#yeah beg for part 3 you little scoundrels

[justjams2003]

I’ll take care of you

Okay so, the person who requested this, asked for it like 2 weeks ago I think. I feel so bad for making them wait for so long TT. I do have several excuses of course but I don’t think that they’d like to hear them. Also I like finished writing it and then I reread the requist and I did like half of it wrong so then I redid it. Um so yeah, sorry for making you wait. I hope it is what you wanted, made the wait worth it :)

Pairing: Le Chiffre x reader

Summary: Your gambling father actually won a poker match against Le Chiffre himself. In a bout of anger, Le Chiffre makes sure to get his revenge

Warnings: Non-con, kidnapping, mood swings, blood tears, praising, degrading, p in v, tell me if I missed any

Word count: 2,4k

Gambling is a dangerous game. And you're a beautiful girl. One almost everyone sought after. Your father would bring you to his poker matches, he'd call you his secret weapon. It made you uncomfortable, but he's a scoundrel. Someone who begs and grovels and will look for the fastest way possible to make a quick buck.  

Most of the time, it worked. He'd ask you to wear your most revealing dress and when you walked in the room, he'd be able to figure out what his opponents tell. It's just plain dirty and low of him. Using his own daughter like that. He doesn't care though; he made his money.  

However, this isn't most of the time. Your father has got himself into quite the trouble this time. Somehow, he'd landed a gambling match with Le Chiffre himself. Of course, others are there but that doesn't really matter too much.  

This is your dear old dad's last buy in, and he's racked up quite the debt. It's only him, Le Chiffre and one other. He feels like he's sweating like nothing before. The Albanian man's stare is like a laser cutting through his bones. Finding all the little secrets and knowing exactly what his cards are. He's 3 million in debt to him already. If he loses this round, it's another 3.  

Now's the time, like you've rehearsed so many times. Your dress has a slit running all the way up to your hip, exposing skin and leaving the imagination excited. Your back is entirely open, and your front fabric is held up by barely a few strings.  

Your hips away as you walk in, and you grab a champagne from the first waiter you can find. You go over and whisper something in your dad's ear. Something unimportant, what is important is that Le Chiffre seems to lock his jaw. His eyes roam every part of your body.  

You feel hot, you never do, this is normal to you. But the way the scar on his eyes gives him this aura of danger that makes you slick. Not to mention his eyes don't even bother to look at your cleavage. They stare into your soul, grasping you and begging you to come just a little closer.  

No, you mustn't. You must stay true to your father. He does all this for you, yes? Or at least that is what you tell yourself. You sit down, crossing your legs and making sure your slit shows off as much as your leg as you can.  

The game goes on. It doesn't look like this distraction tactic has worked much. Your dad looks to be bleeding chips, he still has no clue what Le Chiffre’s tell is and the other man has already given up. Even winning though, the Albanian man still is pouring his heat onto you.  

Your father is down to his last few thousand. His leg is bouncing, and sweat is pouring from him. “I can smell you,” Le Chiffre leans over and whispers to him. Trying to save him just an ounce of his dignity. “I tell you what. You lose this and I’ll let you keep 3 million.”  

Your only parental figure lets out a huge sigh, “Thank you, thank you so much.” He’s practically praising the man for his kindness, Le Chiffre himself. “But I have a condition.” He continues but unfortunately at that point you couldn’t hear much else.  

Annoyingly the waiter kept bothering you and by the time you shoe’d him off, your father called you over. You thought this was another tactic of his. You saunter over, making sure to accentuate your hips. “My dear how old are you?” He asks, caressing your arm.  

You give your best most innocent smile, “I just turned 18,” you flutter your eyelashes at the older men. He seemed to swallow his breathe there and then. His eyes avoid you, everyone, they’re glued to the floor. “Well then.” He bites his lip and again he sighs.  

Then he waves his hand over to Le Chiffre, “You belong to this man now.” Your eyebrows furrow and air escapes from your mouth in disbelief. “Belong to him?” You scoff again and look from your father, then to the other Albanian man and then back to dad.  

“Yes, I’ve sold you to get rid of the debt I’ve racked up.” He explains still not being able to look you or his opponent in the eyes. The man, whom you’ve seen for the first time this evening and honestly don’t even know the name to, gives a vicious smirk.  

There are no words that can even find their way out. That isn’t legal, is it? Though, none of this is legal in any case. If you were to go to the police, you’ll most definitely be killed. By any of these men, they’re all rich by some degree and the fact that your father even found himself here is a miracle.  

Though now it’s turning into a nightmare. Le Chiffre calls for the dealer that he’d like the cards to be shown. You hold your breath. This one moment defines it the rest of your life now. “Mr. Black wins.” Your heart races as your father throws out a matching three eights and Le Chiffre has nothing.  

You two both jump up in joy, showing more emotion than anyone else in that room probably ever has. You give the man a smirk, who’s name you still don’t know. “Sorry mister, whatever your name is, looks like I’m staying all by myself.” You give him a smirk and you and your dad walk off to celebrate.

It’s the middle of the night and suddenly you can’t breathe. You can taste the dirty rag being pressed against your mouth. Even with open eyes you can’t see. You struggle but its big strong hands picking up. You can’t scream, you can’t see with the sack over your head.

Though soon enough it’s pulled off your head. The room has little light, and it definitely helps with the senses. There is no need for light though, the man with the scar over his eye is right in front of you. His bodyguards, presumably the people who stole you from your bed, scatter.  

“You.” You narrow your eyes at him, the ropes burn your wrist. You feel exposed, your pyjamas don’t really count much considering it’s only your panties and a tiny, cropped tank top. You clench your legs trying to hide yourself at least just a bit.  

“You lost. I’m not yours to own.” You almost bare your teeth at him, though you feel that might just anger him. He scoffs at this. “This is what you believe. But I saw you and you are mine. That is something that neither of us will question.”  

He commands, stepping closer to you. He crouches down in front of you, his hand lands on your thigh. He bends over, his nose grazes your inner thigh making his way up to your stomach with a deep breath in. “You want it though; I can smell it.”  

He smirks, it might just be true, his touch does things to you, his gaze but this is too much. Far too much and you feel uncomfortable, and you just want it to stop already. “No, no, it’s not true.” You shake your head and bite your lip to keep the tears at bay.  

He coos at you; his other hand takes your chin in between his fingers to look you in the eyes. “You do want it, you showed me with your eyes. You were more than eager, practically jumping out of that little dress of yours.” He licks his lips thinking back to it.  

“No, please, I-I was just flirting, my dad asked me to.” You beg him, shaking your head as the tears begin to fall. His hand begins to creep higher up your thigh. “Why would want to stay with a man like him? He shushes, wiping the tears off.  

He goes behind the chair and unties your ropes. You try to fight back but already he has your hands in a tight grip. “No don’t fight.” You don’t listen of course and throw your limbs around. “I said not to fight, I will tie you back up, do not test me.” He commands, your hands burn from his constraint.  

A sob racks through your body and you give into the pain. “Such a good girl, so good,” it doesn’t help, obviously. You’re not sure why he thinks it would. His hands find their way to your waist, what you don’t expect is for him to pick you up.  

He places you, even if gingerly, on the bed. His tongue is up and down your neck, sucking here and there only causing more tears to flow from you. “I’m saving you. He didn’t care. I fucking care. Just fucking accept it.” He grunts out.  

Then suddenly his mood changes again. “I’ll take care of you.” Now he’s soft and sweet again. He grasps you by the neck and forced his lips onto you. And when you refuse to kiss back, he grips your neck tighter to the point that it begins to burn.  

That doesn’t part doesn’t break you though, it’s when you begin to feel your lungs burn as well. He does go up to breathe but even then, his hand around your throat is so tight, no air seems to enter your lungs. And finally, when he presses up against you, you give in.

“See? Doesn’t that feel good?” He smirks and nods and when you return the kiss again, he grinds his tight bulge against your crotch. Even if he has his hand wrapped around your throat, you can’t help but feel good. Your panties are wet, after all just earlier you did want to jump on him.  

Your body moves without thought. Shoving yourself closer to him, to get more of that friction he’s craving as well. He groans out when you do this, letting go of your lips, still tasting your spit in his mouth.  

He stands up, you think this is it. He’s letting you go. That’s all he wanted. Yet when he unbuttons his shirt, throwing it over your shoulder, you know it’s not true. You don’t know what to do, what to say. You scootch yourself up to the furthest point on the bed away from him.  

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to cover what rest of you that you have left. Though soon enough his pants and underwear drop. Showing his massive cock spring out. Already it’s oozing, he’s getting off on your shivering form.  

He grasps his dick, giving it a few pumps. His eyes, half lid, look straight into yours. Again, it seems like he’s into your soul, he’s filled with lust. It feels as though he’s fucking you already. You look away, you feel yourself pulsing. You can hear him chuckle at this reaction you have.  

You hear the drawer open, and your curiosity gets the best of you. You glance over just to be met with a knife in his hand. “No, no wait, please,” you begin to beg already. Only thoughts of the violent things he might do to you run through your mind.  

He coos at you and climbs on the bed again. You begin to thrash and scramble but he grabs you by the ankle. He pulls you closer with such force that you’re laying down again. “Stop it, little girl. You were so good just now.”  

He prods the knife against your neck. You gulp and nod, if you’re good he seems to be nicer. You nod, “I’ll be good, sir,” it’s almost ironic that you still don’t know his name. He hums and nods, “I like the sound of that.” He smirks and again he sucks on your neck.  

Then he grabs the small straps of your shirt and cuts them off. Then shreds your shirt up, doing the same with your panties. You gasp at the cold metal. Fear laces your body every time the edge comes closer to your flesh.  

He hums again, “Your skin is so soft.” You curse your body as your thighs clench together and your cheeks get dusted with blush. His eyes flick down to your bare pussy. He grabs your legs, right by your bum. Already lining himself up with your throbbing hole.  

He doesn’t even bother to prepare me beforehand. He shoves right into you, you scream out, his size is just plain uncomfortable to begin with. He begins thrusting already, not even allowing time for you to adjust. He groans in your ears.  

Holding your legs right up against his pelvic bone, making sure he’s all the way inside you. His lips attach themselves to any part of you he can find. He moves from your one nipple to the other. Unable to be able to keep his lips off you.  

You can feel him inside you. His every grove and vein pressing as far as possible inside you. Your bodies are so tightly pressed up against each other, each thrust causes so much friction. Right up against your clit.  

You can’t help but start to beg for more. “Please, please sir,” it just slips right out of your mouth. You’re bright red, and Le Chiffre gives a wicked smirk. “Please, what?” He asks, thrusting into over and over making it almost impossible to say something.  

Though he’s going with such a force that soon enough he’s groaning and moaning in your ear. You can feel his hot and heavy seed mixing deep inside your body. You can see his muscles strain. And in the moment of pleasure and heat of his body, you feel your stomach tighten.  

And on those last few pumps there is a release in your whole body. He rides out his high and you can feel his gaze on your shivering body. “You’re mine, yes?” He nods, guiding you to say yes.  

After the exhaustion you see a single drop of red flow down his cheek. He slaps your ass, making sure you reply. To be honest, you’re in such awe, shock and exhaustion that the only reply you have is a meagre nod.  

#le chiffre #le chiffre x reader #le chiffre x y/n #le chiffre x you #james bond #casino royale

[dhwty-writes]

Nightmares

This is part 4 of my fic for @heyabooboo for the @thewitchersecretsanta.

Welcome to the the longest (and angstiest) chapter of this fic! Compared to the others that are found in this fandom, this is fairly mild, but please heed the tags. And have fun reading!

Summary: Having braved the nightmare of figuring out the meaning of a near incomprehensible poem, one should think that the nightmares of the netherworld come to an end. Alas, Destiny is not as kind. Retracing their steps, Jaskier is taken to the darkest chapters of his and Geralt's lives.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: canon typical violence, we see Geralt and Jaskier’s shitty childhood in here, and the trial of the grasses, but nothing too explicit. Rated T

Read on AO3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

It was, admittedly, a bit strange, to say the least, to keep walking backwards with his eyes affixed on the horizon. He extended his arms to get a better balance, still he tripped and stumbled over rocks and tree stumps and thin air. It probably would've been easier with just a glance over his shoulder. But-

'No,' he decided. 'I mustn't lose my goal from sight.' If he was entirely honest, that was probably the most difficult part.

Many people assume that in a netherworld without a physical body they cannot be troubled by such trivial things such as the paltry ache of keeping your eyes open without blinking. That is untrue. 

There are some aspects of humanity that are so ingrained into the core of their very being that they cannot imagine a world without it. Boogers, for example, and armpit hair, or sweat. Or the pressing urge to blink.

And no matter how much Jaskier tried to fight it, there was just no hope of escaping the burn. 

He blinked.

The scenery in front of him had changed. "What the fuck?" he murmured quietly as he took in the familiar countryside.

It was late in autumn it seemed; most of the trees had already shrugged off their colourful cloaks of withered leaves, though the first snow was yet to come. In front of him, a beautiful keep rose up at the horizon. The walls of limestone were pristine as ever, the red shingles glistening after a recent rain shower, bright banners flapping in the wind. The whole image looked as if plucked from a nightmarish fairy tale. "Huh," he muttered to himself. "Didn't expect I'd end up here of all places." Self-consciously he tugged at the cuffs of his blue silk doublet. Hadn't he been naked?

He decided not to think about that too much and instead be grateful for the armour that would protect him from piecing stares and cutting comments. He had no time for it either, for within the blink of an eye his vision shifted again and he stood within the empty courtyard.

'Strange.' There should be guards. Servants. The Count or Countess perhaps. Instead, there was nothing but eerie quiet and wisps of fog curling around his feet. It was almost enough for him to feel concern rising within hi-

"Julian Alfred Pankratz!" Jaskier froze on instinct, the booming voice bearing down on him like whip lashes.

‘Fuck.’ Twenty years. Twenty years since he had last returned home, and still— His heart was beating frantically in his chest, as if it wanted to jump right out of it. Given his previous experiences in this place, he didn't consider this impossible. 'Shit,' he cursed silently. 'It just had to be Lettenhove, hadn't it?'

He screwed his eyes shut, to drown out the litany of his father, the words nearly indistinguishable through the thick haze clouding his mind, though still drawing closer.

When he finally opened them again and had managed to blink away the bright lights distorting his vision, he realised he wasn't outside anymore. Instead, he was standing in front of a nondescript double door he knew like the back of his hand and had hoped to never see again.

It stood the slightest bit ajar, just so that he could peer inside. There was his father behind his desk, Lord Lettenhove intimidating as always. And- Jaskier frowned.

A little boy standing in front of him, with a mop of brown hair and a silken doublet that looked much like the one Jaskier was wearing. His mouth formed a silent 'O.' He couldn't see the boy's face, nor betrayed his body a single thing, yet he knew that he was crying.

'This isn't real,' he understood. 'This is a memory.'

"Father, please-" the boy begged, but his voice broke and shoulders gave the slightest tremble, the only hint of the terror that stole his and Jaskier's voices alike. 'For the fearless no success,' he reminded himself. 'Well, I'm fucking terrified. I'm getting out of here.'

He wanted to close his eyes so that this strange world would bring him to another place. But they didn't. No matter how adamantly he ordered them to shut, his eyelids didn't budge. 'Poor boy,' a voice in the back of his mind said. 'Poor me. I can't leave like this.'

"Well, Sir?" his father asked coldly. "Don't you have anything to say in your defence?"

Jaskier screwed his eyes shut, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. He cursed quietly: "Get it together, Jaskier!" He hadn't dealt with stage fright for nearly thirty years to succumb to fear now. So, he squared his shoulders and passed through the oaken wood of the door.

"Actually, your lordship," he spoke up, "I do."

Lord Lettenhove whirled around and gasped. "You!" he spit out and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Where have you been? Your mother is worried sick."

"She isn't," he said casually and strolled over to his child self. "She never is. Besides, she's been dead for a decade." He went down on one knee to get on eye level with him. "Hello there," he greeted him with a smile he hoped to be reassuring. "It certainly has been a while."

Julian raised his gaze, his eyes puffy and red with tears, the fear lingering even now. For a moment he couldn't help but stare in bewilderment. 'Was it really that bad?' He hadn't even remembered.

"Who are you?" Julian asked.

"A scoundrel," their father huffed indignantly, "and a coward."

Jaskier's smile grew even wider. "He's right," he confessed. "I am you, little one. Just without- this." He waved his hand around vaguely.

Julian's eyes widened even further, his gaze flicking around nervously. Finally, it settled on the lute case. "Are you a bard?" he whispered secretively.

"A failure," their father commented, "a disgrace upon our name."

He ignored him. "Oh no, little one. I am no mere bard. I am an adventurer, a poet, a minstrel. I am all that you dream to be and more. I am Jaskier, the most renowned troubadour of the Continent. But most importantly, I am alive. I am real. And you, my lord," slowly he rose to his feet and turned to their father, "are nothing."

"Excuse you?" he gasped. "You will take that back, young man."

"No," he answered calmly. "I don't think I will. I was taught to always tell the truth, so tell the truth I shall. And that truth is that you, father, are not deserving of any obedience or respect a son owes his parents. And least of all love."

Lord Lettenhove sneered. "You are no son of mine," he spat out and for a moment those words were enough to make Jaskier tense up. He could well remember when he had heard them—and seen his family—the last time. He could still taste the despair on his tongue, the tears running down his cheeks, the overwhelming urge to beg-

"No," he interrupted the spiral of hopelessness that threatened to drag him away. 'I have reimagined my memories hundreds of times. I can do it again.' He straightened his back and raised his chin. "No, Alfred, I am not. You wish you had a son like me."

"I do not-"

Jaskier scoffed and turned his back to him. He had spent far too much time listening to his father in his life already, he did not plan on doing it any longer. "Hey, Julian," he said instead, "do you want to hear a poem? How about a limerick?"

The Count de Lettenhove gasped indignantly: "Julian, how- Such verses are beneath us."

"And they are above your intellect," he retorted with a wink at Julian. "Let's see, I think I've got a good one:

There once was a Countlet named Alfred,

Whose aim was to cause fright and dread.

He thought himself smart

For he despised the arts,

Alas, he was dumber than bread."

Julian's eyes gleamed and he snickered. Well. He considered that a good start. "Another?" he challenged and the boy nodded eagerly. "How about this?

There once was a Redanian Countess

Who was famed for her martial prowess.

She boasted she taught

Her son to wield a sword,

But was beaten by a pigeon at chess.”

Giggling, Julian almost didn't look scared anymore. "A last one, yeah?" Jaskier proposed and he nodded eagerly. "This one I know from a friend. Ready?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"Alright." He cleared his throat and said with as much dignity and gravitas as possible: "Lambert, Lambert, what a prick."

By now Julian was laughing openly, nearly doubling over with the force of it. 'There,' Jaskier thought with a satisfied smile, 'that's better.'

He blinked.

The road that led through the early-summer forest was empty except for a cart disappearing in the distance. Jaskier frowned and turned around. What on earth had led him here? As far as he could remember it, he had never seen that place before. Plus, there was no-one around.

Maybe he was just supposed to follow the road. With a shrug Jaskier decided that was as good a guess as any and began walking. He hadn't gotten far when he heard the prattling of tiny feet behind him. "Ma?" a young boy shouted. "Ma!"

Jaskier wanted to keep on walking. He didn’t know this boy, so this hardly concerned him. He rally tried to keep on walking. Really. But something made him turn around. Maybe the fear in the boy's cry: "Ma!" Probably the sob when he yelled: "Visenna!"

The boy couldn't be any older than seven years at most, probably he was younger still, and there were tears glistening in the corner of his eyes. "Ma?" he asked again.

"Sorry, buddy," Jaskier said. "No-one around but me."

"But- She said- She told me to get water," he stammered. "She was thirsty."

"Oh." His heart sank. What was he even supposed to tell him? That she was surely coming back? That was a lie, no mother left her child in the woods with the intention of coming back. He had seen it often enough in the past. Mostly it was because of hunger, or sickness, sometimes just good old poverty as well. Some of the children were believed to be cursed, or changelings, or whatever other thing humans came up with to keep hurting each other. 

This child, however, did not seem to fit any of the categories. He looked almost disturbingly boring. He was well-fed and properly clothed as well, a healthy blush on his cheeks. Jaskier had no idea what had led the mother to abandon him out here. "I'm sorry," was the best he managed. The boy's lower lip wobbled dangerously. 'Please don't start crying,' Jaskier begged whichever higher power was listening. He was shit with children; he couldn't handle a crying one. "What's your name?" he asked, trying to prevent the inevitable.

"Geralt," the boy answered with a frail voice.

"Oh," Jaskier said again. 'Oh, fuck,' he thought. No wonder he didn't recognise the memory—it was taking place over half a century before he was even born. "Geralt," he repeated stupidly. Geralt as a child. Geralt before the trials. Geralt who had, presumably, just been abandoned before heading to Kaer Morhen. Geralt who was just about to cry.

'Shit.' He had to do something. And fast. "Well, Geralt, I'm glad that I stumbled upon you here. I couldn't imagine braving the way through this wilderness on my own."

The boy frowned—an expression that looked much cuter on this Geralt than on the one Jaskier was acquainted with. "I know you," he decided after a few moments.

"Yes," he agreed. "You will. Come, I tell you a story while we walk."

He started walking into the direction the cart had left. Boy-Geralt hurried to catch up with him and slipped his hand in his. "You look funny," he remarked.

Jaskier snorted. "It's called fashion, thank you very much." He regarded him with a fond, wry smile. "I'm glad not everything about you changes once you grow up."

"Are you a prince?" Geralt asked as if Jaskier hadn't said anything at all. 'The selective deafness isn't new either, I see.' 

"Not quite," he answered honestly. "I am a Viscount, but that's unimportant. You will know me as a bard and the most annoying creature in existence."

"A bard?" he asked excitedly, skipping along next to him. "I will know a bard? Will you sing songs of me? Will we be friends?"

"All of that and more," he chuckled. "Although you won't always be grateful for it."

"I can't imagine that." They walked barely two paces in silence before Geralt asked: "Will I be a knight? Will I slay a dragon? Is that why I will know you?"

"No," Jaskier answered as kindly as he could. "You will save a dragon. As a witcher."

"A witcher?" Geralt's eyes went wide in horror. "No, that can't be! Witchers are scary!"

"Well, you can be very scary," he agreed. "But most of the time you aren't. You see, there was this one time when we were travelling and you found a dog. It was old, and had a broken leg and had been left to die in the woods. But instead of killing it, you set its bone, heaved it onto your horse's back and found a place for it to stay. You weren't with me then, but a few years later I visited the same town and it was still there, hale and hearty."

He glanced down at the boy to check if he had the boy’s attention. Of course, he had; Geralt was practically hanging on his lips. "Oh, or that other time when you were hired to slay a troll and we chose to remigrate him instead. Sounds easy enough, right?"

Geralt nodded.

"Well, it wasn't. You see, while trolls are certainly smarter than... drowners, let's say, they are not terribly intelligent. We tried talking to him, wasted half a night while doing so—because we couldn't remigrate him during the day, since you were supposed to kill him—until we managed to explain to him that he should get up and follow us. It worked until we reached another bridge where he had lived previously, as it seemed. He decided he might just as well live there again, and then we had to remigrate him again." Jaskier laughed at the memory. "I think we repeated that four times at least. And didn't even get paid in the end, can you believe that?"

"Another," Geralt begged eagerly. "Please, tell another one.

"Alright," Jaskier agreed. And so, he did what he did best: singing Geralt of Rivia's praises. He talked until his throat was raw, and kept on talking after that. Only when the sun set and Geralt fell almost asleep on his feet, did they seek out a place to rest.

They found a nice dry spot next to a stream, just like Geralt would teach him almost a century from now. Jaskier dug a pit to start a campfire, as Geralt collected firewood, and dug out some dried rations from his pack, that had miraculously appeared along the way. Once they were both sated, he laid his bedroll out for the boy and took the first watch. Well, the only watch, more like it. 

He leaned against a log they had dragged onto the clearing together, plucking idly at his lute strings to accompany an old lullaby he half-remembered his nursemaid singing. Satisfied, he watched as the boy fell asleep and only then, finally, did exhaustion wash over him. He felt so drained, from walking for what felt like weeks without a break. He'd just set his lute down and rest his eyes for a little bit and—

He blinked.

"Get out!" the innkeeper barked and Jaskier sprung to his feet. "Get out, you useless bastard! And don't bother coming back in."

"Fuck," he cursed quietly as he lunged to catch the man—boy, really—that was about to land face-first in the mud. Too late. The Oxenfurt graduate was already eating dirt. And not moving. Well, that was concerning. "Are you alright?" Jaskier asked.

"Ow," the boy groaned, still without so much as lifting his head.

He flopped down next to his younger self with a sigh. "Yeah, I know. Bruised ego hurts like shit. But no broken bones at least, eh?"

"This time."

He winced. He'd forgotten how shitty it had been before he had become famous. "You need to get up," he told him without too much empathy. Whining would get them nowhere. "You'll ruin your doublet else, and we both know that you don't have the coin for a new one. No-one likes a dirty bard." Besides, they had to greet a witcher in the very same get-up not quite two months from now.

"I hate you," Julian-Jaskier grumbled as he got himself into a sitting position.

"You hate the world and think that's the same as hating yourself and everyone around you," he corrected him. "There's a difference." He had also forgotten his dramatics of his teenage years, it seemed. Not that he was keen to remember them.

The bardlet rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance. "What do you want? I really had a shitty day and don't need a visit from... what even is this? Future me?"

"Something like that," Jaskier grumbled. "Believe me, I'm not thrilled to be here either."

"Then go away."

"Can't," he explained. "Not until I help you... or something."

"Help me?" He snorted. "How are you supposed to help me?"

The thing was, Jaskier wasn't quite sure either. There really was no helping him; he had no money to give and besides, that wouldn't make much of a difference either. It never had, not until he stole the lute from the drunk disgrace of a bard in a month, at least. Wait a minute-

"A lute!" he exclaimed.

"Huh?"

"I have a lute, I can give it to you," Jaskier babbled excitedly and scrambled to his feet.

"And how's that going to help me?" Julian-Jaskier asked sceptically.

"Performances, you idiot! No-one wants to listen to just a bard; everyone loves bards with lutes. It's right— shit." He grabbed his lutestrap to find— nothing.

"What?" he scoffed. "Lost it or something?"

"What? Lost it?" He laughed nervously. "No, that's ridiculous. I just, um—" He started patting down his breeches, as if he might have hidden it there. "—misplaced it, that's it." He turned on the spot, searching the ground. He had just put it down when Geralt had gotten tired and— "Fuck!"

"You lost it?"

"I lost it."

Julian-Jaskier laughed. Actually laughed. "What?" he asked when he saw Jaskier's resentful glare. "Don't tell me you've stopped looking on the bright side of life."

"How is this the bright side?!"

"Oh, I don't know," he flashed him a wide grin. "I actually consider you losing the lute you wanted to gift—"

"Lend!"

"—yourself rather funny."

"Ughh!" Jaskier exclaimed and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. "You are a brat." He had no time for that. He needed to go back to Geralt and get the lute. He blinked. Nothing happened. He blinked again. And again, and again, and again, and again. Nothing. "Fuck!"

Julian-Jaskier grinned even wider. "You do realise the comedic potential in this scene, right?"

"I don't care about the comedic potential! I just want my fucking lute!" He turned away from the annoyance—really, how Geralt had allowed him to travel with him was beyond him. Oh right. He hadn't—and stared at the sky. "Hey!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "You there, looking at all of this! Coram Agh Tera? Wade? Well, whatever your name is, you wanker, take me back to the previous one! I need my lute!"

Nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, there was the barely stifled snorting laughter of Julian-Jaskier in the background, but he decided to ignore that, so it was basically nothing. "Come on, mate! I just forgot my lute! How am I supposed to help this one without a lute?"

Still no answer.

"You know, I don't really think this is going to work," Julian-Jaskier quipped.

"Shut the fuck up, you midget. I know that!"

He sighed and finally got to his feet, grimacing as he took in the ruined fabric of his breeches. "I'm sure there's another way to help me besides conjuring up your lute from thin air."

"Well, probably," Jaskier hissed, "but in any case, I'd really like my lute back. It's my lute, alright, I'm attached to it. I get it three months from now and I want it back! Right now! Right here in my hands!"

The weight was sudden and entirely unexpected, so Jaskier actually stumbled a bit. Flabbergasted, he stared down at Filavandrel's lute in his hands. "Oh," he said simply. "I suppose that works."

Julian-Jaskier looked very stupid when surprised. 'Gods, I hope I don't look like that,' Jaskier prayed. Given that his looks had barely changed since that day, however, he didn't have all too high hopes. "How did you do that?" the bardlet asked.

"I don't know," he admitted truthfully. "I just wished really hard to have a lute."

"Brilliant." His eyes gleamed. "Do you think I can do that, too?"

"No," he answered simply and thrust the lute into his hands. "Just go and do your fucking performance. I have places to be."

"Alright, alright!" Julian-Jaskier agreed and took off running towards the tavern.

'I should really do something about the dirt,' Jaskier thought as he took in the mud-caked seam of his pants. 

He blinked. 

The dirt was gone.

Julian-Jaskier looked down at himself and grinned. "Thank you!" he shouted back over the pristine shoulder of his doublet and vanished inside. 

He blinked.

His surroundings melted away once more and rebuilt themselves in a town square. Jaskier frowned, trying to remember if it looked familiar. He didn't think so, though it was hard to tell. After the first hundred or so, they all started to blur together.

What was strange, though, were the people. There were quite a lot of them and he didn't recognise any of them. 'Weird,' he thought. Come to think of it, he wasn't quite sure he had even seen their clothes before. It reminded him of the garb his parents and grandparents used to wear when he'd been a child. It had to be one of Geralt's memories, then.

The faint ringing of swords filled the air as terror gripped him. "Oh no," Jaskier whispered hoarsely as his surroundings shifted again in a nauseating whirl. 

He blinked. 

Even before he saw the woman's corpse he knew exactly where—or rather when—he was. Geralt had never told him of this story, not really, at least. But he had heard rumours, and then, after meeting the witcher, had gathered as many stories as he could to find, to get to the truth at the core of it. 

"Incredible," an old, bearded man said as he knelt at her side. "Marilka," he said and stumbled to his feet. "Marilka? Marilka! Get me a cart. We'll take her to the tower for an autopsy."

Jaskier felt the overwhelming urge to punch Stregobor in the face. He probably could have. He probably should have. But before he had a chance, there was a bloodied blade at the mage's throat. "If you touch a single hair on her head," Geralt growled, "yours will be on the ground next." It was Geralt, quite obviously so. Still, he looked different. Younger, in a way. Much less guarded than the man he knew, with a wild look in his eyes Jaskier had never seen before.

"Have you gone mad?" Stregobor asked. "Her mutation, it influences people. That's how she got these men to follow her." His eyes narrowed just a bit. "She got to you, too, didn't she?"

"Do not," Geralt snarled, "touch her."

"Witcher," the mage answered in the most condescending voice imaginable and, oh, Jaskier definitely would punch him now, "you butchered bodies in the streets of Blaviken."

"You're a beast," a man called from the crowd.

"You endangered the girl," a woman added and Jaskier decided that all of them could bugger off, thank you very much.

"I think this is quite enough," he said calmly as he stepped forward, shifting in front of Geralt as time came to a halt. "Lower your sword, dear. Please."

The witcher stared down at him in confusion. "What-" He blinked a few times and his gaze cleared. "Jaskier," he whispered.

"The very same," he said and bowed with a flourish. "The sword, love." He squeezed his hand lightly and watched with relief as Geralt did as he was told. "Let me take care of this mess for you."

The witcher nodded and the world started spinning again. "Good people of Blaviken," he began and opened his arms. The familiar weight of his lute appeared much faster than the first time. "You can count yourselves lucky, for on this day you are in the presence of not only the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, but also the master bard Jaskier. Truly, you are in for the performance of a lifeti-"

"Jaskier," Geralt hissed quietly.

"Yes, dear?"

"This is not really the place for a performance." He pointed at the corpses and the townspeople who stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. Ughh. Right. And then there was also-

"Who do you even think you are?" puffed Stregobor.

"Jaskier, the bard, and I don't like repeating myself," he quipped. "So, I suggest you shut the fuck up, old man." Immediately, his mouth snapped shut. Still, Jaskier wasn't finished: "You are a bumbling idiot who keeps babbling about some mutation nonsense. It's not her fault that you have the charisma of a wooden spoon and lack any kind of imagination. Really, it is not that hard to believe that a woman could inspire people. You are a pitiful creature."

The people around him still stared in open-mouthed bewilderment. "Close your mouth, dear, I'm not done, yet," he told Geralt and tipped his jaw up. He really should do something about all the bodies.

Jaskier frowned, concentrating hard. Shrouds appeared from thin air and covered the corpses and the blood vanished from Geralt's face. "Jaskier," the witcher growled, annoyed. Alright, maybe he had overdone it with the flower crown, but this was a dream world; when would he ever get such a chance again? "Focus."

Right. Not his strong suit, but he had a performance to deliver. And that was very much his strong suit. Gently, he plucked at the lute strings, the notes almost manifesting before he did so. "When a humble bard," he began; the song came as easy to him as breathing. 

The audience didn't seem too enthusiastic. It took him until the end of the first refrain to realise why. "Oh," he said, his lute making a dissonant twang. "I suppose I'm just about two decades early with this, aren't I?" Of course. How could he have been so stupid? 'Well, only one way to change that.'

"Toss a coin to your Witcher," he sang loudly, "Oh, valley of plenty

Oh, valley of plenty, oh

Toss a coin to your Witcher

Oh, valley of plenty!"

He blinked.

The wind tugged at him to the tune of a camp being set up. Jaskier knew where he was even before he opened his eyes. "Ah," he breathed, taking in the silhouette of Geralt sitting on the rock. And his own self approaching him. "Shit." He winced in sympathy for his heartbroken, aching self. Well, not heartbroken yet, but soon to be.

He wasn't surprised, to be honest. Not really. But fuck was he afraid of it. With all the other scenes he'd had at least a semblance of an idea of how to fix them. But this? He couldn't really change himself, could he now?

In the end, it had all worked out just fine, of course. Geralt and he had found each other again and after a bit of awkwardness and a muttered apology by Geralt they had continued travelling with each other again. While his witcher definitely wasn't a man of words, Jaskier could see his remorse just fine. He was fluent in all of Geralt's silences, and the plethora of gifts and smiles he got was better than any spoken apology in the world.

Still. It hurt.

Geralt shifted a bit, hearing his footsteps. Jaskier had to do something, and fast. "That's not really going to cut it," he muttered. His blubbering, yearning self wasn't going to be of any more assistance now than the last time. "Sorry, mate, but you have to go." With an ever so quiet pop the other Jaskier vanished.

It earned him a gruff Geralt grunt. "Jaskier," the witcher said without even turning around. "What do you want?"

'Alright, so we're doing this,' he thought and did his best to steel himself. "Nothing but a chat, old friend," he tried to say as casually as possible and sat down next to him. "Just like the good old days, hm?"

"Hmm."

"Funny. I thought you'd say that," he replied in a feeble attempt at comedy.

Geralt rolled his eyes, but didn't manage to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth quite fast enough. "Jaskier."

"Not helping?"

"Hmm."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, didn't think so."

He waited with bated breath for his witcher to say something, but apparently, he considered their conversation done. 'Looks like I have to talk myself out of this mess,' he thought. 'Like always.'

Time to put his money where his mouth was: "Look," he said and wet his lip with his tongue. "I know how it feels when people die. It's always hard. And it doesn't get any easier the more it happens."

"Your point, bard?"

He closed his eyes. He still didn't have any fucking clue on how to solve this. Only one way to go, then: "I have a proposition for you I already know the answer to. But—" He took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm his violently beating heart. "It's all been a bit much, lately, yeah? All these... djinns and children of surprise and dragons. So, why don't we get away for a while? We could head to the coast."

Geralt snorted. "Never took you for the maritime type."

"Well, I'm not," Jaskier answered, glad for the tension to lift, if only a little. "I get horribly seasick, you see? But that's not the point."

"Then what is?" They were going for the fond annoyance, apparently. It certainly was an improvement to last time.

It also loosened Jaskier's tongue; he could barely keep himself from babbling and that really wouldn't make it better. "Life's too short to spend it being unhappy. You should do what pleases you while you can."

"Composing your next song?" And there it was. The moment he'd inevitably fuck up.

"No, I just, uh-" He let his head drop. "I'd say I'm just trying to figure out what pleases me, but that's a lie. I figured that out a long time ago."

"Sleeping with other people's spouses is not really a life goal, Jaskier."

"Oh, ha ha," he retorted. "Very funny. But that's not— That's not what I'm talking about."

"What, we still haven't reached the fucking point?" he asked with the slightest hint of a smirk.

"No, I— Gosh, this is harder than I thought. It's you, Geralt. You're what pleases me."

The witcher turned to him with incredibly wide eyes despite the frown. As if he was surprised. As if he couldn't fathom why Jaskier would say that.

He shrugged. "It's true. I'm never as happy as I am at your side. Just spending time with you. You're the most important person in this world to me. In any world, really. I couldn't— I cannot bear losing you. Maybe it's selfish, but I just— I just want to have you for myself for a bit. Not share you with those who are hellbent on killing you. Not share you with anyone."

"Hmm." Geralt tilted his head to the side, a curious look Jaskier couldn't quite decipher in his eyes. In all the years of their acquaintance he had never, ever looked at him like that.

"Just— let me show you?" he begged. "Please? I know it's not what-"

But Geralt didn't let him finish. "Alright," he interrupted him. "Tomorrow."

He blinked. 

Geralt stood a few feet away with Borch and Yennefer. "The sorceress will never regain her womb," he caught the last remnants of their conversation. "And though you didn't want to lose her, you will."

"He already has," Yennefer answered with a frail voice and stormed away. Jaskier scrambled to his feet when she passed him, catching Geralt's longing gaze.

'Shit,' he thought. This would be heartbreak all over again. 'It always was going to be.'

Geralt looked down at Borch. "Hmm," he said and trudged over to Jaskier. "The coast, you said?"

"Y-yeah," he stammered.

"Hm." He shouldered past him and grumbled: "They better have some good fucking ale there." After a few steps he realised that Jaskier wasn't following him and turned around. "You coming?" he asked with an outstretched hand.

"I am," he replied and scrambled to catch up with him. "In my experience, they also have excellent vodka," Jaskier joked and grasped Geralt's hand tightly. 

He blinked.

It was a clear day on the cliffside. The ocean stretched out to the horizon in all its deep, dark blue glory, its waves crashing gently on the rocky shore. "Oh," Jaskier simply said.

"Hmm," Geralt replied and draped an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

'This is so much better than being here alone,' he thought. "It's beautiful," he said.

"It's nice," Geralt said. From the witcher that was probably as poetic as it got. And, oh, that curious look in Geralt's eyes looked even better with a smile accompanying it.

A warm feeling filled his chest. 'I really could get used to this,' he thought. "There's another thing, Geralt," he blurted suddenly. "I lo-"

He blinked.

The world turned upside down. He cursed himself for being so fucking stupid. Because, of course, he had not only ruined the probably single-most romantic scene to confess his feelings for Geralt, the worst also, apparently, was still ahead of him. 

Jaskier had never been to Kaer Morhen before. Geralt hadn't even trusted him enough to betray so much as the smallest detail of its location. Still, there could be no doubt as to where he had ended up this time. Not with the vials and jars and jugs full of dubiously coloured liquids. Not with the witcher and mage looming over the scene, whose presence Jaskier barely registered.

All he saw were the wide, terrified, hazel eyes of the boy straining against the shackles tying him to the table. "No," Geralt begged, "please, Vesemir, I can't."

"Yes, you can," the old witcher answered. "It'll be over before you know it."

"No," Jaskier whispered, his eyes widening in horror. "No, I won't let that—"

He blinked.

Vesemir was gone, though Jaskier thought he might hear the distant sound of retching. The mage was still there, mumbling quietly in Elder.

"No!" he shouted again and leapt forward to push him back, to get him to stop, to- His hands passed right through him. As if he wasn't even there. As if he was a ghost. "No, stop, I won't-!"

He blinked.

The pain hit him completely unprepared, punching the air from his lungs. Wheezing, Jaskier staggered on his feet. He felt himself reminded of his first meeting with Geralt. Only that this time it didn't stop.

He could feel the burn of the toxins in his veins as his blood rushed, his body twisting, fighting, transforming. The boy on the table strained against his shackles, his mouth open with a silent plea he could not utter.

Jaskier could, though. Blinding pain ripped through his body as his knees gave out beneath him. A horrible scream erupted from his mouth, agony consuming any semblance of humanity.

After what seemed an eternity the pain ebbed off again; the burning fire in his body still pulsing, threatening to come back.

"No," Jaskier whispered, his vision still clouded from agony, but Geralt was still there. Had to still be there. "I won't let you suffer."

White hot pain surged again. "No!" he commanded, cried, sobbed. "No... Please—!" He screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed, until his throat was sore, raw, burning. He screamed and screamed and screamed until he could no more and Geralt and he were coughing up blood.

The pain flared and Jaskier's voice gave out. 'I can't do this any longer.' He didn't- He couldn't- He couldn't talk. 'But I don't need words to imagine.'

With a trembling hand he reached out, strained until his fingertips grazed over Geralt's arm— And collapsed. Jaskier sobbed, and thrashed, and curled himself up into a little ball, suddenly wishing for the same chains Geralt wore. That way he had at least something to hold onto. Jaskier had nothing.

Nothing but pain.

An agonised whine sounded from above him. Jaskier whimpered. He wanted to reach out, wanted to soothe him, wanted to— But he couldn't. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he barely could think as the world flickered around him. He wasn’t strong enough. 

He sobbed. ‘No,’ he thought. 'No, it can’t end here, I can’t wake up yet, I need to stay— I need it to make it stop for him. I need to, I have to, I must.'

He braced himself. The world flickered again. A soft sound of music floated down to him, a chant in Elder. For the next onslaught he was ready. As ready as one could be. He breathed in, let the pain fill him until it almost became too much. 'No,' he decided. Then again, more forceful: 'No! This is not who you are.' The pain twisted and churned in his gut, like liquid fire, but he would take it. He would take it all, if need be.

'You are human.' A second voice joined the first in its chant. He ignored them both. His eyes shut as tightly as he could, Jaskier imagined, flickering reality be damned. An incredible feeling rushed through him. Like flying. Suddenly, it was almost easy. He didn't imagine the pain away, that was far beyond his capabilities. But he could imagine it differently instead. He could imagine rightful anger, or heartfelt grief; and even a tiny sliver of hope.

'You are kind.' He could imagine laughter and tears, embraces and kisses and smiles. He could imagine songs and poems and jokes. Friendship and love and family. He could imagine dragons, knights and mages, queens, kings, and children of surprise. He could imagine bards and horses, elves, selkiemores, djinns.

'You are worthy of all good things in life and more.' He couldn't imagine the pain away. That was far beyond his capabilities. But he could imagine so much else that the pain became insignificant.

He didn't know when it stopped, or why. Jaskier opened his eyes and looked at his hands. He tilted his head to the side. Something had changed. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was different. He hadn’t even noticed how transparent he had been before. But he wasn’t anymore. He looked just as real as his surroundings. 

Jaskier looked up to meet Geralt's eyes, glaring gold in the dark. "Thank you," he whispered.

He nodded shakily and rose up on his knees.

He blinked.

A voice behind them spoke up: "Again."

Jaskier stood on his trembling legs. "No," he commanded. "Enough."

The mage attempted to step forward. Jaskier glared at him and the man stopped, frozen with one foot in the air. "No," he repeated, "you have no power here. You are a memory, a dream, a fantasy. And I do not want to continue this dream!" With every word the air around them began vibrating, as the feeling filled him again. It felt like floating. 

"Get lost!" he yelled. The door flung open, frozen air coasting in. "You are not welcome here."

He took a step forward and the mage stepped back, his form flickering. "You never were, and never will be. Get lost"

"Who do you think you are?" the mage scoffed. "With what magic do you think you can best me?"

Jaskier laughed hoarsely. "I am Geralt's friend," he declared. The ground shook with every step he took. "I am no mage, no witcher, no Child of Elder Blood. Just a bard with a lute. Just a man with an imagination.” The calm feeling within him dissipated, a storm brewing within his stomach. Not like liquid fire, but like frozen lightning. The air around him thrummed, wind swirling through the laboratory. “And I told you to get. LOST!"

"No," the mage wheezed, "you can't-" His body flickered again. And flickered. And blinked out of existence. 

"How dare you?" the Count de Lettenhove boomed, looming up dangerously before him. "My own-"

"GET LOST!" Jaskier yelled. He vanished and his mother appeared in his stead. "Get lost, get lost, get lost, get lost, get lost!" With every word he said another ghost appeared in the chamber. Stregobor, Yennefer, Renfri, his brother, his sister, Queen Calanthe, Visenna. Faces he knew like the back of his hand and others he had never seen before blurred together before his eyes in a nauseating whirlwind of impressions.

He sobbed and thrashed and laughed as he banished each and every one of them to whatever circle of hell they had crawled forth from. Floating, flying, his mind clawing at the edges of the reality he rewrote. The castle around him trembled and shook like his knees, stones and memories collapsing, falling, vanishing before crushing them. He was at the eye of the storm, clouds of wind and darkness swirling around him, interspersed with lighting. It hurt, it burned, it stung, but he did not stop. Could not stop. Would not stop. 

Until it was over. 

Jaskier hadn’t even noticed it. He probably never would have noticed if not for the boy tugging at his hand. "It's pretty."

"What is?" Jaskier mumbled weakly. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. It took him a while to process the beautiful winter landscape that stretched out before him. It looked like it had been plucked straight from a storybook. It had everything it needed: a lake, covered with a thick layer of ice, an orchard adorned with icicles, a hill to go sledding. Picture-perfect.

Well. A storybook where the snow was green, the trees purple and the sky orange, eternally stuck in sunset with no sun to be seen.

Still. It looked beautiful. Serene, even. Even more magnificent than he had imagined. "Thank you," he answered, his voice much quieter than the enthusiastic child's on his other side. "I'm Jaskier," the boy said.

The boy on his right smiled widely and extended his hand: "Geralt."

"That's a nice name." Child-Jaskier shook it excitedly. "I can already tell that we're going to be the best of friends."

"That would be nice," Geralt answered.

"What do I do now?" Jaskier and Jaskier asked.

"Hmm." Geralt frowned, apparently thinking hard. "Do you know how to build a snowman?"

"I do," they replied.

"I never built a snowman."

"Come," child-Jaskier said and tugged on his hand. "I'll show you."

Jaskier watched the two boys slip down the hill on their butts. He watched them run to the lake, watched them build a green snowman. He was relieved, he realised. Relieved, to see them happy. Still, the question remained: 'What do I do now?'

"Man," a bored voice next to him made him whip around. The dandelion yawned. Made a yawning sound. Whatever. "I already told you what to do."

"You!" he raised an accusatory finger. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know, man," it sighed heavily. "This is your dreamworld." 

"Fuck," he muttered. "Can't you at least help me figure out the rest of the poem?"

"I already did. Just follow the instructions. Follow—"

“—your heartbeat to the horizon, then take the second turn right after the battle field, I know,” he grumbled. “Have I reached the horizon yet?”

“I don’t know,” it responded. “Have you?”

“Probably not,” he sighed. “Will you come with me while I continue?”

“Can you imagine that?”

He smiled and began walking again. “I guess I can.” They journeyed in silence for a while. But try as he might, the horizon didn’t seem to come any closer.  Jaskier groaned loudly; he really should have guessed that there was another mystery to that.  "Hey, you!" he shouted at the sky. "Coram Agh Tera, can you hear me? Wasn't I done with the nightmares?"

No response.

Well, almost none. "He really is an idiot," Valdo-larkspur mocked. "The sky talks as little as the trees."

Jaskier chuckled and raised his finger. "For the record, I knew you'd say that."

"Alright, braggart, don't flatter yourself," Jaskier-larkspur joined in.

"That, too," Jaskier said but the two of them didn't hear him, already too engrossed in a discussion about some trivial nonsense. 

'Alright, focus, Jaskier,' he told himself again. He had been forcing the brain fog from his mind entirely too often in the near past; it was getting harder and harder every time. And the noise of two bickering idiots behind him didn't make it any easier. On the contrary, with all the distractions he could already feel the fidgety-ness approaching. 

'Ughh.' He'd never figure it out at this rate. 

What Jaskier didn't see, of course, was that he already had done so a rather long time ago. But like I said, mortals are, first and foremost, fundamentally blind. Their imagination reaches only as far as the horizon, even that of a poet as accomplished as Jaskier.

In hindsight, his blindness was truly a blessing. If he had discovered that there was absolutely no need for him to brave the latter stages of his nightmares, his rage might have been sufficient to shake him from his slumber. And then where would we have been?

So, he had no choice but to figure out the mystery that was no mystery at all all over again.

"Could you two shut up?" he snarled at the larkspurs. "If you're not going to help me, you can at least be quiet!"

"Well, someone got off on the wrong foot," Valdo-larkspur quipped.

"Yeah," Jaskier-larkspur agreed. "And for the record, we did help you. We gave you instructions. It's not our fault if you're too much of a fool to follow them."

Jaskier frowned. "Fool?" he breathed. 'And when they’re gone the fools remain,

A garden grows with no sustain.'

"Hey!" the buttercup complained. "You shouldn't be so mean to him. He's doing his best."

"Oh, yeah?" the larkspurs taunted. "His best isn't very good then, huh?"

"Man, just leave him alone," the dandelion joined in and before he knew it, the four of them were arguing viciously. 

Jaskier paid them no mind. He glanced around warily, trying to parse out whatever 'no sustain' meant. It couldn't be anywhere around the lake, then, nor the lilac forest. The blue mountains were an option, but he didn't think it likely. 

'Come descend into the sky.' 

He tipped his head up to the sky above. 'It's empty,' he realised. No sun. No clouds. No nothing. But descend into the sky? He couldn't imagine that. Could he?

A faint smile spread on his face. 

'How to find my mighty throne?

The answer’s plain: you don’t.'

"So, it was that simple, huh?" he said to no-one in particular as he stretched out a hand to touch the invisible barrier of the horizon, still impossibly far away. “The second turn to the right, is it?” he murmured and turned into the direction of the blue mountains, keeping one hand still on the skyline. 

"Well, would you look at that," a gruff voice said as the lark landed on his shoulder, "the weirdo actually knows how to follow instructions."

"You again," he deadpanned. "How did you get here?"

"I flew. Obviously."

"Obviously," Jaskier echoed stupidly.

"So," the lark said and picked at the feathers under its wing, "have you figured it out yet?"

He huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. "It's really quite easy, isn't it?"

"You tell me."

"Why," Jaskier said and closed his eyes, "you flip the world upside down. Obviously."

"Obviously," the lark replied stupidly.

Jaskier opened his eyes and as the sky stretched out beneath him. It was an easy thing for him to take a step. And another one. And then, let himself drift into that bright realm of uncertainty.

And so, he did.

He had already gotten quite far down into the sky when suddenly his descent was cut short. "The fuck?" he muttered. He took a few experimental steps to the left and right, eyeing the fog curling around his ankles warily. But try as he might, he couldn't descend any further. "Are we there yet?" he called up to the flowers that were still waiting on the surface.

"Almost," the lark replied, gliding down to him. "Just open the door."

"What door?" He could see nothing but orange sky. He turned into the direction he had come from and marched forward. He hit the door face-first. "Fuck!" he cursed, holding his nose that should be bleeding by all rights.

"You found it!" The flowers cheered from the ground. It was weird, seeing them hang from the ceiling like this. Or the ground. Whatever. This was already weird enough without wondering about semantics. 

Besides, he had more important stuff to do. Like opening an invisible door.

"Shit," he cursed, blindly scrabbling at the solid surface that had materialised out of thin air. "Is there a handle or something? A knob? Or— ah, fuck!" He turned the knob and immediately stumbled through, falling a solid foot before landing in soft powder snow. 

Jaskier groaned and turned onto his back, staring at the solid wooden door hovering in the air above a wintery garden. "Sure," he muttered and got to his feet with a resigned shrug. "Why not?" He started dusting off his clothes. "I'm already talking to birds and flowers, why not a door in a fucking—"

"Jaskier?"

#my writing #For You I'll Always Wait #FYIAW #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher secret santa #renfri #stregobor #vesemir

[zoryany]

So @spell-cleaver​​ sent me this prompt:

which I wanted to answer from the ask itself but then tumblr decided to be just. Rude. so we’re doing this instead. here’s my response.

Hey, Spell. Spell?? Please flood me, always, I beg you <3

Royal Imperial Skywalker AU (parts 1-4)

Send me things!! (always accepting, for this or any other verse, just... slow)

In Which Starry Incorporates Two Prompts Into One

Pleased as he was in his choice of captains, and grateful as he was for said captain’s decorum, Luke could not help the mildly frosty air that swept over him. He wasn’t upset with Han - really, had no right to be - but he was a touch annoyed at how his sister and his smuggler were getting along. Folding his arms across his chest, Luke glanced up at Han through his eyelashes and indicated a place on the bed next to him. His guest obliged, looking incredibly uncomfortable as he settled in in atop the luxurious bedding.

“So, ah,” Han stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, “your sister’s... something.”

Luke raised a brow. “Yeah. I’ve heard that said about her before.” Leia had scared away many suitors who dared attempt to woo her without proving themselves worthy of her time, first. She was the sort to make it abundantly clear when she was interested in talking with someone, and she would cut them down mercilessly if she wasn’t. “You’ve certainly made an impression on her.”

Han wouldn’t meet Luke’s eyes. “Oh. She told you, huh?”

“Not in so many words,” Luke replied slowly, brow crinkling slightly. “But we are twins. I can tell when something or someone has ruffled her feathers.”

“Right, yeah,” Han mumbled in response, the corners of his mouth twisting into a grimace. “That freaky twin poodoo and the even freakier Force bullshit.” Luke glared at him, and he raised his hands in defense. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you say to her?”

A sheepish expression flashed across his face again, flickering for a moment, before it switched to a look of indignation. “Why d’you assume I’m the one who said something?” A pointed look. “Okay, okay, I’ll admit I don’t have the best track record with that stuff, but I swear, this time I had nothing but the best intentions!” A raised brow. “Alright. Maybe the execution could’ve been better, but I was just tryna stick up for you, I swear.”

“What do you mean?” What had Leia been saying about him? It wasn’t like her to insult him - aside from the occasional affectionate jab - and especially not to a stranger.

“Well, she started off sayin’ how I better not try and pull anything funny. That if I’m just in this for the money, she’d do unspeakable things to me. How I better not go breaking your heart...” That sounded like Leia. “As if I hadn’t got enough of that from your folks, already. Then she started goin’ on about how you’ve always had your head in the clouds, didn’t always know when you were in danger, and that she doesn’t wanna see you hurt because of it.”

“She means well, you know,” Luke said softly, shooting Han a knowing look. “It’s just because she cares.”

Han scowled in response. “Yeah, well she doesn’t have to go talking about you like you’re some kinda child. Like you’re some fragile thing that’ll crumble at the slightest sign of difficulty.” He paused, scrunching up his face as he seemed to be searching for the right words. “I donno what it is but... your whole family seems to think that you can’t make decisions for yourself.”

That... was not what he was expecting to hear. “They just want what’s best for me, is all.” Even if they didn’t always understand his side of things, even if their overbearing and overprotective nature had driven him to run away in the first place, even if they could be so damn stubborn about what was best for him... it came from a place of love. Luke had always known that.

“Nah,” said Han carefully. “They want what they think is best for you.”

Luke... was not prepared to consider the implications of that. After all that had happened in the last day, he would prefer to file that away for another time, when he was more equipped to handle something so heavy. So instead, he circled back. “You still haven’t told me what you said to Leia that made her so upset. She can be pretty quick to judge, sure, but she called you infuriating. That’s not nothing. So what else did you say to her?”

Han was looking a touch sheepish again. “Okay, fine, but before you say anything, keep in mind she did call me a ‘scruffy-looking nerf herder’ before I said any of this.”

“You are scruffy-looking,” Luke shot back, chuckling at the immediate offense that flashed across Han’s face. “It’s part of what attracted me to you in the first place.” He planted a quick peck on the smuggler’s cheek.

Trying to pretend he wasn’t blushing, Han pressed on. “Well, I mean, she insulted me a few more times. No good scoundrel was another one that stuck out. And, well, I kinda lashed out a bit. Suggested that maybe your family doesn’t know you quite as well as they think they do. That...” He winced. “Well I might’ve told her that they should all get their heads outta their asses and maybe actually listen to you once in a while.”

Luke blinked a few times, taken aback.

“She refused to talk to me, once I’d said that,” Han carried on, “except for a gruff ‘Here’ when we got to my room. Ended up kinda figuring I might’ve... kriffed up something.” He paused, seemingly examining Luke’s face for any hint of how he felt. “And hey. Maybe I did. But I mean... well. Like I said. Probably could’ve executed it a bit better. But I don’t regret what I said.”

“Han...” It was never going to be easy to introduce his boyfriend to his family, given just how different the worlds they occupied were, but Luke had been determined to make it work. So far, things had been... bumpy, to say the least, but one thing had become abundantly clear: he had people in his life who cared about him.

Sliding along the edge of his bed, he placed a hand on Han’s cheek, the other on the back of his head, and brought their foreheads together in a gentle embrace. Eyes fluttering closed, and they remained like this for a moment, then shifted and allowed their lips to brush -

“Ahem.”

Both men jerked away from each other, awkwardly, and Luke found himself scowling deeply in response to the interruption of their gentle moment. There was more to say, between the two of them, both about what had gone down and what was yet to come, but Leia’s stance in the doorway - feet shoulder width apart, hand planted firmly on hips, back stiff as a board - made it clear that she was not about to take no for an answer.

“If you two don’t mind,” she snapped, “can you save the kissing for later?” Luke rolled his eyes at her. “Mother and Father have insisted we spend the day showing...” The pause in her words was punctuated by the venomous look she shot towards Han. “Captain Solo around the capital. We are all to take the day off while they discuss certain matters.”

Luke knew what that meant. His parents were in disagreement after their conversation last night. When this happened, it was best for everyone to get out of the Palace while they figured out how they felt and what was to come next. Naturally, these nuances went over Han’s head, but while Luke wasn’t eager to explain them to him in front of Leia, he wasn’t about to let his guest be caught in the crossfire.

“Yeah, alright,” he conceded quickly, before either  of his room’s other occupants had the opportunity to interject. “I know some spots I think you’d like, Han.”

“Oh no,” Leia cut in, “the two of you aren’t getting away from me that easily. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you. I’m coming with you.”

Luke offered her his most winning smile. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less, sister dearest!”

She wrinkled her nose at him and, though she did not do so physically, he got the impression of her tongue being stuck out in his direction.”Let’s just get going. I’m dying for the opportunity to reconnect with you and... get to know Captain Solo better.”

“Alright!” Luke chirped. “It’s settled, then. Lead the way!”

Neither twin noticed the look of concern that washed over Han’s face.

***

Despite the awkward air between them, Luke was thrilled to have both his sister and his boyfriend with him as he reacquainted himself with Coruscant and the area around the Palace. Neither of them said much to one another, but the occasional exchange Luke shared with them made him grin from ear to ear, feeling both aspects of his life draw together.

Han had been to Coruscant, before, but those occasions had been rare. Even then, he’d only seen the lowest levels. Luke delighted in the expression he wore at seeing just how spectacular the planet was, up close. Even Leia’s icy expression melted a touch at just how overjoyed Han and Luke were, and he swelled a bit at that. He’d bring Leia around, he was sure; it was only a matter of time.

After wandering the streets for nearly an hour, however, Leia was beginning to grow a bit aggravated. As restless as Luke could get, he’d be happy to just roam about with Han at his side as they’d done on Ord Mantell, and he was overjoyed to have Leia along for the ride. His sister, on the other hand...

“Hey, Lu-Lu,” she cooed in her sweetest voice. Han sniggered, but Luke ignored it and raised his eyebrows to encourage her to continue. She was purposely trying to get a rise out of him in some form of revenge for their situation, but he wouldn’t stoop to her level. Leia’s nostrils flared ever so slightly, but her voice maintained its saccharine tone. “You know, brother mine, we’re awfully close to that one little cafe you like...”

“Lemme guess,” Han cut in, before Luke had a chance to respond. “He doesn’t touch the caf there. Or if he does, it’s less caf and more cream and sugar. But he’ll take the hot chocolate if he doesn’t need the boost.” Grinning smugly, he gave Luke a gentle nudge with his arm, which was returned by a sunny smile.

Leia regarded the boys coolly. “Yes. Clearly you know my brother well.” She linked her elbow with Luke’s and pulled him along. “C’mon. Let’s see if we can snag our usual table.”

Lagging behind the twins, Han jogged to catch up while Luke allowed himself to be dragged along by Leia. There was no fighting her when she was on a mission like this. She was, somehow, ridiculously strong when she wanted to be, and he didn’t dare try to break free.

Not that he minded, necessarily, but he did feel guilty leaving Han - who was his responsibility, after all - to lag behind.

Fortunately, despite Leia’s determination and the twins’ combined agility, Han’s proportionally longer legs allowed him to keep up with the two of them. It wasn’t long before their little trio was seated in a quaint, private little booth overlooking some of the more picturesque buildings below. Luke was flanked by Han and Leia, with Han wedged up against the wall. Only Leia had free access in and out of the booth, and it was abundantly clear that she’d engineered it to be this way. She made no comment as she sipped her caf, but the satisfaction was rolling off her in waves.

“Well!” Leia’s expression as she glanced between the two of them was akin to a tooka who had finally snared the prey it had been stalking for hours on end. “This is pleasant, isn’t it? We have a view, some drinks, and plenty of time... let’s talk, shall we?”

Beside him, Han shifted in his seat. “This the place you were always raving about back on Ord Mantell, Luke?” This was his attempt, however clumsy, at breaking the tension. Luke made a mental note to thank him, later, for trying.

“Yeah, Han. Let me know what you think of the caf.” Luke scowled at Leia as he took his own pointed sip of his hot chocolate. Setting down his mug, he raised a brow at her. “Talking sounds like a great idea, though, sis. What did you, Mother and Father get up to while I was away? I’m dying to know what I missed.”

After faltering a bit, Leia recovered quickly enough that her hesitation would go unnoticed by the casual observer; but Luke spotted it instantly. Han remained oblivious, and truly it was better that way. The last thing he needed was for either of them to have more ammunition to throw at one another.

“Oh, you know,” Leia replied, nonchalant in a way she seemed to have mastered, “the usual. The odd formal event. Several meetings. Keeping the galaxy from falling to pieces...”

Jabs like this would be the norm for some time, Luke knew, given just how bitter his sister was feeling about the whole situation. Still, he met her words with folded arms and a furrowed brow. “You seemed to have managed just fine without me.”

“Well,” she said, drawing out the word as she leaned back in her seat and stretched herself out, “you never were much one for the political side of things. We all know that much. Like it or not, the galaxy will continue to turn without you.”

“And yet,” Luke drawled, adopting a tone Leia often weaponized herself, “you all seemed to fall apart in my absence.”

That had struck a nerve. In an instant, Leia was sitting bolt upright again, glaring at him viciously through the narrow slits her eyelids had become. “Yes, Luke,” she all but growled. It was moments like this that she reminded him of their father. “Funny how that works, isn’t it? Almost as though we, your family, might have some reason - any reason at all, really - to care about your wellbeing. Or did you forget about that? Did our feelings just... slip your mind when you chose to go gallivanting across the galaxy with this - this scoundrel!”

“Hey!” Han slammed down his own mug and moved to stand before Luke placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “I resent that,” he huffed as he settled back into his seat.

A flare of triumph flickered across Leia’s face, but the venom did not leave her eyes. “I’m sure that you do, Captain, and I appreciate the sentiment.” Her expression frosted over. “However, that does not change the fact I went weeks without hearing from my own brother. Weeks he spent away from home. With you.”

“Leia - ”

“No!” she barked. “Don’t you dare ‘Leia’ me. I’ve missed you, Luke! My heart has ached, missing you! And we’ve hardly had five minutes to reconnect since you’ve been home. I don’t blame you for leaving. I was upset about it, when it happened, but you said our birthday was the last straw, and I suspected as much. I even tried to explain that to Mother and Father - I tried talking to them, but they wouldn’t listen! And then, well - I was lonely. You left me behind. And I couldn’t sense you the way I have for the past twenty years. I felt lost. Then you came back with - with him, and you expect me to just... carry on as though nothing happened?”

Something within his sister had snapped. In the tense silence, neither of them dared to look at the third member of their party. They hadn’t wanted to subject him to this level of... familial intensity.

Closing her eyes, Leia sighed and rested her head in her hands. “I don’t want to lose you, Luke,” she mumbled, temper fizzling out as quickly as it had flared. “It feels like you’re pulling away, and...”

“I know.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He reached out to grasp her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Both twins snapped their heads, in unison, to meet the source of that voice. Han, who Luke was sure would rather be absorbed by the booth they were sitting in than endure this a minute longer, piped up. “Highness? Er, Miss Highness, that is.”

Luke had to clamp down on a smirk and a snigger while Leia’s expression grew icy as it turned to Han. “Yes?”

He’d grown familiar with the level of confidence that seemed to accompany a life of smuggling or piracy. He’d seen it in abundance on Ord Mantell. One especially audacious Weequay who’d tried to scam him sprung to mind. Even so, Luke was still in awe of the way Han held his ground against one of the most powerful women in the galaxy, in the face of one of the most awkward situations in history.

“Don’t mean to interrupt your little sibling spat here or anything,” the smuggler carried on, his voice remaining admirably steady, “but I think, again, you got your brother all wrong.”

The temperature dropped several degrees. “Go on.”

Despite his noticeable shudder, Han did. “He ain’t pulling away from you. Never was. Trust me. You feel distant? Maybe even like he’s trying to replace his family? Well, honestly, if that’s what he was doing, he might’ve actually shut up about them once in a while.” Luke shot him a sidelong glance, but didn’t interrupt. “Yeah, he never told me who you all were, but he went on at length about the fact that he had a sister, a twin, another half. Kept talking about how you do everything together, how he was enjoying freedom and being away, but hated being away from you. And y’know what? I don’t think he ever wanted to be so distant from you for so long.”

There was a moment of silence, which they all seemed to be struggling to fill, before Leia finally broke it. “How do you mean?”

“Well...” The word sounded as though it was being drawn from his mouth by force. “Thing is... the kid, uh... he talks in his sleep, sometimes.” Oh. That was news. “Not always, and not a whole lot, but it seemed to happen when he’d had a bad day, or been in a rough mood for one reason or another. And, every time, he’d say the same thing. Just one word... ‘Leia.’”

Both twins stared at him, speechless.

“For a while,” Han continued, “I worried I might have competition.” A wry smirk twisted his lips and a dry chuckle buzzed in his throat. “Then he finally told me his sister’s name and it all made sense.” The cheeky expression persisted for a moment longer, but it settled into sincerity as his eyes flickered between each sibling. “Listen. Princess. Your brother cares about you. And I ain’t lookin’ to change that. You aren’t exactly someone I’m hoping to get in the way of, anyhow. All I’m askin’ is that you trust he’s got enough room in that oversized heart of his for the both of us.”

Crimson heat spread across Luke’s cheeks, and though he avoided making eye contact with either of the people beside him, he reached for their hands and wove his fingers between theirs. To his right, he could sense his sister regarding his boyfriend carefully, picking through his words to examine their truth. When she was satisfied, her presence grew bright and she was grinning.

“Very well, Captain Solo. While I do not believe you know my own twin better than I do, I will concede that my own feelings may have clouded my judgement. I am not too proud to acknowledge my shortcomings.” She was admitting defeat. She only did that when she wanted something. “However, I do have a favour to ask, when we return to the Palace.” Here it was. “It isn’t much, really, I assure you. All I want is some time alone with my brother.” That was suspiciously innocent. Luke had a bad feeling about that. “Not an excessive amount of time, I assure you, but you must understand - the bond between twins is like no other. All I ask is the chance to rekindle that.”

Han glanced to Luke, clearly detecting a trap, and though he couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding hanging over him, Luke could only shrug in response.

“Okay. Sure. Fine by me.”

“Excellent! Let’s finish our drinks, handle whatever business we have left in the area, then return home. There’s still much to sort through, there, even if Mother and Father haven’t quite finished their conversation.”

He wasn’t sure what it was, but Luke could tell that something had shifted. It seemed he had brought Leia around after all, but there was still something else lurking beneath the surface. He was on the precipice of something significant between his family and his chosen companions, but time would be the main factor to determine what that meant.

All he could hope was that the diplomacy lessons he’d taken all those years ago would come in handy.

#luke skywalker #leia organa #han solo #skysolo #luke and leia #space twins #my writing #my fic #star wars fic #imperial royal skywalker family au #in which the twins may well be #just a touch codependent #(tho lbr the whole family is) #and han just so happens to be #the exact person these disasters need #also! shoutout to #severnlight #we had a conversation earlier about the twins #dreamsharing when they have bad days #and it inspired a Smol Part of this!

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Live a Little [Part 3] Why the Hell Not [Billy Hargrove]

Tag List: @speedmetalqueen​

“I have no sympathy for that dingus,” Robin suddenly says. Her tone is laced with disgust and jealousy.

You pucker a brow and direct your attention from your studies to the snarky teen beside you. “Who might that be?”

“Steve Harrington,” she snorts. Turning to sit with her legs on either side of the bench, she glares at said teen from her perch overlooking the football field – he is in fact sulking about, which strikes you as weird behavior, considering who he is.

Smiling gently towards your friend, you feel a tinge of pity for her. Even you don’t like Steve – reputation seems to be the only thing he cares about – but you also don’t dislike him as much as she does. The reason is not your concern, but you know Robin will tell you if she wants; you won’t pressure her.

She glances over at you a brief moment, sees your smile, and pokes her tongue out at you. “Not going to ask why?”

“Not interested,” you joke. A laugh escapes you as she swats at your arm.

Robin glares at you, but continues on, despite your joshing. “Nancy made a fool out of him at the party. Of course, you wouldn’t have known; you were deep kissing Goldie most of the night.”

It’s your turn to glare. “Again … thanks for that.”

“No problem,” she chirps. “Anyway … word spread that she broke up with him. Serves the dingus right; he looks so sad though.”

“Which doesn’t concern you?”

She nods briefly. “You get me. But speaking of relations. How awkward is it seeing Goldie flaunt his new date after what you two did?”

Honestly, you don’t care. Billy is free to do as he likes; you don’t belong to him and vice versa. Besides, what had happened between the two of you was strictly a one-time thing. So telling Robin that you don’t feel awkward at all is partially the truth. He catches your attention every now and then; curiosity sometimes consumes you.

Robin stares at you intensely, brow raised. It takes a minute to realize that she’s looking behind you and not directly at you.

“What is it?”

Instead of waiting for her to answer, you glance briefly to the left. What you see fills you with unease. Billy is hiking up the stands, coming towards you. Shooting a flustered look at Robin, you mouth a silent plea; she just smiles.

To be honest, you just assume he’s passing by – maybe even looking for his date. However, when his large shadow consumes you – blanketing your textbook – a feeling of doubt does too.

“G’ afternoon, ladies.”

You frown at this. His tone is the same as before; charming and deep. It makes you recall every little detail about that morning, the way he looked and the way his sheets smelt. You curl your fingers around the sharp, metal edges of the riser you’re sitting on and hope for a miracle; something to end your embarrassment.

It seems like today, however, life just wants you to suffer.

“Afternoon,” Robin greets. “What do we owe the pleasure?”

His laugh makes you take in a deep breath. “I came to make an offer to Kelly.”

Robin gives you a look; a look that you can only describe as thrill. Again you silently beg her – thankful that Billy can’t see your wide eyes.

But she ignores you.

“Straight to the point,” the witty blonde says. Standing to her feet, she brings her leg over the riser. “I have some stuff to take care of, so I’ll leave you two alone.”

Waving over her shoulder, Robin slowly moves away. You can’t believe she would do this to you. It irritates you, but you have much bigger problems to deal with right now.

Billy sits beside you – a little too close – but you don’t mind as much as you should. His scent is stimulating.

It stays silent for a few awkward minutes before you softly clear your throat.

“My name isn’t Kelly, it’s [Y/N].”

“Billy,” he introduces.

You nod. “I’ve heard. Max told me. To be honest, Robin – the blonde that just left us – and I have been calling you Goldie for the past week.”

You have no idea why you just said this – word vomit, you assume.

“That so? Because of my hair?”

You give him a nervous look. “Because of your license plate; it still says California. I wasn’t referring to your hair. Why in th––

Goldilocks

Billy leans forward and places his large hand over yours. His breath tickles your cheek as he speaks. “You’re cute.”

Heat spreads quickly across your face, but you hide it by turning your head. A few deep breaths later, you drive his hand from yours.

“You said something about an offer? What did you want to ask me?”

“I want to take you out,” he says.

You pucker a brow. “Take me out? For what reason?”

“There has to be a reason? I’ve been thinking about you; that’s a good enough one.”

A soft laugh escapes you. He’s tacky, but also very thoughtful. You shake your head in disbelief – loose curls slip into your face. “I suppose, but even if I wanted to, I can’t. Curfew at my house is eight – my father is strict with rules.”

Billy grunts. “Ever slipped out before?”

Again you shake your head; this time to say no. He continues.

“I’m willing to bargain with you, because I know you’re going to have a good time with me, so let me take you out for milkshakes after school; my treat.”

It’s a tempting offer. You think about turning him down, because he is seeing someone else, but ice cream sounds perfect right about now. A gentle smile charms your face. His piercing blue eyes fill with excitement as you nod in agreement.

You don’t quite know what his intentions are, or why he thinks you are interesting enough to be considered as one of his girls, but you also don’t care right now. You figure all will be revealed in due time. Might as well go along for the ride. You deserve it.

--

Being spoiled by a blue eyed rebel has some perks; one being his obvious good looks. The next, his car.

As you follow him from the school, he leads you to his teal Camaro. You are in awe; it’s gorgeous.

“I know; you like.” Billy leans against the door and gives you a pleased look.

“Looks fast,” you state. Excitement fills you. Nothing like this had ever happened to you before.

Billy laughs. His tone drops quickly, sounding fuller than tight as he calls you over to him. Hesitant at first, you adjust your work books from one arm to the other, then do as he asks. He tilts up your head and leans in close – panic fills you.

“You want a ride?”

The first thing that pops into your head is the first thing that you say. “Please.”

His eyes widen, and for a moment you think you may have said the wrong thing, but a gentle smile raises his lips, and you realize he likes your answer; a little too much.

Before this moment can escalate, however, a voice breaks it up. You peak over the blonde’s shoulder and smile, seeing Max near the passenger door.

She gives you a look of disbelief. “What are you doing?”

“Billy offered to take me to the soda shop. Are you going too?”

“No, she’s going to the arcade. I’ll pick her up later,” Billy says. He moves you by the waist and out of the way so he can pull open the door, ordering you to get in.

Again you do as he says, clambering into the passenger seat after Max moves into the back. The leather seats are warm against your back and rear, but you honestly don’t mind. Excitement is fueling you; a need to see how fast this baby can really go.

You happily get what you want once Billy starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. On the main road, he steps on the gas and lets her soar across the blacktop. It’s wonderful – the wind in your hair and the vibration of the engine rattling your bones – but also pretty terrifying. A car like this is too much for you, but for someone like Billy – excited by the aspect of danger – it is perfect.

He is perfect. What am I thinking?

A deep frown sullies your face as you for a brief moment catch him staring at you. It’s strange, because never have you been attracted to his type before. Guys like him are scoundrels. He is worse than Steve Harrington, treating girls like trends. Just look at how he is treating his date. This week his interest lies with you; next week it may be different.

You try to enjoy the ride while you can, and lean back in the seat as Billy slows the Camaro within the town limits. He pulls around the square like he’s done this millions of times before and swings into the parking lot of the arcade. You wait until the car is idle before you let Max out.

She doesn’t say anything as she passes by you, but she does nod. You wonder if for some reason she is afraid to speak to you with Billy around; it’s absurd, but makes sense. You get back into the car once she enters the building. Something about Max drives you to want better for her.

She said it back at the arcade the day you gave her money. She and Billy did not have a close relationship.

It’s sad, but also none of your business.

A hand on your bare leg brings you to reality. You shoot a nervous look to Billy and move his hand away.

“You promised me a milkshake. Let’s start there,” you say with a frown.

Billy nods. “That I did. Remember though … I also promised you a good time.”

“It remains to be seen.”

He fakes like he’s upset and starts the car up again. You aren’t sure, but you think he’s starting to grow on you.

--

“Vanilla, or strawberry? You look like a vanilla type of girl.”

You snort. “Why is that?”

“Because, who doesn’t love vanilla? It’s plain, but it’s good; damn good.”

Crossing your arms beneath your chest, you pucker a brow. You and Billy stand beside the Camaro outside the soda shop. Neither of you seem to know what you want. Well … you know what he wants – if his comment is any indication.

“Are we still talking about ice cream?”

Billy does the same. “Yeah. Wait … what are you talking about?”

“Vanilla is fine,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

He nods and pats the hood of his Camaro. “Get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

“On the hood?”

You don’t want to ruin his car with your ass. What if you scratch the paint? Before you can reason with him, Billy lifts you up and gently sits you down. This takes you off guard; a cute squeak leaves your mouth – the blond laughs.

He quickly leaves you there and walks up to the front window. You wait patiently, almost certain that your face is red with embarrassment.

When he returns, Billy hands you a blue and white striped cup with a straw. You thank him and drink from it. The ice cream is so smooth, you don’t have to suck so hard to get the cold treat through. This would be embarrassing to witness. Oh the comments.

Billy doesn’t make a move to sit beside you, but he leans against the side of his car. His arm is pressed against your leg; a gesture you don’t seem to mind.

“Like that?”

You give him a nod. “You ask all the girls out here?”

“This place has good discounts for regulars,” he jokes.

Flicking his tongue over his bottom lip, he smiles up at you. “Actually, you are the first.”

“I’m honored.” You somehow doubt this.

Billy turns and slides his hand up your leg. His fingers are cold from the cup he’s holding. This brings goosepimples to you skin.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” he says with a smile. An unexpected look crosses his face. “Be my girl.”

You nearly choke. “Are you serious? You barely know me. Why make such a bold move?”

“Like I said earlier, I’ve been thinking about you,” he answers.

You roll up your eyes. He doesn’t get it. His genitals are thinking for him instead of his brain. “That girl you took to bed was not me. I never planned to jump your bones. It just sort of happened.”

“So your not easy; that’s fine. If it had just been about sex, I could have settled with the last girl I was with,” he explains. His eyes are so pretty up this close. “Give me a week. Be my girl and if you decide you want to stay, then we can make something of it.”

Is he serious? You have no idea what to say. It would be stupid to agree.

“Can I walk away at any time?”

He nods and pushes himself between your legs. “Anytime you want.”

A sigh leaves your lips. Before you give it to much thought, you agree with a nod. What the hell. Why not? It can’t possibly go beyond the allotted time.

Billy leans up and kisses your lips; you hesitantly kiss back. What can go wrong?

#billy hargove x reader #stranger things #maxine mayfield #robin buckley #romance

[herstarburststories]

the night hurt us.

A/N: Hey. Hope you guys like it. I had to keep Jason from calling his S/O "doll" and similarities.

Also, we hurt in the night, so the night hurt us back and we hurt the night, and so the night hurt us back are so related somehow.

Beta is @lyss-91, thanks.

Request: Helloo, I was wondering if I could request a Jason Todd (Titans) where y/n and him are working together and one of them gets hurt badly leading to confessions (and possibly mild smut)?? Love your writing!! Thank you x

Disclaimer: mild smut (I haven't write any related to smut so it may be a not so good part), the usual violence.

━─┈ ✧

"Easy like that? The big bad bat let you go chasing your childhood idol?" You asked while punched another bag of ribs, making the man grow in pain. "I'm sorry. That wasn't the kind of moan you were expecting tonight?" You questioned rhetorically, disgust almost dripping from your tongue, so different of your tone just seconds ago.

"Yeah. Kind of. I need to hand him some fills. People he used to know are dying." Jason, or Robin as he was dressed of, explained and kicked the rapist's accomplice calf muscle which leaded him to fall on the ground. His face was already painted in blood, but neither of you cared. By how you saw it, he deserved it. Even worse. What kind of monster rapes 3 women in one week? Surely a type that won't be able to speak for months. "The police couldn't do their job as usual and they crawled to us. Batman told me to go after him with the information as soon as he noticed. He knew I wanted to meet the old Robin."

Jason's man stood up again, apparently not tired of getting hurt over and over again. Well, that wasn't the worst thing that Todd would deal with. In fact, beating up a freaking scoundrel constantly was very appreciated by him.

"Combine business with pleasure. Try not to pester him for an autograph." You teased him, a delighted smile on your lips. Jason lived for reading about Robin when he was younger, suddenly he became Robin himself and now the boy was going to actually met the first person who wore his cape. As you smacked the man you were fighting's jaw from the down to the top, a kind of selfish thinking invaded your head. "How long you will be gone?"

"Two days. A week if most." He shrugged, not really paying attention to that. Another punch, Robin huffed. "You are making it way too easy, man. But could I expected from a tool who covers his friends for fucking raping woman, huh?" Jason threw him against a vehicle, your car, often beating up his face. "Are you missing me already?"

"Please. It will be the best days of my life." You resorted his innocent, usual provocation. "And be careful with my car. I don't want his blood all over my baby." Hiding your early melancholy for being apart from home, even just for a little amount of time, you finished your criminal by giving him a knee against his teeth. Your lips opening way for the imagine of your own teeth, a proud smile giving in. Unlike him, there was nothing brooke inside your mouth. "Touch a woman one more time and what just happened will feel like a fucking carnival compared to what we are going go make you go through." You used the same offensive expression he'd call the girl who had ran away at the begging of this combat.

"That's hot." Jason smirked, referring to how you would handle that situation and put that asshole in his place, right after he stopped the hitting circle, throwing the unconscious man away. You rolled your eyes, checking if the man was still awake, your back facing Robin. Time for you to call the police, if the neighborhood hadn't yet. Since there was no sound of sirens, the answer must be negative. You couldn't say it was surprisingly. After all, that was Gotham. People didn't want to mess with maskered psychos or anyone else, to be exactly. "You know, you could co—"

Jason's speech was interrupted by a grunt. You recognized this hoarse voice, retraing his pain as if it was some sort of overload weakness. You worked with him on partner patrols for long enough to know how a hurt him sounded like. Yet you'd never hear that, a grunt substituted by a rigid shout. He was in more pain than you'd ever be conscious of.

When you turned around, ready to face what made your heart throbbing, the man who Robin fought was found with such a sharpy penknife embed in Jason's back. Before he'd attack him from the back again, you jumped his direction, your injured hand from the previously disturbance grabbing a knife to situate that on his skin. Which was made only a few seconds later, you stabbed his stomach twice and then rested your white weapon against his used hand to harm your friend. His whinny screaming got you even angrier.

"Shut the hell up. At least I didn't attack you from behind like a coward."  You growled, putting your knife back inside your night uniform, kneeling down beside Jason. "Robin, are you okay? Fuck, of course you are not okay. I'll call Alfred, just help me to get you in the car." You said exasperated. You never dealt with a situation like this. Sure, you did hurt a couple of bad people so bad they needed to rush to the hospital, even a come once. Through they were horrible human beings, your sense of revenge for the ones who couldn't get it themselves always louder than that tiny guilty part. You didn't care. Otherwise, you were in front of a bleeding Jason who couldn't even stand up straight this time. It was different.

Everything with him as different.

You put his hands over your shoulders while you held his torso, walking baby steps, calm and soft, there was no need to hurt him even more, when both of you attempted to reach the car. Ultimately, you opened the car's door and put Jason in, trying to be as gentle as you possible could.

"Thought you didn't want blood all over your precious car." His weak voice tried a joke, although it came out as coughs and drops of blood.

"For once in your life, Jason. Please shut up. For your own good." You replied, the tone coming out of your throat sounded fragile, almost like the closest way you'd be from begging.

"Come on, (Y/N). You are no fun. I'll be okay to rip off more stupids soon and—" He noticed your state, but didn't think it was serious. You were worried. As much as it pleased him a lot, it wasn't uncommon for someone to be a trembling mess when their friend was bleeding on teir automobile.

"Jason, please. If not for yourself, for me." After closing the back door, you went to the driver's place, sitting there and turning on your car. Jason was dizzy, in pain and feeling what he'd assume was his heart beating trough his whole body as he pressed his hand against the wound to keep blood from slipping away, but that scene was clear as looking at the sun: you, sat down, eyelids pressed together hardly, fingernails cutting part of your steering wheel because of how strongly you were holding it. That was just a microsecond before you recovered your mind and opened your fearless (Y/E/C) orbs, — a piece of fear inside them, pictures by non poured particles of water, tears of pure worry that you didn't let cross the line between your cheeks and the exterior world. — enlaced with his image on the car's prismatic rear-view mirror and speed up to the Batcave. Fortunately, one of your strong sides from your training were reflexes, so you were able to watch Jason, the street and call Alfred at the same time, the only thing you couldn't control, yet were so desperately making an effort to, were how your head ached from keeping tears, how your sobs choked you up, how you denied any thought on how may Jason didn't make it. Because he needed to. Gotham needed him to. You needed him to.

"Don't worry, Miss (Y/N). Master Jason will be recuperated soon." Alfred announced, taking off his dirty gloves, covered be the current Robin's blood, other liquids of his organism and medical things that you couldn't pay attention to. "Master Bruce will be here as soon as he can."

"Joker causing trouble again?" You'd ask, glancing an all tied up Jason. He looked better, indeed. Healthier. Alfread was such a lifesaver as he always had been, since Bruce was just a kid, even before Bruce was even born. For now, you were just grateful for him to be here.

"I am afraid so."

"Thank you, Alfred." You thanked him with a warm smile. He just nodded, grabbing his surgical tray.

"I will bring you some tea. And then let me exanimate you." Didn't sound like a question to your ears, because it wasn't. You pouted like a kid, but it didn't matter. Alfred had enough work on Jason, and calming you down while helping him. He didn't need to be busier now.

"Alfred."

"Please, Miss (Y/N)." You sighed, aware that would be a helpless cause. After all, some band-aids sounded good at this point.

"Okay." Then, Alfred left. And you are back to glaring Jason. Blood a hundred per cent inside him, exactly where it was supposed to be. His features calm, as if he was getting the rest he'd be rooting for. You put your hand above his, caressing it.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)." A quiet voice spoke, and you raised your head, looking into his green eyes. "For worrying you."

"Jason, you are the one in this room who just got a kind of surgery or medical preceding, I don't care." You shook your head. The image of Jason between life and dead playing in your head like a sick game. "The fact is, you were the one dying. You shouldn't apologize."

"It was a stupid mistake. I failed somehow I shouldn't have." You took a deep breath, trying to contain yourself. Here he was again, too worried about his performance to even think about his life.

"Jason, you didn't fail. Everyone makes mistakes. Batman won't be disappointed on you and neither should you. Next time, watch your back. Be sure the idiot isn't up. You already know it, don't beat yourself for this slide. Just..." He looked down, facing your hand on his, such a beautiful contrast. The look in your eyes didn't leave his memories, how horrified you were. Adding the fact that Jason wasn't able to do nothing about it, that was what hurt the most. Not that fucking stab, or the stitches Alfred would use to fix him. What mattered were you. How scared you were. You needed him by your side and he wasn't there. "Just be happy that you are here. Alive. With me."

He looked up to you, his arm moving to place his hand on your face. Some annoying pain showed up, but he didn't mind. You leaned in to help him, your own hand making its way to his neck while the other one worked as your support, holding on his sretcher.

"I swear I won't worry you like that anymore." Jason caressed your chin. For the first time, you let a solitary tear fall down your cheek, which he quickly still delicate washed away. "I hate to see you cry, especially about me. I told you I would be okay. What's a stupid bastard against the fucking Robin?"

"Holy shit, I can't believe I'm in love with such an idiot." You huffed, closing your eyes, kind afraid of what he was going to answer.

"You better believe it. Because I'm an idiot and I'm also in love with you." He pulled you closer as your eyes opened. His finger stroking your skin, both smiling lips getting closer, closer, closer...

No one knows who started it, but a kiss emerged from a long time of secret feelings. Calm at first, just two young people trying to figure out how it felt to be adored, to be loved, to feel. It was like home itself, after waiting so long in a trip, you finally got where you knew that was your soul's place. But things started to get a little too touchy.

"Come here." Jason whispered between kisses, pulling you to the medical bed he was laid on.

"I don't wanna hurt you." You intercepted, biting his neck while both tried to regain oxygen.

"That's the last thing you will do." He said, his hands going down on your back. You grinned and got in the stretcher, carefully to not hurt him more.

Jason smiled openly, grabbing your butt as you came back to his lips. Your hand coming inside his shirt to touch his well defined abdomen. How long have you been dreaming about this? Being able to touch him regardless, hearing his moans because of how good you made him feel. And by the way he possessively hold your ass, you could tell he felt just the same. Sitting on his lap, it was obvious that Jason was getting very excited with your little foreplay. His kiss got rougher, you pressed your clothed parts together only to get that dense voice to moan your name.

Until another voice said your name.

"Miss (Y/N), could you get off Master Jason? And master Jason, let go off Miss (Y/N), please." Alfred walked in and you jumped off Jason scared, falling to the ground. Needless to say your soon to be boyfriend laughed his ass off after checking up you were okay.

#jason todd imagines #jason todd #jason tood x reader #jason todd headcanon #jason todd headcanons #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #dick grayson #dick grayson headcanon #titans imagine #titans #batfam x reader #batfam imagines #batfamily #batfam #batfam imagine #batfam headcanon #batfam headcanons #batboys headcanon #batfamily headcanons #batfamily headcanon #batfamily x reader #batboys imagine #batboys x reader #batboys headcanons #batboys #batboys x you #batman #batman headcanon #bruce wayne headcanon

[andrewmoocow]

Steven Universe Secret Wars chapter 1: Meet Tony Stark (originally posted on November 19, 2017)

AN: Greetings everyone! My name is Lightyearpig, you may remember me from such stories like Fooly Falls and Clod on the Run. Today, I bring you an epic sequel to Clod on the Run focusing on the rest of the Marvel Universe that our heroes explore all leading up to a final showdown with the Mad Titan himself! I call it Steven Universe: Secret Wars! To clarify, this takes place after the events of Wanted as it will be shown in Chapter 3 of this part and Part 2. I plan on releasing Part 1 throughout the remainder of 2017 while I plan on beginning Part 2 in February 2018 to commemorate the release of Black Panther. I hope we have a fun ride together and now, on with the show!

"I am deeply sorry sir, but we're going to have to reject your offer due to numerous health complications, but I have to commend you on your patriotism." a recruitment officer said to one Steven Grant Rogers. It was December 1941, the height of World War II and America joining the fight against Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany.

"Please sir, I beg you to give me a chance." Steve pleaded him. "You are ineligible on your asthma alone." the officer rebuked. "Well what can I do?" the young man wondered. "Just stay out of the war and save your own skin. I've recruited too many men that lost their lives out there and I don't want to do it again."

Walking out of the office, Steve looked down at his feet and started walking. He wondered how he could help his country regardless of his frail state, about how proud his parents would've been if he helped them win. Just then, he heard a voice coming from a nearby alleyway.

"Alright babe, if you're not gonna talk, guess I'll have to make you!" a common thug shouted. Thinking that sounded like trouble, Rogers rushed into the alley where he discovered a crook cornering a tall woman with fair skin, pink hair and a jacket over a white dress with a star on her stomach showing a strange stone.

"You leave her alone sir!" Steve called to the criminal, who turned around to eye him. "Oh yeah, and what you gonna do about that scrawny?" he asked grabbing Steve by the neck and slamming him against the wall next to the woman. "So any last words pal?" he said letting go of the young lad who put up his fists. "I could do this all day."

The brute started punching young Steve in various parts of his body like his face, torso, knee and arm before he picked up a trash can lid to use as a shield. "You think you're gonna protect yourself with that bub? Think again!" cried the scoundrel as he prepared to shoot him with a gun before the bullet was deflected by a large pink shape...belonging to the woman.

"You leave him alone!" she demanded pulling out a sword. "Oh, the big pink broad wanna fight me now? Well what ya waitin' for, bring it!"

"No, I refuse to fight you, but I won't let you hurt this man! Now leave or there will be consequences." the woman insisted and the criminal complied, running off like a coward. "Good Lord, that lady means business! I should get outta here before-" he worried before being cornered by a tall man in a military uniform. "Oh crap."

"Are you alright mister?" the woman asked Steve kneeling down to him. "I'm fine m'am, no need to worry." replied Steve as he struggled to get up, his wounds still fresh. "Here, allow me." she offered kissing him on the forehead, which instantly healed his injuries. "Whoa, thank you miss. I uh, didn't get your name."

"My name is Rose Quartz sir." the woman, now calling herself Rose, introduced herself. "Steve Rogers, glad to meet you." Steve replied shaking her hand. "Steve, I've been wondering where you were." a voice called out to him, its owner appearing to them.

"Bucky, good to see you here. I want you to meet Rose Quartz, I tried to help her against this jerk and-" Steve began to introduce Rose before his old friend Bucky Barnes interrupted him. "I actually am pretty familiar with Ms. Quartz. Plus she has an entourage as well."

As Bucky spoke, three other women came up from behind him. The first wore shades & had square hair, the second was shorter with purple skin and the third had peach-colored hair & a pointy nose. "Thank you helping us find Rose James." the third woman thanked Bucky. "You're very welcome Pearl."

"And I suppose you must be Steve Rogers." the square one said adjusting her eyewear to make the New Yorker appear in their reflection. "How did you know?" he asked. "Your friend told us about you. My name is Garnet." she answered.

"What up, I'm Amethyst." her shorter companion added. "And I'm Pearl." Pearl concluded. "So, Bucky told me you wanted to enlist in some war?" she wondered.

"That's right, World War II. All Adolf Hitler wants is to annihilate the Jewish people & conquer the world with an army of super-soldiers known as HYDRA. The United States have only recently joined the effort against them and started recruiting dozens of young men to fight."

"I still don't understand, why would humans be so hateful towards one another?" Rose lamented sorrowfully. "That's just how life is Rose. And that's why I've wanted to join." Steve answered with determination. "I like your spirit, but why?" Amethyst asked. "Because it's simply the right thing to do."

"Repeated monster attacks in seaside town, ocean disappears, giant green hand appears in Delmarva, missing person reports, local boy and donut shop employee abducted by aliens. Good grief, I wonder why the government hasn't gotten their hands on this town already!" a bearded man in a suit and sunglasses wondered examining various news articles on his tablet. This was Tony Stark, genius inventor and head of Stark Industries, one of the leaders of the technology industry. He was on a private jet headed for a little town in Delmarva called Beach City to investigate some recent events concerning alien lifeforms.

"Let me ask again Tony, why are we going to this place again?" his red-haired colleague and girlfriend Pepper Potts wondered. "That I can answer for you Pepp." Tony's chauffeur Happy Hogan replied. "We've gotten reports from S.H.I.E.L.D that those Guardians of the Galaxy weirdos have entered this town and brought an entire Chitauri invasion with them led by a cyborg tiger & a blue lady with a whip." he explained. "Woo, now that's something I'd never think I would say."

"Thanks for the exposition Happy, plus Fury did say he may know a thing or two about these four weirdos." Tony said as he pulled up the image the director of S.H.I.E.L.D sent him of the four beings, which Potts and Hogan examined with concern. "Is that white lady some kind of bird?" Pepper asked. "And why are they so brightly colored?" Happy added.

"Mr. Stark, we are about to touch down in Delmarva Airport. Everyone fasten your seatbelts." a robotic voice called to them. "Thanks J.A.R.V.I.S, looks like we better buckle up."

Upon finally touching down and exiting the plane, the three were immediately swarmed by photographers & news reporters with a single figure standing by himself next to a limo. "Ladies and gentlemen you won't believe it when you see it, but TONY STARK HAS COME TO DELMARVA!" Lawrence Abrams cried with excitement as he made a grand gesture towards Stark.

"Yes yes, it's awesome that I've come here." Tony announced. "But sadly I'm not here to talk with any of you."

"That's right sir." a voice rang out. Stepping in front of the crowd, the man wore a suit and sunglasses with slicked back hair and a S.H.I.E.L.D ID on his chest. "Oh hey, you must be Agent Kirby." Happy greeted him. "Good to see you too Hogan. Now Mr. Stark, come with me." Leading Tony and his companions to the limousine, he handed them a file as they stepped inside.

"I suppose you know your mission by now Mr. Stark, find these so-called 'Crystal Gems' and interrogate them on these recent happenings like the disappearance of the ocean, the giant hand and the abductions." he explained as they examined the file. "And it all takes place at this specific spot, Beach City."

"Wait, but it just looks like an average seaside town." Pepper stated raising an eyebrow. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong Virginia. Some of our top tech specialists have also been checking out a blog called Keep Beach City Weird that analyzes the strange happenings in this town." Kirby said with a charismatic grin. "Among the data gathered were signals being interrupted by a transmission from a green alien creature." He pulled out a photo of said creature from the folder, revealing it to the trio as a being with a triangular head and a green shape on her forehead. Tony just started laughing like a maniac.

"OH MY GOD, I THOUGHT YOU SAID A GREEN ALIEN CREATURE, NOT A GIANT NACHO!" he guffawed. "Anthony, be serious here!" Kirby demanded. "Alright, I'll stop."

"Mr. Kirby, we're here." the driver stated as he pulled into Beach City. "Well, best of luck to all of you." the S.H.I.E.L.D agent said as he opened the door. "And be sure to bring me some souvenirs!"

Exiting the vehicle, the little town was quiet for a few moments. Maybe too quiet. "Are you sure this is the right place?" Happy wondered. "I'm not sure, the file said this is the spot. Maybe we should ask around." Tony replied before he was suddenly swarmed by what seemed to be the townsfolk, screaming his name and asking for his autograph.

"Yo, can I have your autograph Mr. Stark?! Asking for a few friends of mine!" a teenage boy asked him. "I can't believe it, THE Tony Stark in Beach City! Can't wait to tell Quentin about this!" a large dark-skinned man hollered in excitement. "Everyone please, there's enough of me for this entire town." Stark grinned.

"What, and no love for Harold Hogan?" Happy complained before he noticed a little boy giving him a thumbs up. "See, he knows my worth!" he added.

"Alright everyone, give me some space. I got a job to do." Tony said before one last fan made himself known. "Mr. Stark, wait for me!" he shouted shoving the other citizens out of the way and extending his hand to the billionaire. "Ronaldo Fryman, at your service!"

"Here's hoping this guy is the last one." Tony mumbled to himself as he shook his hand. "So how may I help you young man?" he asked.

"I am one of your biggest fans Mr. Stark, if there is anything you need, I'm here!" Ronaldo exclaimed. "Maybe I could hook you up with some of my family's famous fry bits or show you my blog!"

"Oh yeah, speaking of your blog that's partially the reason I'm here." Tony explained pulling out his phone and showing Ronaldo the picture of the four individuals. "Looking for these guys here, you know them?" he wondered.

"Yeah, they're Steven Universe and the Crystal Gems. They're pretty much local celebrities." Ronaldo answered. "They live down the coast in a beach house near the Big Donut."

"Thanks for the directions kid. Pepper, Happy, handle the mob for me." Tony announced as he went on his way. "Okay, see you later Tony." Pepper said waving goodbye. "Wait, you didn't sign my tablet yet!" Ronaldo shouted trying to catch up to him but failed.

Walking along the shore, Tony took in the peaceful beachside scenery of the warm sun above him, the calm ocean rolling on the sand and the rock formation beside him until he came across a small beach house situated under a large statue of a woman with multiple arms. "Whoo, whoever carved this must have a fine eye for beauty!" he proclaimed walking up the building's steps. He arrived at the door and knocked on it.

He crossed his arms as he waited for someone to answer. "Whoever lives here must be takin' their sweet time." he thought before he heard the front door open. Looking down, he saw a boy with curly hair wearing a pink T-shirt with a star on it looking up at him.

"Hello there sir, may I help you?" he asked. "Yeah, name's Tony Stark. You wouldn't happen to be one Stephen Quasar, wouldn't you?"

The boy gasped in awe. He may have gotten his name wrong, but standing before him was none other than Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. "No sir, my name is Steven Universe."

And so it begins boys, girls and everyone else. How will the Crystal Gems react to a legend meeting their young ward? What does S.H.I.E.L.D have planned for our geode gang? Is there a sinister plot brewing right under their noses, or in this case over their planet? Find out next time on Steven Universe Secret Wars chapter 2, Assembled We are Strong! Thank you all for reading this first chapter but for now, here's a little taste of one story to come.

A sound soul

Dwells within a sound mind

That trusts no one

GRAVITY SOUL: COMING SOON

#steven universe #marvel comics #the avengers #fanfiction #crossover #steven universe secret wars #steve rogers #rose quartz #garnet #amethyst #pearl #bucky barnes #tony stark #pepper potts #happy hogan #steven quartz universe

[thecupcakeconsumer]

Playing Ball pt. 3 - Breaking Bones and Breaking Rank

A/N: Okay! This is a short one, y'all, but it’s cute and it has bonding and it leads up to the awesomeness that is the next part.

Part One |  Part Two | Part Three (You are here!) | Part Four | Part Five

Navigation: Masterlist is here.

Taglist: @writers-block0o0, @imaginesbyemma.

Summary:  Yeah, I guess the typo of "Why" from earlier just about covers it, but for the real deal... When the most infamous member of your softball team says something you don't like, you cannot let it slide.

Warnings: Puns, feels, mild language, Hamilton references. (I think there’s about three or four in here).

Word Count: 1,769. Like I said, pretty short.

Other Notes: Female reader. A couple of weeks after the last. Enjoy!

Midway through the season, you were beginning to understand why Sarah had been so pessimistic about your team’s prospects for the season.

In spite of your best efforts, good team members’ enthusiasm – and, occasionally, even their participation – had been quickly disappearing.

Suspiciously enough, all of those who had suddenly missed games had somehow gotten on the bad side of short stop Delilah Lee… not that anyone was bringing that up.

And, apparently, it was pretty easy to get on her bad side. After fumbling one of her throws the last match, you’d been anxious about this next one ever since, because apparently making her look bad was not in your best interest.

“Ahhh, my little rookie, how are you doing? I hope the fact that we’re miserably losing this match hasn’t brought down your adorable, naive little spirits too much.”

Sarah took a seat beside you on the bench. “Your brother been coming to these games?”

“He picks me up sometimes,” you answered, nonchalant. “I don’t tend to go to his lacrosse games, he usually doesn’t show up to mine. He’s working right now.”

“Still playing lacrosse?” She whistled low as the game resumed.

“Yep.”

It was as you started walking back to your field position that you heard it.

“Claybournes. Freaks, the lot of them.”

Whipping around to find, not surprisingly, Delilah herself, you hissed, “What did you just say about my family?”

She shrugged nonapologetically. “I said y'all are freaks.”

Flare just begging to take over, to pound her into the ground, to show her just how much of a freak you really were, you dug your nails into your palm to attempt to quell the anger starting to boil.

You’re in the middle of a game, Y/N.

Ninth inning.

Though it took an immense deal of restraint to not engage her and simply walk away, you certainly wouldn’t be forgetting what she had said any time soon.

It was after the game that you finally snapped, the rage under your skin at last boiling over.

That bitch has no right to say such a thing, the wolf within you seemed to scream.

On the way off the pitch, you turned to Delilah. “Dick move out there, Lee.”

“What?” she asked, feigning confusion.

“Insulting my family during the game.”

She scoffed. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. Your brother’s a scoundrel, and-”

“If anyone gets to insult Chance,” you hissed, cutting her off, “it’ll be me.”

Behind dark sunglasses, your eyes flashed dark blue as your fist collided with her nose, a crunch distinctly audible under your knuckles.

“Ow!” Hand flying to her face, Delilah called out, “The bitch hit me! Did anyone see that?”

“You had it coming, Lee. Walk it off,” advised Sarah.

However, your coach wasn’t near as dismissive.

“Meet me inside.”

Refusing to bow your head in shame even as your pride seemed to flounder and take a bullet to the head, you followed him into his office nonetheless.

“Listen,” he started as soon as you had shut the door behind you, taking a pen from the cup on his desk. “I know you girls can be… sensitive, but you can’t just go around punching folks whenever you feel like it.”

Whenever you feel like it? “But coach, I-”

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to you,” he – ironically enough – cut you off. “Now, knowing your violent history-”

“Violent history?” you repeated. Since when did you have a violent history? What the hell was this man talking about?

He seemed to ignore you. “-it was really quite generous of me to even let you try out, let alone become a member of the team, which prides itself on being considerably more level-headed than you were, such as in your… altercation with Mr Deacon. Now, knowing how hormonal and emotional you ladies can be, I’m going to let you off with a two game suspension and a phone call home.

Hormonal?

Did he just seriously attempt to blame your actions on PMS?

“Are you serious?”

Your coach glared warningly. “Go home, Y/N. That’s an order from your coach.”

Resisting the urge to sulk or to punch him in the face, you left, holding your head high and pretending not to notice the fact that you were being laughed at, making your way out to where you had parked and starting the engine, only allowing your feelings to catch up after you were safely shielded behind the tinted windows.

Sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal while struggling not to let your head fall into the bowl was how Chance found you a couple of hours later.

“Y/N?”

He flicked on a light, causing you to screech and cover your eyes. “It burns!”

“What are you doing in the dark?”

You held up a spoon with one of the now soggy flakes, raising an eyebrow. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks to me like both you and the cereal you’re eating have seen better days.”

He grabbed a chair, pulling it up to sit beside you and leaning forward, forearms rested on spread thighs. “What happened today with you and Delilah Lee?”

“Oh. You heard about that.”

“Yeah, they called while I was at work. Which was odd, because I didn’t know they had my cell number. Since when am I listed as your contact again?”

Casting a dejected glance up at him, you droned, “The house’s voicemail message has your cell phone number.”

“Oh.” Chance nodded slowly. “I should have realized that. Now, tell me what happened.”

“What’s there to tell?” you asked, stirring around the cereal, appetite lost. “I punched her. I think she was bleeding. It’s obviously because of my female hormones.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. What did she say?”

“Probably something like ‘Ow, I’m bleeding’.”

“No. What did she say to provoke you? You wouldn’t have just punched a random person.”

“Of course I would have. I have a violent history.”

Your half brother forcibly took the spoon from your hand, shoved it and the bowl away, and turned you to face him without even batting an eye – dramatic, even for Chance Claybourne.

“Was that really necessary?”

“What? Stop trying to change the subject, Y/N, we’re talking about you right now. And until you tell me exactly what happened today, I’m not answering any of your questions, okay?”

“Why don’t I just go?” You made to get up, but his hands firmly pressed you back down by the shoulders.

“What. Happened?”

Sighing, you finally obliged him. “Okay, so she said some stupid shit. Wow, that’s a tongue twister.  Are my answers to your satisfaction?”

“Y/N. Please, I really don’t ask that much of you. Can you tell me what she said?”

“She said we were freaks.”

Dark brown eyebrows knitting together, Chance nodded slowly. “What’s it with that word? 'Freak’? Every time you get in a fight with someone, it seems to come up. You shouldn’t let it get to you like that.”

“If I’d have wanted a lecture, I might have visited our father in prison and told him I’m still dating Hi,” you bit out. “That’s not what got to me.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but – wait, what got to you, if not that?”

“What do you think?” You smiled wryly. “Look, I’m only gonna say this once. You’re insufferable, but as the person who deals with your bullshit the most, I’m the only one entitled to make fun of it.”

He swallowed thickly. “That’s the closest to even an 'I like you’ that you’ve ever gotten.”

“Huh. Mark it on your calendar it’ll never happen again. Celebrate the anniversary every year. Make it a birthday cake and blow out the candles alone.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“I’m proud of you.”

“What? I’m suspended for two games right now. You need to set your priorities straight.”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes at you. “That’s not what I meant, idiot. I mean that… here I go, and I will say this only once… it was a good thing of you to stick up for yourself and your family. You’re a good person, Y/N.”

“Wow, get me in touch with your dealer, that’s some pretty strong shit,” you murmured teasingly, before hugging him.

“No. Stop this. This is not what I asked for.”

“Too bad.”

“I hate you.”

“Hate you, too, you big softie.”

“I could crush you.”

“You can’t. You’re too soft.”

He awkwardly patted you on the back. “Okay, okay, can we stop now?”

“Fine.”

Believe it or not, the trio of girls that Tory “fondly” referred to as the Tripod of Skank weren’t the only bitches in Bolton Prep.

This you learned, of course, after the fact that you insulted the reasonably popular Delilah Lee by punching her in the face and, apparently, breaking her nose.

She’s just milking this for all it’s worth, now, isn’t she? you thought to yourself, feeling even further alienated from these girls who all seemed to have either a glare for you or nothing at all.

Nobody, not one person, dared to say you had done the right thing.

What kind of control does this girl have over the school? Coming to your locker, you almost yelped as a hand touched your shoulder.

“Y/N, relax, it’s just me.”

“Oh. Hey, Jason. What’s up?”

“Honestly?” He stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning his back against the locker next to yours. “Chance asked me to look out for you today.”

“Wow. I keep forgetting that the two of you are friends, for whatever reason.”

“More than-” he paused “-most people realize, yeah. Mostly because he knows that almost everyone in this place has more money than sense. I don’t blame him.”

“Oh?” you repeated, even feigning interest seeming an effort.

Something about Jason could just be so… boring.

Laid-back, you tried to correct yourself – there was a reason he was only really good friends with one of the Claybournes.

“Yep. So, how’s it going with you, little Claybourne?”

“Could be better,” you answered, closing your locker and leaning back against the metal door in an imitation of the boy next to you. “How about you? Get that homework done?”

“Wait, there was homework?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Nah, there was no homework. I’m just messing with you. How’s the lacrosse team doing?”

“Considerably better than the girls’ softball team,” he teased lightly. “I hear their short stop just got her nose broken.”

“Broken?” you repeated.

“Oh, please, don’t act surprised. With who you associate with, it seems as though invisible strength is common.” The bell rang, and he righted himself. “Try not to get killed.”

“I’ll try my best.”

A/N: Yeah, short excerpt, I know, I know. I already warned you about that, so you can’t hurt me now. I hope you enjoyed! For those of y’all who start school tomorrow, good luck, and thanks for reading! Check out part four here!

#virals series #hi x reader #hiram stolowitski x reader #hi stolowitski x reader #hiram stolowitski #hi stolowitski #chance claybourne #jason taylor #reader insert #female reader insert #welp there we go #that was two in a row #someone reward me #okay i have to go eat now #shut up addi