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d-andilion · 2 years

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I have a (long) prompt for a fic that has been bubbling inside of me for ages, so here you go. Geralt and Fairy!Jaskier that can turn Tinkerbell size, Geralt can tell that Jaskier isn't exactly human but can't place what he is. They go on their normal adventures, killing things, getting coin, the works. When all of a sudden, Jaskier goes missing. (Oh no!) Geralt is very confused and worried cause his boyfriend has just gone missing duh and goes searching for him. Meanwhile, Jaskier has just turned small and is trying to let Geralt know that he's there and accidentally is stuck in one of Roaches bags (he was looking for some Mallow fruit), but (same as Tinkerbell) can only speak in bells so Geralt's now just confused why he's hearing bells everywhere. Finally Jaskier returns to his normal size, and Geralt gets an answer as to what he is. They kiss and blah blah blah romantic stuff and then ride into the sunset.

(Sorry that was so long, and if it didn't make sense)

another unexpectedly long prompt fill, but it's so much fun! i hope you like it 😊

Geralt has gone fucking mad.

There’s no other explanation. This isn’t how he expected to go; he’d always hoped for something a little more dignified, but that ill-humored whore called Destiny clearly has other plans. This is it for Geralt of Rivia. Spinning wildly around his campsite while that high-pitched tinkle of bells drives him out of his mind.

It started with the bard, as most goings-on in his life do these days.

Geralt returned from the nearby river with fish for supper to find the campsite empty except for Roach. That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary. Jaskier was a fussy sort of person, he had plenty of reasons to be away from camp—washing up by the river, taking a piss, chasing a colorful butterfly. Geralt was just glad his careless lover had thought to start the fire before he wandered off.

Not long after he set the skewered fish up to cook, Geralt heard the bells. It was faint, a light, gentle ringing, just loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire. Geralt stilled a moment, waiting to hear the sound again, but nothing came.

It was about then that it occurred to him—Jaskier should have been back by now. Nothing innocuous could keep him for this long, not out in the forest. Their things were undisturbed, making an intruder or beastly attack unlikely. Geralt closed his eyes and focused on his hearing, listening carefully for any signs of the bard stumbling through the woods. Nothing but the evening chorus of insects.

For one fleeting and gut-wrenching moment, Geralt considered the possibility that Jaskier had left him. Maybe he was sitting upon his log while Geralt fished and the reality of his life struck him all at once—that he’d wasted years upon years risking his neck to sleep in the dirt and bed a taciturn Witcher.

Tempting as that ling of thought was, Geralt dismissed it almost as soon as it crept into his head. Jaskier’s lute was still sitting there with his pack and all the rest of his things. Even if he ever did decide he was tired of Geralt, Jaskier would never leave his lute behind.

(And Jaskier loved him. He did, he did, he did.)

But there was no sign of him in the woods. No sounds of anything but wildlife for at least a mile, and no familiar beat of the bard’s heart. There were no predators in these woods big enough to kill a grown man, even if Jaskier had wandered away. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

Then Geralt heard it again, the bright sound of bells, much louder this time. The sudden jingle startled him to his feet, sword in hand. Roach whinnied beside him, stamping her hooves uneasily. Geralt squinted at the darkness beyond the trees, searching for movement.

“Hello?” he called out.

The bells responded, louder, more erratic.

Geralt spun around, but he saw nothing, not even the rustle of hares on the forest floor. “Who’s there?”

Again, the metallic tinking answered him. No manner of animal or monster Geralt had ever heard of could make a sound like that, one so unmistakably like the sound of bells. If someone were out there in the trees foolish enough to play a prank on an armed Witcher, Geralt would have heard them approach, would have heard their breath and the sound of their heart.

There was nothing out there. No one out there. Just Geralt, Roach, and the sound of bells.

After his third or fourth walk around of the campsite, Geralt began to accept that he was descending into madness. Roach grew more and more incensed as the bells continued, due, Geralt assumes, to his raving state. Maybe Jaskier is there, after all, trying to summon Geralt back to reality. That image is almost worse than that of his own mind slowly turning to mush.

Geralt throws his sword to the ground with a frustrated growl and stands there a moment, fists clenched and breath huffing roughly through his nose.

The bells keep ringing. But… wait…

Is that… lavender?

Geralt takes a deep breath, scenting the air carefully. There’s woodsmoke, tree sap, wet earth from yesterday’s rain. And under it all, a hint of lavender, growing stronger with each passing moment. Almost as if someone’s spilled a vial of oil or perfume.

Lavender oil is Jaskier’s favorite for baths. It’s expensive, so he conserves it carefully, keeping it wrapped in brown paper and tucked into a special pouch in his bag to protect it from spilling or breaking.

The bag has been sitting beside Jaskier’s lute completely undisturbed. There’s no possible way it could have spilled since Geralt returned to camp, and he surely would have noticed it if it had been open the whole time.

Geralt crouches slowly to the ground and retrieves his sword, eyes never leaving the bag. Whether or not his wits are about him, he must look mad, stalking a fucking bag as if something awful will spring from it at any moment. Even so, he approaches it in a fighting stance, all the while listening to the bells ring.

There’s nothing atop the bag and the buckle is undone. All Geralt has to do is lift the leather flap from the top. He reaches out with the tip of his sword and in one fluid motion, opens the cursed accessory.

The instant the bag is open, it topples over, expelling a strong wave of lavender scent and a bright ball of golden light. Geralt stumbles back so quickly that he trips and falls flat on his ass. The little ball flutters around, ringing with the crystal clear sound of bells.

Before Geralt can get to his feet, the ball swells to a blinking flash of light. When Geralt opens his eyes, the ball and its ringing sound have gone. In its place is Jaskier, dripping wet and reeking of lavender.

“Thank fuck, I thought I’d be trapped in there forever,” Jaskier exclaims. He strips his doublet quickly and frowns down at it. “I’ll never get this clean.”

Geralt can only lie there in the dirt, mouth slightly agape. It had occurred to him before that Jaskier wasn’t entirely human. Something about his scent. Geralt was grateful enough for the possibility of his bard aging along with him that he never pressed the issue. But he’d been theorizing elven linage, maybe a hint of siren. Fairy had never crossed his mind.

“Alright, darling? I didn’t mean to startle you.” Jaskier drops his doublet and reaches a hand out for Geralt, helping him to his feet.

“You’re a fairy.” It’s all Geralt can think to say.

Jaskier huffs a little. “Pixie, technically, but it’s all the same to you, I suppose.”

“But why were you—” Geralt trails off, pointing to the bag. He can’t bring himself to verbalize the foolishness that just took place.

“I couldn’t find my tuning fork!” Jaskier cries and Geralt has to stop himself from groaning. The bard is always losing that stupid stick of metal. He ought to wear it around his neck. “It’s so much easier to search when you’re small.”

“And the sound,” Geralt grunts. “The bells.”

It could be the light, but Jaskier’s cheeks seem to flush. “That’s how we sound to regular-sized people when we speak. I always thought it was whimsical but it does get annoying after a while.”

Geralt thought that was a myth. Come to think of it, he’s sure he told Jaskier as much at some point over the years. The bard had rolled his eyes, but he hadn’t argued.

“Are you angry?” Jaskier asks when Geralt doesn’t reply. “That I didn’t tell you? I really was planning to, it’s just so hard to bring up the subject and I didn’t know how you would… Geralt?”

He doesn’t mean to start laughing, especially not with Jaskier looking so nervous and unsure, but Geralt can’t help it. The first bark bubbles up in his chest and he simply can’t stop himself, dissolving into giggles he hadn’t known he was capable of.

Jaskier’s brow furrows. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re a pixie,” Geralt manages amidst his laughter. Jaskier’s confusion turns to a pinched look of offense in an instant and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“And that amuses you, does it?”

“I thought I was going mad,” Geralt says, a bit louder than he means to through his giggles. “But you’re a pixie.”

Geralt snakes an arm around Jaskier’s waist and tugs his bard—his pixie of a bard—into his chest, heedless of the lavender oil soaking into his shirt. Jaskier lets himself be moved without fuss, even as he continues to pout. The full-bellied laughter has died down, but Geralt can’t stop the odd chuckle that escapes him.

“You’re a pixie,” he says again. “A pixie trapped in a saddle bag. Covered in lavender oil.”

Jaskier is silent for a beat, staring off into the middle distance while the reality of it all washes over him. Geralt can see him resist the smile tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t last long. Jaskier laughs too, loud and bright. That sound is prettier than any bell Geralt has ever heard.

more fic from me

#this reminds me of some art i saw a while back #it was so fun to do #ask #anon #my fic #mine #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt

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lynnedwardswrites · 1 year

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Find the Word

Tagged by @vcaudley! (Thank you!)

Tagging @authoralexharvey @linaket @indecentpause @writernopal @rhikasa

My words: listless, shadow, and break

Your words: assistant, throat, two

Everything from The Hare and the Jackal, as usual

Listless

(Draft 10, Ch 7, POV Isabella; "Dieter" is Creed)

Dieter makes a face like he’s insulted by the insinuation that we’re doing something immoral and leans forward, posturing. “I’m not sure what you mean, milady,” he says. “Not everyone with good information obtains it by cheating.” “You seem to have some strong ideals, Mr Bain,” she comments, matching his lean. “I like a man who knows what he wants.” “Is that the general explanation? For their meetings?” I interject, suddenly feeling ill. “That they’re discussing business deals?” She turns to me, eyes still glinting. “It seems to be. The Inquisition either believes it or hasn’t found enough evidence otherwise to openly accuse them yet. Which reminds me.” She pulls a folded slip of paper from under one of the crystal vessels on the tea table and hands it to me. “I’ve gone to the trouble of making a hit list for you.”

Shadow

(Draft 10, Ch 14, POV Creed)

I climb out of the bed, pulling the loose white tasche shirt over my head as fast as I can in the nippy, unheated air, and peek up the hallway. I can just make out Isabella’s hunched shadow radiating briefly across the floor from the kitchen table. It moves, like she’s up and working already, even though I’m pretty sure I went to bed first last night. I wonder if she got any sleep at all as I tuck the tasche into the pants, and pull on the rectangular gray jacket. My uniform for today’s activities. “Today’s activities.” The cold gets rid of the grogginess really quick, and by the time I’m carrying my teilen boots out to the front room, there’s a growing excitement doing a moth dance in my empty belly. I sit on a dilapidated armchair and start lacing myself in.

Break

(Draft 11, Ch 4, Captain Ober POV; all characters are feran (i.e. werewolves) currently in their brode (hyrbid) forms)

Rasmussen growls quietly, across the lid from me. Larsen is to my right, nearer the front of the lid, and his gray-banded head twists to look at his partner, his tongue wetting the roof of his mouth thoughtfully. A yellow iris rolls back to look at me, exposing the white of his eye at the front. It makes him look anxious. “Easy, Rasmussen,” I say softly. “Don’t you tell me to go easy when we’re stuck in a hellhole like this,” he snarls under his breath. I look at the other two, but they’re both keeping their gazes carefully off of him. “Alright. Lets take a break.” Rasmussen lets go and stalks away without any more warning, letting his end of the lid slump in the remaining hands. Kunz huffs in surprise, staggering in place as he compensates for the extra weight. The three of us set the lid down together, being careful not to crush anyone’s fingers. Larsen trots after his partner as soon as we’re all in the clear. The sound of a brazier toppling follows. Rasmussen’s kicked it.

#tag game #the hare and the jackal #oc: creed #oc: isabella #oc: ober

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famigsart · 3 years

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The fair had been Harleys idea. Ever since this basket case he considered a friend noticed his …interest in Dottie, she had made it her buisness to “make the magic happen!”

Not that Digger minded much. It wasn´t like…like he was bad at this whole dating people thing. He considered himself rather good at flirting up the cuties! Okay, did not work on that Sword Lady. Did not work on the security lady at BelleReve. Did also not work on that bar guy few weeks after. Neither on…you get the point. Other than getting laid here and there Digger hadn´t had too much luck lately.

So when Harley casually invited him, Abner…and for whatever reason Nanaue to the fair, Digger did not refuse. To his surprise neither did Abner. Right at the beginning, Harley grabbed Nanaue and ran off with the shark, ensuring Abner and Digger could walk over the fair togethere. The other man seemed to accept this rather quickly as he let Digger lead him on. Both probably didn´t have a lot of…nice childhood memories about fairs and such, so going there without the nostalgic feels wasn´t that great.

They ate the way too sweet junk food, rode the alarmingly rusty rides (those were fun at least as Abner clung to him the hole ride) and looked through the booths. At one booth, a kind of shooting gallery, Digger stopped. There was a unicorn plushy on display - a POLKADOT unicorn plushy! Digger was already buying a few shots when someone tugged at his sleeve. A teenage girl with blue hair stood beside him, looking somewhat grumpy.

“You don´t need to bother Mister. This booth is a scam! Me and my girlfriend just wasted our last fairmoney at this joke of a game…you cannot win here.”

The man inside of the booth just chased her off with some harsh words and turned to Digger. “Sore loosers those kids. Couldn´t even hit the target at ALL. Should have gotten themselves a boy to win them a price if you ask me.”

Digger honestly did not care. Not at all. He just wanted to win this unicorn, hand it to the shy man beside him and be an amazing date. Said shy man however seemed to care. He also tugge at Diggers sleeve and looked at him with tose big, sad, dark eyes. “Digger I´d rather go. I am not that good at aiming anyway.” Digger snorted, a little amused. “I promise this won´t take long Dottie. I just want to win you a nice little price and we are off to go, good?”

The owner of the booth raised an eyebrow, watching the two men critically. “Good luck with that.”

Just as the girl had said, the booth was a scam. The riffles aim was totally off and the target seemed to move just a little bit. After a few rounds Digger had enough. He grabbed the booth owner by the front of his shirt and almost pulled him out. “Wha-” “SHUT UP! Listen bloke, I am a simple man with simple demands. I. Want. My. Price. But with your shitty game here I can´t get it. So you are going to allow me to hit the target with these.” He pulled out one of his sharpened boomerangs and showed it to the other man. “And why on earth should I allow that…BLOKE?!”

Diggers voice dropped dangerously as he held the boomerang to the mans throat. Beside him Abner wheezed. If in panic or amusement Digger couldn´t tell. Dude often laughed when nervouse. A habbit Digger found cute. “Because if I can´t throw my boomerang at this target I will have no choise but to make YOU my target.”

…

Long story short, Captain Boomerang EMPTIED the booth. He won each of the girls a plushy…why? Because he was a show off and because it made Abner - who was pale and nervouse after Diggers little stunt - relax and actually smile a little bit. Than Harely and Nanaue showed up, having looked at the whole thing from afar. Both got a plushy too. And finally - he won the unicorn!

Abner hadn´t looked that amazed at first, seeing the rather silly looking plushy whish resembled his chronic illness. Digger hadn´t considered that one…but than Abner smiled shyly and patted the thing on its head. “It´s really fluffy.” He simply stated, still smiling. Digger laid an arm around the other mans shoulder and walked them away from the booth, feeling rather proud of himself.

Abner spoke up softly. “So…why did you win a…unicorn…for me?” Digger remembered something Harely said…something about Abner feeling uneasy about being…flamboyant. Better play this one safe than?

“Why? Mate unicorns are NEAT!” He pulled his coat a little and showed Abner what or rather who was sitting in the inside pocket of his coat. “And Pinky needs a friend!”

#abner krill #george digger harkness #shipping #harkrill #tss #Suicide Squad #captain boomerang #digger harkness #polkadotman #polkadot man #fanart #fanfic #kind of

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

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Soft thought: you’ve started dating Jango and things are getting serious, so he introduces you to Boba. He hates you. Not that you really blame the kid, for the first time he has to compete with someone for his buir’s time and attention, and in his mind love as well. One day you’re all of a trip together, Jango took a job on a nice planet so you’re going to have a little vacay when it’s done. He’s gone and you’re not feeling well so you go lay down, confidant that Boba is old enough to not need

constant supervision, but with instructions to come wake you should he need something, which he huffs at bc he’s not a baby! While you’re asleep and Boba is playing, he hears a noise and the sound of unfamiliar people taking. It’s some of Jango’s enemies trying to break in! He starts going to get you like you told him to, this definitely warrants it, but then stops. Buir is out and you’re ill, he has to be a man and take care of you to keep you from getting hurt! It’s a little hare brained but

Boba manages to spook the potential intruders out and away from the ship, where they run into Jango right as he's returning. He dispatched them and you come stumbling out, having been woken by the sound of blaster fire. You're confused as hell but Boba shyly explains what happened, suddenly self conscious. That's when you and Jango realized that it was going to be alright, that you three could really be a family. Together.

You darling just gave the cutest possible thot 🥺

Boba is a little shit that hates competing for his dad's attention but also wants attention from you no matter how much he fights it, so when you aren't feeling good he's just like 'yeah, ill be quiet and take care of myself so they don't have to worry about me.' Then he's just scared shirtless by the people but he does all that he can to get them to go away and keep you safe. And then his dads back and you're panicked awake by the noise and he's just blushing and looking at the ground telling you both what happened, and Jango is just grinning under his helmet before saying, "Thats my scary little bounty hunter in training. You did good ad'ika." And he gives Boba a little kelbade kiss, before turning to you and asking if you feel okay....

Im soft 🥺

Send me soft HCs because I'm sad??

#any59 thots #soft thots for sad hannah #jango fett x reader #jango x reader

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jadelynlace · 3 years

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Hvitserk’s First Tattoo / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!reader]

catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.

requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡

author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. here is the visual reference for the tattoo Hvitserk gets (image isn’t mine and all credit goes to it’s original owner). mentions of brotherly bickering, Hvitserk being scared and Ivar tattooing.

synopsis: You finally talk Hvitserk into getting some ink.

✎

“Did I miss it?” You say, nearly falling in through the main door of the shop. “I almost took the ambulance over here just because it has lights and sirens,” Hvitserk offers you an estranged look, one mixed with him being mortified and slightly impressed with your timing after the over night shift.

“I’ve never seen you this excited,” Sigurd calls from his spot, pulling a record from the shelf as he goes about lining it up, pulling the needle over so the music can fill the room.

“She doesn’t even get this excited when she sees my dick,” Ivar teases from his spot and you offer him a less than kind finger gesture.

“Can you blame me?” You remark back and Ivar only returns your original hand motion. “Did you pick yet?” You the ask as Hvitserk studies Ivar’s portfolio, as if he will be quizzed on it at the end of the session.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” He groans, another turn of the laminated pages.

“All of our best talks happen when it’s in the ambulance cabin at four in the morning,” You laugh, patting his back as you round the small counter. Ivar’s hands are quick to seat you on his lap, wrapping around you almost instantly and you both breathe in relief.

“Long night?” Ivar asks softly in your ear.

“Routine bullshit,” You grumble back, his hands tracing up your back and you could almost fall asleep in the very spot. One hand leaves your spine, reaching along the counter to grasp the tall can of his energy drink, offering it to you but you only shake your head. “That crap tastes like cough syrup,” You add as Ivar downs another gulp.

“Hurry up Hvitserk, we’re here after hours for this,” Ivar calls before he pulls the can back to his mouth.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to pop your cherry,” You say and Ivar looses some of the energy drink through a spray from his lips.

“You can get her name on your ass,” Sigurd says, walking past Hvitserk and tapping his uniform clad back.

“Why? So Ivar and I can match?” Hvitserk grumbles back and you laugh against Ivar’s chest.

“How do they know about that?” Ivar asks you quietly, through a teasing voice and you raise slightly, giggling against his mouth as your catch his lips with yours.

“Oh, for fucks sake—Hvitserk here, do that one,” Sigurd says, tapping his fingers against the page. “Paramedic Ragnarsson gets an anatomical tattoo,”

“Nice choice,” Ivar hums, standing to his full height with you latched still around him and he sets you to sit along the counter.

“Is it nap time for the baby?” Sigurd says, voice taking on a toddler’s tone as he sits back at the front desk, and at the receiving end of the pen that flies from Ivar’s grasp. Leather combat boots stalk along the dark wooden floors, pulling the design from its laminated home before Ivar sends the image through the printer in the far corner. Your eyes catch sight of his back, the muscles in his biceps, the veins on his forearms as he programs the machine to spit out the stencil. Looming your eyes up the gray fabric of the old band tee, over the locks that he’s starting to comb into a bun, and then down the dark wash jeans and over how they end in the tops of his shoes. More thoughts swirl about how you couldn’t wait to undress him when you two would go to your apartment.

As Hvitserk makes himself comfortable in the black leather chair, he rolls up the uniform sleeve, a quick unbutton and folding of the blue material, already deciding on where he deemed the appropriate placement. The curl of his sleeve stops above his elbow and you could see the faint burn mark on his wrist from when he tried to eat a marshmallow that was still on fire. You watched Ivar position himself at his station, a meticulous arrangement of his tools, setting everything in a straight line to connect. There was a squirt of the ink into the containers, a pull of gloves onto his hands, wiggling his fingers into their spots and cracking his knuckles. You bit down on your own tongue to stop that moan that tried so hard to escape. Taking the razor to shave off the blond fuzz, he gingerly laid the stencil on his brother’s inner arm, pressing it gently before pulling it back.

“Double check in the mirror that you like the placement,” Ivar says, tossing his head towards the back wall with the mirror surrounded by an intense wooded frame Floki had built. Hvitserk stands, and you see the slight tremor in his hands, never a fan of any sort of pain—intentional or not. You’ve seen this man cry at the sensation of a paper cut, and all but sob when he jerked his shin against the metal grate on the ambulance’s bumper. But, he was also the man who would tell the patients that it was going to hurt—the realignment, or when he set up the hare for an isolated femur fracture—it was going to hurt and they had his full permission to break his hand if need be. You laugh every time there’s an active labor call, and Hvitserk reassures the mother that he has two hands, and if she needs to break one to push her child out, he’s willing to suffer. It calms the hysteria, even on the worst calls you two had walked into, Hvitserk always knew how to calm any of the demons that danced in the ambulance. Ivar turns to you as Hvitserk gazes, probably far longer than other client has to date, and slides himself over to where you’re perched. There’s a removal of one glove, an index finger and thumb on your chin as he kisses you once, twice, and third time.

“I already know what I want to eat for dinner,” He whispers against your ear, just loudly enough so you’re the only one to hear his words. “But make sure you leave the polo on, baby girl,” He adds, kissing your temple and nudging the badge that’s on your chest, as a slow blush roses over your cheeks while he turns back around. “Alright brother, ready?” He calls, tapping the seat of the chair and Hvitserk takes a final look before plopping both himself down and his arm against the cushion.

“Is it going to hurt?” Hvitserk asks, trying to bite the smile he’s showing while both Ivar and Sigurd are preparing to throw whatever they can reach. “I’m sorry I couldn’t resist,” Ivar offers him another lethal glare, nearly plucking the smile from his lips as he begins to spread a thin layer of the ointment across the purple ink. There’s a buzz from the needle gun and Hvitserk whimpers not unlike a puppy. Ivar’s glove-clad fingers stretch to pull the skin taunt, taking the gun down the first line and wiping it with a paper towel.

“Still alright, sir?” You say to Hvitserk as if he’s a patient in your ambulance and you’re watching an IV start.

“Can you hold my hand?” He whines in a faked voice of concern.

“No,” You say back and there’s a snicker from Sigurd on the far side of the shop. The room dulls to only the noise of the record, the vibration of the needle and you watch Ivar so effortlessly in his element. Eyes watching, concentrating on what he’s doing yet singing lowly to the lyrics of the song that floods your ears alike. He rolls his chair slightly, maneuvering Hvitserk’s arm to his liking as he holds it down with his own. Strength unmatched because his least favorite thing is when the client fidgets, since it sends his work to become sloppy, and he’s grown accustomed to a way to hold the body part down to his liking. And that sight makes you think about him over you, body weight pressing against you like a weighted blanket, one with a smart mouth and curved lip who melts at the sheer stroke of your nails on his skin. Your thoughts rolls from the shift you worked prior, reanalyzing what you had done, gone through, pulling it to part like thread. They roll like waves but crash with thoughts of Ivar, his small comment earlier and then they shift. From work to pleasure and you’re squeezing your thighs before you realize it. Ivar’s voice comes through your ears to halt the dissection, and you move your head to see Hvitserk admiring the piece now forever on his skin and you smile back. Another layer of ointment and then it’s wrapped tightly with Ivar’s instructions to leave it on for an hour.

“See? No need to be a little baby about it,” You tease him and he laughs.

“That’s his default setting,” Sigurd’s voice calls as he stands up. “Ivar you’re closing up tonight, right?” And Ivar just nods. “I will see your smiling face tomorrow morning then,” He adds sarcastically, and with a wave and check of his pockets he’s out the shops front door.

“Wasn’t as terrible as I thought,” Hvitserk jokes. “Maybe I will get your name on my ass after all,” You offer him a faked smile and forged laugh. “I’m going to head out too, I got the over time for tomorrow,” And he’s gone with a salute through his hand and the hundred dollar bill on the desk, leaving you and Ivar alone in the shop.

“I like seeing you in here,” You say softly as you watch him clear his materials, place everything in their homes and he smiles while he works. “You’re so relaxed,”

“I can say the same thing when I see you in that ambulance, baby,” He replies as he casts a look back to you and then he’s standing, arm grabbing you to come into his side. “Now let’s get going, I’m really looking forward to my dinner…”

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @fandomlifeandeverythingelse

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

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abeautifuldayfortea · 3 years

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Autumn Picnic

Summary: Two hobbits enjoy simple autumn morning in the woods, takes place before Frodo’s 33rd birthday and the events of The Lord of the Rings. Requested by @amessywritersmind. Hope you enjoy!

Hello!! I came across your masterlist page and saw that you were interested in taking requests for Frodo and I am here to deliver because I love him and hardly anyone writes for him. Anyways! What about something sweet where the reader and frodo go out to the woods to read and relax and the reader draws all this wildlife to her and Frodo just watches her interact with them because it’s adorable and then he realize he loves her and maybe he confesses? Something cute and sweet and naturey!! You can obviously do with it what you will!! Thank you in advance 💛

A/N: Fluff >_<

Words: 1117

Arm in arm, the two cloaked figures walked beneath the high red gold leaves of slender birches. The rising frost from whispered conversation captured in thin autumnal sun. Despite the stillness of the wood, the sound of distant birdsong and the scuttling of small creatures beneath the thick carpet of golden leaves assured them that they were not alone.

“I think that’s quite far enough now, don’t you?” Frodo huffed breathlessly. “We’ve been walking for far too long than can be good for a hobbit my size,” he patted his growing belly fondly.

They snorted. “It’ll do you some good, Mr Baggins, or you’ll be so portly you shall have to challenge Mr Fredegar Bolger for his namesake!”

But despite their chiding, they made to stop at near the rocky tumble of what had once been – and once again would be - a rapid flowing stream, hurtling itself upon the pebbles down south. Come summertime, Frodo thought suddenly wistful as he recalled Bilbo’s legends. Now the leaves are clogging up its flow, but what a beautiful sound it must make when its free to run. Perhaps we would hear the voice of Ulmo who lives in all waters. But before he had the chance to say so to his companion, his stomach growled, preposterously loud, mind you, sending ripples through the pleasant calmness of a lovely autumn day.

“I daresay you’re sounding a little peckish there,” his friend chortled and without a moment to spare they both unpacked their picnic provender. And so they took their elevensies perched upon a small knoll in the woods, wrapped in a comfortable silence as they grazed upon dried fruits, nuts and the treat of hard cheese to warm them in the chill air.

Before long, seeing that the hobbits had not moved from their rock, a rather bold and curious hare cautiously drew itself near, drinking from the trickling waters by their feet. A surprising visit. But Frodo found his eyes drawn ever toward the young hobbit beside him as the corners of their mouth turned up slightly and generously, they laid down the remainder of their packed meal for the forest animal, moving slowly and graciously as to not frighten it away before stealthily taking out a small leatherbound book and pencil. The hare’s ears, stood tall at attention, as it lumbered toward their offering turning this way and that, lightly vibrating with its shallow breaths. And sensing little ill intent from them, began to eat.

Frodo found himself lulled by the sounds around him and sitting there in quiet company with both his palms flat upon the rough rock and the papery feel of leaves beneath his feet, he felt complete and whole again as he had not felt since Drogo and Primula had been lost to the Brandywine. The sniffling of the hare, the rustle of the meagre leaves still lingering upon the trees, the hum of insects. The blunt scratching of the pencil against the paper. Yes, it was a moment of peace that he wanted to inhabit forever. But just as it had come upon a daydream, it was lost again.

The hare started suddenly, ears pricked and bolted away into the richness of bare forest. In the distance, the two spotted a young stoat rooting through the foliage, and behind the pale bars of the trees...

A bated breath hung. The click of a branch. The stoat looked up, nose sniffling the air with ferocity. The lightning flash of red against red, the skidding of four dirty paws upon the forest floor. The chase had begun. For a moment there was no sound but the intense rustling foliage. The stoat was quicker, its claws desperately scrambled for purchase upon bark as it clambered ever higher up the tree to its thin branches, swaying precariously in the wind where no fox could reach.

The chase was over. Sneezing disgracefully over its missed luncheon, the fox spotted the hobbits, half sitting, half crouching, from between the pale spires of the birches. ‘Hobbits? Rare in these parts at this time of year…’, it seemed to be saying. Frodo nearly sputtered out of indignance as he saw the sly look it shot them before slinking away, prizeless, into the hunger of the deep autumn.

His companion hummed, “D’you suppose the world outside, the Shire I mean, is really that dangerous?”

“Well, I suppose there would be wolves, though that never stopped Uncle Bilbo from going on his adventure.”

“Maybe they’re the kin of the White Wolves from the Fell Winter all those years ago. I heard they’re mercilessly ravenous, tall as a man and stout as dwarves. I’m glad they aren’t around anymore. I bet they’d run us right back into our cosy little smials and keep us there until we starve! If they haven’t caught us by then that is.” They shivered and Frodo felt the urge to wrap his arm around them.

“Nonsense, dear! That would be a very grim end to our hopes of adventure! I’m glad to be a hobbit and not a stoat with a fox on my tail.”

“Maybe we are stoats, just living in a land without foxes to eat us.”

“If you could, would you leave?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I would like to think that I would, but there are other considerations too that are less easily predicted” they whispered. “In other words, depends on who’s asking and when” they finished playfully, fidgeting the charcoal pencil lightly between stained fingers.

A warmth bloomed within him and he guessed at the hidden meaning of those words. Frodo turned to meet their gaze, and in their eyes he saw reflected in them a hopeful future, one of many winding endlessly as roads do to an end he could not see. Family. And it was love, he was sure. It was a road that he only had to reach out and walk upon. His mouth dried.

“I’m asking. Would you walk with me?”

Silence. The tension was thick, and he feared for a moment the rejection, that he had taken the great leap only to never find purchase on solid ground. He wished then, that he had never said anything at all because he would rather hold his heart close and unfulfilled than be humiliated. His gaze lowered and he found his eyes tracing the rough lines of the sketch in the book upon their lap, curving and leaping into the very vision of a certain bold hare.

But he was reassured by a warm hand on his as his companion nestled closer into his side, closing the distance between them. He could hear the smile in their voice.

“I think I would.”

#Frodo #frodo baggins #lotr frodo #lotr fanfic #hobbits #frodo x reader #frodo imagine

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silvanable · 3 years

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@sweettangy

Hi!! I hope you don’t mind me requesting! ^^ I’m using the submission box because my ask is super long >< But anyways, I was wondering if you could write IkeVamp headcanons for this scenario:

So basically, Reader has this ex best friend who betrayed her by becoming friends with her bully, and the IkeVamp suitors are already aware of this and Reader’s ill feelings towards Ex Bestie. So, a few months later, Reader and the suitors are at a ball/party hanging out and out of nowhere, Ex Bestie just swoops in pretending like nothing happened, and just decides to get on Reader’s good side again by telling her that she looks really pretty tonight. But Reader, having none of her ex bestie’s BS, comes up with a badass comeback by saying, “Thanks! Can’t say the same about you though,” with a face of pure contempt before walking away like a Queen.

I was wondering, how would the Ikevamp suitors react to this? If all of them is too much, I would like it if you wrote for Napoleon, Vincent, Theo, Arthur, and Dazai!

Sorry for the long read! ^^’ Thank you so much! 🥰

aaaahhh! it’s so nice to see you back in my inbox again, darling! and this time with an ikevamp request~

i absolutely love the idea! as someone who has struggled with friendships and ended up on the sour end of it, this is something i not only understand but can get behind.

i’m always down for a badass reader putting her best, savage, sassy foot forward.

can i saw how overly happy being able to use british slang on arthur’s part made me? i was too giddy, but every time he says something like that in game i just lose it.

↪ GUIDELINES

ー ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

arthur always knew his s/o was one sassy, snarky little thing but he had never expected her to leave no survivors.

he had known about her past relationships, one in particular, that had ended rather bitterly and left her just as bitter about it.

it was something that he grasps quickly and noted how especially hurt his s/o was because of it.

he knew how hard it was to open up to someone and be so fragile, hoping against the worst they would not break you, and yet his s/o’s best friend had done that.

He had never seen her ex-best friend before, so when a young dame saunters up to his beloved he can only assume they know each other.

it was easy for him to catch the tension in his s/o body though, the moment she turned to see who had called out to her.

Still, she forces and smile and greets the other woman with a familiar name.

it strikes arthur then. he knows exactly who this is now, an old acquaintance of his s/o.

he was ready to step in immediately, to pull you from the uncomfortable situation but just as he placed a hand on her shoulder it happened—

“it’s been so long! look at you, you are absolutely stunning tonight!” her ex-friend greeted.

“aw, thanks! can’t say the same about you though,” his s/o shot back, the semblance of a sneer before she turned on her heel.

arthur hardly had a moment to react as she grabbed his hand and walked off, a growing smirk on his beloved’s lips.

“by jove, love,” is about all he can get out as he looks between her and the other woman who grows smaller as he’s dragged through the crowd.

it’s not often that arthur is taken by surprise, especially because he is very keen to things, but for once his little darling has managed to surprise him.

and as he’s being dragged away, his hand in hers, laughter starts to bubble out of him.

it’s only then when his s/o stops to look back at him curiously and ask what has gotten into him.

ー DAZAI OSAMU

the two of them had decided to take a date to enjoy the festival and fun that was being offered in the streets of paris this evening.

dazai had been enjoying his time, with his s/o, as they wandered between vendors and marveled at spectacles on display.

then suddenly his s/o was tugging gently on his sleeve, requesting that they take a break somewhere out and away from the crowds.

dazai was not one to refuse but it seemed something had startled his s/o and before he had the chance to ask, another voice cut him off.

a masculine voice calls out his s/o name and she goes stiff as the owner appears from the crowd.

he seemed to pay no mind to dazai, who happened to be standing right there, as his s/o clung to his arm.

“i haven’t seen you in so long, but it’s good to see you!” the newcomer greeted, “looks like you got especially dolled up for the festival too, huh? you look great.”

dazai is normally pretty laid back and some would dare say air-headed but he realized what was going on now and who this was. his s/o ex best friend.

he was ready to shoo this man away, especially because he could feel his s/o’s nails digging into his arm through his kimono sleeve.

but before he had the chance, she let go, stepping up to face the man before them.

she suddenly wore a disarming smile as as she greeted the man, “yeah i’m out on a date. and thanks!— but hate to say i can’t say the same about you though.”

the unbridled look of contempt that crossed her face and the flash of anger in her eyes was dangerous.

but dazai only found it that much more amusing as he watched his feisty s/o turn with a small ‘hmph’, taking his hand, and saunter away.

the entire display only brought a smile to dazai’s lips as the two strolled down the street.

“that’s my toshiko-san,” he laughed.

ー NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

napoleon is a gentleman and especially so when it comes to his s/o.

so when she opens up to him about a troubling friendship in her past, where her closest confidant betrayed her, it was simple to say that he did feel some anger.

but he assured her that he would never do the same, he was here to protect her after all.

then came the night of a pleasant little party. as being apart of comte’s house had earned her an invitation to a party by some esteemed nobles.

obviously she would not go alone and brought napoleon with her.

the evening start out nice and things were pleasant, though throughout it all napoleon had noticed how uneasy his s/o seemed.

the cause of her uneasy was only made apparent when an unfamiliar woman approached them both.

she greeted his s/o by name, “i haven’t seen you in forever! and that dress? you look fantastic.”

there was a pause as the other woman smiled at his s/o, who looked rather pensive, daresay even angry.

but whatever flicker of hatred napoleon had seen melted away quick as she smiled and said the woman’s name.

it clicked from there as napoleon’s jade eyes fixed on the woman carefully.

while he would never dare strike against a woman, he knew the history between her and his s/o, and such cruelty should not be met with kindness.

“i know, it’s been so long. and thanks! wish i could say the same about you though,” sudden her smile took on a sharp edge.

napoleon heard his name called and his attention focused on his s/o as she grabbed his hand.

“nice seeing you though,” her words were laced with venom as she pulled him away.

he was stunned into silence as he followed after his s/o, the event replaying in his mind.

he knew that she was a formidable woman, but she had such a sweet and kind heart that… to see such a lioness rear up had surprised him.

ー THEODORUS VAN GOGH

when theo and his s/o had grown close, she had eventually opened up to him about a betrayal in her past.

theo, at the time, had jokingly asked if that meant she had wanted revenge because her once-best friend had done her wrong.

at the time, she seemed like she had wanted to say yes, to be able to rub her friend’s face in the dirt for causing her so much pain.

but she said no, that she would not stoop so low to be just like him.

it only made theo adore her more because of that.

today was the day of an art venue, one theo had put together himself, and of course with the help of his s/o.

it was rather grand, many people had come to see paintings were on display and to meet the artists who created them.

and for the duration of the evening, things had gone smoothly, until his s/o had come up to him, standing unusually close to his side.

when he had tried to ask her about it, she simply brushed it off as nothing and that she wanted to be around him.

it continued on like that until an unfamiliar voice called out her name.

theo swore in that moment she looked like a scared little hare, ready to bolt at any given moment.

then from the crowd of viewers a man had stepped, waving her over with a smile as he greeted her.

“i can’t believe it’s you. i thought i saw you earlier but i thought i was mistaken. i didn’t know you would be here.”

theo was ready to step in between his s/o and this stranger immediately, as he was but a stranger.

besides, his s/o seemed scared and theo was protective of her.

she grabbed his arm and stopped him, instead stepping between him and the stranger as she said a name.

that’s when theo realized this was no stranger but it was someone worse.

“i helped put this venue together,” she responded simply, unbelievably sweet too.

“that’s amazing, i never knew you were into art. you look great by the way, you’ve gotten prettier!”

theo could tell know that the smile she wore was fake, forced on her lips and was a sign of something lethal.

“oh, i got into it. aww thanks! shame i can’t say the same about you though,” she shot back, tongue firing like a weapon.

and oh, if looks could kill. the absolutely look of contempt on her face as she gazed at her once-friend… theo wondered if she had picked that up from him.

“if you’ll excuse us, we have work to do,” and with that, she turned, grabbed theo’s hand, and pulled them away.

“hondje—” but she cut him off with a shush, holding her head high for a moment more before a giddy laugh escaped her lips.

ー VINCENT VAN GOGH

vincent is the person who strives to see the best in everyone. after all, he considered an angel for a reason.

he had accompanied his s/o and comte to a grand ball being held in town, only because his s/o had seemed so excited and begged him to go.

the number of people and a party in itself was not quite vincent’s usual element but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

and his s/o other seemed to be having a grand time too, so he was happy.

but as the night progressed he noticed that his s/o began to enjoy the party less and stayed closer to his side, seemingly almost skittish.

when he would ask, she would smile and say it was nothing, just that she wanted to be with him.

then she got a bit more insistent, holding on to his arm and then abruptly tugged, trying to pull him away.

before she could, a feminine voice called out her name, and his s/o seemed to freeze in place.

“i thought it was you!” the woman greeted as she approached the two, “how have you been? it’s been so long.”

vincent greeted the woman and she returned it rather warmly, she seemed nice, yet his s/o seemed on edge.

“i’ve been doing great actually,” she sounded all too quiet as she replied, too unlike herself, and vincent noticed immediately with a murmur of this woman’s name.

he recalled how his s/o had mentioned before, she had been hurt by someone close to her by befriending someone else who had hurt her too.

he assured her that there was no worry with him, that he would never do anything to hurt her.

but meeting the woman who was once friends with his s/o was surprising, he had imagined her unbelievably cruel, yet she seemed so friendly.

“that’s good to hear! i love your dress by the way, you look so pretty tonight,” the woman complimented.

all the while vincent was watching his s/o’s expression, which had softened and showed none of her earlier uneasy.

“thanks! someone got me this dress—” she had smoothed her hands over it before looking back up to the other other woman, “can’t say the same about you though.”

it seemed both the woman and vincent gawked at his s/o.

she paid no minds the the stares though, promptly taking vincent’s hand and lead him away.

he was quiet, processing what he had just witnessed.

it should have have been a surprise, because she was such a strong and capable person, but it still came as one.

vincent was pulled from his thoughts when he heard his s/o laugh.

“are you okay? you look a little shocked.” she said sweetly, with a true softness as she reached out to his face.

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ariel-seagull-wings · 3 years

Text

The Tsarevna Frog

@superkingofpriderock @sunlit-music @mademoiselle-princesse @amalthea9 @princesssarisa @astrangechoiceoffavourites

(Russian Tale)

In old, old Russian tsarstvo, I do not know when, there lived a sovereign prince with the princess his wife. They had three sons, all of them young, and such brave fellows that no pen could describe them. The youngest had the name of Ivan Tsarevitch.

One day their father said to his sons: ''My dear boys, take each of you an arrow, draw your strong bow and let your arrow fly; in whatever court it falls, in that court there will be a wife for you."

The arrow of the oldest Tsarevitch fell on a boyar-house just in front of the terem where women live; the arrow of the second Tsarevitch flew to the red porch of a rich merchant, and on the porch there stood a sweet girl, the merchant's daughter. The youngest, the brave Tsarevitch Ivan, had the ill luck to send his arrow into the midst of a swamp, where it was caught by a croaking frog.

Ivan Tsarevitch came to his father: "How can I marry the frog?" complained the son. "Is she my equal? Certainly she is not."

"Never mind, "replied his father. "You have to marry the frog, for such is evidently your destiny."

Thus the brothers were married: the oldest to a young boyarishnia, a nobleman's child; the second to the merchant's beautiful daughter, and the youngest, Tsarevitch Ivan, to a croaking frog.

After a while the sovereign prince called his three sons and said to them: "Have each of your wives bake a loaf of bread by tomorrow morning."

Ivan returned home. There was no smile on his face, and his brow was clouded.

"C-r-o-a-k! C-r-o-a-k! Dear husband of mine, Tsarevitch Ivan, why so sad?" gently asked the frog. ''Was there anything disagreeable in the palace?"

"Disagreeable indeed," answered Ivan Tsarevitch; "the Tsar, my father, wants you to bake a loaf of white bread by tomorrow."

"Do not worry, Tsarevitch. Go to bed; the morning hour is a better adviser than the dark evening."

The Tsarevitch, taking his wife's advice, went to sleep. Then the frog threw off her frog skin and turned into a beautiful, sweet girl, Vassilissa by name. She now stepped out on the porch and called aloud: "Nurses and waitresses, come to me at once and prepare a loaf of white bread for tomorrow morning, a loaf exactly like those I used to eat in my royal father's palace."

In the morning Tsarevitch Ivan awoke with the crowing cocks, and you know the cocks and chickens are never late.

Yet the loaf was already made, and so fine it was that nobody could even describe it, for only in fairyland one finds such marvelous loaves. It was adorned all about with pretty figures, with towns and fortresses on each side, and within it was white as snow and light as a feather.

The Tsar father was pleased and the Tsarevitch received his special thanks.

"Now there is another task," said the Tsar smilingly. "Have each of your wives weave a rug by tomorrow."

Tsarevitch Ivan came back to his home. There was no smile on his face and his brow was clouded.

"C-r-o-a-k! C-r-o-a-k! Dear Tsarevitch Ivan, my husband and master, why so troubled again? Was not father pleased?"

''How can I be otherwise? The Tsar, my father, has ordered a rug by tomorrow."

"Do not worry, Tsarevitch. Go to bed; go to sleep. The morning hour will bring help."

Again the frog turned into Vassilissa, the wise maiden, and again she called aloud: "Dear nurses and faithful waitresses, come to me for new work. Weave a silk rug like the one I used to sit upon in the palace of the king, my father."

Once said, quickly done. When the cocks began their early "cock-a-doodle-doo," Tsarevitch Ivan awoke, and lo! there lay the most beautiful silk rug before him, a rug that no one could begin to describe. Threads of silver and gold were interwoven among bright-colored silken ones, and the rug was too beautiful for anything but to admire.

The Tsar father was pleased, thanked his son Ivan, and issued a new order. He now wished to see the three wives of his handsome sons, and they were to present their brides on the next day.

The Tsarevitch Ivan returned home. Cloudy was his brow, more cloudy than before.

"C-r-o-a-k! C-r-o-a-k! Tsarevitch, my dear husband and master, why so sad ? Hast thou heard anything unpleasant at the palace?"

"Unpleasant enough, indeed! My father, the Tsar, ordered all of us to present our wives to him. Now tell me, how could I dare go with thee?"

"It is not so bad after all, and could be much worse," answered the frog, gently croaking. "Thou shalt go alone and I will follow thee. When thou hearest a noise, a great noise, do not be afraid; simply say: 'There is my miserable froggy coming in her miserable box.'"

The two elder brothers arrived first with their wives, beautiful, bright, and cheerful, and dressed in rich garments. Both the happy bridegrooms made fun of the Tsarevitch Ivan.

"Why alone, brother?" they laughingly said to him. "Why didst thou not bring thy wife along with thee? Was there no rag to cover her? Where couldst thou have gotten such a beauty? We are ready to wager that in all the swamps in the dominion of our father it would be hard to find another one like her." And they laughed and laughed.

Lo! what a noise! The palace trembled, the guests were all frightened. Tsarevitch Ivan alone remained quiet and said: ''No danger; it is my froggy coming in her box."

To the red porch came flying a golden carriage drawn by six splendid white horses, and Vassilissa, beautiful beyond all description, gently reached her hand to her husband. He led her with him to the heavy oak tables, which were covered with snow-white linen and loaded with many wonderful dishes such as are known and eaten only in the land of fairies and never anywhere else. The guests were eating and chatting gaily.

Vassilissa drank some wine, and what was left in the tumbler she poured into her left sleeve. She ate some of the fried swan, and the bones she threw into her right sleeve. The wives of the two elder brothers watched her and did exactly the same.

When the long, hearty dinner was over, the guests began dancing and singing. The beautiful Vassilissa came forward, as bright as a star, bowed to her sovereign, bowed to the honorable guests and danced with her husband, the happy Tsarevitch Ivan.

While dancing, Vassilissa waved her left sleeve and a pretty lake appeared in the midst of the hall and cooled the air. She waved her right sleeve and white swans swam on the water. The Tsar, the guests, the servants, even the gray cat sitting in the corner, all were amazed and wondered at the beautiful Vassilissa. Her two sisters-in-law alone envied her. When their turn came to dance, they also waved their left sleeves as Vassilissa had done, and, oh, wonder! they sprinkled wine all around. They waved their right sleeves, and instead of swans the bones flew in the face of the Tsar father. The Tsar grew very angry and bade them leave the palace. In the meantime Ivan Tsarevitch watched a moment to slip away unseen. He ran home, found the frog skin, and burned it in the fire.

Vassilissa, when she came back, searched for the skin, and when she could not find it her beautiful face grew sad and her bright eyes filled with tears.

She said to Tsarevitch Ivan, her husband: ''Oh, dear Tsarevitch, what hast thou done? There was but a short time left for me to wear the ugly frog skin. The moment was near when we could have been happy together forever. Now I must bid thee goodbye. Look for me in a faraway country to which no one knows the roads, at the palace of Kostshei the Deathless;" and Vassilissa turned into a white swan and flew away through the window.

Tsarevitch Ivan wept bitterly. Then he prayed to the almighty God, and making the sign of the cross northward, southward, eastward, and westward, he went on a mysterious journey.

No one knows how long his journey was, but one day he met an old, old man. He bowed to the old man, who said: "Good-day, brave fellow. What art thou searching for, and whither art thou going?"

Tsarevitch Ivan answered sincerely, telling all about his misfortune without hiding anything.

''And why didst thou burn the frog skin? It was wrong to do so. Listen now to me. Vassilissa was born wiser than her own father, and as he envied his daughter's wisdom he condemned her to be a frog for three long years. But I pity thee and want to help thee. Here is a magic ball. In whatever direction this ball rolls, follow without fear."

Ivan Tsarevitch thanked the good old man, and followed his new guide, the ball. Long, very long, was his road. One day in a wide, flowery field he met a bear, a big Russian bear. Ivan Tsarevitch took his bow and was ready to shoot the bear.

"Do not kill me, kind Tsarevitch," said the bear. "Who knows but that I maybe useful to thee?" And Ivan did not shoot the bear.

Above in the sunny air there flew a duck, a lovely white duck. Again the Tsarevitch drew his bow to shoot it. But the duck said to him: "Do not kill me, good Tsarevitch. I certainly shall be useful to thee some day."

And this time he obeyed the command of the duck and passed by. Continuing his way he saw a blinking hare. The Tsarevitch prepared an arrow to shoot it, but the gray, blinking hare said: "Do not kill me, brave Tsarevitch. I shall prove myself grateful to thee in a very short time."

The Tsarevitch did not shoot the hare, but passed by. He walked farther and farther after the rolling ball, and came to the deep blue sea. On the sand there lay a fish. I do not remember the name of the fish, but it was a big fish, almost dying on the dry sand.

" O Tsarevitch Ivan!" prayed the fish, "have mercy upon me and push me back into the cool sea."

The Tsarevitch did so, and walked along the shore. The ball, rolling all the time, brought Ivan to a hut, a queer, tiny hut standing on tiny hen's feet.

"Izboushka! Izboushka!" -- for so in Russia do they name small huts -- "Izboushka, I want thee to turn thy front to me," cried Ivan, and lo! the tiny hut turned its front at once. Ivan stepped in and saw a witch, one of the ugliest witches he could imagine.

"Ho! Ivan Tsarevitch! What brings thee here?" was his greeting from the witch.

"O, thou old mischief!" shouted Ivan with anger. "Is it the way in holy Russia to ask questions before the tired guest gets something to eat, something to drink, and some hot water to wash the dust off?"

Baba Yaga, the witch, gave the Tsarevitch plenty to eat and drink, besides hot water to wash the dust off. Tsarevitch Ivan felt refreshed. Soon he became talkative, and related the wonderful story of his marriage. He told how he had lost his dear wife, and that his only desire was to find her.

"I know all about it," answered the witch. "She is now at the palace of Kostshei the Deathless, and thou must understand that Kostshei is terrible. He watches her day and night and no one can ever conquer him. His death depends on a magic needle. That needle is within a hare; that hare is within a large trunk; that trunk is hidden in the branches of an old oak tree; and that oak tree is watched by Kostshei as closely as Vassilissa herself, which means closer than any treasure he has."

Then the witch told Ivan Tsarevitch how and where to find the oak tree. Ivan hastily went to the place. But when he perceived the oak tree he was much discouraged, not knowing what to do or how to begin the work. Lo and behold! that old acquaintance of his, the Russian bear, came running along, approached the tree, uprooted it, and the trunk fell and broke. A hare jumped out of the trunk and began to run fast; but another hare, Ivan's friend, came running after, caught it and tore it to pieces. Out of the hare there flew a duck, a gray one which flew very high and was almost invisible, but the beautiful white duck followed the bird and struck its gray enemy, which lost an egg. That egg fell into the deep sea. Ivan meanwhile was anxiously watching his faithful friends helping him. But when the egg disappeared in the blue waters he could not help weeping. All of a sudden a big fish came swimming up, the same fish he had saved, and brought the egg in his mouth. How happy Ivan was when he took it! He broke it and found the needle inside, the magic needle upon which everything depended.

At the same moment Kostshei lost his strength and power forever. Ivan Tsarevitch entered his vast dominions, killed him with the magic needle, and in one of the palaces found his own dear wife, his beautiful Vassilissa. He took her home and they were very happy ever after.

#fairy tales #folklore #folk tales #mithology #literature #genre fiction #musings #fandom musings #fantasy #pop culture

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kkeidawrites · 3 years

Text

That Night

Chp. 3

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Another banquet was in full swing in the next couple of days that the moon goddess had first arrived and once more the same activities from before resurfaced. The sunrays of Asgard minimized to a light hue of yellows and purples, it would soon be night.

Gods and Goddesses, Dukes, Duchesses, Lord and Ladies alike littered the alabaster halls of the banquet hall. Each one dressed to impress, all colorcoded for the theme. How can anyone have so many parties every other day? It’s exhausting to say the least. Just imagine how much the servants had to prepare in such little time, it will amaze you.

This time the party was held in the gardens, overlooking Asgard’s lavish lands of green fields. Men and women rode horseback to play games, others included themselves in a fighting ring while everyone else lounged about and talked.

The food never disappoints and it seemed to never run low. Before your head would turn away from the lavish feast, it would automatically refill itself. Everything looked beautiful, the gold trim that surrounds the white pillars and green shrubbery elongated and twisted in beautiful vines around the pillars and added a bit to the dining tables as well.

For someone who has never been to Asgard and this was their first time they would be enthralled with the beauty of this place; the gold, the alabaster stone walls, the food, the style, the attire. It was like a dream come true. Except maybe a certain, moon goddess, who thought differently.

Mawu was bored. Stupid bored in fact. She was that bored that she had brought along Irawo to the banquet to keep her entertained. And let’s not forget the God of Mischief himself to keep her company as well. How delightful.

They stood at two different tables although it didn’t help the fact that Frigga used her powers to make sure that the tables were at least facing each other and with it she spelled the tables to only allow them to walk to and from their tables.

“Three hours you two,” she told the two as her fingers flexed to allow her magic to filter from her fingertips. “The spell will break once the hours are up, until then why don’t you both talk. Get to know one another.” She gave her charming smile and left the two beings.

“‘Get to know one another’.” Mawu mocked them scoffed in annoyance as she watched Irawo hop around on the table.

Mawu saw that there was no point in trying to break the All-Mother’s spell and occupied her time playing with Irawo; Loki in the meantime was doing everything in his ability to break his mother’s spell. From time to time you would see the illuminated green light of his spells.

Mawu feeds Irawo another carrot and the chunky rabbit munches it down, greedily and wiggles his nose in Mawu’s direction, happily waiting for the next carrot to be given to him and the goddess smiles.

“Sorry, Irawo. I don’t want you to pass out on me and go into a carrot coma,” Mawu teases and the rabbit stomps his foot.

“No more carrots right now, okay?” She watches as the rabbit begins to groom his head aggressively to show that he was unhappy. Mawu shakes her head and placed a hand under chin as she watched the festivities unfold.

She couldn’t believe that she had to stand in this one spot for the next, now two hours, and not be able to move anywhere. Mawu so desperately wanted to go horseback riding, and use swords against the opposing team. Hell, even the fighting ring looked appealing. It was much more entertaining than stand here and be bored.

“Damn it.” She hears Loki sigh out in frustration and looks to her right to see the green wearing God cross his arms and lean against the table in frustration.

“Having fun over there?” Mawu teases and Loki glares at her.

“I thought we agreed to only tolerate one another until you left Asgard.” Mawu rolls her eyes and turns back to Irawo.

“You spoke to me about it. I didn’t agree to ahem, tolerate you. As long you don’t bother me I won’t bother you.” Mawu tells him and Loki grits his teeth.

Irawo turns to Loki and wiggles his nose, sniffing the air and his gold eyes noticed the carrots on Loki’s plate. He squeaks and jumps from the table making Mawu gasp.

As he landed on the grass, Irawo uses his paws to groom his face once more then used his nose to snif around the area then pounces over to Loki’s table.

“Irawo! Come back!” Mawu calls to the black bunny, who promptly ignored her and began pawing at Loki’s leg to have him pick him up.

“Heh, little mongrel.” Loki reluctantly picks up the rabbit and placed him on the table where he quickly grabbed a carrot from his plate and proceeds to eat.

Mawu sighs heavily and moved over to Loki’s table to look down at the rabbit. She placed her hands on her hips and glared, disappointed at the bunny.

“I said, ‘no more carrots’.” Mawu said and watched as the rabbit takes a lettuce and eats that just as quickly as the carrot.

“You would refuse your pet food? How cruel of you, I thought you were the Goddess of Knowledge and Wisdom, shouldn’t you know that everyone has the chance to eat?” Loki says and Mawu frowns in annoyance.

“I am trying to limit him from eating so much, he had dinner less than an hour ago and the snacks I had was his snack. Breaking him of this, won’t allow him to limit what he eats.” Mawu says trying to pick up the rabbit but, Irawo squeals and moved over to Loki, the God of Mischief barks out a laugh in victory and Mawu glared at him.

Irawo snuggles his muzzle into the God’s hands and Mawu crosses her arms.

“Fine, stay here with him then.” Mawu pouts as she returns to her table and takes a sweet bun and begins to chomp on it, annoyance written all over her features.

Loki grins triumphantly and scratches under the rabbit’s chin to have his foot stomp in pleasure of the scratches.

“Well done, little hare.” He praises the furry creature. “Well done indeed.”

The next two hours went by excruciatingly slow and Mawu breathed a sigh of relief as the feeling of restraint on her body lifted off of her.

Stretching her arms, Mawu sighed and looked to Loki’s table to see the trickster playing with Irawo. He dangled the silk rope that held his cape against his back, above Irawo as the rabbit hopped to try and grab it.

It would seem that she didn’t need to keep an eye on Irawo and Mawu hopped that Loki wouldn’t do anything to her little friend. Not sensing any ill intentions towards Irawo from Loki, Mawu made her way over to the stables where the horses were being tended to for tonight’s parties and approached a stablemate. She could see that all the horses were gone and prayed that at least one horse was still available.

“My lady we unfortunately do not have any available horses for you to use.” The young male stablemate told her and Mawu pouted a bit.

“I guess it can’t be helped-” The sound of neighing turned Mawu’s body to watch as two stablemates that could be strongmen in the circus back on Earth, hold the reigns of a large black unicorn. It tussled with the reigns it was bonded in and pulled on it to make the men stop pulling it.

The unicorn neighed in anger and stomped the ground to force the men to drag it. Mawu was amazed at how big it was and seemed drawned to the unicorn.

Mawu felt her feet move as she approached the mystical being. The stablemate watched her in perplexed fear and reached out to stop her.

“My Lady, you mustn’t approach him!” The stablemate stepped in front of her making Mawu stop and look down at the young man.

“That colt was bred by a demon horse and ever since it has been a struggle to keep it under control. It won’t let us come close to it and we have to use force in order to control it-”

“Him.”

“M-My Lady?”

Mawu glared at the young man.

“Do not call him, ‘it’ he is a strong horse and surely calling him out of his name does little to gain his trust.” Mawu says as she walks past the man and continues her travel to the two bigger men.

The one on the right holding the unicorn’s reigns turned to Mawu and fear lit up in his eyes as the Goddess continued to approach the horse, who reared back in effort to be released from his clutches.

“My Lady, please stand back! He’ll kill you!” He warned but Mawu stops and turns to the two men.

“Let him go.” Was all she said.

“But-But, My Lady-!”

“Let. Him. Go. Please.” Mawu says again, still watching the unicorn who began to huff out angry air from his large nostrils. His green and gold eyes glared at the goddess and stomped his upper left hoof in anger.

The two strongmen looked to one another and then released the reigns taking several steps back readying themselves for the horse to begin to buck and cause havoc around the stables.

The unicorn did indeed rear back on its hind legs and Mawu watched him intently, being mindful of his hooves. Once the horse returned to all fours, Mawu raised a hand out, her palm facing the horse who huffed out another angry snort.

Trotting around Mawu, the Goddess didn’t let up from her spot, her hand still out, waiting patiently. Her plan was to allow the unicorn to relax around her and let him come to her. Let him trust her in his own time.

As the unicorn calmed, he nods his head up and down, snorting the last of his anger out and trots over to Mawu. He sniffs the back of her head and then nibbles her neck, making the goddess stifle a giggle. He then moved to the left side of her face and sniffs her some more. All the while the three stablemates stared in disbelief. They have been trying to get close to the unicorn for the past two months and the moon goddess was able to allow him to get close to him in less than 30 minutes.

Mawu showed that she wasn’t a threat to the unicorn and her calming aura allowed the horse to calm him down.

The unicorn then nibbles on her raised hand then sniffs it. Taking a step back, the unicorn looks in the goddess’s eyes and sees that he was indeed not in danger and hesitantly allows his muzzle to press into her palm.

Mawu gently rubbed his muzzle then moved her other hand and scratched under his chin. The unicorn neighs in delight and moves his head closer to receive more scratches.

“What is his name?” Mawu asked her eyes still trained on the unicorn.

“H-He d-does not h-have a name.” The youngest stablemate says and the unicorn neighs softly.

“Hmm....how about Gbekele?” Mawu asked the horse who unexpectedly nodded his head, then nibbling her scratching hand.

“My-My Lady, do you p-plan on riding him?” The young man asks the goddess.

“He still does not trust me, I do not think he would let me ride him.” She says and grabs the unicorns reigns, leading him to a stall. As he approached the stable Gbekele began to trot in place, fear returning to his eyes as Mawu did her best to calm him down.

“Gbekele, please calm down,” she tells the beast but, it rears back in terror making Mawu release his reigns.

“Lady Mawu, stand back!” Her eyes cut to the left and she sees Thor and two more stablemates come rushing into the stables.

“No! Don’t come any closer!” She tells the men but, they seemed to not hear her as the four stablemates run past her and try and grab the reigns of the beast. Gbekele rears back and neighs in anger.

Mawu felt his aura become more and more confused and his anger rose tenfold.

“No, please! Don’t touch him!” She yells to the men who once again either ignored her or didn’t hear her. One man was able to grab the reigns and another grabbed the back of his bridle. The horse rears back in anger and begins bucking. The unicorn spins in a circle as he continues to buck and Mawu was unfortunately close enough to luckily miss the hooves of the horse, make her stumble on her feet and fall hitting her head on the large salt lick.

Mawu couldn’t open her eyes anymore and allowed unconsciousness to take her.

A few minutes prior to the accident...

With Loki

Growing tired of playing with the rabbit, Loki sighed and looked around the area at the many nobles. He was insanely bored and he honestly wondered where that little moon goddess went. Now that he thought about it, he never realized how beautiful she looked tonight. For someone who is undeniably insufferable, she was a beautiful woman. Loki twisted his fist under his lips and felt his cheeks flush.

Yes, he thought about her, and what of it? She was beautiful, headstrong, and she spoke of war games like a veteran. She was perfect. If anyone offered her hand in marriage she would make a great queen. He didn’t know what it was that kept making him follow wherever she went, but, he didn’t want to stop.

It was fun messing with her, and mess with her, he shall. He wasn’t named the God of Mischief for shits and giggles.

He saw she had went to the stables and decided to check there. Not wanting to leave the rabbit, he used his powers to make Irawo disappear and made his way to the stables.

As he grew closer to the stables, the sound of shouting and a horse grew louder. Something inside of Loki made him begin to feel a sense of worry in the pit of his stomach. Walking closer, a yelp of pain was heard and by the time Loki turned the corner to enter the stables his eyes widened at the scene unfolding before him.

A black unicorn was stomping his hooves in the hay based ground being held by the reins by three men and Thor and a younger man was helping up a smaller body up from the ground. Loki’s eyes looked where the body once was and his green irises noticed the blood on the salt lick and then his eyes traveled to the one person he has been looking for this evening. Mawu was cradled in his brother’s arms bleeding profusely from the head and Loki phased over to his brother’s side.

“What. Happened.” Loki gritted out as he glared at his brother.

“A stablemate came over while I was in the fighting ring and told me that Lady Mawu was in trouble. I wrangled a couple more stablemates and I saw that Lady Mawu was trying to tame the beast but, it reared back and made her hit her head on the salt lick.” Thor explains and Loki takes the goddess in his arms and gently turns her head to see the extent of damage. He then stands up, while carefully holding the goddess in his arms. Her head landed on his chest, her lips were close enough to his neck and he held in a gasp from the sensation.

“I will take her to the medical clinic,” his eyes turns to the slightly calm unicorn that huffs in Loki’s direction.

“Get rid of that beast. I don’t want to see it in any stables of Asgard.” Loki says and a green light allows the God to disappear from view.

Arriving at the medical clinic, Loki kicked the double doors and called for a physician. Not a second later, a woman in grey robes came rushing towards him and she saw the injured goddess in his arms.

“Place her here, your majesty.” She instructs, pointing to a cot and Loki carefully set Mawu down moving back to allow the physician to do her job.

Loki didn’t know what to do. How did this happen? Why did he allow this to happen? Loki moved the cloud of hair she possessed and held her cheek.

“Thankfully, her wound is not severe,” the physician says making Loki look up at her.

“I will have to monitor her for the rest of the night.” She continues and Loki nods.

“Keep me updated on her well-being.”

“Yes, your majesty.” She bows and Loki uses his powers to disappear.

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The God of Mischief slams the doors of his room open and stomps over to his bed, plopping down in anger. Why was he so angry? He didn’t even know. Or perhaps he did.

He was frustrated about seeing her that way, but, then again why did he care so much anyway? Running his hands through his inky locs, Loki sighed in irritation then used his powers to allow Irawo to reappear. The rabbit snuggles into the side of his thigh as soon as he was released then squeaks.

“Your mother is in the clinic,” he tells the rabbit and the creature tilts it head. “She was hurt. How she handled the situation was so reckless of her!” He ranted to the rabbit as the furry begins to groom his head.

“She should have realized that that beast was unruly and she goes and gets hurt anyway!” He continues as he stands up and begins pacing, ranting still.

“She’s such a insufferable, uncouth, bratty, disobliging...beautiful, caring, degnified woman.” Loki’s rant slowly turns and he returns to sitting on his bed sighing with his hands folded in his lap. Irawo squeaks and Loki casts a spell and hands the rabbit three carrots. It happily eats the treats and Loki grins wryly.

“At least you are a better listener than Thor, then again I wouldn’t go to him with my problems, he’s just as insufferable as the Goddess.” Irawo squeaks once more as if agreeing with the trickster.

“You’re right, he is much more unbearable. My mistake.” He scratches under the rabbits chin and then thinks about the well-being of the moon goddess. Hoping, praying she would be alright.

Something like this was unfamiliar for the God of Mischief but, perhaps it was finally melting his frozen heart.

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Ch. 1⬅️

Ch. 2⬅️

Here’s Chapter 3 enjoy it! Like, comment, reblog and be sure to ask me anything in the inbox.

See you guys!

#black reader #black!reader #fanfiction #my writing #loki x black!reader #loki marvel #loki laufeyson x reader #black oc #marvel x black!reader #african!goddess reader #that night chp. 3

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janekfan · 4 years

Note

omg you're taking prompts?? best day EVER!!! i was thinking. season 2, where jon is complaining about some kind of illness/pain that's actually worse than he's letting on? maybe elias sends jon, tim, and martin on some kind of gay little errand and jon's either really ill or already hurt, and he keeps trying to communicate that he really wants to go back to the hotel and lie down, but they're so angry with him that they assume the worst? then, comfort :) if you don't like this i can try again!

@taylortut :D I hope you like it!

6 hours and 47 minutes.

The average amount of time it took the train to travel from the London station to Edinburgh.

And that being if they didn’t run into some sort of delay. Or hit a cow. Rupture the fuel line and be trapped on the tracks for the rest of the day.

Jon massaged his temples, shifting uncomfortably on the hard cushion that honestly might as well not exist for how much good it was doing him. Barely back from their mandatory thirty days leave after the Prentiss, Elias, the prat, sent them away to investigate the vaults beneath the city regarding the murders committed by Burke and Hare nigh 200 years ago.

And Jon really, really didn’t want to.

He’d been looking forward to sitting in the dark of his office and going through statements at a snail's pace and possibly, possibly skiving off early because he hurt and hadn’t been sleeping well because of it. The injuries left behind had been deep and damaging and he'd walked out of the hospital with a brand new cane. Leaning against the window and easing the weight off his left side, Jon tried to let the scenery slipping by lull him at least a little bit. Tim and Martin were spending the majority of their time in the dining car sampling the assortment courtesy of Elias’ generous travel budget and that was fine by him. While Martin may be better at hiding it, both of them were quite angry with him and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the next week spent in their company.

Pain exploded in his bones, waking him from his nap and he whacked his head against the window blinking hard, breathing shallow, as he gathered his wits about him and took in Martin sitting across from him.

“Tim,” he admonished, setting a cup of tea down in front of Jon and turning the handle toward him. “Should perk you up a bit; you look tired.”

“Yeah, Boss.” Tim mocked him, prodded a particularly sore spot on his side. ��Drink your tea.” Jon chose to ignore him.

“Th’thank you, Martin.” He spoke low, shrinking away, into himself, and holding the warmth close to his chest, checking his watch: two hours and change. Surely it wouldn’t be this awkward between them the whole week?

Jon was often wrong and this experience would prove no different as he pushed himself as fast as possible following Tim and Martin, the tip of his cane clacking unevenly on the cobblestones. It was dark and he had no desire to be caught alone on the streets at night, sure that whatever else had complaints with them wouldn’t hesitate.

“Tim, slow down.”

“Ah, sorry, Marto.” Jon looked away, feeling the heavy weight of Tim’s gaze press down across his shoulders and he almost stumbled beneath it, catching himself and thankful he’d chosen a backpack instead of luggage. “Tired from the train?”

“I happen to be, yes.” Authoritative, eyes cast pointedly forward. “Besides, it’s a nice night. Let me enjoy being away from the Archives for a moment, won’t you?” Tim laughed, pounding Martin on the back, and the two discussed going out for drinks at the various pubs they passed along the way. While grateful for the decreased pace, Jon was isolated and alone, throat closing up so tight it was like choking, face turning hot, but he refused to cry.

He’d dug this grave. He’d have to lie in it.

Unable to stand one moment more after climbing the stairs to their room, Jon collapsed heavily to the couch, digging his knuckles into his thigh in an attempt to stop the awful seizing in his muscles. His whole body was trembling with fatigue and when Tim suggested it was the perfect time to head into the Vaults he could have kissed Martin for insisting he was too tired tonight because he knew he was only saying it for Jon’s benefit and he didn’t understand why. How could he...after all. He hated him and he still--

“Well, I call rooming with Martin and there’s just one bed. That leaves the couch for your skinny arse, Boss.” He batted big dark eyelashes at Martin, making the other man blush furiously and sputter and despite himself Jon smiled, just a little, bidding them a quiet good night neither of them would hear through the door between them.

He could tell already he wouldn’t be getting much sleep, if any at all. The pain wasn’t anything sharp anymore, just a low level throb impossible to ignore, and no amount of adjusting or staying still or squeezing his fists so tight crescent moons were bit into his palms would change that. So he laid there, in the dark of an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar city, filled with unfamiliar sounds and listened to the deep and even synchrony of his employees’ breath. More street lights kicked on, the glow pleasant if only because he could see, transforming eerie shadows into shapes he could identify. Jon nibbled his bottom lip, shifted, pushed his feet into the cushions to exert pressure? Release pressure? He wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to accomplish other than keeping himself quiet.

Dragging his bag over he dug blindly through it for the bottle of paracetamol settled at the bottom, fighting with the child safety cap and tipping too many pills into his hand. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t touch it. Not really. But hoping for a placebo effect was better than writhing in agony and Jon swallowed them dry because getting up wasn’t an option. Rigid, shivering, he pulled up the blanket, trying to take comfort in its weight and the sun was coming up by the time heavy lashes fell shut over tired, burning eyes.

“Wakey, wakey, Boss!” Jon jerked violently awake, whole body thrumming in panic and pain before he had the sense to realize what was happening and by then Tim was gone.

“Sorry Jon, I tried to distract him.” Sheepish, Martin offered up a small smile and a cup of tea, setting it on the low table beside the couch. “You alright?” He’d relaxed back into the cushions, trying to gain back any of the soft, drifting nothingness he’d finally succumbed to and failing miserably. Good lord, he wasn’t well.

“Just fine, Martin.” Rubbing away the remnants of sleep, Jon struggled upright and took a sip. “Thank you.” Strong and dark and perfect, the caffeine would help. “When, what time are we investigating the Vaults?”

“Midnight or so? There will be fewer people on the streets then.” Silence broken only by Tim’s puttering in the room settled between them. “We’re hoping to sight see, be proper tourists for the day.”

“Ah.” He hid his disappointment behind the rim of his cup. Of course they would. Of course and they deserved it. “That sounds like a fine idea.” It didn’t. He wouldn’t make it, surely. Almost choking on his tea when his jacket came down over his head, Jon sputtered and coughed, catching a glimpse of Tim slipping on his trainers.

“And you’re not getting out of it.” Martin reacted to Jon's sigh with exasperation and hurt.

"Look, Jon. I know you'd rather be anywhere than with the two of us, but try to enjoy yourself?" And while that wasn't entirely true Jon was unfortunately too much a coward to refute it.

Which is how he found himself here, now. Nauseated, Jon sipped carefully on some juice, sitting stock still in his chair and watching Martin and Tim sample almost everything on the menu. He’d been dragged through the city and while he’d enjoyed some of the history and honestly their company, the pain cast a dark pall over the day. It was only on his third try asking for a break that they passed a pub and Martin suggested supper, and not a moment too soon. Even with the cane and Jon's white knuckle grip on his self control, his leg felt ready to give way.

“Come on,” Tim cajoled, tongue loose and on his third pint. “Don’t you want to waste Elias’ money with us?”

“Not that hungry I’m afraid, but go on. Looks good and you mustn't forget dessert.”

"Martin! You heard the boss-man!" After sitting in the low light, resting for a bit, Jon felt up to a drink, enjoying how it blurred everything at the edges and dulled the worst of it so quickly on an empty stomach.

When they returned to the room for a nap prior to their excursion, Jon barely remembered passing out on the couch.

It was cold, the jacket completely useless against the underground chill and his exposed fingers were numb on the handle of his cane, on the torch. Long after this happened, Jon asked for a reprieve. They’d been down here for hours already and they had all week so with no leads they could come back another night, couldn't they? It had fallen on deaf ears and when he tried to speak up again, this time because he’d fallen more than a few steps behind, it was clear he just needed to tough it out. Obviously, he was supposed to be handling this better and he was only embarrassing himself by being overly dramatic. Gritting his teeth, Jon pushed himself faster, catching back up only to lose ground seconds later.

“I’m. I’m sorry. I.” Why was this so hard? Asking for help, for a break, to go back and just please stop standing up. “Could we. Could we take a moment? Just. I mean--”

“Spit it out!” Tim’s frustration echoed painfully in the enclosed space, bouncing off walls and striking Jon from all angles like a series of blows. “We don’t have time for whatever you’re on about.”

We don’t have time.

“Leave off, Tim.” Something caught Martin’s eye and he veered away from the pair of them.

We don’t have time for you.

Stop it.

Stop being a child.

“Of course. Yes. Push on.”

Sick with exhaustion and shaking from pain, Jon was falling further and further behind, the torch losing its effectiveness as the dark closed in, heavy, tight, suffocating. He couldn’t call out. They wouldn’t. He. They’d made how they felt clear and asking again would only be shameful. But his cane wasn’t enough anymore and it dropped from his ennervated fingers, clattering to the ground while he held onto the wall with both hands. He’d be lost here, buried here, in the oppressive black, his body saved by the End for experimentation and dissected by medical students and he didn't think he cared about being forgotten but the thought of it felt far too real. He sobbed. It echoed. And he clapped his hands over his mouth and let the tears glance off them as he slid to the ground.

He’d just hide here. In the dark behind his eyelids, stifling the pathetic sounds forcing their way up his throat and between his teeth. If he was quiet he wouldn’t be found, nothing could find him if he was quiet. Not the things scuttling around in the black, not the pain doing its level best to gnaw its way through his skin, not the overwhelming weariness clawing open his chest, between his ribs.

“Jon!” He flinched. He hurt. He curled tighter despite it. He didn’t want to be found. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. “J--Christ, Jon.” Martin’s heavy footsteps slowed to a stop on the stone in front of him, shifted nervously. “Hey, what’s. Jon? What’s wrong?”

“M’.” But it was so much more than that and he didn’t know how to explain, so he didn’t and Martin’s voice came from above him.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn't you say it was this bad? ” But he had. He had tried. Hadn’t he? After being ignored he thought he was just being needy and dramatic. Annoying. Tim had similar injuries and he was fine. Jon ducked his head into folded arms, shoulders hitching with a shaky breath. He didn’t know what to say or how to justify how bad off he was.

“S’sorry.” He’d have to stand in a moment. To continue the investigation and even the thought made him want to cry. “Just need a. N’need.” But it hurt so much and when the next breath he reached for broke open he heard Martin sigh heavily, shoes scuffing the ground and this time his words were at his level.

“I’m sorry, Jon. You. You did tell us. We just didn’t listen. Thought you were cross at being sent here with us.” A warm palm enveloped his forearm. “What do you need?”

“N’nothing. Just.” Deep breath. Relax. You’re alright. “I’ll be ready in, in a m’moment.” Thick and hoarse, he didn’t want Martin to see his face. He didn’t want to see the disgust in his. “You, you go on. Tim shouldn’t be alone.”

“And you should?”

Yes.

Yes, because he’d be fine. He was always fine.

Before he had the chance to answer he heard Tim coming back, steps angry if there was such a thing, and calling through the tunnels.

“I see, just abandon me to the spooky vaults, serve me up on a platter next time, it’ll be faster!” Jon risked a look and saw Tim staring down at him. “What the hell, Martin? Jon, sure, but you too?” And that hurt, cutting to the quick of him deep enough that he almost checked for blood. Tim didn’t really think he’d abandon him, did he? “What’s with the secret meeting?”

“We need to go back to the room.”

“What?! We’ve barely started anything!”

“Jon needs a break.”

“Of course.” Scoffed, Jon could practically see him rolling his eyes

“Tim--! No, Jon’s been. He’s tried to ask a few times and I know we’ve got work to do but--”

“It’s alright, Martin. I can. Keep going.” The crease between Martin’s eyebrows deepened. “O’or stay here until you get back.”

“No,” Martin spoke sternly, “Tim, help me get him up.” Jon didn’t think he’d ever seen such a scathing look on his face before but it was enough to shift Tim. They lifted him together and as everything stiff stretched back out fire bled into his bones and he couldn’t help but cry out, trying to collapse back to the ground and into himself. “Oh, okay, Jon. Okay.”

“Ah, it’s.”

“If you say “fine” I’ll drop you right here.” Tim adjusted his grip, tried to take more of his weight and Jon was ashamed that he let him but--

"Good lord, Jon. You're so pale." When had Martin gotten so close to him? “I’m, I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.” The shaking started up again when he tried to take a step and Martin had to catch him before he collapsed all over again. This was so stupid. Why was he like this? Why did he hurt so bad?

“You can’t walk like this.”

“No! No, I can! I just…nngh.” His teeth were chattering, he was shivering. Just leave him here. This was mortifying and he all but gave up, following their soft directions until he was draped across Martin’s broad back and suffering through the strain of forcing his leg far enough forward for him to get his hand under it to lift him. Off his feet and pressed against a veritable wall of warmth, Jon lost his grip on the frayed threads holding the last of him together. They unspooled, slipped from his hands, and tears soaked the back of Martin’s collar.

"You're warm." Empty, sitting limp on the edge of the couch, Jon leaned into Martin’s hand on his forehead. “Are you sick?”

“No…” Clumsy fingers clawed open the bottle of paracetamol, irrationally angry when Martin only allowed him double the dose.

“Jon.” Tone firm, Jon looked up at him without lifting his head. Didn’t think he could if he wanted.

“S’mm.” He pulled in half a lungful of air with difficulty. “When it. When it hur’s like this.” The next breath strangled him and he thought he saw Tim and Martin exchange a look, one he couldn’t interpret and didn’t care to if it just meant they were leaving him here to go back to the vaults. He didn’t bother worrying about the new moisture dripping off his chin. He just wanted to disappear.

“Jon?” There was a packet of digestives being thrust under his nose and his stomach turned. "I haven't seen you eat at all today, or yesterday for that matter. I'm not going to let you take all those pills without at least a little something."

“Mm.” He forced one down his throat and pushed insistent hands away, swallowing the medicine with some lukewarm water Tim helped him hold, gasping when they manhandled him down to the cushions, sighing when something cold eased the fire in his hip.

“Ice, should help, okay?” And Jon concurred, new tears slipped between closed lids in relief, in weariness.

“Try and sleep, Boss.”

Quiet voices tugged him up through layers of cotton. Martin. Tim. Talking. Hushed.

“...shouldn’t have pushed so far.”

“So stupid...didn’t think…”

“Shh.” Caught eavesdropping. Jon swallowed. Everything they were saying about him was true, he wouldn't cry over it.

“Hey, Jon. How’re you feeling?” Sore. Foolish. Like he wanted the couch to open up and drag him down to wherever loose change went.

“Better.” When he made to sit up Martin stopped him. “Really, m’fine.” He stayed put.

“I need to apologize, Jon. I, I was so stupid. I didn’t even think about. Well, your injuries. Caught up in myself, I suppose.”

“No! I. Martin, it, it isn’t your fault. This,” he gestured to himself and laughed humorlessly. “This isn’t your fault.”

“We should have listened.” Now Tim was sat on the arm nearest his feet. His elevated feet and his face must have shown his confusion. “Did some googling. But we shouldn’t have let it go so far.”

“It’s--” he stopped abruptly at their combined frowns. “It’s. Um. Thank you, for taking care of me.”

“How is it?” Jon looked at his folded hands, guilty.

“I’d. If I could stay here today?” He closed his eyes, waiting for the frustration, the disappointment. “Not because I don’t want to, to, I want to. I enjoy your company! I’m.” He was botching this, just speak your mind, Sims. “I’m just. I’m very tired. Haven’t been, uh, sleeping much.” Opened them again when Martin cupped his shoulder and saw understanding reflected back.

“Sure. Of course you can.”

“We’ll make a day of it.” Tim flashed the company card. “Back soon, gents.”

The day was spent watching bad daytime television and Jon dozed on and off between being plied with sugary snacks and tea and watching Martin scold Tim for throwing wrappers at the worst of the actors.

“I’d clean it up, Marto, but,” he gestured to Jon’s feet where he’d tugged them over his lap. “I’m trapped, clearly.” It was so much like old times, away from the pressure of the Archives and Elias that Jon couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this could be fixed after all. Maybe it wasn’t all lost.

In the end, they’d discovered nothing new. No evidence to back up the statement givers that inspired this whole excursion in the first place.

6 hours. 47 minutes.

It didn’t seem such a long time on the way back.

#TMA #the magnus archives #prompt #jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #strained friendships #pain #chronic pain #bad coping mechanisms

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lewis-winters · 3 years

Note

Hi! i really enjoy your daemon au and i-ve gone and watched the new his dark materials series because of it. i love your take on daemons and was wondering if you have nymore headcanons for the other boys? what's luz's daemon? liptons? how do you pick their names? are there any daemons who Re the same sex as their humans? you dont have to rwply if you dont want to i just wanted to tell you i enjoy your world very much!!

Oh, hi! I’m glad you’re watching the new His Dark Materials adaptation! It’s pretty good, huh?

I do have headcanons for not just most of the boys but for the world itself. Though I also call it His Dark Materials!AU alongside daemon!AU it’s actually more the latter than the former. The only things I carried over into this AU from the original world of His Dark Materials are the existence of daemons, the fact that daemons are made of Dust particles, and the existence of witches. The magisterium or any kind of theocracy doesn’t exist. The authority and the angels also do not carry over. Instead, our own religions exist, but there’s just as much emphasis on spiritualism and mysticism as there is on moralism, which I believe would be the natural development of religion in this world where your soul/daemon, the spiritual aspect of you, is literally there for everybody else to see.

All of the boys have small or medium sized daemons, the biggest probably belonging to that of Ron and Tab, who have an Ocelot daemon and a sheepdog daemon respectively. The reason for this being that small or medium sized daemons are easily carried and they, alongside bird or other kinds of flying daemons, are preferred by the airborne. You still gotta jump out of a perfectly good airplane largely undetected. Can’t do that with an elephant daemon.

Ok. This got real long so I’m putting the rest under the cut. tw: mentions of death, trauma, and mutilation.

Some of the younger boys’ daemons haven’t settled. Miller, Hashey, Garcia, and Jackson. Hashey and Garcia’s settle in Hageneu. Miller and Jackson never get the chance.

Shifty’s daemon, Myrtle, is a Capybara. But he doesn’t know that. Every time somebody asked him what his daemon was, he’d shrug, say ‘Don’t rightly know,’ then leave it at that. What can he do? Capybara’s aren’t native to Virginia and he’s never been out of Virginia. Webster was the one to tell him that Myrtle was a Capybara because he’d read about them in a book somewhere that one time. Myrtle was startled by this and said; “I thought I was some kind of dog!” that was one of the few times she ever spoke out-loud during the whole war.

As I’ve said before in this post, Lew’s daemon is a chameleon named Amalthea. For all of the events of episode 9, Lew kept her in his pocket and that scared almost everybody shitless, because it made it seem like he was walking around without a daemon. The replacements assigned to them around that time, like O’Keefe, thought he didn’t have a soul. He never bothered to correct them because that meant letting Amalthea out, and the idea of her being in the open and vulnerable made him especially ill. He’d rather people thought he was soulless than allow himself and Amalthea to get hurt again. Which is so Lewis.

Skip has a hummingbird daemon named Ilaria, which is a name that means happiness and joy. This daemon-human duo wasn’t hard for me to figure out. It just fits.

Malarkey’s daemon is an artic hare with a summer coat named Felis. She’s settled, but after Foy and after losing Skip and Alex and Buck, she changes again. Subtlely, of course, and not wholely. She stays an artic hare, but instead of a summer coat, she permanently has a winter coat.

It’s not uncommon in this world for your daemon to change after severe trauma. I bet as the field of psychology expands, so does the understanding of trauma’s effects on the soul expand. There’s many studies on the changing of once settled daemons in relation to soldiers’ PTSD.

Buck’s daemon, a male bald eagle named Romulus, changes entirely. Still a bird, but instead of an eagle, he turns into a snowy owl. Before the war, he was a chatty daemon. After, he barely speaks and only does so to Buck and, very rarely, to those close to them.

Eugene Sledge’s male daemon, Daecon goes from a blood hound and gets turned into a Luzon bleeding heart-- which, I know is on the nose but it’s just. It’s such a cool bird, ya’ll. I’ve seen one up-close and ever since that day, I have not known any peace. The shift would be painful and would happen very slowly. It was actually horrific and was a trauma in and of itself. That was the last time they ever changed, though.

I also headcanon that the longer you’ve been settled, the harder and more painful the shift.

Merriell Shelton’s daemon settles in Gloucester. Into what, I’m not sure yet, but a part of me thinks she’s settled into some kind of big cat from the rain forests. Either a cloud leopard or a jaguar. Her name’s Charlotte but he calls her Lottie. Don’t ask me why. It just fits.

That being said, I have some Thoughts about people with big cat daemons. They’re usually aloof. Like, they make a very impactful first impression but they’re mostly solitary individuals who are weird af and difficult to get to know. It takes a really special person to tame a human with a big cat daemon. Once you earn their trust, that’s for life. They’re also really self-assured and are very secure in their sense of self. There is almost little to no tension between big cat daemons and their humans, and if there is, it gets explosive.

Ron Speirs has a big cat daemon, a female Ocelot named Aurele. She never talks, not even to Ron. They have this silent gaze/telepathy going on. Ron also takes on a couple of animalistic traits because of it. They could also... stretch their bond really far? Which is scary as fuck. People think he’s the son of a witch who, in her desperation to make him immortal, made him go through the ritual that allows a witch and her daemon to part for long periods of time and great distances. This is not true. Ron and Aurele just have really high pain tolerance.

Eugene Roe, on the other hand, is the son of a witch. His maman, however, did not make him go through the ritual because he’s not her first son. She knows the pain of outliving her sons well. She loves him all the same but understands that he will die well before her. Eugene’s daemon is a male kinkajou named Louis. Which is both a surprise and also not. For much of the war there’s a lot of tension there. Louis craves connection with others, Roe needs isolation to keep their sanity. It kind of turns into this thing where, if you wanted to comfort Roe or be close to him, you’d have to go through his daemon instead.

Babe’s daemon is a squirrel. A very chatty female russian squirrel named Abigail. They talk to each other a lot, and Abby talks to other people a lot too. Sometimes, she even answers in lieu of Babe. They’re both very blunt and very out there, no hiding with Babe and Abby. It used to get them into a lot of trouble with the nuns at school, who believed that daemons are only meant to be seen and not heard. A+ Catholic repression.

George’s daemon was a little tricky to me. I know his daemon is female and that her name is Thalia. I also know that she can fly. My first thought was: Parrot, either a hyacinth macaw or a white cockatoo. But, I also really like the idea of George having a Butterfly daemon. Particularly one that looks like a leaf when her wings are folded up but is brilliantly jewel toned when she opens them. In the end, I opted for George entering the army, having not settled just yet, and he and Thalia are this kind of double-act, where she shifts into whatever form is necessary for the punchline of the joke. She only settles into a parrot (idk still what kind) after their first jump and all the excitement in Carentan. A gradual thing. They don’t even notice until just before the jump in Holland. When they miss someone, Thalia will mimic that person’s voice. First, it was George’s mama and the voice of her daemon, both speaking in rapid fire portugese. Later on, in Austria, Thalia starts imitating all the friends they’ve lost. Sometimes she’ll sound like Skip. Other times, she’ll sound like Bill. It takes a very long time for her to break this habit. To the point wherein she and George don’t even remember what her real voice sounds like.

Lip’s daemon settled really early and is a female Bonobo named Jane. Has been since he was ten and made man of the house. This, like Skip and Ilaria, was very easy for me to figure out.

Dick’s daemon is a Caracara raptor bird. I’m still figuring out the specifics so she doesn’t have a name yet. Sorry.

As mentioned, Tab has a sheepdog daemon named Marisa who enjoys keeping him and everybody else in check. Have you met a sheepdog? They will literally herd you. It doesn’t matter if you are not a lamb or a sheep. They will nip at your heels until you go where they want to go. That’s Marisa. She’ll nip at Tab’s heels, she’ll nip at everybody else’s heels. If you are going somewhere she does not want you to go she will make sure you know her displeasure.

It is also super funny when she looks Tab in the eye and goes “Down, boy.” It never fails to make Tab go red and make everybody else laugh.

Harry’s daemon-- and don’t get mad at me-- but Harry’s daemon is a Scottish Terrier named Saoirse. He carries her around strapped to his chest during jumps. It’s fucking cute. Don’t say that to their faces though because they will lose all respect for you. It’s a daemon suited more to a teacher than it is to a soldier, that’s for sure.

Bill’s daemon is a pit-bull named Darla. Scary looking one, too, with a very bawdy sense of humor. She will growl at you and pretend to bite and you will be very scared but she only does it as a joke. She’s honestly really cool. When Bill and Babe are walking around together, Abby likes to perch on top of Darla’s head. It’s adorable. Sometimes, when Abby gets too much, Darla carries her around in her mouth. It’s still cute. But only to them, everybody else finds it vaguely horrifying.

I know there’s this taboo of humans not touching other humans’ daemons but it’s kinda difficult in such close-quarters like theirs. It is also heavily implied in the original text of Philip Pullman, that the no-touching thing is a cultural thing. Like, I think in religions that deal a lot in repression like Catholicism or Protestantism, the touching of another’s daemon is a no-no and is only reserved for the most intimate of relations (i.e. marriage). But I feel like religions such as Judaism, Wiccan, Paganism, or even some branches of Folk-Catholicism encourage touch/celebrate that connection between two humans. Neither of these two beliefs are wrong, of course. It’s just a cultural thing and they carry with them both pros and cons.

I bet Lieb grew up very used to his daemon being touched by his mother and father or older siblings. It’s not taboo to him, though he recognizes that it’s taboo to others. He doesn’t get it though, and is constantly rolling his eyes every time somebody gasps when they accidentally touch someone’s daemon.

A lot of the boys just kinda ignore the touching daemons thing until they get used to it.

I’m not sure what Lieb’s daemon is or what her name is, too. I know she’s a social kind of daemon-- not solitary like a big cat or a reptile (like snakes). I thought maybe a wolf, but a wolf daemon is too... large and there are a lot of connotations attached to it. I think Lieb’s daemon is something medium-sized and unassuming. Not a dog. Not a domestic cat either. A part of me thinks flightless bird, but no. Not that either. Give me time. I’ll figure her out. As of now, I’m thinking either a marsupial or a canidae/fox but not quite. She’s a mammal, that much I know. Just don’t know what kind.

Grant’s daemon is a male domestic cat named Saladin. He’s either an Abyssinian or a Bengal. Either way, he’s really cool. Like super cool. They’re both super duper cool.

And... that’s kinda it. That’s all I have for now. I’m really sorry it got so long, anon. I get really excited when talking about daemons. It’s character study but with animals! Thank you for giving me this opportunity to ramble. This is where I leave you.

#band of brothers #dæmon au #bob aus #tp aus #the pacific #but only eugene and snaf #ask #bob hcs #tp hcs

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petri808 · 4 years

Text

Hauntober prompt Cauldron

Nalu requested by @rougescribe

Lucy never knew the life of a witch could be so... busy. People came from far and wide to her for potions to fix everything from illnesses to money, a more prosperous garden, or finding true love hence the latest mix of ingredients bubbling in her cauldron. It was a never ending stream of people willing to pay top dollar for quick fixes and the love potions are a number one seller. And why not? Everyone wants to find love.

The fall season brought an influx of buyers tired of spending another cold winter alone. Lucy couldn’t begrudge them for it because it was very lonesome, hold up or snowed in with only fur blankets and a fire to warm you up. Imagine, a nice hot body to cuddle up with and pass away the long dreary hours... She sighs, stirring the brew as those longing emotions interrupt her concentration.

It’s been awhile since she’d had a boyfriend. A flirty warlock when life was free and settling down was the furthest thing from her mind. Loke was a lot of fun, but now Lucy wanted more than just a relationship built on sex. Someone to come home to, maybe have a family together, and grow old with. But to use your own potions on yourself broke spiritual laws, for such a selfish act was bound to backfire.

Sigh, “I wish I had time to find love...”

But there wasn’t time right now and Lucy needed to get this potion finished and bottled to restock her supplies. She adds the final stabilizing agent and utters an activation spell.

Brew thine hearts entwined

Of love that lasts for all of time

Reveal to bearer a match to be

A soul that is meant for thee.

The bubbling liquid began to glow, signaling to Lucy that the potion was being activated. She turns away momentarily to grab her ladle, when a loud boom and flash of red light catches her off guard, propelling her to the ground. “Oh, no!” Had she messed up the spell?!

When she looks up, a vision was poised in the cloud of reddish smoke hovering above the cauldron. It was of a man with pink hair and a bright smile wearing the clothing of a typical farmer in the area. Who was this male? Lucy doesn’t remember ever seeing him before. Perhaps her heart had triggered the spell... for her?

No, she shakes her head at the thought. It couldn’t be. That was merely the spell to activate the love potion not trigger it. All her thoughts of love and longing were playing tricks with her mind. Or maybe even a cruel tease. Yeah, that’s it, it was taunting her. She would never knowingly violate sacred rules. Lucy puts it out of her mind and goes back to dolling out her potion into vials for would be buyers, letting the whole incident slip away like a melting frost.

A week later, the witch ventures out of her home on a chilly but sunny morning, ready to purchase goods and supplies. The local market square was bustling because of the break in the weather, which was nice to see so many people taking advantage of it. Magnolia really was a quaint trading town and she was glad to have chosen it to settle down in.

Lucy picks up a few loaves of bread at a bakery, along with vegetables not found in her own garden from a couple of the stalls. She chats with the vendors briefly, always one to make conversation and keep up a friendly air about her to ensure a later customer base. Her patronage was also reciprocal when they’d send new customers her way. Being a trading town, passerby’s were welcomed and through word of mouth is how her potion business flourished.

The last stop is to a meat merchant which tended to be less stable because it depended on their hunting or fishing yields. One never knew what they might find day to day at such stalls, but Lucy hoped for a nice dry-aged meat like venison or even salted hare. There was a crowd of giggling women around the stall. No surprise there, brawny hunters always attracted the ladies.

While she waits her turn, Lucy sees a friend named Cana and starts up a conversation. The barfly worked at her fathers tavern in town which serviced many of the sailors that came to port. She dabbled in the psychic end of magic, giving out fortune telling and card reading by request. Cana was also great for passing along new customers in the market for potions with a hey I see love in your life, check out my friend for a love potion.

“Solstice is almost here, so I need to prepare...” Lucy’s words die away the moment her eyes land on the meat merchant. She stares forward in disbelief, glued to the man. “It can’t be!” She whispers.

Cana waves a hand in front of Lucy’s face. “Stop drooling. You didn’t know? He’s the new guy in town.”

“No... I-I haven’t been here in a week.” Pink hair and dashingly bright smile. The man was even more handsome in person. Lucy couldn’t believe her eyes. “I saw him in a vision.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were practicing precognition.”

“I’m not, it happened when I was brewing the love potion.”

“Well in that case, go say hi!” Cana shoves the woman forward, giving Lucy a go get ‘em wink before walking away.

“Hello,” the man smiles at Lucy. “What can I interest you in today?”

‘You...’ “I um, do you have any venison?”

“Darn,” he taps his chin, “not here, but I do have some at home that should be done curing.”

“Oh, so tomorrow?”

“Well, if you’d like I could deliver some this evening after I close my stall for the day.”

Lucy blinks in surprise. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

The man smiles causing her breathing to falter. “Yeah, it’d be no problem.” He sticks out his hand. “My name’s Natsu by the way. Just moved in a couple weeks ago with my brother Zeref.”

She smiles back, her heart racing with an excitement she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “Lucy, it’s nice to meet you.”

#hauntober #nalu #prompt cauldron #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nalu au #nalu drabble #nalu fan fic #fairy tail

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mr-and-mr-diaz · 3 years

Note

Ahhh, I can't pick an AU from the list so whichever one you like best ❤

It took a minute to be bitten by the right bug for this one @therogueheart but here we go!

THE DAMNED DISGRACE: A Buddie Pirate! AU:

“Buck!” This couldn’t be happening…!

“Buck! Buck!!” Maddie was being dragged away from him and all he could do was watch…

“Buck!”

Buck’s eyes shot open at the last one. That wasn’t Maddie’s voice, it was her lover’s. Call me Chimney. Sure enough, The man was crouching over his cot, shaking his shoulder. “I found them.”

Buck was instantly awake, sitting up. “How?! No, no matter, will they help us?”

Chimney shrugged. “Not sure yet. I got a meeting with some of the crew in an hour at The Hangman’s Noose. Get dressed.”

Buck snorted at that. Get dressed. He was already wearing his only shirt, and his pants hung from a nail on the wall above his head. A far cry from the carefully kept suit coats and neckerchiefs of his teaching days. He reached for the pants and pulled them on, before running fingers through his too-long hair. It curled around his ears and over his forehead now, a look he despised. So vulgar, Evan, like a common waif, his father’s disapproving tone rang in his ears. He reached over to the cracked water basin and gathered some in his palm, splashing it over his hair and forcing the errant strands back. “Let’s go.”

Chimney led the way out of the decrepit inn they had managed to find a room at, and through the slurried streets of the harbor, ducking around hawkers and shoving aside pickpockets. Buck struggled to follow, envying Chimney his inherent ability to navigate, while simultaneously thanking God a thousand times over that he had the man’s help at all.

He didn’t know Chimney’s real name, nothing about him at all, except that the man had all but dropped on top of him not a day after Maddie had been abducted by Commodore Douglas Kendall of the royal navy. Buck had still been inconsolable, barely able to stand for fear and panic while his own parents went about their lives, insisting that a commodore was a finer marriage than they could have expected for someone of their standing and Buck should be happy for her. They had not seen the terror on Maddie’s face, hadn’t been held to the floor by four men with a gun trained to his head while the commodore laughed, didn’t have her screams of terror and calls for help still ringing in their ears while he was able to do nothing but watch.

When his own parents preferred to pretend Evan did not exist, Maddie had been a beacon of love and care. She’d pulled him out of his self-imposed obscurity and helped him earn his teacher’s license, enabling him to pay her love forward to other children who just needed someone to believe in them. Maddie was his whole world, and then she was taken.

And there had been nothing Buck could do about it until Chimney had forced his way into Buck’s bedroom three days later, holding a knife to a guilt-and-grief stricken Buck’s neck, demanding to know what they’d done with her. Buck's ill pallor and multiple bruises and cuts went a way toward convincing Chimney that Buck had not been complicit in Maddie’s abduction. The final straw had been Buck dissolving into Chimney’s less-than-prepared arms and bawling like a child.

Chimney was Maddie’s lover of two years. He worked as a chimney-sweep, which Buck could only assume was the source of his nickname. They had planned to run away and marry as soon as they had enough money to start a new life together. Maddie was supposed to meet him a few days ago, and he’d assumed when she didn’t show for three days that their illicit love had been discovered and she’d been sent away to prevent the elopement.

“Buck!” Chimney called at him, and Buck forced himself to focus on the present, pulling a small pickpocket’s hand out of his already-empty pocket with an apology and picking up his pace to catch up with Chimney. Chimney had been understandably reluctant to bring Buck with him on the search, but Buck had threatened to go it alone. It was also Buck that had come up with the hare-brained idea to rescue Maddie, an idea that--if they were truly lucky--was about to find wings.

“This is it.” Chimney murmured. He looked Buck up and down and then snorted, reaching up to muss up Buck’s carefully water trained hair. “Let me do the talking, okay kid?”

Buck nodded, resisting the urge to try and pat his unruly curls back into place as they stepped into the dimly lit pub.

Raucous music competed with yelling and loud laughter, making the room feel even more full than it already was. Buck kept a close tail on Chimney, terrified of getting lost amidst the motley mix of patrons mingling around. Soon enough they arrived at a table in the far back. It listed to the side a little, its sticky top home to two mugs of ale. At the table sat two men, both looking rough and worn around the edges.

“Chimney Han?”

“Yeah.” Chimney sat down and gestured for Buck to do the same.

The first man nodded quietly and waited. The second man, clearly the lower ranking of the two, eyed Buck, a leer growing on his face.

“You been on the harbor long, Your Grace?”

Buck startled. “What? I’m not--”

Chimney nudged him in the side, silencing him. “You with the crew of The Disgrace?”

The second man chuckled. “That’s us. What do you want?”

“We want to join your crew.”

The first man’s eyes narrowed and he sat forward. “Why?”

Chimney snorted. “We heard you’re the only tars stupid enough to go after Commodore Douglas of the navy, and we want to help.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What’d he do to you?”

“Made off with my future wife. This man’s sister.” Chimney poked Buck. “We want her back and we want to make him pay.”

The man nodded slowly. “What kinda work are you good for?”

“I can fight knives, hand-to-hand, and I’m good for any work. I was a chimney sweep so I’m not afraid of heights either.” Chimney remarked. He clapped a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Buck isn’t as experienced, but he’s tall and strong and willing to learn and work hard.”

Buck nodded dumbly, praying he looked earnest and tough and helpful enough.

“I dunno, Cap, I’ve seen his type before.” A hand clamped on Buck’s shoulder from behind and Buck startled terribly, whipping around in his seat. “Burning red as a lobster on day one, never get their sea legs, useless dead weight.”

A man was looking down at him. He was deeply tanned and tall. Though Buck was fairly certain he was taller by an inch, the man standing behind him was broader and packed with muscle.

The man took in Buck’s face and chuckled. “Look at you. You startle so easily, like a child. And you think you’ll be useful to us?” He sneered. “What did you do before you decided to try joining the most damned pirate crew on the seas?”

“Me?” Buck did not like this man, but he fought to hide it and keep his composure. “I’m a… was a teacher.”

“A teacher?” Buck turned back to the man called Cap. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, and he assessed Buck and Chimney both before nodding.

“I don’t like it.” Eddie interjected.

“You don’t have to, Eddie.” Cap smiled and rose in his chair. “They’re coming with us.”

“What?!” Both men turned to Cap, but he ignored them, instead facing Chim and Buck his voice steel. “The rules are simple: You don’t pull your weight, you go overboard. You try to betray us to the navy, we’ll cut you into small pieces and send them to your sister. Everything else you’ll learn on the ship.”

Chim nodded. “Fine by me.”

Cap turned to Buck.

“Yes, of course! I swear! Thank you!” Buck shot out of his seat and reached out a hand to shake. “We won’t let you down, Mr. Cap!!”

He heard a loud sigh from the angry man--Eddie--behind him and the man sitting next to Cap laughed. “That’s our Captain Nash, you toff.”

“Oh.” Buck turned beet red and quickly lowered his hand. Next to him, Chimney sighed, but rose as well.

“You won’t regret it, Captain Nash.”

“If I regret it, you’ll regret it more.” The captain rose. “Let’s go.”

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic prompt #9-1-1 #should this be multi-chapter #still not sure #its the start of something no doubt #buddie pirate!AU #therogueheart

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bnha-almost-a-hero · 4 years

Text

₊˚.༄━━𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄,

𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄,

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬; yandere! shigaraki tomura, gender neutral! reader, toga himiko, dabi

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲; le casa de papel

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; mentions of death, blood, knives, mentions of guro, one mention of abuse, a knife fight happens, toga is a yandere and a whole ass warning on her own, dabi makes like one sexual reference, language, a vague post-apocalypse with bad worldbuilding, one vague reference to the dabi is a todoroki theory.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭; adaptation━━༉‧₊˚✧.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭*; (╭☞•́⍛•̀)╭☞ @inanabsentia & @maris-chan!

*just ask if you wanna be added or removed!

You stand straight as bone as you feel the sharp tip of the blade press hard against your back. A cold, clammy tingle pricks at your fingertips as your heart swells your veins with blood and your nerves pumps adrenaline through your body. You remember back to your biology class, remember back to your school days.

Conflict is a constant when observing animals and their behaviour. Species fight over territory, food, mates and other resources necessary to sustain life. You can remember the clicking beneath your biology teacher’s feet as they paced across the classroom, how eccentric they had been. Whilst fighting and killing is a necessary evil in nature, there are a list of animals who engage in killing for pleasure without any reasonable gain. Amongst these animals are humans.

If you attacked Toga or even killed her, would it simply be adhering to your animalistic nature, or was there another way around the situation? Vaguely, in some broken recess of your mind, you remember someone telling you that diplomacy was strictly a human invention: better than the wheel, or the steam engine, or even money.

That most likely wasn’t true, of course, but it was a thought that passed your mind. Maybe if you talked your way out of this, maybe if you used reasoning and such, you wouldn’t have to fight at all. That was preferable.

“I—,” Your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, your throat so dry it ought to light a fire. You stare ahead at the door across the hallway—white and gilded and ostentatious. If only you could reach out and push it open, escape towards the light. That was when you glimpsed it.

The door was ajar, if only slightly, enough for the passing person to be able to look in with ease. You swallow deep and turn toward Toga, readying your bluff, “I was going to close the door. I—I didn’t want anyone listening to us.”

Toga grips your arm harder, twists it hard as she swerves the knife round and forward in one swift motion, until it’s inches from your throat. You can almost smell the metallic tinge of the steel. The metal glints in the harsh light emanating from the bulb above you, a white, flashing warning of danger that curls around the blade. Your heart pulses.

“Do you think I’m stupid, ____-chan?” Toga asks. Her voice is simple, with the sing-song inflection that you’ve come to know from her. “I know you’re not totally onboard with Tomura’s plan, my Izuku wasn’t either, but you’ll come to know. You’ll learn to love him,” She leans in to press her face against the crook of your neck. Her breath pricks at your skin as she speaks. “Just you wait. Love is the best feeling there is. The thump, thump of your heart filling with sweet, sweet blood. Oh, it makes me so, so thirsty, ____-chan. Can’t you tell?”

You loathed to think of what her idea of ‘thirsty’ was and you were even more loathed to imagine confronting Shigaraki. Your instincts were begging you to look past all that, however, and look to what really mattered. And what really mattered was dealing with the blade hovering near your throat.

“Toga—” You consider for a moment, then correct yourself, “Himiko, please. Look, I—” You swallow your pride and your emotions and the sick, sinking feeling in your gut. “I’m flattered that Shigaraki, I mean, Tomura, feels like that. Maybe, if you could let me talk to him, we could come to an agreement? You know, on our own?”

Toga hums, the vibration wracking your body with another layer of warm chill. Finally, she withdraws the knife from your neck with a slash and speaks, “Maybe,” She states, sliding two fingers against your arm, “Maybe I’ll talk to him for you. Oh! I’ve always wanted to play matchmaker! In my perfect world, I get what I like, right? I really, really want you two together. You’ll let me do that for you, won’t you?” She grips your arm tighter, practically wringing it out in her ferocity. Her other hand twirls her blade around for your scrutiny. “But, I really want to cut you first, though,” She hovers her lips close to your ear. “It’s been so long since I tasted blood. Just a little prick or maybe a little more?”

Your brain helpfully flicks through a thousand ways you could die all in an instant, but the adrenaline has you feeling a bit more determined, a bit more defiant, a bit more animalistic. Diplomacy was certainly not going to work judging by Toga’s tone, but you really didn’t want to wrestle a teenager to the ground. Although, your frontal lobe reasons, she is a direct danger to you and your survival. Attacking her would be a matter of self-defence; you’d be standing your ground.

“I’ll cut you nice and deep, maybe to the bone.” Toga mutters, casting a gaze to her knife. “No, no, the knife’s not sharp enough. I guess Tomura won’t mind if I cut into your leg or maybe your arms. I’ll just get a nice, juicy vein—“

Without a thought, you draw your elbow back and jam it against Toga’s skull, sending her stumbling back as you hop to action and begin running.

Before the world had ended, you had tuned into some nature documentary whilst cleaning. It was about a wolf and a hare. You remember all of the adaptations the hare had, how evolution had saved it from the claws of the wolf time and time again.

It was funny now and you had to stifle an ill-timed chuckle. You were the hare, running along marble instead of the dewy grasses of a morning pasture and Toga was something of a wolf, with her blade as her claws and her paws twitching to be coated in blood.

“I like it when they run,” She giggles simply as she joins you in your tango between life and death. You barely hear her past the thumping of your ears. Or was that your heart? “They always get scuffed up when they run.”

Your lungs and your nostrils burn white-hot and you count. You count the uneven footsteps of Toga’s shoes against the waxy marble; you count the pulsings of your heart against your rib-cage; you count the metres between you and safety. To fall now, even if it was a brief stumble would mean pain—grievous pain knowing Toga.

And you wouldn’t dare let your friend, Izumi, down like that. You couldn’t leave them alone surrounded by villains lead by a man who hated them. And you make a promise to Izumi as you run, a promise to yourself. There’d be no more playful banter with your villainous captors. Every step you took would be a step devoted to leading your fellow hostages out of the bank and to safety. You swear upon it.

“Gotcha!” Toga announces suddenly, diving toward the floor to grip at your right leg. She tugs sharply and you come tumbling to the ground with the scuff of a shoe. Reflexively, you allow your body to fall on your arms—the only thing saving you from a possible concussion, though your elbows are left aching and burning as a result.

Toga pulls you toward her once more, but you turn swiftly and jam your knee up into her face. She groans, head bobbing backward and you roll fully onto your back, using your left leg to shimmy your way across the floor. A giggle ricochets off the walls, as Toga rears her left arm up and you catch a glimpse of her knife against the ceiling light.

Shit, you think as she bears the knife down onto you. Your attempt to roll to the side is halted as Toga digs her knees into your pelvis, pinning you to the ground as the knife inches closer and closer. Your body lurches up on its own to grab at her wrist with all the might you can muster, holding it in place as she struggles against you.

“Come on, ____-chan!” She begs, pressing the knife down harder. You dig your nails into her wrist but she doesn’t budge. “I swear I won’t touch your face if you just let me—!”

Pinkies, your brain reminds you, put pressure on her pinkies. Your eyes blink with realisation as you remember the online self-defence course you took on the recommendation of your friend. If you put pressure on an opponent’s pinkies, they were more likely to drop their weapon. Something to do with nerves or reflex or something.

You curl your fist around her left pinky finger, twisting it backwards. Her face scrunches up as she screams and her knife drops onto your chest.

Dopamine and adrenaline flood your veins as you grab her wrist and slam her down onto the floor beside you. The yellow of her eyes haze over as you grab the blade and press it flush and flat against her throat.

For good measure and to rub your victory in, you press your knee into her gut and she coughs weakly. Your chest rises and falls as you murmur a thanks to your self-defence tutor, with techniques like that they’d do good in an apocalypse.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask, more out of surprise than anything. “I—.”

The creak of the hallway door surprises you and you force your eyes up. Dabi stands there in the threshold, looking quite pleased with himself as he buries his hands into his pockets.

“What did I tell you about attacking the hostages, you crazy bitch? Especially when its Crusty’s favourite jizz material,” He meets your gaze with an electric blue, then angles his head in the direction of the main atrium. “The boss wants to talk to you, or somethin’. Probably gonna confess his dweeby love. I’ll follow you there so Crazy doesn’t attack you again.”

You nod and pocket Toga’s knife in case Shigaraki tries anything. As you rise to your feet, however, Toga grips at your leg. When you look down at her, her nose is all bloody and her lips are curled into a wide smile.

“You’re so strong,” She murmurs, coughing up a little blood and bile. “I wanna be just like you.”

You can’t help but shudder and turn away from Toga—guilt settling deep into your gut. I just beat up a seventeen-year-old whilst being held hostage by Japan’s most dangerous villains all during a post-apocalypse, you think, I need to write a memoir and get a publishing deal.

Dabi holds his arm out for you and, when you quirk a brow, he scrunches up his nose and shakes his head.

“I was taught etiquette as a kid,” He elaborates as he guides you to the bank’s main office that Shigaraki has declared his own. “Hard-ass dad beat it into me; it’s a reflex now.”

You nod—wondering how somehow Dabi of all people could be the most sane villain out of the bunch. Then again, you haven’t exactly met the others but you didn’t have much faith in their tact.

You walk in pleasant silence until Dabi comes to a halt in front of a grand door. He turns to you.

“Don’t tell Shigaraki that I brought you here,” Dabi instructs you with a grave look on his face. “He’ll piss his pants if he knew I touched you.” He looks down to the pocket, bulging with the imprint of Toga’s knife. “Oh and try not to pull the knife on him right off the bat too.”

You nod again and smile as he turns and walks off. Then, steeling your nerves—your bones—your heart before, finally, you turn and knock.

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #yandere shigaraki #yandere shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha x reader #tw: yandere #tw: blood #tw: fight #tw: gore #tw: knives #tw: death mention #🙴 my work.#˙˚*:･ﾟ༻series: adaptation

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andmyvape · 3 years

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Mel falls through the ice while fishing on the river and washes up in a world like nothing she has ever seen before. Like the bloom of a beautiful flower that opens to reveal blight, this city is not the paradise it seems. She joins a band of rebels seeking to bolster the oppressed, slaves and those laboring in community service for crimes against a mad Get and a corrupt Council. To survive she must elude the enforcers of the city, but after growing up evading manticores, how dangerous can the Civil Service be?

Chapter Two

Once she got over the river, a perilous task, it was a bit of a hike back home Especially through melting snow. Her boots were soaked long before she saw the hut. It was made of woven saplings, the holes patched with mud. There were plenty like it nearby, but it was home.

This side of the river, the plains were called the Grift to anyone that lived there. Most of the slaving happened further south, but here it was like harnessing a cart to hares. The land was ill inclined toward sustaining many people, so there weren't many Grifters. How many? Like Mel could count. There were enough, all aunts and uncles and cousins that took whatever partner they could that wasn't local and therefore related to them. Mel's mother had passed away years ago, and none of her siblings lived nearby, so it was just her father at home to greet her.

He was an old man, known as Tomkin. Once a giant, he now stooped from age. He was further stooped now as he knelt in front of a dead hearth trying to get sparks from flint and a length of metal to light a bundle of tinder and kindling.

"Damn wood," he grumbled. "It's all wet. Can't get it to light." He looked over his shoulder at her. "Where'd you get the duds?"

Mel shoved the robe off, something she should have thought to do already, and grabbed her new toy from her pocket. "Long story. Here, let me."

Her father moved, groaning about his joints, and settled in a wicker chair. "How do you plan to do it? I've been trying for hours."

She turned to him and struck a match. Old Tomkin jolted in his seat. "Blazes!"

"Bit more control than that."

Mel lowered the small flame to the tinder. The match was almost burnt when the fire finally started to catch. It took a while, and there was a lot of smoke, but eventually there was a small fire warming the small space.

"Well then," her father said, leaning back in his chair with his eyes shut. "Where did you find that? Is it magic?"

It didn't occur to her for a moment to lie. It wasn't that Mel was inherently honest, she just never felt a need to lie to her father. She was his youngest, the last at home and alive, and he had gotten through all his worried parenting long before she was born. Decades of rambunctious children did that to a man. So when she said, "I got it from behind the wall," she did not expect an explosion.

And she didn't get it. Eyes still shut, she might have thought her father was sleeping when he said, "You made it back then. Oughta be careful."

"It was an accident. Have you eaten?"

"Not yet, no."

While she explained, she made him porridge from what remained of this year's gathered oats. Shame there wasn't any fish to add. She went over the river, told him about Chessa, even told him her plans to go back. He took it all in stride.

"Well," he said as he tucked into his food. "I'd be sad if you got took."

"I'm not gonna get took, Dad."

"And this Chessa, she's a good one?"

"Seems like it."

He nodded, chewed a bite. "Sounds alright. This is good, by the way."

"If I can, I've got to bring you this soup. Pink chicken, Dad!"

"Chicken." He looked off into the distance with a wistful eye. "It's been a few seasons since we had chicken."

Mel frowned. "We had some at the beginning of the winter, Dad, remember?"

Old Tomkin blinked. "Oh. Well then."

#In Defiance of a God #Original fiction #Fantasy #Dystopia #Revolution #Theism #Chapter Two

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