmrich hummed, elegant fingers stretching down to her neck.

“Poor thing. So hurt.” His usual gentility was absent, and instead replaced by something she could only understand as taunting. He breathed in deep, taking a consuming inhale of her scent. “It’s beautiful, but not quite right. Why don’t I make you cry instead?”

“What?” She asked without anticipating a real answer. Thumbs pushed up into the underside of chin, forcing her gaze close to the ceiling again. Emmrich’s eyes loomed high above, and they felt like a knife hanging off nothingness. Begging to split her.

“You always push people to their limits. A dangling prize that you expect no one to try and take. But I did. You brought me to the edge, so I took you. That is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She protested.

“You had me chase you through a fucking garden.” He hissed. “Then you sulked when I left. Because you wanted more. Always wanting more. I took what I desired because you wished for me to take it. And now, I long to make you weep. Call out for mercy, to gods, to me, with tears streaming down your face. Because that’s what you want, Dearest.”

“I…” Words lacked the capacity for her thoughts. Or she didn’t have thoughts. He seemed impossibly tall from this angle. And his hands, were they always capable of wrapping around her throat that easily? He squeezed. Growing in force with every passing second.

The ever shrinking, immeasurable space of the world seemed to burst at the seams. All moon and candle light across his face. What small inhales she could pull from her nose reeked of car exhaust, burning with gasoline and murky with oil. But Emmrich leaned into her open mouth and breathed deeply. As though it was a delicacy to savor someone’s dying breath. But he looked at her with such irrevocable compassion. And it felt wonderful.

“Do I frighten you, Darling?”

Eyes open.

Sweat.

Tangled in sheets.

Rook jolted, half shooting out the bed. Every inch of her body was burning alive but quickly cooling into an ill-stenched chill against wet skin. Legs kicked out in a fury to draw the bedding away from her, curling in on herself close to the edge while catching gulps of air. The old t-shirt clung to her back and made her feel revolted. When her eyes caught the edges of the frame, instinct took over and the picture was flipped down. Free from eyes she really didn’t need judging her right now.

Dreams mean nothing. Unshaped thoughts that only take a form based upon a listener’s hands. Botching the imagery to fit their own thoughts. So long as she didn’t carve a shape into its face then it would continue to be amorphous. That was for the best.

…

It had taken far too long for her to decide what to save Emmrich as in her phone. Couldn’t be ‘E’, that was reserved for Elek. ‘EV’ seemed like someone could easily figure out who it was on the off chance someone saw who she was messaging, and by someone she meant Viago. Which also meant ‘Lichdom’ was out of the question… Well, there was a funny idea but he’d probably hate it. Counterpoint, it was really funny.

Her phone buzzed. New message from ‘skull emoji Daddy’. Bone Daddy will never not be hilarious. She read the previous interaction for the third time.

‘Good evening, Rook! Apologies for the late hour, something came up. But worry not, I have not forgotten my promise. Our current study materials shall include; Knowledge of Wars Past by Helga Firminoss (third edition), Banner’s Call by Eike Maierhorn, and War Torn Alienage by Eolas Alerion.’

A photo was below, showing Knowledge of Wars Past’s binding. His hand was also in the shot, grasping the book at the bottom. Fuck, was that what made her have that weird dream? Rook tore her eyes away from the photo to continue reading.

‘The third edition includes a design along the spine, if that aids you in its search. We left off on page 47, I believe. However, I was unable to find a copy of War Torn Alienage at Blackthorn. It has likely been checked out. I can provide my personal copy on Wednesday, if you would prefer.’

Below that was another text that Rook deleted. But she recalled it as reading: ‘Sincerely yours, Emmrich’. Which was just too precious.

‘Thank you, sir. But don’t use your real name again.’

‘Safer that way.’

‘Apologies! I will refrain from doing so.’

‘Are you sure you don’t mind me borrowing your copy?’

‘I can wait, it’s not a big deal.’

‘It would be my pleasure. I shall bring it tomorrow.’

‘Thank you.’ Purple heart emoji.

The newest message was below.

‘If you have any questions, I am only a message away.’

Creators, he was practically setting himself up for a tease. Any worries that she had about giving him her number quickly melted away as the excitement took hold. How to respond, how to respond?

‘Any questions?’

‘That’s a dangerous offer, Sweets.’

‘You should know better by now than to give me that much.’

‘Tits or ass?’

Weariness already tickled at Rook’s brain. Taking Jacobus to The Diamond turned, reasonably, into a whole ordeal with them still trying to figure out what was happening. Viago and Teia wouldn’t tell her much, but her Handler canceled her only appointment for that day. The only details she’d gotten were from what little Jacobus had shared with her while she drove. Fucking Antaam. Again.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything she could really do about it right now. It’d be out of her hands until either her Employer or Handler decided she was needed. They’d find Dareth, and then him and Jacobus could explain this mess.

Which meant it was time to focus on the work she could take. So, a trip back to Blackthorn was in order. And where she found herself outside of as she sent the last message to Emmrich. Her phone slipped back into her bag as she entered.

Like always, Heiner was sitting at the front desk. But this time, when he saw Rook a look of worry struck through his eyes. Readjusting glasses and it was gone. She waved, he waved back hesitantly. Steps were nearly silent as she wove through the aisles her and Emmrich had gone through yesterday. Not bothering to look for the book he had already offered to let her borrow.

A new problem that she was finding was the height of the shelves. Usually, Emmrich was with her or had been with her while picking out materials and he had a significant height advantage on her. Merda, what was the average height in Nevarra? Six feet? She just needed a couple more inches to be able to grab Banner’s Call and it was just her luck that she decided not to wear her boots today. Just as she was about to step away to try and find one of those little step stools, something pressed into her. Making her freeze.

A hand at the small of her back, and the unmistakable sense of body heat poured over her from above. She looked up to find someone plucking the text she was after off the shelf. “Sorry. You looked like you could use some help.” The figure backed away, and Rook turned to find Heiner standing behind her and presenting the book. One must smile, and smile more, and be a liar for having done so.

But of course, he simply had to touch her to grab the book. Couldn’t have asked her to step back first. Whatever.

“My library savior coming in with a swift assist.” She said, taking the book and adding it to the now stack. “How ever can I repay you?” Expecting some kind of bashful expression, she was surprised to instead find him gazing at her woefully.

“You don’t have to ‘repay me’ for doing something for you. It’s my job.” Even his tone was laced with some sort of dejection that she didn’t quite understand.

“Oh, I know. I was just making a joke.” She said warily.

“Are you doing okay?” He asked softly. Rook raised a brow.

“Yeah, I’m alright… Why do you ask?”

That made him almost scowl. As if the very act of her protest was too much, despite it being next to nothing at all. Or like he had caught her in a lie when she wasn’t. “Yesterday.” Ah. “You left in a hurry and you looked pretty upset. So I just wanted to check in.” That must be why he’s acting so fucking weird. She grinned sheepishly.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’m fine.”

“What happened?” Did he think they were close enough to where he could ask that? Rook brought the books to her chest, hugging them tight. Normally, she’d have no issue with someone being able to look down the gap in her shirt, but admittedly she was feeling a bit put off by all of this and the minimal additional coverage was fictitious comfort. Of course, she did it with the perfect amount of mousiness that his type usually fawn over.

“Family stuff. Nothing too bad, I just get tunnel vision when I’m mad. But it's fine now.” She reassured.

“Professor Volkarin looked really worried.”

Rook paused at that. So, he knew Emmrich’s name now. No big deal, nothing to get worried about. “Yeah… He brought my stuff out to me. I kind of had to leave in a hurry. Good thing he did too, or else I would’ve left everything behind. Including my keys!” Her finger ran across the spine of one of the books, acting embarrassed by it.

Crow’s don’t flinch. Or at least they do everything in their power to avoid it unless requested. And when Heiner reached a hand towards Rook, that was no exception. Movements, actions of any sort, were always a tell. So, she remained calm. Still as the air before a storm. Fingers grazed the top most strands of her hair. A ghoulish touch that she felt more in her vertebrae than on her scalp. But he grasped the shelf behind her and leaned.

Rook followed the path, allowing her weight to shift more towards her heels until her back pressed into the divots. The act on Heiner’s part was done fluidly and yet lacked any sort of real confidence. She thought it similar to how she could always sniff out the new people in competition season. Knowing what to do on paper but thrown into the deep end would make anyone second guess.

“Look, this is probably going to sound really sudden but…” He trailed off, briefly chewing on his tongue to find the right words. “I know you said you’re new here, and I already told you I’d help you out if I could- But, well-” Fuck, spit it already. “What I’m trying to say is, if you need more than just library help, the offer still applies.”

If Rook weren’t already in ‘work mode’, she would’ve grimaced. But she looked off to the side, downcast. And he released a held breath that smelled overbearingly of spearmint gum. “That’s… really sweet of you. Thanks.” Just say whatever will make him back up the fastest.

He got quiet, suspiciously so. Rook looked up again to find him studying her. Was he… disappointed? He wasn’t upset, he looked relieved in the jaw but disheartened in the eyes. His reaction had one face while he made himself another. Was he expecting a different answer? Try to lighten the mood.

“But, speaking of library help, I do need these checked out. Care to save me from accidentally stealing government property?” She grinned. And he returned it, although somewhat hesitantly. Heiner stepped away to gesture back towards the desk.

“I don’t know if I’d call that saving, but yeah. I can get that for you.”

The moment Heiner’s back turned, the gentle smile dropped from her visage. An embroidery of annoyance fitting into her expression as a realization came over her. Rook had always been the sort to trust her gut. So when she felt the twist deep within the pith and marrow of herself, she knew it was best to listen and wait.

…

Wednesday had been unexpected. Emmrich took Strife’s words to heart. But none of it was fair, when had it ever been? Things could not be simple. Things couldn’t just be. And it was least of all fair to her. The fragility of their circumstances weighed heavily on his conscience. If every little thing seemed like a machination designed to drag him into the depths, then what would that do to her? Was he to drag her down with him?

No.

That wouldn’t do at all. He needed time. Just another day. Not a cancellation just… another day. He knew he didn’t have it in him to cancel this time anyways, even if he felt it was still an option. If he had known how Monday would have gone, he would have asked Johanna to have her trial for today instead. Maker, give him the strength to just stay on task. Just for today.

When he left the University that afternoon, he went in prepared. With an admittedly absurd amount of materials for her to go through so that he may learn what she preferred for future lessons. If there was anything he was good at, it was working. Drowning in work. Not even the essence of artificial fruit could penetrate the curving waft of paper, leather, and ink. So long as he kept the pages moving, he could breathe.

Then the weekend would grace him with some time to… think, perhaps. To consider more deeply what he ought to be doing. And to consider what Rook was doing.

The shocking part of it was that her mood was more contemplative than usual. She did not tease him, as he had anticipated her to do, but she was not upset either. At least not overtly from what he could glean. However, she did make a rather intriguing request.

“Let’s take our lesson outside today.” She said. It had not been the first time they’d done so, but he had been the one to insist on it before. Again, she had met him in the parking lot outside Blackthorn. Only this time, she had not made a show of flagging him down and instead texted him her location. As though she were hiding.

“Are you sure?” The weather would not have been so bad had there not been such a strong breeze that day. She was wearing a jacket, so that at least told him this decision had not been entirely spontaneous.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I think I’d prefer to walk around. Or we can do it in your car, I guess. Just maybe not in this parking lot.” She debated, leaning up against the tree she had tucked herself behind. The idea of having her in his car made him nervous, but her demeanor made it all the worse.

It’d be one thing if she had phrased it another way, the way she usually would. Some kind of tongue-in-cheek remark about how she wanted to have a moment of private with him, of course spoken with more salacious intent. But she hadn’t. She was almost skittish, crossed arms and anxious fingers.

“I guess it might be kind of cold… We can go if you’d prefer.” She backtracked, and immediately Emmrich replied.

“Not at all.” His gaze dawdled over toward the building in the distance. Perhaps she was weary of returning so soon after her encounter with the boy. Worried that someone may recognize and question her. She did say she picked up the books yesterday, there was a chance someone already had. Regardless, it was clear that something she believed to be awaiting her inside made her uncomfortable. “If you do not mind me going off script for this lecture, I can forgo the reading. The wind is rather disagreeable today. But how will you take notes?”

“I’ll just type it in my notes app and copy it over later.” She smiled appreciatively.

The walk had been pleasant. But she always made sure to walk on whichever side would make her less visible to the direction the building was facing. So, he observed her carefully. Every moment they stopped, Emmrich would angle himself to block more of her, and she would relax every time and grant him a small upturn of her lips. As though she had instantly figured out what he was doing. She probably had even if he didn’t say anything, nor did she clarify the necessity for it. But by the end of the appointment, she was in much better spirits. That was what mattered.

All around uneventful. They parted ways with a promise for Rook to ask him questions later after she fulfilled a different contract. And the questions were plentiful. Most to do with simple clarifications to do with the lesson. A few were not. Though, one exchange did stand out.

‘What do you do on the days we don’t have sessions?’

‘Like on days we normally would? I’m guessing you still keep yourself busy.’

‘I focus most of my time to work in the Necropolis.’

‘… Is that a code for something I’m supposed to know?’

Ah, right, she hadn’t explored much of the campus. At least he imagined she didn’t.

‘The Necropolis is the building behind the lecture hall!’

‘I had informed you that we functioned as a research center as well, did I not?’

‘You did. I guess I just didn’t think much about it.’

For a few minutes, Emmrich debated how to respond. She had asked him what he does but… That did not necessarily mean she was interested in his ramblings. He could try to be brief.

‘The Necropolis is where we allocate most of our physical work outside of the lectern. Forensics, curation, other such studies are kept there while most everything else is left to Mortalitasi Hall. In all likelihood, you will be introduced to it soon.’

‘Cool, so now I know where to go if I have a bone to pick.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Or are the pickings more bare-bones?’

‘No, knowing you it’s probably a bone-afide museum in there!’

‘I feel it in my bones!’

‘That’s quite enough now, Miss Rook.’

‘What? Am I not tickling your… funny-bone?’

’Okay, I’m done now.’

‘It is appreciated.’

‘Hey! Give me some credit. I could have made a boning you joke.’

‘But I didn’t. You’re welcome.’ And she sent it with a purple heart beside it.

‘That is also appreciated.’

On Thursday evening, he learned something new. Rook liked puns. Terrible puns at that. Maker, she was too much.

…

Friday was absolutely fucking exhausting. Emmrich really hadn’t been kidding when he said she could be a lot. Not that Rook didn’t believe him already, but still. Rook ended up sitting there mostly in silence just to keep up with the breakneck pace that woman seemed to exist at.

Then, on Saturday, Viago had to break the news to her that Gloam and Lichdom switched days because Hezenkoss would be unavailable. Two Fridays in a row. The only good news was that supposedly she had been rather complimentary of Rook’s performance the previous day. Which meant that Johanna likes the ‘dog’ types. Obedient to every command. Rook could at least work with that.

It was crazy just how different her two tutors seemed. Time with Johanna felt like she was being drawn and quartered, while Emmrich… Maybe she shouldn’t think about how time with the professor felt.

There was a four hour appointment for her that night and leading into Sunday, so her Handler had already blocked her off for the day. Sessions with The General were few and far between, but they were always intensive. Having ostensibly all of Sunday off felt like a treat, and she intended to use it to the fullest extent. Which included having some dear friends over to stay the night. A much needed get together, partially for Rook but mostly for Bellara as this was her first weekend back since Arlathan and not on a school day.

Having company always made Rook’s meager accommodations feel well thought out. Plenty of space to breathe and lots of room for air mattresses without moving furniture. The smell of baked goods and hair oil, earthy and infused with lavender, hid the trace fragrance of her perfume, that made her feel less alone than either of her companions could even realize. Like bygone summers in the Free Marches.

“So, he’s going back into chemo again?” Harding asked, sitting criss crossed on Rook’s couch. This was the first time Lace had seen their friend up and well enough to explain what was going on. But since Rook lived next door, she’d already been made aware of everything.

“Yeah, but they said they caught it early this time! Which is good news. Really good news.” Bellara’s shoulders released a sigh below the backs of Rook’s knees. “I’m still glad I went home… Just in case, you know?”

“Mhm.” Rook ran her fingers over Bellara’s scalp, working the oil into the roots. Her saying that caused Harding to take her sights off of the woman on the floor and flick to the one sharing the couch with her.

“I get it. Better to go and see for yourself than avoid it.” The comment was in response to Bellara, spoken with an understanding tone. But make no mistake, Lace had only been looking at Rook as she said it. “I’m glad to see you back again, though. And way less tired.”

Harding had been the one to pick up Bellara from the airport when she came home early Monday morning. Rook had offered, but Lace was always persistent. She would be out and about that early anyways, she could take calls from Cassandra and Leliana while in the car, and other such arguments were made. The grind never stops at Seeker. But Bels had been pretty out of it and didn’t talk much. So the phone calls didn’t bother her anyway.

And if Rook knew Bellara, that probably meant she hadn’t slept the whole time she was back in Arlathan and was coming down with the emotional crash. That was proven by the fact that she slept through almost the entirety of Monday. Even missed her classes. Which is why Rook kindly offered to work on her hair in her friend’s stead. One less thing for her to worry about to start the new week. An activity usually reserved for either a mother and daughter or between sisters, sometimes close cousins.

“Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better now that I've settled back into the class schedule.” Bellara leaned her head back to glance up at Rook. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. You didn’t have to, but it’s really nice.”

“Don’t mention it.” She smiled, and only Lace picked up on the sad way her eyes deepened at the corners.

“I can do yours after! If you want!” Bellara beamed.

Rook’s fingers dragged more slowly. Pensive and apprehensive, before she smirked with a tilt of her own. “I can do mine myself. Besides, my hair is like three feet shorter than yours. Doesn’t really take a whole lot of effort.” She picked up the comb and slowly ran it through the lightly damp threads of rich brown.

Easier, faster, less of a bother, used to it, less depressing. Plenty of reasons for her to just wait and do it herself. Bellara hummed with slight disappointment.

“Harding…” Rook groaned to change the subject, turning her head. Lace squinted. “Hearth cake… Please… So hungry…”

“So have a hearth cake.” She snorted mischievously.

“I have oil on my hands!” Rook whined, flashing puppy eyes. “As sweet as Bels may be, I don’t think she wants sugary crumbs in her hair. And they’re all the way over there!” She motioned with her forehead over to the kitchen. “Pretty please?” The hair falling over her nose made her friend chuckle in the middle of an eye roll.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get you one. But just one! You’ve done nothing but eat sweets since we got here.” Lace chastised but got up all the same.

“Thank you! If you could grab my phone out of my bag too, then you’d be my favorite person in the whole, wide world!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m pretty sure you’ve given me that title like twelve times now.”

“And you’ve earned it every single time!” Rook retorted with a toothy grin.

This was nice. It’d been a while since Harding had the chance to actually hang out. Well, she offered to stay for a while last time but Rook had to get ready for work so… “Do you want one too, Bellara?” Lace asked.

“Yes please!”

Old habits were hard to break, the time to do hair was usually filled with melodies. Now was no exception, weaving through the gap of silence. Twisting in the back of her mouth and pressing through sinus passages. Bels wriggled her head again to glance at her.

“Rook, are you okay?”

Raising a brow, she replied. “Yeah, I’m good.” Bellara made a tight lipped smile.

“So are you doing Suledin for me then?” Oh. Was she? Bellara picked up where Rook’s humming left off. “In elgar sa vir mana, in tu setheneran din emma na.”

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t even notice.” She sighed.

“You know, you can always change your mind, right? My parents would love to have you over for Arlathvhen! If you’re feeling homesick, I mean.”

For a moment, Rook debated. She could make a cheeky comment back. Something like ‘oh, if I wanted a trip back home then I’d just hop on a plane to Salle’. But that didn’t feel right. Thankfully, Bellara had asked quietly enough that their friend didn’t hear. Otherwise, Rook knew that it would become much more than a pleasant offer.

“Will you take an ‘I’ll think about it’?” She asked, and Bellara nodded with a lilt of excitement.

A few moments later, Harding returned with her hands full. A plate with three hearth cakes in one hand and Rook’s clunky smartphone in the other. She bent over slightly, letting Bellara pluck one in hand with the other cupped below to catch the crumbs. Rook leaned over and opened her mouth.

“I’m not feeding it to you.” Lace chuckled.

“Oil hands! Please! Favorite person!” She pleaded before opening her mouth again.

“Ugh, fine!” Her friend teased, juggling her hold on the plate so that she’d have a free hand. It took a second for her to find a semi comfortable hold. The phone slotted between fingers and the plate on her forearm. Taking a cake, she brought it to Rook’s teeth and allowed her to rip a full bite off. Tongue and neck working together in angles to fit it fully in her mouth with the least amount of mess as she could manage. Bellara was from Arlathan, and apparently they added cranberries to their hearth cakes. Rook was used to currants. But they were delicious all the same.

She attempted to thank her friend, but with a full mouth it more or less turned into pillowy nonsense. Still, her friend got the idea and grinned. Rook’s phone screen lit up, out of sight. And Harding peered down at the screen to check the time.

“Uh…” She trailed off. “Hey Rook?”

“Hmph?”

“Quick question, who’s Skull Daddy?” Rook’s neck snapped to attention, catching her friend looking at the screen with a drawn expression. Bellara stifled a surprised cough. “Apparently they’re wondering about ‘your thoughts on the essence of suffering as presented in the text, within the context garnered from previous readings.’ What is this? A riddle?”

Bellara began scrambling to her feet, momentarily forgetting the fact that Rook was more or less hooked to her. Shoulders to knees. Which created a mess of legs and arms as each tried to find a way out. Rook’s jaw chewed, attempting to force heavy swallows as fast as she could.

“Let me see, let me see, let me see-” Bellara’s insistence was cut.

“No! No seeing! He’s no one!”

“Well, he’s clearly someone. You don’t exactly give your number away easily.” Lace snorted but staved off Bels from snooping by pushing the phone back into Rook’s slicked hand.

“Maybe I just have an antagonistic relationship with my father. You don’t know.” She argued, tucking the phone between her arm and ribs. Harding gave her a pointed look.

“Now, I know you’re not trying to pull the ‘real dad’ card on me, Rook.” Her red braid slipped off her shoulder as she put a hand on her hip. Curse them knowing each other for almost ten years. A devious grin stretched across her face. “Oh, you only get defensive like this when you like someone.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Uh… yeah! You do!”

Bellara, not so subtly, scooched closer to Rook. All the while pretending to not look at where the top of the phone was peeking out. “I do not. And even if I did, I have nothing to get defensive over.” Rook’s comment made Bels’ attention divert, eyes honing in on a multi-pierced ear. Suddenly, the pointed tip on the right was lightly pinched between a pointer finger and thumb. She yelped in surprise.

“Your ears are burning up!” Bellara squealed.

“Ay! Merda! No!” Rook shook her head free. “I’m Antivan, we run hot.”

“What’s he like? The skull makes me think he’s got to be sort of dark and mysterious, right? Maybe brooding!” Bellara theorized.

“Knowing Rook’s type? Probably.” Harding snorted into her knuckles. “Is he Antivan too? Overly complicated with a dubious background?” Bels gasped.

“Oh. My. Creators… Rook, are you a mafia boss girlfriend? Did you used to be?” The questions made Rook want to double over on herself. Partially in laughter at the ridiculous fantasy, the knowledge that it wasn’t actually too far off, and total embarrassment to make up the rest. With Bellara, everything sounded like a serial. Overbearingly romantic and tragic.

“Did she never tell you about her and Lucan-”

“Wow! I actually hate this!” Rook exclaimed. Bellara’s eyes went wide like a halla’s in headlights.

“You? And Lucanis? When? How?”

“Nope. Not touching that. Can we stop talking about this now?”

Her defeated expression must have finally caught up to her companions, as an uncomfortable quiet befell them. Rook hated quiet. This night was supposed to be for Bels, to help her feel better. And it suddenly occurred to Rook that the most excited she had seen her friend since she got back was… while talking about this. A heavy groan tumbled out of her teeth.

“Lucanis never liked me like that, so I never told him. Nor do I have plans to admit that so if any of you do then you’ll be my enemy for forever.” Lace already knew that, so the comment was mostly directed at Bellara. “We’re just friends, and he’s dating one of my other friends and it’s amazing and I love that for them. So there isn’t much to talk about, it’s not really that interesting.”

“I mean… it was a little interesting.” Harding admitted. Rook glared at her. “What? That story has Bellara written all over it.”

Long, wetted hair well over her friend’s vallaslin. Full of coy guilt. “Only if you’re okay with telling me… You don’t have to if it’ll make you upset. But I am curious.”

Creators, who could ever say no to that face? She looked like a kitten. “Fine but- Dio Cane, not right now, okay? I don’t have any liquor and definitely not enough wine to open that can of worms.” Another time. Hopefully at least a couple more days after having a concerning dream about him. Which she still had no intention to tell anyone about, least of all Bellara. Dalish superstitions and all.

“But is there enough wine to talk about the new one?” Lace’s voice teetered. Looking at Bels and… she was giving Rook the eyes again.

“No wine necessary. But I’m playing by Hunt rules, I don’t have to answer anything I don’t want to.” She spun on the balls of her feet, picking up the towel had been using for the hair and drying her hands with it. As best as she could. Her phone plopped onto the leather cushioning before Rook’s body collapsed on top of it. Then proceeded to bury her eyes in the crook of her elbow so that she wouldn’t have to look at them. There were a few moments of shuffling and the settling of weight before one of them spoke, surprisingly close to Rook’s face.

“Is he tall?” Bellara went first with Harding sputtering a giggle.

“That’s seriously what you want to know first?” She countered.

“I want to get a good picture of him in my mind!”

“Yeah, he’s pretty tall.” Rook answered.

“Like tall for an elf? Average height for a human? Short for a Qunari but still tall?”

“Tall for a human, I think.”

Rook could practically feel the nervousness radiating off Harding at the admission. Yeah, this was why stuff was hard to talk about sometimes. Of course, Lace would never spill any of this to anyone, least of all let it slip to Rook’s mother. But they both knew.

“How old is he?” She asked, pointedly. It was a fair question, given Lucanis, but she didn’t really know how to respond.

“Not sure. But he’s older than me.” Way older, she should keep that to herself. Bellara laughed almost manically.

“Is he handsome? Or is he more like… hot? Oh! Or cute! Like a soft type!”

Heat flushed to Rook’s face. In the darkness, she imagined Emmrich’s face and she thought to herself. “Handsome but in a really distinguished way. Classic and sort of gentlemanly. Kind of like those old movies.” That was the best way she could think to describe him.

“Human, tall, handsome… Is he actually Antivan or no?”

“Nope.” She replied.

“I’m going to be honest, that’s surprising.” Harding muttered.

“How did you guys meet?” Bels shifted again and Rook felt a bit of pressure against the side of her ribs.

“Next question.”

The weight of worry was there again. Lace… probably knew what that meant. She wouldn’t say anything but she probably figured out at least part of it. “On a scale of one to ten, how much of a Lucanis situation is this? Be honest.”

“That isn’t a fair question if I don’t know what that means!” Bellara argued.

“Like a seven… ish. Sorry, Bels.” From Harding’s perspective, that was very important because it came with multiple layers. Viago was probably going to kick her ass for this. The head resting on her side made a pouting noise.

“Fine.” She conceded with a groan. “So… how far have you two gone? I’m assuming kind of far. Because of the name.”

“Damn, Bels. I’m a lady. Can’t talk about that.”

“Come on! I wanna know!” She poked her bicep.

“Have you held hands?” Harding specified.

Rook paused. “I don’t think so?”

“You have him saved as ‘Skull Daddy’ and you haven’t even held hands?” Rook could practically hear the scrunch in Bellara’s brow as she questioned it. “Or did you guys just skip to kissing?”

Harding has known Rook for a long time. Way longer than Bellara had. So when Rook stopped breathing and went impossibly still, she knew something was reeling through her mind. “Oh no… Rook. No.”

“What?” Bellara’s presence left. And unbeknownst to her, their suspiciously quiet friend was going through the closest thing to an existential crisis she’d had in a long time.

“I… don’t think we’ve kissed yet.” Her words were slightly muffled by the sofa.

“Rook, please tell me it’s because you haven’t done anything at all yet.” Harding pleaded.

Her mind filled with thoughts of the garden, the mausoleum. His lips on her neck, voice in her ear, fingers inside her, and then a kiss to the top of her head. As she felt the eyes of her friends burrow further into her to seek an answer, all she had to offer was an unintelligible grumble that mingled back and forth between her tongues.

And the rest was silence.

[quintessenceofdust88]

🍼 🍼 🍼🍼🍼+ ⌛️⌛️⌛️⌛️⌛️

IRE. IRE MY LOVE. I HAVE NO GOOD EXCUSE FOR TAKING THIS LONG. I AM SORRY. It's just. Canon was not helping. Not the show's nor my own life's. But here you are, and again, I am so so sorry, and I hope you enjoy both!!

- 🍼 (start of ch. 7, and you helped me with it so thank you sooo much! ♥)

“Sophia?”

“No. Luna?”

“Pretty, but no. Abigail?”

“…Tommy.”

“…Yeah, okay, just realized the problem with that one. Hard no.” Sigh. “This is not working. How about we come up with some boy names?”

“Okay. Benjamin?”

“No. Owen?”

“Definitely not. Romeo?”

“No, Evan, our child is not a Shakespearean hero”

“Well, there goes Hamlet and Macbeth.”

“…you were not planning on naming our son Hamlet.”

“That’s rich coming from the one who wanted to name him Maverick”

“I just wanted to reference a good movie” Snap. ‘Wait. I got it! Luke and Leia”

“…I’m divorcing you”

“I’m taking that as a no”

They flop back on the bed, and Buck sighs, running a hand on his twenty-two-week bump. The babies are quiet right now, which is not helpful; if they had kicked, Buck could have gauged their opinions on the name options.

“Why is it so hard to name our kids?! I figured at this point we’d have figured out what their names are, you know?” He laments, resting his head against Tommy’s shoulder.

Tommy presses a kiss to his forehead, a small chuckle escapes his lips. He rests a hand above Buck’s belly, running his thumb over it as it’s been his habit (and Buck already knows he’ll miss it once the babies are out).

"I know, love, but have some more patience. They'll tell us who they are eventually. We just have to keep listening"

"I just hope they tell us before they're old enough to understand they're being called Blob 1 and Blob 2"

"Well. It's certainly unique" Tommy says, and Buck glares at him. His husband smiles smugly, and gives him a small peck on the lips. "I'm kidding, sweetheart. But it will come to us, I promise" (TBU under the cut!)

- ⌛️ (cont. from here)

“No, Buck, you don’t.” Bobby insists, and he’s looking intensely at Buck now. “When you arrived I had already softened, at least a little bit. They… they had managed to soften me. I was much worse when I arrived. I was grieving, and in pain, and… And Tommy helped me forget.”

Buck’s not sure he likes the picture that creates in his mind. First of all, it brings an irrational pang of jealousy imagining Tommy and Bobby together, but that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that it sounds an awful lot like Bobby had been using Tommy, back then, and Buck doesn’t feel comfortable imagining a man he admires so much doing something like that.

Bobby seems to take his silent reaction for what it is, and he looks down, expression regretful.

“I’m not proud of this, Buck. Not even a little bit. Tommy deserved better from me. I… He was dealing with his own issues back then, I see it now, and I made everything worse for him.” 

Buck lets Bobby’s words simmer in his thoughts. Part of him wants to jump to Bobby’s own defense, his loyalty to his captain unwavering even in the face of Bobby himself. 

“Well, he shouldn’t have kept Mateo from you anyway. It’s… He’s your son, Bobby” Buck emphasizes, and part of him, an irrational part, is jealous of Mateo, who can unwaveringly claim to be Bobby Nash’s son in a way Buck would love to. 

“He is. And Tommy tried to tell me.” Bobby says, and Buck gasps in surprise, his eyes widening. “I… Instead of listening, I broke his heart. I said I didn’t want to commit to anyone or anything.”

Buck is left speechless, staring at Bobby with widened eyes. He knew Bobby was a wreck after losing his family, but had he really been that dismissive of Tommy back then? When Tommy meant to tell him about the child they’d have together? --

There you go, darling, once again I'm sorry about the delay but I hope the excerpts will make up for it!

[1moreff-creator]

Congratulations on finishing the David video ! I hope that my well wishes helped you through the process ...Now how long is that therapy bill--

Well thank you! Indeed, those well wishes and those of everyone else sure did help.

Oh, so you wanna know the therapy bill? As in, everything that drove me insane while making it? Here you go!

CW this may come off as a bit of a vent post at times but it’s not actually serious. I’m perfectly fine. I’m perfectly fine. I’m perfectly-

>David as a character being really complicated. This son of a bitch has been my main source of stress over the course of- how long have I been working on this again? I don’t even want to think about it.

>I thank the gods I already had some editing experience because it would have been hell to edit this otherwise. It was still hell, but at least I knew my way around it a bit.

>However, I was rusty at the start, so the editing style fluctuates somewhat noticeably through the video. This isn’t really bothersome for viewers I think, but it annoys me conceptually.

>The audio at the start of the video is bad and I am not fixing it at this point, you all are just gonna have to deal with it. It isn’t unbearable, and it gets way better, but y’know.

>Also I had to get over some performance anxiety that I just don’t like my voice too much if you can just imagine Min’s voice instead of mine that’d be great-

>Ehem-

>Numerals, footnotes, tally 5, all the things that drove me insane before I started making the video.

>Altdrdt was also a small heart attack because what if something about it changes something about the MV- Thankfully nothing can really be connected, so we’re fine.

>Speaking of small heart attacks, the editing software I used (Lightworks free edition) occasionally crashes for no apparent reason, and while I always knew it wasn’t a problem, I did always worry I would lose a lot of progress whenever it happened, so you know, stress.

>Footnote 11. Fuck that one in particular.

>Footnote 8’s non-existence too. At this point I really hope it just doesn’t exist so I don’t have to adjust the explanation I gave for it.

>The world of abnormal sentiment dances. Why is that code so fucking unsolvable tally 5 got solved in like 48 hours-

>”Original”. I don’t feel like color-coding it here, but you know what I’m talking about probably.

>Actually color theory in general. It’s a really good theory, but I have to mention it literally all the time and it drove me insane.

>Language theory too. Why does this MV require knowledge in Japanese I am so done.

>The pronoun “wagahai.” Between this and the Milgram Mikoto “boku/ore” thing I am going to become an expert in Japanese first person pronouns.

>The nursery rhyme “Goodbye triangle, come again square,” and how it’s changed for LGI. I didn’t read into it took much, but just finding it was enough of a headache.

>The line where Xander says David is “just as human as the rest of us.” And y’know, “No Longer Human” and all that. Stop trying to get me to ship Xanvid because it’s gonna work eventually. (It already is).

>Everything is a fucking Hamlet reference. There are eight in total. Sometimes you’ll see a line that’s literally a sentence long, you google it and oops! It’s fucking Hamlet again! “I did love you once, you should not have believed me”, “call the noblest to the audience”, “the purpose of playing is as twere to hold a mirror up to nature,” etc. In fact, there’s a chance you don’t even know what that last one is, because it’s almost fucking translucent in the “clown clown let’s go off and engage in self-delusion” scene.

>Speaking of difficult-to-notice things, the arrow pointing at the Mai portrait in like one frame of the “God is dead” thing. It was pointed out to me after I edited the explanation of that numeral, which is just hilarious, isn’t it?

>I accidentally fell down the LGI rabbit hole while researching too. I ended up falling in love with the character, Ayaka Tsujima, mostly out of Stockholm syndrome, and all the songs are extreme bangers. None of them are on Spotify and I want to cry.

>”Even if you cry, make noise, …” First chorus.

“Even if you cry, make noise, …” Second chorus.

“Even if we cry, make noise, …” Third chorus.

Why is it different? I have an answer in the video, but it sure dealt 12d4 psychic damage when I realized that!

(Is that how psychic damage works? I don’t know I’ve never really been into tabletop RPG.)

>Could J and Whit stop making themselves look like the masterminds please? Veronika too but I don’t think that can really be stopped.

>Xander’s missing eyepatch in the one scene, and the theories which came from it.

>All the lyrics and all the background text augh. It’s so much.

>Why is Min only mentioned like once and very briefly I wanted to gush about her for at least half the video but I could only talk about her for like a minute at most I am so mad.

>The tunnel scene, the tunnel scene. There are so many literary references and none of them really seem related and I don’t think anyone understands my struggle.

>Fucking “””Diana””” in that one scene. How is a character we have three frames of driving me so insane?

>Did you know Socrates, the philosopher, was very Shidou Kirisaki-coded? I learnt that while researching for this video!

… I don’t know how we got there, but it is referenced in a visual gag in the video.

>The David MV was sorta my gateway into Milgram, so you can probably count that as part of the brainrot it inflicted on me as well.

>The amount of times I would google some author or book and the first search result was fucking Bungou Stray Dogs. It wasn’t a big deal but it always amused me.

I could probably continue, but that’s enough for now. Yeah I’m about to single-handedly make a therapist’s entire career.

Anyways, take care! Because I sure need to!

[delphinidin4]

Actually, I'm not done talking about this.

Here is my reasoning for saying Dracula:

Muppet Moby Dick would be awful unless they changed the story beyond all recognition. Because Moby Dick is an awful story. Because it isn't a story. It's like, "I got on a whaling ship. A lot of metaphors happened. We tried to kill a whale. We failed. Then everybody died but me." That summary actually probably conveys more plot than actually appears in the novel. Please do not.

Muppet Hamlet: This could be interesting, but again, could only be a Muppet movie if they significantly changed the plot. Cause... uh... there's a lot of tragic dyin' in that thar play. The point of Hamlet (at least the way it is interpreted by modern literature) isn't the plot, it's the philosophizing, and philosophizing does not a good Muppet movie make. (I want that on a tshirt.)

Muppet Metamorphosis: Metamorphosis is even more depressing than Hamlet and has even less plot than Moby Dick. Seriously.

Muppet Count of Monte Cristo: Have you ever read this novel? It is a long-ass, weird-ass book. Guy gets screwed over by people, escapes from Alcatraz, then spends like a decade getting his psychological revenge on the people who betrayed him because he literally thinks he's the instrument of Divine Justice. And again, that conveys more interest than the narrative actually holds. A Muppet version of James Caviezel movie adaptation? Sure. A Muppet version of the novel? Ehhhhhhhhh please no.

Muppet Pride and Prejudice: This could work. There are enough silly and over-the-top characters that they could make it work as an over-the-top comedy, while at the same time, the story has some heart that they could be srs bzns about. My only worry is that too much of the story is one-on-one romantic stuff, which means either a ton of kermit and piggy trying to be srs bzns or a ton of the two humans interacting without any muppets. And I would definitely want kermit and piggy to play mr. and mrs. bennet. 100%.

Muppet War of the Worlds: Never read it; can't opine. From what little I remember about the plot, I think it might be simultaneously too scary and too depressing for a Muppet movie. I don't particularly want a post-apocalyptic Muppet movie unless it's going to be a parody of something entirely over-the-top, like Mad Max.

Muppet Odyssey: I feel like this could work. My only worry would be that the Odyssey is already so wild and fantastical that it wouldn't be funny enough: a lot of the humor of the Muppets is taking something relatively serious that has its ridiculous inclusions and making it absolutely bonkers. The Odyssey is already pretty bonkers. (Tho I want Circe to be played by Miss Piggy so she can turn all of Kermit's crew into pigs, AND I also want her to play Penelope, because that would just be funny as hell.)

Muppet Great Gatsby: I almost voted for this. Because this is EXACTLY the kind of story that imo good Muppet movies are made from: it is a story that takes itself Sooper Seriously Guys that is also kind of ridiculous, so the Muppets could mine all the ridiculousness out of it. The only problem is that, again, they would have to change a lot of it to make it less tragic, depressing, violent, misogynistic... Well, make it less Great Gatsby I guess is what I'm saying.

Muppet Dracula: This is the one I voted for. The story takes itself seriously but is over-the-top and bizarre and hilarious and just ASKING to be parodied. There's plenty of plot and action. There are a lot of fun characters. Kermit and Piggy are NOT Jonathan and Mina Harker, but Arthur and Lucy. They'd have to do something to the plot to deal with the fact that Piggy gets staked and her head cut off, but most of the rest of the story could stay, I think. Also, Dracula is a well-known and beloved story, just like Xmas Carol and Treasure Island. It's wild already, and the Muppets would have just the right sense of humor to make it truly hilarious.

(Bonus points if you explain how you would adapt it in the tags)

[depressedbagpipe]

Enchanted (Prince Caspian x you)

Part II

Words: 3681 Warnings: caffeine, me forgetting how to properly write, also me forgetting the source material, ALSO me trying to write cute descriptions but failing miserably. A/N: again, i don't live in nyc, nor am i an architect so yeah. also, I'm taking for inspiration neil gaiman's short story 'the problem of Susan' that i haven't read so, again, don't look too much into it. sorry for the absence, but mental health is a bit scarce lately. Taglist: @just-levyy, @sergeantbuckybarnes

Part I - Part III

“Alright, tell me how you got here again?”

You sat your mug down on the coffee table, leaning back on the comfortable armchair as you stared at Caspian. 

He sipped his mug, somewhat enjoying the bitter taste of the dark liquid his reticent host had served him.

“Well, I was enjoying my morning stroll around the Narnian woods, you know. Cair Paravel was a bit far but something in me made me continue walking. And then I found this… thing,” Caspian kept talking, yet the longer he went on, the more you frowned.

You tried to keep up with his retelling, only catching bits of information about lions and fauns, but everything that came out of his mouth became weirder by the second. Only after he finally closed his mouth you realized you still had no idea where this person had come from.

“Right… so, um, we’re talking about… some… extra-terrestrial experience? Paranormal, perhaps?” you tried again, but Caspian’s frown made you discard the idea rather quickly. “Alright, so Narnia. And who are these friends you’re looking for? The Pennies?”

“Pevensies,” he corrected you, but there was no malice in his deep voice. 

“Right, Pevensies.Who are they?”

That threw Caspian into another tangent, describing how these friends of his were centuries-old royals who ruled before he did, but somehow made their way back a few years ago to help him fight his uncle.

Your coffee had gone cold by the time he finished. “So, like, is this some sort of… Hamlet situation?” you offered, failing to find the right words.

“Who is that?” he asked again.

“Hamlet?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know Shakespeare?”

“Shakespeare?”

“Forget it.”

“Alright.”

His accent was cute, at least, you thought. And what originally was fear of the strange man sleeping on your couch, now had been replaced by utter confusion.

“So, they’re British,” you spoke again.

“The Pevensies?” 

“Yeah. You said they’re from England, right?” you asked.

“Yes, Spare Oom.”

“I don’t think that’s a place,” you frowned, your mind swirling with possibilities.

“Have you ever been there?” Caspian asked you, with big dark innocent eyes.

You shrugged. “I’ve been to London once if that counts.”

“Do you think you could help me?” he spoke, and again, his eyes seemed to speak their own language.

There was naivité, and anxiety, and kindness. It was safe to say you had never seen eyes such as those.

You shrugged again, picking up your coffee, if only to give your hands something to work on, and an excuse to ignore his piercing stare. “I guess. Do they have Facebook or something?” You cut Caspian before he could talk again, noticing the way his nose scrunched in confusion. “Alright, is there any number, or address, that we can track?”

Caspian’s frown didn’t waver. 

“I… don’t think so,” he left his mug on the small table, bringing his hands together. He stared at them with a lost expression, and his shoulders seemed to get smaller with every breath he took.

It broke your heart to see him like this, even if you couldn’t even fathom where this strange man had come from. 

You had woken up that morning with a clear mission: getting him out of your apartment. You blamed your migraine and your smeared cupcake, as you opened your eyes and turned in bed a few times before checking the hour. For a second, you even thought that it could’ve been a dream. A weird, unfiltered, and totally bizarre dream. This was New York, after all. You had definitely seen weirder. But then you heard a muffled thump from the other room, and you somehow knew your guest had fallen flat on the carpet, probably tangled in the blanket you had gracelessly covered him with before locking yourself in your room, and it all came crashing down on you again. You had let a complete stranger crash on your apartment, and though it wouldn’t be the first time, it still felt wrong for some reason. He wasn’t a regular man, but you still didn’t know what his presence would turn your life into. 

You would have stayed in your bed forever, waiting for Caspian to get the memo and exit your life, but curiosity got the best of you, and slowly, you got up despite the slight chill that settled on your bones on the cold Monday morning, and you faced whatever fate had in store for you waiting on the other side of your door.

Making small talk had not been an option, either. As soon as Caspian saw you he stood up nervously, standing by your couch again with his hands behind his back and his hair ruffled. Again, you thought he looked cute. He had immediately tried to talk, but you had held a finger in the air.

“I need caffeine first,” you only responded.

You prepared two mugs, mentally facepalming yourself for not asking him whether he even wanted coffee, but you had never been a morning person and you had more important matters at hand.

And that’s how you had found yourself on the armchair, staring at Caspian with a small glare, only grasping bits of his story, but not enough to provide clarity about the hazy situation.

“Alright,” you said after taking a deep breath. “Well, Caspian…” you doubted. “Should I call you ‘your Majesty’ or something?” you asked him first.

He let a soft chuckle, and for a second, you believed that sound was the only existing key to happiness. “Just Caspian.”

“Well, just Caspian, let me be frank with you,” you prepared yourself, sitting straighter on your seat and looking at him with what you believed to be a ‘harsh’ expression. “I still have no idea who you are, where you come from, and where you’re going. I still can’t believe I let you stay the night here, and, if I’m being honest, I’m having a bit of a hard time believing everything you just said,” you noticed Caspian’s sullen look, but you kept going. “I don’t know if you hit your head too hard on the concrete or if someone’s larping sword caused you some internal bleeding, but you need to understand that what you’re saying sounds insane. But,” you took a gulp, looking down at the floor for a second before meeting his somewhat hopeful gaze. “If what you’re saying is true… I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’ll help you.”

His entire face changed completely. A new spark illuminated his eyes, and it made you proud to be the cause of it. “Really?”

You found yourself nodding before you could answer. “Yeah. Though, it won’t probably be easy, Caspian. So, please, for your sake and mine, don’t put too much faith in this.”

He nodded, but his smile didn’t falter. And you wished it never would.

“Okay. I can promise that.”

“Good. Now, I guess we need to find out more about these friends of yours, right?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. You would love Edmund.”

You nodded along, not even knowing who he was talking about. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

You said that as you got up, completely missing the faint blush on his cheeks.

***

Caspian looked ridiculous in your ex-boyfriend’s clothes. You had insisted he wore something different, take a shower, and have a proper meal, before even thinking about leaving your place that morning. Your ex had been a little shorter and lankier than him, so you couldn’t help to eye the way the shirt clung to his torso, making his arms look bigger. You even had to shake your head to physically remove your gaze from him, the casual attire feeling so domestic on him yet out of place. You didn’t fail to notice the many faint scars that littered his arms. For a second you wondered if he kept more of those hidden elsewhere, but you didn’t ask. It was small things like those that had you doubt your sanity. Every so often, you found yourself thinking that maybe he was being honest with you, but you didn’t give yourself time to think about what the repercussions would be if you were, indeed, hosting a fictional man on your couch from a different realm. A realm where animals talked and magic existed.

You had also profusely apologized for your cooking skills –several times. If he actually happened to be a king (which you doubted, but in the tiny odd chance that he was), you didn’t want to make a complete fool of yourself and throw him some burnt steak. You had felt this pressure before, especially with your parents, and even your ex, but with Caspian, it felt different. You had been looking carefully at him as he tasted his spaghetti, and the look of pure delight he sent you made you want to become a professional chef, even if the pasta was a bit undercooked and the sauce a bit too salty even for your taste. Anything to see his look again.

Caspian behaved like a newborn, and it didn’t help that he was a curious young man. You had noticed at first how he looked everywhere around your apartment, taking in every small detail, carefully touching and prodding whatever was in his sight. But now, two hours later, he had already made himself at home and clearly didn’t understand your annoyed faces and curt responses.

“So, you can communicate with other people through this?” he eyed your phone warily. 

“Yup.”

“And you command it to do your bidding?”

“Sure.”

“Are you a witch?”

“I wish,” you laughed at his horrified expression. “I could send you back with a flick.”

Caspian looked seriously at you. “In my land, witches aren’t all that welcome.”

You frowned. “Damn, don’t tell me you guys are afraid of powerful women too.”

He didn’t get the sarcasm in your voice. “The last witch that ruled in Narnia almost destroyed my kingdom. If it hadn’t been for Aslan and the Pevensies, not even I would be here today.”

You wanted to joke, you really did. But his voice was grave and deep with emotion. One look at him was all it took for a chill to cover your lungs. But then again, you weren’t one to back down from a fight.

“And what did she do that was so horrible? Did she accidentally unleash an eternal winter over your land?” you joked. Your eyes swiftly moved towards your DVD collection, falling onto Frozen’s case. 

“Yes.”

Thankfully, you weren’t drinking, otherwise, you would’ve choked to death.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes were hard and set on the wall behind him. 

“It happened a long time ago, but Narnians still fear those dark times.”

“I’m… sorry,” you answered, but it felt empty even to you. 

He shook his head. “That’s why I need to go back. I don’t know what brought me here, but I cannot leave my kingdom unprotected. Only Aslan knows what sort of dangers they may be exposed to while I’m gone.”

This time, you properly looked at him. The creases in his forehead, and the worry evident in the bags under his eyes. He couldn’t be that much older than you, but for a second, his concerned words made it seem as if he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. And that was too much of a burden, even for him. 

He was standing rather rigidly in your living room, lost in his memories, despite never having seen such horrors. But the legends, the myths, the songs, and the tales, were abhorrent. A world without light, and happiness, only ice. A world where magic was divided by magic itself, and he knew that too well. And despite having always been kind and generous, some sick joke of fate had brought him here, to you, and he still didn’t know where that was. He thought about his people, his kingdom, constantly. But the cotton of his dark green shirt felt soft on his scarred skin. Whatever product you had forced him to use in his hair smelled of fruits he hadn’t eaten in months and that weird long yellow-ish food you had made him had tasted better than it looked. He was feeling oddly energized as well, and you obviously didn’t mention the coffee to him. Maybe he would think you were a witch, too.

You broke the silence, unknowingly saving Caspian from himself. “You said Aslan’s good, right?”

He blinked. “Yes.”

“Then, maybe this is a bit of a stretch, but hear me out. If you’re this… all-generous king or whatever, and this… evil witch is long gone, who’s to say it wasn’t Aslan himself who brought you here?”

You surprised yourself with that question. Certainly, you did pay attention, after all.

Caspian looked at you, carefully considering your words. “It might be a possibility, yes.”

Nodding, you continued. “And your friends? They left because, and I quote, ‘learned everything Narnia had to teach them,’ right?”

He nodded, suddenly feeling desperate. “That’s right. Aslan himself told them.”

“Then who’s to say Aslan didn’t send you here because there’s something for you to learn as well?”

You were crazy. You sounded crazy. You couldn’t believe that you were playing into whatever Caspian’s game was, but it seemed pretty evident to you. If the king was right, it seemed the only possible explanation. And somehow you knew, the man before you wouldn’t hurt a butterfly, despite the faint scars in his bare arms telling you otherwise, as well as the sword propped against the entrance’s wall.

Caspian remained silent, but his eyes widened. He too knew you were right. Aslan wouldn’t do something as grand without a reason.

“Perhaps… finding my way back is part of the challenge,” he spoke slowly, setting his eyes on you. 

You could only shrug. It felt like he was having this big spiritual moment, and you, ever so skeptical, didn’t know what else to offer him. 

“Perhaps,” you repeated. “You know what they say. ‘Maybe the real treasure was the friends we made along the way,’” you joked.

Caspian didn’t seem to get that. “That certainly sounds wise, my lady.”

You nodded with a pout, looking anywhere but at him. “Alright. Let’s look for the Pennies.”

“Pevensies.”

“That’s what I said.”

***

“Hey, Anne,” you greeted the nice lady at the front desk of your favorite local library.

“Oh, hello, dear! Long time no see! How was your Thanksgiving? You spent it with your parents, did you not?” she greeted you back, throwing a thousand questions in your direction as she usually did. 

Caspian noticed the way your shoulders tensed at the mention of your parents, and though he didn’t want to pry, he knew he would be soon asking you about that.

“Yeah, um, it was good. Listen, my friend and I are in a bit of a rush here,” you motioned to Caspian quickly. “Do you have any… information, on English families? Like their lineage? Possibly in the past century?”

Anne eyed you questioningly. “I think we do have some records around here, but it may take me a while to reach them,” she explained. “Why the sudden interest? Is this for your work?”

You nodded slowly, knowing there was no way you could explain your situation to anyone without them thinking you had suddenly gone mad. You still think you kind of were, but the man trailing after you like a lost puppy was a good indicator of the contrary. 

“Indeed.”

Anne clapped delighted. “Well, in that case, I shall fetch those documents for you!” she quickly got up and disappeared through a narrow door, no doubt leaving for the archive behind her.

You sighed as you leaned on the desk, staring at the library where rows of books lined up the walls. Caspian copied your movement and he too stared at the nearly empty space before him.

“So, your work, huh?” he asked in a soft whisper. 

Even though you were the only ones standing there, it felt wrong to speak any louder.

You nodded. “Yeah. It wouldn’t be the first time I had asked her for the weirdest things.”

“What do you do?”

You paused. “Spiritually, I’m an architect. In reality, I work at an office.”

“A what?”

You sighed again. “It’s this place, where you… work, pretty much every day. And you just… do stuff.”

Caspian looked at you, knowing there was more to it. But he also noticed the way you seemed to sigh more than necessary, and struggled to find the right words. It all kept adding to the mysterious puzzle you were, but Caspian wasn’t ready to ask yet.

He nodded in fake understanding, despite still having no idea what an office was. “Right. Sorry for asking.”

You shook your head. “It’s alright, really. I just… don’t really like my work that much.”

Caspian widened his eyes. “What do you ever mean? Architects in my country are treated as royalty. Creating any building is pretty much considered magic.”

You snorted. “Right. Well, I should’ve thought about that before moving to New York. There really isn’t that much space here to build anything anymore.” 

“Then why do you keep living here, if you hate it so much? Aren’t you free to roam around your kingdom?”

You paused. You knew that, deep down, he was right. There really was nothing tying you to the city. Your family lived elsewhere, and you knew the scarce friends you had here wouldn’t miss you that much if you left. You liked your apartment, and the views, and the nightlife, but you knew other places in the world could offer you as much and more. You even thought about Caspian’s life in Narnia, and you wondered what your life would be like there. 

Just his audacity made you angry. “It’s not that simple, Caspian.”

Thankfully you didn’t have to say anything else, because Anne was soon by your side once again, with several folders in her frail arms. Caspian quickly took the papers from her, and you raised your eyebrows when you noticed the way his arms flexed under the weight.

“Oh, thank you, dear. Okay, so I believe this is all we have. Be careful, some of them are really old and could easily fall out of their bindings,” she warned you, before sitting back down on her chair. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thank you,” you said under your breath, your heart picking up for some reason. 

You led Caspian towards the desk at the back, away from prying eyes and ears, and forced him to sit down next to you. It was your favorite spot, the quaint corner at the far end of the library, surrounded by literary classics that no one ever seemed to look for. A big window decorated one of the walls, giving you as much light as needed as you promptly opened all the folders and carefully placed them all over the table, fast eyes scanning the words.

“Alright, we already tried tracing your friends on the Internet and that didn’t work, so this is the best we got,” you said with a whisper, knowing Anne would not hesitate to throw you out if you made noise.

“Books are the pathway to knowledge,” Caspian said as he crossed his arms. Again, you couldn’t ignore the bulges that formed on his biceps. 

You shook your head, registering his words. “Right.”

And that is how you spent the rest of the afternoon, reading about old English family lines, World War II’s mass mobilizations, and railway accidents that shook entire nations. 

Your eyes were almost red by the time the sun finally set, and you couldn’t hide your yawns any longer. Caspian was in no better shape himself. At some point, he had dropped his head on the table and his eyes were almost closed. A few stray hairs were framing his face, even after you had put his hair in a small bun earlier. You totally didn’t enjoy the way its softness felt between your fingers, and Caspian totally didn’t close his eyes in enjoyment when he felt your hands tread through his wild mane.

And only after you yawned for what it felt like the hundredth time, you found something. Literature Professor Hastings, on childhood, fantasy lands, and grief. The article was one of the first things you quickly discarded, but as you looked around the papers, a sentence stuck out to you from one of the sprawled loose papers. “A family of four suddenly became a family of one.” You reached for it with a frown, and you would’ve read it entirely if it hadn’t been for the faint bell announcing the library’s closing time. 

You shook Caspian awake, and though he pretended to not have been almost asleep, he got up anyway and helped you gather all the documents. 

“Will you be keeping that?” he asked when he noticed the article in your hands.

With a bite of your lip, you nodded.  “I don’t know why, but… I have a feeling.”

Caspian looked serious. “Then, by all means, keep it. Intuition is only a powerful ally in my world.”

You stared at him as you both walked back to the front desk, quickly giving everything back to Anne and checking the article out. 

Stepping out of the library, you took a deep breath, turning to Caspian. You took a few seconds to admire the city lights reflected in his eyes, but you composed yourself. Not even twenty-four hours ago you were still on a train coming back to the city from a dreadful weekend, and now you were helping a random man go back to the kingdom of Narnia (which, according to Google, didn’t exist).

“Hey, remember what I said this morning? About not getting your hopes up?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good. We’re still at it.”

“Got it.”

“Dinner?”

Caspian smiled. You noticed the wrinkles in his eyes when he did so, and you thought you wouldn’t mind seeing those again. 

“Sure.”

Part III

General Taglist: @angiewhoohooo, @azaleaniath, @mishaandthebrits, @celestialcharles

[dapandapod]

No reason at all

HELLO! So! This is a pov rewrite of one of my absolute favorite fics ever- Any reason at all by xxenojy/ @witcher-and-his-bard I can't and won't tell you how many times i read that friggin fic, and the Geralt pov has been living in my head rent free until it was written. You don't have to read the original to understand it, though I highly recomend it. It is literally a lot of kissing.

Thank you a billion Alex for letting me write it!!! and thank you a billion to my darling @kuripon​ who betaread it!!

5k, mostly soft and fluffy but some monster of the week fighting.

On Ao3 here

One.

The thing with bards, or at least with his bard, is that they are romantics.

 Meaning, if their state of longing isn’t met with affection, they become needy.

This usually isn’t a problem, because Geralt makes sure that Jaskier’s needs are met by bringing Jaskier through enough towns and hamlets and villages and gatherings in the woods to go around.

But there is this big contract, really fucking complicated, and they have been living out of a tent in the middle of nowhere for a long time.

 It has slipped his mind, to be honest, because the creature he is hunting is proving to be a challenge, and up until now has remained just out of his reach.

Geralt is so deep in his head that he doesn’t much take notice of Jaskier dragging his feet, sighing, and pouting as they make their way through the underbrush.

“Geralt, do you think-”

There is some rustling and a sigh.

“That we could head back soon? Sleep at an inn tonight?”

Geralt pays him no mind, pushing on with a singular intent. There are signs here, marks on the trees indicating that they are going in the right way.

There are some more rustling and a pause, indicating Jaskier either fell over or is pouting, and Geralt has no time for either.

“Are you just gonna sit there or are you coming with me?” he shouts over his shoulder, barely sparing a glance back at the bard, who he knows is pouting in the grass.

Another sigh and some muttering that Geralt is pretending he doesn’t hear, and Jaskier seems to give in and get up anyway.

For almost three hours, there is peace, somewhat, in that they keep walking, but without making much progress, and Jaskier’s restlessness is stressing him out.

“It’s just that… I haven’t even kissed someone in weeks. Weeks, Geralt! Do you know what that’s like? It’s torture, utter-”

Geralt stops, and Jaskier doesn’t, walking straight into him with a small huff of surprise. As Jaskier takes a step back, Geralt turns around to face him.

“Jaskier,” he says, as mildly as he can muster. He should have known that was the problem, and out here there is really only one option if he wants any progress made today. “If I kiss you, will you shut up and let me get on with it?”

His eyes are so blue, startled but eager, as they meet his own.

“Uh, y-yes?”

Geralt’s hand moves on its own, reaching for Jaskier’s cheek and leaning in close. Jaskier is barely breathing. This close he can almost hear Jaskier’s heart jackrabbiting in his chest as Geralt kisses him.

Jaskier’s lips are soft under his, soft and pliant. It is so easy to deepen the kiss, to lean closer, to lose himself to it. 

Geralt takes a step forward and instantly Jaskier is pressing in tight, their chests touching, warm and real and intoxicating. 

He only falls deeper into the kiss when Jaskier moans against him as he parts his lips, breathing it in.

The world around them disappears. There are only the two of them, nothing else matters but the way Jaskier feels against him. 

He can’t stop, addicted to the little sounds Jaskier makes when he flicks his tongue, losing himself in the way Jaskier melts against him. 

Jaskier’s cheek is warm under his hand, the tips of his fingers brushing against Jaskier’s ear.

Jaskier doesn’t pull back, and Geralt finds he doesn’t either. Instead he tilts his head for a better angle, his other hand now resting on Jaskier’s hip, keeping him close.

The kiss is still slow, but it is gaining intensity. And Geralt finds… he likes that. A little too much, perhaps, because Jaskier feels so fucking good in his arms, so pliant and willing and desperate for anything Geralt gives him.

Geralt wants to give him everything.

Abruptly, he pulls back and lets go.

He feels cold without Jaskier’s weight pressed into him, and Jaskier looks equally as lost as Geralt feels when he opens his eyes to look at him. 

His lips are kissed red, his cheeks are flushed, and the way he looks up through his lashes makes Geralt want to shove him against a tree and ravish him.

Instead, he turns and walks away.

“That was…” Jaskier says from behind him, seemingly still gathering his wits. 

When he finds them, he stumbles to catch up. “Geralt! Where did you- That was… very good, you know. I didn’t take you for someone who would be so-”

Jaskier thought it was good too.

“What?” he asks instead of giving in to his traitorous heart.

“I just didn’t think you got a lot of practice, is all,” Jaskier says, still a little dazed. 

WIth a snort, he decides to take it as a compliment, because the bard is ironically enough still not very good at that flirting thing, and turns back to where he last saw a footprint.

askier knows of some of Geralt’s comings and goings, even if Geralt doesn’t tell him about every fucking encounter, as a certain bard feels the need to.

The bard remains slightly dazed at his side throughout the rest of the trek, until he decides it is time to make camp.

Geralt stays outside their tent until Jaskier has fallen asleep, trying to push the memories of the kiss out of the way for what he really needs to think about.

Two.

“I need you to be my husband.”

Geralt expected something after Jaskier received a letter of invitation a few days ago and has been pretty much vibrating in his clothes ever since. 

He didn’t expect a proposal, however. Lately, they’ve been moving towards the coast, with the ground becoming rockier, the air cleaner, the landscape more bare. 

It’s refreshing to not have to be in the woods all the time, but it also means cover is scarce if the weather turns against them and the inns just happen to be few and far apart.

They usually are, but they don’t always allow for witchers.

“They won’t let in anyone who’s not family, but they could hardly refuse my husband entry now, could they?” 

Jaskier’s smile is wide and bright, so focused on Geralt that he isn’t watching where he’s going and stumbles over a small rock protruding from the dirt. 

Geralt tries very hard not to smile, but something must show anyway because Jaskier squints at him and jabs his elbow into Geralt’s ribs.

“Terrible husband. Don’t laugh at my misfortune!”

Their stay at the coast is calm. As calm as a witcher taking on contracts can be, but there is always something cleansing about going to see the ocean. 

The thought of bringing Jaskier to Skellige tickles his mind; the thought of the two of them exploring the land, watching the waves crash against the cliffs and listening to the folklore that Jaskier will absorb like a greedy little sponge.

Their travels bring them to the borders of Temeria, almost crossing into Kerack when the weather betrays them, leaving them with just enough time to find an inn.

  As per usual when the weather is bad, rooms are expensive and it is easier to share. Geralt hears Jaskier haggling, and they finally agree on a room with one bed.

 After they’re passed their keys and served their dinner and are sat down to eat, Geralt bursts Jaskier’s bubble.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor and I am not sharing.”

The bard pouts into his stew, but doesn’t disagree, which sets off an alarm in Geralt’s head.

His suspicions are proven right when Jaskier graciously offers the bed while changing into his sleeping tunic, only to climb right in after Geralt instead of pulling out the bedrolls and get comfy on the floor, as he was supposed to.

“Hush, my love. You’re my husband, remember? You can hardly deny me the warmth of our marriage bed so soon after our nuptials.”

Geralt tries to scoff, even if it comes out more as a laugh, and then Jaskier snuggles close and presses his cold feet against Geralt’s calves. 

Instead of pushing him off the bed, which would be the reasonable response, Geralt enjoys the closeness of his supposed husband.

They wake up closely entwined. Nothing new there, but waking up first allows Geralt to watch the bard sleep, to watch his fill without being teased.

There is something youthful about the bard, even after all these years. The spark of life that refuses to be snuffed, that ever-present will to be everywhere and do everything.

The way Jaskier wakes up to notice him watching, smiling and inching closer makes him feel soft.

“Good morning, husband,” Geralt mumbles, and oh, the sound Jaskier makes at that, hiding his face against Geralt’s tunic.

“Nooooooo, too early for my sexy witcher husband. Don’t do this to me,” he whines, and Geralt snorts, attempting to sit up.

“Noooo,” Jaskier whines again, reaching for him, making grabby hands even as Geralt puts his feet on the cold floor. “Too early to be without my sexy witcher husband. Five more minutes please.”

Geralt is a terrible sexy witcher husband and does not return to bed.

They reach the borders of Lettenhove by late evening. The closer they get, the worse Geralt feels about the entire thing. Big gatherings have never been his thing, and with Jaskier not only being nobility, a viscount, but meeting his family, and as his pretend husband at that?

A lot of things to unpack there, and that never was his strong suit.

By now, Jaskier looks exhausted; fair, since they have been traveling most of the day. 

It doesn’t seem to matter though, because when they get closer to the bridge crossing, he corrects his posture on his horse and takes on the look of ‘I Have A Title And You Do Not’ that he effectively wields to get his way from time to time.

The guards still stop them, and even though they give Jaskier a friendly smile, Geralt immediately receives a scowl.

“Your invitation was for one, Master Julian,” one of the guards reminds Jaskier as he dismounts.

“You’d hardly deny my husband entry,” Jaskier says, and the guard gives him a skeptical look.

“The viscount isn’t married.” Which is a bit funny, because isn’t that something the viscount himself should know better than a guard?

“I understand your position, truly,” Jaskier says placatingly, “but I’ve been away for some time, and in that time I found myself not only betrothed but married to a man whom I love very much and whom I wish to bring home to introduce to my family.”

Lungs subjected to bardic training are truly impressive. Being told Jaskier loves him does something interesting to his insides, but he pushes it down in favor of looking the part.

The guard doesn’t look convinced, giving Geralt the usual once over rife with disdain, and Geralt can see Jaskier’s hackles rise.

Geralt slips off Roach’s back and sees Jaskier’s hand start to rise in agitation, so he wraps his arm around Jaskier’s waist.

“It’s fine, love,” he whispers into his ear, and the way Jaskier just melts into him makes Geralt brave.

“It’s not--” Jaskier starts, but he trails off when Geralt presses two fingers under his chin, tipping it up so that they are looking at each other.

“Go alone. I wouldn’t want you to miss your sister’s party on my account. You can introduce me another time.” 

It is not only for the guards' benefit that Geralt smiles so openly. Jaskier is always quick to jump to his defense, always so keen on having Geralt treated right. 

He doesn’t really mean to, or maybe he does, but he finds himself leaning in, and he feels Jaskier’s breath catch as their lips brush together. 

Jaskier’s lips are warm against his own, but his nose is cold as Geralt pulls him closer, kissing him properly, pressing their bodies together.

It doesn’t seem like Jaskier has caught on yet, but Geralt can’t stop. He leans in closer, fingers twitching at Jaskier’s waist, because he wants to be closer still.

The kiss deepens, and Jaskier gives a quiet, intoxicating little noise then Geralt touches the seam of his lips with his tongue. Jaskier seems to be holding back, but Geralt can’t.

Since this morning, he’s been thinking about how the tunic would feel under his hands as he traces Jaskier’s sides, and now he can actually do so. Up under the doublet, all the way up to the chest, and then back down to settle at the dip of his waist.

It is getting a little hard to catch his breath, and when he nips at Jaskier’s lower lip, Jaskier gives in, throwing his arms around Geralt’s neck and kissing him hard.

He completely forgets about the guards until one of them clears his throat, and Jaskier startles back and out of his arms.

Right. 

He might have overdone it some. Jaskier smoothes out his rumpled clothes. Geralt should probably smooth out the situation.

“Apologies,” he says, sounding breathless to his own ears. “It's been… some time since my lord and I have been together. He keeps so busy I don’t see him most often, and we were hoping to get to the palace and to our room.”

Half truths are the best lies, and it works as intended. 

The guard that cleared his throat makes a strangled noise and steps aside, not even looking at them as Geralt takes both the horses’ reins and tugs them forward to cross the bridge.

Jaskier is silent as they pass the horses to the stable boy, says barely a word as they are guided to their rooms, and nothing until the doors are closed behind them.

There, Geralt is thanked for his quick thinking and for getting them out of the messy situation, and Geralt is not one to confess he might have lost himself to the act.

The party is mostly fine.

Jaskier’s family is exactly as he imagined them.

Three

It is a beautiful night. 

The skies are clear and the forest is quiet, Roach grazing among the trees. They have made camp in a little meadow with soft grass and surprisingly few rocks and twigs.

Geralt can hear Jaskier sigh over and over again across their little camp, sometimes scratching his head absently, sometimes tapping his chin as he tries to work out a melody. 

Apparently he is attempting to compose a romantic ballad, something something peasant woman as a knight, something something a princess behind held captive in a tower. 

This is not an unusual routine, so Geralt pays him very little mind. One of his tunics is torn in the armpit, again, so Geralt has taken out his mending kit to repair it. 

No need to waste a perfectly good tunic because the seamstresses were too scared to take his measurements properly.

Then Jaskier flops back in the grass dramatically, arms outstretched and his lute resting on his chest, balanced precariously.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks, pretending he is not watching the bard from the corner of his eye.

“How am I supposed to write the most romantic ballads the continent has ever heard when there is so little romance in my life?!”

Geralt snorts, focusing back to his sewing when he almost attaches his sleeve to the patching. Jaskier gives an offended huff and props himself up on his elbows to look at Geralt properly.

“Do you know I can’t even remember what it’s like to be kissed?”

Wow. Thanks.

It’s only been a few weeks since he did a wonderful job of being a fake terrible sexy witcher husband (even if they are most assuredly not talking about it and the Bridge Incident).

Geralt lifts a skeptical eyebrow but says nothing, trying to free himself before the bard notices. He is left in peace for several seconds, until Jaskier speaks up again.

“Perhaps you could help?”

“What could I possibly do to help?”

There are a few things coming to mind.

“I have it on good authority that you’re an excellent kisser and … maybe we could do it again. For research purposes, you see.”

Jaskier wants Geralt to kiss him again. Wants Geralt to kiss him, specifically. So he probably lied about the not remembering how it felt, huh?

“What?” Geralt can’t help but to smirk, basking in the feeling of being wanted. “Your memory isn’t good enough for you?”

“Please Geralt, it will help.”

He sounds so earnest, and honestly? Geralt absolutely doesn’t mind kissing him again. Especially since this was the first time Jaskier has specifically asked Geralt to kiss him.

So he simply cuts the threads connecting him to his patchwork (he can continue later) and rises to his feet. Jaskier sits up straight and watches him approach, knees propped up.

Geralt nudges them apart to stand between them.

Jaskier holds his breath when Geralt bends low, cupping his cheek as he pulls Jaskier into a soft kiss. He doesn’t allow himself to get lost again, keeping the kiss gentle, cradling Jaskier’s warm cheek. 

Geralt hums, nudging Jaskier’s knee with his leg, inching closer before catching himself and pulling back.

“Good enough?” he asks, and Jaskier looks a little dazed, his lips still parted invitingly. He wants to touch them. 

But before he can do anything, Jaskier nods solemnly and Geralt steps back. The night air feels cooler now without Jaskier close, but he returns to his mending.

Jaskier has pulled himself together, bent over his composing book and writing frantically, tongue sticking out distractedly. It seems like a kiss really did help.

Four

The devourer puts up more of a fight than Geralt anticipated. He finds himself backed into a corner, the sword wrenched out of his grip and laying out of reach in the grass behind it.

Which is exactly why he told Jaskier to stay at camp, and therefore it was, naturally, completely ignored. 

Jaskier dashes out the tree line, catching Geralt’s attention only a second before the devourer spots him. 

Something in Geralt’s chest constricts at the sight of him, but there is little he can do when the monster turns and rushes towards the bard. 

Jaskier manages to kick the pummel of the sword, but it doesn’t get close enough to Geralt before he has to turn and run.

Geralt doesn’t think. He dives after the sword, watching with horror at how the devourer closes in on Jaskier, cutting off his path, and sending him flying sideways into a tree.

Lunging forward, pure instinct rage and something he refuses to call fear guiding his movements, the devourer’s attention is back on him.

From the corner of his eye he notices Jaskier sitting up, which is a relief even as it just makes him angry but determined to finish this sooner than later.

It swipes at him, and he dodges, feints, slashes. The fight takes another few minutes, until he finally overtakes it, thrusting his sword up, piercing through the soft underside of its jaw.

It twitches once more, but makes no move to rise again, so Geralt simply steps over it to get to Jaskier, dropping to his knees.

“Are you hurt?”

Jaskier shakes his head, but Geralt sees right through it.

“Let go of your shoulder.”

It could have been worse. There are no visible injuries, he doesn’t seem concussed. A bit dazed perhaps, but nothing permanent.

“I think it’s dislocated,” Geralt hums, brushing his hand gently over the shoulder.

“What does that mean?” Jaskier frowns.

“It means I have to put it back into place for you.”

“I…no, I don’t think so. Can’t it just go back on its own?”

Jaskier cradles his arm close to his body, wincing as he does, and Geralt smirks at his reluctance.

“It won’t, it has to be put back or it’s going to continue to hurt and be useless.”

“Please-,” Jaskier starts to say, but Geralt cuts him off.

“Last week, you threw yourself between me and a harpy, and just now you tried to fend off a devourer, and you don’t want me to put your shoulder back into place?”

Jaskier immediately shakes his head stubbornly, his lips pressed tightly in a thin line. Looking at his lips sparks an idea though.

Without warning, Geralt closes the distance between them and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

The angle is just a little off but Jaskier turns into it with a soft gasp, drawn in as Geralt hoped he would be. Geralt kisses him deeply, allowing himself a moment to drag a hand through Jaskier’s hair and down the back of his neck. 

For the distraction, he tells himself, but the strands are soft between his fingers, his ears warm.

Then he grabs Jaskier’s arm firmly, pushing it hard back in its socket.

Jaskier pulls back abruptly, hissing and swearing until he notices the worst of the pain has subsided. The way he squints at Geralt has him smirk smugly.

“You used me-,” he splutters, affronted, and Geralt can’t help but huff a little laugh.

Still, even as Jaskier whines and complains and mutters, he lets Geralt take his arm and wrap it so it will have proper support. All the while, his hands itch to reach out and touch again, to feel those lips underneath his own.

Five

The castle is dark and quiet, the shadows dark and consuming. Somewhere in these halls there is a bruxa, and the king was very clear that the hunt should be kept under wraps. 

Geralt was seemingly invited as the friend of the famous bard Jaskier, hired to entertain for a weekend.

Problem with that is that Jaskier is a trouble magnet, and there is no way he is leaving him alone with a beautiful being set on eating people given Jaskier’s recent habit of throwing himself in front of monsters. 

Which is why, despite the king’s strict instruction, Jaskier trails behind Geralt through the halls. 

The last drained body found was a guard, his neck torn open, and just the mere thought of that happening to Jaskier - no.

Geralt peeks around a corner, just about to take a step forward, when he hears the clatter of boots further ahead. 

Probably more guards, unaware of their presence, so instead Geralt takes a step back. It makes Jaskier walk straight into his back, but he keeps blessedly silent despite the surprise.

The guards seem to have picked up on something though, their steps coming to a halt, so Geralt pushes Jaskier up against the wall to hide in the shadows of a small alcove. 

The bard looks surprised, but lets himself be manhandled easily. Geralt slides a hand over  Jaskier’s mouth to keep him quiet. Jaskier goes pretty much limp, relaxing into the witcher’s hold. It’s a strange feeling, but there is not much time to reflect on it.

“Be quiet,” he whispers, so close their noses are almost touching.

Jaskier nods his understanding, but then the guards actually seem to be moving towards them.

Geralt doesn’t think, just presses closer against Jaskier, hiding the bard with his own body, and Jaskier gives a little sound, the quietest of moans, and fuck. 

In the silence of the hall, it seems to echo. Jaskier bites his lip, but it is too late. The guards definitely heard them, voices quieting and steps speeding up.

Jaskier is looking up at him through his lashes, and the way they are pressed together it only makes sense. Right? 

Geralt tilts his head, capturing Jaskier’s lips with his. It’s hard not to go too far; he is toeing that fine line of what is pretense and what is real. 

He allows himself to kiss Jaskier like he wants to, like he has dreamed of. Jaskier responds in kind, his arms snaking around Geralt’s waist, hands skirting across lower back and down over his ass. 

Jaskier is kissing him back, their breaths mingling as their lips part.

The guards approach quickly. Geralt should probably care more about that, but Jaskier is arching against him. He presses closer still, his thigh now between Jaskier’s knees, and the bard’s hips twitch forward in response.

There is nothing to stop the sound ripping from the witcher’s throat, heat building in his gut, hot and demanding. He doesn’t realize he is hard until he is pushing against Jaskier’s thigh, and shit. 

This doesn’t feel like pretend anymore. 

Geralt breaks the kiss, tipping Jaskier’s head up and ducks down to kiss and nip at his neck instead.

The guards round the corner just then, walking into each other as they come to a sudden stop when they notice the two of them. Damnit.

“S-sorry, master witcher, we uh- we’ll-..... yes,” the first guard apologizes, grabbing the other by the arm and turning back to where they came.

Geralt can feel Jaskier’s chest heaving under his as they watch the guards leave, his hands having moved from Geralt’s ass to his hips.

The tension in the air between them is so thick that he could cut it with a knife. His eyes are glued to Jaskier’s kiss swollen lips, tracking the movement of the bard’s tongue as he slowly licks them. Fuck.

When the steps are far enough away, Geralt pushes off the wall and puts distance between them lest he does something even more stupid, and immediately feels cold without him. 

It’s hard to look at each other; his heart is still pounding hard as if after a fight, the taste of Jaskier’s skin fresh on his tongue.

“Come on,” Geralt whispers, but Jaskier stays leaning on the wall, eyes closed.

“I’m just gonna… need a minute.”

Geralt couldn’t have said it better himself. He nods and turns away, gathering up his scattered thoughts and pushing them down to the back of his mind.

They don’t get back to their room until an hour before sunrise. Jaskier undresses for bed without a care, trousers pooling around his ankles on the floor before he kicks them off, and then he falls into bed with an exhausted sigh. Geralt watches him flop, squirm and worm into place under the blankets with infinite fondness.

Once upon a time, he would have been annoyed with how much space he takes up, how loud he is.

Now, all he wants is to join him under the covers and hold him close.

Fuck, he is in deep.

plus one

The day is a calm one.

They spend the day in Oxenfurt, catching it in the middle of a festival, throngs of people and an explosion of color and invention everywhere.

It's been a while since they could just take their time and enjoy themselves. Jaskier pulls him from stall to stall, hooking a finger around his to lead him along, and Geralt is weak, so weak.

They mill through the crowd, watching the performers on different stages, until Jaskier decides to take a turn of his own. 

Geralt stays in the crowd, watching as Jaskier’s eyes stray to him again and again, each time a soft and happy smile spreading on his lips. He looks divine in the sunshine, and the people of the market adore him.

After his impromptu performance, he returns bouncing to Geralt’s side, wheedling for compliments before informing him of all the stalls he saw from up there that they simply must visit.

They share sweet buns, pastries, and Jaskier laughs when Geralt scrunches his nose at the sharp tartness of the strawberry cider. As the day comes to an end, they both feel a little soft around the edges from a combination of the drinks, the mood, and the setting sun.

There will be a firework celebration, so Jaskier leads them to his secret spot on top of a hill with a view over the river. They are alone up here, far away enough that the murmur of people by the riverbank is a pleasant background to the falling night.

Jaskier grabs his hand proper now, guiding them towards a tree.

Their hands fit together nicely as they climb the hill but they have to release their hold when Geralt sits down and leans against the trunk of the tree. Jaskier plops down and settles between his thighs, leaning back against Geralt’s chest, because of course he does.

It is just a little too warm, but Geralt is too comfortable to move, basking in Jaskier’s presence, his smell, the way his hair tickles the side of Geralt’s face. He doesn’t even try to fight the content smile playing at his lips, doesn’t even pretend this is everything he wants.

The sunset is beautiful, shimmering on the surface of the river, and then the fireworks starts. A whistle and a bang, sparks of color falling across the sky.

“Isn’t it gorgeous, Geralt?” Jaskier mumbles, sleep heavy in his voice. 

‘Yes, you are,’ Geralt thinks, as Jaskier lifts Geralt’s hand off his thighs and twines their fingers together. 

Their hands are almost the same size, the tips of Jaskier’s fingers rough from years on working the strings, the back of Geralt’s hand lined with pale scars from uncareful moments.

It doesn’t take long until Jaskier dozes off, turning his head to the side, fingers warm and a little sweaty. It’s not the first time Jaskier has fallen asleep against him. 

More than once, Geralt had to carry him back to the inn or the camp or the place they are staying at for the night. 

Another whistle sounds, followed by a bang, and the children cheer as it rains golden sparks over them. 

The air smells a little like sulfur and other familiar powders, making him think of Lambert and home. Maybe he can bring Jaskier there someday.

They sit there until the last firework has burnt out, Geralt’s ass stiff from sitting so long at the ground.

Geralt would sit there for hours more if it means they can stay like this. An inelegant snore breaks his reveries, and Jaskier frowns in his sleep. 

Geralt braves placing his thumb between his brow, flattening it, like Jaskier has done so many times to him.

The frown lets itself be smoothed out, and the bard remains asleep with a squeeze of his hand. He shouldn’t, but he wants to, so Geralt leans over and kisses Jaskier’s forehead. When he leans back, Jaskier’s eyelids flutter and he looks up at Geralt with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning,” Jaskier murmurs, shifting and stretching out. “Sorry I woke up before you could carry me back.”

Geralt gives an amused huff and accepts Jaskier’s help to stand. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded carrying the bard back, if he had stayed asleep. Much.

As they return towards the inn, they walk close together. The world is still a little fuzzy around the edges, and the tips of their fingers brush as their shoulders bump together.

Once there, they learn there is only a bed. After so long on the road, a real bed would have been nice, but Geralt will settle for sleeping on the floor. 

Jaskier seems to be thinking the same and graciously offers him the bed, but Geralt is tired and Jaskier looks soft, and as soon as he is settled in bed, he lifts the covers and invites him in.

Geralt is not quite ready to let go of their closeness just yet. Quickly, Jaskier discards his clothes and crawls in next to him. 

The bed is narrow, and Jaskier’s back is warm against Geralt’s bare chest. It’s nice. Warm. Safe.

Sleep is pulling him in, and it takes a second for him to register Jaskier speaking.

“I had a good night tonight,” Jaskier says quietly. “It’s a shame we can’t do this more often.”

“Mm,”  is all Geralt manages, eyelids heavy.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did.”

The mattress dips as Jaskier turns over, the few inches between them disappearing as Jaskier tangles their legs together. Geralt drapes his arm over Jaskier’s hip, bringing them closer yet, a smile playing at his lips. 

He can hear Jaskier’s heart beating, feel his breath against his face. He smells like cider and sweat and hair oil.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asks quietly.

“Hm?” Opening his eyes is too much work. Jaskier's hand reaches up, brushing through his hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers, hand resting at the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the fine hair there. 

He tips his head down, and their noses touch. It should be Geralt saying that.

 Thank you for being here, thank you for wanting me, thank you for staying, for carrying the world with me.

“Jaskier,” he breathes instead, tilting his chin up and brushing their lips together.

 Barely a touch, barely a whisper. Jaskier’s hand in his hair twitches, his breath hitches, and only when he inches forward does Geralt kiss him properly.

There are no guards, no dislocated shoulders, no reasons or bad excuses. Just them. Kissing and touching because they want to. 

Geralt’s chest feels tight with it, his heart full. They kiss soft and slow, and Geralt lets himself get lost in it, letting his thumb brush against the bare skin of Jaskier’s hip

Even when Jaskier pulls back an inch to breathe, they don’t part. Geralt kisses his nose, and again on his forehead, and then they settle together, wrapped around each other.

Maybe wanting to is a good enough reason to reach out, Geralt thinks as sleep finally pulls him under.

Maybe they need no reason at all.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Comte’s 4th Birthday Story Event: Before the Clock Strikes Midnight

REEEEEEEE Ik it was a long time ago but life has been a [redacted], so I figured better late than never HAHA

So without further ado, anybody who’s curious feel free to click for more--I’ll put it under a cut for spoilers as per usual~

So in this story it’s the usual, a few days before his birthday, and they’re discussing a bump in the road. Essentially, it appears a friend of Comte’s is going to be celebrating a wedding, and as such he’s going into the suburbs/affluent part of the region to be able to attend. It’s only a few hours away from the mansion, but he will be gone for a few days with the arrangements made for his stay. 

While this wouldn’t typically be an issue, MC has some things to take care of and opts out of attending with him (preparing for his bday probably LMAO) and Comte is immediately big sad. My favorite dramatic fool is already pouting, though he fully accepts and respects her decision. Besides which, he fully intends to be back in time to celebrate his birthday as well. He notes that he’s always admired how driven and independent she is, and has no intention of getting in the way of that. He’s just going to miss her, is all.

He says as much, figuring there’s no point in hiding it: “I really wanted to bring you with me to attend…but I suppose it simply can’t be helped” … “That’s not it…I guess I’m just wondering if you’ll miss me as much as I’ll miss you while I’m away.” 

And MC’s just like “Aw, it’s okay it’ll only be a few days.” While Comte’s response is a very mature, high-pitched whining sound at a frequency only King (Theo’s dog) and Theo himself can hear. When MC tries to reassure him once more, his Hamlet impression continues: “Even the prospect of a few days away from you feels unbearable.” 

Naturally, as any man do that loves his wife, he draws her close and proceeds to bang the living daylights out of her. I would offer details, but I have no deets to give beyond: [Well MC, it appears I won’t be letting you get much sleep tonight.] 

Brief intermission for the vague sounds of fangirl cardiac arrest. 

The scene opens again to him doing his walk of shame (the slut) down the walkway and into the carriage that will take him to his friend’s house. His thoughts carry the regret of burdening her with his desire, though MC is pretty much on cloud nine and unable to stop thinking about the heady night they shared in a good way. Bruh and the sly look when he figures out why she looks like that--I’m boutta call the police, he is going to make women and men alike act up. 

MC scrambles to cool his already returning desire by insisting he will be late if he indulges any further, and he laughs and agrees easily–albeit with the slightest hint of reluctance. My favorite part in this exchange is that he kisses her forehead, adding that it’s because she’s the most adorable person in the world to him (a moment of silence for our uwus). 

Fast forward to Comte trying to get home after the festivities are over. Problem is, it’s been raining like a mOTHERBLEEPER, and as such carriages have no safe way to traverse the roads at the moment. He waited out the first day as patiently as possible, but after the second–and no sign of stopping–his Leeroy Jenkins instincts kick in. He notes to the coachman that he’s aware he’s asking a lot, but they fully intend to take the long way which invites the least risk–and the rain is ebbing, even if the progress is slow. 

It’s interesting because there’s another echo of his main story in this moment. He essentially showcases a desperation to return before the day ends, though without context it’ll probably seem a little strange, so I’ll do my best to explain. Basically, in his main story, MC notes that she doesn’t really care how different they are. Different time, different species, different experiences, so on and so forth. She hammers home that what matters is that the present is something that they actively share. It’s theirs. And no amount of divisions he desperately tries to draw will change that fundamental reality. 

And it’s a little moving to see how deeply he takes it to heart? I think it’s one of those wonderful phenomena, personally–the way a person can influence how you think and act with their sentiments. Sometimes someone says precisely what it is we need to hear, and it changes us–while it can be for the worse, it can also be for the better. He notes that he spent so many birthdays; among the people serving his house when he was little, raising hell with his friends in his younger days, so on and so forth. Not unlike Leonardo, he says that after so many “special” days the faces become a blur, the festivities lose their luster. It’s just another day, at this point. 

Note, one interesting thing here that stands out to me is that I feel like this is a reflection of both of their larger struggles. Where Comte can’t stand the relentless flow of time rendering him the only constant (and something of a ghost, never fully present), Leonardo can’t bear birthdays because it means remembering people who still mean the world to him, but are long gone. People he can never see again, never laugh with again, never share his life with again. And I think that’s a very profound pain, an anguish that just keeps on settling its weight. (Oh, Sisyphus…)

Comte’s is similar, but different. He actively works to keep his distance-- unlike Leonardo, he approaches immortality in the pragmatic way. He knows getting close will hurt, so he opts out of that–keeps a step behind, an easy smile on his face. Betrays only fragments to anyone, always has his guard up. But the downside of being so guarded means you eventually feel hollowed out and alone; nobody truly knows or understands you. There is a distinct loneliness in that approach, where memories only become reminders of how nothing ever improves and how bereft you are of warmth. 

Leonardo, at least, gets to have the joy of being known from time to time. But loss and estrangement from those people means double the pain in the long run, because he loved them fully. Comte chooses to live in the cold to protect himself, but ends up in a kind of catch-22; the cost of forgoing loss means a constant deadening of his own feelings. It means living in a kind of fog, where there is a distinct discomfort in the silent obscurity of your own heart. 

There’s something I’ve come to believe in my short course of living, so I guess I still need time to determine how true it is. But…I feel like, when people live this way, where who they are is a lie or it’s at the very least carefully concealed, we in part start to become that lie. I think it’s fascinating because Comte seems to have so much personality to him. He’s dramatic, he’s thoughtful, he has a sense of mischief about him, he has strong ideals, and he has an even more ironclad moral grounding. And yet, when he talks about himself, he always uses descriptions that hinge on emptiness. Like he’s worth so little, worth nothing. And that’s what I mean–he’s been trying so hard to glide on the surface that he has come to believe he really is equivalent to something that ephemeral. Like there’s nothing more inside him, or if there is, that it will never be worthy of much. I think it really speaks to the ways behavior impacts the psyche, even though the opposite tends to be considered the only possible cause and effect relationship. 

He’s so determined to live for and in the future while he’s in the present, that he forgets to enjoy himself and really live. And while that approach is certainly understandable, I do think he loses parts of himself along the way. Only to be rediscovered and placed back into his hands by MC: [Today–this moment–our now, I don’t want to miss it for anything.] And that's not even touching on how quick she is to make them a we; she's not letting him keep that distance. It’s not “you have the ability to share this day with me” it’s “we’re here and in this together.”

I feel like what I love about this is that it’s not only about how sweet he is on MC, but also about how much he’s truly living again for the first time. His defenses are slowly inching their way down, he’s letting himself hope and want things and look forward to things again. The thing about being a responsible person is that–while responsibility is all well and good–sometimes you become so mired in doing the right thing and planning the most optimal outcomes that you just aren’t thinking of yourself anymore. That is, if you ever were to begin with. He went from the careful cultivation of a life as an aristocrat, to a life that spoke of more freedom and fun beyond those iron wrought gates, before he returned to the structure of what he knew. Freedom speaks to him I’m sure–we all need it in some measure to survive. But I do think a good portion of that was unfulfilling for him after a point. It was only feeding the void that was beginning to form inside him. He was instinctively retreating into himself to avoid pain, and in doing that the only result was feeling like a coward and a fake. He wasn’t happy, he wasn’t able to be himself, and nothing was fulfilling–every single day just another forward march. 

I think it comes as no surprise he took up Vlad’s initial invitation so willingly. 

But then I digress, back to the story. There’s another timeskip and it finds him racing down the hall of the mansion. He’s hoping to make it in time but knows he’s racing against the clock, and fully expects MC to be asleep by this point in the night. Midway along his path he thinks he spots MC and falters in his step, blinking. He decides to hang back, watching the figure enter his room with a great deal of curiosity and resists every urge to burst in after her. He hears MC speak into his pillow, her voice muffled but clearly despondent: “I miss you, Comte. I hope you get back home soon…” 

Comte pretty much dies right there. I literally have no better explanation for it. He freezes, his heart sputters and stops. He’s just completely taken aback. 

And then, naturally, he goes about feral with desire as is his modus operandi: “Oho, I heard something incredibly cute just now. Were you also having a hard time spending so long apart?”

MC: “…!”

[Startled, she turns around and her eyes widen and widen.]

MC: “Comte, how...”

Comte: “Took a detour in areas with less rain.”

MC: “?? Wouldn’t that still be hard in weather like this?”

Comte: “I told the coachman I wanted to see you as soon as possible. Even if it was only for a second, I wanted to spend today with you…”

[Everything I was thinking while in the carriage spills out of me long before I can help it. I am reminded again of just how utterly irreplaceable an existence MC is in my life.]

Comte: “Even so, it seems interesting that I would find you in my bed”

MC: “...! A--Ah, I’m so sorry for entering without permission!”

[I quickly grab hold of her before she can scramble out of my bed, coaxing her to sink back into the sheets.]

In between a lot of intense making out and [redacted], the larger overtone is that her reciprocated ardor just destroys him inside:

MC: “It was...because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about wanting to see you…”

Comte: “!”

[You know just how to drive me mad with desire.]

Comte: “I’m the same...the first thing I did was look for you. Even though it was only a few days, your voice, your body, everything...I missed you”

[Because today, our ‘now’--I never want to lose a single moment with you as long as you’re by my side...]

Comte: “I’m so happy to be able to be with you, right here and right now.”

It gets funny too because Comte is trying to take it slow, but when she tells him “Happy birthday” and goes on to say she was so glad to greet the day he was brought into the world by his side, he just loses all control LMFAO. It ends with them getting more heated and [redacted], to the point where he doesn’t even hear the clock strike midnight. 

And if him being the cutest and sexiest romantic wasn’t obvious enough, he spends the next morning just sighing blissfully with her in his arms:

[The next morning, when I wake up, MC is still fast asleep. I mean, given she only fell asleep a few hours ago. I’m still reveling in the afterglow of a sweet night filled with her cries, the way she looked at me and held me. MC...]

[I relax to the sound of her breathing steady with sleep, stroking gently at her hair as I hug her from behind.]

Comte: “I’ve had countless birthdays. In an endless life, I was convinced it was just a day that would come and go every time.”

Comte: “It was only after meeting you that I could understand there was no such thing as an overlapping or identical moment. I don’t want to miss a single second by your side...that’s what I think now.”

[I admit the truth of my heart, brushing a kiss against her cheek. Over and over and over again, showering her in my affection--]

But dun dun dun!!! MC was awake the whole time, so when she fidgets a little at how ticklish his kisses are, he 👁

[Oh, I see. Well then, two can play at that game...]

Comte: “Your punishment is to stay in my arms just as we are...how’s that?”

He gets his mischievous (and hilarious) revenge for being revealed (HORNY TIME), though it’s so suffused with love it’s hard to call it revenge hahaha. She reminds him to go easy on her because they have his birthday party to attend later, and he agrees~

Honestly after such killer hurt/comfort spice fluff, I can only tremble at the thought of what his 5th year bday story will be

It’s either going to be Some Angst^TM or even more killer fluff, and either way that means my days are numbered

[solarwonux]

36. “I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone from my least favorite book.” “Why not?”

37. “I think you’ve had enough to drink today.”

husband!joshua x f!reader

genre: fluff and a little bit of angst 

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drinking, hints at infertility, mentions of a surrogate, self doubt, hints at depression, mentions of therapy, brief mention of poly!gyuchan,  IVF treatment, suggestive, a cat named dog and a dog named cat, reader isn’t a fan of Shakespeare.

notes: this one’s a heavy one, but I wanted to challenge myself with this one. I did do some brief research as I was writing this one but I still could’ve gotten something wrong, so if I did let me. Either way, I’m grateful for those who read and please please please let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.xx

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

Joshua threw his head back downing the shot of soju. His face twisted in displeasure, hissing at the bitter taste. He sets the glass down wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand before pointing a finger at you. 

“What about Elizabeth, like Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice?” Joshua asks, grabbing the green bottle of soju and pouring himself another shot. 

You cross your arms in front of your body and lean back against the dark navy booth. “Nope, try again.” 

Joshua let’s out a sound of annoyance before downing another shot. He doesn’t let the acrimonious taste settle in on his taste buds before he’s pouring himself another one and downing it. The two of you knew it was going to be a long night. Time was ticking, your surrogates due date was approaching and neither of you had picked out a name for your daughter. 

Truthfully, her name should’ve been chosen months ago. At least that’s what you and Joshua had planned during the first trimester of the pregnancy. But every time the topic came up, the two of you would end up frustrated and running back to the drawing board. You had names picked out, so did he. Neither one felt right. It also didn’t help that throughout the eight and a half months of the pregnancy a sense of guilt would wedge its way into your veins.

According to the many doctor’s you and Joshua consulted throughout the first year of your marriage. Your body wouldn’t be able to carry a child until full term. It had impacted you negatively. Your mental health was never up to par twenty four seven, but during that year - the year that was supposed to be filled with happy memories with your newly wedded husband; your mental health was at its worse. Memories that were supposed to be happy and colorful were black and white. You spent every waking moment dreaming about your child and feeling like a failure all at the same time. 

Joshua would hold you every time you cried out in agony. Each sob that came out of your lips would find its way and break his heart even further. He felt worthless not knowing what to do as he sat and watched the light get sucked out of you. He was hurting too, there wasn’t a doubt left in his head that he somehow shared your pain. But he couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to be told over and over again that your body will never be able to carry a child. So he held you and prayed for a miracle every night. He loved you more than anything in the world and although he found himself frustrated whenever you treated yourself like you were worthless or nothing. He made a promise to you in front of your family and his that through sickness and in health he will be by your side no matter what. 

The miracle came after four years. On New Year’s Eve of that first miserable year of marriage you told him you wanted to go to therapy, but only if he went too. He gladly agreed, eyes blown up in uncertainty but he didn’t fight you on your decision. Immediately he started researching for the best therapists in town, forgetting about the holiday party at Jun’s house. 

Slowly he saw you come back to yourself. The first time you smiled at him and laughed he cried tears of joy along with you. After almost two years of individual therapy with the newly added weekly couple therapy session, the two of you decided to research alternatives. Joshua was apprehensive, he feared he would lose you again, reassuring you that the two of you didn’t have to have kids in order to be a complete family. 

That just the two of you, your cat Inu and your dog Neko was enough. In which you agreed but one of your dreams was to bring a child into the world, to be a mother and you refused to have that taken away from you. So, he agreed after many weeks of convincing and a glittery powerpoint presentation. 

Mingyu, Chan and their wife didn’t want kids, frankly it wasn’t for them. But she didn’t hesitate to offer herself as a surrogate when she learned that you and Joshua were looking for one. It took another glittery powerpoint presentation from all three of them, this time to convince you to let them help you. So you did. Eight and a half months ago through an IVF treatment, one of your eggs and Joshua’s sperm were inside of her, healthily growing your child. Each doctor’s appointment you went to, the excitement inside of you grew. 

You stayed up with Joshua talking about how grateful you were that your baby girl was so loved and she hadn’t even taken her first breath yet. Mingyu and Chan showered her with gifts endlessly. A competition between the two of them to determine who would end up being her godfather. Not to mention her other ten uncle’s competing to see who would win the title of best uncle in the whole wide world. A contest that was to be held annually. Or so they claimed.

You were happy and so was Joshua but the only problem the two of you faced was that you didn’t have a name yet. And it stressed out Joshua to the point of no return, especially after you told him that it would be better to just wait until she was physically in the world. That her name would come to you, appearing out of thin air the moment you saw her for the first time. 

Joshua on the other hand disagreed. He lived paranoid ninety nine percent of the time and liked to be ready just in case something went wrong. He also didn’t want his daughter to be nameless and bean sprout wasn’t cutting it anymore. “Okay how about Ophelia, like from Hamlet.” He says with a hopeful dewey look in his eyes. 

You grab the bottle of soju and pour yourself a shot, downing it before slamming it down on top of the dark wooden table. “Absolutely not, I refuse. I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone my least favorite book.”

Joshua ran a stressed hand across his face. He wanted this nightmare to end. No both of you wanted this nightmare to end. “It’s not a book, it's a play baby, you out of all people should know that.” He accused, grabbing an unopened bottle of soju and cracking the seal. “Mrs. Literature major.”

“Does it come with a front cover and a back cover and a bunch of pages in between?” You challenge cocking your head to the side, pushing your shot glass towards him. 

Joshua poured you a glass before setting the bottle down and placing his chin in the palm of his hands. A cocky drunk grin evident on his face. “Yes, but it started out as a performance not a book.” He mocks.

“I disagree. Shakespeare had to have written it down first in order to then show the actors. Therefore it’s still considered a book and my statement still stands. I’m not naming our child Ophelia.” You roll your eyes bringing the glass up to your lips, taking a small sip from it. You were finally starting to feel the weight of the alcohol. It was a given the two of you were five soju bottles (almost six) in and still hadn’t made any progress. 

“Why not?” He whines kicking his feet in the process, resembling a little kid who just got told that he couldn’t have cookies ‘n’ creme ice cream for dinner. “I like Ophelia, I think it’s cute.” 

“Because Ophelia drowns in the play, what if by naming our daughter that, we are instilling her an unfortunate faith?” You explain, drawing it out dramatically with your hands. 

“That’s ridiculous. Our daughter is protected not only by her guardian angels but also she has a whole football team on standby ready to beat the shit out of anyone that makes her cry.” Joshua states in a matter of fact tone while closing the half finished bottle of soju. He was finally starting to feel the effects and the two of you still needed to pay the bill and somehow make it home. 

You huff dipping your index finger into the half full shot glass and wetting the rim. “I read about it once.” You whisper. 

“Where?” He stands up holding onto the table and makes his way to your side, sitting down. “On those mommy blogs? The one’s I told you to stop reading because they don’t make you feel good about anything?”  His arm makes it away across your shoulders and pulls you close. 

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “I’m just scared and I want everything to be perfect. I know that there’s nothing wrong with the decision we made but sometimes I still feel guilty that I wasn’t the one to carry her.” You sigh, lacing your fingers with his. “What if she doesn’t love me?” You cringe at how small your voice sounds. This is something your therapist and you had been working on for the past three weeks. Ever since you realized that the due date was approaching quickly. You’d gotten far but the doubt still lingered no matter how much you tried to push it away. 

Joshua leaves a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “You’re her mom through and through and she’ll love you no matter what. Your body couldn’t grow her, the risk was too high and I didn’t want anything to happen to you or to her. But that doesn’t mean you were not enough. You have always been enough and you will be the best mom she could ever ask for.” 

Years ago when you had first met Joshua you knew you didn’t deserve him. He was everything you could ever ask for and more. Every time you found yourself drowning he was there with his hand plunged into the water ready to raise you up. He was your pillar whenever you needed someone or something to lean on. He was your voice of reason and your biggest supporter. And it wasn’t fair, because you would never be able to be that person to him. 

“I love you Joshua, thank you for never giving up on me.” You sit up, closing the small gap between the two of you and leaving a soft, delicate, alcohol filled kiss against his perfect lips. 

“I would never in a million think of doing that. Baby I swear I would cut off each of my limbs and feed them to birds if that thought were to ever cross my mind.” He smiles, pecking your lips repeatedly making you giggle. The sound made his heart soar. “I know you won’t believe me but you taught me what it’s like to love someone endlessly and unconditionally and that’s something I will spend my life thanking you for.” He says, thumbs caressing your cheeks before he hugs you close. 

“Stop making it impossible not to love you.” You laugh, circling your arms around his waist, burying your head into his chest. “I like Ophelia too, I’ll put it on the ‘maybe’ list.” His arms get tighter around, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He wasn’t voicing his happiness, but you could only imagine the dumb smile he had on his face. 

After all, it was rare for you to admit defeat.

The two of you stayed there for a few more seconds before he brought his face down, stopping just above your ear. “Want to go to the bathroom and fuck,  live out our young adults fantasies once more before we become parents?” 

You pull away an incredulous look decorating your face. “Yup, I think you’ve had enough to drink. Let’s go home.” You stand up, grabbing your purse, pulling on his arm earning a wine from your husband. 

“Come on just once, please baby please.” He pleads and stands up, following you as you make your way to the front of the bar where the cash register usually was. 

“Absolutely not, I don’t want to be arrested for Adultery. We are about to become parents Joshua Hong!” 

He shrugs, circling his arm around your waist watching silently as you wait to pay. “It was worth a shot, what about when we get home?” He whispers into your ear leaving a teasing kiss against your chin. 

“We’ll see. Now behave.” 

“As you wish my lovely wife.”

[lizzytheglizzydogtheglock9000]

10 and 11 Reactions/Preferences

A/N For any preference I do, it will be titled 10 and 11 Reactions, simply because I wouldn't be too sure how to name some of these. This for example, as many of these will be, is going to be based on a personal experience. You see, I have low blood pressure, which essentially means that when I go from sitting down to standing up, my blood pressure stays the same, why my heart rate goes up, and it typically causes me to get extremely dizzy, and unable to see for a few seconds if I stand up after sitting for a long time. People with iron deficiency have this problem too, and I know it's more common than not. So that will be what this reaction is about.

You've been traveling with the Doctor for about a month, and somehow, you manage to hide how dizzy you get when you stand up quickly. Most likely because of how nonstop the Doctor is, of course, but this time, it's worse than you thought it would be.

(You're also going to be between the ages of 16 and about 20 for most of these, you all get to choose :D)

Tenth Doctor

For the first time in a month, you had finally convinced the Doctor to have a lazy weekend with you. He was always such a high energy person, he hardly ever wanted to rest. But when you gave him your signature puppy dog eyes, he just couldn't say no.

You had been sitting with him on a loveseat in one of the TARDIS' many lounges. Soft music played in the background while you read, and the Doctor stared out in space, obviously deep pin thought.

You stretched and let out a big sigh, gathering the Doctor's attention. You could see him smile at the way you moved, but you wouldn't let him know that.

"So Doctor," you said. "How would you feel about some tea?"

He jumped up as if he had been waiting for you to say just that.

"Absolutely I'd love to get some tea," he said, grinning goofily.

He held his hand out for you and yanked you out of your seat a little faster than you thought he would.

You paused for a second, swaying dizzily, waiting for your vision to return to normal. The Doctor stopped when he didn't feel you following him, and jumped back over to you.

"(Y/n)?" he said, face full of worry. "You alright? You look a little dazed."

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm fine. Just a little dizzy, I'll be fine," you mumbled.

He looked at you, not quite believing your words, but he didn't say anything about it. He grabbed your hand and you both bolted to the kitchen.

"Oh my God, you did not!" "I did so!" "Hamlet, one of the most well-known plays, was not influenced by YOU," you laughed. "I'm telling you it was!" The Doctor chuckled right back at you. "Give me one reason I'd lie to you." "Alright, fair enough," you say with a smile.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you, with some added clinking and the clatter of silverware.

"(Y/n), I had no idea you could bake so well," the Doctor said in between messy mouthfuls of tart.

You smirk at him.

"You say that as if you didn't believe in my skills!" You said. "I'm so offended!" You turned away with an over-exaggerated gasp.

"(Y/n, you know that's not what I meant," he laughed.

He took one last bite, cleaning his plate.

"You wanna go back to the lounge now?" he asked you.

You sucked in a breath, still feeling a tad dizzy from before, but you were determined to at least get back to your comfy reading seat.

"Yup, we can go now," you said trying to sound more confidant in your ability to walk than you really were.

When you stood up, the amount of dizziness you felt only grew. Your vision was like a static TV screen.

"(Y/n)?!"

You could hear the Doctor yell your name as you crumpled to the ground.

When you woke up, you were back in your reading spot in the lounge.

Had you dreamed it?

"Doctor?" you called, voice barely even able to whisper.

Instead of a response, you saw a long, nimble hand reach over from behind you and gently felt our forehead.

"Your temperature is normal," he said quietly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The look of concern on his face remained, and it didn't look like it would be leaving until you told him why you kept something like this from him.

"I didn't think it would be an issue," you stated plainly. "I've dealt with this for the past few years, and I can usually get a better hold on it. Water always helps of course, but I've never had it get that bad before. With how much we had been moving, we usually weren't sitting around long enough for me to feel dizzy when I stood again."

All he did was stare at you, taking in what you had just said.

"Doctor?"

He reached over and grabbed your hand, putting it gently against his head.

"Please let me know these things so I can take care of you," he whispered.

You leaned over and surprised him with a hug.

"I will."

11th Doctor

The view of the stars and galaxies from the TARDIS truly was a wonderous thing.

You were currently sitting next to the Doctor, looking at all the different galaxies, and stars, and planets before you, with your legs swinging over the side of the TARDIS. The Doctor was rambling on about your adventure from only a few hours before, while you leaned on his side, grasping onto his arm.

Just six hours before this, the two of you had run into an Aggedor. How it managed to find its way to London, you'll never know.

The Doctor continued his ramble, you wondered how he could even breathe while talking so fast. His antics brought a smile to your face, and you closed your eyes, enjoying the moment.

"But (Y/n)!" he yelled, almost making you jump out of the TARDIS. "What you did today was truly something fantastic! I-I never would've thought of..."

He continued on excitedly, like a child at Christmas. You chuckled here and there at what he had to say.

You had been traveling with him for a while now, or at least it felt like a while. Time was a curious thing when living in a time machine. You learned about all of his little quirks and found them all adorable.

You learned that at a time like this, there was no way to get a word in no matter how hard you tried. So you sat there listening.

Then, out of nowhere, he stopped.

You opened your eyes, wondering what could've been wrong, only to see that he was staring right at you with his big green eyes.

"So," he started. "You seem to be clingy tonight."

You looked down and remembered you had been rasping onto his arm, yet you hadn't realized how tightly you were holding him. You quickly backed away, blushing.

He noticed how you reacted and his face fell.

"Oh, (Y/n), it's alright, I really didn't mind," he said softly.

"Pfft, I was only holding onto you so I didn't fall out of the TARDIS silly," you smirked, thinking you had saved yourself.

"Uh-huh?" he taunted. "You do realize that the gravity of the TARDIS extends outside by about ten feet, right?"

You whipped your head around. Crap, he was right.

"Uh, well, I mean, it- uh- Maybe I was still nervous anyways?" you stuttered.

He chuckled.

"(Y/n), I never said it bothered me when you did that."

"Oh? O-okay."

You couldn't believe how flustered you were.

"Well Doctor, I'm absolutely exhausted, I think I'm gonna go to bed now," you laughed nervously and stood up rather quickly.

You started walking away before you began feeling incredibly dizzy.

"(Y/n)?" the Doctor questioned, looking concerned.

He jumped up from his place and shut the doors of the TARDIS.

"I'm fine..." you breathed.

You grasped onto the console of the TARDIS in hopes that you would regain your balance soon. Your vision started going all fuzzy, and because of how dizzy you were you didn't even realize you began falling.

"(Y/N)!"

The Doctor ran over to you and caught you just before you hit the ground. You leaned into his chest as you both slowly started sliding down to sit on the glass floor of the TARDIS.

"Oh goodness, you gave me a scare, dear," he muttered, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

You were awake but couldn't bother moving. The world was still spinning a bit.

"Doctor?" you said. "Can we stay here for a while?"

"Of course dear. Anything for you..."

[everybodyscupoftea]

won’t hold back

college isaac x reader

i’m back besties with the immediate follow up of born to run!

(warnings: cursing, light editing)

He finished his run first, of course he did, and by the time you got back to your car, huffing and puffing, a text was waiting on your phone. You pulled it out, hands shaking a bit and your face split into a smile as you read it.

I’m in parking lot west, meet me there?

Climbing into your car, you cranked it up, turning the heat up as high as you could stand, breaking out into a slight sweat despite still being cold as your thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

I’m in east, just got finished so I’ll drive over

You backed out, heart pounding, and drove the few minutes to the adjacent parking lot. He was leaning against his car and waved at you when you turned in, not that he needed to because he was the only car in the lot. Parking next to him, you took one last deep breath and grabbed your hoodie off the back seat.

“Hey,” he murmured with a smile when you climbed out.

Waving shyly, you responded, “Hey.”

“Hungry?”

You nodded eagerly, “Starving.”

Isaac grinned, “I know a place if you trust me enough.”

Thinking back to the coffee shop he picked when you were first getting to know each other, you nodded, “Yeah, absolutely.”

After a pause and a speculative glance, he jogged around the car and opened his passenger door for you to climb in. When you hesitated, his eyebrows furrowed and he started to look uncertain, which you definitely didn’t want, he spoke, slowly, “Or did you want to follow me there?”

“No,” you reassured quickly, sliding in without any further concerns, “sorry, I was just caught off guard for a second.”

Isaac didn’t respond, shutting the door softly for you before heading back over to the drivers side, finally answering when he buckled in and cranked it up, “Why caught off guard?”

“Well,” you paused, unsure how much you wanted to admit. But then you heard your sister’s voice in your head go get your man and decided on complete honesty, “I was going to ask you out today, but I wasn’t really expecting you to say yes.”

He blinked a few times, hand freezing on the gear shift, “Why the hell wouldn’t I say yes?”

Ears heating up, you shrugged, “I don’t know, it just seemed like you were out of my league. You didn’t text me.”

“You didn’t text me!” he countered. Which you supposed was fair, but you’d been nervous. He was so attractive and outgoing and unattainable. He was so clever and good with words and you were just. Good at math.

“That’s fair,” you answered, “but I thought you might would have other, better options.”

“Well, you’re wrong, just ask my roommates.”

It was oddly reassuring, that his roommates had been putting up with the same thing your sister apparently had, and you couldn’t stop the wide smile crossing your face. Heart stuttering again, your palms got clammy as he pulled out of the parking lot finally, heading down the road toward the downtown area. 

Isaac parked outside a brunch place you’d passed a few times before but he’d gotten to check out yet, so you were excited. When he turned the car off, you waited for him to open the door for you again after catching his attempted discrete look in your direction.

“M’lady,” he spoke, pulling the door open and bowing slightly.

Giggling, you took his outstretched hand and stepped out, responding with an exaggerated accent, “Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime.”

He kept your hand, not that you wanted to let go, but your heart kicked up again, and you hoped that he couldn’t feel the sweat on your palm. If he did, he thankfully didn’t mention it, just swung your hands between the two of you, humming, as he led both you toward the door.

The brunch place was pretty busy, and the hostess smiled at the two of you, “Good morning, table for two?”

“Yep,” Isaac responded cheerfully.

“Inside or out?”

He looked at you, content to let you answer, and you shrugged, “Doesn’t matter to me,” you turned to the hostess, “do you have a suggestion?”

“It’s more private outside, and we have heaters.”

“Outside,” Isaac confirmed without further pause.

She raised her eyebrows, lips twitching a bit at his hasty answer, and she marked something down, before speaking again, “Follow me.”

“Private, huh?” you teased when she was gone, menus spread out in front of each of you.

He shrugged, grinning, “Yeah, I want to get to know you well, not just eat together.”

And you didn’t really have anything to say to that, throat tightening at his honest words. It was quiet at first, both of you focused on picking something to eat and ordering before he finally took a sip of the tea he ordered, clutching the cup with both hands. Isaac leaned forward, foot nudging yours under the table, and you spoke up, “So, how are your classes this semester?”

He grinned, “You really want to talk about school right now?”

“No,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly, “but I thought it could be a good ice breaker.”

“Okay, I’ll humor you. They’re good, but I miss studying with you.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you played with a string on the sleeve of your hoodie, “I miss studying with you too.”

“Have you been back to the coffee shop?” he asked.

Shaking your head, you reluctantly answered, “No, it felt like your space and I didn’t want to invade it.”

“I’ve been looking for you there,” he admitted, “I thought you liked it and might come back.”

 “I did,” you shrugged, “like it, at least. But the library and engineering building have become my home as of late.”

“Do you like the quiet?”

“Something like that. Less things for me to look at.”

Isaac hummed, “I get that. I like coffee shops because I feel like people are watching me and if I’m not productive, they’ll judge me.”

You snorted, “Well, that’s a way to pressure yourself into it, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” he nudged your foot with his again, “I normally like to be alone, but I wouldn’t mind some company every so often. If you can drag yourself out of your academic buildings to hang out with me sometimes.”

“No one I’d rather drag myself out of academic buildings for,” you teased.

Even though your tone was teasing, you were serious, and his smile confirmed that he realized that. You really liked that he picked up on your underlying meanings, it was something that lacked in your last relationship. That boyfriend needed things explicitly stated, which was fine, but a lot of your jokes were taken the wrong way or went over his head, and it caused a few fights.

Isaac took another sip of tea and leaned back in his chair, “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

He shrugged, eyes not leaving your face once, and you almost wanted to balk at the steady attention, “You decide.”

“Well, I’m not that interesting,” you started, only pausing when he made a noise in protest.

“I assure you,” he interrupted, “I’ll be interested in whatever you have to say.”

Squeezing your eyes shut for a second, pushing back against the sappy look desperately fighting to show on your face, you answered, “Okay, um, I’m from New York, but not any of the cities, more in the countryside. I have one sister and she’s pretty much my best friend.”

Isaac nodded, “Older?”

“Younger.”

“I had a brother, older,” Isaac told you, “but he died overseas.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I’m so sorry, Isaac.”

He smiled sadly, “Thank you. We weren’t really close, but it was still tough. Especially for my dad.”

“Are you close?”

Isaac snorted, “No, not even a little bit.”

It didn’t seem like he wanted to elaborate, so you decided to change the subject, “What about friends?”

His smile was small but pleased, “Stiles and Scott are my two closest. I grew up with them and they came here too.”

“Oh, that’s great,” you responded enthusiastically, “they sound like good friends.”

“They are most of the time. But sometimes they bully me. Like when I kept going on early morning runs to see this girl I liked instead of just texting her.”

You snorted, “Sounds like my sister.”

“I’m sure they’d get along then.”

“Sounds like,” you agreed, “we should never introduce them.”

“Amen,” he answered just as the waiter came over with your food. The rest of the meal was lighter, more focused on small talk than any heavy topics. You learned about his interest in drama and hatred of poetry. 

He ranted about the true villain in Hamlet for a solid five minutes, using his hands excitedly, emphasizing certain points by pointing his fork, and you were enthralled. Sure, you didn’t particularly care about Hamlet versus his stepdad, but by the end of his speech, you were more intrigued than before.

“I’ve never really understood poetry,” you admitted.

He nodded enthusiastically, “It’s so subjective. English teachers often teach it wrong. I want to change that. I want to help science brains like yours not hate English as much.”

“A very noble cause,” you joked, “but perhaps more difficult than you may think.”

“I don’t think so,” he mused, “because when we started eating, you didn’t know anything about Hamlet but now you have an opinion.”

You nodded, “That’s true, I suppose. Anyone who claims Hamlet is the true villain is incorrect.”

Isaac grinned, “Fuck yes.”

And then it was your turn to rant about physics and how the professors on campus made it ten times worse than it should’ve been. Isaac asked about some of the topics physics entailed, and to his credit, he seemed interested despite the boring subject.

“It could just be so much more pleasant, but the professors are so old and refuse to adapt.”

“A problem in English too sometimes,” he agreed, “but I’m hoping once I get to higher level courses, things will get more interesting.”

By the time he’d paid and the plates had cleared away, there were a few other tables of people around the two of you, and you knew it was about time to leave. You really didn’t want to, and it looked like he felt the same way.

“Ready?” you finally asked.

“I guess so.”

The walk to the car was quiet, and he didn’t hold your hand again, but your knuckles brushed his every so often. When you looked over, his ears were red and he was pointedly staring straight ahead. You reveled in the fact that a guy like him actually seemed flustered by your presence.

He dropped you off at your car and grabbed your wrist before you could get out, “Can we do this again sometime?”

You smiled at the slight shake in his voice, “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Cool,” he beamed, “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. Text me sometime?” you asked, teasing him a bit even though both of you were guilty of not texting.

His lips twitched, “Or I’ll just see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

Suddenly, morning runs didn’t seem all that daunting.

[honourablejester]

Domain of Dread: Harrow’s Rock

A homebrew Domain of Dread, because I’m in raptures about Van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft. I. LOVE. HORROR. FANTASY. Ah. You may have noticed. I went for a more classic New-Englandy, Lovecraftian sort of nautical/cosmic horror, because the two suggested cosmic horror domains lacked a little something for me. LONG POST, to warn you. I got carried away. So:

Domain of Dread: Harrow’s Rock

Domain of Salt and Sleeping

Overview:

Darklord - Aloysius Carroway

Genre – nautical horror, ghost stories, gothic horror, cosmic horror

Hallmarks – maritime ghost stories, cycles of vengeance, eldritch dreamers

Mist Talismans – glass floats full of strange mist, tarnished bronze discs, strange whispering shells

Rage, bitterness and despair endlessly ebb and flow like a wine-dark tide against the salt-stained, hard-bitten coastline of Harrow’s Rock. Ghosts sail the frigid waters around this small, dismal island, and haunt the crumbling manors on its cliffs. Bobbling marsh-lights lure unwary fishers, travellers and smugglers into the depths of Loney Marsh. In the grim hamlet of Harrow Cove, ancient grudges mire the native islanders in endless feuds that not even death can finish. Island legend tells of an ancient, unknown entity that lies slumbering in a vast, flooded cavern beneath Harrow Cliff, its dreams washing out across the island from time to time, bringing fear and horror in their wake.

Harrow’s Rock is a battered island domain of ghosts, blood feuds and grudges, ruled over by a man whose vengeful determination to protect his family resulted in the sacrifice of an entire town, since resurrected by the Powers for his torment. Hope is in short supply here, and welcome even shorter.

Cove Characters – Characters from Harrow’s Rock tend to have a distinctly nautical bent, with few lives that have remained untouched by the waters in some way. They tend towards hardy, weather-beaten folk, stubborn and superstitious, with humans, half-orcs and dwarves being particularly common. Other, more otherworldly lineages (such as genasi, tieflings, and sorcerous lineages) are viewed with fear and superstition, but are more common than most Covefolk would like to admit. Naming conventions on Harrow’s Rock often follow old-fashioned/18th and 19th century British and North American patterns.

Noteworthy Features:

Those familiar with Harrow’s Rock know the following facts:

The four founding families of the island, the Carroways, Merricks, Redmarches and Whitmarshes, control everything of note on Harrow’s Rock.

Pretty much everything on the island or around it is haunted one way or another.

Loney Marsh, Lorn Point Lighthouse and Redmarch Manor are widely considered the most haunted locations on an extremely haunted isle.

The only true settlement on the island is the fishing port of Harrow Cove, where the ‘Harrow’ of Harrow’s Rock supposedly landed. Harrow’s Cove is notably grim and unwelcoming to outsiders, though it’s safer than some of the other areas on the island.

However haunted the land might be, the sea is even more so. It is not safe to sail the waters around Harrow’s Rock. Fisherfolk are the hardiest breed on a hardy island, and ghost pirates are the least of your worries out there.

Islanders do not talk about their dreams. Ever.

Settlements & Sites:

Harrow’s Rock is a grim, rocky island, roughly seven miles by seven miles, with large rocky cliffs to the east of the island and the low expanse of Loney Marsh to the west. Sunshine is rare on this windswept, dismal isle, with mists, rain and furious storms being far more common. The islanders tend to be insular, clannish and deeply suspicious of strangers, a suspicion only surpassed by their abiding and long-entrenched mistrust and hatred of each other.

Harrow’s Rock was known on maps for a good hundred or so years before it was first settled, associated with a person or entity known as ‘Harrow’, but it lay uninhabited until a ship commanded by four adventurers in search of a new home laid anchor there. Those four adventurers were Noah Carroway, Erasmus Merrick, Ervina Redmarch and Loney Whitmarsh, and their families became the four founding and controlling families of Harrow’s Rock.

Harrow Cove:

The port town of Harrow Cove lies nestled in a small bay beneath Harrow Cliff. Historically, the town was controlled fairly evenly between the Carroway and Merrick families. After the death of Ezekiel Carroway, Aloysius made a concerted effort to claim it wholly for his own family, and so it remains today. The town is the heart of Aloysius’ domain, and the Darklord himself still resides at his family’s ancient townhouse on the hill above the docks. Although he keeps largely to himself, having no interest in interacting with the townspeople he loathes, the town is wholly under his control. No one walks the streets and docks of Harrow Cove but that he is aware of it, and no ship enters the port without his permission. Life is grim in Harrow Cove, under the hateful, paranoid eyes of its master and once-destroyer.

Church of the Salt:

Near the docks in Harrow Cove, facing the sea, the stone bell-tower of the Church of the Salt rises above the surrounding buildings. The great double doors of this once proud church have been closed and viciously nailed shut, and while there is life within the walls, it gives a distinct air of a building under siege. The acolytes, priests and priestesses of the Salt know beyond doubt that the Darklord hates them with all his heart, more than anyone else in the town, and only an extremely precarious network of sewers, smugglers and ‘parishioners’ allow them to live and continue their ministry as much as they can. The Church of the Salt fully believe that Aloysius is tainted and empowered by the Dreamer beneath Harrow Cliff, and that as long as the Dreamer and its spawn, the demon child Ambrose, remain alive, no one can truly destroy the Darklord.

Redmarch Manor:

The ancestral home of the Redmarches, one of the founding families of the island, Redmarch Manor overlooks and controls what little arable land Harrow’s Rock can lay claim to. Secure in their control of pretty much all food on the island that doesn’t come from the sea, the scions of the Redmarch Clan are content to stay out of the machinations of the rest of the island. They have, after all, a myriad of their own problems. It takes a lot for anywhere on this island to be considered more haunted, but Redmarch Manor is certainly in the running, the apparent product of an unspecified family curse that may or may not involve the Dreamer. No Redmarch who grew up in its confines comes out entirely sane. The current heir, Rowena Redmarch, more than proves the point, being widely known as a drunk, a vicious fighter who would put Estelle Merrick to shame, and a woman haunted by her ancestors in ways that would also put Estelle Merrick to shame.

Loney Marsh:

Loney Marsh is roughly fourteen square miles of saltmarsh along the western edge of the island. Named for Loney Whitmarsh, the family matriarch who claimed the western half of the island at the founding (and largely wasn’t contested for it), and currently presided over by Eurydicia Marsh, Loney Marsh is known for smugglers, sinkholes, and being the source of roughly every ghost story on the island that doesn’t directly tie to Aloysius or the Dreamer. Of course, that being said, Loney Marsh is also the only place on the island that an enemy of Aloysius’ could conceivably hide, as not even the Darklord with all his powers can fully pierce the mists and morass of the marsh. There are several smugglers in Loney Marsh with ties to Harrow Cove, and perhaps to the Wrack of the Isle as well, and is one of the relatively few safe places to land boats outside of Harrow Cove. Loney Marsh is extremely difficult to navigate without a guide, and is home to any number of haunts and monsters.

Wrack of the Isle:

The Wrack of the Isle is a small islet about a mile and a half offshore on the northeastern side of Harrow’s Rock, wreathed in wooden docks, shacks and shanties, and festooned with the wind-tossed lights of storm lanterns. All the flotsam and jetsam of Harrow’s Rock winds up here, including exiles, outcasts, pirates both living and dead, and more or less the entire remnants of the Merrick family. The Wrack of the Isle is the private fiefdom of Estelle Merrick, so-called ‘Pirate Queen’ of the Wrack, and all who survive on the islet pay their dues to her. It is rumoured, though, that Estelle in her turn pays her dues to someone else. Her cousin, Elias Merrick, the fearsome ghost pirate of Harrow’s Rock and the scourge of all living who sail her seas.

Lorn Point Lighthouse:

High on the cliffs on the northeastern side of Harrow’s Rock, facing out across the waters towards the Wrack of the Isle, stands the ominous tower of Lorn Point Lighthouse, also known locally as Ghost Point Lighthouse. In the early days of Harrow’s Rock, when the Carroways and the Merricks were still on friendly terms, Eochbard Merrick built the lighthouse on Lorn Point to help guide shipping into Harrow Cove. When the Merricks were driven off the island, the lighthouse was abandoned and fell into ruin. Until the night the Mists claimed the island, when a ghostly green light abruptly started shining again from the top of the cliff. Nowadays, it’s widely known on the Rock that the light at Lorn Point does not guide living ships, but ghosts upon the waters instead, and travellers through the mists.

Harrow Cliff and The Dreamer’s Cavern:

Towering over Harrow Cove, dwarfing the town, is the great black face of Harrow Cliff. The highest point on the island, higher even than Lorn Point, the cliff glares balefully out to sea and coldly cradles the town below. The cliff is riddled with caves and carved passages, some by the sea, some by smugglers and townsfolk, and some by the powers know what. Before ever the island was swallowed by the Mists, rumours and legends about Harrow Cliff abounded. It is said that if you follow the passages deep enough, if something guides you through the right twists and turns, you will emerge eventually into the Dreamer’s Cavern. No one knows who or what the Dreamer is, if it might be the ‘Harrow’ for which the island is named, but very few want to find out.

Aloysius Carroway:

Aloysius Carroway was born, the elder of a set of twins, to one of the founding families of the Rock. He and his twin brother Ezekiel grew up in Harrow Cove, at a time when the Carroway and Merrick families were vying increasingly over control of the port, and bad blood had grown between them.

Not that Aloysius and Ezekiel particularly cared. They were focused on their own endeavours. Aloysius, his studies, and Ezekiel, the pride and adventure of the fishing fleets. Though Ezekiel in particular clashed with the Merrick heir, Elias Merrick, a grudging respect soon grew between them, and life was good. Aloysius took over his father’s position as harbourmaster, Ezekiel as captain of the fishing fleet, and between them the brothers earned the respect of Harrow Cove.

Then, one day, a terrible storm swept the seas around Harrow’s Rock, and Ezekiel’s ship was announced lost at sea, with everyone aboard. The Cove was shaken, but Aloysius was devastated. There was nothing in the world he loved more than his twin, and he refused to believe that Ezekiel was truly dead. He dreamed repeatedly that Ezekiel was alive and would return to him, and his adamance, particularly on the subject of dreams, began to make people around him nervous. Harrow’s Rock had long had legends of the Dreamer in the Cavern, you see, and dreams were never a safe subject on the island.

And then Ezekiel did come back to him. In the aftermath of a second terrible storm, nearly two years after the first, a man washed up on the rocky beach underneath Harrow Cliff … with a newborn baby wrapped in seaweed in his arms. It was Ezekiel, and he introduced the child adamantly as his own, as his son Ambrose. He would not say who (or what) the mother had been.

Aloysius was overjoyed. His brother, the other half of his soul, was returned to him, and he had brought a tiny addition to the family along with him, something Aloysius, being not romantically inclined, had never hoped to see without his brother’s help.

No one else on Harrow’s Rock was overjoyed, however. To anyone with even an ounce of superstition, and no one on the Rock would be content with an ounce, everything about Ezekiel’s return reeked of ill-omen. From Aloysius’ dreams, to Ezekiel washing up beneath the Dreamer’s cliff, to the child’s increasingly obvious otherness, it all stank of the Dreamer. Nor did it help that Ezekiel himself was changed, grown as quiet and reticent as his brother after his experience. Rumours and superstition ran rampant in Harrow Cove. Spearheaded, with growing alarm and anger, by Elias Merrick, who could not find the man he had grudgingly grown to respect in this new Ezekiel.

Aloysius would hear none of it. His brother was returned to him, and his nephew, though a little odd, including such details as being able to breathe just fine in the bath, was a cheerful, friendly baby. He would hear no word against them. Not from anyone, for any reason.

Dreams stirred across the island in the wake of Ezekiel’s return. Strange, salty visions, never the same between one person and the next. It could have been nothing more than superstition itself, excited dreams thrown up by paranoia and rumour. But sentiment stirred against the Carroways regardless, and neither Ezekiel nor Aloysius himself were any help.

And then, a year to the day from the moment Ezekiel Carroway had washed up on Harrow Beach, on the day he had claimed for his child’s first birthday, another storm lashed the Rock, fierce enough to dwarf anything the island had seen in a hundred years. And the growing fear and superstition on the island finally flashed to violence.

No one would admit afterwards to having been there when the mob, lead by Elias Merrick, smashed down the door of the Carroway townhouse, while Aloysius was still working in the port, and dragged Ezekiel Carroway out into the street. They searched for the child as well, young Ambrose, but couldn’t find him. Their bloodlust would have to be content with an oddly calm, placid Ezekiel.

And he was calm. Utterly serene. It was said he looked Elias Merrick in the eye, no trace of fear or of the man he had once been as he faced his former friend, and eyed the boathook in his hand with nothing but a small smile. He made no sound and offered no words of protest, even as they beat him almost to death. And no one was there, no one would admit to being there, but still the rumour went that his eyes had been wide open and his mouth still smiling when Elias shoved him angrily off the dock and back into the watery embrace of his ‘lover’.

Aloysius witnessed this. He had been working in the port. He couldn’t miss a mob marching down the Cove’s docks. It took six men, at least two of them Merricks, to hold him back from trying to leap to his brother’s defense. He was almost insane with desperation, with rage. He fought them like a madman, but nothing he did could get him close enough. Ezekiel slipped away.

And when it was done, when his brother had been taken from him, Elias Merrick looked him in the eyes. Elias told him, with the barest hint of remorse, that he ‘did what had to be done’. To protect the island from whatever unnatural force Ezekiel had brought back with him.

There had been no one in the world that Aloysius loved more than his brother. Not a single soul.

He went back to the townhouse. In the midst of his grief and his fury, he found his nephew, Ambrose. His brother’s infant son. Alive, gloriously alive, and hidden in a water tank. Breathing away quite happily to himself, in the gentle quiet underwater. He’d slept through his father’s death. Aloysius, still lost in the serene white seas of rage, could only be glad of that. He retrieved the child. Swore on his brother’s name that he would protect him with his life from that day forth.

And swore, too, that he would not rest a single day of that life until he had driven Elias, the Merricks, and anyone else who might ever be a threat to his family, off the island.

It took almost twenty years. It took every trick and trade, every scrap of fortune and alliance, old and new, that Aloysius possessed. But he drove the Merrick fleet into the ground. Broke their finances. Took Harrow Cove, inch by inch, house by house, back for the Carroways. He took control of vital trade and supplies. Starved the lighthouse at Lorn Point. Drove the family to beggardom or to the sea. Fortune was incidental. The prosperity of Harrow’s Rock as a whole was beside the point. Everything he did from that day forth was to bring Elias Merrick to his knees.

And he succeeded. Beggared and battered further and further back, the Merricks left the island and went to their boats. Went to the sea. And the sea remembered Ezekiel too. Something in it. Whether it was a curse or something else, no Merrick ship could prosper around Harrow’s Rock. Many of them sank. One of them … was Elias’.

Perhaps that on its own would have been enough to draw the attentions of the Powers in the Mists. That single-minded devotion to slow, starvatious vengeance. But grudges were a way of life on Harrow’s Rock, blood feuds as common as bloodlines. One man slowly driving a family into the sea was nothing all that special on the Rock.

But Aloysius loved his brother’s son as well. He loved his nephew. He had taken that oath to Ezekiel’s memory just as firmly to heart. And as Ambrose grew and grew, into a fine, gentle, and terribly shy young man, so the rumours around their family grew in step. Ezekiel had been given back to his lover, whatever monstrosity that might have been, but his son still walked the island, and his brother bent all his powers to protecting him. And Aloysius was different now. He had learned from that day on the dock. He had learned to pay attention. The older Ambrose got, the more desperately paranoid and aware of rumour Aloysius became.

And the dreams swept the island even still. More and more as the years went on. Paranoia. Superstition. The Dreamer in the Cave. Or maybe Ambrose or Aloysius himself. Some taint, of Ezekiel or of the Carroway bloodline itself. Aloysius’ dreams predated the storm, after all. Ezekiel had been his twin. Perhaps the taint had carried, the moment Ezekiel’s ship had first been lost.

Either way, it came to a head once again. The terror on the island, and the fervour of Aloysius’ promise to his brother in response. The Church of the Salt had sprung up, its adherents agitating against the taint of the Dreamer, and Aloysius could see it coming once again. The worst day of his life. The loss of his family and his soul all over again.

He wasn’t going to allow it. Before any man, woman or child on the island dared lay hands on his family again, Aloysius Carroway was going to stop them.

Even if he had to kill each and every one of them to manage it.

There were no dreams, the day a priest of the Salt stood on the docks and loudly denounced Ambrose Carroway as a demon from the deep to be destroyed. Everyone on the island remembered that afterwards. That the night before it all ended, no one dreamed. Of the sea, or of anything. A sleep as deep and dreamless as the dead.

The next day, Aloysius calmly locked his tearful, pleading nephew away. Somewhere safe, somewhere no one on the island would know to look for him. And then he walked back down into town. Down the docks to the Church of the Salt, where he stood patiently waiting until the priests and priestesses came out to meet him.

And when they did, he gave them one chance to repent their words and threats against his nephew. One chance, to stave off his wrath. If they did not, he promised quietly, he would do as Elias had done to his brother. He would return Harrow Cove to the sea. All of it. Every man, woman and child. If they did not leave the island and renounced their threats against his family, then in his brother’s name, for his nephew’s protection, he would sink this town into the sea.

They didn’t listen. Much as the Merricks, twenty years earlier.

That night, for the first time in more than a year, a light appeared at Lorn Point Lighthouse. A green, ghostly light, shining out across the waters. The bells of the Church of the Salt started ringing, moved by no human hand. A thunderous crack echoed beneath the town. A hideous shudder and rumbling shook the island.

And the Mists rolled gently and inexorably across the Rock, as the town of Harrow Cove slumped forward into the sea.

Aloysius Carroway woke up in his townhouse. Exactly as it had been the day before. He stumbled out, dazed, into a Harrow Cove that looked exactly like the town he had just destroyed. Full of the townspeople he had just murdered, though they didn’t seem to remember him doing so. On an island exactly like Harrow’s Rock.

With just a few small differences ...

Aloysius’ Powers and Dominion

Aloysius has statistics similar to that of an Inquisitor of the Mind Fire, though his psionic abilities are either inborn or a potential influence of the Dreamer. His personal prowess pales in comparison to his control over his island and the influence of his dreams, however.

Paranoid Whispers: Aloysius’ awareness of his domain has been heightened by his paranoia. While his perception grows foggier the further from Harrow’s Cove it goes, and holds no dominion whatsoever over the sea and little over Loney Marsh, within Harrow Cove and most of the eastern side of the island, he is aware of all newcomers, and echoes of his dreams inform him of harmful intentions on the part of the islanders.

Wrathful Dreams: Whether consciously or not, Aloysius’ dreams now touch those of all who dwell in his domain. When he dreams of his brother, so do they. When he dreams of his hatred for them, so do they. And if his dreams visit harm upon them, that harm may manifest when they wake. Denizens of Harrow’s Rock do their best to avoid drawing the Darklord’s attention to them, lest he dream of them that night.

Closing the Borders: When Aloysius wishes to close the borders of Harrow’s Rock, great storms whip around the edges of his domain. Those who attempt to sail into those storms are affected as detailed in “The Mists” section in Van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft.

Aloysius’ Torment

Since the stormswept night when Harrow’s Rock and every soul on it were transported to the Mists, Aloysius has been tormented by the following circumstances:

Since entering the Mists, Aloysius’ dreams of his murdered brother Ezekiel have grown stronger and stronger, tormenting him with the dual convictions that his brother might have survived that day, as he survived the shipwreck before it, and that his brother is furious at his failure to protect his son. Aloysius longs to reach out to and find his brother, but the seas are now controlled by his enemies, and there is no known way to enter the Dreamer’s Cavern, if that is where Ezekiel now resides.

When Aloysius awoke in the newly remade Harrow Cove, he immediately rushed to check on his nephew, but found the locks broken and his nephew nowhere to be seen. He has no idea if Ambrose escaped and hates him too much for his actions to seek him out, or if Ambrose was found and taken by his enemies. None have come forward claiming to have done so, but Aloysius lives in feverish terror that he has failed despite it all and allowed his nephew to be captured or killed.

Aloysius does not and cannot trust a single person on the island. He remembers destroying Harrow Cove and murdering everyone in the town, though he is unsure to what extent it truly happened, and he remains uncertain how many, if any, of the islanders remember that too. His fears whisper that all of them do. They may be right.

While the island and particularly the town of Harrow Cove are his, the waters off the island are a much different story. The seas around Harrow’s Rock are more haunted than they have ever been, and there is one ghost in particular that gladly torments Aloysius by his presence. Elias Merrick sails the seas around the island, and would love to welcome his old friend, should Aloysius ever attempt to leave the safety of the town and his island behind to search for his brother, his nephew, or for freedom. From the light at Lorn Point, Aloysius is convinced that Elias is trying to lure outsiders to Harrow’s Rock to destroy him, and again, he may not be wrong. But outsiders may also be the only people Aloysius could convince to seek the Dreamer’s Cave and Ezekiel.

Roleplaying Aloysius

Personality Trait: “Everyone is out to get me and mine, but not if I get them first.”

Ideal: “Nothing is more important than the protection and memory of those I love.”

Bond: “I will find and keep my family safe, by whatever means necessary.”

Flaw: “Nobody and nothing can be trusted except my family.”

Adventures in Harrow’s Rock:

Harrow’s Rock is the domain of ghost stories, cycles of vengeance, petty feuds, dreaming horrors, and oceanic terrors. It is hostile for reasons both human and otherworldly: the hatred and paranoia of a superstitious populace and a man who watched his family die and seeks to emphatically prevent any potential repeat, and the otherworldly influence of the sea, the caves, and the ‘Dreamer’, whatever the Dreamer may be. If the Dreamer is anything, and not just the frothing superstition of the islanders and the subconscious telepathic powers of some of the island’s bloodlines.

When visitors follow Lorn Point’s light through the mists, or wash up in Loney Marsh or on the rocky beach beneath Harrow Cliff, they are faced with a wild, rocky island inhabited by sullen, paranoid, mistrustful people who want to either get rid of them before they attract attention, or use them for their own ends while trying to hide their own sins in the process. Characters born on the island face nights full of foreign dreams, perhaps vague memories of a great disaster that something tells them they shouldn’t have survived, and the deep conviction that there is a dreaming force on the island that deeply loathes them.

If the characters arrived by ship, they may find that Aloysius has closed the borders and will not let them leave until they help him find Ezekiel, Ambrose, or the way to the Dreamer’s Cavern. Or until they help someone else, the Church of the Salt or the Merricks, to destroy him and end his control over the island and the borders. If they washed up unwillingly on the shore, they may seek out a ship in Harrow Cove, Loney Marsh, or among the pirates of the Wrack of the Isle in an effort to escape again, any of which may embroil them further in the machinations of the Carroways, the Merricks, the Whitmarshes, or the Church of the Salt. Perhaps they might wish to investigate the mystery of the Dreamer themselves, or help individual islanders to avoid Aloysius’ notice, destroy the Darklord, or deal with their own private feuds or hauntings. Or perhaps they might stumble across a shy, fearful genasi youth who is somehow immune to the Darklord’s dreams …

Harrow’s Rock Adventures

d8                         Adventure

1                            In order to be allowed to leave the domain again, a man in Harrow’s Cove named Aloysius Carroway wants the party to search Loney Marsh for his missing nephew, without broadcasting to all and sundry that the youth is missing at all.

2                            Outside the Church of the Salt, a ragged figure implores the party to help her find out what has happened to a shipment of food and medicine destined for the beleaguered faithful inside the walls.

3                            While sailing into Harrow’s Rock, following the ghostly light of a strange lighthouse that isn’t on any map or chart, the party’s ship was captured by a spectral vessel, whose ghostly captain demands that they find some way to lure or trap a man named Aloysius Carroway onto a vessel and out to sea to meet him.

4                            Waking up bewildered and lost in Loney Marsh, the party are found by a shy young water genasi youth who will not tell them his name, and is adamant that they should leave the island immediately before his uncle realises that they’re there. At all costs, he reiterates desperately, they must avoid Harrow Cove.

5                            Landing in Loney Marsh, the party are taken to meet Eurydicia Marsh, who says that of course she’ll help them off the island, if they’ll just do a few little things for her first. Make a few deliveries, to some faithful in Harrow Cove, or her dear friend Estelle on the Wrack of the Isle. A few things like that …

6                            While the party attempt to buy supplies in Harrow Cove, the shopkeep’s terrified son rushes downstairs, saying that he dreamt that Mr. Carroway was very angry with him, though he didn’t know why. To the party’s surprise, the shopkeep takes this incredibly seriously, and immediately tells the son to write a letter of apology to Mr. Carroway and deliver it post haste. And to not be seen doing so.

7                            Delivered by the mists to a rocky beach beneath a great cliff, the party find that the nearest town distinctly does not welcome them, calling them ‘Dreamer’s get’ and either avoiding them or blackly cursing them off the island.

8                            The merchants of the town in Harrow Cove approach the party and ask them to venture further inland, to Redmarch Manor, which controls what little farmable land exists on the island. Deliveries of produce have been delayed lately, and they would be grateful if the party would find out why.

The Dreamer’s Cavern

One of the central mysteries of Harrow’s Rock, the legend of the Dreamer’s Cavern is bound up in the founding of the island, the influence and curses of the families who settled there, potentially the return of Aloysius’ brother at least once and perhaps twice, and perhaps also the origins of Aloysius’ dreaming abilities, if those were not wishful thinking once and an influence of the Dark Powers now.

Who or what the Dreamer might be, or even if there is a Dreamer at all, is something you can decide before running an adventure in Harrow’s Rock. If you choose to have the Dreamer exist and be an active influence on the island, you may wish to draw more heavily from cosmic horror influences as much as ghost stories or nautical elements. If you choose instead to have the Dreamer’s influence simply be a facet of the deeply superstitious nature of the islanders, you might draw more from gothic or psychological horror. If the party seeks an endgame for Harrow’s Rock involving the reveal of the Dreamer, you must decide what influence that will have on Aloysius, the inhabitants of the island, and the potential solution to the Darklord’s curse.

Use the table below to help decide what the Dreamer might be, or come up with your own ideas:

The Dreamer’s Nature:

d6                         Nature

1                            The Dreamer is an aboleth or a kraken seeking escape from a watery prison beneath the island, and attempting to manipulate visitors or islanders into seeking it out to accomplish this. Slaying it will have no effect on Aloysius or his curse.

2                            The Dreamer is a star spawn emissary, the ‘Harrow’ which landed on the island so many centuries ago, and it seeks nothing more nor less than to untether everyone on the island from reality altogether, influencing their dreams, passions and perceptions to shatter their understanding of the world. Revealing its nature may cause Aloysius to question the nature of his actions and his ‘awakening’ in the Mists, but might exacerbate rather than help his curse by further damaging his senses of reality and responsibility for his own actions.

3                            The Dreamer is a sleeping atropal, an unfinished, stillborn god, whose wordless, noisome dreams infect everything in its vicinity with hateful emotions. It has infected many of the oldest family bloodlines on the island with its influence, leading to odd powers and a propensity towards violence among them. Slaying it may help Aloysius regain some clarity regarding his willingness to slaughter a town to ‘save’ his nephew, or it may cause him to surrender to his ‘bloodline’ and double down on his actions.

4                            The Dreamer does not and never did exist. Aloysius’ dreams were his own powers and attachment to his twin, and Ezekiel’s change of personality was simply trauma from the shipwreck and his imprisonment at the hands of Ambrose’s marid mother. Revealing this may drive Aloysius deeper into his sense of justified power and retribution, highlighting that his brother’s death really was for nothing more than superstition and only Aloysius’ own power stands between his nephew and the same fate. It may have the opposite effect on Elias Merrick.

5                            The Dreamer didn’t exist before Harrow’s Rock was drawn into the Mists, but it does now, as a facet of Aloysius’ curse. It is an empty shell, a puppet of the Dark Powers, embodied in the form of Aloysius’ dead brother, Ezekiel. If Aloysius personally encounters this embodiment, he may become completely enthralled and controlled by this puppet, willing to do anything it asks to protect his ‘brother’.

6                            The Dreamer is Ezekiel himself, watery and undead, bound to the Aloysius and the island after death by his unquiet death, his bond with his brother, and the oaths Aloysius took in Ezekiel’s name. His death, and the destruction wrought upon Harrow’s Rock as a result of it, echoes psychically back through time to the island’s founding, manifesting as the Dreamer’s dreams. Depending on whether this Ezekiel approves or is horrified by what his brother has done, it may influence Aloysius in either direction, towards further vengeance or redemption. Destroying this version of the Dreamer will have a very personal and dramatic effect on Aloysius.

Finding Aloysius’ Family

If characters wish to gain Aloysius’ aid and approval to leave Harrow’s Rock once more, he will almost certainly either ask or attempt to trick them into doing one or more of these three things:

Find Ambrose for him on the island, likely searching into Loney Marsh and other areas where his perception is limited.

Go to the Wrack of the Isle and seek evidence of whether Ezekiel has been seen in the waters off the island, or if the Merricks have captured, imprisoned or murdered Ambrose.

Find some way to enter the Cavern of the Dreamer in search of Ezekiel.

If the party successfully finds Ambrose and chooses to bring him to Aloysius, or finds reasonably satisfactory evidence that the Merricks at least have not seen or captured either Ezekiel or Ambrose, Aloysius will open the domain’s borders and give them a mist talisman that will grant them passage out of Harrow’s Rock. If the party chooses to seek entrance to the Dreamer’s Cavern instead, the end result of that will depend on what you have decided the nature of the Dreamer is, and what effect that will have on Aloysius.

Destroying Aloysius

If the party wishes to attempt to remove Aloysius instead, in order to leave the island or after learning more of who he is, there are several parties in Harrow’s Rock would like nothing more than to see Aloysius killed, no matter what effect that might have on the domain of Harrow’s Rock.

The Merrick family want nothing more than revenge on Aloysius for what he did to them. If the party can find some way to distract or blind Aloysius to their approach, Estelle Merrick would be more than happy to lead an invasion of Harrow Cove to cut the bastard’s head off herself. Her cousin, by contrast, the spectral Elias Merrick, would prefer if Aloysius would be tricked or bludgeoned onto a vessel and brought out to sea to meet him, that he might ‘return him to his brother’. Whether or not either of these plans would work is a matter for you to decide.

The Church of the Salt would also like Aloysius destroyed, but they firmly believe that the true evil on the island is the Dreamer, and that all of Aloysius’ powers and abilities stem from this creature. They believe that Ezekiel bore the creature’s infection to his brother, that his demon son sustained it, and that Aloysius cannot truly be killed nor the island freed unless some way is found to destroy the Dreamer’s tools, breach the Dreamer’s Cavern, and destroy the dark entity there. Their goals, therefore, surprisingly align with Aloysius’ at least in some part, in that they want the party to find Ambrose and to find some way into the Dreamer’s Cavern. The divergence lies in what they want the party to do with Ambrose and/or the Dreamer afterwards. To that end, they are perfectly happy for a party to also appear to be working for Aloysius towards those goals, as long as they are sure that the party’s final decision will turn their way.

The Townspeople of Harrow Cove, if they do remember, either partially or fully, what Aloysius once did, might be more than motivated to help destroy him also. However, they more than anyone exist under Aloysius’ direct thumb and are more at risk of drawing his dreams down upon them, so the party would have to find some way to ensure their safety and ensure that the destruction of Harrow Cove will not be repeated before the townspeople would be moved to overtly help.

If the party truly wishes to destroy, rather than attempt to redeem, Aloysius, then the main things they will need to find a way around are his psychic awareness of every stranger in the vicinity of Harrow Cove, his knowledge through his dreams of island natives with ill-intent against him, and the terror that most islanders have of acting against them when he can potentially kill, curse or grievously harm them in his dreams.

Inhabitants of the Island

Once the party has landed on Harrow’s Rock, there are several factors and factions that might complicate any mission they might have, from escape, to aiding or destroying Aloysius, to exploring any of the mysteries of the island. Harrow’s Rock is a domain of ghosts and nautical horrors, nightmares and blood feuds. Getting anywhere on this island will not be an easy task.

Eurydicia Marsh, in Loney Marsh, controls almost all of the hidden travel and smuggling on Harrow’s Rock. Any party hoping to avoid Aloysius’ notice, keep certain secrets from him, or get materials to other allies without his notice, will almost inevitably wind up seeking an audience with her. And Eurydicia is always happy to help, for a price. Nothing comes free, darlings. She is a scion of one of the four families herself, and she has ventures across the island, and echoes of old family pride, that she would like the party’s help with as well.

Rowena Redmarch, in Redmarch Manor, seems the most disconnected of the four family scions from any of the driving plots of Harrow Cove, but the fact remains that she controls all land-based food supply to everyone else on the island. If the haunting of Redmarch Manor, her family curse, or the influence of the Dreamer on her, affect the delivery of those supplies, she will rapidly become relevant once again, even to such powerhouses as Aloysius or Estelle Merrick.

Ambrose Carroway, Aloysius’ nephew, may be the one person on the island, if his father is truly dead and gone, who might have a hope of redeeming Aloysius, but that depends entirely on what has happened to Ambrose since Harrow’s Rock was swallowed by the mist. If Ambrose is still alive, he may be a captive of the Merricks, Eurydicia Marsh, the Church of the Salt, or the Dark Powers. He may have no memory of who he is or what happened to him. He may remember all too well, and want nothing to do with the man who locked him up for his own ‘protection’ and then walked off to slaughter a town. He may want to reach his uncle, but be aware that there are influences on the island, such as the Dreamer or the Dark Powers, who would make any successful intervention difficult at best. He may simply be too traumatised and afraid to know what he wants to do without a little help and guidance.

Ambrose’s mother, if she (/it/they) was not the Dreamer and if she has access to or was trapped within the mists, might also wish to intervene on the island, for either Ambrose or Ezekiel’s sake. Or she might firmly respect Aloysius for his response to Harrow Cove, and wish to support him. She may also have been the force which sank Elias Merrick’s ship and killed him, all those years ago.

Feuds and horrors. The inhabitants of Harrow’s Rock tend towards the sullen, the superstitious and the bloody-minded. The party might encounter any number of hauntings, ghost stories, petty feuds or bloody murders simply by nature of the environment on Harrow’s Rock and the kind of people that inhabit it. Undead and aquatic monsters are common on the island and around it, and if the Dreamer’s influence is more real than not, also psychic influences, aberrations and madness. Even those islanders who want to help or be helped might not show it readily, for fear of Aloysius, the Dreamer, or just an islander mistrust of outsiders.  

[writings-by-blondie]

The One That Got Away

Ghost x Reader (Chapter I)

You were in your parents home, getting unpacked and prepping your room for stay over holidays. Dusting around some of family pictures and smiling, remembering each and every moment they were taken at.

You didn't visit your old home town much since your work was important and you didn't get much free time, so this holiday season you decided to go back, spend some time with your parents and your siblings who were yet to arrive.

Snow was already falling slowly and lazily outside so the holiday spirit was at its peak.

As you were strolling over some of the old highschool books you noticed a dusty highschool yearbook, it was from your tenth grade.

You sat on your squeaky bed and opened it, gliding your eyes over some familiar and not so familiar faces.

Your eyes stopped at one particular name and your heart felt heavy, beating fast in your chest you bit your lip and blushed a bit, his name revoking some old memories. His picture was missing, but in  your mind you could see him clearly, every single line of his face..

"Simon Riley"

———————————————————————

It hot outside, even the breeze of September was warm. You wore your school uniform, having your trusty black school bag hanging on your shoulder, your honey blonde hair tied up in a bit messy ponytail with a little bow clip on the side of your head.

It was your first day of tenth grade and you already missed the summer and vacation remembering how well filled your free time was, every day being out with your friends, laughing, taking pictures and having pool parties.

You took a deep sigh and looked around the high school yard your eyes searching for your best friend, she was late as usual so you decided to sit on one of the free benches near the parking lot.

Slowly folding your skirt, not wanting it to get all messed up, you sat down, crossing your legs and placing your bag next to you, saving place for your friend when she eventually arrives.

Loud sound of some kind of engine caught your attention and your blue eyes darted towards the parking lot.

A guy in black leather jacket that had British flag on shoulder, and dark blue jeans that had a few cuts parked his black big bike. He had his helmet on, it was black aswell, with some stickers of skulls on the side.

He turned the engine off and got off the bike, putting the brake down as he did. The bike was one of them oldies, but it was shining on the sun, it looked dangerous.

He removed the hamlet now, and you could clearly see his face.

He was about your age, even though he was tall and kinda bulked up. He had brownish hair and soft face lines, but before you could see his eyes he reached out to his pocket and thew dark "Ray Ban" shades over them.

You realised that you were staring now at this point, and not wanting to be caught you quickly turned around, pulling out your cell and going into your gallery, pretending to be looking at something.

But, in a matter of mere seconds your bag was in your lap, and the guy was now sitting next to you not giving single care that you were obviously saving the seat for someone.

You darted your eyes towards him but he was unbothered, instead he reached for his pocket on the jacket, and pulled out pack of cigars and zippo lighter, taking one cig between his lips and lighting it up, inhaling the smoke deeply before he returned the lighter into his pocket.

You were now furious, it was obviously prohibited to smoke on school grounds.

"Excuse me, could you put that smoke out? You are killing me along with yourself"

You said with stern and annoyed voice, he looked at you and smirked, raising his eyebrow. He even chew a gum, to make him look more like an complete asshole.

Boy leaned in towards you, slowly, and you blushed leaning back away from him. Next thing you knew you were choking in the ciggarete smoke that he blew into your face, laughing at the face you made along with the coughing sounds.

"How rude! You really don't have any shame!" You screamed at him now, furiously , which only ignited louder laugher inside of the boy.

You furrowed your eyebrows and stood up, taking your school bag and throwing it over your shoulder

"You have no manners and you are such a simpleton!" You spat the words, turning around on your heels, and almost jogging into the school hoping to never see him again.

After few overly boring classes, it was lunch time and you were in canteen with your friend, waiting in queue with her so she can get her lunch, you already had your packed since school food was, well it was questionable at most and full of carbs you didn't need.

"I need to go to washroom, I'll be right back Susanna" you said to your friend before you pecked her cheek and turned around to head your way, but you were met with a loud crash and something cold ran down your white shirt.

"What the-" you said loudly before you looked up and saw the same guy who now had his shades off, his hazel eyes looking down at you and resting on your chest.

"I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU-" you shouted and whole canteen looked at you. Your eyes filled with tears from embarrassment and your cheeks were red as an apple.

You pushed the guy away and ran towards the girls washroom that was just around the corner.

You looked into the mirror, your eyes full of tears, now red. Neatly ironed uniform that you wore was now covered with dark cola stains that rested over your chest.

Humiliated. Thats how you felt. Of course you didn't have reserve shirt, and of course you didn't know how the hell will you go back and face all of the people who saw that exchange few minutes ago.

A loud knock on the washroom door pulled you out of your panic state,

"Susanne do you have a shirt please? I can't go like this around the school, everyone will laugh!"

You yelled and the doors opened but your friend didn't say anything, instead you heard the doors closing.

"I don't have a shirt, but I might be able to help with your situation doll"

A man's voice could be heard and you panicked even more. "What the hell?" You thought

You turned towards the doors and saw him- that wretched human who just couldn't leave you alone this day it seemed.

"I think you've done enough, now please leave, this is a girls washroom or I'll scream and you'll get suspended or even better expelled."

You spat at him with low voice, turning away, but instead of answer, something hit you on the head, blocking your vision, it was warm and dark.

"Its the least I can do..and just so you know I am not a huge "share" guy, so you are welcome you stuck up.."

You grabbed the fabric that was over your head and pulled it down, having your vision back.

You held the jacket in your hands and glared at the guy.

"I wouldn't want to be found dead wearing this around! Its tasteless and it smells like cigarette factory! People will think that I am a loser or even worse that I am with someone like you!"

You threw the jacket back to him and he caught it with ease raising his dark eyebrow at you.

"Are you really that concerned about what will the poosh scum in this school say or think about you?"

You were now furious, you just wanted him gone, away from you, away from this room. You wished this whole day was just a nightmare and that you were still in bed, dreaming. Your mum will come upstairs to wake you up and see you off. But, the problem was that the whole morning and day were very real, and he was real and he wasn't leaving.

"Do I care? Yes, I care. These people love me, they care about me, they think highly of me and they respect me. Why would I even need to explain that to you, newcomer who is trying so hard to be tough and macho, thinking that you can just roll in with your shiny bike and make new rules?! Well guess what, no one will ever like you or accept you here because of your shitty behaviour, your mum should've raised you better and I absolutely am disgusted by you.

Now leave. I wont tell you the third time."

You let your rage get better of you and you didn't even think about the words that you were saying, wether they hurt him or not, and deep inside you knew that but you couldn't stop your tongue for spitting venom into his direction.

He just stood there, looking at you softly, before turning around and nodding his head. He didn't seem to be hurt by the words.

You didn't want to look at him so you turned away, looking at the mirror and trying to clean your shirt with some cold water when you heard doors being opened but before you could relax you realised that the door never closed instead you heard his voice again.

"You know, they were laughing when you ran away.." guy sad and the doors were shut. You were alone in the washroom again, the soothing sound of the water from the sink pulling you into deep thoughts.

"What? There is no way..he is a liar. They all love me, they were all probably concerned about me when I left in panic.." your thoughts were everywhere and you shut your eyes close, splashing your face with cold water.

"They were..right?" You thought again and opened your eyes, looking towards the doors.

There on the hanger was a black leather jacket, hanging and you took a deep breath, he left it for you, and the sting of regret pinched you on your chest - you really said some fucked up things.

Girl sighed and walked towards the hanger, taking the black jacket and sliding her arms inside. It was still warm. She zipped it up so that it would cover the stain on her chest and to her surprise she grabbed the collar and smelled it which caused her to cough- yeah it did smell like cigars after all. She smiled to herself and the bell for the next period rang, it was time to face people, again.

The class what unusually quiet, your friend didn't say much about what happened after you left, but you knew her well enough to know that she loved you and didn't want to hurt your feelings probably.

"What the hell are you wearing? Dont tell me that you and that guy are a thing!" Susanne said with angry but hushed voice, she didn't want the jocks at the back to hear your conversation even though the entire time they were eying you and giving you dirty looks.

"What?! No! How could you think something like that, are you crazy? I ordered him to give me this and of course that he obeyed. I didn't have a spare shirt.. and I can't walk around looking like Carry when she forgot to adjust her pad.."

You were lying, of course you were, and you wanted to stop but you couldn't, you didn't want your friend to think less of you and your authority you had in the school.

Your image that you were building all this time couldn't be crumbled now, when you only had one year left in this place, now when you were one of the most popular girls in the school, at the peak of being main cheerleader, but you could hear the whispers and laughs that were present.

Jeff was showing something to the others at the back of the classroom, you could see his phone in his hand and everyone he offered the peek at the screen was looking at you with sly smile that lingered on their lips.

You buried your head in your hands, just praying that class will be over soon so you could go home and by tomorrow, something else will happen and everyone will forget about what happened, and your prayers were answered- the bell rang and you packed quickly, saying your goodbyes to Susanne as you darted towards the classroom doors- it will be over at last.. but things aren't always so simple are they?

"So (y/n), you and the new guy in a bathroom?" You heard stupid Jeff's voice and you stopped in your tracks, turning around to face him, your cheeks getting red a bit.

"Excuse me?" You said while furrowing your eyebrows, will this day ever end?

"Carry saw you two inside there, no wonder you have his jacket. First day of new year and you already hop on the new guy? Thought it will take more time to forget me.."

Oh yeah, you forgot to mention that Jeff was your ex who broke up with you over the text on the summer vacation while you were away with your friends. Yeah, Jeff is a persona non grata in your life, his stupid blue eyes and stupid blonde hair.

"What the hell are you talking about Jeff? I don't even know him, did you hit your head on football practice or something?" You said and whole class watched the exchange, all of the girls eying you with judging look in their eyes, you friend Susanne staying quiet.

Jeff took his phone from the pocket and unlocked it with sly grin on his face, his fingers tapping over screen before he pushed the screen in front of your face. It was a picture of you and the guy in the bathroom, took as it looks like through the slightly opened washroom door.

You now blushed uncontrollably, your eyes getting filled with tears, you were never in this situation before, they all loved you, they never judged you, they never picked on you. How is this happening to you, the belle of the school? Usually you would be the one to laugh at someone because of some stupid picture, how did all the world turn on you? Was this karma?

As first tears started rolling down your reddened cheek, you felt hand on your shoulder that pulled you against someone. You could feel his breathing on your back, it was not regular, as if the person that held you was angry .

"Yes, she is with me, what will you do about that you twat?" The familiar voice spoke and you couldn't help but smile on the inside, it was him, where the hell did he come from? "Is he a stalker? Please, no, anything but that.."

"The used goods suit your style Riley. Not that I am bragging but.." Jeff was now furious, trying to humiliate both of them, throwing around insults that he knew were not true. "Riley? Was that his name? How the hell does Jeff know him?"

"Yeah, well, I like fixing broken things mate, what can I say.." Riley said with a smile on his face and pulled you out of the classroom.

"Lets go doll, I have a huge problem, and only you can fix it" you looked up at him confused and a bit disoriented. What the hell was happening?

As he was basically almost carrying you out on the front doors you pouted and kicked at him

"What the hell was that? Me fixing your shit?! You were the one who put me in this position at the first place you arse! Let me go!"

You squiled as the guy that dragged you laughed "Or what? Will you run to the principal? What will you say? Oh ,sir ,this man just saved me from humiliation infront of the whole class and not just once but twice! Can you believe how good of a lad he is?" Riley now teased you, changing his voice into his best version of femine voice.

Your head was spinning, you just wanted to go home and sleep. You were angry, sad and happy at the same time. You reminisced on the day when Riley finally stopped dragging you around, when you looked around you were on the parking lot, next to his bike- right where all this madness started.

You were quiet, looking down, avoiding his gaze that was fixed on your face. You twirled your skirt in your hands before looking up at him finally.

"I wont go to principal..and yes you were right. Is that what you wanted me to say? That all this" you pointed at school building behind you and then at your ponytail that was now sad looking "is fake? Okay fine, I'll admit it. Its fake, all of it. They hate me and I hate them, I can't stand them. There, you win, Riley"

You were now fired up ,angry with yourself and  felt defeated. This hazel-eyed guy in front of you turned your whole world upside down in just one day and you didn't have any control over it, you didn't have any control over your choices and it scared you, you never felt that way.

"I don't want to win, I just want you to open your pretty eyes and see the world as it is. Now, are you gonna linger there and yell at me more or are we going?"

He smiled at you and wiggled his eyebrows, you took a deep breath and then furrowed your eyebrows at him once more.

"We? We are not going anywhere. I am going home and thats it."

You said, crossing your hands over your chest looking away from him.

Riley mounted his bike and chuckled at you

"Come on, I'll get ya home, I owe you that much for all of the crap that happened today.." he patted seat behind him and you pouted, weighing your options.

"Okay, but if you miss any of the directions I am about to give you I am jumping off and calling the coppers. Are we clear?"

Riley laughed at your statement and gave you the helmet and you mounted the bike.

You softly laid your hands on his back and he chucked as he started the bike.

"You'll have to grab better if you don't want to fly off on the first corner we take ,doll"

You blushed under the helmet and warped your hands around his waist, holding him tightly and resting your head on his back. You just now noticed how nice he actually smelled, it was some mixture of that "replay" perfume you really liked.

Riley pulled the bike break and you two drove off the dreadful parking lot.

After some yelling at him and wanting to push him off the motorcycle , you two were now two houses away from your own. You told him to stop and he did.

You almost fell off trying to get off the bike for some reason and you could hear his laughter, it was cheerful and it suited his calming and a bit raspy voice.

You hanged your bag over the shoulder and gave him back his helmet.

"I suppose I should thank you?" You blinked at him and even let a small smile linger on your lips. He was looking at your face, your eyes especially.

"No need... It was my pleasure doll.",

You could now see that he was staring at your face and you blushed.

"What are you looking at? Do I look that bad?",

you questioned and he averted his gaze, looking down at the pavement, still having huge smile over his face. You noticed that he had dimples on his cheeks when he smiled like that, and well.. He was cute.

"No, nothing like that. Its just..this is the first time I saw you smile since I met you this morning..", he said and ran his hand through his messy hair.

"Yeah, well... I didn't have much to smile at today did I?", you bit your lower lip and averted gaze away from him.

He said slowly nodded his head in approval to your words.

"Well.. Guess I'll see you tomorrow..", you said and waved at him, starting to walk away to your home before you remembered one important thing. You could hear that he started his bike already.

"WAIT! I mean.. Wait!"

You yelled, running back towards the bike, he raised his visor of the helmet he already put on and blinked at you.

"Whats your name?", you asked him and tugged hair that was in your face away behind the ears.

"Simon.. Simon Riley. And you?"

He said and you bit your lip smiling at him,

"Its (y/n)..", you said shyly now and he the gas of his bike looking at you.

"Well, see ya 'morrow, (y/n)."

He said and winked at you before lowering the visor and driving off, not even waiting for your response.

You stood on the pavement and smiled to yourself.

"Simon. A name to match that crazy personality of his and..", you thought to yourself before facepalming in the middle of the street.

You realised that you were still wearing his black jacket.

"That cheeky bastard plans everything in advance doesn't he..?"