#destiny is my saving grace man i swear
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Part two of my previous post and continuing with the shared lines :)
Long post incoming
Victor: Soot is more precious than fire. Fire fades, but soot feeds the earth
Taya: One for death and two for birth, three for wind and four for earth
Oyun: Mother Boddho warms her kin, feeds them from the bosom of her veins
Oyun: They call her Earth
Aspity: Deep beneath the earth’s feet, everything is true and nothing is permitted. Defy her not
Aspity: To tame his insolence earth disgorged a monster from deep within her bowels
Capella: The sky is cloudy yet/ earth awaits your casket/ and filling your pockets/ is a whole lot of crickets
Georgiy: An umbilical cord connects the earth and the cosmos. It is a ladder, a spring, a bowstring. It is you.
Maria: Earth is the least attractive element. To fly you only need air, water and fire
Mark/Taya: So you need an upper hand. A foot in the door! A head… Let’s leave the head screwed for now
Vlad Jr: You want to have the upper hand and need to get your foot in the door, but your head – I’m not quite sure what to do about your head
Sticky: I’ll take you to your end, tend, mend, friend
Taya/Notkin: I’ll take you to your end, tend, mend
Rubin: All the wisdom you gain you pay for in pain
Peter: Life is a night in the bar. All the wisdom you gain you pay for in pain
Andrey/Rubin: I’m a simple man, why talk when you can fight
Notkin/Sticky: Put my trust in paws, claws, and whiskers… not your drifter
Bad Grief/ Notkin: There once was a man of great humor who found he was dead of a tumor but he woke up today, to his neighbors dismay, and that of his cow’s when he took her!
Mark: See no evil, hear no evil, display no evil
Oyun: See no evil, hear no evil, know no evil
Maria/Murk/Lara: They lived happily ever after, and horribly ever before
Anna: Happily ever after...lasted for about a week and change
Georgiy/Maria/Daniil: Sow an act you reap a habit, sow a habit you reap a character, sow a character you reap a destiny
Yulia: Sow an act you reap a habit, sow a habit you reap a character, a character leads to a conclusion
Clara/Lara: White birds are killed yet black cats are beloved
Lara: The train arrives… what it brings will surely save us
Eva: A regular train will come soon. It’ll bring doctors and medicine from the Capital
Mark: The army arrives tomorrow. There’s our regular train
Clara: They’re expecting a train carrying medicine and doctors! Fools! They honestly think a train can fix this. Like hell it will
Vlad Sr/Lara/Vlad Jr: Who knocks on your door at night? Who screams down your chimney? A wight? No just the wind
Victor/Grace: You’re good my little dove, despite it all, you’re good
Murky: A good person, despite all the stuff, a good person
Rubin: It wasn’t me…
Grace: I didn’t do it. Don’t look at me like that
Clara: It wasn’t me. I swear! Everyone’s against me, but I’m guiltless
Clara: It wasn’t me. Don’t glare at me like that
Eva: It wasn’t me. Don’t look at me like that
Clara: God sees us from beneath the earth. Why do you think he is in Heaven? He is down below
Bad Grief: Nether above nor be low can Heaven or Hell be found
Capella: God saves the moon from the wolves
Eva: God keeps the moon from the wolves
Yulia/Eva: I’m not crying my eyes are just watering
Peter: This town has too many… buttresses
Georgiy: This town has too many… reinforcement ribs
Victor: This town… it’s got too many reinforcement
Mark: A good joke doesn’t need a punchline. It needs… structure
Georgiy/Maria: No, no one can replace Simon
Grace: Must you tread the earth with your feet?
Artemy: Can you feel it, the ground tremble
Eva: Tread softly. Don’t stir the earth
Sticky: Well knows the kitten whose meat it has eaten
Clara: The taby I chose had no fur and no nose, on eight paws he would linger, on his tail was a stinger
Anna: “Purrr” said the cat
Anna: “Meow! Meow! Feed me! Feed me!” God how do people put up with cats
Anna: A vicious cat I still just as stupid- and so is it with me
Notkin: Cats know the fact of the matter, ignore when a fool comes to chatter
Anna: Well knows the mouse that the cat’s out of the house
Andrey/Khan: When the cat’s away the mice will play
Katerina: Shh did you hear that?
Anna: Do I hear a child crying?
Vlad Jr: Did you hear that? A noise from the well? … Maybe I’ve just got the jitters
Taya: So much noise upstairs. Where did everyone go?
Victor: Is someone walking around upstairs
Eva: Every object has a heartbeat can’t you hear it?
Victor: There’s buzzing in my ears
Lara: Loving thy neighbor is a gift. Hatred is hard work
Clara: People… don’t like people much. But hating others… that’s a challenge to them too
Vlad Jr: What must be done, must be done… no matter how hard it is
Bad Grief: What must be, will be
Victor: You can ride a horse to battle, but you can’t make it sergeant
Aglaya: You can put a horse on a stand but you can’t make it testify
Grace/Maria: This has all happened before
Oyun: We’ve all been through this before
Mark: This is all retread, isn’t it?
Murky: Aww… I’m all damp and washed out. They’ll have to stich my belly back together
Grace: I’m drenched through to the bone
Lara/Aspity: Words without deed feel a garden with naught but weeds
Grace: Why don’t they bring anyone here? It’s so quiet
Eva: It’s so quite now…
Katerina: This quiet is a deceiver
Bad Grief: A well honed tongue breaks bones
Artemy: Words, too, break bone
Katerina: The worst is still to come
Khan: The worst is yet to come
Lara: Was it a month ago… I don’t remember
Yulia: I keep forgetting the simplest things these days
Capella: The children no longer remember me
Georgiy: A touch is an attentive look, or a keen word. One can touch with their hands too- but that is a hard skill to learn
Vlad Jr: I feel smothered in here… I need air…
Vlad Sr: I can’t breath… Not enough air…
Yulia: I ought to let some fresh air in, but… I’d prefer not to
Vlad Sr: Many a mickle… makes a muckle. There’s no hurry
Vlad Jr: Every little makes a mickle
Rubin/Vlad Jr: How heavy is a head?
Aglaya: I can’t stitch it together… but I can cut the knot
Aglaya: Only a fool would cut the Gordian knot. It ought to be… vivisected
Plague: You clive I tie
Artemy: That which is torn must be tied, and that conjoined- split apart
Rubin: The seam must not split
Aspity: Make connections. Mend everything your father has torn. Even if he was right to tear it
Plague: You’re al yourselves I can bind you. Let you come within one another’s souls. One-from-many
Grace: We’re fixed in place. You’re the tie that binds us
Capella: I think you’ve bound us
Rubin: I can’t move. I’m bound by… family ties
Aglaya/Taya: Needles and pins, buttons and tins, knives and shins
Aglaya: Have you met a courier on the way here?
Maria: Did you see anything on your way here
Peter: Stupid! Stupid! Oh… what an idiot I was…
Rubin/Vlad Sr: Stupid! Stupid… oh, how stupid I was
Daniil: God… what an idiot I was
Alexander S: Stupid! I was so stupid
Alexander B: Foolish, foolish. How foolish I was…
Maria: The rain, this goddamn rain… will it ever end? Pouring and pouring and pouring and pouring
Alexander B/Vlad Jr/Rubin: And the rain! The goddamn rain, does it ever end? Pouring and pouring and pouring and pouring
Daniil: This damn rain… will it ever end? The climate here is a chaos
Andrey: A guest is best when you see him less
Capella: Guests are always welcome here
Grace: A good host is grateful to their guests- not the other way around
Aglaya: The Commander and I haven’t held council, in defiance of protocol. I’m counting on you doctors
Alexander B: The Inquisitor and I haven’t held council, against protocol, I place my trust in the doctors
Aglaya: I haven’t slept for three days straight. I don’t think I have another one in me
Victor: I’ll sleep when I’m dead
Eva: I need sleep
Rubin: I’ll rest when I’m buried
Daniil: My head is pounding! I need some restless
Eva/Katerina: No lover’s as sweet as the silence of sleep
Grace: Sleep is an indulgence. I can go without
Bad Grief: Time enough to rest after death
Bad Grief: Many who sleep well speak ill
Aglaya: There’s little time left. And so much to do…
Aglaya: We weren’t given too much time, were we? The army arrives tomorrow
Daniil: Time is slipping through our fingers. We must act now
Alexander B: We have two more days. Day after tomorrow a choice must be made. So say the Powers that be
Bad Grief: Lose an hour, and you won’t catch up in a year
Rubin: Time is of essence
Murky/Taya: Buds bear flowers, clocks bear hours, bones bear nothing. They’re just bones
Rubin/Victor: Chain a rock to your ankle if you wish to see the bottom
Sticky: Hober-de-hoy half man and half a boy
Notkin: Half-man, half-boys no more knives no more toys
Andrey: What are you worried about? That they’ll chide you?
Sticky: What are you afraid of? That they’ll get mad? Huh?
Clara: There’s a lot of me… not so much of yourself
Clara: I pity you human, you’re so good, but there’s so little left of you
Maria: There’s still life in me, more life than can be lived
Eva: I’m overflowing with soul! I have enough to share
Katerina: Most life has already been lived. What a tiny sliver remains for us
Lara: Who will take responsibility for us now
Yulia: Whose problem have we become
Aspity: Roots and blood. That is what fills our veins. Roots and blood
Vlad Jr: Roots and blood. That’s the foundation beneath our feet.
Katerina: The worst is still to come
Khan: The worst is yet to come
Khan: All in all girls know better than boys. We’ll leave the boys outsmart
Bad Grief: For what the devil can’t do send a woman
Grace: It’s cold. Grave cold
Rubin: My fingers won’t bend… It’s the cold, that’s all… it’s just cold
Grace: Damp. I’m drenched through to the bone
Murky: Aw I’m all damp and washed out. They’ll have to stitch my belly back together
Katerina: It’s growing cold
Clara:Ugh, it’s so cold, isn’t it? Like cold-cold
Alexander B: I’ve had enough I’m going to break soon
Alexander S: No… I can’t stand it much longer
Daniil: I’m exhausted. On my last legs…
Georgiy: I’m so, so tired
Rubin: I’m at my rope’s end… I can’t take it anymore
Peter: That’s it I can’t take it anymore
Maria/Capella: And so, Katerina has an heiress no more
Georgiy: Katerina shouldn’t have cast Changeling out. Clara’s her true successor, her own daughter couldn’t be closer
Clara: My patrons have spurned me. Turned me out of their house. But they’ll pay for it
Alexander B: I feel feverish
Anna: I’m flushed, my cheeks are burning, aren’t they?
Maria: I’m feeling warm… oh it might be a fever
Maria: I feel feverish… do you think I’m getting sick?
Aglaya/Victor/Lara/Oyun/Mark/Maria/Rubin/Katerina/Yulia/Alexander B/Alexander S/Vlad Sr/Capella/Eva/Grace: Yes
Anna/Bad Grief: Yeah
Sticky: Yup
Aglaya/Victor/Lara/Andrey/Alexander B/Alexander S/Anna/Daniil/Bad Grief/Vlad Sr/Capella/ Eva/ Grace/Artemy/Katerina/Khan/Yulia/Vlad Jr/Sticky/Peter/Rubin/Oyun/Notkin/Mark/Maria: What?
Taya: So what?
Notkin: I’ve been saying it all along it seeped out of the Abattoir
Maria: It came from underground. For many years we buried our bones wrong
Lara: The source, the source… where is it? Can someone uncover it?
Bad Grief: The doctor’s quick on the draw. Already shot someone. So much for his oath
Vlad Jr: Our big city guest is a little too fast on the draw, isn’t he?
Notkin: The doctor from the Capital is more mangoose than weasel
Bad Grief: The city boy’s a bit off more than he can chew, won’t end well
Notkin: The man with the leather bag tested his new drug on people. Five dead! Big city quack…
Yulia: Dankovsky’s fallen in love with the children’s Tower
Artemy: This outsider… he’ll make a mess of things
Grace: He won’t be able to unfold this. He hails from a different life
Murky: Bachelor has found some strange clay
Aspity: No. The Kin will tell him nothing. We are worry of outsiders
Clara: You think you’re cool headed, but you’re just cooling
Clara: Warm hands, cold heart? The saying goes the other way
Aspity: Is it really deadly? Yes it is
Peter: Is it lethal?
Alexander S: Is there really no cure for this disease?
Katerina: What is this disease?
Yulia: Does anyone know which pills work?
Yulia/Eva: They say it’s neither cholera nor pox. So it can’t be that bad, can it?
Sticky: How can people protect themselves from the infection. You’re a doctor, you should know!
Victor: Is this disease indeed as deadly as they say?
Peter: Hey, what concoction can I drink to keep from catching it?
Daniil: What kind of disease id this? What kind of disease is this?
Alexander S: She’ll start the purge from the top of the ladder. I’ll be the first to swing
Artemy: She has her eye on the warrens… no good will come of it
Oyun: She is a herald of the law. Now we come to the time when deities begin to die…
Aspity: The Inquisitor proceeds with her terrible harvest… is she a pretty one, at least? A doll of bone china and rose gold
Bad Grief: The wench has us all over a barrel. Nothing to be done about it
Artemy: And yet she has a good heart. A kind heart
Yulia: She’s clearly a professional. A specialist in her trade
Mark: She made an example of murderers and mad men. That was merely prologue… the game itself is yet to start
Katerina: I’m afraid I’m of little use now
Yulia: I’m afraid I’m not much use now
Khan: This is it. No more games, No one needs us
#pathologic 2#hope someone else finds these useful#however long you think this took double that in your mind#it was so fun tho#mine
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D2 really comes through for me during these tough times, I swear. Love ya, Destiny!
#i keep thinking about how my destiny loot box is coming at the end of the month#and im so excited to see it and also my guardian games box#like man im gonna be decked out in Titan everything#titan scarf titan tattoo titan shirt destiny boots titan banner on my car#destiny is my saving grace man i swear
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"I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met." memory loss angst? 👉👈🥺
anon... fam, this turned into an emotional rollercoaster and totally stole my braincell.
3.8k words. angst with a happy ending.
tw: memory loss, minor anxiety, repressed memories, idiots to lovers, whump, angst with a happy ending, angst with a fluffy ending
---
It’s been three hours, five minutes, and forty-two seconds since the frigid breeze whipped Geralt’s angry words at him, shattering his fragile, stupid heart to pieces. Every syllable rings through Jaskier’s head over and over, slamming into him from all directions and crippling him with a bone-deep pain far worse than anything he’s ever felt before. The ache ebbs and flows, lancing through him with every step. Not even Geralt’s first frustrated blow to his abdomen had been this terrible.
Geralt… That’s the problem, isn’t it? He hadn’t been smart enough to get out of the gorgeous Witcher’s long, silvery hair soon enough. He’d overstayed his welcome, fallen in love in the meantime, and is now very out of sorts (and also alone in unfamiliar territory). The bard laughs but it’s a hollow sound. Jaskier has reached the edge of hysteria, his intelligent blue eyes now vacant and unseeing. Even as he stumbles through the underbrush, all he can picture is the snarl on Geralt’s face as the Witcher yells at Destiny to take Jaskier off his hands.
Jaskier’s own hands are covered in sap and splinters from pushing tree branches away from his face as he traverses the darkening forest. His hair is full of debris and his clothes are torn and dirty; Geralt has all of his emergency supplies, still. Jaskier is pretty sure that his lute is still strapped over his shoulder but he realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he doesn’t actually care.
He doesn’t have the capacity anymore.
He can’t care… caring hurts too much.
If only Destiny had taken him off Geralt’s hands. Maybe then it would be okay. Maybe then, if Geralt was well and truly free of him and his irritating presence, the Witcher could be happy. He and Yennefer will surely come back around, they always seem to, and Ciri will be joining them soon enough it seems.
There’s no need - no room - for a humble bard anymore.
Only five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds after Geralt’s outburst at the top of the mountain, Jaskier’s delicate human body succumbs to the stress of the day.
He drops to the forest floor without a sound, grateful for the darkness.
---
Yennefer finds the bard in a heap a few miles away from the previous night’s elevated campsite. When she presses the back of her hand to his forehead she yanks it away almost immediately; he’s burning up, and his skin is clammy and sticky with sweat. The feathery bangs he flicks about and preens so much are stuck to his forehead and temples. He’s on the verge of shaking apart and Yennefer tosses her head imperiously, swearing.
“Damnit, Geralt. You and your incredibly foolish need to be alone all the time so you can brood and self-flagellate. Me, an ageless sorceress from one of the greatest magic schools on the Continent? I can handle a thorough tongue lashing. Fuck, I’m older than you and I’ve seen far worse but this… oh, you great lummox. You absolute bastard…” Yennefer mutters to herself as she assesses the bard’s deteriorating state of health, ranting to an invisible Geralt all the while. “You’re absolutely going to be hearing from me about this, Wolf.”
---
Three days, one hour, and fifteen minutes after Geralt dismissed him forever, Jaskier wakes up with a loud gasp and a violent shudder. He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming in through a window. Whatever he’s lying on is comfortable and the sheets smell fresh and bright, like lilac and freesia. A hint of gooseberry lies beneath it all, delicate and sweet. He glances around the space and finds it to be relatively bare; a guest room, perhaps. Maybe he’s a servant at some noble house?
Jaskier only really knows that his name is Jaskier and that he plays music. He’s also rather talented with floral arrangements.
Shortly after he’s finished purveying his (borrowed?) chamber, the very image of grace, beauty, and terror enters the room. The woman, whose coppery skin and enchanting violet eyes practically glow in the midafternoon sun, smiles down at him in a way that toes the line between Motherly and Shark-like.
“How are you feeling, Jaskier?”
“I’m alright. And you?”
“Just fine. Geralt really did a number on us, huh?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He has the feeling that something isn’t right; she shouldn’t be looking at him so kindly.
Her expression changes from friendly to horrified to confused in an instant, as soon as Jaskier manages to ask: “Who’s Geralt? And, pardon me, but I feel as if something is rather amiss. Who are you, my Lady?”
Whoever the gorgeous and terrifying woman is, she grimaces briefly. Then, as if by magic, the comforting smile returns. “I’m Yennefer, of course. I saved your life a few years ago, remember?”
Jaskier wracks his brain but cannot call the occasion to mind. “Unfortunately no, I don’t remember your no doubt heroic deed. Although I suppose that means I’m in your debt, doesn’t it? Do I work for you? Is that why I’m here?”
The woman blinks a few times, slowly, and then nods. “You’re my gardener and personal musician.”
Jaskier brightens, happy to have found himself in a safe environment.
“But you’ve had a nasty illness and your mind is clearly fatigued. Rest another day or two and then we can see about getting you back into the fresh air.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” Jaskier nods.
“Yen is fine.”
“Thank you, Yen. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he grins.
---
Yennefer turns away to hide her pained expression. You’d probably still be with your beloved Witcher.
She makes her way to the kitchen to fix Jaskier something to eat. He must be hungry after spending three days in a deep, healing sleep. She hadn’t been expecting the amnesia, though; it was an unexpected but not unsurprising turn of events. Heartbreak had done stranger things than a little bit of fever-induced memory loss. When she’d delved briefly into his mind she hadn’t seen any sign of Geralt. His face was absent from the bard’s consciousness; she would have needed to dig to unearth those memories. Whatever the Witcher had done was grievous, especially if Jaskier’s mind compensated with something as dramatic as burying Geralt completely to save itself from further harm.
No matter, she decides, the bard can stay here as long as he likes. It’s the least I can do for all the upset Geralt and I have caused him. Where is that idiot Witcher, anyway?
The sorceress quickly clears her agenda and her mind before returning to her guest room with a large tray of food, a bottle of Toussainti red under her arm. “Jaskier, darling, let’s get your convalescence started in style!”
---
2 months later
---
Jaskier watches a strange man ride up the long path to Yennefer’s manor, the hilts of his twin swords glinting in the sun where they’re slung over his shoulder. He has long white hair and the most devastating jawline the bard/gardener (or ‘bardener’ as he says to irritate his darling employer) has ever laid eyes on. He’s clad all in black, from his plain linen shirt to his tight leather trousers; Jaskier thinks he’d also look rather lovely in dark blue or perhaps forest green.
In front of him, wrapped securely against his chest by one strong arm, sits a little girl with ashen hair and frightened eyes. Haunted eyes. Jaskier’s mind fills with ballads, some familiar and some oddly dreamlike, their lyrics half-obscured and hazy. Ciri, he thinks for no reason. Her name is Ciri. And she is a Princess.
The brunette scurries from the garden alongside the house to the kitchen, searching for the familiar cloud of Yennefer’s strong perfume. “My Lady?”
“Darling?” the sorceress replies, coming around the corner. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrows and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “Did you sprint all the way from the west lawn?”
“There’s a- strange man- on the- drive!” he huffs. “White hair- horse!”
“Oh,” her eyes go wide with surprise. Then, in a split second, they narrow to slits. “Oh.”
“Do you, uhm, know him?” Jaskier asks, twiddling his fingers. “He’s rather handsome, Yen. Is he a former lover?”
“Unfortunately,” she growls. “I can’t believe it’s taken him two fucking months to get here. He’d better have a damned good excuse.”
By now Jaskier can breathe normally again and he straightens up, shaking his long, shaggy hair from his eyes. “He had a child with him. She looked scared, Yen.”
“Cirilla!”
Yennefer dashes for the front door and Jaskier follows instinctually. They’re always together and he can’t bear to let her confront this man alone. He’s spent every waking moment with Yen since he awoke that first day and she has grown to be his dearest friend; he’ll protect her even unto death. “Yenna, what’s wrong? Who is he!?”
“Geralt of Rivia,” she snarls. The name seems familiar; maybe from a ballad or story? Perhaps Yen has mentioned him before?
“What about Geralt of Rivia?” a low, rumbling bass asks from the front hallway. Jaskier and Yennefer arrive in the doorway together and the man, Geralt apparently, takes a shaky step back. He recoils a bit, as if he’s been slapped, and Yennefer’s smile grows cruel. His voice, still incredibly low but now with a slight tremor to it, stutters out; “Wha- Yen, what is he- Jaskier? I only came to ask for help with Ciri, I didn’t know- I didn’t-”
Geralt’s stammered speech tapers off into silence and Yennefer’s brow furrows a second time. When the sorceress sets eyes on the child, who cannot be more than twelve years old, her expression softens again. Jaskier watches the most imposing woman in the world kneel, taking one small, pale hand in both of her own. “My name is Yennever of Vengerberg, former Sorceress of Aretuza. I am honored to meet you, Princess Cirilla. Geralt has come seeking protection, no doubt, and it is easily granted. I will do everything I can to help you.”
“Thank you, Lady Yennefer. And, uhm… Ciri’s fine,” the girl replies. Her voice is high and reedy, shot through with anxiety. She’s so young, Jaskier frowns. And yet she seems to have weathered an incredible storm.
“Ciri,” the bard bows from the doorway, low and dramatic. He sweeps his arm out to the side and bends his knees as awkwardly as possible, “I am Jaskier, private troubadour and gardener extraordinaire, under the employ of the magnanimous and dangerous Lady Yennefer, here. It is my greatest honor to make your very mighty and very royal acquaintance.”
“You’re silly, Master Jaskier,” the child giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hands. Geralt’s eyes grow wide and dart between Jaskier and the girl. Yennefer makes meaningful eye contact before nodding toward the door. Jaskier looks down at Ciri again when she asks: “Do you grow lots of flowers in Lady Yennefer’s garden, or just herbs and things for magic?”
“I grow lots of things all over the property,” the brunette man steps forward and offers Ciri his hand, gesturing towards the front door with the other. “Would you like to come and take a look? I know all the scientific names, you can even quiz me if you like.”
“I know some,” she smiles shyly, accepting the offered hand. “May I go take a look at the gardens, Geralt?”
“Go ahead,” the Witcher nods dumbly. “Jaskier will take good care of you.”
“That I will. Now, let’s take a look at the flowers and let these silly adults have a chat,” Jaskier grins. He winks at Yennefer and disappears out the door, exiled Princess in tow.
The two lively companions have toured through all the medicinal herbs and are halfway through Yennefer’s large collection of rose variations when the two other members of the party approach. Geralt looks sheepish, his eyes downcast. Yennefer looks triumphant; she is radiant in her victory as always.
Geralt steps forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jaskier, I’ve come to apologize for what happened when we parted.”
“Excuse me?” the bard chuckles, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly.”
“When I yelled at you after the dragon hunt. It was only two months ago, Jaskier, surely you remember?”
Jaskier blushes, glancing anxiously between Geralt and his friend, whose violet eyes are stormy with emotion, “I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met."
Geralt gasps sharply and takes a step back, as he did in the entryway. Jaskier winces, seemingly on instinct, and shies away from the larger man. “You don’t remember me?”
“No…” Jaskier sighs. “I really don't. Should I?”
“You don’t… You don’t even remember Toss a Coin?”
“Oh, that ditty from town?” Jaskier perks up. “I know that song! It always gets stuck in my head.”
“You… You wrote that song,” Geralt’s face crumples. “About our first adventure together outside of Posada. With the elves and the sylvan...”
“I’ve never been to Posada,” Jaskier laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “They hate bards. They prefer troupes of traveling play-actors. Posada is far too serious for my tastes.”
Geralt seems to be in agony. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s on the verge of tears but unable to shed them. Can Witchers cry?
How does he know that Geralt is a Witcher? Is it the two swords, the scars, or the strange eyes? How does he know that those are common Witcher traits?
His stomach lurches and he turns away from the group in case he needs to be sick. The ground spins and shivers in little ripples around him, unstable and impermanent beneath his feet. Yennefer is calling his name from somewhere far away and a pair of warm, strong arms are looped around his waist. Still, he can’t seem to breathe. Or focus.
There’s something missing.
He starts to hum, trying to remember the words of that damned song.
The rest of the world fades in and out around him, finally disappearing altogether.
---
He’s gorgeous.
Jaskier shoves another roll into his pocket. His eyes are focused on the man in the corner. He has long, snow-white hair and his shoulders are hunched forward protectively, as if he can hold the world out by sitting by himself. He’s glaring the table into submission, one fist clenched around his tankard.
I want to write him a thousand ballads. I want to know what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning, before he brushes it out again. I want to know if he snores. I want… he stops himself.
He makes his way across the room with eyes only for the stranger. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”
The man looks away and Jaskier notices that his irises are gold. “I’m here to drink alone.”
Gods, his fucking voice… Velvet and gravel all at once. Melitele, does Jaskier want. “Good, yeah. Good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you.”
The man, the Witcher, Jaskier realizes, rolls his eyes.
“Come on,” he wheedles, sitting down across from the gorgeous stranger. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.”
The man’s face stays stoic, expressionless. “They don’t exist.”
He realizes shortly thereafter that this man is not just any Witcher but the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He could try to disengage himself from such a daunting character; he could easily make some kind of excuse and disappear back to the troubadour’s path, heading towards civilization, but it’s already too late. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt’s side ever again; he wants to write all those ballads he was thinking about earlier, when he glanced across the room.
Jaskier has fallen head over heels in love.
---
Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest and presses his nose deep into those chestnut brown waves. “Wake up, Jaskier. Come back to me, bard, it’s been too long.”
“Don’t you usually go all winter without seeing him?” Yennefer asks from the doorway.
“It’s hell,” he replies easily. There’s no point in hiding his feelings from her. “I miss him every minute of every day.”
“Verbose this evening,” she remarks, taking a seat by the fire. “He’s dreaming, you know. He’s remembering you.”
“He’d forgotten?”
“He’d repressed it all,” she shrugs. “When I found him that day, feverish and nearly dead on the side of that godsforsaken mountain, he was barely coherent enough to open his eyes. He just kept asking for you, Geralt. Over and over he called for you, reaching his arms up, weak as they were. Gods, it was pitiful to watch.”
Geralt swallows.
“I thought you were going to come back sooner. I was surprised when his memories didn’t resurface after two or three weeks. Short-term memory loss after a fever isn’t uncommon but repressing twenty years worth of feelings and experiences-” she whistles lowly “-it was impressive and tragic, all at once.”
“He forgot me?”
“Entirely.”
Geralt glances down, shame-faced. He adjusts Jaskier in his arms, holding him close and pillowing the bard’s head against his shoulder. “I deserve it, Yen.”
“He’s remembering now, though. He’ll probably be a little less than pleased to see you when he wakes up, but he knows who you are.”
“When will he wake?”
“Can’t say,” she shrugs again. “After I brought him back from the mountain it took three days for him to wake up. The first day was magically induced but after that it was just him… exhausted and heartbroken to the point of self-induced amnesia.”
“Fuck, Yen,” Geralt groaned, pressing his forehead into the soft warmth of Jaskier’s cheek. “How can I make it up to him?”
“Stay.”
“Hmm?”
“When he wakes up and he’s angry and upset, stay. Don’t stomp off or blow up or freak out,” she instructs. “If he asks you to leave, go, but otherwise… prove yourself, Geralt of Rivia. You wanted to be a knight once, didn’t you? Now’s your chance to play Prince Charming. Get down on your lovely knees and beg and apologize.”
“Hmm. How’s Ciri?”
“Fed, bathed, and put to bed. I’ll take care of her for as long as it takes you two morons to make nice again. Good luck, Geralt, I’m sure he’ll forgive you too easily for my tastes.”
She stands from her seat and leaves just as efficiently as she entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Geralt lays Jaskier back on the bed and takes a seat beside him on the mattress, kneeling just within touching distance, should Jaskier reach out for reassurance in his sleep. Geralt closes his eyes and slips easily into meditation.
The Witcher is pulled from his trance a few hours later when Jaskier makes a startled sound and tries to sit up. Geralt opens his eyes and splays one warm, broad hand against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him back against the goose down pillows. “Stay still, Jaskier. You’re feverish and weak.”
“I’m still dreaming,” the bard grumbles, reaching to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s adorable and Geralt grins widely, warmth spilling into his chest from some newly discovered fount of happiness. “You’re being too nice to me, Witcher.”
“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, for everything.”
“What’s everything, Geralt?”
“I’m sorry for pushing you away when I was angry and confused instead of communicating with you. I’m sorry for hurting you with my brash words and foolish actions; you have always deserved so much better and I’m so afraid that I can never give that to you. I take the wrong step at every turn, it seems, and yet you stay by my side. I didn’t want to risk hurting you the way I’ve already hurt Yen and Ciri, by tying us together against your will.”
“Darling Geralt,” the bard sighs. The Witcher scoots slightly closer and Jaskier lays a gentle hand atop his thigh. “It has always been my greatest pleasure to travel the Path with you and write of our adventures. I appreciate your concern for my agency and wellbeing, dear heart, but I am quite happy spending my entire human life in your presence.”
“Hmm,” the Witcher frowns. “You’re going to die someday.”
“And? So are you. So shall Yennefer, maybe.”
“Not likely,” Geralt jokes. Jaskier grins and the sight of it is so heartwarming that the Witcher wishes he could break down into tears. At least then Jaskier could see just how deeply his feelings ran. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, for blaming you for things that I brought upon myself. I love you dearly, and I hope that someday you can choose to travel with me again.”
“Excuse me?”
“I hope that you’ll-”
“No, the other bit.”
“I love you?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Oh. Yes, I-” Geralt clears his throat and looks Jaskier in the eyes, gold and blue locked together, “I love you very much, Jaskier.”
“Fuck.”
“May I kiss you, Jaskier?”
“Yes,” the bard breathes.
And then Geralt is lifting him up into his lap, one hand cradling Jaskier’s skull so so fucking carefully. Geralt’s other arm supports his waist, holding him steady. Their lips come together softly, carefully, and Jaskier’s soul spirals up to the ceiling with joy, his body abandoned. He is merely a vessel for the happiness that comes with kissing his Witcher. When they pull apart, both men are grinning like fools. “Oh, dear heart.”
“Yes, my love?”
“Never stop calling me that.”
“I swear I won’t, my love.”
From downstairs, Geralt hears Yennefer mutter, “Fucking finally.”
It takes twenty-two years, seven months, and one day, but Geralt and Jaskier manage to figure things out.
#bounceacoinoffyouranons#geraskier#amnesia#amensiac jaskier#memory loss#rare species fix it#the witcher netflix#the witcher ficlet#geraskier fluff#angst with a happy ending#fluff and angst#whump with a happy ending#jaskier whump#yennefer#yen and jaskier are bitchy theatre bffs#and you can't stop me#anon you really got me fucked up
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lyric prompts from my emo days
i am the man they couldn't hang
tonight we're ghosts
she says i'd be so pretty dead
we are home now, the room is still warm
you were my favourite
i'm never okay, it's never okay
soon we'll see the sun again
i've suffered more in this city where ashes fall
redemption is harder than it looks
take this sadness and close your eyes, love
if i tell you now i have set those fields on fire
you're in my arms tonight
am i worth a thousand lies?
the screaming soothes the anger
i'm too fucked up to come home
found my destiny with a match and gasoline
i pay the price for eating rats
i don't think they dig graves close enough to hell for the likes of you
i handed you a knife and my heart
you're cold, but you're beautiful
you're a mess, but i like it that way
a love as certain as a sinking ship
i thought i'd lost you amongst the mess and the demons in my head, but here you are
the crowd will not rest tonight
out for blood, let them come, make a monster out of me
i swear i'll find a way back to the body that was mine
earth soaked in red, this night is our night
she's a natural in disaster
hold your head low, she is coming down without her grace
a soft heart and a softer spine trapped me in her grip
i'd rather leave you here to die, you know that
you're a guilty pleasure
this distance is decay
she haunts me 'til my bitter end
can you save my bastard soul, will you wait for me?
my soul's a sorry state
did you really think that you could fix me?
i'm sorry love, it's not enough
the ones you think guard you are out for your blood
there will be no peaceful revolution, no war without blood
got out alive but with scars i can't forget
i can't live with myself, so stay with me tonight
i'm staring at the devil and the truth of it is - he's a lot more familiar than i'd care to admit
you are the worst, and i am to blame
in my eyes, i am yours
you know that if you knock then i will always let you in
she's a witch and i'm a heretic
you are the water in my lungs
as the embers rise, my hands smelled like gasoline
your heart beats under the floor, it haunts me in my dreams
i hate to be the one to bear the bad news: yes, it is true, i finally fell in love
there is a fine line between betrayal and your friends
i'm willing to bleed on your altar
#feel free to judge teenage me's taste in music#some of these songs legit still slap tho#prompts#lyric prompts#writing prompts#prompt lists#bands used - i am ghost. aiden. alesana. matchbook romance. eyes set to kill#bring me the horizon. hawthorne heights. escape the fate. the agony scene
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Sugar - Chapter One
— pairing: Jimin x Reader
— genre: College AU, Smut, Fluff, Minor Angst
— word count: 2.7K
— warnings: none yet
Click for Tag List
— chapter summary:
Its a normal day for Y/N, homework, lectures, club meetings and smack in the middle of it lands a hot boy, can Y/N resist him?
— A/N: This is my first time writing smut so I’d really love some feedback <3
“...what you need is some hardcore de-stressing,” Donna whispered in the middle of the lecture. “The kind where you are on your knees and …”
I elbowed her in the ribs before she could continue. Sure I was a little stressed, maybe more than a little but I wasn’t going to have some ‘hardcore destressing’. I stayed as far away from any kind of relationships as possible, even casual ones that came with certain ‘benefits’. Why? Because I didn’t want to fall into a pit of despair again. My last relationship blew up like a balloon with too much helium. It took a really long time for me to pull myself out of depression. So no more relationships, no more men or women. I was going to prioritize my sanity and focus on my studies. At least that’s what I told myself.
“Seriously Donna, I don’t need any kind of de-stressing, I’m fine,” I whispered back. Professor Cameron was talking about Paradise Lost today. He had the unique ability to turn every exciting story into a boring ramble. Something I learned on my first day when he taught Shakespeare as if he was reciting his grocery list. I bet even his grocery list was more exciting.
“Just come with me to the cafe, there's this new barista ...mmm the muscles on that guy. I wouldn’t mind having him with some cream,” she said, licking her lips.
“Eww Donna, keep your dirty mind to yourself,” I shook my head. Donna was the kind of person who enjoyed life to the fullest. She ate when she was hungry, drank when she was stressed and fucked when she was horny. I always envied her simplicity. I grew up learning control, you plan, you strategize and then you make a move. That’s what my parents taught me. I never did anything spontaneous, caution was my base nature.
“...Ms. Y/N do you have something to share with the rest of us?” Professor Cameron was staring daggers at me.
“Uh ..no Professor,” I said sheepishly as everyone in class stared at me. The rest of the class was uneventful, Professor Cameron went on and on with a few sarcastic remarks here and there about ‘undisciplined students’. I swear to god the man was a dinosaur, if it were up to him we’d be using slate and chalk to take notes.
“Thanks for that,” I said as Donna and I collected our bags and left the building.
“Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee to show you how very sorry I am,” her tone was solemn but her eyes held mischief.
“Pfft, you only want to go there to ogle at the hot barista,”
“He is sooo hot. He is a second year dance major, he just transferred here. Man, the way he moves …” Donna was almost drooling.
“Not my type,” I said dismissively. There was something about muscular guys that put me off. Donna loved guys with big muscles, she loved Jocks. Personally I never saw the appeal, I liked my men on the softer side.
“Oh honey, he’s totally your type,” Donna scoffed as we entered the cafe. It wasn’t far from the main building so it was always full of students drinking their sixth coffee of the day so they could stay awake in their next lecture. We were no different, after Cameron’s class I desperately needed a ‘pick me up’ or I’d be too sleepy to assist Professor Min in the next lecture.
The first thing I saw as I entered the cafe was a bunch of girls making heart eyes at the new barista. He wasn’t much taller than I was and man was he hot. Donna was right, he was totally my type. He was muscular but not in a jock kind of way, he reminded me of a panther. He was lithe, his every movement was graceful as if choreographed. His mouth was feminine, plump lips that made me wonder what it’d be like to bite into them. His eyes slightly unfocused as if he was daydreaming about something intense. I wondered what it’d be like to put his tiny wait in a corset.
“Fuck,” the word left my mouth. I knew I was done for. Just looking at him made me hot.
I made my way to one of the corner tables, leaving Donna to get our coffee. Dumping a bunch of books on the table I started working on my assignments. I was determined not to get anywhere near that barista. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to resist him. He was totally my type. Destiny was determined to torture me.
“This is my friend Y/N! She’s our resident assistant,” I heard Donna and I lifted my head. My heart stopped. He was standing there, beside Donna, looking at me like I was the sweetest candy in the world.
“Y/N this is Park Jimin, he is moving to our dorm today, can you believe it?!!” I could not. Dear universe, stop torturing me.
“Nice to meet you,” he said offering his hand. His voice was just like the rest of him, a mixture of delicate and sexy.
“Let me know if you need any help,” I said, taking his hand like the good RA that I was. Instead of shaking it, he lifted my hands to lips, sending electricity right down to my core.
“I’m sure I’ll need a lot of help,” I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until he smirked at me.
I quickly took back my hand. That man was doing things to me. I hadn’t gotten laid since I broke up with Dan months ago, my body was screaming at me. There was just something about Park Jimin that made you want to ride him till he begged for mercy. The thought made me incredibly horny.
Donna was practically bouncing in her seat. She had informed me multiple times that Jimin was staring at me from behind the counter. I just couldn’t make myself turn my head to confirm it, I didn’t want to confirm it. That’d be a terrible idea. He was bringing down my walls like a stick of dynamite and I’d only met him an hour ago. I had to stick to my resolve.
I sipped on coffee as dark as my soul. Donna always made a face whenever we went out. She had a sweet tooth, I hated sugar. Anything sweet was bound to make me nauseous. The only sweet food that I could tolerate was ice cream. Even on my birthday I only ate two bites of the cake before I tapped out, sugar just wasn’t my thing.
“So, what do you do for fun around here,” Jimin said, slipping in the chair beside me. He had taken off his apron. He was wearing a pink turtleneck that hugged his body and tight black jeans that left nothing to the imagination. I was surprised to see him in boots with two inch heels. Dan would’ve scoffed at him for wearing them.
I was hot as a furnace and wet. I was practically leaking, I thanked all the higher powers out there for giving me the brains to wear jeans instead of a skirt. I was two hundred percent sure that he could smell my arousal. The only saving grace that I had was that none of it showed on my face.
“Depends on your definition of fun,” I said as I watched him pour 4 packets of sugar in his coffee, eww.
“Do you like movies? You can join our movie club!” Donna said with puppy eyes.
“Are you in the movie club Y/N?” Jimin asked. I almost didn’t hear him, I was too busy staring at hands as he stirred his coffee. He had the cutest pinkie in the world.
“Pfft, she’s the club president and the RA and she’s also Professor Min’s teaching assistant. Y/N is like super smart,” Donna bragged. I could see the excitement on Donna’s face. This wasn’t the first time she’d tried to set me up with a guy. I knew all her tactics. It started with bragging and then swiftly escalated to Donna setting up dates. I never went to those dates. I wondered if I would go if it was Jimin.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I mumbled. I was never good with compliments.
“You must be so busy, doesn’t your boyfriend mind?” Jimin asked with a curious look.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I knew what he was getting at.
“Good to know,” he smiled. He was cute when he smiled. I mentally kicked myself for staring, in my defense he was gorgeous.
“I should go, I can’t be late for Professor Min’s lecture. He’s really strict,” I apologized as I gathered my stuff. It was true, Professor Min was known for his no-nonsense attitude but that wasn’t the only reason. I desperately needed some release. “It was really nice meeting you Jimin, see you at the dorm I guess,” I gave him a smile and before he could reply practically ran out of the cafe.
I woke up this morning thinking about my thesis, not even in my wildest dreams did I expect a Park Jimin to land right in the middle of it. He was the embodiment of my desires. Just looking at him made me horny, which was very uncharacteristic for me. I was a romantic, I wanted to fall in love and go on silly dates. The first time I had sex with Dan was two months after we started dating. I was the kind of person to take it slow. I’ve never even had a one night stand.
“This is so uncalled for,” I mumbled to no one in particular. I quickly made my way to the women’s locker, thankfully it was empty. I locked myself in one of the stalls, put one foot on the toilet and unceremoniously stuffed my hand in my pants. I sighed as my fingers touched my nub, finally! I rubbed myself in rough circles, pressing down hard. I was biting my lips to stop the moans that threatened to burst out.
I imagined what it’d be like to have Jimin’s fingers inside me, what it’d be like to have him lick the slick off of my dripping pussy. I wondered how his dick would feel stuffed in my folds, it definitely belonged there. Would he slowly make love to me or would he fuck me like some animal in heat?
My pussy was clenching on nothing, I desperately needed something inside me. But the downside of wearing skinny jeans is that there’s not much room to maneuver down there and I didn’t want to take off my pants on the dirty bathroom floor. I had to settle with rubbing my clit as if my life depended on it.
I imagined Jimin's beautiful mouth wet with my juices as he looked up at me from the floor, my hands in his hair, holding him there, on his knees. I was so close...
“Y/N you there?” I almost jumped out of my skin. It was Donna, how the fuck did she find me?
“Yeah,” I said, my voice was breathy. I reluctantly took my hand out of my pants and adjusted my clothes.
“Come on, we’re going to be late for Professor Min’s lecture!” I followed her out. My face was flushed with embarrassment. I was annoyed at Donna, I was so close... I screamed internally, this day just kept getting worse.
After the lectures were over Donna had dragged me around the campus in search of Professor Cameron because she forgot to log her attendance. And then there was the student council meeting that ended with us having a mini party to celebrate the start of the semester. To conclude, I didn’t get a chance to do anything about the wetness in my panties. I was still hot, horny and absolutely frustrated.
“Come on in Y/N,” our dorm supervisor said as I knocked on his door. “We have a new student who needs a buddy, I hope you won’t mind,” he said as soon as I entered.
I internally sighed. There he was, Park Jimin, in all his delicious glory, standing in front of the desk. He gave me a smile as our eyes met. I quickly looked away, I felt guilty, just hours ago I had imagined him doing things to me as I played with myself. If he ever found out what I did, he’d think of me as some creep.
“Of course not, welcome to Drake Hall Jimin!” I tried to sound welcoming but I was still horny and my state was only getting worse the more I looked at him.
“Excellent, it's settled then! Y/N why don’t you show him the dorm,” yep, sure, why not. It’s not like I wanted to jump him then and there, rip his clothes off and ride him like a friggin pogo stick.
It was well past midnight and I was all alone in the study room. I had given Jimin the standard dorm tour and then left him at his room, telling him to call me if he needed anything. I was his buddy after all. I groaned internally. It was like a meteor had hit my safe little planet and now it burned my body like never before.
I slowly slid my hand down to the crotch of my cotton shorts and cupped myself, slightly humping into my hand. The feeling made me gasp but it wasn’t enough. I tugged the fabric to a side, revealing my pussy to the room. Nope, I wasn’t wearing any panties. “Fuck you Park Jimin,” I gasped as I slid two fingers in easily, I was ready for a dick but my fingers would have to suffice. I slowly fucked myself, moving my hips to meet my fingers, trying my best not to make a sound.
“Need some help?” a voice whispered in my ear. I squeaked and tried to get up but he pushed me down on the chair. “So you want to fuck me?” I could hear the smirk in Jimin’s voice.
“Dream on loverboy,” I whispered back. His hand trailed down my arm and he cupped me over my hand. He buried his face in my neck, licking and biting until he heard my moan. He chuckled.
“Tell me, were you imagining what my dick would feel like in this pussy?” he said as he slipped a finger into me. “What it’d be like to be fucked senseless?” another finger. “To be fucked so hard that it’d be impossible for you to walk the next day,” third finger. His voice was breathy, sending vibrations through my body. He refused to move his fingers.
“Stop teasing,” I said through gritted teeth as I forced myself not to hump on his fingers like a bitch in heat.
“So eager, so wet for me,” he bit down on my neck as he finally started moving his fingers at a maddeningly slow pace. He licked and bit, leaving a trail of purple bruises. I desperately wanted to touch my breasts but he trapped my hands in his other hand. Not allowing me to touch myself.
“Faster,” I commanded.
“No,” he chuckled. Why was he so frustrating?
“Please ..” I whined.
“Please what?”
“Please make me cum on your goddamn fingers,” I begged.
“As you wish,” he earnestly started fucking me with his fingers. The room was filled with unholy squelching sounds. I couldn’t move my hands, he was holding them too tight. I couldn’t kiss him because he refused to leave me neck, the only thing I could do was gasp and moan.
I could feel the pressure building in my abdomen as he fucked my mercilessly. He curled his fingers and I came undone. My orgasm exploded through me, literally, I squirted all over his fingers. He kept going, helping me ride out the pleasure. Finally he withdrew his fingers and patted my crotch as I went limp in the chair, all blissed out.
“Good night princess,” he lightly kissed me on the cheek and left.
#bts smut#bts fluff#jimin smut#college au#jimin x reader#jimin x you#pink jimin#bts jimin#jimin fluff#bcc#btscreatorscorner#sugar
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if you ever have the time for it i am DYING to see what your holland playlist would look like!
Well, in that case...
Here’s Heavy Is The Head, an ADSOM Holland Vosijk playlist for all your bitter Antari needs! This playlist is long, but that’s because it’s specially formulated to have songs suited to different points in Holland’s life, and they appear in order so you can listen to specific events at your pleasure! So anon/anyone else looking, if you’ll indulge me, here’s a list of all the songs used, some with notes describing their place here;
First, general thoughts. I wanted this playlist to have plenty of dark ambient moments, but also several harsh and defiant ones, too; Holland is not as much of a sad character to me as he is angry, and a lot of his power and drive comes from a place of vengeance, wrath, and righteous justice. So, there’s a lot of rock, folk, and indie pop here. I tried to include all types of music to suit different tastes too, since I’m fairly diverse with my music choices. All that said-
Disclaimer: Some of these songs have profanity/swearing in them. As well, some of them have dark themes, undertones, and implications, so know that ahead of time. It’s a Holland playlist- I don’t feel like there’s anything here that’s darker than canon, but it’s still something any potential listeners should know. Consider this your warning.
Part 1- A Darker Shade Of Magic
Hollow (Cloudeater)
“I stay empty, I feel the hunger…”
Look Away (The Dear Hunter)
“And don’t you misjudge what I’m capable of, if I’m heir to a broken will…”
Wrath of Man (Chris Benstead)
(No lyrics, just the creeping sense of a vengeful creature stalking you. If anyone’s seen this movie, you’ll get the tone it sets.)
Paul Newman vs The Demons- Avett Brothers
“You may have to drag me away from my demons, kicking and screaming…”
Oleander (Mother Mother)
“I”ll be unclean, I’ll be obscene, you’ll be the rest…”
(Holland from the perspective of the Danes, specifically Athos.)
The Wolf (Phildel)
“The wishes I’ve made are too vicious to tell…”
Pain (Three Days Grace)
“Cause I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all..”
(Here half as a callback to an old joke and half because Holland is not immune to an edgy rock phase.)
Black Eyes (Radical Face)
“My heart will be blacker than your eyes when I’m through with you..”
Arsonist’s Lullaby (Hozier)
“On all the ashes in my wake…”
(Holland, willing or no, is still canonly an arsonist. Also, Hozier.)
P.O.L.I.T.I.C.S. (MISSIO)
“This friendship is worse than, P-O-L-I-T-I-C-S…”
(One of the most diametric differences between Holland and Kell is their views on each other’s kingdoms.)
In The Air Tonight (Natalie Taylor)
“If you told me you were drowning, I would not lend a hand…”
Blood On My Name (The Brothers Bright)
“Nowhere to run, nowhere to run, nowhere to run…”
(Mood for the beginning of the final Holland vs. Kell fight in ADSOM)
One Way Or Another (Until The Ribbon Breaks)
“And if the lights are all down…”
(End of the fight, Holland’s death #1, and his fall into Black London)
Part 2- A Gathering of Shadows
Bleeding White (Avett Brothers)
“I’m bleeding gold in the streets, but there’s no one to see, because the kingdom is empty…”
(Holland’s king now.)
Kings (Tribe Society)
“I’ll take my throne, lay it on a mountain, and make myself a king…”
When They Come For Me (Linkin Park)
“And it seems ugly, but it can get worse…”
Me And Mine (The Brothers Bright)
“I will burn your kingdom down, if you try to conquer me and mine…”
(Holland making some foreign relations plans.)
Feeling Good (Michael Buble)
“It’s a new dawn, a new day, a new life…”
Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing (Set It Off)
“Tell me how you’re sleeping easy, how you’re only thinking of yourself…”
(Holland’s revenge arc starts.)
Choke (IDKHBTFM)
“I wouldn’t hesitate, to smile while you suffocate…”
Roman Empire (MISSIO)
“You’re an empire, the darkest of empires…”
(Holland’s view of Red London.)
My Name (Charlie Winston)
“I won't apologize for the mess that you're in, I'm gonna hide my eyes from your crimson sin…”
Liver Lungs Spleen Heart (Chris Benstead)
(Again, no lyrics, but this is the mood when Holland’s plan really starts coming into effect.)
Have It Out (Mother Mother)
“But what is he good for, if he’s just a spectator of war, I have it in for, have it in for, have it in for…”
(Holland and Kell’s “conversation” at the end of AGOS + Holland’s grudge against Kell in general.)
The Yawning Grave (Lord Huron)
“Darkness brings evil things, oh the reckoning begins…”
(The tables turn on Holland.)
Burn Him Down (Kitsch Club)
“This Woodsy’s been worn one too many a time…”
(For context, this song is about burning the suit of a retired Forest Service mascot, which in a twisted way is parallel to Osaron possessing Holland. In short, destroy the old guy because he’s damaged and worn- AKA Holland.)
Part 3- A Conjuring Of Light
The Waking Nightmare (Frankenstein World Premiere Recording)
“I’m here in the waking nightmare, and every moment tastes of death…”
Four Walls/The Ballad of Perry Smith (Bastille)
“Now we’re faced with two wrongs, I don’t know, no I don’t know…”
(Holland facing his imminent execution.)
Bring Me To Life (Evanescence)
“Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul- don't let me die here…”
(How could I not include this?)
Sin Triangle (Sidney Gish)
“I've got to work on my face now, I'm wearing shades when it's dark out, but don't you worry I'm just being cool, like everybody else around this school…”
(Holland while on the boat/observing the rest of the group.)
I’m So Sorry (Imagine Dragons)
“You’ll never know the top ‘till you get too low…”
Human (Rag’n’Bone Man)
“I’m only human, that’s all it takes, don’t put the blame on me…”
Sing To Me (MISSIO)
“Sing to me 'cause I can't hear myself, through the loudness of my own hurts…”
I Will Not Bow (Breaking Benjamin)
“And I am not proud, cold-blooded, fake, I will shut the world away…”
(The final battle with Osaron.)
Up The Wolves (The Mountain Goats)
“It’s gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage…”
(Holland’s sacrifice.)
Part 4- Backstory/Life Flashing Before His Eyes
Head Full Of Doubt/Road Full Of Promise (Avett Brothers)
“And there was a kid with a head full of doubt, so I’ll scream ‘till I die and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out…”
(Holland’s grand destiny.)
A Dustland Fairytale (The Killers)
“Is there still magic in the midnight sun, or did you leave it back in sixty-one, in the cadence of a young man’s eyes…”
(Holland as the Someday King.)
Borderland (John Marc McMillan)
“Help me Holy Lord, I see the light of Heaven’s porch, but so many of us are born here outside your chain-link fence…”
(Holland growing up and meeting Vortalis.)
Poor George (James Supercave)
“Poor George, poor George, he never learned how to stop…”
(Vortalis’ reign and subsequent death.)
I Knew You Once (Hollie Allen)
“Yes, I knew you once, and it was nice…”
(Holland’s past relationships and how he misses them.)
Bohemian Rhapsody (Panic! At The Disco)
“Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters…”
(Holland’s entire life flashing before his eyes, riddled with pain, power, and a refusal to submit.)
Part 5- The End
Kettering (The Antlers)
“And I didn’t believe them when they told me that there was no saving you…”
(Kell and Holland preparing to leave for White London, with Kell wishing things could be different and Holland wishing they had been.)
Never Been Alive (Avett Brothers)
“I’ve never been alive, like I am now…”
Numb (MARINA)
“And I’ll light up the sky, stars that burn the brightest fall so fast and pass you by, cough like empty lighters…”
(Holland’s final death- the end.)
Congrats to everyone who read this far- this is my first playlist, so I may have gone a bit overboard. Please enjoy, and let me know if there’s any other ADSOM characters I should do one of these for!
#adsom#a darker shade of magic#shades of magic#adsom playlist#holland vosijk#white london#profanity warning
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an apostles redemption
Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Grace Walker)
Chapter Summary:
Warnings: fluff, swearing, family angst, mention of nuclear weapons and firearms, facial injury
A/N: This is a story I’ve started on Wattpad, but Know there are many more August Walker fans on here so I thought I’d post it here too! Hope you enjoy!
chapter one | chapter two | chapter three |
Maleficent Scars
"There cannot be peace without first great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. As mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle, the so-called defenders of peace – the church, the government, the law – work tirelessly to save humanity from itself. But, by averting disaster, they serve to delay a peace that can only come through an inevitable baptism of fire.
The suffering I bring you is not the beginning of the end. It is the beginning of a greater mutual understanding through common suffering. It is the first step towards the ultimate brotherhood of man. The suffering I bring you is the bridge to ultimate peace.
Today, mankind has been handed the opportunity to escape his destiny, an otherwise inevitable conclusion to a thousand years of intolerance and fear.
I call all rationalists who can stand and join in the struggle against the radical theists, all of which fall beneath a common umbrella of ideology. If we were to continue any further we would reach mythology and Aesop's fables. When do we stop?
Any belief in a spirituality with no other proof, other than the cravings to project one's self over the rational thinking of the others must be eradicated as it does not only halt progression and development of the human mind and reach, but also hinders it.
Here I will emphasize clearly that the judgment upheld against us will be one of human hands, not of a god or other worldly being. Part of the absurd rational is what leads to the obscure justifications, the believers place upon their own disgraceful and belligerent behavior.
Here I will emphasize clearly that the judgment upheld against us will be one of human hands, not of a god or other worldly being. Part of the absurd rational is what leads to the obscure justifications, the believers place upon their own disgraceful and belligerent behavior.
No. The loss of human life cannot and will not be justified. For this is not the taking of human lives. They are merely puppets, hollow shells that were once human beings. Brainwashed by stories and tales of old, their weak minds have been overpowered by the pressure placed on them by other lifeless puppets. And so, the cycle continues."
Those words were all that have echoed through 20 year old Grace Walker's mind as she attempted to fall asleep in the large bed. Less than 24 hours earlier, she had found out that her husband and CIA agent, August Walker, had attempted to eradicate 1/3 of the worlds population, using two nuclear bombs.
To say that she was shocked would be an understatement. Everything that her sister Julia and her ex husband Ethan Hunt had told her was right, he was a completely different person. He was not the person she fell in love with.
To her, Auggie was her whole world. He was warm, loving, comforting. He always spoke to her softly, with pure love in his voice. He did everything in his power to ensure her happiness and safety. He had bought them a house in Washington, which had the best security systems he could find. He had taught and trained her in hand to hand combat, and how to use a gun in self defence. He had built her a vanity in their bathroom, a breakfast booth, and a floor - to - ceiling bookshelf in their living room. He had proposed to her on her birthday, in France, in front of the Eiffel Tower. They had adopted the sweetest dog ever, and American Akita named Kal, together.
To her, that was not the same man who the world was talking about. That was not the man who used the CIA, killed Hunley, and attempted to kill Ethan and her sister Julia. She felt tears prick her eyes, as Kal cuddled closer to her in the bed. Grace rolled over, and wrapped an arm around him, and finally drifted off to sleep, Kal's hair tickling her cheek.
She was awoken at 3:42 am by the television across the room from her pinging, which alerted her that the front gates had been opened. She shot up from bed, barely disturbing the large sleeping dog. She raced over to the closet and grabbed the gun that laid in a shoebox, in the locked safe.
' Back to the wall. Finger on the trigger. Small footsteps. Identify your target. Point and shoot.' August's voice echoed in her head. She descended the large staircase that lead into the kitchen. She heard the front door open, and slipped quickly from the kitchen, through the living room, and pressed her back to the wall next to the doorway that led to the entry way of the house.
The door to the living room opened, and Grace immediately cocked her gun, and pointed it at the tall, dark intruder.
"Who are you, and what do you want." Grace said, as she attempted to hide the fear in her voice.
The figure turned around, with their hands in the air. "Angel, it's just me." Grace was shocked to hear Augusts low voice.
She flicked on the light switch next to her head, and stumbled backwards. August was alive, but injured. He had burn tissue on his right side of his face. He also had a average sized scar on his forehead, that was stitched up, but still looked red and angry, like it had been done badly.
Grace dropped the gun, and jumped into his arms, as all thoughts about what he had done barely 48 hours ago left her mind.
"What the hell happened, Auggie?" She whispered into his shoulder. His hand came under her butt, and he lifted her up to wrap her legs around his waist. He walked over to the couch, and sat them down. He ran his fingers up and down her spine to calm her down. A few moments later, Grace lifted her head to look at August.
"Why did you do that, August?" August cringed inwardly at the use of his full name, which Grace only used when he was in trouble.
"I thought I was doing the right thing, baby. I realized as I was laying in a cave, hiding from Sloane, that I was on the wrong side. I realized nothing is worth leaving you alone. I realize if you can never forgive me for what I did, but I want to be better. I hope you can at least help me." he said in a truly sorrowful voice.
Grace stood up. "I don't think I can forgive you, at least not right now." She said, standing in front of him. August sat up straighter, and placed a shaking hand on the back of her thigh.
"I understand, baby, I do. I want to be better, but I need your help. Please," He said, a tear streaking down his face, and hitting the burn tissue. He cried out in pain, and Grace immediately looked down.
"Auggie, what is it?" She said, as he tried to wipe the tear, but just causing himself more pain. She noticed his pain, and helped him stand up. She led him into the kitchen and sat him on a bar stool.
Her sister Julia had taught her how to stitch up her own wounds when she was younger, a few months before she married Ethan. Both her sisters Julia and Melissa, as well as their mother wanted her to be a nurse like Julia, but Grace wanted to be an Early Childhood Educator . She had just finished college and was working in a daycare that she loved. But, she knew quite a bit about the medical field.
She brought out the professional first aid kit that bother her and Julia had received from their brother Rick a few years prior, and she always kept it stocked. She fished through it until she found burn ointment, and her stitching equipment. She sterilized her hands and put her gloves on, before turning to August. She put the burn ointment on his burn, and began to take out his badly sewn stitches.
"Jesus, Auggie, who stitched you up?" She asked, as he yelped while she pulled them out.
"I did," He said. "I tried to remember how you do it, but I couldn't remember clearly because of the pain. Are they bad?" He asked.
"I mean, they kept your face together so they're not horrible, but they could be better. I'll have to teach you how to do it properly." She whispered. "How much pain is the right side of your face in, on a scale of one to ten?" She asked, as she attempted to determine wether or not he needed professional burn treatment.
"It only hurts when liquid touches it. I managed to get out of the stream quick, and cleaned the remaining fuel off my face as soon as I could. Do you think it will scar?" He asked, as he gripped his leg.
"It probably will, a little. I don't think it will be bad though. You're still incredibly handsome to me," Grace whispered, attempting to make him smile. As much as she was angry with him, she still loved him, and wanted to protect him. He smiled up at her as she finished off the stitched, and bandaged his forehead.
She looked down at him, and pressed a small kiss to his lips, before she lowered her head to his shoulder. His arms came to rest around her waist.
"I know you're mad at me, but I love you with my whole heart, and will do anything to be better."
Grace lifted her head up, and looked in his eyes. "I know, and I love you too. I'm not as mad I would have been if you had gone through with it, but I'm still mad. I am willing to help you get better, because I know you are capable of getting better. Let's go to bed for now though, I'm sure Kal misses you too."
August stood up and followed her to their shared bedroom, not removing his hand from her waist.
As he laid in bed, with Grace in his arms, and Kal curled up at his feet, he knew he'd do anything to get better.
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starry eyed (dear universe).
❄️💤 mikage hisoka
summary: one thousand stars, that’s all he needed to make one wish
dedication: julia ♡ i love you, thank you for being my bff~ ☆★
warnings: angst, crying, gods, graphic descriptions of physical pain, blindness, memory loss, star tears, unrequited love
author’s note: based on the concept of “star tears”! similar to hanahaki, but the unrequited love instead causes the person to cry bright, twinkling stars. over time, the person could become blind or in extreme cases, lose their memory if the pain becomes unbearable :)
word count: 2,498
music: first love – bts (yoongi), 134340 – bts
All Hisoka needed was one thousand lucky stars to make one wish. One wish, one simple request for the galaxy to make come true—for you to love him back.
He had no reason to believe in the unexplainable, but Hisoka trusted the stars to grant him a new chance. Yet, every hopeful, silent plea to any passing shooting star was unheard. Why did the gods peer down on Earth, then? To glance in curiousity, to listen to mortal grievances and suffering, only to turn a blind eye towards the pitiful. Hisoka cursed the gods that one night, then he collected his first star out of many.
Perhaps, they were listening. Or, they knew all along, because Mikage Hisoka was fated to die by the hands of unrequited love. But, all he needed was one thousand lucky stars, that’s it. One thousand would change Hisoka’s life, give him an opportunity to save himself before the night took him into the darkness.
But maybe, just maybe, you were worth going blind for.
You were the moon, glowing and ever present in his life. A source of infinite comfort that was unwavering, gentle, and a figment of the most desperate parts of his imagination. It was odd how the universe worked in your favor, how the gods seemed to bend his will to fit yours. Giving him the curse of crying stars when you were a divine god, it was a punishment for falling in love with someone so out of his reach.
As Hisoka thought of you, you and the way the sun became jealous over your beaming smile, he closed his eyes to avoid the light. It was too bright, too blinding, too breathtaking despite the consequences he’d have to face later on. Regardless, Hisoka reached up and held the fragment within his shaking hand. It was ethereal, you would’ve liked it. Yet, he pocketed it for safe keeping, for later to continue his destiny.
You couldn’t know of his star tears, Hisoka thought with a quiet sigh. This was a secret between him and the gods of the night sky.
☆★☆★☆
Hisoka didn’t like to, but he remembered the moment he realized he was in love with you.
It was night, as expected. You were outside, dragging Hisoka with you despite his reluctuance. Hushed background noise faded into nothing when you two reached the edge of the forest. The college party left behind consisted of your friends who gathered for the spectacle tonight, but you wanted a front row seat in your childhood spot. You two were the loudest of them all. Your laughter disturbed the way of Mother Earth, but even she couldn’t be mad at an angel like you.
Settling onto a tree stump with both your names carved into the base from a long, long time ago, you grinned and it felt like the start of a new day. It wasn’t even past midnight yet, but being with you felt like a sunrise was near. Hisoka fell into routine easily and rested next to you despite the wet grass, intending to always be by your side as you excitedly rambled about the supernatural phenomenon tonight. Old habits die hard, and ever since Hisoka knew you, you were in love with the stars.
There was a meteor shower tonight, apparently the first of many decades, nearly a century since. It was a sight to behold, an occurrence that would never happen again in both your lifetimes. You two comfortably talked amongst yourself, though the conversation was inaudible in his memory. Hisoka always had a rather blurry take on his past, but that night was something he’d never forget.
When the first meteor passed, you went silent with awe and stared at the sky. Hisoka didn’t look, at least not for a while, as he took in the way you shined. You were the event of the century for him, someone that would never happen again for this lifetime at least. You were so happy, the stars in the sky, the reflection in your eyes.
“Hisoka, look! Make a wish!”
Hisoka saw a sembelance of a shooting star and you quickly made a wish under your breath. He couldn’t remember what yours was, but he recalled his without a doubt.
Dear universe, I wish they would love me.
(When Hisoka was left by his lonesome after you went to find your friends, he cried his first star. You loved the stars so much, that he had them in his tears now.)
☆★☆★☆
Hisoka often wondered what it would be like to be in the void. To see nothing but black, surrounded by the absence of nothing constantly. It crossed his mind whenever the twinkling of the stars weren’t enough to distract him, or when you were illuminated by the cascading moonlight in such a way that made his breath hitch. Either way, the threat was present. In the far future, but a concern nonetheless.
These days, you seemed fascinated by it all ever since you noticed Hisoka started needing glasses. The concept of blindness, being unable to visualize anything anymore. You called it rebirth, though that was an optimistic way of seeing it. Starting over again, like how before you entered the world. Hisoka didn’t exactly disagree, though he didn’t exactly remember what it was like before his first breath.
“Do you think you’ll go blind?” You intended to jokingly ask but it came out as a whisper, as if you were afraid to break the silence between you two. As you leaned back, Hisoka noticed the stars were reflected in your eyes again as you looked up. How cruel of the universe, to taunt him this way as he gulped, pretending to think it over. He already knew the answer.
“Maybe so.” For you, I would, was left unsaid. You slowly nodded concerned, as if finding truth in his statement after a bit of consideration. Pushing your knees up, you rested your chin upon them and hugged your legs close. You were so radiant despite the late hour, much more eye–catching than the constellations in his own. Sitting beside you, Hisoka watched you carefully with the quiet, suppressed love of a man who knew it would never be enough. Despite his internal dilemma, you turned your smile at him like nothing was wrong. As if Hisoka wasn’t going from blind from directly staring at the sun named you.
“Take care of your sight, okay? You have the galaxy in your eyes.”
When you placed your fingers against the bridge of his glasses to adjust them, it took all his prayers to the gods to not cry. Hisoka turned his attention back to the sky and out of the corner of his eye, caught a a gleam. Maybe it was shooting star, maybe not.
If only you knew who the stars in his eyes were for. Hisoka closed them and put his hands together, making a wish. He knew you were doing the same and wondered what you wanted so desperately in this world. Was it so naive of him to hope his name was in your thoughts? Nevertheless, Hisoka wished.
Dear universe, if I am reborn, please let me be the love of their life.
☆★☆★☆
Hisoka’s vision was getting worse and he knew, he was running out of time. For some unexplainable reason, his right eye seemed to be blurrier than the other. It was beginning to become a struggle to explain why his eyes were different shades, something you picked up on the day it became painfully obvious.
“Hisoka, your eyes! Who did this to you—?” You started, moving in closer to stare directly at his eyes. Hisoka flinched, stumbling back quickly just as your fingertips grazed his cheek. You were clearly shocked, not used to such a violent reaction. How could you not be? Everything you graced shined, glowed in a heavenly manner as if you had the touch of golden life. While Hisoka was made of glittering cosmos from your presence, he was slowly losing the light in his eyes at the same time.
“It’s okay. I won’t go blind.” Not until I collect one thousand stars, not until I make my wish, unspoken and ignored once again. Hisoka turned away, his hands in his pockets and hair long enough to cover his mismatched eye. It was a nice style, perhaps he’d keep it, curse or not. The silence between you two was foreign, contemplative, questionable, but charged with intense energy. You had something to say, and so did he, but neither had the blessing to share their thoughts aloud. Then, you sighed.
“Promise?” You held your pinky out after a while, to which Hisoka finally caught your gaze. You looked scared, as if you knew, but it was impossible. You couldn’t have... he’d never let you until the sky fell and the world ended. So Hisoka looped his pinky around yours with the guilt of a liar, forcing a thin smile to ease your conscious. It didn’t, but you appreciated the effort.
“Next time, I’ll make a wish for you to see normally.” You promised, letting go and glancing at the moon. You didn’t ask what was wrong or why he was everchanging, privacy a strong factor between you two. Yet, he knew curiousity was building inside of you as you snuck a peek at his green eyes again. Regardless, Hisoka nodded, the quiet comfortable this time around as he closed his eyes to make a wish even if there was nothing that would hear him.
Dear universe, I wish to have one thousand stars soon.
☆★☆★☆
Hisoka believed, if you cried when missing the sun, you also wept for the stars. Maybe you were his deadly sun during the day, and his mystical and dazzling moon at night. As always, Hisoka centered around you, the far away stars adorning the crescent of your lunar being. Even if you weren’t always with him, he’d be with you until the end as fragments of the galaxy.
Yet, being with you was painful. Stumbling home with harsh, raging pain splitting his eye, his hand over the right with multiple swears at the gods again only made it worse. Crashing into nearby tables with the inability to see, doing everything under the sun to lessen the torture of crying so prettily, eventually giving up to land on his floor and scream in frustration became a cycle.
Star tears came at a cost. It felt like asteroids were bursting through his sight, exploding violently and waking him up in the middle of night just to cry. Sometimes if it got too much, Hisoka would speak to the moon and hope someone, anyone, would have mercy on his mortal state and grant him relief from agony. But how many times did he have to accept that the gods didn’t listen? They didn’t care and never will, they’re present and fading all at once.
Unfortunately, tonight was one of those nights.
Hisoka gritted his teeth, gripping the ledge of his window as he repeatedly hit his head against the wall. Anything to distract him from the immense pain of such a severe disease. Hisoka was so exhausted; it was a particularly hard day, the lack of control was eating him alive. Hisoka pushed himself up, wobbling as he tried to gaze upon the full moon that night. The wretched strain upon his right eye making his vision blurry, but the glowing moon was as elegant as ever. Hisoka wondered if you two were sharing the same sky.
Another star from his eyes and then another. He was so close, just a hundred more, and he’d be set for one wish. So despite the torment, Hisoka thought about you more, thus setting off the meteor shower. At least it got him closer and closer to his goal, love was pain, after all.
When you unexpectedly called him that night, he barely heard his ringtone before hurriedly opening it to seek the comfort of your voice. His tears settled down once Hisoka used all his energy to focus on your tone, speech, and anything that indicated it was you. With the moon as his witness, Hisoka gathered the star pieces to his jar and tallied them with your voice besides him.
When Hisoka counted nine hundred ninety nine, he gripped the phone tighter. He didn’t remember if you mentioned the subtle twinkling in the background on his side, but Hisoka could pick up on one last chime as he prayed to anyone.
Dear universe, please let me cry one more star.
(When you ended the call, insisting on seeing the constellations tomorrow night, Hisoka cried. It was the most painful tear of them all, but he did it. He had one thousand lucky stars.)
(But, as he tried to make a wish, he ran out of time.)
☆★☆★☆
Hisoka woke up to a soft, barely audible twinkling sound right beneath his hands. Slowly lifting his head from his position on the floor, Hisoka opened his tight fist to see a sharp glowing fragment within his palm. What was that? Hisoka noticed the spilled jar near his window, the container broken and even more shining pieces spread out around him. Why were there so many?
Counting them, Hisoka noticed there were nearly a thousand scattered about. Yet, he had no memory of why he would want so much. Something inside him was hurt, pained, it was difficult to even bear the sight of the fragments. His soul was graviating towards them, as if his existence was meant to orbit around these very stars. How was this possible? Stars belonged in the sky, not at the floor of his own home.
But, there was no need to dwell on it further. He must’ve dreamed everything. A scene of a meteor shower, someone’s infectious laughter, and his name carved into a tree went as soon as it came, and Hisoka disregarded it. He moved to pick everything up, carefully placing it in a draw before shutting it tight. It was strange, how it felt like something was missing, how much he wanted to put them all together. How great of a star would it be? To build one star out of a thousand parts? Before he could act on his impulse, Hisoka noticed a slip of paper tucked in the corner of the previously cracked jar.
Bending down to pick it up, Hisoka recognized his own handwriting. But the words were unfamiliar, unheard of and something that made Hisoka feel like he was forgetting something.
Dear universe, I wish they would love me.
(Hisoka looked into the mirror and stared at his reflection curiously. One eye was lighter than the other... he never remembered having such bad vision before. He put on a pair of glasses, anyways.)
Maybe, a better wish for one thousand stars would be to wish back Hisoka’s lost memories. But, no one, not even the gods, were listening.
#mikage hisoka#hisoka mikage#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game#a3! one shots#act! addict! actors! one shots#mankai a3!#mankai company#a3! x reader#a3 x reader#hisoka x reader#a3! hisoka#a3 hisoka
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title: chance encounter
pairing: settsu banri/fem!reader
rating: g (general)
premise: on a perfectly normal morning, at the perfectly flourished breakfast table, taichi asks banri a perfectly off-putting question.
"ban-chan, how the heck is your hair so silky?!"
Banri usually starts up his day skirting everyone else in the lounge to be the first one in the showers. Unlike most of the men that reside in the Mankai dorms, he actually takes the time to scrub down every niche in his body until it's squeaky clean. But, oh, don't even get him started with the intricacies that came with taking care of his hair. That conversation is something none of the members of the troupe (except, maybe, Azuma) are ready for, and he likes to keep it that way.
But on a perfectly normal morning, at the perfectly flourished breakfast table, Taichi asks Banri a perfectly off-putting question.
"Ban-chan, how the heck is your hair so silky?!"
The neo gangster, as Yuki typically calls him, just finished shrugging on his school blazer when he casts Taichi a bizarre look. He has a notepad and a textbook in front of him, balancing a pen in his fingers as he stares back at Banri expectantly. The little brat is in the middle of cramming his homework, and he has the audacity to distract himself like that?
"Conditioner," is all he says in return, grabbing one of the toast slices Omi left for them.
Juza scoffs from where he's stuffing his face with pancakes on the other end. "That ain't very helpful."
"I wasn't fucking talking to you, Hyodo," Banri grates at him dismissively.
"Banri-kun," he hears Sakuya calling out from the lounge, where he and Masumi are already slinging their schoolbags across their shoulders. "You ready to go?"
He spares Taichi a minute nod of the head, telling him to stop doing his homework the day it's due before picking up his own bag. Then, he gives Juza the finger, earning a momentary scolding from Sakyo, who just happens to pass by when he does it. Then, after a few words in farewell bid to those who don't work nor study—Citron delaying their departure a little because he'd wanted to show how to make a blade (braid)—the Hanasaki High boys were on their way.
"So noisy," Masumi mutters as he pulls the door behind him. "But if it was the Director, I wouldn't mind."
Sakuya laughs, leading the way for the three of them. "There's never a dull moment in the dorms, huh?"
As they traverse the short distance to school, Banri hangs back a little when Sakuya asks Masumi about the younger boy's literature class. Their conversation fades into background noise in his ears as he let his eyes wander around the neighborhood. But when they pass by a familiar intersection, Banri instinctively flickers his gaze at the tall, white house in the corner lot—a girl in a dark green uniform closing the gate behind her.
You're preoccupied with something on your phone, oblivious to the three boys that are walking past your house—him included. But given that Ouka High is the opposite way from where they're headed, he doesn't even get the chance to slip in a quick hello.
Well, it's not like you'd remember someone like him, right?
"Ugh, this sucks!"
A week after Banri moved into the Mankai dorms, he found himself facing a rather pressing dilemma: the shampoo provided for the troupe members made his hair disgustingly greasy.
And that was how he wound up at the nearby grocery store, grumbling about how cheap that yakuza, Sakyo, was being with their commodities. If you want something else, buy it yourself, he told him. Giving the old man the last word might have let his pride take a hard blow, but it was a small price to pay for comfort. He'd rather kiss ass to the cheapskate than live another day with greasy hair.
But when he reached the toiletries section, he realized another thing.
The brand he used at home was something his sister imported from another country.
"Having trouble picking something out?"
Banri cast a withering glare at the girl who dared to point out his predicament, but his irritation morphed into curiosity when he noticed that you donned the familiar green of the Ouka High uniform. The next thing he noticed was the way your shiny, luscious hair cascaded down your shoulders, as smooth as a waterfall. He retracted his hostility for a minute, wondering if you could be his saving grace. Banri was good at a lot of things, but he didn't want to make any gambles with his current conundrum.
"Yeah," he answered hesitantly. "Uh, do you know which brand doesn't make your hair oily? Shampoo brand, I mean."
You blinked up at him for a second, confused, before your eyes lit up with realization. "Ah, O'Real is a really nice brand. Makes my hair really bouncy." To demonstrate, you swished your head around, making your long tresses sway with the movement in a dazzling fashion. "But you can't just settle with the shampoo. It's better to buy the value pack with conditioner over...here."
Plucking one of the aforementioned value packs, you handed it to Banri without much preamble. He glanced at the price tag stuck to the bottom, and he had to force himself not to wince with how much it'll cost him.
He was momentarily spared from his monetary concerns when he noticed you struggling to carry the basket you held in both hands. It was filled with an assortment of products ranging from laundry detergent to cold cuts. While he usually didn't offer girls his help lest they asked for it, Banri decided to make an exception.
"You need a hand with that?" He flicked his gaze downwards.
You flushed at his offer, shaking your head (his eyes staring a bit too long at the way your hair moved once again). "Oh, no, no! I couldn't possibly bother you with—"
"Come on," he said, clicking his tongue as he plucked the basket from your grasp. "I ain't taking no for an answer. Consider this as...payback. For helpin' me out."
Relenting, you folded your arms across your chest, smiling up at him cheekily. "Would you at least tell me your name, then?"
"Settsu Banri," he replied coolly. "You still headed to the other aisles?"
"Nope. I remembered last minute that I still have an unopened bottle of conditioner at home," you sigh, giggling at him. "You're not very delicate with girls, are you?"
He stiffened for a moment. Well, you weren't wrong. His sister was one of the toughest women he'd ever seen, and even though he didn't expect every woman to turn out the same way, Banri never once treated girls like fragile glass. His raucous behavior around them prompted most of his female classmates to steer clear of him—not that he'd minded, but this was the first time someone had spoken the words to his face.
"What about you?" he wondered gruffly in hopes of switching up the conversation. "What's your name?"
"(Surname) (Name)," you told him with a cheeky grin. "Shall we go, Settsu-kun? I mean, you'd want to wash your greasy hair as soon as possible, right?"
His mouth hung agape with disbelief as you happily pranced out of the toiletries section—leaving him with the realization that there were people aside from Juza that could pick a fight with him.
And, surprisingly, he'd let this one slide.
"You know (Name)?"
Okay, he didn't expect Juza to react like that when Banri decided to ask him about you when his roommate arrived at home.
"Yeah, I ran into her at the grocery store a few months back," he says, ticked off. "What's it to ya?"
"Stay away from her," Juza tells him off sharply as he swings his school bag up to his bed. "I mean it, Settsu. Fuck around with me, I don't care. But I swear to god, if you touch my cousin—"
Banri does a double-take on that one. "Cousin? How much fuckin' family do you have, Hyodo?"
"A lot," he replies like he doesn't want to talk about it, but Juza's glare doesn't ease up and for a minute, Banri feels a genuine spite emitting from his roommate. The neo gangster sighs, twirling his phone in his fingers. He sort of knew that asking Juza about you would be a stretch even if you both went to the same school, but how the hell was he supposed to know that you were his goddamn cousin?
After you checked out your groceries that day, you managed to scam him into carrying them for you to your house as well. You were quite the charmer, he had to admit. You'd smooth-talked him into doing your bidding so easily that it was hard to imagine you being related to the mumbling nervous wreck of an actor that was Juza.
It was a chance encounter, he thinks. He could have gone to a different grocery store at a different time at a different date, yet he was there specifically when you found him glaring at the shampoo and conditioner on the shelves. Banri doesn't believe in shit like fate or destiny, but it was a little freaky when he'd seen you again this morning after Taichi asked about his hair—months since he'd last seen you.
"If it means anything, she's always been going to our shows, though," Juza mumbles a few minutes later, catching Banri by surprise. "She's been curious about the guy that's been pickin' fights with me all this time, and I told her it was the one who played Luciano in Picaresque."
"O-Oi!" he yells out. "Don't sully my name before she can even properly meet me!"
"Why do you care?" Juza challenges, brows raised with curiosity. "I thought you didn't give two shits about girls."
For the first time, he can't offer up a single retort. In a battle of wits, he thought he'd win against Juza in every instance, but now...
"Fuck off!" Banri shouted at him, storming out of their room as he hid the blush creeping up his neck from his roommate's view.
#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3#a3 x reader#a3 fanfiction#a3 headcanons#banri x reader#banri#banri settsu#settsu banri#juza hyodo#fluff
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98 Thoughts while watching A New Hope
1. Who was that silver protocol droid? What happened to them? Are they okay? where are they now?? I bet they’re cooler than 3P0.
2. Rebel helmets are just silly.
3. I love how dirty R2 and 3P0 are.
4. Man, Rex is right. Empire-era Stormtrooper armor is total shit.
5. Shut up Anakin.
6. Oh Space Mom. I will miss Carrie Fisher forever.
7. Anakin fucking - he asks a question just as he kills the dude. Like- why-? Shut up Anakin.
8. Something I really love about this first movie is that Leia doesn’t do anything overtly sexily. When she gets shot, she’s literally just laid out on the floor, on her belly. It’s not meant to be hot. And even later when she’s tortured, it’s not meant to be a male gaze thing.
9. For fuck’s sake Anakin. Your daughter is standing right fucking there, and you can’t even sense it. What a dumb.
10. R2 is like “Fuck. This place again?” But 3P0 was created on Tatooine and he doesn’t even remember. That’s kinda sad.
11. As Dettiot says, you can really tell that 3P0 was created by a 9 year old Anakin. Yeesh.
12. I really love the Jawas. They’re so strange, and wonderful.
13. I wonder what R2 was thinking about when he was walking all that time by himself on Tatooine. Was he thinking about Anakin? Was he thinking about the war? Or Padme? Or Ahsoka?
14. Man, Tatooine at dusk is beautiful, isn’t it?
15. These Stormtroopers have sand on their butts. I never noticed.
16. I remember thinking the Jawa going “bobit! bobit!” was very funny as a kid.
17. Beru Whitesun. Former slaver liberator. Secret bad-ass. She and Owen really deserved better.
18. R2: I cannot believe my old master’s son is leaving me the fuck behind. What the fuck is this shit. Get back here. Do you know how much I suffered for your dumb dad?
19. Luke playing with toy ships just like Anakin did. And didn’t Obi-Wan make some of those in one continuity or another? *sad*
20. R2: ANOTHER SKYWALKER OH GOD.
21. SHE IS YOUR SISTER. Do NOT falling in love with your SISTER.
22. R2′s memory has never been wiped. Aside from Leia’s message, gold only knows what other recordings are saved on his hard drive.
23. Blue milk!
24. And Owen lying his ass of to Luke. Ugh.
25. I remember as a kid thinking that Owen was too grumpy/mean. But he’s a really good person. He raised this kid, and wants nothing more than to do right by him. Done so dirty.
26. But Luke’s pensive moment watching the suns set is so beautiful.
27. I desperately want to know how Beru’s cooker works. I want one. It looks so cool.
28. I want a Bantha.
29. R2 trying to wake Luke up is such a moment.
30. Obi-Wan’s krate dragon impersonation is amazing. I wish he’d do it more often.
31. I have feelings about his old, dusty Jedi robes. In fact, everytthing about old Ben gives me feelings. He lost everything, and has been hiding in the desert for twenty years.
32. “He’s searching for his former master. I’ve never seen so much devotion in a droid before.” Obi-Wan’s face is so haunted in this moment. Fuck.
33. R2: WHY YOU PLAYING YOU KNOW ME! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU
34. Owen told Luke his father sold drugs. The. Fuck.
35. “He was the best star pilot. And a cunning warrior. And he was a good friend.” *sads*
36. Obi-Wan sat in the desert with his brother’s lightsaber for twenty years, just mourning everything that had happened. Fuck.
37. Obi-Wan stop LYING.
38. Obi-Wan’s face clearly says, while Leia’s recording plays, “Oh shit. All this crap is catching up to me. Again. I’ll never ever be rid of Skywalkers.”
39. Obi-Wan has such terrible ideas. Still.
40. I just love that Vader hates the Death Star. Anakin hates the Death Star the way Steve Rogers hates Stark Tower.
41. Aaaand bye-bye senate. I wonder if that will happen here in the US at some point if Trump keeps Trumping along.
42. Tarken and Vader’s bromance is such a thing.
43. Ha! “accurate.” “precise.” Stormtroopers. Ha.
44. Owen and Beru’s fate is so gruesome. I was always so shocked by how much we were shown. Damn. Grim. And again, done so dirty. More Skywalker adjacent family dead.
45. Shut up, Anakin.
46. More grim shit. Burning the Jawa bodies.
47. Poor Luke. He lost everything that day. He thought his father and mother were both dead, and now his uncle and aunt are truly dead. So yeah. Following a weird wizard on a quest.
48. Mos Eisley doesn’t seem dangerous. Just goofy.
49. Alec Guinness’ delivery of the Jedi mind trick is so casual. So sly. Love it.
50. CHEWBACCA! WHAT A WOOKIE!
51. Why does everybody hate droids???
52. omg. Luke tugging on the bartender’s shirt. Wtf Luke. Just say “Excuse me.” That’s so rude.
53. Obi-Wan just slicing off that dude’s arm...a little reactionary maybe? AND NOBODY DOES OR SAYS ANYTHING.
54. Obi-Wan is so unimpressed by Han. omg.
55. Obi-Wan is just gonna hit up Bail and Breja for cash when they get to Alderaan. Dang.
56. “I’m never coming back to this planet again.” heh.
57. Han shot first. Fuck all of this.
58. You know why her resistance to the mind probe is considerable? BECAUSE SHE IS YOUR DAUGHTER YOU DUMB ROBOT MAN.
59. CGI Jabba is weak sauce.
60. “Even I get boarded sometimes” is the name of Han Solo’s sex tape.
61. Luke’s poncho is so cute.
62. Leia is the best.
63. Tarken is wearing comfy slippers.
64. The reason why even if Vader made amends with Luke, Leia will never forgive him, is right here. Not only did he torture her, but he stood back and watched while they destroyed her home. She will never be able to forgive him. Ever. And that’s legit. She doesn’t have to.
65. I believe Chewie actually does beat someone with their own arm.
66. Obi-Wan’s smile when Han says there’s no mystical Force controlling his destiny was so good.
67. Even when there’s nobody else in the room, Vader doesn’t get to sit down. What the fuck.
68. Obi-Wan knows he’s gonna die.
69. Mark Hamill talks so fast.
(I accidentally took a nap during Leia’s rescue and the trash compactor scene. I was tired, and I’ve seen this movie so many times)
70. Han screaming after the Stormtroopers is such a fucking mood.
71. Vader vs. Obi-Wan here...I have a lot of feelings about these two disasters fighting agai- SHUT UP ANAKIN.
72. Not only does Obi-Wan sacrifice himself to give Luke an exit, but he does so because he’s giving Anakin a choice in terms of killing him or not. He’s giving him a moment of grace here, I think. To not be an evil fuck. But uh...Vader.
73. When Obi-Wan says “You can’t win.” He’s not talking about the duel. He’s talking about over-all. Being a Sith means that he can’t win. And his “If you strike me down, I’ll become more powerful than you can possibly imagine” refers to the amount of guilt and shame Anakin will feel in killing his brother. That that will eat at his soul. And it does.
74. Vader stepping on the robes to make sure Obi-Wan is dead is hilarious in such a weird morbid way.
74. In a weird flip, Vader now has Obi-Wan lightsaber, as Obi-Wan had Anakin’s.
75. Poor Luke. Owen, Beru and Obi-Wan all in one day.
76. 1st person shooter time!
77. Oh Han and Leia. My first fucking ship. So fighty. So sexy. I love them.
78. Stop flirting badly with your sister Luke.
79. ...who is Luke jealous of here?
80. I love the HC that Vader knew about the weakness in the Death Star, and hated that fucking thing so much he never mentioned it.
81. R2 back in starfighter with a Skywalker.
82. I swear Red Leader looks like Don Knotts.
83. I love X-Wings so much.
84. Vader’s reflexes behind the controls of a starfighter must be fucked compared to what they were pre-Mustafar.
85. Luke watching all these people die like “Ooh. I guess this is what Han was talking about.”
86. Oh Tarkin. You gonna regret everything in a couple minutes.
87. Biggs’ mustache is majestic.
88. Luke saves Wedge’s life by telling him to get the fuck out. Later, Wedge will likely sing “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables.”
89. The targeting system feels so old-timey.
90. Obi-Wan you trained him for like 20 minutes. He doesn’t know what he’s doin- okay.
91. ANAKIN! HOw dare yOu ShoOT R2!
92. Good job Han. <3 I actually really love Han a lot. He’s not a smart man, but he’s a pretty good man.
93. The Death Star is destroyed, Tarkin dies, and Vader goes spinning off into space. Some fics have him traveling through time!
94. The original trio is so pure in this movie. I love them so much. The sequels did all three of them so dirty.
95. Leia’s necklace is so good.
96. And Luke’s Jacket is so bad. I’ve seen photos of it replaced by a brown jacket and it is so much better.
97. Remember everybody. Rex is at the ceremony somewhere, watching a Skywalker get a medal.
98. I love this fucking movie.
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Rise Above
Soooo I’ve been OBSESSING over the Witcher series (and currently reading Book 2 in my off time). I can’t seem to get Geralt out of my head and I basically ran out of fics to read/ patiently awaiting updates, so I let my imagination flow with this one.
It’s going to be a multi-fic with the first three chapters completed and too many ideas brewing. I’m thinking of posting weekly (every Sunday) if there is interest? Please let me know what you think! All feedback is greatly appreciated. I’m also finishing up some Mayan stories because the fandom needs some extra love.
Masterlist
Geralt of Rivia x Reader
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: slight man bashing, language
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Since early adolescence mother always cautioned of the intrepid bewilderments and betrayals men were guilty of alluding to. Their mortal trickeries and wickedness so elegantly aimed to prey upon their next doe-eyed victim patiently awaiting. Mother also taught her to never succumb to their predatorial tendencies without a fight. For this made Y/N swear to never become what others around her so willingly yielded to, and that was a promise she intended to uphold until her last untimely breath. Even against her worst nightmares, Y/N would willingly glower straight into death’s mischievously hollowed eyes than ever give a man a sliver of power over her very existence especially without her consent. Her mother made sure of that.
Y/N reigned from the bountiful lands of Temeria. Plentiful on unharvested acreages and majority of kind folk. Her livelihood rotated between feeding livestock, sharpening blades, tending to her colorful harvested gardens, and riding her beloved stallion, Mr. Darcy among many other hobbies that encapsulated her attention. Days blended into months as Y/N kept with her daily chores watching in discomfort as her mother pretended their lives weren’t about to be upended in numerous ways. Even the mere existence of magic couldn’t make undeniable ailments evaporate. Humans were a multifaceted bag of bones; mages were an untouchable species still yet to perfect their untapped capabilities. Y/N wasn’t too keen on categorizing herself hence her importance of isolation. Her once radiant mama rapidly dissolved into emaciation, staying presently beside Y/N for a moment’s more of honest love.
“Do not let fear grip its’ treacherous claws into you. For I know the searing pain of losing a beloved.” A ragged gasp slipped her lips as she ventured on, her words choppy. “I spent a good amounts time wallowing. Misery is an old friend. And its occasional deviousness ruses you sometimes into thinking that its constant companionship will remain and that one is unable to attain blissful happiness. But you can, you can walk away from pain. Never forget your choices, my love.”
“You have my word, forever and beyond. I will live in your image.”
Her bones progressively weakened as many sleepless nights withered into dusk; her skin once glowed with the light of a thousand suns now had a clammy-cool manifestation. Y/N refused to acknowledge the painful jab that infiltrated her deceitful senses, so she stayed the course and masked her outlandish emotions. Now wasn’t the time for pity. But her one solace and comfort were the freedom and exhilaration her morning rides brought to her burdened soul. It was in these hushed moments of tranquility she could actually feel the fresh air maneuver throughout the entirety of her body, engulfing her lungs in a welcoming burn. He truly was a beauty to behold. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how the flitter of his silver mane reflected upon a summer’s day or the thickening of his luscious coats preparing for a long winter. When her loneliest moments fleetingly caught up to her, she was never sincerely lonesome.
Old wives’ tales voiced intricately woven fantasies of princesses awaiting their rescuers in decaying castles merely passing time as their hair grew longer in confinement. Y/N recollected eavesdropping upon the town baker’s inviting stories by the ages of nine, quests chockfull of bravery and resolution, doubt beginning to flood her veins. Another story, another vapid man to ‘save’ the day. She could barely hide the chuckle that fell off her lips when she dare glance at the girls lost in tragic intrigue. One tale in specific resided in her childish memory; painting a certain princess that captured the eye of a handsome knight all within the shadows of her forbidden fortress. His velvety voice promising her everything her heart was trained to desire, all she simply had to obey was his one command; to throw down her beautifully kept hair in order for her release to occur. Why were women forced to choose and best be timely in such a life altering circumstance? Y/N wondered if the Princess truly desired to be set free from her silent haven.
Like clockwork, Y/N left the bakery in disarray all while quietly venting underneath her breath. The fable lived on for centuries later as all the women in her village maintained their perfectly kept long locks as long as the Gods allowed. From that moment on, Y/N kept her silky blue hair shoulder length and out of the way. Her mother should have named her rebellion by her mannerisms and ideals alone but deep inside her cavernous belly, she carried great pride of her kin, knowing she wasn’t graced with a foolish daughter as far back when she was safely in the warmth of her womb.
Y/N was brazenly gorgeous with a fierce lioness temperament that left men thirsting at her feet, but she merely wasn’t interested in what any suitor had to offer no matter the amount of gold, land, or riches. She was satisfied with little for her happiness to flourish. Her athletic build aided her in this strenuous life asking for no help and receiving none was her personal policy. Her lineage solidified their strength. Hushed whispers from townsfolk accursed them to witches but they had no humanly conception of the power that laid within their own bloodlines. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop men’s gazes upon the beautiful duo.
Y/N had received no official training as mages were accustomed to but her mother put her faith wholly into her only living daughter. By five, Y/N was capable of complex charms and potions her mother had never laid witness to and for this simply delighted her. Y/N recognized that magic was a tedious give and take, an equal force of dynamics in order to maintain nature’s balance and in secret, she efficaciously thrived. Magic was an underlining necessity that Y/N made sure to never abuse in her favor no matter the situation. She was born and bred with a ferocious vigor and damned be the day she would allow her abilities to do her heavy lifting. Blood, sweat, and tears was her silver lining and Y/N be damned if that was ever taken away from her. She was always a compulsive pessimist, always looking for the soft brown spot in the fruit, pressing so hard she created it. She excelled in the art of secrecy always staying perfectly out of reach even to the woman who adored her completely.
Her mother’s passing hardened her seemingly aloof heart or so she was told. Memories do not always soften with time; some grow vicious edges like knives. Some hearts will forever understand each other whether death’s door stand in their way or not. Curiously, she didn’t remember when she became exhausted. She didn’t remember when exhausted was no longer exhausted, it just was. The tiredness was in her hardened bones and she accepted this state of being bogged down in apathy. Though through her mountainous misery, goodness could often be found residing in the middle of hell.
Trapped in the comfortability of mundane routine, Y/N fantasized about a journey brimmed with mischief and riddled adventure, but little did she know the Gods were listening to her every whim. Fate and destiny happily intertwined. Over a period, her dreams grew consistently worrisome; haunted by an attractive man with hair the color of the moon, hypnotically golden orbs aside his more than chiseled features. If she were to extend her arm his way, he was just barely out of reach and oh, how she desired for a simple touch; to know what stood in front of her was reality or foolishness.
What really unnerved her was the repeatedly jumbled words almost as if the man were submerged under harsh waters. His eyes relayed urgency that Y/N couldn’t quite decipher, not quite yet. With every vision entangling itself profoundly into the corridors of her singular subconscious, Y/N was further entranced by the strange gentleman she was graced with every night fall whether by coincidence or curse. And as he groggily faded into oblivion, Y/N had never slept so soundlessly in her entire existence.
#geralt x reader#geralt of rivia x reader#rise above#my writing#the witcher#series#geralt imagine#the witcher netflix#geralt x y/n#geralt of rivia x y/n#witcher fanfiction#fanfic#geralt of rivia#witcher#henry cavill#henry cavill x reader#reader fic
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Wicked, part one (DT royal AU)
Summary: Hoping to stop the centuries-old feud between two very different kingdoms - a modern-day Astros and the traditional Dracovia, a treaty is signed on an arranged marriage between the future monarchs. However, Astros’ King is unaware his new bride comes with a plan of her own - she’s not interested in peace or his love, for she wants his crown and kingdom.
Warnings: swearing, SMUT, angst, mentions of death...
Word count: 5900
WICKED - SERIES MASTERLIST
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It’s a story as old as time – a woman in distress is saved by prince charming and once the dust settles and they realize they have fallen in love, a marriage occurs. When the king marries his dame, every fairytale ends with a happily ever after. However, Grayson will learn that’s not how his story ends.
Centuries of mutual hate and disputes over land, bloodshed in wars that late King Sean wanted to end before his demise had all lead to a signed agreement. Once Crown Princess of Dracovia and the Crown Prince of Astros are of age, the two will join hands in holy matrimony and bind the two kingdoms for a peaceful future. The intention was to bring a new age to both kingdoms, to see a dawn instead of the sunset they were all forced to live in.
“You know your duty.” King Sean told his sons in his last days, reminding them of the sacrifice one of them has to make.
While in Dracovia, the rules of succession were clear - the eldest becomes the ruler, in Astros the line of succession was decided after their king dies by trials. Trials of mind, body, endurance between the siblings was to determine which of the two will rule over Astros and marry the future queen of Dracovia.
“Yes father.” Ethan and Grayson didn’t fight it. Both of them knew their destiny would be to marry for duty. They couldn’t even dream of love. Not when there was a kingdom to think of.
Meanwhile, the Dracovian Princess had a similar conversation with her father, the king.
“You know your duty.” King of Dracovia spoke solemnly as he reminded his daughter of her assignment, the blood she’d have to spill and the throne she’d have to claim.
For a long time, Princess Y/N had no intention of following through with her father’s mad plans despite everything that happened in the past. She believed the past should stay just that…a ghost of remembrance that cannot affect the future.
Her beliefs changed once she watched her best friend lose her head after they were supposedly meeting for a confirmation of the peace treaty…the one she agreed on because they wanted to see if she was pretty enough for their future King of Astros. Once she had lost Andrea, Y/N’s heart turned black and she willingly forged her path to Astros.
“Yes father.” Y/N wanted to appease her father. More than that…she wanted vengeance. After all, she was trained for this her whole life. She knew she was ready.
**
“Your highness, we have official news from the new king of Astros.” Lady Mareen walked into princess Y/N’s quarters, a letter neatly folded in its envelope on a golden platter.
With a hum, Y/N beckons her lady to come closer, taking the letter in her possession. She had been expecting the news ever since she heard there would be a new King crowned, the same man who would wed her after. She is of age, has been for a week now. He’s been of age for a year, as well. Both her potential husbands were already nineteen summers wiser, nearly twenty.
Taking out a small blade, the hilt black with a silver dragon wrapped around it, sapphires placed instead of its eyes, Y/N took a moment to admire the wondrous dagger. It had been a gift from her father, the king of Dracovia. It had been a way to give her courage, to let her know he believed in her - his daughter, the dragon queen. Sure, the dragon’s time had long passed and most people outside of Dracovia would laugh at the notion of them ever being real, but Y/N believed in a dragon’s wisdom and guidance and it all led her to this moment.
Using the tip, she cut open the envelope and drew out the letter with just the tip of her index finger. Unfolding it, she nodded to herself before speaking.
“It seems my husband is to be Grayson Bailey Dolan, the youngest of their dynasty. He had managed to win the trials by beating his brother in a duel. He lost the battle of the wits and managed to win the courageous trial by mere seconds.” Looking up from the letter, Y/N smirked.
“He should have lost. This was dumb luck.” Looking back at the neatly written letters, she continued.
“The King was crowned a week after, and he married me through our proxy only five days later.” Even if she hadn’t even seen him yet, Y/N felt sick to her stomach knowing she’s already considered to be his wife.
“It says I am to sail to their kingdom in two days' time where I shall do my duty and bear him children so that we can bring about a new era of peace.” Snorting, Y/N ripped the paper in two, tossing it beside her chair. She had no interest in bearing his children, especially not when she had her heart set on taking his life and marrying someone of her own choosing.
Y/N came from a long line of very traditional royals, those who believed to be descendants of the dragons themselves. They called her blood the blood of the dragon and when she decided to be a mother, her children will not bear tainted blood of her enemies. She refuses to have her insides become a home for his evil seed. While tradition demands she has children, Y/N decided to accept one thing that would rescue her from such a fate - birth control pills.
“Your father must be told.” Lady Mareen voiced her opinion, earning an annoyed sigh from her future queen.
“He knows. Make the necessary arrangements, we leave soon. Make sure you’re well-acquainted with their traditions and values, you’ll be my most trusted advisor.”
**
It had been a week since she abandoned her home in search of vengeance. Y/N had spent each hour plotting the best way to go about - be herself and seize the throne by force or to play the dutiful wife that Grayson will fall in love with and sign crown matrimonial on his own accord…after which she’d put her dragon blade through his heart…and his brother’s and anyone else who stands in her way.
The continued travel on waves had given her calamity, but there was nothing calm in the storm inside her mind. She was prepared for a lot, aware Astros seems like a completely different planet in comparison to the life she’s lead in Dracovia. It would need adjustment, but she could find a way to connect to their people, to win their hearts. If she found love among the people, she’d be a step closer to the throne.
She watched the almost finished bridge between the countries with narrowed eyes, realizing it may help her travel home much faster than by water. While it was a long way to go, she had time to think and prepare for the task she set herself up to do.
However, despite all she expected, the moment she saw the sandy beaches in the sunset, the icy flames in her eyes came alive with fury.
“Is the King with them?” Y/N hissed through her teeth, appalled by her welcome committee.
A dozen of casually dressed or half-naked people waited barefoot in the sand, some cameras set in place to stream the dragon princess when she steps foot on their lands.
“Is he…shirtless? Doesn’t he own a shirt?!” She nearly threw up at the sight, upset over the way she was to be welcomed. “Such disrespect. I had low expectations from these barbarians, but this managed to exceed those expectations!” Y/N bashed on Grayson’s choice of outfit and she found herself absolutely horrified by the scene she was met with. After all, who greets his future wife, a woman of royal blood - dragon blood, like she’s a common whore?
“I’m sorry, majesty, but we’ll dock soon and they cannot hear you speak in such a manner. They’re a proud nation and their sense of appropriate royal behavior differs from ours.” Lady Mareen spoke in a hushed tone, hoping to calm her future queen down. She could tell the young princess is fuming, but she needed her wits when they docked and she had to make sure the fire is out by then.
“I have to ask you once again…do you truly think you should do this? How would more bloodshed be justified? Would Andrea want this or would she seek peace?” And that was Lady Mareens first mistake. Without so much as turning around to grace the lady with the honor of eye contact, Y/N gripped the railings with all her might. She had been certain of her choice for a long time now, ever since they cut her friend’s head off and tossed her heedless body at her feet, but before that as well…she still didn’t believe her mother’s death was an accident. The ship wreckage was far too damaged to be the result of a storm she didn’t even see or hear happen. Y/N suspected them to be guilty of regicide too.
“I will answer injustice with justice.” Drawing in a sharp breath, Y/N felt her icy fire spread through her veins, replacing the uncontrollable rage within.
“And you will watch your tongue or you shall find yourself without one.”
Plastering a pleasant, fake smile on her lips, Y/N made eye contact with the man that stepped out of the group of people on the beach, realizing that just might be the king…her husband Grayson.
But before the ship had docked, they soon hit a reef, knocking some of the men over the railing and definitely shaking the princess up. Nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed at the reef she could see through the crystal clear waters, Y/N felt her blood run cold as ice.
“The water is low enough for us to walk to the shore, your highness.” The captain spoke, his voice a little shaky as he pressed his cap to his stomach while his nerves clearly took over. How was he supposed to tell his future queen that he had missed a whole reef and that the boats were now destroyed from impact?
Turning around on her heel, her shoulders rolled back and her chest puffed out, Y/N looked like a perfect picture of royalty, poised and graceful, beautiful and just as dangerous.
With a deathly glare aimed at the captain, she scoffed, pressing her lips together.
“I believe you might have a way to the shore that won’t get you wet.” Lady Mareen whispered, turning the princess’ rage over to herself and her attention back to the shore.
Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Y/N noticed the same shirtless man she thought would be her husband had run into the water, walking over to the ship. His face is clearer the closer he gets, his determination visible in every clench of his chiseled jaw. This is a man much more than a simple king, a man not easily swayed. Grayson Dolan, the king of Astros would clearly be a problem with his warrior instincts, for she had never met a royal willing to get wet for a woman they’ve never met but a warrior who was sworn to die in her name. And he looked just like them - a warrior who would die for her and she didn’t know if she liked the notion, or feared it.
“Will you come down or should I carry you piggyback down?” Grayson shouted up at his future wife, his voice light and cheery, way too informal and teasing. For a woman who had never had a man dare speak to her before being presented formally, Y/N could only snort at his behavior that’s unbecoming for a king.
“I’m wearing a dress!” Y/N shouted back, a little irritation slipping past her with her sharp tone.
“So? I’ll see what’s under before the day is done anyway!” Grayson chuckled, his words angering her. She knows she’s supposed to consummate the marriage, that much she can’t avoid, but to be spoken to in such a manner even before they’ve been introduced? That was unheard of. She’s not some wench he can treat as he pleases – she is the blood of the dragons of the old and she demanded respect.
“Just jump!” Grayson added, realizing his mistake once he saw her look at him furiously, her cheeks darkening so much that he could tell even from a distance. Ethan had warned him to be formal, charming and untrusting toward her - to be careful, but Grayson never expected her to be such a beauty, so captivating, a goddess in her like. He had seen many women that possessed beautiful, symmetrical lines of their face, but Y/N had something he had never seen before – graceful rage and while he should know better, he found himself craving the burn she offered just as much as the cold she provided.
“What?! Are you mental?” She screamed at him, leaning over the railing to make sure she heard him over the crashing waves. He seemed tall, very tall in comparison to her, so if the waves were up to his mid-thigh? They would drown her with that dress of hers. The corset would make it even harder for her to breathe and she’d drown…Perhaps that’s a little dramatic to an average human, but the princess had never stepped foot in the ocean before, let alone swam on her own…swimming wasn’t one of the lessons she needed to learn to be a royal, so yes, she believed she’d drown.
“I’ll catch you, I swear! I never break my royal promises!” Grayson crossed his index and middle finger in a gesture she didn’t understand, but what else could she do?
Knowing it’s insane, Y/N didn’t see a better way to go about things. She had to risk it and trust this man she wouldn’t ever trust, she swore it. But even if he dropped her, she’d still land in water, her life wouldn’t hang on his ability to catch a woman of her size. Sure, her dignity and ego would be bruised, but she’d survive...if the waves didn’t pull her under.
Climbing over the railing, she held on tightly. She drew in a shuddered breath of bone-chilling fear before she stopped being afraid entirely as her mother’s words reminded her of who she is.
“Dragons can’t die, not like humans do. Remember who you are, my dear. You’re a dragon’s heir, the future Dragon Queen and the only silver dragon patron we’ve had since the first Queen. You can’t be defeated.”
She’s the blood of the dragon, she can’t be killed so easily.
The wind whipped her hair about her face and she sucked in a deep breath. Her muscles were poised as if to run away but instead, she brought her toes to the edge. Now she trusted her life to the stranger who she vowed to ruin and she didn’t miss the irony. As gravity took her fiercely toward the aquatic death trap below, she struggled to claim any of the air that rushed by for her own lungs. The second between jumping and feeling a pair of strong arms with a wet sensation spreading over her felt like an eternity. Then the whirl of color settled into the unfamiliar sight of woodsy brown eyes that pierced her with an unrelenting gaze, taking in every inch of her water splashed face.
“Welcome to Astros, Your Majesty.” Grayson decided to address her properly, at least once. He knew it must be anything but easy for her to be taken from her home, her family and friends and to be placed in a kingdom so different than her own, traditions entirely foreign to her. He wanted her to feel welcome, wanted, cared for and respected.
“I believe there’s more to this kingdom than the ocean.” Y/N tried to keep her voice calm, but the slight shake wasn’t hard to detect by Grayson’s keen ears who were trying to absorb every word spoken by the woman he held so tightly to his chest, even if his arms were aching really badly from keeping his promise to catch her. Sure, he didn’t manage to keep her dry and they did hit the water with the impact, but her feet didn’t touch the sand and her pretty glassy Cinderella shoes were still in place.
“Of course. Plenty to see.” Grayson smirked, realizing she was subtly telling him to move along instead of standing in the ocean like a loon. He couldn’t help his smirk from growing into a full smile once she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing herself closer to his body, more than before. Realizing he needed her now in the most intimate, dirty way possible, Grayson decided the bedding ceremony would be moved up to immediately after meeting the officials. He had thought about having a ceremony for the wedding again, but being married by proxy wasn’t odd for royalty and his crotch was much more interested in taking the dress that clung to her body off instead of replacing it by another one.
“Can you not afford shirts? Is Astros in such a bad economic state?” Y/N rose her left eyebrow, her question earning her a hearty chuckle from the king who had been silent as he approached the shore. She didn’t know how hard he had to fight to keep himself restrained.
“We’re very well off, Princess. It was a warm day. Clothing isn’t always necessary to run the kingdom.” Winking, he brought a new wave of rosy-colored heat upon her cheeks. Putting her down, rather reluctantly, Grayson had swallowed thickly once she pulled away from him so quickly that her warmth left him yearning for her.
“Welcome.” Ethan was the first to approach her, his hand taking hers carefully. Keeping eye contact with the princess, he pressed an unusually long, open-mouthed kiss on the back of her hand before releasing it with a smug smirk upon his lips once Grayson cleared his throat, dissatisfied with the time Ethan had taken from him.
“I’m Prince Ethan, at your service.” Ethan flashed her a dazzling smile and for a moment, had she not been there with a purpose, Y/N thought he could be a friend. But she knew better. The Dolan twins may look like angels sent from above, but their hearts must be as dark as the deeds their family had committed against hers. She was ready to set fire to their lives and their reign, but in order to do so, she had to get them to trust her fully.
“Delighted to meet you.” She went for a bow, but Grayson swiftly stops her.
“You’re my Queen. You bow to no one.” Grayson explained, smiling as if he had managed to pierce the invisible veil she set between them, unaware she was anything but softened by this gesture.
“No one, but you? My King?” She didn’t hide her discontent with the situation in this moment, wanting him to catch a glimpse of the infinite hate she had for Astros and the ruling family. Unable to speak up, shocked with her reaction, Grayson stared at her with lips parted. He wanted to say something to convince her she wasn’t brought here to be his inferior but equal, however, he couldn’t because that wasn’t entirely true. As long as he refused to sign crown matrimonial, she’d be his inferior, his consort and wife, but never the Queen of Astros in the actual sense.
“If you will excuse me, Lady Mareen and I shall retire.” Y/N exhaled fully once she saw her lady has arrived, relieved she gets to hide from the inquisitive royals and catch a moment where she can breathe.
“Not a problem at all. However, I suppose you’re aware of our duty.” Grayson whispered the last bit, wanting to be more tactical than he was at the ship.
Lifting her chin, Y/N met his gaze decidedly. After all, she couldn’t avoid her marital duty and while he wasn’t the old, ugly, undeveloped king she had imagined in her mind, she wasn’t quite keen on giving herself to him. She had kept her maidenhood all those years only to lose it to a man who shall never be more to her than a husband in name only. She’d never love him…she promised herself that.
“Yes. I shall expect you at dusk.” Y/N nodded curtly, holding her breath as he gave her the honor of bowing for her. He told her she isn’t supposed to bow to anyone, so why did he do so for her? To get her in the mood to spread her legs for him? To dig a tunnel to her heart with soft gestures so the moment she reveals her beating muscle, he’d put a blade through it? She didn’t trust him not to kill her and he’s a fool if he trusts her.
As the girls moved toward the large, beach located castle, Ethan and Grayson finally had a chance to speak.
“She’s drop-dead gorgeous,” Ethan noted, rubbing his chin in a mixture of jealousy and lust as they both stared at her disappearing figure and the way the dress she wore clung to her curves.
“Yeah. And she’s mine, don’t forget that.” Grayson remarked, making sure Ethan knows his place and that his place was definitely not beside his wife. Strangely overprotective already, Grayson wondered if the old tales of the magic in Dracovia were true and if the princess might have used it on him. He felt bewitched, genuinely.
“Oh, I don’t intend to get too close to her at all. I said she’s drop-dead gorgeous as in, she will kill you brother. You’re not going to survive this dragon bride.” Ethan snickered, playfully punching Grayson’s shoulder as he rolled his eyes at his big brother.
Meanwhile, Lady Mareen had helped her future queen disrobe properly for the bedding. Despite it being anything but what the young girl wanted, she had to be presentable. She knew the theory, she had seen it in her training back at Dracovia, but she had never tried to please a man before and she had to be a master in it. She had to seduce his mind just as well as his heart and body, otherwise she would fail. A man is weakest when he’s in bed with a beautiful woman and while she didn’t think of herself as a typical beauty, she knew she could use skill to keep his interest on her instead of the many paramours she assumed he has hidden in one of the many rooms this castle held.
A special room had been readied for the bride and groom. A large corner of the solar had been partitioned off around one of the fireplaces. An enormous bed had been set up in the room and sheets of the softest linen were spread across it. A coverlet of emerald green, lined with black silk fell across the sheets. Rose petals littered the bed.
Now nude, Y/N got under the covers, telling her lady to leave and let her be alone with her thoughts until her husband came around. She cursed herself for noticing just how beautiful and charming he is, how seemingly loving and kind he might be. She reminded herself that men only break hearts…the only time a woman can keep her husband entertained is when the magic of their newly formed marriage surrounds them, but once that’s over? He’ll tire of her and find a new woman to keep him entertained. She had witnessed that one too many times and she wasn’t going to put herself in a position to love a man she has to kill.
The room was supposed to be filled with many court officials, so she braced herself for the inevitable shame she’d have to endure during the bedding ceremony. If losing her virginity to a man she had just met isn’t bad enough, she’d have to do it in front of several strangers who will be there to make sure the marriage was consummated.
Through the oak door, she heard the noise of the men arriving with Grayson carried aloft on their shoulders. He entered feet first, shirtless as he was when they first met, the men yelling their offers of assistance, their wagers as to the competence of his performance of the task ahead. They were silent as they stood him on his feet and stared at the bride who waited in the bed.
The sheet accented her shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Funny enough, the candlelight instead of electricity made her feel more at home than she’d like to admit. While Dracovia had electricity, most of the castle stayed alight thanks to candles – fire…fire for the dragon family.
Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken as if they smoked. Her lips were hard, as if carved of some warm vermilion marble. She averted her gaze, unable to bear being so bare before them all, including the king’s brother who seemed most engrossed in the view he was about to get.
Grayson was quickly undressed and pushed to the bed. The men watched avidly as he drew the covers aside, giving them a glance of Y/N’s bare thigh and hip, but nothing more. Grayson made sure he was fast enough for them to see nothing at all.
“Out! All of you!” Grayson ordered, his voice loud and determined, no one daring question his will.
When the heavy door slammed shut, the room suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet and Y/N found herself achingly aware of the man beside her. Grayson sat looking at her. The only light in the room was from the flames in the fireplace across from the foot of the bed. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of the centuries-old wars between their kingdoms. He had no thoughts of the warning he was given of her possibly making an attempt on his life. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman, moving his hand to touch her shoulder to see if the skin was as smooth as it looked.
Y/N wanted to bare it all and do her duty, but she drew sharply away from him on instinct.
"Don't touch me!", she said through clenched teeth.
He looked at her in surprise. There was hatred in her enchantingly cold eyes, her cheeks flushed red. If possible, her anger made her even more beautiful. Never had he felt such a raging desire. His hand went around her neck, his thumb digging into the soft flesh. "You are my wife," he said in a low voice. "You are mine!"
“I may be your wife, but I will never be yours.” Y/N told him with such spite, such determination that he let her go immediately.
“You’re untouched, aren’t you?” Grayson’s voice softened, his eyes holding more understanding than she liked. Had he acted unreasonably and taken her against her will, she’d at least be right about his horrid heart and vile mind…but he didn’t. Instead of being a savage she imaged him to be, he offered her gentle understanding.
“Every female descent of the dragon is untouched before marriage, my King.” She addressed him properly, nearly throwing up at the title. She hated the notion of him being the King or having to bow to him, despite him telling her she didn’t have to.
“I’m sorry I was rough. I’ll try and be gentler. If you don’t want to go through with this, I won’t force you. I want you…really fucking bad, but I won’t take you against your will.” Grayson sighed as she stared at him with her big, wide eyes, seeing confusion pass her features.
“You won’t?” She cocked her head to the side, sitting up. She held the sheets close to her body, unready to reveal herself just yet.
“You really think that low of me?” Grayson scoffed, pulling away. He was clear on her way of thinking now – she saw him as a beast, not a man worth loving. She hated him. Wanting some fresh air, he moved to stand and leave the bed, but her small hand quickly wrapped around his bicep and applied just enough pressure for him to stop and look back at her. She let the sheet fall as his eyes met hers, bravely fixing him with her fiery gaze. In less than a minute, her eyes turned from ice to flame and he found himself captivated by the change.
“It’s not force if I’m giving myself willingly, is it?” She raised an eyebrow, deciding on a tactic finally. Grayson may be a warrior at heart, but she saw the desire in his eyes and she knew she had to harness it if she would ever convince him she’s his.
Licking his lips as he cracked a smile, Grayson nodded in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her breasts. He wanted to possess her. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them.
Y/N fumbled with the sheet that wrapped around her, making Grayson chuckle into the kiss.
"I will help you," Grayson said and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress. His hand held Y/N's neck, and when the sheet was gone and she lay nude before him, he relaxed his grip as he gazed upon her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, curvy waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could stop him from taking her.
He pushed her into the mattress and Y/N saw the warrior look in his eyes and for a moment she feared it. A warrior isn’t gentle at all, unlike what he presented himself as. She feared the pain he’d cause and the tears that would follow. She feared what he’d do to her, but then the fear she felt dissipated as he spoke against her lips.
“I’ll go slowly.” Grayson stopped himself, remembering she’s never had a man in her bed before and once he saw the fear in her eyes extinguish the flame he already adored, he reeled himself in.
“Okay.” Her voice had never been smaller, her hands never as desperate as she clung to him. She wanted to trust the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his unrelentingly tender gaze, but she still awaited the pain that was yet to come. He moved on top of her, his lips attaching to her neck gently as he pressed a kiss above her pulsating carotid, knowing she’s nervous as he felt the speed of her pulse.
With one thigh, Grayson is forcing hers apart. He kissed her again, passionate and slow, distracting her as his hand moves lower, down to the curls he’d be the only man to see, to feel. Slipping his finger between her folds, Grayson found her clitoris and applied enough pressure as he pressed the pad of his thumb against it. He feels her breathing change as he begins to rub circles, her thighs trying to push against his in a need of more friction. And that’s when her first moan escapes her and she closes her eyes completely, letting the pleasure take over.
Unable to wait any longer, Grayson pushed the head of his hardened length between the folds, feeling her wetness pooling over as the nature’s lubricant. Feeling the membrane, Grayson stops for a moment, looking at her carefully for any signs of distress, but she seems lost in the sensation of his thumb against her nerve bundle.
Pressing himself inside, he bows his head in the crook of her neck, growling lowly in pleasure. It’s not the first virgin he had, but it’s the first one that made him want to come on the first thrust.
“Go on.” She encourages him, surprising them both. Swallowing thickly, she sinks her nails into his back, anticipating the next thrust. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t in pain, but she knew it would get easier as he moves again and she would feel the pleasure again – and she wanted the pleasure more than the pain.
Nodding, Grayson starts moving in and out slowly, refusing to risk her pain for a little more pleasure he’d find in speed and his untimely release. Instead, he’s using deep, slow strokes with a relentless care for her clitoris, drawing louder moans from her with each passing second until he feels her clench around him, his own mind blackening as he feels himself nearing the edge. She’s holding him so tightly to her body, so desperately as she unravels beneath him. Picking up pace, Grayson finally loses control, jerking his hips to meet hers in a deep thrust only to release his semen deep inside her, allowing them both to breathe.
Rolling off her, Grayson decided to stay quiet, allowing her to have control of the moment. If she wants to cuddle, he’d do it for her and if she wants to talk, he’d talk to her, otherwise, he’d just sleep. He placed an arm around her for comfort alone, not pressing himself closer than necessary, closing his eyes once he realizes she’s not interested in him at all after she came down from her high.
And that’s exactly what happened soon after. In minutes, she heard his slow breathing and she knew he was asleep. Silently, she slipped from under his arm and left the bed. She found the sheet Grayson ripped clean off her on the floor at the foot of the bed, taking it and wrapping it around her body. She felt his cum as it ran down her thighs, angrily wiping herself clean with a wet wipe she brought in her bag. After she got herself clean, she opened her jewelry box and pulled out a small packet, pushing out a single pill from the package and swallowing it without water – her safety net, the birth control pill.
Sitting in front of the fire, she glanced at his sleeping figure and sighed deeply, telling herself not to cry. She was supposed to be in control of him, to make him want her and crave her, yet she found it was the opposite. She didn’t love him, but she did feel a connection…perhaps it’s the kindness he showed her or the pleasure he had given her, but something inside her changed and the heart she hardened on purpose found a soft spot for the King.
“Earn his trust, crown matrimonial, take the throne….Mom, Andrea, my youth.” She reminded herself of her plan and the valuable things she’s already lost for him and his family, drawing in a sharp breath when she realized he might hear her…He cannot know of the plan. But she needed her mantra and she recited it slowly, quietly, religiously to push him out of her mind…besides, he was asleep.
Or so she thought.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Tags: @graysavant @yaren-ates @beinscorpio @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @accalialionheart @peacedolantwins @heyits-claire @graydolan12 @gia-kerks
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As the wind stroked his boyish face, Gran found himself smiling softly. Not one of previously unrealized joy, nor the fragile countenance of someone on the edge of sorrow. No, it was a smile of resignation. Not over anything huge, really, but more a persistent fact of his strange life.
He would always be underestimated.
The breeze’s affection turned fickle and slipped away, leaving only stillness and birdsong to fill the tree he was perched in. The light armor he wore fit him well - a black ensemble, decorated with geometrical splashes of red and trimmed in gold. The plates were near-weightless, but they were tough enough to take all manner of punishment; the master artisan six islands back claimed the whole set was forged from adamantite. The matching gauntlets fit him like a second skin, responsive and pliable and even as he leaned forward on the spindly branch, the greaves gave not a creak or a groan.
By all accounts, the armor was fit for a majestic king, or perhaps a revered general. Not a boy who barely looked sixteen summers. So, who then? One would be forgiven if they mistook him for a prince, or perhaps an up-and-coming knight-commander. His features were handsome, if boyish, and people always told him that he had a “very dashing” air to him. As if that actually meant anything.
No, Gran was none of those things. By birth, he was a nobody from the edge of the known sky, left with his friend that was definitely not a lizard. By trade, he was a skyfarer captain. By destiny, one who shared his life with the Girl in Blue. And by effort? Well, that was the one he was most happy to share. Not that anyone ever believed him at first.
By effort, he could be summed up in four words.
Conqueror of the Eternals.
A boy of sixteen, now going on twenty-two, was the one who bested all ten Eternals in single combat? Even to himself, it sounded like a nice story and nothing more. Even though he lived every moment of it. The more spectacular details, like the defeat of the Erste Empire and his rejection of the True King’s offer were public knowledge. Though, well, it was true that they tended to draw his likeness a bit taller, and his face a bit more rugged. Artists paint what they feel, even if they don’t know it, even if they try and hide it. The bias creeps in. Surely whoever performed these fantastic deeds couldn’t be a sixteen year old kid. It was probably a part of the tale added later to spice it up and make it marketable for local papers.
Well, they were sort of right. When he rejected the “True King” and his poisoned wish, Gran was just about to turn twenty-two. Four months later, he now found himself intervening in a messy war between two kingdoms with his friend and crewmate Altair.
Six years. Six years had passed. Six years that showed nowhere on his face, his countenance. Nowhere save his eyes.
It started six years ago. He’d died protecting a terrified girl. A girl he didn’t even know. Even now, if Gran was left to his own devices, he could taste that choking pain -- not the way his lungs seared from the hydra’s flame, nor the gash in his side from the hydra’s claws. No, it was the pain of being powerless. The pain of not being able to reach his hand up to the sky and ask his father in hated grief if he was proud. Proud that unlike his old man, Gran didn’t abandon a child in their time of need.
So when that girl in blue did something impossible, he made two little promises inside of his weak heart.
One, never let anyone hurt her again.
Two, never feel that way again.
Six years and four months showed only in the tone of his muscles and the strength of his gait. The softness of his steps, the way he would round a corner like a prowling lion due to the endless combat he found himself engaged in. How long was it until he figured out the peculiarities of his resurrected body? His hair and nails grew, he still had to eat and sleep and still smelled awful when covered in silverslime after a successful hunt. Open wounds bled and illness forced him to bed.
But he didn’t age.
He probably realized it after teasing Rackam about his patchwork scruff one day. Rackam had lost his razor and was pilfering through the kitchen for a spare, muttering about the “damn gremlins” who “sneak aboard even though people are on watch duty.”
The exchange wasn’t noteworthy, really. Rackam had laughed and jabbed his index finger into the captain’s cheek, wondering when his peach fuzz would finally pack its bags and leave for more hairy locales.
Rackam’s voice echoed in his head.
“C’mon cap, aren’t you eighteen now? You gotta have more than this in ya!”
---
Weird how such a statement could open a can of worms. Last he checked, he wasn’t in the worm business, either. Well, unless Altair’s little solo mission for me involves worms somehow.
Gran hadn’t honestly asked for details since Altair didn’t seem to think they were important. The gist of his part in the greater plan amounted to “stop the western advance.” Simple and concise, really. The field he was scouting below the tree was still and peaceful, seemingly unaware of both the passage of time and the rumblings of war. The breeze kicked up again, carving gentle waves through the grass, and memory pulled him back under.
---
After that, it was impossible for Gran not to notice everything strange thing going on with his body. Despite nearing the age of nineteen, not a single hair managed to grace his face. Meanwhile, he could still tan (and burn) under the blazing sun and if he chose, he could grow the hair on his head as long as he liked. As an experiment, he’d left one toenail to grow as long as it could, just to see what happened. Other than a supremely stubbed toe one early morning followed by a string of swears angry enough to make Eugen blush, nothing came of his experiment.
If was as if nobody has given his body the blueprints for life after sixteen, as if the existence of “Gran as a person” was tied to his current general appearance, as if something altogether removed from natural biology had decided that “this” was Gran. Whatever was supposed to come after simply...didn’t. Naturally, Gran lost his mind a bit. Only a bit, though. He had the good sense to seek out the famous alchemist and self-proclaimed cutest girl in the world, Cagliostro. She’d joined the crew a while ago and had a keen intellect when it came to matters of the body and it’s intricate workings. After all, she’d made one for herself, probably countless times. Her verdict?
She was stumped.
Apparently, senescence - the process of cells deteriorating after copying themselves over long amounts of time, leading to aging - had stopped in Gran. Sort of. The truth was much stranger. She’d been having him report to her little workshop on the Grancypher twice a week, taking blood and tissue samples much to his immediate and mildly painful dismay. This process continued on for three months before her exasperation and wonder lead her to discuss her findings with “cute, baffling little Gran.”
“Basically, captain! You’re aging just right for the first eight samples. The only way to tell is to be able to “find” the itty bitty little bit of info that goes missing from the blueprint of “you” every time your cells divide. I imagine the Astrals put it in as a sort of safety fe-errrrr, moving on! So! Being the inimitable genius I am, I noticed something about the ninth set of samples. They’re alllllmost the same as the first. Way too close. You don’t just get that bit back for no reason, and you really don’t get THAT much back for any reason.”
Gran nodded slowly, already onto what she was talking about. However, knowing that Cagilostro loved a.) having a captive audience and b.) herself, he let her continue.
“I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure, and positing a hypothesis that early on when I might have just mixed up the samples would be irresponsible. So I waited until that Saturday when I got to stab and slice you again, triple-checking that alllll the samples were out of my workshop. Same result! They looked just like the second sample, even fresh farm-to-table.”
She turned an adorably calculated and seemingly malicious smile to Gran as her explanation ended. Though it wasn’t exactly news, her words were still unnerving. After all, his cells were basically rolling back the clock of aging every four weeks. You know, normal things.
“You know how much I’d give to figure out your secret? Even ignoring the fact that it certainly has to do with whatever Lyria did to you three years ago, this is a discovery so amazing you’d think I’d invented it. Your body is pretty much just removed from time! It’s almost envious enough to make me cry. I can’t believe you, making a genius cry. It’s honestly ridiculous. You can obviously still put on muscle mass and your brain isn’t fried like one of those Golden Friday SHRIMP.”
For a bit there after that, Gran lost a...well, a bit more of his mind. If he had to be honest. Three days locked up in his room, not letting anyone in, not even Vyrn. He poured over alchemical texts, medical documents, arcane and state secrets, anything the Grandcypher had that might be pertinent. After three days of intense study, stopping only for the necessities of life, Gran came to an answer. Well, his answer.
Did it matter?
Had his sword arm stayed the same over those three years? No. Was his cut not deadlier, his stab not sharper, his fist not faster? Had his body not taken on the tone and muscle of someone who fought primals -- and prevailed? The difference between the weak Gran of three years ago and the Gran of today was immeasurable. The young man who had once fallen to a single tortured hydra now found himself battling ancient primal beasts of war and guile on a monthly basis.
He may not ever have a thick Draph-sized mustache and his cheeks might permanently retain their tender charm no matter his age, but his body was fit to fight. To protect. To chase his absent father until the end of the sky. That’s what mattered. Though he was quite sure Cagilostro would tease him endlessly for his answer.
With newfound determination, Gran threw himself into what the rest of the crew considered hellish training simply because he knew he could endure it. It was a way to prove himself - even after death, even after abandonment, he was worth something. He had value and merit and talent, but also the drive and yearning to turn it into something. In the wake of this new regiment for himself and his little visit to a certain alchemist on board, rumors crept up. Slow and steady at first, they soon burned like wildfire through the decks of the Grandcypher, spreading out of context and control. He finally became privy to a good chunk of the downright goofy rumors via his afternoon footwork training on the vast open deck.
His footwork training was simple. He would empty his mind and fill it with visions of attackers, then repel those attackers as they came at him from all sides and angles. Though it didn’t hold up to real battles, it offered a sort of vision training and group combat scenario that duels never quite could and best of all, it could be performed anywhere with ample space as the only thing required was himself.
Being simple in those relative terms, it provides opportunities for a capable multitasker to easvesdrop things they shouldn’t, like the hottest Grandcypher gossip. On one such afternoon, in the early days of summer, things came to a head as crewmates found themselves unable to contain the rumor mill around their captain any longer.
“I heard the captain’s immortal!”
Not entirely inaccurate. His nonexistent blade swung a tight arc, lopping off the head of something never there. With his arm extended, he challenged the thin atmosphere between the islands. Nothing came.
“Yeah, I heard he was like a six thousand year old primal beast?”
Missed the mark a bit there, he quipped internally. It seemed both directed at the conversation and himself as he danced between the attacks of no ones and nothings. His sweeping kick, though near-flawless in form, barely grazed the torso of his last imagined attacker in that scenario. With a click of his tongue, he noted to himself that an actual attacker couldn’t simply stop on a dime like the one he imagined did. Even in his mind, he was tough on himself, as no one else seemed to want the responsibility. With a little consternation, he ended up giving himself the point for his made up little game. The points didn’t matter, but they made him feel better.
“We have a few of those in the crew, so it makes sense.”
It would, but that’s not the case. Gran’s feet shuffled to and fro, dancing softly across the wooden deck of the Grancypher. To the casual observer, it almost appeared as if he was simply rehearsing one of the dances Anthuria had choreographed with him. He ducked under an imaginary bullet, fist rising from below to smash the jaw of the illusory gunman.
The nothings and nobodies fell to his invisible sword strikes, his matchless kicks and punches, to the spells he snap-conjured between the thrust of a lance and the flight of an arrow. Finally, panting hard with exhilaration and the flow of combat, Gran slew the final “attacker” with a quick reversal and stab to the gut, ending the dream with its own weapon. Nothing and no one fell, other than comfortable silence, but he still felt a measure of success as he picked up the warmed vacuum flask that had his lunch in it.
“No, no, he’s only thirty-six and he’s the son of that one legendary adventurer. It’s his hero’s blood. I hear his dad bathed in the entrails of the primal beast he slew, though, so maybe that’s what caused it in the end?”
Why would a hero be forced to stop aging before he could legally drink? The snort of his barely contained laughter sent soup up his nose, straight from his vacuum flask. Hot soup. Hot, spicy soup.
“That makes a lot of sense.”
More than the six thousand year old primal beast bit, yes.
“He’s still our captain, so who cares? That’s good enough for me.”
Oh. Ah. I...
That last overheard comment had humbled him, but the clear ring of all the affirmations that followed from crewmates in it’s wake shook him to his core. Somehow, he’d gained the loyalty and friendship of some of the most accepting people under the great blue sky. His training, already considered to be a form of self-punishment by the rest of the crew, grew in scope and desire. If there was a mountain in his way, he would cut it. If there was a river in his way, he would part it. If even the great ocean of stars spanned the distance, it would be crossed.
For all the things he could still protect.
For the dreams he had thought beyond him.
For the sake of surpassing the absent father that had abandoned him long ago, leaving only a note.
When still a boy in a backwater nothing, Gran wielded a simple short sword and fancied himself a sort of knight as he grew up. Wearing a slightly ragged blue tunic with a hood, a few pieces of spare platemail strapped to his right arm, and holding a sword containing more rust than blade. Training with Vyrn in the forest every day, the boy dreamed of something bigger. A fighter, a protector, a guardian of what he loved and treasured, not a bandit that cut and run from his family. That’s what he wanted to be... That dream was, for lack of a better term, driven from his chest.
By a hydra. Just so we’re clear.
He abandoned defensive posture after that, seeking to end fights as quickly as possible. An axe found it’s way into his hands and for a time, he was satisfied by the devastation it wrought. Teenage postmortem angst seemed to be quelled by a felling cleave to an enemy’s collarbone, and chunky plate scraps held together with red leather and white fur served him well enough as protection from the elements and the enemies he faced.
Nothing so simple satisfied for long, though. Gran took to himself in a sort of hermitage for a while, studying magic under the occasional tutelage of his talented crewmates. There was a certain ripple of insecurity in his scouting party’s mood when he’d shown up late one day, his usual armor stripped down to basic protection and his axe nowhere to be found. They tossed light jeers at his green cloak and the staff he carried, even as they set off for their destination - a bandit camp they had been hired to uproot. Peace talks were attempted by the bandit’s leader and an Erune comrade of Gran’s, one better suited for diplomacy than the boy-faced captain.
Things deteriorated quickly.
Gran had quietly stepped forward once the leader made it clear he had no intention of retreating peacefully. With the green hood still covering half his disappointed face, Gran slashed the tip of the staff in a dismissive motion to the right, as if telling them their time here was over. Before they could protest or retaliate, wild magic burst into life around them, sealing off all escape and action. Concentric rings of frost and fire cradled in the stony embrace of the earth, carved into being with the fierce wind tore at everything inside the bandit’s camp. With the oxygen burnt out, the earth lashed and the encampment in shambles, the dazed and injured bandits were easy prisoners.
No one jeered after that.
As his prowess grew and the crew took on more work, that cloak had weathered with time. It faded to an almost dull grey, and with this Gran had added a black half-mask to the ensemble. Admittedly, it was mostly to hide his youthful features and force enemies to take him somewhat seriously for once, as the sting of his blessed curse grew more apparent as he approached his twentieth year.
For combat, a middle ground was found. He embraced not pure swordsmanship, nor did he place his trust only in magic. Instead, he channeled his power into debilitating his opponent’s often unworldly vigor and vitality, then coaxed those weaknesses open with his unmatched swordplay. Victory after victory piled up at the crew’s feet, and the legend of the “boy captain” grew.
It also provided the fodder for what Gran considered a highly embarrassing piece of “art.” Somebody had caught him resting his right hand on his jaw, leg crossed over the other almost lazily as he read a scrap of paper in his left. It was a failed betting ticket, so close to winning millions of rupees, save for the upset victory in the sixth match. An enterprising somebody, who’s name begins with L and ends with -unalu, had committed this terrible and dreadful sight to memory. She then committed that memory to paper with her talent.
Only, well.
She’d used her license of artistic interpretation to replace the slip of paper held in contempt with a comically oversized sword. Stabbed unceremoniously in the ground. The barstool? That was now a throne carved of stone. The title of the piece, an unknowing and fortunate soul might ask?
“Chaos Ruler.”
The print she made was reproduced and sold to more than a handful of people on and off the Grandcypher. Copies of it hung from stray support beams and walls on the ship, as if to lovingly taunt him and people switched their mode of address from “captain” to things like “my liege” or “ruler” or “chaos kid” for the better part of a month. Gran said nothing, choosing to keep what little of his dignity he felt he had left.
Nobody saw Gran wear that outfit again.
In hindsight, he had to agree that the metal half-mask was a little much. But, ah, Ejaeli and Predator had convinced him it was cool. They made masks look cool, after all. The palpable disappointment from them almost made him walk back on that decision. Almost.
From then on, he’d taken to wearing a simple outfit when on duty, reminiscent of his teenage years. Having turned twenty some time ago, he decided to make a simple blue hooded tunic the mainstay of his combat attire. On top went a basic but functional steel breastplate, covering his heart and ribs. His arms were covered in gauntlets of the same make, and steel greaves offered his feet and shins ample protection as they went on over a pair of loose beige pants. What it lacked in flair it made up for in comfort and capability. A sensible choice. It gave nothing about his combat style away either, other than the obvious caveat that he might engage in it at some point.
---
Funny to say teenage years, he supposed, looking down at the peaceful field. Fires were beginning to rise and march in the distance, headed this way. An army. For now, though, he had time, and the world seemed to move so perilously slow. Memory reeled him in once more, as if the grass and the trees of this island made him long for another time and another place.
---
Thinking seriously on it, the reason his legend had spread as that of the “boy captain” probably had to do with two things. One, the Grandcypher traveled an awful lot between three different skydoms, and two? The crew of the Grandcypher loved events.
It probably had to do with a third thing, too.
His crew really, really loved to tease him about his age.
Every birthday, it’d be “Happy sixteenth, Cap!” They reused the same banner six times now, adding a tally mark just above “sixteenth” every single time. It was as endearing as it was maddening. Eugen and Rackam pulled the same thing at every new bar, ordering three beers and then pretending to flip out at Gran when he took his. It caused its fair share of problems for Gran, so sometimes Gran would flip the script before they got the chance and get angry at his “dad” and “brother” for getting drunk while “mom” was at home alone.
Some of the Grandcypher ladies would tease him with lines about “when he was older” and what an “earnest young man he was” if they saw him during the more romantic holidays, much to his chagrin. He learned to reverse that too, going on the offensive by playing the straight man to their act. He paid them straightforward compliments with toothy grins and presented them with chocolates during White Day as a form of playful revenge.
A few times every year, the crew would be called to an ancient island where a sort of...war game took place between skyfaring crews. An Astral experiment run amok meant that otherworldly and ferocious beasts overwhelmed the singular island now and then, and their presence courted the attention of primal beasts. As the people of the skydoms always sought to turn misery into growth, they established a way to turn it into a competition. Extremely rare treasure was brought in from all across the skyrealms and the monster problem on the island was handily taken care of in what they called Guild Wars.
Ten times, the Grancypher emerged victorious. Each time, for his troubles, the Captain would receive an ancient weapon of unparalleled power, power that courted disaster - and inevitably the attention of those that would protect the sky from unparalleled threats.
The Eternals.
Ten times over the years, Gran wore his convictions on his sleeve and fought the strongest people in the sky, all to prove that he would remain himself in the face of that dread power. In truth, Gran didn’t plan to use those relics of war. He simply reveled in the chance to face those brilliant, blazing souls in single combat.
It was a way to prove himself. Both to those who he had grown to admire after hearing their legends, and to his eternally absent father. Surely, even his father would have to notice if he conquered the ten strongest people in the sky--
He didn’t, but it didn’t matter.
In the end, the people he met and bonded with mattered.
After an incident involving the mafia bearing down on Stardust Town, the Eternals got together and presented Gran with a suit of armor and his own cloak, signifying his status as the eleventh Eternal, an irreplaceable part of their group. While Siete was still the de-facto leader and Uno was the first of the Eternals, Gran - given the new title of Jedenáct - was the end-all-be-all when it came to pure combat strength. As they had joined the Grancypher’s crew, they wanted him to join the crew of the Eternals and share in that camaraderie.
He might have felt sixteen behind those misty eyes when they draped the white jacket over his shoulders and popped the celebratory drinks open, but he’d never admit it. Openly. Nio knew, because of course she did. His heart’s plaintive melody was clear to her ear from the moment they’d met. He’d been seeking a place to belong, a place that respected him since the day he understood that his father had abandoned him. Between the Grancypher and the Eternals, he’d finally felt like part of a family.
A family more real than the blood that spawned and abandoned him, all the while burdening him with purpose.
This is where I belong.
---
Of course, it was just after this heartfelt moment that Altair had been roped into this awful and brutal war. As a member of the Grancypher family, Altair’s problems were Gran’s problems. And now, that advancing army was coming into ambush distance. Concentrating his mana for a second, Gran summoned forth an ethereal bow, shaped like the one Song used but made of pure, blue light. Standing up on the branch of the tree, he took aim at the ground some twenty metres in front of the enemy general’s advance. Luhua was said to be a fearsome combatant, and Gran secretly hoped for a chance to resolve things with a non-fatal, honorable, one-on-one duel. The best kind of fight.
Of course, he would always be underestimated. There was a chance that no such duel would be found, and it might turn into a bloody melee.
Either way?
Time to keep the sky’s sweet peace.
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Fic Writer questions
My lovely and supportive friend @kunstpause tagged me in this thing about Tropes... i swear cuz she knows I LOVE tropes... so lets look at these questions and you know answers and such bellow the cut for like dash saving reasons...
Let’s talk about tropes.
1. Do you enjoy the occasional trope, do you love them all, do you hate tropy stuff with a passion?
2. Which tropes are your favs? Which ones do you avoid? Have you written any yourself or is there one you really want to write?
3. Do you have different preferences for reading than you have for writing? If so, is there a reason for it?
1. Do you enjoy the occasional trope, do you love them all, do you hate tropy stuff with a passion?
Listen... everything even things that profess to not be “Tropy” are tropy... like even real life has Tropes so I say lean in and explore the hell out of them. I love looking at various common or even uncommon tropes and playing off them, sometimes subverting them or combining several into possibly a new one... I think for me that’s half the fun of plotting something is figuring out the trope and which ones would be fun to explore in the context of whatever fandom I am writing. Like the tropes I would use with Maeve wouldn’t be the same ones I would use with Mary Jane... one story is high fantasy while the other is modern drama naturally the tropes used would be vastly different... so yeah... I love me some Tropes...
2. Which tropes are your favs? Which ones do you avoid? Have you written any yourself or is there one you really want to write?
Found family is huge one that I use through out my works, also because I am...a Villain Fucker... I usually end up doing some manner of dark mistress trope or good girl loves a bad man... type thing. Also... Destiny tropes... like either you can’t escape it or fighting against it is one I use a lot. Also like having kids... maybe it’s cuz I am mom... but a lot... not all but A LOT of my OC’s and fics at some point...have a pregnancy story arch... cuz I guess we write what we know? LOL... I don’t really avoid tropes, there are ones obviously I like less... helpless women tropes kinda get on my nerves now but I used to write them. I like to think MOST tropes have their place in the fictional world... I really love the Action Girl trope but because I have never written a real action “hero’s journey” type story before the closest I have gotten is Maeve... but even Maeve’s story is kinda an “anti-hero’s journey” rather than pure hero... I plan on exploring these with Grace because that whole idea of - Girl from the “Bad” family, with a father that some would consider “a monster”... who is fighting her own family to try and basically the “white sheep” of her family and Save Hope County is conceptually really appealing to me. Like her story concept has basically been me taking tropes I have liked but never played with and trying to fit them into a really compelling story... that’s usually how I plot tbh
3. Do you have different preferences for reading than you have for writing? If so, is there a reason for it?
Not really, because I am pretty open as far as like what topics I would read. I tend to enjoy more complex characters, deeply flawed MC’s are like my faves because they usually to me are so well crafted and their stories are ones that use tropes in a subtle ways and tend to have a lot of lore behind them... but like family tropes... more fluffy like “only one bed” tropes are always fun and I am old enough to really appreciate a good “Coffee Shop AU” fic cuz like... those ones just take me back to this odd like happy place of like “the good old days” of fanfic rofl.
I am going to tag some people that I think would really enjoy these questions no pressure at all... as always: @nightwingshero @lobanhart @xbaebsae @thebookworm0001 @bluemojave @funkypoacher @fadedjacket @fine-tevinter-wines @bleudragonfire
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"Maybe I’ll see you in another life/if this one wasn’t enough" from Florence + the Machine prompt lists, for winter13, please?
Sharon is no stranger to knowing tragedy. She sees the way Aunt Peggy’s lips curve up and fall slightly when she talks about knowing Steve Rogers. It’s a life that is not defined, not confirmed. But there was possibility. Sharon knows about possibilities.
When she’s eighteen, she sees him.
Winter Soldier.
The legend that Peggy tells her about.
“I’m not supposed to be telling you,” Peggy whispers. Sharon knows more about SHIELD than she should, but Peggy’s soft when it comes to Sharon. She knows Sharon’s destiny, knows that she needs to know more than the average recruit when she goes into the organization.
“Be careful,” Peggy says. “The Winter Soldier isn’t a myth. He’s real. They remade a man into what they wanted, and that’s...Sharon, you know how dangerous that is.”
She does. She knows that this person, whoever they are, will not hesitate to kill. He won’t listen to any pleas or bargains, because that’s not in his code. He will not stop, will not stray from the mission, and will not look at you--he will look through you.
Her graduation present from her parents is a trip to Europe. She gets to visit Vienna and learn all about old history, carefully taking note of suspicious characters. Peggy has come along to tell her all about World War II and the history of it, rare smiles gracing her face as she explains a prank Sergeant Barnes pulled on the rest of the division or the time Dum-Dum messed up ordering food.
They see him.
Winter Soldier is not on a mission for Director Carter--or rather, former Director Carter. He’s on a mission for someone else.
“We need to follow him,” Peggy says. “Sharon, get the car.”
Sharon has never driven in Europe before. But she manages just fine as she nervously presses on the gas pedal and they zoom forward. Winter Soldier is chasing after someone, and someone who knows it.
Aunt Peggy sees red hair and pauses.
“Sharon, get out of the car. Let me drive.”
-
Sharon is not allowed to tell her parents that she met Black Widow, or that Peggy dented the car hood by attempting to run over the Winter Soldier.
She also does not tell anyone about the fact that as she opened the car door for Black Widow and her charge, that Winter Soldier tore off his goggles and stared.
That was...unsettling. His eyes were brilliant. She could tell they were a light color from a hundred feet off.
“This your girl?” Natasha Romanoff asks Aunt Peggy.
“Yes.”
“I’m impressed,” she says. “Welcome to SHIELD, Sharon.”
“I’m not inducted in yet.”
“You might as well be, facing off the Winter Soldier,” she says with a snort. “Come on. Peggy, we need to start training.”
Sharon starts during college. She still goes to college, although her heart is not completely in it. She finishes her classes with passing grades, gets a degree in sociology, and moves on.
Natasha trains with her and she becomes skilled as all hell.
She still dreams of light eyes staring through her. The dreams are more like nightmares as they get closer and closer.
-
She sees him again when she’s in New York helping out with protection at an undercover science delegation meeting. Some of the most influential scientists are the ones you never hear about. Sure, they have published papers, but they also have papers that never see the light of day because it would change the fabric of reality as everyone knows it.
Winter Soldier doesn’t spare her a glance, not until she launches herself at him to knock him into an alley.
“Stop,” she hisses.
Sharon didn’t think this through. She most definitely is not on his skill level, and they both know it.
“Let me go,” he says, voice almost dead. “I have a mission.”
“So do I,” she says, “and it involves stopping someone like you.”
“You miss the point of my existence,” he says, almost robotically. “I am not a someone. I am a something.”
“You know the difference. Robots don’t,” Sharon says, dodging a fist that goes slamming into concrete. “Now back the hell off.”
In all of the missions that Winter Soldier can recount, (oh yeah, they’ll let him remember the decapitation but not his own fucking birthday. Classic) most of the agents that are sent to stop him are not this bold.
Because a.) they realize in the moment that they are outmatched and outclassed in every way that matters, and b.) they have accepted death.
Not this girl. No, she’s young and she’s fierce but she knows...she knows something.
This gets him distracted.
And this allows Sharon to be able to slash a knife down his leg, and it’s not the kind of cut that allows continuation to be done. He would survive, but this is gonna slow him down.
Begrudgingly, she has his respect.
-
He doesn’t tell his handlers about her. He doesn’t know why. Usually he’s fine with revealing anyone who got in his way, and usually someone catches onto the fact that he’s lying and make his brain circuits go pop. But not...not this time.
They believe the fact that a spare part from a crashed car knicked his leg as he jumped down. They stitch him up, give him a good old brain wipe, and send him to the freezer. He’s not sure when the next year will be, if they’ll even let him out again.
(There’s a joke about rent insurance in there somewhere.)
-
Sharon cut the Winter Soldier. She fucking cut the guy who people said would kill you. She got away.
This isn’t something you brag about. She could but then she’d be an asshole who everyone at the office hates. And instead of them stealing Rumlow’s lunch once a week, it’d be her.
And she likes that Rumlow keeps bringing quality food.
She doesn’t tell anyone. Well...Peggy doesn’t count.
Peggy is riveted, on the edge of her seat.
“You didn’t,” Peggy swears. “You didn’t!”
“I did,” Sharon responds. “But I don’t know what he told whoever he works for. I could be dead, Peggy.”
“Nonsense,” Peggy scoffs. “It’s been more than a week, correct?”
“A month.”
“You just told me this today?! And it’s been a month?!”
“...I didn’t want you to worry.”
“If you had told me the day of, I would have worried. But if they haven’t sent anyone to kill you, your little escapade is safe. Although it does make me curious...”
They sip on tea for a while longer and laugh about Sharon’s father, who is fretting about Sharon all over again. It’s a bi-monthly occasion, very entertaining for Peggy, who knows that Sharon knows a little over a hundred ways to incapacitate someone who’s up against her.
Sharon kisses Peggy goodbye.
-
Winter Soldier is woken up for another mission.
He remembers a woman with blonde hair and a firm ask for him to “stop.”
There’s a feeling that she’s important. There’s a feeling that Hydra doesn’t know anything about her.
He’s sent to make sure that SHIELD is destroyed.
Great. This is gonna go fantastically, he’s sure.
-
Sharon really knows what’s going on. Peggy had her suspicions, and made sure that Nick Fury thought outside the box. Hell, that he thought outside the universe. She knew that SHIELD would never be pure of intention. Peggy never was, why would her organization be? Humanity isn’t either.
She knows that Hydra is inside SHIELD and it’s looking for Captain America to be its first example.
Do they know it’s a Wednesday? Like honestly, it’s a Wednesday. It’s two p.m. She thought she would get herself a pizza tonight, make a wine night. Wine Wednesday. It would’ve been fun. Maybe Natasha could’ve come.
But no, Hydra decided they wanted to eliminate threats they couldn’t control so now she’s on the run from the guy the next office space from hers and has to deal with Rumlow bitching about people stealing his sandwiches.
“Your own fault!” Sharon yells, swiping his feet from under him. “You’re also just annoying as fuck!”
She then has to run.
She knows that Natasha and some special agent who was in the flight division are helping Steve and maybe Maria. Probably Maria. They wouldn’t have gotten as far as they had if Maria wasn’t in on it or if she was Hydra.
God, if Maria Hill was Hydra...
Couldn’t think about that travesty now. She has a world to save.
-
Steve, naturally, has been sort of a disaster. He makes it functional. She sort of wishes that she could make it functional, but she is not able to have that sort of function in her life, unfortunately.
He’s wearing his old uniform. She doesn’t know why, just that he’s stupid. She doesn’t care how carefully the restoration workers at the Smithsonian have repaired it, she knows his levels of stupidity.
And then he turns.
Winter Soldier.
Now, apparently, Bucky Barnes.
What a kick in the goddamn head.
She can’t even think. She doesn’t want to think, she just charges and kicks him out a window.
Steve slams the card in, they save the world, and she’s diving after a man with a metal arm. Metal is also falling from the sky, so you could imagine the level of difficulty she is under.
But she finds him. He’s a heavy guy as she lugs him to the shore, waiting for him to wake up.
“Who the--?” He’s coughing out water, trying to get up.
“I’d suggest you take a vacation,” Sharon says. “I think you have a lot of days saved up.”
Sharon doesn’t know why she leaves him there. She really doesn’t understand why she doesn’t just say “hey, come with me,” and then he decides to join SHIELD and Steve and him can bond over not understanding music apps.
But he needs to have time to himself, she reasons.
“You’re insane,” Natasha says to Sharon. Steve is trying to visit Sam and hang out, so they’re doing their own thing. “You let him go?”
“He needed to find his own life,” Sharon says. “You know Steve likes to define what he knows, and he knows Bucky Barnes. But I think Bucky Barnes isn’t really a sure thing right now. So we’ll find out.”
“Okay.”
“Hey. If I’m meant to have him in this life, great. If not, then that is what it is,” Sharon says.
-
She doesn’t know that Barnes did not hop a plane to Europe. Not yet, anyway.
No, he’s a block away in an abandoned office building. He’s not sure what he’s doing, just that he doesn’t want to leave anything yet.
She may hold answers. Answers that he wants.
#woo doggie this one is long#lovelyirony writes#winter13#sharon carter#bucky barnes#natasha romanoff#au of winter soldier the movie#also low-key why is this sort of funny#anwyays
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The Hero’s Guardian
Hello, hello, another fusion story for you guys. I don’t think I’m actually making a whole lot of progress in cleaning out my drafts, as I add just as many new and amazing prompts as I use (sometimes more) but I’m having fun trying.
This one is made up of this prompt by @p-r-o-m-p-t-s, this prompt by @write-it-motherfuckers, this prompt by @soprompt, these 1,2 by @humdrummoloch, these 1,2,3,4,5,6 by @thependragonwritersguild, this prompt by @scandy-inspo, these 1,2,3,4 by @givethispromptatry, and finally, this prompt by @promptslair.
A similar premise to my other short story, Flowers for the Hero Maker, but I love the trapped, immortal guardian trope every since I played final fantasy 2, at least I think it was number two with the guy and the word labyrinth. *shrugs*
There is quite a bit more swearing than what is normally found in my short stories. Some mention of injuries, and one fight scene. Nothing gory, though.
~
A boy with orange eyes crossed my path, and the world began to change. Not just mine, but the entire thing. It was so long ago, such a different time. I don’t even recall much of it, only the reassured smile on his face and the hard lesson that came after: Choices evaporate in the presence of fate.
It was a harsh one that came from my elder sisters. I remember they were all doing their own tasks, mixing medicines and making things. It was... so beautiful to watch. It seemed almost like magic. How silly, how naive, but it brought me happiness. I remember, the day after I told them about the boy with orange eyes, I just opened my mouth and said what had been on my mind for years.
“I want to be like you when I grow up!”
“… No, sweetheart.” My sisters glanced at each other before turning back to me. “What we do is not important. You will be important.”
“You’re important to me.”
“And thank the gods everyday for you. You will be better than us.”
I didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. What was more important than them? Than the smiling faces they made? Than the people they mended? The priestess told me. The priestess told me many things, including my fate... a fate she used magic to bind me to.
Before a statue of the orange-eyed boy, she made me swear an oath I couldn’t comprehend. She made a child swear away their life, and I did it because my sisters smiled and nodded. I swore to guard the Forest of Fate... for all of eternity. Oaths mean something around here, even for those who don’t understand what they mean.
I was blinded by the white light. Everyone was blinded by the white light. The white light that gave and stole everything from me.... The light that bound me to this forest, for the rest of time.
Several heroes later, and it was just another day, another chosen one. Only, this one was not particularly promising....
I looked up and down his scrawny frame, the old sword in it’s tattered scabbard, the soft hands, and smirk, and all I felt was simmering annoyance.
Fate was doing this on purpose, the ass.
“So, guardian, what’s my trial? The grand fight before I get my legendary weapon to slay the wizard with as my destiny demands?”
“Your destiny?” I threw my head back and laughed. “You don’t seem to know how Fate works. Should you fail, he’ll replace you. He always does.”
The young man frowned, his dark brown brows furrowing as he straightened himself.
“I won’t fail.”
My laughter ceased. He said the words with such conviction I almost wanted to believe him. Almost. But I knew better.
“We shall see,” I said, pulling my eldest sister’s jewelry box from my pouch, “for your first trial lies within this.”
He tilted his head, like a confused pup.
“What monster fits in such a tiny box?”
I undid the latch, allowing the slime to bounce out of the box. The young man’s confused expression turned to offence.
“A slime? They’re weak enough children can beat them!”
“We shall see.”
I snapped my fingers and the deceptively quick blob of green ooze flew at him, hitting him squarely in the abdomen. No defensive skills, noted. He slashed at it with all of the grace of a drunken horse. No sword training, noted. He then attempted to chase it down as it rolled around the circle. Average speed, noted. By the time he succeeded in defeating my trusted friend, he was winded and displayed nothing remarkable aside from his tenacity. A bonus, I suppose.
“You are not worthy.”
“I am chosen! Of course I’m worthy!”
“It simply means you have more potential to be worthy than the average citizen.” Fate only fucking knows why. “But as of this moment, you are incapable of wielding the weapons and magics I guard. You are far more likely to hurt yourself or innocents.”
“How can you be so sure?” he pressed.
“Do keep in mind that I was here before you, and will be here long after you’re gone. I have seen many come and many go. I know what happens when the unproven attempt to handle what I guard, and like it or not, you’re one of them. Become a man of consequence, and we’ll have this conversation again.”
He huffed.
“And how do I do that?”
I gestured to the forest.
“There’s plenty of monsters to train with. All as, if not more, ancient as myself and just as dedicated to fucking up chosen ones as I am to guarding the place.”
He paused at that.
“But... if it’s full of monsters, what are you guarding this place from?”
“People, mostly, sometimes evil deitys, but that’s really none of your concern. Now either go train, or relinquish your title. I may have eternity, but I assume the normal people you’re tasked with saving do not.”
He frowned as he scrubbed the slime off his face with a handkerchief.
“Where do you suggest I start?”
“The clearing to the west. Stay away from the lake and the mountainous areas. Oh, and if you see a cave, avoid that too.”
“Fine. I’ll be back.”
And then he stormed off.
About three days later, while I was going through my daily training, the bushes began to rattle. I prepared myself for battle, watching them closely. Only, instead of raiders or servants of the god of destruction, the skinny guy from earlier crawled out and collapsed onto the stones, breathing hard.
There was a long moment of silence before I sighed and continued going through my stances and strikes.
“Why are there so many scratches on your face?”
“There was a weird cat with like... five tails, and they had spikes on them....”
“So you decided to challenge it. Smart.”
He sat up, glaring at me.
“You don’t have to be so gods’ damned sarcastic about it! I didn’t know what the fuck it was! And you haven’t been a whole lot of help....”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You can thank Fate for that. He decided to deal the creatures here strange cards so adventurers wouldn’t, and I quote, ;get bored’. He also forbid me from teaching chosen ones about the monsters here.”
He stared at me like a kicked puppy.
“But... but why would...? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Welcome to my world. Though, I suspect it may have more to do with training them to discern weaknesses and tactics of enemies for themselves, in case something unpredictable happens.”
He mulled it over for a second before nodding.
“That does make a lot more sense than the boredom thing.... But what’s the point of choosing people if they’re allowed to just die here in the middle of some forest?”
I paused at that, movements and all. I couldn’t help but think back to that day, the day I was led to this place and made my oath.
“I’m not sure there is much of a point.”
He tilted his head at that, but I did not elaborate as I swung my blade with more force than what was needed.
I’m not sure when he left, hours or minutes ago, but it mattered little. I spent the night, and the next few days alone again. He came back eventually, covered in scabs, bruises, dirt, various bloods, and leaves.
“... There is a stream.”
“I know, This is just what I collected between here and there....”
I shook my head, laughing lightly.
“The forest feels threatened. That is a good sign.”
“It is?!” he asked, brown eyes lighting up in hope.
“It is,” I said with a nod, “but you’re still not ready.”
He sighed, shoulders drooping.
“Well... at least I’m making progress?”
“You are,” I agreed, continuing my training.
“So... I’ve been wondering something, since well, even before we met. How did you become the guardian of this place?”
I didn’t answer, choosing to focus on my breathing and my movements.
“I mean, everyone says you were a human once, and not a divine creature.... So, what happened?”
I sighed, lowering the blade as I looked over at him.
“Once upon a time, I was a plucky, young kid going about my day, then shit happened and now we’re here.”
“Touching story,” he replied with a flat sarcasm that probably matched what I gave him at news of his fight with the cat-creature.
I shrugged before resuming my practice.
“Not all tales are. Besides, mine isn’t the important one here.”
He blinked at that.
“And what makes you say that?”
“Because I’m not the hero.”
There was a long silence as he just sat there, staring at me with wide eyes and a disbelieving stare.
“But... but you’ve fought monsters, and evil deities....”
“Their minions, mostly, but yes.”
“You’ve christened all of the mightiest heroes.”
“After they passed their tests, yes.”
“You’ve served Fate for...” he paused, as if he was searching his memory for the number, “a... a really long time.”
“Doesn’t make me the hero, just makes me a guardian.”
He gave me that kicked puppy stare.
“How can you not be?”
“No one praises a guard dog for doing it’s job, and that’s basically what I am. I’m just doing what the oath compels me to. Nothing more, nothing less. I save no one, I really don’t help anyone, either. I’m just here, running at the end of my leash, growling and snarling at all whom aren’t my master.”
“Oh... is that why you were an ass when we met?”
I glared at him.
“No, that was because someone who couldn’t even beat Squishy thought he could just show up and have a legendary weapon of unfathomable power.”
He winced and then tilted his head.
“Wait... Squishy?”
“The slime, it’s name is Squishy. I gave it to it when it first decided to make it’s home in the box.”
The color drained from his face.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to kill your pet!”
I nearly fell over laughing, which stopped the sputtered stream of apologies and something about a funeral.
“No, no, no, you didn’t kill Squishy. Fate granted Squishy special... abilities, as a reward for my service. He does something... kinda nice once every hundred years or so for me.”
He stared at me.
“So... it wasn’t a normal slime?”
“It is in all things except it’s immortality.”
“Oh... Damn, I was hoping it was a super slime.”
I laughed again.
And so the routine continued. He’d survive in the wilds for a few days before coming to visit for a few hours, sometimes mimicking my movements when conversations and laughter were over. Then, he’d vanish again. That is, until I got a terrible feeling.
A flock of birds scattered far to the south, the way towards the lake, and a pit formed in my stomach. That dumbass wouldn’t... would he? I thought about it for a minute before recalling his previous encounters and grimacing. He would. He most certainly would.
For the first time in many years, I left the stoned area, rushing down a distantly familiar trail towards the lake. Screeches and deep roars pushed me to move faster and faster, until I stumbled into a clearing, just in time to see him fall. Behind him was a water dragon. Thankfully, a young one. It looked hurt, but not nearly as much as he did, and it looked much angrier than him as well.
Before I could even put any thought into it, my body was in between the two, and the creature was bearing down on me.
“No! Guardian!”
The shouted barely registered in my mind as I ducked out of the way of raking claws and rolled to the underbelly. My blade sought out the grooves between the stomach plates and dug in as far as it could, biting at flesh and tearing at muscle. The dragon screeched loud enough to nearly deafen me. All I could hear was a ringing in my ears. It could have been disorienting had I not fought under such conditions a hundred or more times before.
I cut again, my own fierce shouts a distant echo in my ears. Again and again I sliced, moving with the beast to keep myself from being trampled or squished. The deadly dance did not end until the creature was on the ground, breathing it’s last.
With a dull click, I slid the sword into it’s sheath and moved towards him. He stared back at me through big, brown eyes. Without warning, I pulled him back up to his feet.
“I told you.” I sighed as she shifted his arm around my shoulders to support him. “I told you.”
“Hey, can you not yell at me when I’m actively in pain?” He whimpered when the movement irritated his probably cracked ribs.
“No! You were a stupid shit and I’m going to tell that directly to your fucking face! Why do you do these things?!”
“To impress you.”
“You know what would impress me at this point?! You staying out of danger for twenty-four hours! No barbed-tail cats, no slimes, no DRAGONS, just a day without bruises.”
He smirked at me.
“Is that what it’d take to become a man of consequence?”
I smacked him upside the head.
“No, but it’ll help keep you alive long enough to become one. Seriously, recklessness won’t help anyone. Think of the people. They’re waiting on you to save them. You can’t do that if you’re dead.”
“But... I can’t just hide and hope it goes away, either.”
“No, you can’t, but you can learn to pick battles you can win.”
He went silent for a while.
“Do... do you think the fight with the wizard is a battle I can win?”
I thought about it for the rest of the way back to the stones. He sighed just before we got there.
“No, huh? I guess you’re right....”
“You can.”
His head snapped around to look at me.
“And once you’re healed up, I’ll show you how.”
“But I... I thought you weren’t allowed too....”
“Teach about the animals of this forest, he didn’t say shit about teaching people how to kick evil wizards’ wrinkly asses.”
I grinned at him, and he smiled back before laughing.
Using my sisters’ medicines, I was able to get him back to training shape fairly quickly. Thankfully, his ribs weren’t broken, or I may have gotten a different hero. We spent the next few weeks training, with me imparting as much of my years of experience as I could in so little time. And before I knew it, the time had come for his final test.
“Alright, and now you’re ready to try again.”
He grinned at me.
“I’m ready for it. What’s my final test? Squishy? A dragon?”
“Me.”
His face fell at that.
“You? But... I don’t want to fight you.”
I shrugged.
“That’s the rule.”
“But... you’re my friend. I won’t hurt you.”
I snorted.
“You can’t hurt me, I’m immortal.”
He frowned.
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t feel pain.”
“Are you going to give up after I actually went to the trouble of saving and training you for the sake of accomplishing your goal?”
“Well... no, but....”
“Then fight. You don’t have to hurt me, just defeat me.”
He glanced around before looking back at me. Eventually, he drew the old sword.
“Okay... but only because I don’t want to waste your effort.”
I grinned at him as I drew my own blade.
“Good.”
There was a pause, a moment of silence, and then we both burst into action. It was insane how fast he had improved. No other chosen one had learned so fast. Then again, I had never taken any effort to help any of them, nor had they shown an interest in mimicking my own training. Or maybe, maybe this was what Fate saw in him.
The clashing of steel rung out through the trees as our feet flew across the ancient stonework. Light flashed off the edges of our swords. Time and time again, the tips of sharpened blades teased at biting into flesh, but always stopped a little short. That is, until there was a horrible snapping sounds, and then the clattering of steel against stone.
We both stared at the broken sword, laying on the stones, and then we looked at each other.
“I... I guess I failed?” he said, voice on the verge of cracking.
I grinned at him.
“You’re kidding, right? Do you know how much it takes to break a sword? And what it takes not to be crushed beneath my heel like an ant?”
There was a moment of silence before his eyes lit up with realization.
“You mean...?”
“Congratulations, hero.”
He let out a shout before throwing his arms around me in the biggest hug I had ever gotten. I laughed.
“Little early to be so excited, yeah? You haven’t even replaced your old sword yet.”
“Who cares about the weapon! You called me a hero! The guardian thinks I’m a hero!”
He laughed before finally releasing me, a huge smile on his face.
I shook my head before leading him back to the lake.
“Uh... guardian?”
“Don’t worry, they won’t come.”
“But...”
“Just take this.”
I held out a sword hilt to him.
He titled his head, but accepted it.
“So... what do I do with this?”
“You place the handle in the water. When you withdraw it, picture the weapon you want to hold in your hand. The lake will forge it for you.��
He paused before doing so. The familiar magic caused the water to glow and bubble, and before long, he was pulling out the most beautiful blade I had ever seen in my life.
“Good luck breaking that one,’ I teased.
He snorted.
“Tell that to the wizard.”
He paused before shuffling a bit. “Um... thank you, for everything....”
“You can thank me by kicking that wizard’s ass using the techniques I showed you.”
He grinned at me.
“Will do.” There was another pause before he gave me a nod and started walking back up the path. He paused by the trees and looked back at me. “I’ll visit again. Wouldn’t want the guardian to get bored.”
I laughed.
“It’s the heroes who aren’t supposed to get bored here.”
He smiled at me and then disappeared.
For several years, it was just me and the forest, as it usually was. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a bit hollow. The same as it ever was, but I found myself wanting more again. Laughter and joy. It had been so long since I had them, I didn’t know I missed them until he was gone. My first friend in gods only know how many years, and he was gone. Stupid Fate, fucking destinies.
I was grumbling to myself, violently going through my daily routine when a voice called out to me.
“Uh-oh, don’t tell me that another chosen one is giving you trouble.”
I spun around so fast I nearly feel over.
“You’re back! ... And you have flowers?”
“For you! It’s the fifth year anniversary of when I met you and was attacked by Squishy, so, I thought I’d bring you a present.”
He held the bouquet out to me, that grin on his face.
“No ones ever brought me flowers before….”
“Do you not like them?”
“….I love them, thank you.” I accepted the flowers from him. “But, I don’t have a present for you....”
“That’s fine,” he said with an easy smile and a shrug. “Actually, I was hoping to see the super slime again.”
I grinned mischeviously.
“Sure.”
I undid the latch on the box and watched Squishy fly out and onto his face, knocking him to the ground. He swore and floundered around on the stones, shouting about the worst hug ever. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing if I wanted to. Even after he got my dear friend off, I was still giggling.
He grinned up at me, hair a mess and armor well-slimed.
“I missed hearing your laugh.”
“Yeah, well, I missed having something to laugh about.’
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