#at first i wanted to make the prompt about Roach

[pinkslaystation]

Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

#call of duty #cod #john price #john price x reader #captain john price #john price angst #john price fluff #task force 141 #captain price

[eluxcastar]

Number 13 and 14 with Arlecchino

Arlecchino being comforted by her s/o

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: arlecchino comfort drabbles yesyes

୨୧﹑genre :: sort of fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, possibly ooc because it was written pre fontaine quest, not very proofread, arlecchino is implied to have issues with self-image/perception

୨୧﹑words :: 2.2k

"I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I've met." "I'm going to ask you how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly."

IT'S HERE you guys always spoil me 13 is my favourite prompt and you are the first of two to request it. completely unrelated but this is so familiar to what Kae said a few days ago (months now omg 😭) when we were talking about One of Repetition and it fits those two so well 😭❤️

to the anon who requested furina it'll take me a minute to figure out how to write her because I haven't played the archon quest but I'll watch some cutscenes and do my best for you

I'll also be using this because I got it in the middle of writing this and thought it fit the idea I had going super well 🙏 that makes three Arlecchino requests with prompt 13 😭 also second anon you're fine dw you guys are free to do with your requests with these prompts as you like, mix them together, add extra descriptions and rambles it makes it more fun 👍 thank you btw 😭❤ feel free to give yourself a name for future requests if you want ❤️ I love having new anons

prompt list

It is not often that Arlecchino shows her doubt, maintaining that half-pleasant façade to hide it all. If all people see is a ruthless woman with no regard for loyalty, then the details don't matter. There's no need to question, no need to dwell. She is one thing and nothing more, and she much prefers for nobody to notice the hesitancy in her drastic decisions, the thin-veiled regret as she watches the children she witnessed grow up go on to become valiant children of the Tsaritsa.

If there is anything more, it is disregarded as her unpredictability. She is a roach in the eyes of others, and perhaps she's ok with that…mostly.

To hear someone say "I love you" is strange to her, though it shouldn't be by now.

It shouldn't be unusual to wake up tangled in the sheets with you by her side or the struggle it ends up being to leave that mess as you try to convince her to spend five more minutes with you. It shouldn't be odd to discover that you've gone ahead and made her tea in anticipation of the time she will wake up or to have you remind her every morning that you hung her coat up to dry after she dumped it over the back of a chair the night before or to see you wandering around going about your own job.

But those events all feel surreal to her, even though she has watched you walk your patrol path a thousand times now, and she has seen you slack off where she sits by the window of Zapolyarny when you think nobody is looking.

You are very real, there's no doubt about that.

The things you do never click with her, however.

Perhaps you are real, but she made up these fantasies after watching you loiter by that one spot in the garden a little too long.

Yet every evening, you meet her in her office after you're officially let off for the day, and you usually bring snacks. You are most definitely there, then, as she watches you struggle to get through the door without damaging whatever you found for her to try, usually only small, a pastry you managed to get that you absolutely mustn't knock from your hands.

"I tried to get something that wouldn't make a big mess all over your stuff," you usually say, sometimes hacking on a 6guilty little "But~ these just looked so good…" to try and excuse you for bringing something that would cover her desk in crumbs.

Arlecchino doesn't mind because you went to the trouble of getting her something.

She got you a special chair to pull up and everything, and anyone else who uses it can deal with the death glare they get or find a different one.

But perhaps she made that up too, conjuring the image of someone fumbling their way through her office door to greet her with a smile, sometimes with jam on your mouth from taste-testing the gifts that she'll point out to you that you hurriedly wipe on your sleeve and pretend it was never there.

Maybe she put that chair there for nothing, and it never really moves, and each time she thinks this, she is sure this fantasy will all disappear.

However, every evening, without fail, as the sun begins to set out the window and the room is dyed an orange hue, the door opens, and there you are again. Delusions can't possibly be that persistent, and you would've scowled at her when she approached you in the hallways if you weren't aware of this relationship.

So it must be real, which she's well and truly aware of. There must be a person out there who sees what she cannot, someone who, by some miracle, manages to see past the things that block out all of the good. How can a person see anything but someone unworthy of their love?

What else is there to see? 

The idea of a person who deserves to be loved beneath bloodshed has become unthinkable.

For a person who has been exposed to Arlecchino's worst sins, who has seen everything, and whose worst offence in life is a little laziness on the job, how is it possible to look at her and smile?

Arlecchino often wonders as she watches you. She how you go through your routine of placing your things down, whether on the desk or beside them, then all too happily mosey on off to get your chair and drag it over to sit across from her. She doesn't know why it's this particular day that she asks. Perhaps the fact it was weighing on her mind after a recent mission had her list of redeeming qualities shrinking further and further. It is in her job description, and there are plenty of worse people in this world.

But do you deserve to be stuck with one of them?

"Did you ever feel pressured into accepting my feelings for you?" Arlecchino asks the question so suddenly as you're halfway through walking back with your chair that she sees the exact point you register what she said, freezing in place from the shock. "Whether through status or power," she adds.

You blink a few times before all the motion in your world resumes to greet you with the image of her staring you down from the other side of her desk, patient and waiting for your response. "Sorry?" You let the chair go to return alone to her, standing in the place where you always put it. "I don't, uh…follow? I'm sorry, I just— I'm not sure what you mean?"

She hesitates, momentarily glancing down before her age returns to you and your uncharacteristic expression riddled with worry. She must've made you upset again.

"You want to be in this relationship? With me, that is…" Arlecchino struggles to think of the words, saying them as soon as they appear in her mind. "Even though you know the kind of person I am, you still want that?" 

She studies your face as carefully as she can, watching the way you react as you absorb everything you just heard and assumedly try to put a response together in your head. Arlecchino has noticed before how you take longer to speak than her sometimes, but it tends to make everything you say more thought out, though you may end it like you're unsure.

"Well, I mean…if I didn't, wouldn't I just—" you pause for only a second— "break up with you?" There's silence after you finish. She doesn't say or do anything. To Arlecchino, that strangely almost makes sense, but you must be far too bold to admit that to a Harbinger. "It's not that I want to! I'm a little--…well, I think I'm just a little bit confused where that's coming from."

"I was thinking about it." You frown when she admits that. "Some of the things you have seen of me are…" Is there even a word to encompass that? "unbecoming of a lover."

Is that the right way to phrase it?

Again, you pause, and the telltale signs of consideration cross your face. An intense focus that barely lasts, and Arlecchino waits through it all to allow you your chance to answer, intent on allowing you that much. A few seconds more, and your features relax, looking back at Arlecchino with a tender gaze. "There's not really one 'right way', is there?" Your question, though rhetorical, strikes a chord with the many impulsive responses that flood her mind, all of which she keeps to herself. "You just kind of...try your best. Things might work out, or maybe they don't— the point is that you mean well and put in the work."

"That's not enough," she argues, "you deserve better."

"I deserve what I want." Your rebuttal makes sense in theory, but what do you want? She struggles to make sense of that part, the answer muddled by all of her thoughts and lost in her doubts. 

You could ask anything of her, and she would do it. Any material possession, every feeling, more love than you know what to do with in any form you desire—physical, emotional, intimate—and yet you never do. You accept her awkward hugs, that it takes her time to relax when you lay your head on her chest, the fact she sometimes snores, that her clothes may very well be covered in bloodstains when she comes home depending on uncontrollable circumstances.

You never ask for the things she has plenty of power to give you in return for those flaws.

She shakes her head, "but surely you want more."

"I don't."

"There is a lot wrong that you deserve compensation for." 

Arlecchino clenches the pen in her hand tightly, feeling the slight distress of pressure around it. She can't articulate what, not in the way she understands it; flaws is too broad of a term to use. You would instantly know and understand what she meant in a perfect world, but the world is not so generous.

"Like what?" you question. You feel that it’s obvious that nothing Arlecchino will struggle to say will shake you. She opens her mouth, prepared to refute it, headstrong and frankly stubborn as ever, but nothing comes out.

There is silence for a moment, and no one rebuts what you say. Nobody can. The only other person in the room fights with herself to yield and give in to your unwavering loyalty. In your mind, she is everything you want. There is nothing else you can ask of her than to simply accept that you wish to remain with her if only she will allow you to through her own emotional turmoil.

"Are you listening to what I’m saying?" you ask, frown creeping back onto your face as it tugs the corner of your lips down, seemingly against your will, "I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met."

Another chord is struck, her heart beating so loud it thrums in her ears like suddenly becoming aware it’s been threatening to beat out of her chest the entire conversation. She breathes, shaky and caught up in her own surprise. Somehow, she didn’t expect you to be so sweet in your words or throw her off guard so abruptly. She finds it hard to believe them. Arlecchino’s worries haven’t disappeared, only dwindled. It helps, if not completely. There is a reprieve in listening to you.

You have seen the worst of her, every crease she hasn’t ironed out, her sometimes rotten personality, her stained clothes, the weapons she cleans in your home. You have seen her walk to greet you covered in blood and gore from a savage fight, kneel before you and hold your hand with the same hands she uses to kill vagrants and petty criminals, kiss your skin with those lips that spill the vilest of curses against her enemies.

Before she realises what she’s saying, she blurts out a question, "Do you really believe that?" 

It is quiet, reminiscent of how gently you looked at her earlier as her voice barely breaks a whisper, and she can’t bring herself to break eye contact with you once she finds the courage to make it.

"I do." 

You smile at her, hoping she will smile back. A faint smile graces Arlecchino’s lips, ever the handsome picture. Her sincerity is comforting after such a scare. You still worry, and perhaps you will never stop with the way her mind likes to trick her. How long had she thought you secretly looked at her with disgust this time? You fear you won’t have an answer again, though you desperately wish for one. As much as you notice her awkwardness, dismissing some of it and observing other parts with more scrutiny, it is hard to make her talk to you at times.

"Thank you." It is all Arlecchino can think to say in response as she forgets what else she was going to challenge you on. It will return eventually, and she will face it again, but for now, it settles. Arlecchino can reasonably bury her doubt for a time.

"Can we keep talking?" you ask. 

"About anything," she confirms with a nod.

You turn away, walking across the room in pursuit of retrieving your chair from its designated spot by the wall. You pull it along, dragging it over the floor, and set it down across from her on the other side of the desk you’ve been talking across. Your seat welcomes you as it always does as you settle into place, now comfortably at eye level with her.

"In that case," you begin, taking the pen she holds and wriggling it from her hands. She relinquishes it without much of a fight, allowing you to place it off to the side out of the way. "I’m going to ask you how you are, and I would like you to answer me honestly."

"Anything for you, my love."

#♡ — anon visit. #✦ — scenarios. #✦ — fluff. #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

[queers-gambit]

Angel is the Centerfold

prompt: insecurity runs deep when Eddie's secret lady-love finds the worn pages of a centerfold - marked on a woman who looks nothing like her.

pairing: Eddie Munson x female!cheerleader!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

note: you ever just get overwhelmed and wanna dip off for a week because you need to recharge your battery? reader's actually able to do that here - lucky ducky.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: cursing (when isn't there), insecurity, small angst, comfort ending i guess.

Let's be honest, high school wasn't easy on anyone. Sure, some people could slip through the cracks while remaining unnoticed, unseen, unheard, and never bothered. Others weren't as lucky but it wasn't as bad or pressured as some other lives in high school.

I wasn't gonna make excuses for the other jocks but I found life just flowed a little simpler if I nestled myself securely on the outskirts of social circles.

I was once lead in the spring musical last year and liked to keep up with my drama friends; I was voted in as class president in October; pitcher on the softball team; might've even found myself on the cheerleading squad.

Did it make sense? Probably not to others.

But for the way my mind liked to race, keeping extra busy with a plethora of friends was easier. I was never in one 'crowd' and could hop around freely to my choosing; occasionally even hopping over to the Hellfire Club on a few random days.

Those were the conversations I was most animated in.

These guys never gave a fuck and liked pushing creative envelopes. So, they wouldn't push me about my home life but sure as shit pushed me into whether or not I thought Luke Skywalker was hot or not. Gareth was running a very important poll and it was vital I give them my honest opinion on the Jedi.

If I wanted, I usually had a seat at Hellfire, too. I couldn't make every game and usually my character was someone fleeting due to my busy schedule... But it was how I came to really get to know Eddie Munson better. He was the Dungeon Master and was always willing to hang for an extra hour to go over some details about the campaign or game.

If I didn't understand something, he was breaking it down for me. He teased me, sure, but never made me feel lesser-than for not grasping a concept completely.

It could've been the reason we started hanging out at his trailer.

Maybe it was also because life was finally catching up to me and overwhelming me in a tsunami wave of stress, and I needed an escape.

Either way, one moment, I'm content being a busy little bee, and the next, I'm crying my eyes out at Eddie Munson's trailer as a roach smoldered in a glass ashtray between us.

It became something of a regular occurrence for us. Sometimes, I ran into his Uncle Wayne on his way out to work and other times, it was nearly pitch black when I arrived. But Eddie was always welcoming; never complaining when I'd burrow into one of his hoodies for comfort; content to roll a joint and let the pair of us rant about our weekly worries.

I guess he got sick of hearing me complain so much because one evening, perhaps while rambling, Eddie leaned forward and seared his lips on mine. He made some comment about shutting me up like this from now on before pressing his tongue into my mouth and commandeering every known thought I had.

It worked... For the first couple months.

It was nice to feel like I had something private, 100% for myself. Nobody knew that Eddie Munson was the guy I spent my free time with; they didn't need to know I started blowing them off in favor of him. They didn't know how we would lay in his bed, fucking, talking, laughing, smoking; they never needed to know how he whispered sweet nothings in my ear, and like a fool, how I ate it up.

It was private. Eddie was private.

Stolen glances in the hallway, a few kisses in empty classrooms.

But then... It turned a little repetitive.

Once, I'd met him in the woods (per his request) and when I arrived 'early', he was in the midst of another deal. Waving me off as "another customer that can wait", he turned to the boy in front of him and all but basically ignored me.

I knew we weren't public, but damn, right?

And there was the time when my Mom's car tire blew and she couldn't pick me up from softball practice... But Hellfire had just let out and when I asked Eddie for a ride home, he chuckled, "I would, princess, but I don't think I could fit your reputation in my van."

I get there were some other people around when I asked, but shit.

Oh! And there was that other time when he and I went to the corner store for a few snacks and his arm was securely around my shoulders. It was about 12:30 in the morning on a Saturday, and sure, not many people were out but a few had come in after us... And Eddie had dropped his arm so quick, you would've thought he was burned.

He had waited until they were gone before letting us pay together and leave...

It was starting to feel more and more like Eddie was ashamed of me. Like he didn't want to be seen with me... Like he couldn't stomach the idea of people knowing he was into me - or I was into him.

None the less, the idea started to gnaw at my mind because I couldn't begin to understand what was so wrong about... Well, me.

Eddie had called that night and asked if I was down for a movie and joint, claiming he had picked up my favorite candy at the store today and needed my company to break into it. I had agreed with the thought that maybe I'd just gently broach the subject; just ask in earnest if there was something about me he was ashamed of or not.

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie panted when he opened the door for me, instantly leading me through his trailer, "I'm so sorry, I lost track of time. You mind hanging tight so I can hop a quick shower?"

"Oh, yeah, no problem," I assured, nodding with a small smile.

"Thanks, doll," he whispered, kissing my cheek, "be just a minute."

I nodded absently and watched him go, looking around his room and finding it only mildly messy today. I sat on his bed and rubbed my hands together, trying to think of the best way to ask him what was up, when suddenly, my eyes caught sight of a dog-eared magazine peaking out from under a pair of boxers in front of Eddie's bedside stand. Curiosity burned my stomach and I let the tip of my show gingerly toe the boxers to the side and cocked my head to get a better look.

Only... I almost wish I hadn't.

The woman in the worn-centerfold was outstandingly gorgeous and her curves were natural. You could say I was staring but there's a way you can tell - and that woman, staring up at me, was 100% natural. She was something lethally beautiful with sculptured thighs and a taunt stomach; defining outlines running along her curves.

Picture perfect.

An angel in the centerfold.

Her hair was even perfectly cascading around her, maybe akin to a halo that draped off her thin, highlighted shoulders. Reaching up to feel my own, I couldn’t help but scoff and drop my hand instantly as even our fucking hair was stark opposite one another.

I felt my mouth dry as I took note of her breasts and how they spilled from her lace bra before darting my eyes down to skim her body and land on the smooth, hairless cunt peaking out from a pair of pure white crotchless panties. Taking a sobering breath, I realized everything about her was in some way, shape, or form the exact opposite of me.

Insecurity reared its ugly head and made me question if this was the reason Eddie didn't want to be seen with me. If this was why he didn't want to commit; to date me; to let others know... Because I was wrong. I was all wrong in his mind - this woman with the perfect natural body was a reflection of what he thought was ideal.

His idea of what he wanted.

And it was the literal opposite of me.

Feeling sick, I let my foot jerk to push the boxers back over and stood nervously from his bed. The room was about to collapse on me and a ringing started in my ears, forcing my feet to move or else I'd break down in sobs right there.

Pausing at the cracked bathroom door, I knocked and called, "Hey, Eddie, I forgot my aunt's coming to town and I have to help my mom. I'll just call you later, okay?"

Praying to God my voice remained steady, I waited as Eddie mulled over my words. "A-Are you sure, sweetheart? I didn't get to see you much this week. We can always just watch a movie, or something?"

"I'm sure, I'll just call you later. Bye," I called, not leaving room for argument.

"O-Okay, call me when you get home! Bye! Drive safe!" Eddie called over the sounds of his shower; my feet surging to get me as far from the trailer park as possible.

Call it childish but I didn't call Eddie. I just didn't really have it in me to entertain a conversation where I wasn't okay. In fact, I didn't really have it in me to do anything that week. So, I took mercy on myself and canceled all of my obligations - only going to classes, and then straight home, where I remained alone in my room as my mother worked nightshifts at the hospital this week.

And at lunch, I just hung out in the SGA room where I made up for the work I'd miss from all my canceled after-school meetings.

So, it was easy to avoid everyone. Easy peasy.

Nobody seemed to notice because of how thin I constantly stretched myself, but my self esteem took a major blow that I wasn't really looking to actively heal and wanted a little peace to myself. So I made myself extra scarce by faking a really bad period so nobody would question me too much.

Turns out, maybe Eddie noticed my flighty behavior. I didn't know it, but after school on Wednesday, he caught Chrissy's elbow and ducked into an empty classroom to ask her what was up with me.

The head cheerleader assured him I was just feeling a little under the weather, not putting too much thought into why he seemed so worried. She knew you two were friends and figured he thought I was sick, not realizing he was actually trying to understand why I had blown everything (and one) off this week.

After school Friday, Eddie had enough and loaded into his van after clocking my absence at practice again. Not that he was paying attention (he totally was), but I'd missed the whole week, and he knew that wasn't normal.

So, when he showed up at my door, imagine his shock to see me answer it in my pajamas.

"Eddie," I felt my eyes widen, trying to subtly close the thick cardigan I was wearing around my leggings and tank top. "Uh, did I forget something in History?"

"Funny enough, you did."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he breathed, "see, by my observations, you've been blowing everyone off this week, and can mean you've forgotten your friends."

I scoffed, "No, not entirely."

"Yes, entirely," he repeated. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit," he shook his head. "You've not been in the cafeteria all week, you haven't been doing the morning announcements, you haven't shown up at Hellfire, or SGA, or cheer, or any of your other orgs - the hell's up with you?"

"Oh, I uh... Didn't think anyone really realized," I admitted quietly.

"When you move as quick as you do and then come to a screeching halt, yeah," he chuckled, "a few people notice. So, again, what's wrong?"

"It's literally nothing."

"So, why're you blowing me off too?"

"I'm not."

"You're standing pretty defensively in your doorway," he pointed out softly. "Am I... Like, am I not welcome anymore?" His question caught me off guard because I wasn’t sure how to answer it. My silence was enough of an answer as he whimpered, "Oh, shit, wait, what'd I do, sweetheart?"

"You didn't do anything."

"Well, obviously I did if - "

"No," I sniffled, cutting him off, "that's what's wrong, you just... You never did anything."

"Okay, darlin', I'm confused," he paused. "What didn't I do?"

"You... You were always ashamed of me, never wanted to be seen with me, or let people know we were hanging out. I get we weren't dating, but you never asked me to be your girlfriend, either. So, yeah, you didn't do anything... And then I just... I found something that confirmed I'm nothing like what you want. So, maybe you're not welcome here anymore because I don't think I was ever welcome in your life."

"Sweetheart, how can you say that?" Eddie asked in confusion. "I'm ashamed of you? No, that's the farthest from the truth! Where is this - I don’t understand.”

"C’mon, Eddie. You literally run the other way when it comes to even seeing me in public," I pointed out. "If you're ashamed, that's one thing. If you just don't want to be in a relationship, that's another. But I don't think you really want to be with me, so, let's just cut our losses."

"What the hell could you have seen that made you think I don't want you?" he scoffed. "Darlin', I just - I'm not very good at this shit, okay? And I'm the Freak, remember? You're gonna take more of a social hit dating me than I will - I just wanted to try and protect you from the ridicule coming your way for even being seen with me."

"Then that's my decision to make," I shrugged.

"You're right," he agreed. "And I'll let you make that decision on your own, but that's if you even want to be with me. 'Cause apparently you've found something that's so Earth-shattering, it's making you think I don't want you. Darlin', I worship you, okay? So whatever it is, I promise it’s not what you think.”

"Then why... Why don't I look like them?"

"What?" He asked. "Like who, doll?"

"I know it’s stupid but… The women you look at in magazines, okay? The women you fantasize about - those women. Why don't they and I look alike?"

Eddie looked gobsmacked for a moment but recovered quickly, speaking softly but strongly, “Because they're exactly that, pretty girl, a fantasy. Nothing like the real thing," he smiled at me. "And for whatever it's worth, I look at a variety of things, so, the odds of you lookin' like one of the women I look at... Are actually pretty high."

"Eddie - "

"No, I'm serious," he smirked, "'cause I just think about you most of the time. Those women might get me started but it's the thought of you that takes me out, hmm?"

"Oh, my God," I couldn't help but laugh, "okay, okay, you've made your point.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I guess I just got a little in my head.”

"So, why're you home instead of at practice? You’re always over thinkin’ something, why’s your head all in a twist?”

"Well, you, Munson, put my head in a twist pretty consistently. And for the record, it started as an insecure week that required a lot of self-care."

"Well, what's on the agenda for tonight?"

"Um, gonna paint my nails and watch a few movies?"

"Got room for one more?" He pouted dramatically. "Missed you this whole week, and I barely got to see you last week, too."

"I think I could squeeze you in somewhere," I smiled with a nod, opening my arms to let him step over the threshold and into my embrace. Against his chest, I spoke, "If I didn't want to be with you, Munson, I wouldn't be. So, don't go worrying about protecting my reputation, because I'm only concerned with my happiness - and you make me pretty damn happy.”

I felt Eddie's arms tighten and his lips press to the top of my head, "Good plan, baby. And I'm only concerned with your happiness, as well."

"All right, kiss-ass, you’re already invited in. Don’t gotta lay it on too thick.”

“Oh, so, I don’t have to offer to paint your toes?”

I paused, letting my chin press to his chest as he smirked down at me. “Well now, wait a minute…”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger thing s4 #stranger things 4 #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x y/n #requests open

[annmarcus63]

It's unconventional to live with a terminal illness for a long time. Jaskier, of course, has always been unconventional. Barely a year after meeting Geralt, Jaskier began to taste perfume on his tongue. Not long after, he began to pick out delicate little petals from between his teeth. But he gave it no thought, the perfume and the petals meant fresh flowery breath. Some maidens compliment his hygiene in comparison with the rotten breath of her husbands. Things became worrying when he woke up one night gasping, something was in his throat, he stuck his fingers inside to pried the petal out, a full yellow petal followed by a string of spit. Jaskier is filled with fear and denial which prompt him to search for a healer in the next village he visits with Geralt.

I need supplies, he said. I can get them for you, the witcher offered. No! thank you darling but you wouldn't know what kind of strings and scented oils I require to be this talented and fetching, the bard lied. The healer said he got hanahaki disease at an early stage. There's no cure but to give up the love he had for that person. But how could he? Love is not meant to be controlled or selective. Days after, Geralt saved a girl from the claws of some sick bandits that kidnapped her one week before, he was kind and patient with her, even if she couldn't stop crying to tell them where she lives. In that moment Jaskier concluded that he'd die for loving Geralt.

Years on, the disease grows to full flowers and the occasional stems that irritates his throat. He uses the flowers as decoration on his outfits, sometimes weaving them into crowns or into Roach's mane. Acacias, Lilies, Orchids and chrysanthemums, Dahlias, Freesias and some others he doesn't recognize. After a while he can make full bouquets to gifted to Geralt, he washes the blood and spit first of course. The witcher grimaces but accepts them with no complaints. Yennefer and him had a fight over telling Geralt or getting away to find someone else. You want him all to yourself, Jaskier yells. Don't be an idiot, you'd die!, the witch screams back. What is it to you? I'll die sooner or later anyways.

He weaves flowers in Ciri's hair too. It's not until the flowers begin to clog his airways that he knows he's almost there. He doesn't have much time. Geralt notices and he's worried, he confronts the bard about it too many times but Jaskier doesn't tell him. He's pale and weak the day he faints next to Geralt. The truth is revealed, Geralt is furious and feels betrayed but most of all is scared of losing Jaskier. Geralt offers to go on dates with him, to court him and make an effort. So you can forget them, he says, forget them and love me. Oh, darling, that's the problem, says Jaskier with tears in his eyes.

#geraskier #jaskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #hanahaki disease #mine #I need hanahaki disease fanfics to be happy #tag me if you know one #also is there someone here who speaks spanish and is willing to share their geraskier obsession with me #i need friends as crazy as me #the witcher netflix

[collinrobinsonsglasses]

hello!! im crumbling after learning that ofmd isnt being renewed and ive been dying for new frenchie x reader fics for months. I will take literally anything to heal my broken heart🙏

Frenchie x Reader (GN)

Masterlist

This is my first time writing a story centered around Frenchie, so I hope I did this sweet goof justice.

Summary: Frenchie comes up with a plan to get you out of work, and it ends with your first kiss.

Playing Hooky 

You had joined Stede Bonnet’s crew on The Revenge around the same time as everyone else, just before Blackbeard’s takeover. Captain Bonnet’s easygoing approach to piracy appealed to you, but the atmosphere drastically shifted when Izzy Hands took over as first mate. You preferred first mate Button’s quirky leadership on deck over Izzy’s constant yelling. As the crew stirred awake, preparing for the day, you sluggishly found your way to the galley, easing into your normal seat across from Frenchie. 

Frenchie greeted you with his usual broad, goofy grin and a wave, all the while engaged in a lively debate with Wee John. Frenchie was adamantly claiming that his friend had once encountered a siren, while Wee John countered that sirens weren’t real. Lately, spending time with Frenchie became the primary reason for you to leave your hammock and get to work each morning. Over the past few weeks sailing for Bonnet, you had developed quite a crush on him. It was hard not to, given his contagious energy, warm brown eyes, sweet nature, and lovely singing voice. He was undeniably handsome and always fun to be around. 

While engrossed in Frenchie’s animated discussion about the dangers and allure of Sirens with Wee John, you failed to notice Izzy Hand’s entrance into the galley. He swiftly began assigning tasks to the crew, designating you for lookout duty before departing as quickly as he came. Today, Frenchie was assigned to kitchen duty, and the thought of spending the day so far apart from him was disheartening. As Izzy left, you slouched over, letting out a sigh as your head rested on the table. Being the lookout had become a repetitive and utterly boring role for you this week. You found it both tedious and isolating. Izzy insisted you ascend to the foremast top to scan the horizon for other ships, but in reality, it often meant hours of staring into emptiness. 

“Well, that’s no good.” Frenchie sighed, prompting you to glance up. “This makes it the fourth time this week you’ve been on lookout.” 

“It is what it is,” you grumbled in response. A part of you was surprised that Frenchie had been keeping tabs on your ship duties, but you shrugged it off. 

“I say, lookout duty is for the birds.” Frenchie replied with a mischievous grin. “So you should play hooky with me instead.” 

Frenchie’s tempting proposal lingered in the air. You considered the ease with which he could slip away during kitchen duty, but a nagging feeling warned you that Izzy would notice your absence right away. 

“Izzy would catch me if I’m not at my post, Frenchie,” you chuckled. “How would that even work?” 

“I’m thrilled you asked,” Frenchie replied with a confident air. “Fortunately for you, I’m a master at the art of espionage.” 

“Good feckin’ luck with that, you two,” Wee John replied, abandoning the table and wanting no part in Frenchie’s antics for the day.

“Alright,” you replied, returning Frenchie’s eager smile. “I’m in.” 

As Frenchie outlined his plan to free you from lookout duty, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the odds of getting caught were almost certain. Yet, the idea of spending extra time with him today made it seem worth it. Following his instructions, you retrieved an extra set of your clothes and a hat from your belongings. 

On your way back to the galley, carrying your extra attire, you unexpectedly crossed paths with Roach. He nonchalantly twirled his meat cleaver while making his way to the kitchen. Engaging in casual conversation, Roach abruptly halted as he observed Frenchie lugging two large bags of flour and a cantaloupe from the nearby storage closet. 

“Now, wait one second,” Roach sang in a threatening tone, continuing to swing the meat cleaver in his hands. “What’s happening here?” 

You observed Frenchie’s face shift into panic as he held the bags of flour. “Oh, well, that’s a great question.” Frenchie stammered. “The captain, you know him, wanted some extra cushions for his cabin. So, I thought, why not these bags of flour?” 

“And the melon?” Roach prodded Frenchie, not sounding convinced. 

“The melon?” Frenchie questioned, momentarily forgetting it was still in his arms. “Oh, you know. He wanted a melon to eat while he sat on the cushion?” Frenchie replied unconvincingly. 

“We’re making a dummy that looks like me, so I can get out of lookout duty today,” you quickly interrupted Frenchie, sensing Roach wasn’t buying his story. 

“Oh nice. Why didn’t you say so?” Roach replied jovially, moving into the kitchen and sticking his knife into the wood of the counter. “Just bring that stuff back once you’re done.” 

“Yes sir.” you replied with a grin, before you and Frenchie headed off to his and Wee John’s room to craft your makeshift lookout dummy. 

You stuffed your spare clothes with the sacks of flour, carefully arranging the cantaloupe on top and capping it off with your hat. Stepping back, both of you surveyed your creation, with Frenchie biting his finger and tilting his head as if appreciating a work of art. 

“Is this what I look like?” you chuckled, examining the scarecrow-like figure before you. 

“Oh, lord no. A dummy could never capture your essence,” Frenchie replied with a bashful grin, causing your heart to flutter for a moment. 

“How the fuck are we going to hoist this up to the foremast without anyone seeing?” you suddenly questioned, once again doubting the feasibility of Frenchie’s plan. 

“Piece of cake,” Frenchie replied confidently. “I’ll whip up a distraction, get everyone’s attention, and give you time to sneak the dummy into place.” 

Crouched on the stairs leading up to the main deck, you and Frenchie had managed to haul the bags of flour, masquerading as you, up the stairs. Frenchie swiftly ascended to the deck, creating a commotion to divert everyone’s attention. From your vantage point, you observed him shouting to the crew and Izzy Hands about something in the water at the ship’s rear. Racing across the quarterdeck, Frenchie reached the poop deck, peering over the edge. Suddenly, the ship lurched, caught in an unexpected wind, causing Frenchie to lose his balance and, with a large splash, disappear overboard. 

Your mouth fell open in astonishment, unsure if this was part of Frenchie’s planned distraction or an accidental plunge. Regardless, the unexpected loss of Frenchie at sea triggered chaos on the deck. Most of the crew rushed to the ship’s rear, where Frenchie was standing moments before. Seizing the opportunity, you sprinted to the foremast and began scaling it with the dummy slung over your shoulder and the cantaloupe tucked under your arm. Wee John, seemingly unfazed by Frenchie’s abrupt departure overboard, chuckled at the spectacle of you ascending the rigging above him. Amused, he made no effort to draw attention to your climb. 

Reaching the platform, you arranged your doppleganger, having it lean against the mast’s railing. Securing the dummy in place with a length of rope around the wooden beam, you hastily tucked the melon into the neck opening of your clothes and placed your hat on top. There was no time to check how realistic it looked from below deck, instead you hurriedly retreated to the galley, your agreed-upon meeting spot, as the crew worked to fish Frenchie from the sea. 

A short while later, Frenchie found you in the galley. He was wearing a knitted sweater, which you assumed Wee John had made for him at some point, along with dry pants. 

Upon spotting you, Frenchie triumphantly lifted his arms, clearly relishing the success of his plan. 

“Master of Espionage,” he declared, his grin widening as his hands remained raised in the air. 

You hopped onto the kitchen counter with a chuckle. “Was it part of your grand plan to fall into the ocean, great master?” you teased. 

Frenchie grabbed an orange from the counter, likely an extra that Roach hadn’t used for breakfast, and began peeling it. 

“Not initially. That’s the beauty of being a master, babe,” he replied coolly. “Plans just come to you suddenly.” 

After peeling the orange, he handed you the other half with a genuine smile, lifting his portion for a toast. “Cheers, my dears,” he whispered. 

You were convinced that Frenchie’s plan had really changed the moment he hit the water, but his confident demeanor did have a certain charm. You both finished off your halves of the orange, placing bets on how long it would take for Izzy to realize your absence. laughter ensued as you marveled at how absurd this day had been so far. 

The peaceful camaraderie in the kitchen was abruptly interrupted by the furious shouts of Izzy Hands calling your name. Frenchie seized your hand, swiftly guiding you to the pantry in the galley, where you both concealed yourselves. The echoing stomps of Izzy’s boots resonated near you, prompting you to stifle quiet laughter. Frenchie placed his hand over your mouth, setting off a shared fit of laughter, and in response, your hand covered his mouth. 

When the echoes of Izzy’s boots faded in a different direction, you both removed your hands. “I’m absolutely fucked.” you laughed. 

As your gaze returned to Frenchie, you caught him looking down at your lips before his eyes swiftly met yours again. The confined intimacy of the small pantry suddenly became palpable, and you sensed the mood shifting. Frenchie leaned in, and his lips gently met yours. They felt soft, carrying a lingering sweetness from the orange you both had shared just moments before. Hesitantly, he leaned away after the kiss, meeting your eyes once more with a shy smile, seemingly trying to gauge your reaction. 

“Frenchie, you kissed me,” you whispered, a soft smile playing on your lips. 

“I couldn’t help it,” he whispered back. 

This time, you took the initiative, leaning in for another kiss. Wrapping your arms around him in his warm sweater, you drew him closer. The fear of Izzy Hands faded away as you both lost yourselves in the sweet, stolen moment. 

The pantry door swung open abruptly, revealing Izzy, red with anger, brandishing a cantaloupe. 

“What the fuck is this?” Izzy spat at the two of them. 

“A cantaloupe,” you replied, causing Izzy’s face to scrunch even more with rage. 

“I thought Mr. Spriggs was the only seductress on board, but I guess I was wrong,” Izzy continued. “This little trick has earned you barnacle duty for the rest of the day.” With that, Izzy quickly turned to leave, dropping the cantaloupe onto the ground. 

Frenchie shot you an apologetic look, but you responded with a giant grin. “Totally worth it,” you said, giving him one more quick kiss before following Izzy. 

“Go, Frenchie,” you heard him whisper to himself when he thought you were out of earshot, causing a smile to creep across your face. 

“Go, Frenchie,” you repeated quietly to yourself as you made your way to the deck.

#frenchie x reader #Frenchie ofmd #Frenchie #our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd fanfic #ofmd x reader #frenchie ofmd x reader

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Hi!! Congratulations on passing 1,000 followers! I thought, maybe something cool to write about would be...

Ed and Jim talking about their feelings on gender expression/presentation, and Ed realizing they are more similar than he first thought? Maybe post season 2?

This one took a sec to ferment in my brain but when it did. ooooh when it did. Trans people talking about gender is the fuckin BEST.

Send me a prompt and I'll write a 1k word fic!

--

Ed wasn’t even sure why he’d bought the little bottle of nail polish.

The crew had come round to visit for a few days - earlier than they’d expected when they got the letter from Lucius around the start of the spring, so they had to cram them into the two guest rooms they’d been able to finish. Still, Ed had enjoyed showing them around, showing off how the master bedroom was coming along, and the kitchen (Roach promised to help furnish their growing spice rack), and Stede’s garden out front.

They’d treated everyone for lunch at their favorite fish spot down near the docks, then wandered around the market stalls, everyone offering their opinions on potential new pieces of decor for the inn.

And Ed had found the nail polish at a little stall selling cosmetics and medicines and all sorts of little trinkets. It was purple, and sparkly, with little bits of shiny glitter worked into it, and he held the bottle up, admiring how the color turned rich in the sunlight.

“That’s a nice one,” the nice old shopkeeper said. “I’m sure your girlfriend would like it, too.”

He’d winked, and Ed’s stomach had turned, and he’d almost put the bottle back. He knew the shopkeeper was just trying to make a sale, but it just reminded him - it was something Ed shouldn’t want.

He bought the nail polish, tucking it quickly into his pocket before anyone could notice.

Now, here he was, standing in the bedroom and chewing on his bottom lip, unsure what to do with it. He could hide it away, like a shameful little secret, but it would eat away at him. He could put it in the bathroom, but Stede would ask where he’d gotten it, maybe even ask if he wanted to wear it.

Wearing it seemed like a whole other can of worms.

Ed remembered the first, and last, time he’d worn nail polish. He’d painted his nails somewhere between all the poetry, after he came back to the ship alone, before the bad times. And then…yeah. All that had happened, and he was reminded that wasn’t something he got to do. He’d tried to scrape it off with a knife, back then, but he’d given up after he’d nicked his fingers too many times - hadn’t been able to keep his hands steady, for some fucking reason. He’d worn those full-fingered gloves to hide it until it had peeled off.

That was just the way it was, for people like Ed-

“Hey, man.” Jim’s voice in the doorway made Ed jump - they were as quiet as a fucking cat. 

Ed let out an extremely dignified squeak of terror, moving to reflexively hide the bottle and accidentally just tossing it away from him. It landed on the bed, thankfully, instead of shattering on the floor.

“Stede was wondering where you were - dinner’s ready.” Jim, in their infinite mercy, chose not to make fun of him, but their eyes flicked to the bed. “Why are you being so weird about nail polish?”

“Not being weird,” Ed deflected, trying to think of any good excuses for why he was being weird. “I just. Uh. Trying to decide if I want to wear it.”

Jim shrugged, bending to pick it up. They nodded at the color. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Ed mumbled, looking at the floor. 

It was the caginess, maybe, that did it, but Ed could practically feel the second Jim got it.

“Oh,” they said, and then, “look, you don’t have to tell me, it’s no one’s fucking business, but - if you’re like me, then, fuck, I get it.”

“Not exactly like you.” Ed hadn’t realized how nice it would feel, to talk with someone who got it, and the little relieved smile felt good in his mouth. “I’m a man, people just thought I was a girl when I was born.”

“You know, I paint my nails, sometimes,” Jim told him. They sat on the bed, still holding the nail polish, and Ed followed them down, relaxing into the pillows.

“Are you…” Ed took a deep breath. “I’m scared, sometimes, that things like that will make people think I’m not enough of a man.”

“That’s the fuckin’ bitch, isn’t it?” Jim shook their head. “Lucius paints his nails all the time, and he’s fine. But people like us, we have to be so much more careful.”

“Yeah,” Ed nodded. “It’s like some people are just waiting for any chance to tell us we’re not actually who we say we are.”

“Fuckin’ exactly!” Jim thumped his shoulder in agreement. “It’s like, hello, I think I know myself better than you do, and I can paint my nails if I fuckin’ want!”

Ed’s laugh felt light. 

“Hey,” Jim said, passing the nail polish to Ed. “You wanna give it a try?”

Ed let his breath out, slowly. “I don’t know.”

“If you want, I’ll do it with you,” Jim offered. “And if you don’t like it, y’know, alcohol can get it off pretty easy, and we can take it off while it’s still wet. You’re a man, you’ll just be a man wearing nail polish. If other people can do it, why can’t we?”

They sat on the bedroom floor so they wouldn’t get anything on the nice sheets, and they painted each other’s nails. Ed tried to be careful to get Jim’s just right, and they didn’t complain when his hands were still a little shaky.

They were a bit late to dinner, and Ed felt a little awkward as Jim showed off their nail polish to their partners. Archie thought it was a fuckin’ dope color, apparently, but Ed hung back until Jim said “and look at Ed’s! Doesn’t he look fuckin’ cool!”

The round of agreement from the crew as they made him pose so they could all get a good look was more than Ed had expected.

Jim caught his eye over the dinner table. They winked, and Ed winked back.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics #i wish i could draw so i could draw ed and jim painting each other's nails and bitching about gender expectations

[green-fifteen]

Day 8: Slow Blink

Prompt: Smile Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier Summary: Jaskier discovers something interesting about his companion. Word count: 1,404 read on ao3 instead

written for @fluffyfebruary

Jaskier had been traveling with Geralt for four years when he finally learned something absolutely fundamental about his friend. The witcher might disagree, but to Jaskier this was the most important discovery he'd made since he'd found the man himself.

It was a hot day and they were stuck in mud up to their ankles, trudging through some hovel right at the edge of a wide river.

"Why are we here, Geralt?" Jaskier had whined, lifting his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. His companion had only grunted and walked on. "Geralt. Geralt! You know, I'm sure Roach would have a thing or two to say about you dragging her through this mire. We could catch a disease! What if we all get a parasite! And for what!"

He looked over at the horse in question to see what she thought of the situation, but Geralt moved in front of him to feed her a treat from the saddlebag.

"Roach is fine," he said. She did look fine-- crunching down on the hard, rooty end of a carrot and somehow making it through the mud like it was water instead of awful sludge that was trying to take Jaskier's shoes off his feet every time he took a step. He stopped walking, overheated and annoyed.

"That's it!" he cried. "I'm finding an inn--" he looked around at the sad little huts and gardens. "--or a tree stump, or somewhere I can go and wait for you to come back. This is ridiculous."

Geralt looked at him and said, "Okay," and gave him a look that clearly meant, Why should I care? It would be hurtful if Jaskier hadn't spent so much time with him. Geralt never wanted him to come with him on Witcher business. By now the bard was good at convincing himself it was solely because Geralt cared so much for his health and well-being.

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier made to turn around and stride away, forgetting for a moment that his shoes were firmly stuck in mud. He felt his bag drop first as he flailed his arms to steady his balance, and then he was tipping backwards as if in slow motion, gazing up at the unfairly blue sky as he finally landed on the ground. His lovely linen shirt squelched into the ground as his legs bent at the knee, his shoes still planted.

Roach stepped away, alarmed. Geralt patted her side reassuringly while his gaze was on Jaskier, who blearily noted how fetching his yellow eyes looked against the summer sky. As he watched, the witcher closed his eyes and opened them again, too long to be a blink but too short to be anything else.

Furrowing his brow, Jaskier stuck out an arm to Geralt, who sighed but heaved him out of the mud. His clothes and shoes left the ground with an awful sucking noise.

Subtly, he watched the witcher's face as he dragged himself back into order, wiping mud from his elbows and the backside of his satchel. After a few seconds, Geralt blinked, short and unremarkable. Jaskier was tempted to call it a fluke-- after all, blinking slightly longer than usual could mean anything, or nothing at all. On top of that, the bard was frustrated with Geralt, covered in mud, and wanted nothing more than to strip all his clothes off and plunge into a cold bath.

He simply said, "Right, well. I'll see you when you're finished, I assume." He tried to be subtle as he took Roach's sack of treats from the saddlebag, but it didn't work. The horse nosed at him and the witcher tilted his head and frowned even deeper.

"So you both come back," he quipped, trying to sound like he was joking even though he wasn't. "I'll just be taking this with me on my quest to find suitable lodgings. Don't be out too late, dear." He stuffed the sack into his own bag and carefully marched away.

Two days later, Geralt came back to the little riverside town, smelling truly awful and with the head of some hideous swamp-thing strapped to his saddle. Jaskier had been fortunate enough to find an old, unused stable and made himself a nice little bed out of smelly hay. He hadn't felt inspired to play (he wasn't sure anyone there would be able to pay him for the privilege) so he worked on composing new songs instead as he waited for the witcher to return.

When he did, Jaskier didn't notice at first, too busy staring into the distance and counting off lines of metered verse. He was sitting on a boulder on the riverbank with one foot on the ground and the other propped up on his seat. He had nothing with him but his lute and his leather-bound notebook.

He jumped when he felt something shove his shoulder. Roach was behind him, Geralt looming above on her back. He sprang to his feet.

"Geralt! The Lady Roach!" he said, then stopped. "What is that smell?"

Before Geralt could answer (or, more likely, not answer), Roach pushed him again with her nose. Then she pushed him again and he stumbled to keep his balance.

Geralt made a noise that might have been a sigh. "Where are her carrots, bard?"

Jaskier was trying to pet the horse into submission but she wasn't interested in being mollified and began to nose her way into his jacket.

"Is that what this is about? I have her little bag in the stable just there--," his voice cut off with a warble as Roach took a step forward, shoving Jaskier along with her, and he lost his battle to stay upright. For the second time in three days, Jaskier watched the earth turn to sky in front of his eyes as he fell backward, this time directly into the river.

When he came up spluttering, he saw Roach pawing the ground and the witcher standing next to her and staring at him. When their eyes met, Jaskier glaring in disbelief, Geralt closed his eyes again in that same long blink as before. Then he turned his head to look at Roach and did it again at her.

Jaskier stood up and dripped, looking around at the river. The water was cool and relatively clear. "There isn't an inn here, Geralt," he said. "This is probably the best place to bathe for several miles." He did want to grumble a bit at the hair plastered to his face and the soaked feathers in his hat, but the water felt like heaven in the summer humidity.

"Also, I can smell you from here."

Geralt huffed and looked away, but he tied Roach to a log and undressed. As he waded into the water and felt the grime and sweat wash away from him, he did it again. One moment his face was hard as the steel of his sword and the next his whole expression seemed to soften and his eyes fell closed, then opened again.

Jaskier felt epiphany close over him. Oh. He was reminded of the cats his sister had kept growing up. Their nurse had told them to watch and listen whenever they could because not every creature used words like they could. Pay attention to everything else, she'd said, and you'll get the message anyway.

Jaskier was paying attention. He was paying the most attention. He thought he might have just made the discovery of his lifetime. Namely, that the witcher Geralt, White Wolf and the Butcher of Blaviken, smiled. Not only that, but he did it often.

After that, Jaskier was on the lookout for Geralt's peculiar little smile. Unfortunately, he saw it most often directed toward Roach or whenever Jaskier managed to embarrass himself somehow. It wasn't until they'd been traveling together nearly ten years that he started to see it more regularly even when he hadn't just fallen over a tree stump or ripped his trousers.

When they met that spring, Jaskier spotted him at the stables before Geralt had turned around.

"Geralt!" he shouted, joy making his limbs feel light. He had stopped resisting the urge to hug Geralt somewhere around their seventh year, so he didn't hesitate before throwing his arms around the witcher, who simply looked down at Jaskier and blinked, long and slow.

He couldn't wipe the beam from his face for days.

#very late!! #but better than never #maybe? #the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #fluffyfebruary #fluff #fluffy february #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier #geralt of rivia #this is inspired by that fic where geralt's eyes dilate when he sees something he likes #but taken to a very silly place #this is shorter than it probably deserves but i don't feel like making it any longer #fifteen fanfic #fifteen #green-fifteen #green-fifteen fanfic #fanfiction

[brainlessrot]

Here you go @patterned-flannel !!! again, thank you so much for the request <3

| Part 1, Ace, Deuce, Jack |

| Part 2, Epel, Sebek, Ruggie | <

i got distracted while writting and ended up making epel and sebek’s different from the given prompt, sorry!

First years + Ruggie - They accidentally make you cry - part 2

Epel;;

You had asked Epel for help, since you had been allowed to go to a thrift store nearby, the headmage being “generous” enough to give you some pocket money, enough to buy a couple of clothes so you’d be more comfortable and a little bigger closet, having only some lost clothes that did not fit you that well and the old hand-me-down uniform you used.

So, knowing that Epel had gone under really… extensive fashion lessons from Vil, you trusted that he would help you choose something that would fit and look nice on you. But you were so wrong, so, so wrong.

Your first error was even thinking of him to help you, he absolutely hated going shopping, but he couldn’t reject your invitation knowing your situation, so he acted like a big boy and accepted, but you could see his mood sour the more you spent inside the store, and it made your interactions with each other much more awkward. And your second mistake was thinking that Vil’s hard classes would work, sure, Epel might fake his way around, but when you were the only one around that knew who he was, he let loose, acting much more rude and letting his country accent slip, not caring about, however, the things Vil had successfully drilled into his brain did not disappear, instead, they went from Vil’s harsh words through Epel’s brain translator, making the usually strict words turn into emotional damage.

“Ye really like that shirt…? ‘Kay, but ye better not come cryin’ to me if ya get thrown into yer rash by accident, ‘tis looks like absolute horse shit.” You hadn’t even shown him the piece of cloth you were looking at, and he was already crushing your style choices.

“Uggh, ye better not be lookin’ at those tremendously horrible pants right there, do ye want to look like a roach? ‘Cause you’d be doin’ it great with those.”

“Mmmh, ‘m not even gonna say nothin’ ‘bout that jacket, but you’d be better off settin’ it on fire to warm yer hands in the winter, ‘tis only works as fuel, and only if yer really desperate.”

“Oi, get yer grubby hands off them shoes, they look like-“ You had enough, even if he was annoyed because he did not want to come— even after he agreed— he should be at least emotionally mature to know that what he was doing was horrible. But who’re you kidding, you study at NRC, who has that much emotional maturity?

You left the shoes on the rack with enough strength to make it shake, the sound of the vibrations not too loud— but enough to make him shut his trap.

You only side eyed him, your gaze being enough to make the strongest magician of the world shit their pants, and who wouldn't? The prefect's wrath was terrifying to anyone who knew who you were.

The rest of the day went in silence, Epel following you like a lost puppy, hiding his tail between his legs. It left him to his own mind, repeating his own words as if it was a broken record, the more he thought about it, the more he felt like an asshole, and he wasn’t that far off.

You ended up grabbing what you liked, not even sparing a glance back at Epel, checking out the few items you bought on the way out, he pulled at the sleeve of your uniform, now too flustered at his own wrongdoings, a full 180º from his actions beforehand.

“Prefect, just wanna say, ‘m… ‘m very sorry.” He twiddled with the hem of his own sleeve between his fingers, looking down at your feet. “I was acting like a dipshit, I did not want to make yer day awful, Granny would be very disappointed in me, and ‘m too. I’m sorry I made ye mad.” You stared at him for a while before agreeing with him, he had acted like a dick, and you had gotten really mad. However, you felt that he was truly apologizing and felt bad at how he acted, so you accepted his apologies— but you told him that he was on thin ice, and the only way that he would be safe would be that the next time his family sent some apples, he’d give you some. To which he agreed, promising you that you would not find a less than perfect apple from the ones he’d give you.

Sebek;;

Oh, the mighty (half) fae Sebek, who had decided to make your day worthy of living by giving you the honor of his presence. Which would be appreciated if he wasn’t such an annoying ass.

He had seen you studying outside, completely alone, and decided that you, even if a mere human, deserved some of his help. And don’t get me wrong, he could be a good hand, after all, he studied hard and it showed in his grades. But the problem was that, first of all; he doesn’t shut up, ever, the second thing is; everything that comes out of his mouth has something to do with Malleus or how great the Thorn Valley is, and last, but not least; his volume is too loud. You could ignore him if his voice wasn’t quite as strong and potent, but alas, that is just wishful thinking. His loud demeanor couldn’t be ignored, the sound finding its way in your bones, inside your skull, vibrating through your brain. But it did not enter from one ear and leave from the other, oh no, that was impossible. And thanks to this, you were now even more stressed than before, great!

“HUMAN, you have done that equation completely wrong, from start to finish! But oh, what can you expect from a mere human?! After all, they are all low in comparison to Sir Malleus! Did you know that he is a legend in the Thorn Valley because, when he was only a couple of dozen of moons old he managed to defeat on of the top wisest sages-“ Every word that he mustered felt like a rock, falling onto your brain, making its own indent, and every hole it made, every time his words squashed your brain, you were closer and closer to losing it. “HUMAN ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?! Surely you must know about this story, right?! …You… You don’t? How can you lack the most basic of the basic knowledge from the Valley?! UGH! I can’t be even surprised, you are a lowly human after all.” That’s it, the last rock that managed to tilt the scales off, your brain going into overdrive. You closed the book you were currently using with enough force to create a pretty loud sound, making Sebek flinch and look at you with confusion.

Before he could even muster another “HUMAN” from his lips, you threw the book at him, as he was sitting in front of you, rather close because of the tiny table, you managed to hit him square in the chest.

“HUH?! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING HUMA-“ You shushed him with an accusatory finger, you got off on him, telling him that if all he was going to do was to be an annoying and racist brat he could go fuck off and follow Malleus around like the mutt he is. Your furious stare, looking directly at him, mixed with the way your voice was dripping with venom, left him without words, something that didn’t happen everyday.

You got up from your seat, grabbed your bag and walked around the table to grab the precious book you had thrown, you could sulk about possibly damaging it later. You started to walk off without telling him another fuck you in a hushed tone.

You ignored the heavy footsteps that followed you. The way you could physically feel the way he was brooding, right behind you. You didn’t want to talk to him any longer, or tears of frustration would fall from your eyes soon.

But after some minutes of following around and muttering something under his breath, just as you reached Ramshackle dorm, he spoke up.

“Huma- Prefect,” He stood stiffly at the end of the stairs that led to the main door of the dorm, arms perfectly straight and parallel to his torso, a forced position, perhaps out of nervousness or just familiarity. “I am extremely sorry.” He bent forward, almost forming a 90º degree angle, his hair fell forward, his gelled back hair sticking out as if they were glued together, how much did he apply every day? “I have wondered about my actions, and I have come to the conclusion that I was not acting in an adequate way towards you, so I offer you my sincerest apologies.” Even his apology felt as stiff and forced as his stance, perhaps he meant what he said, but his words were not… well, his.

You asked him that if he wanted to be applauded, and he only looked at you in confusion, shouldn’t you have accepted his apologies? He had done it exactly as shown in books, why wasn’t it working? You told him that even if he apologized, he still was an annoying cunt, and that you were not happy with him. That made a grimace appear on his face, had he been that bad? Yes, yes he had.

“I… I accept your words of rejection, however,” You rolled your eyes, this was making your head hurt. “I still stay by the fact that I did not intend to berate you willingly, Prefect, after all… you once called me a… friend, and I wish to remain in that position if you’d let me.” You sighed, that felt better, even if it was not enough for what he had pulled beforehand. You told him to shut up and get inside, as payment, he was going to help you with your studies, and ONLY with studies, you did not want to hear a single word that did not have nothing to do with the books.

Ruggie;;

You looked at the sad remains of money you had left after buying Grim food, you had put a limit of money you’d use for each day, since your funds were running low, and single handedly Grim’s tuna took a huge chunk of it. With the little madol you had, you could only afford a sandwich from the cafeteria, one of those that were more bread than anything, but at least you wouldn’t have to go the rest of the day without any food in your stomach, which was better than nothing, but still quite depressing.

You stood in the queue for a while, waiting as other students brought the sad cafeteria food the ghost prepared, it was not their fault, they were wonderful cooks, and managed to make the best of the things the headmage gave them as supplies, which was very little, so you respected the hard work they put into feeding the bunch of messy teens at NRC.

When your turn came, your stomach was already growling, furious that you hadn’t put anything on it until now. You bought your little sandwich and left to one of the tables, Ace and Deuce had taken Grim away, since you did not want to make the little guy see you eating that sandwich, since he would probably feel guilty, even if the start of your relationship had been rocky, the little monster had gotten quite attached to you.

You sat at the uncomfortable bench, looking at the food in your hands, you were hungry, but even then, the sandwich looked quite unappetising in your eyes.

“Shie-hehehe,” You recognized that laugh almost immediately, but who wouldn’t? Everytime you heard his laugh you got flashbacks from the incidents that surrounded Savanaclaw a while ago. “What do we have here? Why are you so alone, Prefect?” You deflected the question with another one, asking him if he was here to buy Leona anything, since he usually didn’t buy food from the cafeteria. “You’re quite bright, yes, I have his wallet right here.” He played with the wallet in his hand by throwing it in the air and catching it with ease. “But what do you have there?” He ogled the sandwich in your hands as if it was the best of the best, made by the most popular chef that ever existed, when in reality it was two slices of bread with two pieces of lettuce, and some strange matter inside. “What do you think… shouldn’t you share?”

You didn’t even notice your hands extending forwards, presenting the sandwich to Ruggie as if it was an expensive present, you tried to resist his magic, but it was too strong, and you couldn’t get out of his control. He snatched it out of your hands, taking a huge bite out of it. You stared in disbelief for a couple of seconds, your soul crushing. You had used every madol you had left for the day for that miserable sandwich, and now you stared at Ruggie, happily munching away at your conquest.

Warm tears started to drip down your face, leaving a shiny trail behind, you weren’t being overdramatic, as some would say, your body demanded food, and you could not listen to it, since it had been stolen.

Ruggie stopped biting the bread the moment he heard you sob, eyes wide and ears pulled back in worry. What happened? Why were you crying? He tried to ask you, but you hid your face in your arms, laying on top of the ugly cafeteria table. He shook your arm, the half eaten sandwich forgotten in his other hand.

“Prefect?! Are you okay? What happened?!” When your breath calmed enough to allow you to speak, your voice was quiet, breaking from the tears still spilling from your eyes, you told him that that sandwich was your food, the only food you could afford for today, since you had used every other madol to feed Grim. He felt his soul crush, you reminded him of what would happen daily back in his hometown, and he felt horrible for being the reason you were hungry and sad,

“Okay, hey, look at me,” You sniffed, wiping your eyes so you could see him properly, without the blurriness the tears added. “I’ll fix this, I'm very sorry for what I just did.” He put an arm around your shoulders, rubbing circles with his thumb on your shoulder, his soft voice as he tried to console you. “If I had known I wouldn’t have stolen it, but I’ll make it better, okay?” He quietly chuckled, turning your head to look at him. “I have an idea, but please calm down before we do it, yeah?”

You nodded, and after your breathing evened out, he walked with you, interlocked elbows, towards the register.

“Here, choose whatever you want, I’ll pay,” He winked, playing with Leona’s wallet. “Leona’s treat.”

#disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #pomefiore #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #diasomnia #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucchi x reader #savanaclaw #theyre really fucking annoying but thats what makes them special #i would absolubtely destroy their knees if i could (affectionate)

[spielzeugkaiser]

[MASTERPOST]

I did it, ahhh. This took me longer than I anticipated! But they deserve a break before things go down the drain again.

Prompts under the cut:

I had a wonderful ask about 'Jaskier fiercely trying to comfort Geralt right back.' and I wanted to include that bit. Jaskier really tries.

'How do other people see Geralt in this AU' really interesting thought! It highly depends, I think he is seen in a somewhat positive light by some of the staff, but not by all.

ROACH

Jaskier singing 'Toss a Coin' - with others near it would probably not the best thing for their cover, but if they are on their own... I don't think Jaskier feels like it, but back to the first point - he tries to make things a bit lighter.

also for everyone who asked for a break for those two - you are right!!

What also needs to be said: Geralt is the only person who can playfully display even some minor acts that could be interpreted as aggression (like shoving Jaskier on the last panel) - everyone else and this would be waaaaay different. I don't think either of them realised that yet. Last note: Thank you all for your lovely prompts!! It feels like a guilty pleasure sometimes but AHh, this is really my favourite AU to draw for.

#undercover at lettenhove #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #roach the horse #abuse tw #at this point they are both mentally at a very dark place but they still try to care for each other #I think that's why Jaskier knows he won't be able to talk Geralt out of doing a job for hubby even if they suspect it will end shitty #and Geralt functions on protection mode and caregiving alone #also a thing that keeps popping up: Jaskier does dissociate from time to time; mixed with him playing a role 24/7 it starts to erode #his sense of self and identity #but he KNOWS who he is #he just gets scared sometimes #and Geralt knows this #honestly so angsty but this is still my favourite AU I'm sorry #if hurt/comfort has 1000 fans I'm one of them - if h/c has 10 fans I am one of them - if h/c has ONE FAN I'M-

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

23 for the prompts please? Yennskier or geraskefer

🌻🌸🌺🌷

Here's some fluffy modern AU Geraskefer:

23. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

There’s a cozy scene waiting for Jaskier when he steps into his apartment. Geralt stands at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smells divine, while Roach waits patiently at his feet for a morsel to be dropped and Yennefer sits at the kitchen table, chopping herbs with swift efficiency. Jaskier takes a moment to stare soppily at his lovers while they're not looking—he knows better than to be overly sentimental while Yennefer is holding a sharp knife—before he shrugs off his coat and shoes and heads over to see what's for dinner.

“Sorry I’m late. Class ran over.” He comes up behind Geralt, giving Roach a pat before looping his arms around his witcher's waist and taking a deep breath of whatever's in the pot. “What's cookin’, good lookin’?”

Geralt leans back against him. “Endrega venom sacs.”

“Sounds deli—I'm sorry, what?"

"Endrega venom sacs,” Geralt says again.

“Yes, I heard you the first time. I still have questions.” Jaskier peers over his lover’s shoulder and finds that whatever's in the pot is disturbingly clumpy. “Why the fuck are you stewing endrega venom sacs?”

“Works better than baking them.”

"Eugh. And why does it smell so good?" Jaskier whines.

All that earns him is a shrug.

A horrible thought occurs to Jaskier. “We're not having endrega venom sacs for dinner, are we?” Early in their acquaintance, Geralt and he did have a small misunderstanding where Geralt thought it ridiculous that Jaskier wouldn’t consume roadkill raw off the side of the highway. But that was over a decade ago; surely Geralt remembers Jaskier’s delicate human constitution by now.

Yennefer snorts as Geralt turns to stare at Jaskier like he's being the ridiculous one. “Of course not. I distill the venom and sell it. They use it in facials now.”

Jaskier is never getting a facial again. “Wait, are you using our brand new pot?"

“Hm.”

“You are!” Jaskier turns to Yennefer for backup, but she's just smirking at him, because she enjoys the sight of his exasperation, the horrible witch. “Geralt, I got that pot specifically so we could have separate cookware for food and potions.”

“In his defense, he’s not making a potion,” Yennefer says.

Jaskier really doesn’t know why he loves her. “Do you want a repeat of the Black Blood poisoning incident from last year?”

“You didn’t have Black Blood poisoning,” Geralt says. “If you had had Black Blood poisoning, you’d be dead.”

“So it’s a coincidence that you made soup in the same pot where you'd just brewed a batch of Black Blood and then I spent the night sick as a dog?”

“Could have been the two-week-old takeout you ate because you convinced yourself the soup tasted weird.”

“Geralt, I could have died.”

“Hm.”

“Witchers.” Jaskier doesn’t know why he bothers. He crosses the kitchen to drape himself over the back of Yennefer’s chair, reaching for the pile on her cutting board. “And what do we have here?”

“Don’t eat it.” She brushes his hand away.

He pouts. “What, will this kill me too?”

“No, but it will make you wish it had.”

Jaskier backs away hurriedly. “Are you two trying to poison me tonight?”

Yennefer doesn’t turn towards him, but he can hear her eye roll. “We can’t be blamed for the fact that you’ll put anything in your mouth.”

Jaskier leers at the back of her head. “You don’t normally complain about what I do with my mouth.”

“I do when you're eating two-week-old Nilfgaardian food and complaining about it.”

Well, that’s just rude. Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “I’m a starving artist, my love. I need to make do with what I can afford.”

Geralt snorts. “Jask, you’re a viscount.”

“Only technically.”

“Your family has two castles.”

“Three castles if you count the villa in Toussaint,” Yennefer adds.

Jaskier hates it when they gang up on him. He really hates it when they gang up on him and they’re right. A change of subject is in order. “Well, we’re not eating venom sacs for dinner and we’re not eating scary witch herbs, so what’s for dinner?”

Geralt and Yennefer both turn to look at him with identical exasperated expressions. “It’s Wednesday,” Geralt says. “It’s your turn to handle dinner.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, mentally reviews his calendar, and closes his mouth. “Ah. Right.”

Yennefer smiles at him oh-so-sweetly, like she only does when she knows she has him cornered. “So, what’s for dinner, Jaskier?”

Jaskier throws his arms around her neck, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “My darlings, my loves, I’ve spent all day agonizing over what meal I could possibly put in front of you that’s worthy of the two most magnificent people the Continent has ever seen.”

“Takeout again?” Geralt’s lips curl into a fond little smile.

“Takeout again,” Jaskier agrees. “But the most wonderful takeout you’ve ever feasted upon—”

“Better than your cooking,” Yennefer grumbles. “I’d rather have the endrega venom.”

“You only say that because I don’t know how to prepare the tears of the innocent.”

“Of course not. That would require boiling water, something you’ve yet to master.”

“You—”

In the end, Geralt ends up ordering the takeout while Yennefer and Jaskier debate the finer points of Jaskier’s cooking prowess. But it's okay. Jaskier will just have to handle dinner next week. Most likely.

***

Angst/fluff prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome @ladykardasi

#the witcher #geraskefer #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[flowercrown-bard]

From the prompts list if you are still doing it. #10 Please - Always finding excuses to stay with each other with Geraskier. If not no worries. Thank you and have a great day.

Thank you for the prompt! Sorry it took me so long to get to it

Geralt didn't get it. A decade ago, perhaps it would have made sense, but after Blaviken? It didn't make any sense why a human would insist on staying with him. 

The first day, Geralt merely watched the bard with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to slip up and reveal the real reason why he kept following him. Waiting for the knife to be pulled on him. 

But of course, the bard didn't carry a knife and even if he did, he was more likely to hurt himself than to do any harm to Geralt.

So Geralt kept waiting.

Tomorrow, the bard would be gone. Surely. 

-

"I'm afraid Roach has nominated me as her new best friend and it would surely break her heart if I left," Jaskier said as he bribed the mare into showing some tolerance for him by sneaking her an apple. "You can't seriously expect me to hurt a lady's heart like that.

But just the day before, Geralt had returned to camp only to find Jaskier scolding Roach for chewing on his clothes and telling her that she was the most uncivilized horse on all the continent. There was no love lost between the two of them. So clearly, Jaskier was lying about the reason why he had to stay. 

Geralt just didn't know why. 

-

He still was there by the time the new week rolled around. Geralt could be a patient man. He had to be, for when he had to wait for hours until a monster showed up.

But this was grating on his nerves. It would have been easy to say that Jaskier was the thing aggravating him, but really it was the not-knowing, the not-understanding. 

So Geralt waited. He could be a patient man.

-

"There's truly nothing as convenient as having a traveling companion who can hunt for food," Jaskier would declare, or "You really are the best at finding spots in the wood where the ground is slightly less hard. I'll have to stay a while longer, just so I get some good sleep." 

It was bullshit and they both knew it. After Jaskier's damn song had taken off, he had more than enough coin to rent a room at an inn - hell, there were even some taverns where he was offered room and board for free as long as he performed. There was no reason for him to put up with the hard ground of the forest or the unseasoned meat Geralt cooked. 

Clearly, Jaskier was making up reasons to stay. 

Geralt just had no idea what the real reason might be. 

–

"No, I don't mind wandering the woods with you," Jaskier lied, "In fact, it might be for the best if I avoided towns for a while. There might be some nobles whom I've not-so-accidentally insulted. No, best I stay away."

Geralt rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. It wasn't a lie exactly. By now he knew Jaskier well enough that he could tell that there definitely was a number of people who wanted the bard gone. Geralt's first instinct was to think that he understood that inclination only too well. But that hadn't been true for quite a while.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that Geralt knew for a fact that Jaskier didn't care about who he had pissed off or in how much trouble he was. His own safety could not be the real reason why he stayed with Geralt. After all, what could be more dangerous than being with a witcher? 

For a moment, Geralt contemplated saying these thoughts out loud, but the words wouldn't leave his lips. Jaskier might take them too heart and what would Geralt do, if Jaskier decided that there really was no sensible reason for him to stay? 

So Geralt banished all reason from his mind. 

"Come on then," he said as he lead Roach off the road. "Better stay close so I can make sure you cause no more trouble." 

–

After the sixth month came and went, Geralt decided that he had been a patient man for long enough. He was itching with unease. 

At first, he told himself the feeling came from wanting the bard gone, but the more time he spent with him, the more he realized that it was quite the opposite. 

For as much as the bard was annoying and inconvenient and overall a nuisance, Geralt found himself dreading the day Jaskier would leave. 

Because Geralt didn't understand why he was staying. So he didn't know what he could do to make sure Jaskier continued to stay. 

So there was only one thing he could do: Until he figured out how to keep Jaskier from leaving, Geralt simply had to take a page out of the bard's book and make up excuses for why they shouldn't go their separate ways just yet. 

He was determined that one day, he would find out the truth. And maybe, once he stopped focusing so much on why Jaskier wanted to stay with him, he could finally ask himself why he wanted so desperately to stay with Jaskier as well. 

#Thank you for the prompt! #Geraskier #Geralt #Jaskier #Fic #Ficlet #Witcher #My writing

[8-rae-rae-8]

Idk how to word prompts but like Ghost turning into a werewolf but he regresses as well from how stressed out he was all day from the full moon (maybe Gaz, Price or Roach see him?? Idk you decide) -🐯

You get a drabble :33

It's probably not perfect I wrote it at 5am

He growls at first. His body all sorts of different, scars and chopped fur after his transformation. A large majority of the scars due to Roba's "care". Or lack thereof. He was about the size of a Saint Bernard, but less fluffy. Just big, if not a little bigger than a saint Bernard.

Ghost is untrusting with everyone. Getting a scent helped though. He had to be reintroduced almost every time, unless he was feeling really small. His headspace could reflect on what size he was when he transformed, but not after that.

The full moon rapidly approaching had him in shambles. Prepping everything, foods, a change of clothes for after. Making sure everything was perfect... It wasn't even that big of a deal. Johnny just couldn't know.

Outside of food, and some wolf necessities, he was taking care of Soap. He purposefully got him regressed and hyper all day so he would sleep the whole night. Maybe he shouldn't have done it with sweets, but he did what he had to do. It worked, Soap was tuckered out and he was getting a full night's sleep.

Ghost was not. He was pulling his things outside, the food and a large dog bed. He didn't want to even be inside on the off chance that Soap would look for him.

It couldn't come fast enough. The full moon taking its rein over the night sky. It almost reflected blue off mirrors facing the moon.

Ghost simply blinked up at it, exhaustion taking him as he managed his painful transformation. A wolf, bigger than a saint Bernard but not by much. His size stunted slightly compared to other werewolves, he could blame his family for that. The lack of nutrients, safety, and pack bonding growing up was hard, mentally and physically.

He had those things now, except for the lack bonding... It was dangerous, but he wasn't going to let Soap know. He'd be upset.

The stress was catching up to him. All his worried about Soap learning about him.. they, too, managed to burrow into his head and stay there. Clouding it in fuzziness.

A whistle got his attention, ears perking up as his head whipped around. Gaz had a specific whistle, this was more like his. Price's was more generic.

"Cmere, boy." Gaz called to him, sitting on a crappy piece of lawn furniture as he beckoned him closer. He must be tracking the moon cycle. The last two times, it was Gaz who was there. Always with toys or games.

His tail wagged, suddenly pulled out of his upset mood. The fuzziness stayed, but it didn't feel hindering. More like freeing. Like a pup. Simon dashed up to Gaz, plopping his furry bottom on the ground next to him.

"good boy, you wanna play, si?" Gaz 100% used the tone people typically reserve for puppies. He hair couldn't help it, Simon was both adorable, and lacking his usual bite.

Simon eagerly agreed.

Play time laster far, far longer than it should have. Gaz's hands were gross with spit covered toys that he threw for Ghost. And Ghost was tuckered out. The rules were strict, which also got him sleepy. No barking, no yipping, no growling (unless it was playful). The barking could wake up Soap, his own rule to follow.

The dog bed was accompanied by the both of them. Gaz sitting down first then Simon joining, laying his big head on his lap while he still panted from the toys. It was all so good. For now, he forgot he was scared. The toys still caught his eyes, but then he averted them when the distraction got annoying.

"You did good, Si, sleep it off...." Gaz muttered to him as he pet the coarse fur throughout Ghost's body.

A wet snoot pressed against Gaz's cheek in a few seconds. He got a lap full of heavy, whiney wolf. He didn't want to sleep... He wanted pets, and cuddles, and Johnny... Soap wasn't an option, so he had to stick to the other two.

"I know, si..." Gaz wheezed out. He still hugged Simon even though he was too heavy for a lap dog... Lap wolf?

Loud whimpers came from him as he pressed his snoot up against Gaz's chin instead. Whining and huffing.

The affection was nice, if only it actually soothed the ache in his chest. He wanted Johnny to pet him, tell him he was good too.

It just wasn't in the cards.

Gaz softly stroked Ghost's fur until the whining stopped and he slumped against him instead. The dog bed grew more uncomfortable, but Gaz didn't dare leave. He kept a sad Ghost in his lap.

Whispered assurances got Ghost shifting so Gaz could breathe, then scratches behind the ear had him wagging his tail again. Happier, at least a little.

His head came to rest back on Gaz's thigh. Simon let himself breathe and just be a puppy for now, despite his big size. Gaz was there, that's all he could ask for. Someone to watch over him.

#gazghost #werewolf!ghost #cod Agere #cod Petre #call of duty #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick

[thewitcheress2389]

Could you write a cute #11 and #12 (from the prompt list) for Geralt?

Sure!💖

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

A Feeling of Emptiness

They say witchers have no emotions. You, however, disagree.

#11 “You deserve so much more than what I can provide you.”

#12 “You aren’t alone. I’m always here with you.”

He was quiet, but wasn’t he always quiet? 

Geralt of Rivia was a witcher, a man of few words. But he was different with you, someone he cared about. It was the little things really that showed you that Geralt cared about you. From speaking more, to letting you near Roach, and even keeping a closer eye on you when out on the Path. 

He trusts you and loves you, he told you so himself. It was the reason he agreed to let you come with him.

However, he was quiet with you now. Why?

You got hurt.

It’s happened before, but this time was different. You went to bath in the lake and got ambushed by drowners, who tried to pull you down to the bottom of the lake and feed on you. Geralt managed to save you, at the expense of your bath and shredded legs.

Which he was tending to now.

“I’m sorry, Geralt.” You said softly, thinking that if you apologized for something, anything, he might speak to you.

“It’s not your fault.” He simply said, dabbing at your cuts before working to sew the deeper lacerations shut. The witcher was still soaking wet, not having bothered to take off his clothes to dry or even start a fire. His first priority was making sure that you were alright.

But still, he seemed off.

“Geralt...please, you’re like this every time something happens to me...I just want to know why.” You told him, moving a hand out to touch his shoulder, but decided against it.

The witcher finished stitching you up, and then sat in silence for a few moments.

“How could I tell you that...every time you get hurt...every time you cut yourself...every time you break a bone...it’s just a reminder to me that you are human...that you are fragile...” His voice trailed off a bit as he looked off towards the trees. Then, he murmured something that you could barely here.

“...and I could lose you.”

The quietness in his voice made your heart break, and the fact you could sense the feeling of emptiness he would have if something ever happened to you made your chest ache more. Geralt was making himself vulnerable to you now, and it seems he’s been holding it in for a while.

“The Path is no place for you, and I should’ve known that...I’m sorry.” He simply said, looking down at his hands, balling them into fists as he tried to control how he was feeling. 

You were about to say something, but Geralt said something that shocked you.

“You deserve so much more than what I can provide you.” Geralt said, slowly meeting your eyes. They say witchers don’t have any emotions, but looking into Geralt’s eyes, you thought otherwise.

He looked like he wanted to cry but was unable to do so.

“Geralt...you provide me with plenty.” You tried to convince him otherwise, moving to sit closer to him. However, he merely shook his head.

“You deserve to be with someone...someone who could provide you with a normal life...someone like Jaskier.” Geralt must’ve really been in a funk to say what he just said. 

“Hell no.” You said while wrinkling your nose. Your comment caused a slight smile, but it was gone rather quick. It was clear that the witcher was severely struggling with his emotions.

You were the first person that he’s ever cared this much for, and he didn’t know how to handle that. He wanted you safe, and in his mind, the safest place for you was farthest away from him. Trouble seemed to follow him everywhere.

But he just couldn’t bring himself to push you away because...

“I...I don’t want to be alone...” Geralt admitted, leaning into your warm touch as you pressed against him. He sounded so sad and vulnerable, but you could see his dilemma. He knew you’d be safer away from him, but he didn’t want to be by himself again.

The witcher’s been that way for too long.

“You aren’t alone. I’m always here with you.” You told him sincerely, placing a hand on his arm. Geralt looked over at you, his glowing eyes full of shock.

“But Y/N...I put people in danger...It’s better for you if you were away from me.” He said and you shook your head, moving closer to hug him. You felt him tense up a bit at the touch.

“Geralt, you don’t get to decide what’s better for me. I do. I know where safe is for me, and it’s right next to you.” You said to him, trying to explain that you just as easily could’ve been attacked by drowners or pinned by a griffon back home.

But back home didn’t have Geralt, and the outcome would’ve been way worse.

“Really?” He asked, a hint of hope in his voice. You just shot him a smile.

“Really.” You told him, and the brightness was back in his eyes. Geralt gave you one of his rare sincere smiles, happiness practically radiating off him when you told him you were staying.

And just to prove it to him, you leaned in for a kiss.

Geralt accepted.

“I will never leave for someone like Jaskier.” You promised him after pulling away, stroking his wet white hair.

“If that ever happens, please just kill me.” He said, and you both laughed. Well, you laughed, and he chuckled lightly. The tense atmosphere was lifted as you both reveled in the fact that you won’t be going anywhere.

Geralt even started a fire thanks to his lifted spirits.

And the next time you got attacked by a monster, Geralt didn’t become his stoic and silent self. Instead, he comforted you and talked with you as he tended to your wounds.

All he had to do was remind himself how much worse it could’ve been if he wasn’t there to protect you.

#the witcher #witcher geralt #the witcher geralt #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt imagine

[house-afire]

Scientific Reasoning (Frenchie/Izzy, post-S2)

Prompt: 100 words of unusual logic

No matter how often Izzy insisted his gut-wound had healed up soundly, Frenchie—irritating twat—only had to see him wince once, and he’d order Izzy off-duty.

The fucking crew didn’t even have the decency to object to this.

“You are looking kind of tired, Izzy,” Fang said.

“Plus you’re even more of a dick when you’re hurting,” Lucius added. “And you just threatened to drown me in a water barrel, so ….”

Everyone nodded at that.

“We’ll know you’re back to normal when you just stick to yelling about maiming,” Jim said.

Izzy glared at them all and stomped off.

“Feel better!” Oluwande called after him.

He was tempted to go back to his old room, but turning himself out of Frenchie’s bed felt too much like a childish sulk even to him. He wouldn’t seem beleaguered; he’d just look like a cunt. He headed to the captain’s quarters instead.

He hadn’t realized Frenchie was already there. Two months of this—whatever it was—and he still felt a catch in his chest when Frenchie gave him that easy smile.

Felt more than that when Frenchie kissed the scowl off him and untied his cravat, his fingers a hot brush against Izzy’s throat.

Izzy wanted to just sway into his hands—maybe get down on his knees and do the kind of job he would fucking hope Frenchie would still let him handle on his own—but he couldn’t keep on being coddled like this. He had to say so, so he did. So he said it against Frenchie’s neck and had his teeth scraping Frenchie’s jawline for half of it, fine, that didn’t mean it hadn’t been fucking said.

Besides, Frenchie understood him anyway. “If it makes you feel better,” he said, letting Izzy steer him over to the bed, “I thought about it, and this—” He grazed his hand over Izzy’s latest scar, like it wasn’t an ugly red mess, like it was a gorgeous knee-knocker of a thing just for being there, when it could have just been an open wound in a cold corpse. “This is the last serious hit you’re ever going to take. So once you’re all healed up—”

“I fucking am!”

“Once Roach says you’re all healed up,” Frenchie said, being too clearheaded for a man getting his trousers undone, “then the way I see it is, you’ll be more or less bulletproof, won’t you?”

Izzy boggled at him. “How the fuck do you figure that?”

“Glad you asked,” Frenchie said, lying back and putting his hands behind his head. “Since we met, you’ve been shot twice, yeah?”

“Nice of you to keep track.”

“Well, the first time, Ed made me the new first mate. And the second time, one thing leads to another, power vacuum, B&B openings, all that—I get elected captain. So I feel bad about it, but I think you only get shot so I can get promoted. And I’m at the top of the career ladder now, so you’re—”

“Bulletproof,” Izzy said.

“Just logic, really,” Frenchie said. “Scientific reasoning.”

It was fucking nonsense. And Frenchie looked so satisfied with it that there was no way he didn’t know it: Izzy knew the way he looked when he’d come up with a line of pure bullshit that’d outfoxed some deserving asshole of a mark, and it was this exact pose: all cheerful accomplishment and like butter wouldn’t melt in that pretty mouth of his. Only this time, Izzy supposed it was fate Frenchie was looking to outfox.

He was too old to believe that sort of thing was possible. But he was also old enough that his edges had started to fucking crumble, and he wasn’t hard and sharp enough anymore to see the worth in putting out the light in someone’s eyes. In making them admit that the world was harsh and unkind.

He wasn’t even that interested in making himself admit it, these days. When he was with Frenchie and the rest of them, he wasn’t even all that sure it was true.

Izzy couldn’t say any of that, though. It’d be a snake eating its own tail, and its tail would taste like fucking treacle besides.

Instead, he said, “I’ll be shit-out-of-luck if we ever get a fleet, then. Best keep a pistol loaded if you want to make admiral.”

Frenchie curled one hand over the back of Izzy’s neck and pulled him down.

“I’m good without it,” he said. “Who needs a fleet, when you come down to it? I don’t want a number two ship. Just a number one Iz.”

Izzy closed his eyes, something inside him stuttering and stilling.

“Then we’ll both do fine,” he said. “‘Captain’ sounds better than ‘Admiral’ anyway.”

“It’s just got more verve to it,” Frenchie agreed. He traced Izzy’s scar again, that same achingly stunned look on his face. “Don’t think I could ever go for anything else.”

#izzy hands #frenchie #frenchie/izzy

[innytoes]

Chaotic Prompts II: Electric Boogaloo

It fucken wimdy

What do you mean, the raccoon stole the ring you planned to propose with?

I am straight up not having a good time right now

Come here you little gremlin

I am being so normal about this

Should I even ask or should I just assume the answer to your current predicament is 'I'm stupid'?

Excuse me, I'm not done saying hi to your dog yet

When I said 'be gay do crime' I did not mean this

Stop flirting with yourself in the mirror

It's a trash can, not a trash can't

Okay but serious question: What's your favourite dinosaur?

Get down from there

Oh, you're being gay. Good job, carry on

My tummy hurts but I'm being so brave about it

Yeet!

I got you Oreos as a peace offering

I came out to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now

I am a pretty, pretty princess, thank you for noticing

Oh no you activated their Mom Friend Mode

So basically your roommate is a cat?

Okay so I can explain

Why is your arm stuck in the vending machine?

Let's go, lesbians!

I can't believe our first date ended up in the emergency room

Hi Hungry, I'm dad

You bought him a cake that said 'nice ass, bro'

How am I supposed to Kiss Kiss, Fall In Love in these conditions?

You know, because of colour theory

If I were an alien I'd abduct you first

You could if you weren't a fucking coward

No thoughts, head empty

Please don't ever refer to yourself as that again

I feel like you're not taking this powerpoint presentation about why you should date me very seriously.

I'm just a silly little guy

The last thing you ate is what we have to name him... um, okay maybe not that.

I am a grown-ass adult and if I want to spend my hard-earned money on this I will!

Weird flex but okay

Fire solves all problems

What would your rather find living in your attic? 1000 roaches or one person?

I'm too pretty to be dealing with this

The house is burning, and you can save the cake, or me, what do you choose? / That's not fair, the cake doesn't have legs.

Have you no shame?

You are the yee to my haw

In my defence the five year old started it

So hear me out... we kidnap him...

I'm sorry I can't keep making out if your cat keeps staring at us like that

Kissing the homies goodnight

I'd beat up Satan for you

Eff this, I should be at the club

Eff this, I should be at Build-a-Bear

How are you going to gaslight gatekeep girlboss your way out of this?

You may not believe in mothman, but mothman believes in you

I am so totally chill right now

At the next inconvenience I will start biting people

They smell like sparkles and sunshine and I want to kiss their stupid face so bad

I'm sorry you broke your arm how?

We take stuffed animals very seriously in this house

Yeah that sounds like a you problem

Do you need a hug? You just seem very upset over the shape of these potatoes

Mistakes were made

I'm not like other girls. I'm worse.

They cut your grilled cheese into triangles, that means they're in love with you, bro

Is this a mid-life crisis because if it is I'm a bit worried about your lifespan.

Just because you can buy a box of five hundred tiny plastic meerkats does not mean you should.

Aww, it's baby's first war crime.

I don't think pancakes are going to fix this. I think I need ice cream too.

(For more chaotic prompts, part one is here.)

#fanfic prompts #feel free to use these if you want #writing prompts #julie and the phantoms #ask me #because of who I am as a person I probably won't get to all of them #so feel free to send more than one

[bumblebeehug]

Stars and Roaches

Ship: Natsu Dragneel x Lucy Heartfilia Summary: When Natsu starts behaving differently, Happy takes Lucy along to investigate. Day 4 of Nalu Week 2023 - prompt: shenanigans Ao3

***

“Dear Lucy, please come to your living room 14:30 sharp. There is something that needs to be discussed. DON’T BE LATE!! /Anonymous”

Lucy blinked as she read the bright orange post-it note again. To be honest, when she woke up this morning, she hadn’t expected to open her eyes to that neon-coloured paper. The person who wrote it must have managed to sneak in sometime during the night, because when she woke up it had been stuck onto her forehead. Clearly this person meant serious business, and though Lucy would have been scared, or at least a little nervous, knowing someone had broken into her house in the middle of the night, she couldn’t bring herself to even feel surprised. The letters on the tiny paper were just messy enough to only be possible to belong to one person she knew – and that guy just happened to leave evidence that solved the mystery immediately - some blue hairs on the sticky part of the post-it.

Knowing she couldn’t leave Happy hanging when it came to this urgent matter, she decided to stay in this morning, and spend some valuable time writing on a draft to an article Jason had offered to pay her for. The article itself wasn’t very urgent, but she never complained to get work done beforehand whenever it was possible.

Just as she had finished the first rough draft, the sound of pebbles smattering on her bedroom window filled the room. The clock on her left arm said “14:38”, so clearly the “sharp” part hadn’t been as serious as it had seemed.

“I’ll be right there!” She shouted, not bothering to hurry to let her guest in. She wanted to properly close the bottle of ink and clean the pen, and if Happy was around, she’d probably get to the task hours later, which sometimes harmed the pen and always spoiled the ink. So, she took her petty time cleaning up, ignoring the continuous knocking on the glass.

Before she opened the window, she took another glance at her clock. “14:45”. Oh well, she would just have to apologise by buying him some fresh fish at a later date, if he bothered to remember it that long. When she finally unlocked the window, not without using some force, she was met by a frown.

“You took AGES to get here, didn’t I say 14:30 sharp?!” He scolded her.

“Oh, I thought so too, but then you were 8 minutes late, so I thought I could take my time. Sorry, Happy.” She tried to feign her innocence, but failed, feeling a smile creep on. “So, what’s the urgent matter? You wanted to discuss something?”

Happy sat down on Lucy’s table, beside the article she had been writing on. To get herself closer to his eyelevel, she decided to sit down on the chair in front of him.

“Right. Well, you know Natsu?”

“I’ve heard of him, yes.”

“Yeah, so, I heard he’s been planning something big for tomorrow.” Lucy couldn’t keep her poker face when Happy himself looked so serious. A few chuckles slipped out before she regained control. He was being adorable, she thought, taking this planning thing seriously enough to bother making anonymous notes regarding it.

“And why do you think that’s weird?” She asked, allowing herself to feed this little fantasy. “Doesn’t he just say that sometimes, like when he’s saved up enough money to treat himself to a 20-course meal at a restaurant?”

“Well, I thought so too, until I saw him wrapping up a present. But listen, it wasn’t a good present at all, because the box was really small, so the fish inside must be tiny! And quality over quantity might work with other things, but fish are a lot better when you can take more than one bite.” He crossed his small arms as he thought about this puzzling situation.

“Do you know if it’s someone’s birthday?” Lucy asked, now slightly more interested in this mystery.

“No one at all comes to mind. I think he’s been meeting someone in secret.” His words struck through Lucy’s body like lightning. Could that be true? He had been slightly off lately, and a lot more laid-back regarding missions. She shifted her seat uncomfortably.

“Do you really think so?”

“It’s the only explanation.”

“No, but maybe he’s celebrating some date we’ve forgotten. What date did the three of us meet again?” She was getting desperate to solve this conundrum.

“I’m telling you that’s not it, Lucy. I’ve checked all our calendars, that’s why I was here last night.”

“Not to stick post-it’s on my forehead?”

“That became the aftermath of not finding any reasonable explanation to his behaviour. Have you even noticed that he hasn’t been at your apartment as often?”

“Well, sure, but I thought he just had something else to take care of… But what are you saying, do you think he’s been meeting some secret person… romantically?”

“Of course not, where did you get that from?” Happy deadpanned. Lucy ignored the feeling of something heavy getting lifted off her chest and continued talking.

“So, he’s just up to weird stuff, is that what you’re implying?” She sat back in her chair and took a deep breath to regain her critical thinking skills, that for some reason got turned off when Happy brought up that hypothetical person.

“Yeah, but the fact that we know nothing about it makes it really weird, don’t you think? We don’t have secrets, so why is he suddenly breaking that rule?” Happy stood up and starting walking across the table and back. He seemed really puzzled, but Lucy knew it was concern in disguise.

“It is weird… You’re right. But why can’t we just ask him about it? I’m sure he’d gladly tell us about whatever he’s doing.”

“Ask him… That’s right! I haven’t tried that yet! Let’s go there immediately and ask him!”

He hadn’t even asked Natsu about it… It took Lucy great amount of power to not smack her palm to her face. Sometimes she worried about the lack of problem solving Happy showed, but since he’d made it this far in life without it, she couldn’t exactly rewire his brain suddenly to live his life differently – though surely it would make his life easier.

Not wasting any time, she grabbed her jacket and headed out the door, right after Happy who urged her to go faster. As they made their way over to their house, Lucy tried to wrap her head around this whole thing herself. It was certainly true that Natsu hadn’t hung around Lucy’s apartment as often, but she hadn’t thought of it since Happy made sure to visit regularly enough. They did that sometimes, so she didn’t think anything of it. Plus, if Happy was right about that whole present thing, the size of it sounded too much like a box that held jewellery, which, whether Happy liked it or not, could only mean that there WAS a secret romantic special someone. And though it wasn’t any of Lucy’s business, she felt like she had failed him, because she truly wanted him to be able to share things with her. Had they really started to grow apart? And how could that be possible when she felt like they had been closer than ever, when they actually DID hang out?

She stopped herself from eating her heart out regarding this topic. It would be silly if she spent all this time worrying, just for it to be explained with the simplest reasoning as soon as they asked. But then again, she still had to prepare for the worst.

“Are you sure he’s home?” Lucy asked as their house started to emerge in front of them.

“Aye,” Happy said, flying slightly ahead. As he entered, the door flew up with a loud bang, which surely would scare any living resident to death, if said resident hadn’t already both heard and smelled them coming.

“What’s up?”

Natsu smiled broadly, surprised but pleased with this unexpected company. Lucy immediately felt calmer when she saw him. There was no way he held some big secrets from them, their Natsu just wouldn’t do something like that.

“Nothing much,” Lucy smiled, taking off her jacket. “I just haven’t seen you in a while, so I thought I’d pay you a visit. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, well… Nothing much. I’ve just been hanging around, did some trainin’ and stuff.” Had he told Lucy this yesterday, she wouldn’t have bat an eye, but since she now paid more attention, she noticed that he glanced around, as if he was stopping himself from telling too much.

“How nice.” She didn’t want to come off as if she was interrogating him, so she played innocent while she prepared herself to confront him. “You guys still got some tea, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll fetch it for ya.” As he went into the messy kitchen, rummaging the higher shelves, Happy shot Lucy a meaningful glance. She understood he was getting impatient, but she ignored his sense of urge and continue taking this slowly.

“Thanks, Natsu,” she said, tilting her head slightly to further prove her innocence. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary for her to act like this, but she allowed herself to go the extra mile this time, to get him to obey her later. She hurried boiling some water and preparing three cups with teabags so she could get to business.

Meanwhile, Natsu had noticed that something was off with Happy.

“What’s the matter bud? You’ve been awfully quiet since you got here.”

“Yeah,” Lucy added, “are you feeling alright?” She sometimes wished he could practice his poker-face, because right now he was looking both guilty and secretive.

“Uh…”

“Maybe your stomach is hurting from the fish I gave you earlier?” Lucy was lying, because she definitely hadn’t given Happy a fish, but she hoped he’d get the hint to continue this small lie.

“No, that’s not it.”

Lucy sighed before she repeated herself.

“I said: MAYBE your STOMACH is hurting from the FISH you ate earlier?” This time she sterned her eyes into his – she couldn’t be more obvious than this, and she honestly worried Natsu would see through this act they were putting up.

“Oh! That fish! Yeah, now that you say it…” Happy chuckled nervously, now glancing over to Natsu, who looked like he started to find them suspicious.

“Well, the tea is ready, let’s sit down.” Lucy got both of their attention, and hopefully Natsu wouldn’t ask further about it. Well, he wouldn’t need to when they unravelled this little secret he had, because after that she would make both of them vow to never keep secrets from each other again. At least no romantic secrets, because no matter what Happy said, she couldn’t think of any other reason Natsu would own a ring box.

When they all sat by the messy kitchen table, Lucy once again tried to invite Natsu to tell on himself.

“So, what do you do when you’re not hanging around my place nowadays?” She asked, this time trying to point him in the right direction. ‘What is so important for you that it lessens your time spent with me?’ she actually tried to ask, but all she could do was hope he understood what she meant.

“As I said, I’ve been trainin’ some. Nothin’ interestin’, I’ll tell ya that.” She followed his movements as he readjusted his seat, sitting back and resting his arms behind his head.

“But tomorrow! You told me you’d planned something for tomorrow!” Happy busted out, no longer having the patience to sneak around the subject.

“Happy!”

“Tomorrow? I didn’t think you’d remember I mentioned that.” Lucy swung her head around to look at Natsu again.

“Aha! So there is something planned tomorrow!” She had to admit that she wasn’t too proud of how intense she became, but clearly there was no point in going around the main subject.

“He told you?!” Natsu exclaimed. “Oh well, I guess I’ll just do it today. Though I had it all planned out…” He mumbled the last part of his sentence and walked away, seemingly to fetch something. When he came back, he held that small package that Happy had been talking about. Lucy felt her face heat up, because clearly it was meant for her.

“I wanted to have some privacy,” Natsu shot Happy a meaningful glance, ”but I suppose I’ll just have to do it like this.”

The box was wrapped in silvery paper, with a golden ribbon holding it together. It looked odd, coming from Natsu’s hands, since it wasn’t exactly his type of gift, yet she still couldn’t look away from the sight. If this turned out to be a meaningful moment between the two (now three, she supposed) of them, then she wanted to remember every single second.

“I don’t know if you remember, Lucy, but almost exactly five years ago, something happened that changed our relationship forever.” She held her breath. “I think you’ll understand when you open this, but we haven’t exactly celebrated it before so no worries if you don’t.”

Lucy looked up at Natsu. He looked so sincere, almost shy, and she took an internal picture so she could save and savour this moment forever. She thought she saw a faint blush, like a watercolour wash, paint his cheeks, which she only found fitting considering her own bold, red face.

“Natsu…” She began, accepting the gift and looking over at Happy quickly, not wanting to miss out on his expression. Happy looked really invested, and maybe slightly uncomfortable, like he was intruding on an important moment. Natsu didn’t seem to mind his presence too much though, so she turned back to the item in her hand.

Giving Natsu one last thankful smile, she unravelled the bow and opened the wrapper. The box itself was a gorgeous red, only comparable to Natsu’s deepest fire, and it was clad in a soft velvet, making it feel ethereal in her hands.

“Oh, Natsu,” she said again, too flattered by his thoughtfulness to even open the box. “I feel so bad, I can’t remember what we’re celebrating at all!”

“No worries! I’m telling you, it’s nothin’ special, really. I just wanted to bring some light to what happened five years ago. I promise, you’ll remember as soon as you open it.”

“But I have nothing to give you back! Especially nothing as gorgeous as this… Can I really accept it?” She felt really bad, because no matter how hard she thought, no date or anniversary came to mind.

“If you really wanna make it up to me, you can do it later. Just open it!” Natsu was clearly getting impatient, so she gave in to his request and slowly opened it.

“EEEK!!!” Lucy flew up from her spot by the kitchen table faster than lightning, throwing herself backwards. Happy did the same, still not knowing what was in it, but trusting Lucy’s instinct (and getting startled by her sudden reaction).

“WHAT, WHAT?! WHAT IS IT?” Happy shouted, shielding himself from the apparently evil red box that still laid on the table.

“C-… COCKROACH!” Lucy screed, shielding her face from the disgusting critter she apparently had seen in the gift she once was so happy to receive. Not until now did she hear the silent laughter coming from her pink haired companion. “You! What on earth is that supposed to celebrate, you vile human?!”

Natsu threw his head backwards as he let out a roaring laugh, all the way from his toes.

“THE-… THE FIRST TIME I PRANKED YOU!”

“Oh my god!? Natsu! Did you seriously show me a DEAD COCKROACH for a PRANK?!” Lucy, who had scooted closer to Natsu, still trying to stay far away from the disgusting insect, hit his arm for revenge.

“HAHAHA!”

Since there was no way to get through to Natsu while he still bathed in the success of the prank, Lucy threw a glass over the box, just in case the critter would come alive or something. Happy, who only was scared because of Lucy’s sudden freak-out, started laughing as well. Lucy sighed in despair, though that was probably a dramatic description of her current feelings. She didn’t feel despaired – just shocked and a little embarrassed. She had really thought Natsu would give her something nice, maybe along with a long-awaited confession, so she had behaved all thankful and sentimental. Knowing he only meant to prank her all along, made her feel like she was made a fool of.

“Hey, explanation please?” She said, crossing her arms as the laughter died down. Natsu, who now seemed to have calmed down enough to take in what was happening around him, started laughing again as he saw the glass over the box.

“HAHAHA, you CONTAINED the BOX?!”

“Well, cockroaches are known for never dying! How do I know you killed it properly?” Lucy defended herself, pushing Natsu lightly to extend her point. Finally, he managed to properly stop laughing, drying a tear in the corner of his eye.

“Because I didn’t have to kill it! It’s plastic, silly!”

“You’re calling ME silly? YOU’RE the one who put a ROACH in a RING-BOX!” Lucy started walking around to try to calm her own heartbeat, which still was high from the initial shock.

“But you didn’t look behind it!” Lucy stopped herself in her movements.

“Sorry, I was busy following my instincts,” she glared, not happy with how he was pointing out the obvious.

“But there IS a proper gift there as well. Look again!” Natsu lifted the glass from the table, picked out the scarily realistic cockroach (she still wasn’t sure if it really was as fake as he claimed it was) and gave her the box again. Lucy looked at Natsu one more time, with a warning glance, before opening it again.

Inside was a small charm, maybe the size of half a pea, that was meant to represent a small, silver star, which despite its rough edges, looked beautifully handmade.

“But- why?” She managed to say, picking it up and observing it from every angle.

“Consider it my apology gift,” Natsu grinned, giving her half a hug as they both looked at the shiny charm in the light.

Happy, who decided he was done with this disappointing ordeal, drank the rest of his tea, that now had gone cold, and went over to Natsu. Without missing a beat, Natsu handed over the cockroach, still making small talk about the star, talking about who made it and which necklace or bracelet she should put it on, as Happy dropped it into her teacup. They loved her to death, both of them, but sometimes she just made pranks so incredibly easily accessible, and despite what they thought, Lucy didn’t mind at all, because that just meant there never was a boring moment with them. Though this time she wouldn’t make the mistake of letting the cockroach out of sight twice.

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