#(the beauty it could become if not given the title weed)

[possuminnit]

I am busy thinking about a minecraft server that has been abandoned and has been overgrown with moss and flowers that everyone keeps calling weeds

[rorywritesjunk]

There's no race, no ending in sight

r rating. title comes from "two of us on the run" by lucius

(uhfwu fwu fwu huge thank you to @be-not-afraid-gg for the suggestion of Sunny coping. mentions of drinking, drunk Sunny, because of that suggestion i was able to turn this story into a slightly different direction)

taglist: @hey-august

pt 1 + pt 2 + p3 + p4 + pt 5 + pt 6 + pt 7 +Pt 8 + Pt 9 + Pt 10 + Pt 11 + Pt 12 + Pt 13 + Pt 14 + Pt 15 + pt 16 + Pt 17 (End)

Pt 8

"What are your feelings on Buggy?" Mihawk asked Sunny a few days after the party. She was watering some of the plants while he pulled up weeds threatening them. She looked at him with a frown as she set the watering can down.

"He's a clown, but not very funny." She told him as she wiped her brow with the handkerchief Buggy had given her. She had washed it and kept it in her pocket when she worked. It had been coming in handy. "Why?"

"He has feelings for you." The swordsman told her. Sunny stared at him before she started laughing.

"Now that's funny." She said with a grin as she picked the watering can back up. "Maybe you should become a clown, Mihawk. You're funnier than him."

"He told me."

"I think you misunderstood what feelings he has for me." She replied as she started watering another section. "Our feelings for each other are mutual in that we don't get along. I don't see him as anything as someone who annoys you and my husband."

"Sunny." Mihawk's tone caught her attention, it was gentle, something she wasn't used to hearing come from him. "He told me that night he was falling in love with you."

Sunny's stomach dropped. Oh, was he? She couldn't have that. No one should fall in love with her, not with who she was married to. She decided to laugh again. That was the only way she could react to this.

"Maybe he is funny after all. That's a funny thing for him to tell you." She insisted, distracted by the conversation. Mihawk had to gesture to the watering can; she almost drowned the plants.

"You don't have feelings for him?"

"I think he's dumb." Sunny told him. "I'm not falling in love with some dumb clown, really."

"Hm."

~

Sunny thought Alvida's room was lovely. The pirate captain invited her over later that day, noting there weren't that many women on the island and that perhaps Sunny would like an evening without boys around and she took her up on it immediately. Crocodile allowed it, even gifting her a bottle of wine to take along. He had a long night of paperwork to see too and didn't want her to be lonely.

Alvida had her own supply of alcohol, pouring glass after glass for Sunny as she talked about her marriage, how she preferred it when Crocodile was in prison, and as more alcohol entered her system, she couldn't hold it back any longer.

"What is it about Buggy that makes him cute?" Sunny asked as she looked at her fourth glass of wine. It was almost empty so Alvida filled it up for her. "He shouldn't be cute. He's a pirate."

"I'm a pirate." Alvida reminded her as she sipped her own glass. Sunny's eyes widened and she nodded.

"I know and you're not cute, you're beautiful." Sunny gushed. "So beautiful. Buggy's just cute, he's goofy and an excellent dancer. How come he can dance but my husband can't? They're both pirates."

"Dancing isn't a requirement for pirates." Alvida chuckled as she leaned back against her headboard. Sunny got up and started pacing around, clutching her glass. "What's on your mind?"

"Why can Buggy dance? He dances wonderfully." She frowned. "How isn't he married? He should be."

"He never found the right person." Alvida poured herself another glass. Sunny looked at her, confused. "I'm sure he will some day."

"Oh." Sunny finished her glass. "Has he?"

"Has he what?" Alvida found this entire ordeal amusing. She wasn't sure how often, if ever, Sunny drank, so to see the woman already spilling her thoughts and feelings about everything after just a few glasses was quite entertaining. It didn't take much for Sunny to admit she never wanted to be married, that she was tired of her husband, and if given the opportunity, she would leave him.

"Has he found someone?" Sunny asked. "Buggy. Has Buggy found someone?"

"Jealous?" Alvida cocked her head to the side, watching as Sunny held her glass out for more. Alvida indulged her. "He has."

"Oh." Sunny frowned. "That's good. He should. He's not a very funny clown but he's a really, really good dancer."

"Do you want to know her name?" The pirate asked, smirking as Sunny nodded frantically, almost spilling her glass. "Her name is Sunny."

She frowned as she turned to sit on the edge of the bed. "That's my name. He's in love with someone else named Sunny?"

"Oh, sweetheart." Alvida set the bottle aside. "After that glass, you need to drink something else for a bit."

"D-Does this Sunny live here?" She didn't want her voice to crack. She didn't want to be upset. She didn't have feelings for the clown, and yet hearing that he was in love with someone was upsetting. Mihawk said Buggy was in love with her, that he told the swordsman the night of the party, but Alvida was telling her that he was in love with another Sunny.

"Sweetheart, it's you." Alvida assured her. "He's head over heels."

Sunny looked taken aback, her brain trying to catch up to what Alvida just said. The wine was making it harder to follow along. "Really? Mihawk said he was in love with me too."

"See? If two people told you then it must be true."

Sunny looked down at her glass before tossing it back, making a face as she slumped back on the bed. Alvida took her glass, not wanting it to spill on her bed linens, and went to fill it with some water. Buggy was in love with her, really? But it couldn't happen.

"Honey, don't think too hard on it." Alvida told her as she helped Sunny sit back up, giving her a glass of water. "He knows better than to do anything with a married woman."

"We um, we kissed. Kind of." Sunny took a sip of her water. "On accident. I'm married, so we shouldn't have, and it wasn't so much of a kiss, our lips touched and it felt like fireworks to me, and I kinda liked it." She had another few sips and nodded. "Like candy. It was sweet like candy."

"Oh, did you now?" Alvida made sure Sunny drank the entire glasss before getting her another one. "And it felt like fireworks and was sweet like candy, you say? Can I ask what it feels like when your husband kisses you? Just to compare, of course."

Sunny frowned. She didn't mind kissing Crocodile. Their first kiss was at their wedding in front of his men, who cheered for their leader landing such a 'cute young thing' for a wife. It wasn't what Sunny had imagined her first kiss being like, or even her wedding.

"Like the desert." She frowned. "Dry, awful, void of anything wonderful."

"I see." Alvida handed her a fresh glass of water. "I'm sorry it's not enjoyable. Pity you can't just walk away from the marriage."

"I tried." She sniffed. "He came for me. Prison didn't hold him." She rubbed her face and looked at Alvida as she tried to blink back tears. "It's been twenty years, Alvida. I've been miserable for twenty years. I wasn't even twenty when I married him."

Alvida refilled her own glass with wine, glancing over at Sunny as she took a drink. She felt bad for her, clearly miserable in her marriage, probably in life. She couldn't imagine being forced into something like an unwanted marriage. She watched Sunny sip her water, sniffling quietly. Alvida sighed.

"Finish that water and have more wine. I hate to see someone so pretty so sad over a stupid man." She said as she set her glass down.

"I'm pretty?" Sunny squeaked as tears were rolling down her cheeks. "Really?"

"Yes, sweetheart." Alvida seemed surprised by Sunny's reaction. "You're gorgeous. If your husband never tells you-"

"D-Does Buggy think I'm pretty?"

Alvida blinked slowly before grinning. "Prettier than all the treasure in the world, Sunny, and that's saying a lot because that pirate loves treasure more than anything."

Sunny sniffled and nodded. Why was Buggy saying these things and not her own husband? Why was this clown in love with her? What did she do to have that happen? Why did she start to have a similar feeling, one where she wanted to be in his arms, kiss him maybe? But she couldn't. She was married. She couldn't do that to Crocodile.

"Y'know what, finish that wine, sweetheart, and I'll open a fresh bottle."

[heniareth]

8 Videogames To Get To Know Me

Tagged by @scribbledquillz @shivunin and @siriskulksnerding Thank you for the tag guys!! It's gonna be interesting bc I haven't played that many videogames, but I'll give it a shot and see if I come up to 8!

Dragon Age Origins - You know it, you love it, I love it, I don't shut up about it. Has sparked my longest ever writing project that has taught me so much about writing and actually finishing and structuring a long story. It will also be the first writing project I ever finish once I get there. It's also the first videogame I've played from start to finish and replayed(!!!!!) It's given me the opportunity to meet some really cool people (looking at all of you) and is accompanying me through some intense years. It's earned spot 1 fair and square

Detroit: Become Human - Such a freaking cool game!!! I was part of a team of mods for a collaborative playthrough (one person sat in front of the computer, the viewers made the choices, the mods communicated between the viewers and the player and made the decisions in case the viewers couldn't decide). I loved the mechanics and the story. It's just!!!! Yes.

Skyrim - I was once on a convention, can't remember which one, but they had Skyrim in VR and I could play for like 15 minutes. Guys. It was breathtakingly beautiful. I want to go back and play Skyrim in VR. Please

BG3 - Baldur's Gate 3 is high on my to play list. I mean, have you SEEN their character creator???? The story sounds like a ton of fun and the mechanics are familiar enough from DnD. Also, the companions 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Minecraft - I have spent a lot of hours running around in creative mode, building pretty things. It's a lot of fun!

Assassins' Creed - Looks super cool, haven't watched letsplays. This is also why I put the whole series in there and not one title from it. I actually own Assassins' Creed: Valhalla, but haven't gotten around to play it. Maybe one day...

The Witcher - I have heard lots of good things about this series, have saved some fanart, have watched a few letsplays for some early quests in the latest game. It looks really cool! Would love to play it some day!

Animal Crossing - I played Animal Crossing back in ye olde 2000-2010s. It was a lot of fun for little me, although I wnded uo getting overwhelmed because after a few days of not playing there were all these weeds to pull, so I spent all my very limited playing time pulling weeds!

And those are my 8 videogames! Honorable mentions: Horizon Forbidden West, Horizon Zero Dawn, The Sims (I think it was a bootleg version XD XD) and a zookeeping/animal shelter building game I can't remember the name of but was obsessed with. I was always very distraught when the animals weren't doing well 😫😫

Tagging @wild-houseplant @bumblerhizal @icylook and @nai-nty-8 if this sounds fun for you. No pressure to do this though ^^

[dunadaan]

Oooh does Crea have any hobbies?

She absolutely does, anon!!

Créa actually has quite a few hobbies. Her first really began when she was young, with her father traveling and bringing back pressed flowers from other lands. She herself began to start collecting flora from around where she lived, pressing them in a little journal and writing about where she found them, doing little drawings of them, and trying to figure out their uses, if any. She was quite a little scholar, but admittedly at first she mostly did it because she thought the flowers were beautiful, and picked the prettiest ones, before being fascinated with the natural world around her.

When she left home to become a Ranger, she was suddenly thrust into a new landscape with plants the likes of which she'd never seen. New trees, new flowers, new grasses- her journey was delayed somewhat because she kept stopping to collect leaves and sketch and the like! For a long time, elves and rangers alike would be bombarded with questions from her- what was this? what's its purpose? what's its name? Thankfully, most were patient with her curiosity and even encouraged it, and her journal was packed full of new plants. As time went on, however, she realized it was getting too full, and mixed in with her daily logs describing her day and what she did, and she began to move over some of the extra pickings of dried plants to a new journal- one that was dedicated solely to collecting all the knowledge she could on plants. Over the years it grew exponentially in size as she traveled and discovered new (to her) plants, and what started as a personal passion project began to take on a new meaning as the cumulative knowledge of (almost) all the plants in Eriador, and eventually, in Middle-earth.

In her lifetime during the Fourth Age, her collection is officially published for widespread use, (though I've never come up with a title for it), and it's an invaluable resource for many healers and others alike, as much of the information was lost or previously unknown to many, and one of the last few books ever published with the direct knowledge given by the elves before they all sailed.

Oops I blabbed a lot BUT another important hobby related to above is gardening! She's a very talented gardener and has an incredible green thumb. I like to think she was some sort of farmer in her life before she discovered her dúnedain heritage, and she still decided to take a part of that life with her. She carried the seeds from her home but wasn't sure she'd every do anything with them, being on the move all the time with her new life.

Some time passes, and Créa really struggled to find where she belonged. Evendim was her chosen area to stay, but she was at a serious disadvantage. She was no scholar, and wasn't raised with stories of the Dúnedain, nor their history. She's no archeologist who can help with sherds or artifacts. She can fight, but anyone could wield a blade, and her reading, writing, and speaking in Sindarin was not the best as she struggled to learn. She wanted to contribute in her own way and felt out of place, and like an outsider for a long period of time.

It wasn't until exploring the ruins of Tham Nambarth, overlooking the ruins of Tinnudir that a sudden idea came to her. She had been told these grand estates once used to grow grains for the city- and she realized she could repurpose the grounds for her own garden. One that could support the small gathering of Rangers here, or be used for trade with the Hobbits of Oatbarton. She kept it as secret as she could, wanting to surprise the others, though she enlisted help from friends when she could. It was a lot of work, converting an abandoned area with centuries of weeds and grass to a large garden bed, but she did it, and it's her proudest achievement. It was something unique that directly contributes to the Rangers, and she can keep them well fed with food she grew herself. (I also headcanon that her garden has been destroyed a few times and wrote a long fic about it dfgdsfg)

The building itself stores the dried and pickled foods for winter, ready to transport to the camp below, and the gardens boast of berries, herbs, tubers, squashes, beans of all sorts- really, anything she could get her hands on that would grow in the soil. If you can't find her out on patrol or in the keep, she's usually in the garden, covered in dirt and smelling of earth :)

As far as other hobbies...like I mentioned before, she sketches landscapes and plants to try and accurately reflect the environment she found them in. I think she also paints a little to get the colors right. And for the fun of it, because I like bird watching, I think she enjoys bird watching and identifying too! And it makes sense since the dúnedain can talk to and understand birds so!

She also loves swimming- she spent many summers swimming in the Anduin, and is one of the strongest swimmers in Evendim! Hasn't beat Calenglad yet though. If there's a body of water, she's more than likely going to jump in, like a duck to water.

[deannacornell]

The Hopeful Master Gardener

I'm so excited to share with you that I've FINALLY begun my journey to becoming a Texas Master Gardener. I kind of consider myself an accidental gardener or a lucky gardener. Because if it worked - it was either an accident or a complete stroke of luck. My mother could grow anything - but we also lived close to the coast with lots of rain, humidity and sunshine. I think she could've grown anything anywhere. She definitely had a very, very green thumb.

You might ask "what exactly is a Master Gardener?"

"The Texas Master Gardener program trains and supports a network of volunteers to provide horticultural-related information within their communities.

The Texas Master Gardener program’s strength lies in its ability to meet the diverse needs of the individual communities it serves. By combining statewide guidelines with local direction and administration, the program offers the flexibility necessary to keep it a vital and responsive organization that serves all of Texas.

Master Gardeners are members of the local community who take an active interest in their lawns, trees, shrubs, flowers and gardens. They are enthusiastic, willing to learn and to help others, and able to communicate with diverse groups of people.

After completing special training in horticulture, persons who become Master Gardeners contribute time as volunteers, working through their AgriLife Extension office to provide horticultural-related information to their communities."

Quoted from the Texas A & M Agrilife Extension Service.

There was an application process, a fee, a background check and a phone interview to get into the program. I'm in! Classes started in early January and so far my head is spinning with all this new knowledge. I'm so grateful to be learning and happy to share. There is 3 hours of class time and 3 hours of Zoom meetings each week (January through April). Then we will have to perform 100 hours of volunteer service to be certified.

The first thing I can say is what we all actually already know - foundation is key. As in SOIL. If we don't start out with the right foundation (insert your favorite cliche`). You get the point.

So I will be very busy (if the wind ever stops blowing) amending my soil in my flower beds as best I can. I worked in them yesterday, which happened to be a beautiful day, and there are a bunch of perennials making their appearance already. That is always so fun to discover.

The first lecture was given by a lovely woman by the name of Mrs. Harrington and the title was Yes, You Can (garden in the panhandle). She was a fount of knowledge. She does a lot of container gardening, hence she has perfect soil. She also had absolutely stunning flower beds. I plan on adding some containers in my flower gardens and paying special attention to what grows well in our heat and wind. My favorite in my flower beds right now is Gaura. I've called it whirling butterfly flower for quite some time, but it hasn't held it against me. Other names are Beeblossom, Whirling Butterflies and Wand Flower. Wand flower is so fitting because they grow tall and wispy and "wave" in the wind. They are super hardy and have spread and performed beautifully for three years in my less than desirable soil. That's Gaura below - the beautiful white, wispy flower. They spread as well! There is also a dwarf gaura variety that has a dark red leaf and pink flowers. It grows well here also.

What can we do right now while we wait for the weather to play nice?

Start working on your soil (cotton burr compost is your friend)

Plant onions and potatoes.

Start some seeds inside and you'll be way ahead of the game!

Put down pre-emergent grass and weed barrier on your lawn

That's all for now. I hope you'll follow along and in the meantime go play in the dirt!

~ Deanna

[all-the-fun-of-the-cirkus]

album #7 of the year, and i'm back on my neil young bullshit with after the gold rush

i really hate talking about albums like this. not because it's bad, not at all, it's really good. i just... don't quite like it as much as i'm supposed to on initial listen

most albums sag in the middle imo, and the start of side 2 is the problem here; the oh lonesome me cover is sluggish to the point where it loses me, and birds kinda passes me by, except for that gorgeous chorus. throw in the full band arrangement of don't let it bring you down, which is a great song but oddly sounds less intense than in its guitar-only guise on young shakespeare than here and it drags ever so slightly

the rest of it rules though. it's interesting coming back to early neil, given i've mostly been listening to the ditch trilogy onward, there's a very different vibe to it. it's not really less sad, per se; there's just as much humour on his later albums, and just as much sadness here, but it feels... less desolate in its sadness, i don't know. the sadness on this album feels like being alone on a dark wet evening, where sure, you feel it as much as any other time, but you know the sun's just around the corner, whereas later on it becomes outright depression. until it blasts into a rocker about growing your own weed, at least, but you get the gist

anyway, the start of side 2 is only so disappointing bc side 1 is flat-out jawdropping, especially since it has the good grace to start with two of the most beautiful songs ever written. tell me why is just stunning, absolutely note-perfect, saturated in that lovely melancholic optimism from the raggedly beautiful harmonies (i love the harmonies so much on this album) to the lyrics. i'm so weak for simple summaries of profound emotion, and by-and-large i find neil's lyrics more interesting when he's waxing wry intricate metaphor than when he's being straightforward, but the second verse of this song is such a pure and delightful description of love, it's wonderful

nothing else on here quite compares, but there's a lot of bangers yet. i've been familiar with the title track all my life, and i haven't got bored of it yet. mind you, how could anyone get bored of a song with a flugelhorn solo like that? only love can break your heart is the saddest "cheer up mate" song ever written (i have no idea if this actually cheered graham nash up, maybe he needed the sympathy rather than the pepping up) but it's so tuneful, and the heavy-hearted piano, particularly in the chorus, twists your gut

and then southern man smacks your around the face. i'd like to think these days it'd be a fairly uncontroversial, if blunt, attack on racism but, uh, lmao. i'm sure a lot of the backlash came from people indignantly going "#NotAllSouthernMen" or something, so nothing changes there, i guess. tbh there are many people vastly more qualified than me to talk about this song and racism as a whole, so i'll just say i don't particularly find this song unreasonable and move on to the music. it's the only time on the album you get Guitar Hero Neil, and it's not a bad showcase; the repeated hammering onto that dissonant chord just before the fadeout is just breathtaking. the chorus is the real kicker here, with neil's screaming angry vocals and that bass! in years i'd never noticed that bass, why was this the only album of neil's this guy played on?

the other seriously great song here is when you dance you can really love, which has more top-notch melodies and harmonies and some real strange decisions that kinda pay off? idk why neil didn't bother to write a second verse, but the desperate repetition of "i can really love, i can really love" weirdly ups the intensity so much, and the piano kind of clutters the place up some of the time but makes the chorus with that incessant banging. i'd love to hear an acoustic version of this, actually, the vocals are really gorgeous again. beyond that, i believe in you is nice, and the two snippets at the end of either side are goofy and cute

i must admit, after till the morning comes i was ready to rave about this album. i still love the vibe, and there's some absolutely wonderful stuff on here, it's just a little sad it doesn't manage to maintain its momentum

[sadbi-hours]

Title: Circa 1666 ~ a grim history of the Shadyside & Sunnyvale killers~

Pairing: Nick Goode/Ziggy Berman

Word Count: 925

Rating: SFW(ish)

Image Credits: Banner made by me with the help of PicsArt and Google Images

Created For:

@anyfandomgoesbingo: Custom Card- Zicky Ship- I3- "I can't tell you the secret, because I don't know the secret."

@anyfandomkinkbingo: N1- "You don't have to be gentle with me, I don't break easily."

@mfbingo: I4-First...

@fandombingo: I4- "I was never meant to survive that."

"I was never meant to survive that." Ziggy rasped, her voice rough from the nightmares the nurses said she had been having late at night. Of what? Nightwing, her sister, or Tommy Slater, I didn't know.

But I wished I could kiss them away. I cleared my throat. Stop it...stop being a creep.

"But you pulled me back," She sat up in her bed, her wounds woven deep into her skin, peeking her hospital gown--and I had to look away. I thought she never looked more beautiful.

"How?" She asked, pulling me from my thoughts and back onto the moment at hand. How had he saved Ziggy Berman. Sheer force of will? Some mysterious power? Love?

I shrugged. I only gave her CPR.

Ziggy scowled.

Some of the stitches on her face from Harry Rooker pulled with her frown and threatened to split open again. "You don't have to be gentle with me," she hissed with that familiar fire I had gotten used to seeing from her all summer long. "I don't break easily."

"I can't tell you the secret, because I don't know the secret." I glared back at her. "I only gave you CPR."

I only gave her CPR.

Imagine this:

What if Nick hadn't lived his whole childhood being told that he was the heir apparent to a dark secret? Or at least, not in the way this story originally goes.

No, Nick was given a book on his fifteenth birthday, the same year his father would later commit suicide after passing on the Goode legacy...

Nick would learn that year that neither his family nor Sarah Fier are responsible for carrying on a dark secret that has gripped Shadyside... and Sunnyvale... as a whole, for the last few centuries.

Solomon Goode never sold his soul to the devil or famed Sarah Fier, but instead he and Sarah fought side by side to save the union from a much darker force... but ultimately had failed.

Leaving a foul curse behind, that every first born Goode has tried to stop since. To put an end to the selling of poor souls to feed a predator. To finally defeat the thing that grows and feeds on their small town, a horror that spreads. It's not man-made by some witch and warlock, but by something as old as time that's become rooted deep into the fabric of their community... and has always been hungry for both Shadysiders and Sunnyvaler blood, alike.

Because in Shadyside and Sunnyvale, sometimes the kids and the adults; the downtrodden and the rich, they all equally have been known to randomly snap.

There's no avoiding it, you can only push misfortune...or boredom... on someone for so long before that person breaks beyond repair is what has always been said, or at least in the news, that's dubbed them as Murder Capital USA.

In 1666, it was Cyrus Miller and the eyeless children.

In 1904, a simple minded grifter come to town and one day just drowned and gutted women.

1922, Billy Barker murdered his siblings with a baseball bat.

1935, The Humpty Dumpty Killer collected his victim's skin like jigsaw pieces and put them back together again.

1953, Harry Rooker was named Sunnyvale's first serial killer, whose lust for the blood of the young and attractive housewives of Sunnyvale knew no bounds.

1965, Ruby Lane went into a deep depression and seemingly decided to kill all her friends at a slumber party before taking her own life.

And then in 1978, the newest town killer hit Nick Goode's life a little too close to home. He knew Thomas Slater, worked with him during the summers at Camp Nightwing, hung out with him, Cindy, and Alice by the lake and smoked weed and drank beers after all of the campers had gone to sleep.

Nick knew Thomas Slater. He would never just snap... not like he did. Murdering some many camp counselors and children. That wasn't the Tommy that Nick knew him to be.

But no one else is to blame for the murders Nick witnessed at Camp Nightwing, or who had induced the terror that will stay with him forever-- but what haunts him, isn't only the butchered children but the lifeless bodies of the Berman sisters.

Both the one he couldn't save, and the one he did...

He didn't know Ziggy Berman, at least not like he always wanted to. He'd only ever saw her from afar. Always a ball of anger and fire, a red beacon in his dull and meaningless world. He's always had a crush on her...

But he thought he'd truly never get to know Ziggy Berman. Not like he's gotten to over the last sixteen years of their friendship.

He guessed when trying to recount the entire history of the Shadyside and Sunnyvale and its killers and stop a curse at the same time, you end up getting to know someone real well.

And it's not like he minds...

Besides, it's not just him and Ziggy forever, trying to figure out what grips their small slice of the world...

After the latest masked killer terrorizes their local mall, a group of teens that are affected by the tragedy come to them with their own evidence to figure out the purpose of the curse and how to stop it once and for all...

And really, with two emotionally constipated adults and a group of feisty teens, what could possibly go wrong?

They may even finally crack the origins of the curse wide open and end it.

[yesimwriting]

Hello! Your Nikolai fic tranquility is so beautiful! Can you write more for Nikolai? Maybe the opposite with reader having a nightmare? Or whatever you want just please give me more! If you have a tagging list I'd love to be included btw :)

A/n hii!! first off,, thank you! i was a little nervous about writing him for the first time,, but i love him so much (even though i love a good villain/morally grey character in love i think nikolai would probably make the least toxic bf in the grishaverse lol)

you gave me a little too much freedom here lol bc i have so many ideas for him!! lowkey might need to give him a longer fic/series soon when i catch up with requests!! WOW THIS FIC IS SO LONG AND FOR WHAT

Summary: Reader is a handmaid who has grown up assisting Nikolai. Through the years, the two have developed a special relationship that most definitely breaks royal protocol--they’re best friends and rivals on a good day, and dangerously close to being something more the second either of them is remotely upset or extremely happy. Learning about the fact that Nikolai was almost engaged to Alina (a good friend of yours) and being reminded of the fact that as royalty Nikolai has many prospects (both serious women worthy of his title and women only suitable for trysts meant to relieve tension) has you both realizing something you should have years ago.

Word count: 31210

Warnings: disclaimer--may not be the most cannon thing ever,, but i wanted the ‘child of the help competes and falls in love with the child of royalty’ energy okay?? Lol

I could do a whole blurb series with this dynamic nikolai x reader,, like just stories of them growing up together and randomly realizing they might like each other romantically?? I probably shouldn’t rn but i ADORE this trope.

--

The perfection of the room is disappointing. Idle hands, idle thoughts--so I work to smooth out a perfect duvet. Still, the thoughts come--aggressive and unavoidable. It’s silly, maybe even sad, to feel possessive over something that’s never been yours, something that could never be yours, but the harder I fight off the feeling the stronger it grows. Jealousy is a weed growing quickly in my chest, vile roots planted firmly in my heart.

Normally my favorite part of the day would be waiting for Nikolai to return to his room in the palace after dinner and his evening duties. He’s always a bit softer in the evenings, during my last check-in of the day. I’m normally thrilled to be done organizing his room early because that means the second he arrives there will be no distraction. Most evenings, he’ll find me perched in the seat by his bed, reading. He’ll mock-scold me for daring to defy his orders and reading ahead from the book we both take turns reading aloud from each night. He then warns me that I better react exactly the way I did when I first read it or else. That threat is always followed by a gentle laugh.

Tonight I’m in no mood for our nightly banter or even our nightly reading. My mother had warned me of the dangers of getting too comfortable with the royal family. I should have heeded that warning when she first gave it to me, the morning she found Nikolai and I fast asleep on a couch in the library as children. The palace likes to bring up the children of the staff by training them to attend to the next generation of royals. It makes the staff more efficient, a lifetime of knowing what someone wants makes you better for them. It also creates some level of connection, making betrayal a little less likely. Nikolai and I might have taken it farther than most. But now I want a reminder of the way we’re supposed to be--maybe if I detach now the bleeding of my heart won’t kill me. That has to remain secret, because if I explain it to Nikolai something in me will break. The one line between us will be crossed.

This will be the sixth secret I’ve kept from Nikolai in my entire life.

--

The secrets:

I don’t know why I was picked for Nikolai. I wasn’t particularly skilled, but still, the day came when my mother was told that I now worked directly for the Lantsov boy. It’s an honor, a true one, but my mother had been a little nervous. To whom much is given, much is expected--and I detested Nikolai. Not for being a prince, but for being a prince who thought girls couldn’t race or fight.

The day my mother came looking for me because I never showed up for dinner and she found Nikolai and I attempting to fight in the way only a ten-year-old girl and eleven-year-old boy would, she had looked truly mortified. Nikolai had only laughed, either oblivious to my mother’s embarrassment or uncaring about it. He had then hugged me--an expression of care that had left me reeling. I saw him more as a rival than someone to tend to, but in that moment I saw him as a friend. Even more so when he told me he didn’t want me to go yet and that he was upset that so much of the day had been wasted by studies that kept him with boring people and away from me. And then he invited me to his lessons--my mother was quick to attempt to decline politely, but the desires of a prince at any age outweigh that of a mother.

After that, everyone kind of just stopped trying to remind us of our propriety. The tutor at first was concerned about my presence, but Nikolai remained stubborn. I wasn’t a big enough deal to cause an argument, so I began to attend lessons with him almost every day, only staying away when my mother needed aid with laundry or cleaning. His parents must have been somewhat aware of our friendship, but they must have been oblivious to our closeness because it was never mentioned.

My mother’s worry began to ease, she’d even started to take some pride when I’d come to our room proudly proclaiming that I scored two marks higher than Nikolai. She did, however, warn that it might be more tactful to let him score higher.

The comment was casual, just a suggestion, but it left me feeling wrong. It was the first time since we met that I had thought about our different statuses. I didn’t tell him--and that was the first secret I ever kept from him.

As we grew, we traded physical competition for academic rivalry, trying to best each other in both lessons and games of strategy like chess and cards. But with growing comes responsibility. Nikolai started to have obligations that were meant to be private. I couldn’t follow him at all times. But he’d always come back from locked door meetings grinning like he carried schoolyard gossip instead of government secrets. He shared everything with me, even when I playfully warned against it.

He’d always step closer when I teased that perhaps he shouldn’t tell me everything. And then he’d say, “If I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone--and I don’t want to live in a world like that.” Often, he’d give my hand a light squeeze before moving on like he had not said anything intimate.

On a day in which Nikolai was in one of those meetings, I became a woman. When I first saw the blood, I had been horrified--but my mother was quick to explain that it was natural. She said that I was now a woman, a wonderful thing, really--but a thing that came with obligations. She told me that I could no longer have the impromptu ‘sleepovers’ with Nikolai unless he ordered it. I told her he’s never ordered me to do anything for him.

She didn’t ease, something in her had started to become nervous again. My mother had recently started to act the way she did when Nikolai and I first became friends. I didn’t want to fall asleep in Nikolai’s bed while I was bleeding, but I didn’t want to never have another sleepover with him again. Especially not when she refused to explain why being a woman changed so much.

I had decided to avoid Nikolai as much as possible until the sting of my mother’s new rule faded. Unfortunately, that night Nikolai was extra talkative--excited as he insisted I stay for a little longer. Soon, I found his familiar good naturedness melting away my nerves and before I knew it I was laughing in the middle of the night. When my eyelids started to feel heavy, I had moved from the chair, ready to head back to my room.

Nikolai had looked at me oddly before he asked why would I leave so late when it would be easier for me to just sleepover? It was an innocent question, he did not know about my change and I had wanted to keep it that way.

I tried playing coy, but Nikolai has always had a talent for getting around my better judgement. I don’t recall exactly how it happened, but I remember him standing in front of me. It was the first time I noticed how much had actually changed over the years--he was now taller than me for the first time in his life. His hair had started to grow a little longer, golden and soft-looking--and his face seemed much more angular. But he had not lost his boyish charm.

“Y/n?” My name fell softly from his lips, and that was the first time I had ever noted the fullness of them. I didn’t understand why I considered that something worth noting. “Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

Perhaps I had been a little curt--nerves and hormones had left me not feeling like myself. I didn’t tell him about the bleeding, I couldn’t. That became the second secret I kept from him--but I did tell him that my mother had told me I was a woman now, and that women can’t have sleepovers. Not with those of the opposite gender. I made no effort to hide my confusion because I expected him to be as perplexed as I was. But he was not confused--in fact, he had the audacity to laugh. My face flushed, but I did not know why.

“Why is that funny?” Maybe he thought I was still too much of a child to be considered a woman. I assumed it a fair assumption, I had not grown the way he had--my shoulders had not become sturdier and I had not become particularly broader. Still, I would rather melt into the floor than tell him about the reason my mother now considered me a woman. “My mother did say that, and I don’t know what being a ‘woman’ has to do with staying in your room at night.” Something strange had crossed over his features then, something much more brooding than I was used to.

I had blinked at him as unexplained nerves pooled in my stomach. Perhaps that look would have been enough to keep me silent if he had managed to not grin. That self-assured grin that had always challenged me. “Well since you know everything about my mother now, maybe you can tell me why she’s been acting strange. She’s starting to act the way she did when we first became friends.” I expected him to at least pretend to be worried. Perhaps his parents had spoken to her and had mentioned wanting our friendship to end. But his grin had only grown. Pride left me angry. “She did say that I could stay if you ordered it--but I’m glad you’ve never ordered me to do anything, so I can leave right now because you’re acting as odd as her. I don’t understand what you could find funny about our friendship ending.”

He had stopped me from storming out of his room by placing one hand on the wall between me and the door. “Y/n, don’t be cross--I’ll explain it all, I promise.” Angry pride made me want to storm away from him, but curiosity and something unknown and warm kept me in place. “Do you remember when we read the play about the rival families, how the two main characters had kissed?”

I remembered that part of the play especially well. The concept of kissing so casually, outside of marriage, had been jarring to me. “Yes.”

“Now that we’re older, your mother must be worried that we might do that.” He paused before leaning against the arm he placed on the wall to keep me from leaving a little more. “Kiss.”

The clarification was not needed--in that brief pause, I had allowed myself to imagine no distance between our lips. Something in me burned with embarrassment when I realized that some part of me found the thought appealing. The only thing I wanted in that moment was assurance that Nikolai would never know I felt that. That was my third secret, and the weight of it was heavy against my chest.

Still, though, all of my confusion had not yet left. “Is there much harm in a kiss?”

The question had left an odd smile on his lips. “There’s potential harm in what it could lead to for the woman, but not so much for the man.” He exhaled slowly as my face tensed. He could always read me too well because he was quick to add, “What it could lead to isn’t a bad thing, it’s meant to be pleasurable, but it’s serious.” I did not understand, but a part of me was starting to grow okay with that. Nikolai’s voice had started to become lower than ever, and his gaze remained tense. Perhaps if I accepted the confusion for now, things could go back to normal. If the conversation ended, I could stop thinking of his lips and his hands and what it would mean for them to touch me. “It’s considered a vice, like drinking or gambling.” The additional comment helped more than it should have. A vice--not scary and not painful, but not something to indulge in. That’s enough explanation for now. “If you want to know, I won’t deny you.”

I appreciated the offer tremendously. The vice that comes after kissing is clearly something that’s been intentionally kept from me. It’s something he was privy to that I was not, and he offered it to me like so much else. But if knowledge that my mother feared us kissing made me think of his lips, then I doubted I could handle knowing what comes after kissing.

“I’ll let you know when I want to know, but I appreciate the offer.” It felt like a fair response. His snarky grin came back immediately. Irritation rooted itself in my stomach. I hated not knowing more than him for once, but I still had one question I could not relinquish. “But what does that vice have to do with orders?”

At that, his smugness faltered. “It’s not unheard of, for princes and handmaids--for a prince to obligate a handmaid in order to fulfill his vice. Though many handmaids fill the vice of their own will for benefits.

The explanation left him like a confession. I didn’t understand his hesitance--it’s not like he’d ever make me do anything I didn’t want to do. Even when I worked, he was hesitant to ask me to go out of my way to bring him a glass of water. And I couldn’t imagine gaining anything from offering Nikolai something I didn’t really understand. I wasn’t naive to the fact that my life had more privileges than many palace servants. “Oh.”

His eyes hardened. “You know I’d never--”

“I know.” It was finally easy to smile again. “I never thought otherwise.” Something in him seemed to ease at that, his eyes went from hard to warm in less than a second.

I had no more questions for him and I was also no longer a flight risk, but Nikolai did not move. He did not step back to create a more appropriate distance and he did not drop his arm. His gaze, however, did move--dropping downwards, and slightly away from my eyes. I did the same, my eyes falling to his lips.

The silence between us began to make me feel like something in me was in danger of overflowing. “Then I guess my mother is once again worrying for no reason.” Strangely, I did not feel the need to feel embarrassed about staring at his lips. “Because I would never particularly want to kiss you, Nikolai Lantsov.”

The comment was meant to be teasing, a joke to clear away unknown tension. I should have known better than to challenge his pride because he instinctually moved his hand off the wall and beneath my chin. I did not flinch when he tilted my head upwards slightly with his fingers. “I could get you to want to kiss me if I wanted to.”

Three secrets in one night. I did not think I could bear a fourth one. “Hm…” The ground we treaded on felt unstable, but something in me trusted Nikolai to not let me falter. “I should--I should go before I give my mother anymore cause to worry.”

His fingers had brushed down my chin easily as he dropped his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

And that he did. The days passed without mention of the last time he asked me to sleepover. It was as if nothing had changed except now I found myself noting things I most definitely did not want to note. These didn’t feel like individual secrets because it felt easy to group each admirational thought into one secret. Soon, that became my new normal--easy banter, easy touches of hands, and easy yet silent admirations of his beauty.

I never wandered too hard about what the vice that kissing can lead to entailed. I didn't particularly want to know, but knowing that I could ask Nikolai at any time brought a sense of security to me. But besides that, I never thought of that conversation until the day I was asked to look for Nikolai because he was late for dinner.

That in itself was odd, most of the time when Nikolai was late it was because he was with you. I checked his room, two other rooms he was known to frequent, and then finally the library. First, I noticed a handmaid two years older than me. I was finally at an age when one begins to compare their beauty to those around them, and I recognized the girl as gorgeous. She was better endowed than me, physically, and she always seemed fun. And then I noticed Nikolai, standing closer to her than I’ve ever seen him stand to anyone. His expression was serious as the girl giggled.

Nikolai’s expression shifted from tense to shocked when he saw me. “Y/n.”

It took me a moment longer than it should have to realize what I had interrupted. Guilt and jealousy were quick to twist in my stomach. “Dinner--your parents sent me to look for you.”

He was quick to walk around the girl, who was quick to glare at me. I attempted to disappear down the hall after mumbling a quick apology, but Nikolai was faster than me.

“Y/n,” he did not hesitate to grab my wrist.

It shouldn’t have irked me the way it did, after all, neither of us had ever really hesitated to touch each other. I had always reached for him when I wanted him, and he had done the same. But the thought of the same hands that touched the most beautiful girl I had ever seen on me left me bitter in a way I didn’t understand.

Still, I pushed through all of that. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, your mother asked me to look for you because she assumed you’d be with me when you were late to dinner. I didn’t think that there’d be--”

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” The words came out flat as his eyes took on the same quality they did the night he explained my mother’s concern to me. “Valaria wishes there was something to interrupt, but there wasn’t.”

Oh. I refused to let the correction inflate me. “Would you like me to not come to your room tonight?”

The offer felt awkward to make. “No,” the answer came quickly, “In fact, go there now--I want to see you right after dinner. I’ve missed you today.” The instruction left my face feeling warm. “We could read an extra chapter of our book if you’d like.”

Despite myself, I grinned. “Yes.”

“Looking forward to it.”

True to his word, Nikolai was quick to return to his room. He had come back to me eagerly, going out of his way to squeeze my shoulder as he entered the room.

I opened the book to the chapter we had left off on, but before I could start reading, Nikolai stopped me. “Sit next to me?”

The question came softly. It had been some time since we sat next to each other on his bed. Still, I moved off of the chair and to his bed. Something in me longed for the familiar closeness of childhood. I allowed him to play with my fingers as I read.

“You know you could take one night off from me if you wanted to.” The admission left me softly, part of unsure if he was still paying attention to my words. “She was pretty, it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings if you told me you wanted me to not come tonight.”

Nikolai exhaled easily, squeezing my fingers once. “I said I wanted to see you and I meant it.”

It took all of my energy to push past the way his words made my stomach leap. “In general, if you ever--”

Nikolai cut me off by laying his head on my lap the way he used to. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” It was the first time in years that he spoke to me in a way that acknowledged his authority. “Keep reading please.”

And that was the last time we had ever mentioned other handmaids in that context. The fifth secret I ever kept from him was the way I worried that one day that would change.

--

The door creaks open while I’m in the middle of fluffing an already pristine pillow. Nikolai steps into the room, but I continue to work.

“Darling,” he breathes too easily, “Today has been painful.” I straighten, looking at him as casually as I can manage. “And now I have to deal with you being mad at me.”

Damn him and his ability to read me with one look. “I’m not mad.”

“You know you can’t lie to me,” he sighs, stepping forward, “We’ve known each other too long for that.”

I press my lips together, irrational anger pushing itself into me at an odd angle. “We’ve also known each other too long to keep secrets.”

His eyebrows draw together, a look so quizzical I’m reminded of our schooling days. “What secrets have I kept from you?”

Mentioning that had been a mistake. I exhale as flatly as possible. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” My dismissal only has Nikolai’s expression hardening. I drop my gaze. “Unless you need something, I’m retiring my services for the evening.”

I take a reluctant step towards the door, eyes attached to the floor. “Y/n,” his voice is gentle. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just tired.” Please let that be at least somewhat believable. “I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself in the morning.” I take another step, a little more assured. Nikolai’s hand is on my shoulder before I can escape. “Nikolai--”

“Y/n,” his voice is that of velvet, “I can’t have you be mad at me. Not now.”

Sighing, I meet his gaze. The tiredness I see behind his eyes is almost enough to chase away my nerve. What I’d give to be able to melt into our familiar routine. “Then you should have told me you were almost engaged to a literal Saint--the same literal Saint who’s one of my closest friends.”

Nikolai’s expression shifts as his hand drops from my shoulder slowly, fingers brushing down my arm before he finally intertwines our fingers. I bite my tongue to avoid squeezing his hand, but I don’t move to separate us either. He studies me silently, eyebrows drawn together. The longer he stares, the more whatever turmoil he’s experiencing seems to dissipate. After a minute of silence, I can read his expression perfectly. His lips are pressed together in that coy way--the way he only looks when he’s suppressing a smile.

I loathe him for it. “Nikolai Lantsov, don’t you dare laugh--not after what you did. Do you have any idea what it felt like to have Alina casually mention the fact that you almost married her casually? Like that was common knowledge to everyone but me?”

My words break away the last of his self control. He grins, flashing his annoyingly perfect teeth. “Do you have any idea what it feels like for me to want nothing more than to see you and then you let me believe something may actually be wrong when the only issue is your jealousy?”

The amusement in his tone is like poison to me. I find the strength to jerk my hand away from him. “I am not jealous.” He laughs; I am further enraged. “I am not.” The genuineness of my anger must finally register on some level, because he tries to suppress his smile. “I have every right to be mad at my best friend for not telling me that he was almost married.”

“We didn’t exactly come close,” he manages, expression still much too light for my taste. “I’m glad for Alina’s sake, I’m not sure being a Saint would be enough to protect her.”

He is infuriating. “I’m not sure anything you have will be enough to protect you.”

Something in his gaze shifts, softening the tilt of his mouth. “I don’t doubt that.”

I don’t know what I expected from him--but not this. I thought he’d be at least somewhat apologetic. “You should have told me.”

“I would have if I felt it was significant.”

“I’m your best friend--your marriage is significant to me. And even though it’s not like you’re engaged to her right now, you should have told me. You know I talk to Alina all the time.”

He sighs once, a hint of apology threatening to ghost over his eyes. “If I knew not knowing would have upset you so much I would have told you. I was--I was just so excited to be around you again I didn’t see much relevance in anything that didn’t involve you.”

The intensity that Nikolai regards me with is enough to wither all of my fury. But without my anger, I am left spiraling in emotion that I’ve been pushing against for years. My mother’s warning about relationships with those above us rings in my ears--sharp and headache inducing. I am still when he reaches for my hand again, but I do no allow myself to return the gentle squeeze of his fingers.

“I’m not sure much outside of you has significance.” He’s giving me a look I am familiar with. A look he often uses to chase away my anger.

Without my anger, I have nothing to keep me from melting into him, indulging in his presence fully. It’s so easy with him and I blinded myself to the danger of that. He may not be marrying Alina, but one day he will marry someone. A person worthy of his status--and what would I be left doing? Washing their laundry? Tearing up when I dusted the library and came across a book we had read together? Enough damage has already been done--I need to cut myself with this blade now in hopes of making sure I can one day recover.

He will get married one day, and nothing will be the same. And that’s a good thing--he deserves the love of a princess or queen. I want his happiness, even if it’s not with me. But some vindictive part of me hopes that some part of him will miss me. That some part of him will be dulled without me.

I’m a fool--he will remember me as the handmaid from his youth. The girl who made him laugh once or twice before he grew up. I force my hand out of his grasp. “You can’t win me over with words every time.” I need to get out of here before he says something that makes me lose all resolve. “Tomorrow morning I’ll be here to prepare you for breakfast.”

“Y/n.”

I step forward, refusing to look at him. “Goodnight.”

He sighs, his hand quick to grab my arm. Before I can question him I feel myself pulled back. I expect him to pull me just close enough so that I have to meet his gaze. He continues, pulling me sharply before placing a quick hand on my shoulder, forcing me down. My back hits his bed.

I sit up as soon as the reality of what just happened seeps into my mind. “Nikolai, what in the Saints--”

“If you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one.”

I scoff, thoughts of escaping him put on hold by the principle of pride. Fine. I’ll beat him one last time, and then I’ll let us separate. I shove him. He laughs--of course this is funny to him. He got to keep fighting past the age of about eleven. His laughter adds to my anger, I move to shove him again, but he catches my wrist easily. I struggle against his hold, shoving him a third time with my still free hand. He pushes me slightly. That’s all it takes to unleash familiar habits.

Our small fight is hardly fair. He has all the advantage--more training, and he’s standing above me. When I finally make a move that might give me some success, Nikolai leans forward. He practically tackles me, his weight forcing me flat against the bed.

I move an arm, ready to push him off of me. Nikolai snags my wrists, holding them above my head. “This means I win.” I roll my eyes, anger returning.

“Let me go.”

He sighs tiredly, but the smugness radiating off of him is suffocating. “Admit that you were jealous.”

There are a lot of things I am willing to do for him--but never that. I cannot give him the one separation I still have. “I wasn’t.”

“Then why are you mad?”

I press my lips together. “I told you--”

“Do you really think you could lie to me?”

“You don’t know me that well.”

Nikolai moves his freehand, touching my chin as a way to ask me to look at him. I meet his gaze hesitantly. “Yes, I do, and that’s never bothered you before but it does now.”

Maybe this is a conversation better had bluntly. “It bothers me now because you’re too old to hold onto the daughter of a palace handmaid and I’m too old to pretend that our different statuses don’t matter.”

“Y/n,” he breathes, “Nothing’s changed. Status didn’t matter to me when we were children, and it doesn’t matter to me now.”

“You can afford to say things like that.”

“What good is my title if it means I can’t,” he pauses, eyes hesitant, “If I can’t keep things the same between us?”

I smile, the sadness of the look weighs on me and I can’t even see it. “Nikolai, you always knew things would change.”

“No, I--”

“You can’t tell me you think your future wife would like you having such a close relationship with a handmaid.” I press my lips together. “One day you’ll fall in love and get married and you’ll want me to leave your bedchamber as soon as dinner is over because you’ll be eager to spend time with your wife.” His gaze hardens. “And that’s not a bad thing. It’s actually a really good thi--”

The last syllable of my sentence dies in my throat. Nikolai, who must be possessed by something, leans down and presses his lips against mine. I beg myself to resist, but his gentleness is everything I’ve ever wanted. He releases my hands in favor of holding my face. That’s all it takes--my hands move without my permission, into his hair--pulling him closer to me. What am I doing? I’m insane. Placing my hands on his chest cautiously, I push just slightly. He’s quick to obey, pulling away while allowing his teeth to brush against my bottom lip.

I gape at him--taking in his now slightly swollen lips. “Nikolai.” He can’t do this to me. We’re friends. Despite the fact that I’ve loved him more than I should--we’re friends. “You’re being extremely unfair.”

He draws his eyebrows together, sitting up quickly and moving off of me. “I’m being unfair? I have spent my entire life loving y--”

I sit up, furious in a new way. “You have not!” This is the dumbest I have ever been. I move to stand, still feeling the softness of his lips against mine.

“Your tooth fell out.” The sharpness of his words forces me to still.

“What?”

I can’t bring myself to turn and look at him, but I’ve always been able to feel any heaviness he bears. The weight of it leaves little room for air in my lungs. “You were ten. I told you ‘girls couldn’t fight’ so you punched me in the face. That was the first time we ever fought--I didn’t mean to hit you in the face, but you moved. You moved and I hit you in the mouth and your last baby tooth fell out. I expected you to cry or get angry, but you just blinked at me and laughed. You were happy to lose your last baby tooth because it meant you were grown up. And then you smiled and asked me if you looked older. If anything, the gap in your smile made you look younger but I told you that you looked like a grown-up because I wanted you to keep smiling. Because your smile made me feel like I won something.” I turn on my heels, but I cannot meet his gaze. “That was the moment I fell in love with you--so don’t tell me I haven’t spent my entire life loving you.”

The weight of his words is harder to survive against than the heaviness of his feelings. “Nikolai, you know we can’t ever be together--”

“Why not?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I manage, voice low, “You almost married the Sun Summoner--”

“That was political--”

“Exactly, your marriage is meant to be political, and if it happens to be out of love--which is what I hope you get, because it is what you deserve--it will be to someone of status.”

Nikolai stands, the movement is that of a king, not the boy I know. “I do not want status or to love someone else--I want you.”

“I can’t take that from you--”

“You can’t take anything from me because I’ve already given it all to you.”

I press my lips together, heart tearing for him. “I love you too much to ruin you.”

My words seem to snap something in him because his eyes darken, the way he watches me adjusting accordingly. “You can’t ruin something that’s always been yours.”

I let myself smile. At him. At his words. At the foolish hope the child in me has clung to after all of these years. I reach for him thoughtlessly, because I have the right to. Because I’ve always had the right to. He’s quick to respond, kissing me with much more security than before.

This time, he pulls away of his own regard. “You still haven’t admitted that you were jealous.”

His teasing smugness isn’t as sour to me anymore. “I wasn’t.”

Nikolai pulls me towards him easily, lips threatening to brush against me, warm breath against my face. “Are you sure, darling? You were awfully quick to claim what’s yours.”

I roll my eyes, grinning so widely I’m surprised my face doesn’t yet hurt. “You’re the one that fell for a ten-year-old girl with a bloody mouth.”

When he smiles back at me, he places a hand on my hip, pulling me forward slightly. “That I did.” He pulls me forward slightly. "Does this mean you can sleep in here again?"

"If anything, this is more reason for me to sleep in another room." He rolls his eyes, pulling me even closer. "But I won't tell if you don't."

Nikolai leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Deal."

tags: @deardiarystuff @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

[deniigi]

Lando The Nosy Neighbor AU

Title: good fences make good neighbors

Summary: Modern AU based off the premise presented to me as ‘Han and Leia move into the same neighborhood and start a feud, only to eventually overthrow the local Homeowner’s Association.’

Relationships: Pot-farmer!Han/Lawyer!Leia; Farmboy!Luke/Survivalist!Din; Lando & Breha Organa & Chewbacca

This is based off a rural community in Washington which has local cults.

Lando POV

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

A hippy has moved in next to the Organas.

It’s a good one, too. This one hasn’t even rented a moving truck, they’ve just come on over with all their furniture tetris-ed in on top of itself and wrapped tight with rope, blankets, and prayer.

Lando’s petunias screech for watering as the hippy throws open the truck’s door and comes staggering out, cracking his lanky back. Out of the other side comes an even hairier, even lankier person. He closes the truck door and looks right at Lando.

He stares.

It is a challenge. But of course, not one that Lando is not prepared to handle.

He points at his watering can.

Hippy Two seems to scoff.

Lando waits until he’s distracted by the first hippie struggling with the blue house’s doorknob to dump the remaining water into the pebbles under his ornamental bridge.

He returns inside and goes about his busy business, tying back the curtains.

It is always good to have someone new in the neighborhood.

--

 It takes the hippy couple a few weeks to get settled into their new home, and in that time neither has ingratiated themselves to Lando.

The stupid one with the floppy hair caught onto Lando’s tricks at the weekly poker match held in the local bar. Lando may have lost his irrigation system, but he has not lost his dignity. It was old anyways. He’s been planning to replace it for nearly a year now. There is never a better time than the present to start making your dreams into reality.

And anyways, the floppy haired out-of-towner will get what is coming to him. Lando has already sown the seed of his demise.

Leia Organa returned home to look after her poor, sick, stubborn mother just two months ago. Breha is fine, of course, not even cancer could snuff out her fires, although she is bored of her husband and daughter trying to trap her indoors. Her immunocompromised escapades have been delightful to watch.

The Organas are always a lively group. There is never a dull moment or lack of machinations among them—especially the lady of the household. She, like Lando, appreciates a good tussle. Which is why he has pointed out to Leia that her new neighbors’ greenhouse is mighty interesting, is it not?

Lawyer Leia’s ears pricked up like a horse’s, and Breha’s sharp eyes took on new sheen.  

Lando watches Leia in the mornings now, struggling to find upper-body strength and purchase on the wood of her backyard fence, among the roses and bougainvillea. She’s so tiny, Leia. Breha is not an overly large person either, and thus is no help in this endeavor to collect data on the greenhouse of questionable origins and purposes on the other side of the fence. Leia doesn’t need her, though. She needs no one. She’s seen what she needs to.

Lando pours tea from a glass pot given to him by someone in his company who wishes for their secrets to remain so and beautiful, clear amber liquid fills his cup.

He looks up to see Leia holding her phone out as far as she can without relinquishing her grip on the fence. She fumbles, trying one-handedly to document the crime before her, but alas. Even the mighty sometimes trip on the red carpet.

The phone slips. She grabs after it in slow-motion, horror filling every pore of her face.

It is gone now, that phone.

The Public Nuisances will know what she has been up to.

Lando sighs and leans back in his seat.

--

 It is no time at all before the dropped phone is returned graciously over the white, waist-height fence that separates the Public Nuisance’s yard from the Organas’. Leia snatches her phone back and wipes it off with her hand and sleeve. The shorter public enemy, Han, he calls himself, smiles at her cheekily. He retracts his hand and gestures to the taller fence, barely visible for the fruit trees and vines, between their backyards and says something that makes Leia go very, very still.

It is, undoubtedly, a challenge. Not unlike the one that that the more polite public nuisance, Chewie, opened his and Lando’s relationship with.

Chewie has explained without mincing his words, that he and Han have come here because their last venture was lost in a snowstorm. Chewie will be damned if his precious seedlings are so callously frosted over again. The Pacific Northwest has no chance of freezing over, he says. It provides a better setting to grow stock.

Weed, he means. Marijuana. Chewie is again, not shy. He and Han make good money supplying dispensaries with their organic, hand dried leaves. It is apparently ‘artisan’ like in quality.

Lando isn’t sure he’d go that far, but yes, it is nice stuff. And yes, Leia, bastion of justice, does need to see the men’s permits.

Lando opens the window for a breeze and catches Han telling Leia that he’ll produce them if she arm wrestles him for the right to witness their authenticity. Leia agrees. Han fetches a small worktable from the house’s garage and sets it between them.

The match is over within seconds. Leia has never been so insulted in her life. She demands a rematch and, out of sheer indulgence, Han gives it to her.

He is nearly a foot taller than her. He could lift her up and over her own fence with ease if he so desired. He wins the next round. And the next one. He loses the last one by reason of having his leg deadened under the table but stands abruptly to renegade on his earlier promise.

“You watch yourself, princess,” he calls over his shoulder with his hand on his front door’s knob.

“Oh, I’ll be watching,” Leia snarls back.

Han slams the door. Chewie looks from him to Leia standing fuming in the shade of her family’s pine trees.

“Unbelievable,” she snaps at him before stomping off herself. “UNBELIEVABLE.”

Lando flicks his eyes up to see Breha’s dining room window wide open. She too, has a cup of tea. She lifts it his way and he lifts his back.

Finally, some quality entertainment once more.

--

 Han and Leia’s hatred has become neighborhood gossip. They have begun going to extraordinary lengths to gain the others’ attention. For example, Han, in weeding his sparce flowerbeds, was careful to shove the fruits of his labor between the fence slats into Bail’s well-tended herb garden. Bail, ever the gentleman, does not mind, but of course Leia feels that her family honor has been spat upon. She collects the weeds and returns them to her owner, via mailbox. It is kind of her to put the flag down, so Han knows that he’s received a message.

The retaliation is a mural in rainbow colors commissioned by Han and painted by one of the budding young teenagers from a school about a thirty minute drive downtown. It is...psychedelic. And facing Leia’s bedroom window.

Han asked the youth who painted it to add in a figure in the center of the composition; it is a brown-haired woman dressed all in white, surrounded by thorny vines, and attempting to climb a fence. The young artist must have felt like Michelangelo in the application of those delicate strokes of artistry. They knew they were creating something holy.

Han helps that along by bracketing the figure with solar lanterns that light up at night and keep the image fully illuminated.

When Lando arrives to Breha’s side to go on a walk, arm in arm, with her and her beast of a terrier, she giggles like a schoolgirl behind her hand.

“Han is very handsome,” she tells Lando.

“He’s alright,” Lando says.

“I think he and Leia are a perfect match. Will for will. No one’s ever dared to cross her like this.”

Now that is a fact.

“I wonder if this is the start of something more,” Breha says.

“What does your husband think?” Lando asks.

Breha waves him off dismissively.

“Oh, you know. He’s convinced that Leia will kill Han in his sleep, and we will be forced to post bail, but I told him—as I’ve told you, Lando—Leia’s too smart to get caught committing axe murder. Now poisoning, that’s a different story.”

--

 Lando wakes up and makes coffee. He turns on his computer and opens his curtains to let the light pour in and warm his hardwood floors. He stands at the window, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Leia has had enough. She has called the Home Owner’s Association and they are standing at Han’s front doorstep.

--

 It is about three weeks before Han and Leia have overthrown the Home Owner’s Association for interfering in their escalating romance—ahem—bloodfeud. By then, Lando’s work-from-home situation is suffering. It is impossible to focus with those two cluttering up his view with distractions left and right. He determines that, for the sake of his finances, he must direct his attention to something a little further afield.

The Lars’s vegetable stand is becoming something of an institution.

It’s about a mile or so out of Lando’s way, tucked smack in the middle of the battlefield that is the stretch of land between the survivalist cult that lives in the forest and the pseudo-Buddhists that live in their compound. The farm itself is a few acres and the Lars’s son can be seen walking around, herding livestock out of the road and into pastures.

Lando has heard whispers that this son is none other than Leia’s twin brother, but no one has the nerve to directly ask the Organas about the truth of such a scandalous idea. The most that can be said about Luke Lars-Skywalker is that he is a master of social media.

He has created a Youtube channel and an Instagram to document the practices of his family’s farm and the products they produce. He is in a twitter-war with many communities online for his videos on small-scale bee-keeping, and his family’s stand is proudly boycotted by the vegan association in the city on farmer’s market days.

It has become well-known among the farm-to-table restaurants in the city, though, and that is why Luke keeps on keeping on with his cows and his fowls and his silly camera holder.

But all that means little because Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love.

Anyone with eyes can see it.

He is in love with an ancestral enemy.

See, in this area there are not one, but two cults and naturally, they abhor and reject the others’ teachings. To the south are the pseudo-buddhist, clairvoyants who have fashioned themselves more or less as monks preoccupied with meditation, self-development, and a few fairly mystical beliefs among the rather terrifying devotion to martial arts. To the north are the survivalist whack-jobs who don’t believe in electricity or running water, but who are also, somehow, preoccupied with self development and a terrifying devotion to martial arts.

Both groups have publicly denounced the other as misguided extremists.

The rumors say that Luke and Leia’s biological father is one of the clairvoyants, and this is where the heart of the current delightful irony lays.

Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love with one of those survivalists.

Lando knows this because he has seen it with his very own eyes.

He took a trip a while back to purchase some greens from the vegetable stand and he was there for a little while, picking through the selection, when he looked up and saw Luke’s posture explode out of its lax boredom. Lando looked over his shoulder to see what Luke’s tan, freckled attention had latched onto and lo and behold.

It was a man. And not only a man, a man with a baby.

Luke stuffed knuckles into his mouth to keep from cooing as the father of the child nodded at him and meandered over to have a poke through the produce piled up on the stand. The baby, dressed carefully in layers of warm, water-resistant clothing, watched Luke right back. He smiled and grunted, waving his dark, stubby arms and Luke melted—literally collapsed into a fraction of his size behind the paystation.

The father, a white rugged guy with dark curly hair and a great deal of stubble, shifted the baby to his other arm. His worn, heavy clothing and the military-style canvas sack on his back marked him as one of the Cabin-In-the-Woods people.

Lando felt like he was watching a country romance flick in real life.

Luke gathered his courage and approached the dad and baby to ask if they were looking for anything in particular. The baby immediately held hands out to him. Luke asked the father if he could hold the little one. The father said ‘no.’

Lando nearly choked on his own spit.

“Oh, sorry buddy,” Luke said to the baby. “Daddy thinks I’m gonna eat you up.”

“He just got a bath.”

Luke gooey expression hardened in an instant.

“Excuse you. You sayin’ I’m dirty?” he asked. “You sayin’ I smell like horseshit?”

The father stared at Luke wordlessly.

“Pigshit,” he corrected.

“WHAT.”

Lando no longer needed only greens. He had to pick a cheese from this bountiful pile. Oh dear, so many to choose from.

“I said, you smell like pigshit. And he just got a bath,” the survivalist father said. “How much for the tomatoes?”

“Twenty a pound,” Luke said viciously.

“That’s steep.”

“There’s a discount for people who smell like pigshit.”

“You get a lot of those?”

“No, but I know how to wallow in the time between buyers.”

“Are you angry or something?”

“Take your damn tomatoes.”

“I didn’t pay yet—”

“Just take ‘em. Go. Go.”

“Twenty—?”

“Hey, Mr. Calrissian, that’ll be ten-fifty,” Luke said over the protests.

That was then. This is now. And Luke Lars-Skywalker has not let up on his tirade against this survivalist. Nor, it is important to note however, has the survivalist stopped coming to the vegetable stand when Luke is working it.

What is even more is that Lando can see with his own two eyes that the survivalist is not holding his baby at the vegetable stand now, as Lando closes his car door a little ways from the stand. Luke smiles at Lando as he draws near; he is bouncing at the knees. He waves the baby’s hand in greeting and the child gurgles and twists back to grab at his face.

Lando smiles and does not say anything.

He finds Chewie inspecting a sprinkler at the edge of his and Han’s yard on the way back and crosses the street to inspect it with him. It sputters. Chewie suspects outloud that their squirrels are getting stronger and more destructive by the day.

Lando asks him if he’s been the Lars’s vegetable stand since moving into town.

He has.

Lando asks if he’s ever seen Luke there, holding a baby.

He has.

Lando is smug.

“Mr. Rugged Mountain Man is falling for the farm boy,” he tells Chewie.

Chewie lifts a thick eyebrow.

“One day soon, that baby is going to go from living off the grid to living in a barn,” Lando tells him. “Mark my words.”

Chewie tells him that that is impossible without a kidnapping charge because the Rugged Mountain Man is the straightest man that he’s ever seen. Lando tells him not to judge a book by its cover.

Weirder things have happened. Han and Leia, for example.

Chewie tells him that he knows that Lando is somehow responsible for those two’s newly inescapable sexual tension and he will never forgive him for it.

Lando cannot believe his ears. Him? An instigator? Of course not, Chewie. He is but a humble spider, waiting around in his house for a fly to shake things up. He is an observer, nothing more, nothing less.

Chewie just points a finger at him.

Lando points a finger-gun back. He fires it with a click of his tongue.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Could I request a Jaskier x female reader where the reader is a princess who during daylight, is condemned to be a bear, after being cursed by an evil sorcerer At night she become a human again. Which the curse can only be broken by a man (who would be Jaskier) who pledges his heart solely to the reader (something like true love’s kiss). Please and thank you!!!

Bruin

jaskier x reader

masterlist

Warnings; mentions of witcher killing, mentions of death and angst, curses, nudity, some fluff, implied smut

“G-Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice shivered, as he saw a great mountain of brunette fur, wading through the long grass, heavy breathing exhibiting from its wet snout. “There’s a bear!”

“If you’re that scared, try to speak quieter.” The Witcher’s speech remained monotone, as he continued walking, leaving the bard to catch up with his hardy footsteps. “We need to leave before nightfall, that is when the true monster is unleashed from the bruin vessel.”

“You kill monsters, we’ll be fine.” The bard waved off, though he was terrified, and Geralt was all but convinced with his dismissal. “We will, won’t we Geralt?”

“It’s bad luck to remain out here at night, it’s an old wives tale, however, no one survives the night out here. Not after the disappearance of the princess of Arafell.” Jaskier remembered that tale, he had even seen the princess at a banquet once when they were both young in age.

Neither of them had the opportunity to converse with one another that evening, it was the night she had ran away. and he certainly had regretted never asking her dance. Before that though, they had often strode through the gardens hand in hand, conversing on the beauty of the petals that veiled around the stems, and she, unlike most people, listened to his descriptive forms of poetry. Back then, he had been shy, and not to mention, she was of sought after royal blood. That evening was the last that anyone from the kingdom had ever been seen, after the slumber of eternity wept over their souls. One thing he severely remembered though, was that she loved dandelions.

The princess had ran away, leaving the king and queen in search of someone that could find her, and thus they hired a private sorcerer to complete their wishes. But instead of seeking out the lost girl, the old man took the gold and the lives of old, wallowing the land in distress that clambered into a delving of madness.

A shout bellowed from the bear, and Jaskier found him to “How long will it be til we reach the borders?”

“The bad luck will loom over us Jaskier, we will not make it out of here in the span of the next countless hours. There will be a moon in the sky, but perhaps we’ll be able to seek out cover in the old guard’s tower.”

“Where are we Geralt?” The brown haired poet feared to be met with the answer “What makes you think that we’ll survive the night?!”

“This is what remains of Arafell.” Stated the white haired hunter, as he continued to plod through the thick foliage beneath his dark boots. He stepped on the dull green life form, not encouraged to pursue any further into the depths as he heard the destination that they were travelling through.

“Arafell, great.” Huffed the irritating bard, clutching his lute as he spoke the haunting name. “There’s no need to be afraid, when you’re in the land of torn bodies, because the witcher is by your side. He’ll slash and dice, protect the mice, from the darkness that falls from above. The people are dead, I am filled with dread, in the land of Ar-afellll.”

“Stop singing.” Whenever there was any fault present in their adventures together, Jaskier had a tendency, wallowing similar like a pie without filling to sing. It shrouded Geralt with epitomised frustration, his betrothed follower sure knew how to pull his strings, it was as though he were a moral lute, a practice run of socialisation for the noble’s son.

“Sorry.” Apologised the traveller, with a shrug encompassed by a spark of coldness affecting his posture. There was a breeze, filled with the pinching of icicles in the air, and it clawed through his clothes, clashing with the meat blanketed warmth of his bones. “It’s just- we’re in bloody Arafell, or what remains of it, and you are so calm. Have you maybe perhaps forgotten what happened here?!”

“No. I was here when it queen Ara and her kingdom fell. And that bear has lurked every inch of these demolished castle lands searching for scraps, and if you cannot tell, it is almost night fall, and she has come up sufficiently short of anything, for all these decades.”

The listener frowned, bears did not live so long. It was a curious prospect, it remained loyal to these grounds, although it was empty. There had to be a reason why, a pattern that supposed why it, or she as Geralt had divulged, remained to lurk in the midst of the overgrown forestry. And then another thought (yes, Jaskier had the ability to do that despite what his protective travel mate may have wondered), hit him, like a bolt of lightning.

“Um, Geralt, where is the bear?” He gulped, hearing the rustling of the thick foliage metres behind them. The moon scourged the sky with its global presence, inducing another shot of ambient fear through Jaskier’s veins. “It was-“

“Shut up a moment.” It was almost impossible half the time to silence Jaskier, but this time, he actually obliged the command. Geralt drew his sword, the one that glistened a predominate silver and was made from the compound, clutching the handle in his vice and skilled grip, as his feet took him closer to the imposter that was imbedded within the weeds.

“Oh.” Jaskier covered his eyes, he couldn’t look as Geralt pointed the weapon at the beasts throat; a whimper escaped it as Geralt took a step back, alerting his companion. “Kill it Geralt, it’s a bear, it’s going to kill us.”

“It was a bear.” Geralt elaborated as he watched the beast transform and lose its course coat of brown fur, turning into a less monstrous beast. It was only a girl, with unruly and wild hair that was matted in all directions, her face contorted into fear. “Of whom are you, my lady?”

“A witcher.” It trailed from her lips as a whisper, her tone alerting Jaskier that it indeed was not a bear, rather it was a woman, laid on the forest ground, in nothing but her own layers of skin. His eyes widened for a moment, until he earned an elbow in the rib from his friend for his long and convicted ogling. “I have only heard legends but...

“You speak english?” Jaskier wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, hinting at his subsequent misunderstanding of the situation. “but you were a bear?!” This was all growing more confusion with each passing second, there were too many angles of the world.

“I’m cursed.” It was an easy consequence to admit, for the lady of the worlds already lived through them. “Each day, I am forced to pad about in the brute body of a bruin, a sorcerer brought by darkness himself to this dimension damned me to this abomination, his name was-“

“Lament.” From hearing that name, the woman on the ground was taken aback as the women, trying to prevail some decency, attempted to cover her breasts with her arms, as she crossed her legs over one another. “Your parents sent me to find you, lady. I came up empty handed in my search for you, there was no trail that I managed to find, nothing that would point in your direction. And that night, as I returned with short of nothing of any news of your whereabouts, Lament was there.”

“He killed them all, didn’t he. My family?” The answer didn’t require any verification from Geralt, the solemn, yet usual expression on the Witcher’s face was all the confirmation that she needed. “Of course he did, he’s a poisonous shadow, when he finds something he wants, he takes away its home, so that it can’t run back to the hearth whence it came from. I regret every running away from home...”

“Wait a moment.” This was all beginning to add up in some mind boggling way. Jaskier flitted his gaze aside for a moment as Geralt pulled a fine blanket from his luggage, knowingly seeing the movement out of the corner of his curious eye that she was pulling the material that conducted warmth over her shoulders, and across her sachet of flaunted skin.

"Shut up Jaskier." Instantaneously stated the bard, whom had returned his cerulean gaze back upon the y/h/c woman, depositing a composition of interest to her form.

"You're the princess of Arafell, aren't you. Y/n, it's you, isn't it?" Y/n's expression was one of shock; how did this man know of her identity? She understood how the witcher did, though with considering he was condemned with the duty of finding her. The brunette man was slightly familiar, and so he revealed why that was. “it’s Julian.” Jaskier held his hand to his chest, almost hurt that you didn’t recognise him, but it had been years, so many, none of which had been kind to you. “My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

“Dandelion!” The reprised title spun from y/n's tongue, remembering the nickname that she had given the now gentleman all those years ago, when he was nothing more than a persisting boy that made her flash an unashamed laughter in the midst of poised quality showrooms of noble gatherings. "I remember you." She dwelled on the fact, if she weren't clothed in only a shrill and frayed blanket that was pebbled with small dots of soil, from where it had been laid on the ground, y/n surely would have jumped up and spun her arms around his 'sexy goose' neck.

"You've got to be kidding me, it is just my luck that the pair of you know each other." Geralt crossed his arms, shaking his sleek silver head, being deprived of attention as he spoke. "Is there any way to get yourself out to get you out of this prospected curse of turning into a bear, y/n?"

"To be betrothed to a man, confirmed with a kiss resonating true love, though, nobody with any sense would put themselves in that position for me, there is no wealth to my name anymore, nor is there relevance with my heritage, for there is nothing that remains, as you have confirmed for me. This man must certainly be one of a kind, for he has to pledge his loyalty solely to me, forbidding himself from ever being with another woman again."

The mention of a lack of sense reminded Geralt of one man in particular, and he was stood right beside him. But it couldn't have been Jaskier, of all people, and- Geralt found himself overcome with dread as the bard stepped forward, crunching his shoed feet into the withered grass, closer to the rediscovered princess.

"I have waited my whole life to see you again." Oh god, here he went, Geralt thought. "When we were younger, I was infatuated with you, and here we are, united again in a union. If my betrothal means nothing then you will remain in this shrine of gloom, but to me, it would mean everything to me."

"Y/N come on, have some sense, it-" There was lack of reason for Geralt to continue speaking, as y/n sprung up, the blanket flowing down from her shoulders, baring her body cold to the crisp air, as her hands clasped both sides of Jaskier's face, and pressed her lips to his.

The witcher cringed, turning away as the pair practically ate the other's face, like starved animals that had been distanced for many years, which in their case was true. "Do you know if the curse is broken, is there any indicator if so?"

A hum fell from y/n's mouth as Jaskier's hand traced the curve of her spine, causing Geralt to scoff. That was the only response he earned, and to a high stake, it disgusted him. "I think I'm just gonna let you two have some time to yourselves, I guess we will see in the morning if you're being mawled by a bear you flippant."

And thus he walked away, leaving the two to pursue their primitive instincts, under the blessed moon, and on the routed curfew on the dark and dead land of Arafell.

[newtie-patootie-bootie]

Masquerade (Prologue)

Summary: This is your third season and your aspirations on finding love are dwindling but news on Lady Whistledown’s society pages say that there is to be a foreign royal in attendance to the season. Could this royal dignitary be the one you’ve been waiting for, or could there be a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows, waiting to pluck your heart for his?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bridgerton nor The Mandalorian- all rights go to the owners and creators of their separate stories.

Warnings: None just yet, enjoy my writing as I lead up to the story!!

|| Please do not repost or plagiarise my work ||

| Chapter 1 |

“Dearest, have you read the newest Lady Whistledown?” Your mother burst into the drawing room with a flurry of her skirts, clutching the article in her fist as you, your brother and your father took in her frazzled form. 

Her eyes were alight with excitement and she was nearly vibrating with delight, “no, Mama. I haven’t.” You answered her, eyebrows pulling together gently and she barrelled forward, slapping the scandal sheet in your hand. 

You abandoned your needlepoint on your lap and opened the reports gingerly, perusing the freshly printed words with increasing distress:

‘In related news to this year’s promising season, my dearest reader- my sources say that a discreet candidate was called on by the Queen herself!

In a show of good faith and generosity to the newly signed trade agreements between the Crown and the elusive, yet breathtaking realm of Mandalore; it seems that this mysterious suitor has touched foot on our verdant lands in search of one of this season’s blossomed flowers to pluck for his own. 

I have heard that this particular aspirant is eager to secure an acceptable match, perhaps with the season’s named Incomparable? 

Or, perhaps there will be a sweet winter blossom that bloomed so richly as she was presented to Her Majesty, the Queen for her third season. Could the magnificent daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Wintere snatch such a lucrative title from Miss Daphne Bridgerton?

I so do adore a good rivalry between two influential families and as such, I would like to express my most exuberant notions of good fortunes to each family and may the best woman win.

This intrepid author would also like to disclose that there should be a number of severe competitors at the Danbury Ball this evening- and even worse, bloodthirsty mama’s charging forward with energetic hopes to secure the prospects of such an exceptional suitor.

After all, it is not everyday you are offered the chance to become a Queen.’

“She has named our dearest daughter a ‘winter blossom’, no doubt in reference to our family crest, darling!” Thomas’ eyebrows lifted at the high praise and yes, it was true. The family crest consisted of blooming hellebores and a snowy owl taking flight. “She also named our daughter to be a worthy adversary of the season’s Incomparable, Daphne Bridgerton!” Elaine gushed, taking a seat beside her husband and her skirts pooled with the air trapped but she seemed nonplussed as did Thomas who watched her with an adoring smile. “Isn’t that wonderful, darling?” 

“I’d consider that a high honour indeed!” Thomas boasted proudly, raising his teacup to you and a sigh left your lips, ever world-weary. 

“Looks more like a wilted weed to me.” Your brother teased and earned a reproachful stare from your parents, Ryder shrugged off the blistering glare from your mother before turning back to his book. 

“Mama,” you implored, the paper crinkling in your tight grip, “do not put any stock into Whistledown’s scribblings- she has a tendency to exaggerate and her words incite challenge when there is no need for it.” You scoffed, tossing the offending scrap on the plush cushion beside you, “she has surely just made Daphne and I targets for the 200 other girls for the entire season!” 

Ryder stood from his place across the room and moved closer, snatching the crinkled sheet from the pillow and plopped himself down, taking in its contents for himself, “Cressida Cowper is going to eat you alive, dearest sister.”

“Please do not remind me of Cressida Cowper, do I not appear distressed enough for you to cease your mistimed jibes, brother?” Your tone heightened, echoing somewhat in the drawing room.

Ryder’s smirk softened into a worried frown and took your hand in his in a soothing fashion, soft thumb massaging the space between your knuckles, “apologies, sweet sister. I only wished to make light of your situation for your own piece of mind.” 

Sighing, you whispered your own apology at your sudden snap and you hummed softly in thought before a mischievous grin curled against your lips, “if anyone should feel concerned about Cressida Cowper’s intentions, I would think you to be more perturbed than I, older brother. The heir to the Duke of Wintere, a monumental promise of success to any willing debutante, I’m certain.” Ryder shuddered at the thought of the ill-mannered girl setting gladiatorial eyes on him and the notion of the high prospects he would bring to the mart. Immediately abandoning your hand, he burrowed himself deeper into the seat beside you and flicked the sheet out dramatically.

It was an indiscreet attempt to occupy his mind elsewhere as he kept his eyes firmly on the black print, yet he took not one word of the information in.

“Darling, this is good.” Your mother’s voice gently eased you from you and your brother’s banter as she reached forward and took your hand in hers, “this means that suitors will now take notice of you, and if this king hears word of your beauty in Whistledown’s musings, then I believe we should all be thankful to the woman, do you not agree?”

Your fingers curled around hers but your eyes remained downcast at your half-sewn needlepoint and you sighed softly, “I don’t see the need for such articles to be published. There will be enough dramatics to satisfy the weak-minded all season.” 

“Your mother and I only want what is best for you, little owlet.” Your eyes raised to meet Thomas’, his gaze warm, tone loving as he levelled you with an adoring smile, “if it eases your mind, I have come across some news of this new ruler during my time at the club. I have heard he is just and fair. An honourable gentleman if somewhat mysterious as Lady Whistledown reports. You have nothing to lose by dazzling him with your grace and charm- but you have everything to gain if you succeed in wooing him. You have no need for tricks or deception to win the attention of any suitor, for you are perfect just the way you are.” Tears blurred your vision, threatening to slip down your cheeks. Your frown turned into a watery smile as your father placed his warm, large hand over you and your mothers, “and I shall be there to protect you and only agree to a match deserving of a jewel such as yourself.” 

You sniffled back the forming tears before smiling warmly, “thank you, Papa.” 

“There is no need for gratitude, dearest. This is a father’s duty; one I aim to fulfill to the highest regard-” Your father’s words were cut short as one of the servants walked into the drawing room.

“Your dresses have arrived, Your Grace, my Lady.”

“Ooh!” Elaine shot up from her seat, clapping in excitement before grabbing your hand and hauling you upstairs to your room, “we must find the perfect gown for tonight’s fete!” 

Your sputtering and half formed protests carried down the hallway as Thomas opened the newspaper that had been sitting untouched in his lap, chuckling indulgently, “ever the child, your mother.” 

Ryder shook his head in amusement, a smile curling his lips.

"Have you read the newest Whistledown? Foreign royalty searching for a suitable bride? I suspect this season will turn out to be exemplary.” 

"I heard that this King's treasury is one to rival the Crown itself."

"I heard he has a son, yet there is no mother that has come forward to claim the child. A most scandalous affair, indeed!"

"I heard that their land is rich in minerals. Some type of iron that is nigh indestructible! I'd wager it'd fetch a high price."

"Daphne Bridgerton locked in a violent competition with the Duke and Duchess of Wintere’s daughter? How delicious."

"I have never heard of this Mandalore, is it near Scotland?"

You were barely able to contain your ire for the gossiping hounds polluting the air of the ballroom. 

Your jaw ticked imperceptibly and you fought the urge to roll your eyes so hard you would be able to see the back of your head.

Their whispers were anything but that as you walked past each intrusive mama and daughter as they revelled in the rumors etched in the latest scandal sheet authored by Lady Whistledown, containing information of a supposed king attending the ball. 

Your eyes scanned the ballroom and made contact with the youngest Featherington- carving a path for her, her rounded figure swathed in a bright, eye-catching yellow gown that suited her complexion and figure little, yellow beads and jewels glittering in the lights overhead.

You caught her eye and her shy demeanor slipped somewhat as she smiled, excited to see a familiar face and you curled your arm through hers and locked them together, “why have I not seen you on the dance floor, Miss Featherington?” You asked and Penelope sighed. 

“I am just admiring the view, Lady Dalton,” you raise one brow at the title and her tiny frown curled into an indulgent smile as she corrected herself and called you by your given name, “you seem to have taken the room by storm when you joined the dance floor, every bachelor here has his eyes on you and Daphne tonight. I would think many of the suitors here are bursting at the seams for your hand- and it is your third season as well.” 

“No doubt to Lady Whistledown’s meddling, I’d wager. I have already entertained enough male suitors tonight. I shall take my leave of them for the time being,” your tone changed to a slight whine which served to incite Penelope’s rich giggles, “have you taken your turn about the room?” 

“I’m afraid I am not as carefully provided for as you, my Lady. Father has decided to forego these events and my mama is not quite so attuned to my aspirations to ensure a well-rounded tour.” 

“Well, then, allow me, Miss Featherington.” You hummed politely, smiling brilliantly at the shy girl who returned the gesture just as brightly and you led the way about the hall. Nodding your head politely to every suitor that greeted you, you curled closer to Penelope, “I see your mother is surveying the hall with Lady Cowper and Lady Edgecomb.” Penelope’s world-weary exhale betrayed her true thoughts and you ran a soothing line along the back of her hand with your thumb, “the determination of rumormongers is indeed boundless, are they not? Perhaps, we shall next be blessed with the sight of them suspended from the rafters with ear trumpets to survey even the most meagre pieces of gossip.” Penelope giggled, covering her mouth with her hand daintily as she did so, bowing her head. 

“Ah,” Anthony Bridgerton exclaimed, his arm encircled with Daphne’s as they stepped in front of you, “Miss Featherington, Lady Dalton.” 

“Penelope,” Daphne spoke your names warmly, her bright smile widening as she curtseyed perfectly.

“Lord Bridgerton, Daphne.” You and Penelope greeted in unison, curtseying elegantly though you felt your arm tense as Penelope teetered on her feet in an attempt to keep her balance. You rose rather quickly to save her any embarrassment, “how fares the hunt, Daphne? Many of the most eligible suitors have presented themselves at this fete, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes, my Lady.” Anthony spoke over his sister, answering for her. “Quite a well-rounded affair. Why, I can count every worthy bachelor on each finger of my left hand.” Daphne stared at her brother, aghast but your tinkling laughter could not be hidden with a well-placed hand over your mouth.

“I could only hope that you could spare a finger for my own brother, my Lord? Is he not worthy of your high praise? I would hate to inform my father of this scandalous news!” You teased slyly, a sparkle of mischief in your eyes as Anthony chuckled.

“Of course, my lady. Ryder Dalton, heir to the title Duke of Wintere is honest and true. A man worthy of the title he will one day inherit.” You bowed your head gracefully at the praise.

“Did you read the latest entry of Lady Whistledown’s scandal sheet?” Daphne asked, head inclined slightly in question and your lip curled in irritation, earlier humor forgotten.

“Unfortunately, dearest Daphne. What does this author hope to accomplish by sowing dissension among peers? It is only going to be harder for us if we are to be locked in this invented rivalry until the season ends. Not to mention that all other 200 fine young women will see us as common adversaries to quarrel for a desirable bachelor.” You shook your head and sighed wistfully.

“Perhaps, Lady Whistledown’s sources were incorrect in their counsel. I have yet to see a comely King from a foreign land in our midst.” Daphne teased and you chuckled, nodding as you looked about the room but gazed over no fanfare nor buzzing enthusiasm.

“Nor a royal guard. What do you think, Penelope?” You hummed and the young woman beside you almost wiggled with excitement to be counted.

“I believe that Lady Whistledown is breeding a development early in the season to incite challenge.” You voiced a wordless agreement and Penelope continued, her fingers still clinging to yours, “Her Majesty is one to be enthralled and I would think that the public invitation to this monarch of Mandalore is an attempt to bring about said excitement.” Penelope’s curls bounced around her rounded face as she spoke and you took her words in with great thought. 

“A compelling view, if I ever heard!” Anthony complimented and Penelope bowed at Anthony’s flattery, “if you ladies will excuse us, we still must take our view of the room.” 

“Ah, we shall keep you no longer! Happy hunting, my Lord. Good luck, Daphne.” You sympathised genuinely and Daphne huffed in agreement as her brother pulled her away. “That was excellent, Penelope. Sharp wit, indeed!” 

Your words were met with sweet giggles from your friend as you continued your turn about the room, dance cards dangling delicately from your gloved wrists in and quizzed Penelope on the memory of her miniatures, impressed with her skill to point out each suitor with ease.

Once Penelope tired of walking, she took her rest by the edge of the dance floor and you bid her luck before striding to the refreshments table in search of a beverage to quench your thirst.

Your eyes remained locked on the small glasses of lemonade, unbothered with taking care in your surroundings- you were shocked to feel someone knock into you rather forcefully. You stumbled, unable to right yourself and you could feel your traitorous feet tangle around each other. 

Time seemed to slow to a complete stop, though your mind ran freely and aware. A frisson of fear crackled down your spine at the premature embarrassment of the predicament you were just about to drop yourself in just as you felt strong hands slip against your back, righting you almost as quickly as your legs betrayed you. 

“Oh, goodness, please do excuse my-” your apology trailed off into stunned silence as you took in the unfamiliar man you could call your savior. This stranger that had his arms around you in a most improper fashion and you know you should untangle yourself from his touch immediately but the heat of his large, ungloved hands bled into the exquisite material of your gown, through your corset and seared directly into the flesh of your arched back.

His clothing was much the same of every suitor attending, nothing unique or flamboyant to stand out amongst the countless other candidates. The slight crinkles in his suit brought an air of indifference- as if he cared little for the state of his dress. What persuaded you to fully take in his form, was his sun kissed, bronze skin that shone deep in the synthetic light of the chandelier accompanied by the ornate lights mounted on the wall; so striking and different from the many men that boasted pale complexions and youth.

You could see the ruggedness in the etchings in his skin, the lines that betrayed his advanced age compared to the others in attendance. The hair atop his head was rich and dark with slight streaks of gray, airy soft curls that adorned his head like a crown, wild and untamed. The same dark hair that graced his head, also carved around his jawline and upper lip, small patches of hair scarce in some places- so unlike the pronounced fashions in high society and you found yourself preferring the unkemptness. His eyes were a harsh change from the softness of his hair, striking and bold. They glittered like dark gems in the gentle lights as he perused your features, intelligent yet curious as he took you in with a cool countenance and thick brows pulled together in an expression of concern.

A prominent nose curved down with a hooked slope, rather large but it suited him and you fought the urge to caress the curved bridge with your fingertip. Pink lips parted, thin but pillowy as the tip of a red tongue slipped between to hydrate the slightly chapped flesh. 

It set him apart from the rest, a beauty you so desperately wished to explore.

Just as you studied this unfamiliar man, he also took your form in. 

His gaze was not leering like many of the bachelors loitering about the room- nor a lecherous grin curved those sinfully soft lips as he drank in your appearance with ease, noting every detail and micro expression with rapid ease and forced himself to cease the ever growing notion to tighten his arms around you, drag you closer to his chest when he felt the way your body curled into his touch, seeking the warmth he provided on a subconscious level. 

Clearing his throat softly, he righted you on your feet and took a step back, bowing at the waist and a soft curl slipped in front of his handsome features, concealing his left eye, “forgive my impropriety, my Lady,” his voice was deep, rasped and foreign and those same lips curled around each word with an elegance none of the men here could hope to match, “my intentions were pure, I assure you. I did not mean-” 

“-t-the apologies are mine, my Lord. I did not see you.” You cut off his apology, your usual confidence abandoning you and curtseyed softly before you both straightened in tandem, “please accept my most sincere apologies.” 

“Only if you accept mine, my Lady, as I was the one to knock you.” This man raised his eyes to meet yours, a small smile playing on his lips at your stunned expression. 

Realising how unladylike you seemed, you quickly smoothed your expression into a serene smile and bowed your head gently, “well then, I accept your apology, my Lord.” 

“And now, I shall receive yours.” He bowed once again, though his eyes never once strayed from yours, his hand coming to brush back the curl that slipped in front of his face, freeing his eye from the obstacle. “Quite an affair, is it not?”

You turned to look upon the room and the dozens of bodies packed in the lavish ball and the bodies moving in rhythmic synchronisation as they flounced around the dancefloor, skirts billowing and waistcoats whipping. “Yes, my Lord. It is certainly a promising fete.” You ripped your gaze from the dancers and you looked back to the mysterious suitor that you know for a fact his profile has never graced your miniatures. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure, my Lord.” You introduced yourself and he bowed his head in a nod to your status. 

“Din Djarin, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lady.”

You did not miss the way he left out his title, not many men did. It was refreshing to meet someone unbothered by status and titles. You smiled brilliantly and for a moment, he had trouble remembering how to breathe. 

How did people do this?

“What brings you to London, Lord Djarin? I do not believe I have seen you here.” You certainly couldn’t recall seeing those mesmerizing, yet prominent features etched in your miniatures.

“I’m in town for business, mostly- but I thought I would attempt to join the fray of finding a beautiful woman to make my bride.” Din’s eyes found yours when his lips curved out the word ‘beautiful’. You could feel your cheeks heat and quickly brought the tiny glass to your lips and took a long draught- almost emptying the glass entirely. It was unseemly on your part but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, you needed to soothe your drying throat and tame the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“And what better place to be than a cotillion for ambitious debutants who are searching for the perfect match?” Betraying your inner emotions, you struck up kind conversation, performing an air of confidence and strengthened your resolve. A wide smile stretched his lips, revealing perfect, straight teeth and the act of a simple smile brightened his features. Your heart slammed against your ribcage in response, your steely courage cracking in half with little to no effort.

He took a sip of his own lemonade just as a pair of gossiping mama’s walked past you both, talking loud enough for you to overhear their conversation with minimal exertion- if any, “and where, pray tell, is this so-called king?"

"Perhaps, Whistledown's sources were wrong. You can never trust a scandal sheet these days, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be a charlatan." 

You swallowed the sigh you desperately craved to release and inwardly shook yourself free from the coils of irritation that started to constrict around you before turning your attention back to the mysterious lord, only to notice his eyes were following the rumormongers and you helped yourself to a portioned sip of lemonade in an endeavor to quell the heat burning within you. A certain dark fire heated his gaze, stoking a reaction in you. Something deep and primal you had never experienced before and you suppressed a shudder at the ferocity clearly displayed in those deep, dark eyes.

“What are your thoughts on this foreign monarch, my Lord?” You barely managed to choke out, Din’s eyes snapped back to you as your question hung in the air and you swallowed subtly as his piercing gaze burned through yours.

“My thoughts?” He rasped, shifting on his feet in a show of subtle anxiousness. His earlier fire dissipating and awkward trepidation took the forefront.

“What do you make of the rumors surrounding the arrival of a ruler of a distant land coming to London to participate in the season?” You tilted your head in innocent curiosity, “surely, you have heard of this mysterious King hailing from his distant realm?”

“Rumor articles and gossip do not interest me, but yes, I am familiar with the topic you wish to discuss.” His smile twisted his lips into a forced stretch- barely passing for genuine and you weren’t sure as to why he seemed so uncomfortable when just moments earlier he was quite at ease conversing with you.

“And what do you make of his scarcity when his arrival was rumored to be a most certain guarantee? I should think the King would be thankful for not attending. Overbearing mothers and their equally simpering daughters have proven to be nuisances at the best of times.”

“Is that so?” Din looked at you, surprise colouring his pleasing features at your unfiltered response, “are you not disappointed that you may not meet this ruler and further your prospects on the mart?” His hand gestured subtly at his side, the barely touched lemonade sloshing dangerously close to the rim, “it would be a high honour to catch the eye of a king, now would it not?”

You chuckled, ducking your head for a moment, reflecting on your answer before opening your lips, “as silly as it may sound, I wish to marry for love.” You raised your hand, noncommittal waving it about, “I realise it will never happen, you do not endure two seasons with silly notions of love intact. I must maintain a status beholden of my title and secure a proper, advantageous match. But I can operate under the illusion of hope, can I not?” Din’s eyes cast down in thought, your words were soft, spoken quietly as if you were afraid another may overhear- whether by accident or on purpose, he could not say.

But the sincerity in your eyes could not be overlooked, the innocent yearning for a future that could very well be out of your reach sparkled against the hues of your irises. 

“Perhaps your aspirations will be met, my Lady.” Din smiled kindly and you hummed in thought, but your brilliant smile was dim. Working up his courage, he set the small glass of his barely touched lemonade on the refreshment table and vaguely gestured to the dancefloor, anxiousness twisting his features almost comically, “w-would you care to dance?”

His hand was large, rough with thick fingers. They were working hands, familiar with hard labour and you shivered imperceptibly at the thought of those hands running down the expanse of your naked flesh. 

You took a few steps forward, maintaining a respectable distance for propriety’s sake. With a smooth movement, you gently leant around him- his eyes never left yours as you placed your glass on the refreshment table beside his.

A gentle scent curled into your nose, blessing your senses with the subtle hints of sweet spices, oak and . . . a touch of gunpowder.

A heady, peculiar scent and it suited its wearer perfectly.

You slid your gloved hand into his, fingers slipping against his palm. The gossamer material caught on the rough skin of his palm and his lips upturned into a grin. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Djarin.” He grinned and you helped him by pointing to the card around your wrist and he made a soft ‘oh’ sound before taking hold of it and let go of your hand to grip the tiny pencil- thick fingers swallowing the dainty stationary and you smiled as he filled the Canon Galop Quadrille with his name in sharp, messy strokes.

“Shall we?” He let the card and pencil drop as his fingers snaked up your wrist slowly, feeling every dip and hollow before clasping your hand gently and leading you to the dance floor. “I must confess, I’m not accustomed to dancing all that much. I pray you forgive me if I fumble.”

You chuckled softly as you joined the other couples on the dancefloor and took your places. You smiled at Din who shuffled in place subtly, waves of anxiety pouring out of him, “I will not judge you, Lord Djarin. You have my most sincere promise and if you have any issues with the steps, I shall guide you. Do not worry.” He looked at you, your soothing tone calming the raging storm of distress inside him and he reciprocated with a smile of his own. 

The music began to play as you curtseyed to the other couples and took your place in front of Din, your hand slipping into his and a strong muscular arm wrapped around your back, large hand splayed across the expanse of your skin and you suppressed another shudder at the addicting heat he emitted. With a gentle nod, the tempo in the set increased and you began to skip about the room with practiced ease.

You gently tilted in a different direction, silently alluding to the next movement and he carried you effortlessly through the throngs of couples, winding around the dancefloor perfectly.

Giggles erupted from your throat, this particular dance always brought out the child within you and Din smiled at the sound, finding that he wished to hear it more often. “I dare say, my Lord, that you move quite well for not being accustomed to this particular dance.”

“I’m rather accustomed to a life outdoors, perhaps it has aided me well.” Din murmured, tightening his hold against your back.

You twisted and twirled around the dancefloor, weaving around bodies and as you separated to complete the next act of the dance, your eyes never left his and the mysterious man seemed more than content to hold your gaze and then you were back in each other’s arms.

“Perhaps, we could discuss the matter of dancing etiquette further, at a more. . private venue?” You asked quietly, alluding for him to call on your home. 

Before he could open his mouth to reply, a loud thump hit the ground and the music paused abruptly and you both stopped, all the guests' gazes swivelled to the ballroom doors as they were thrust open violently.

Gasps and shrieks rippled across the room as two armoured warriors marched forward, spears in hand and their features concealed by unusual helmets, stark colours streaked across the material in a wash of deep reds, browns, yellows and teals along with similarly handprints. A dark- completely opaque visor stretched across their helmets before spanning down, splintering the armour in half.

The curve of their coloured breastplates indicated their feminine physiques, pieces of vibrant painted plates clung to the thick, almost tribal clothing they wore beneath- sharp hues of red and brown adorned their bodies, hems tied tight with pieces of dark leather around their wrists and calves. Fur lined the capes around their shoulders as the thick material flowed to their booted feet, the leather scuffed and worn- creased from years of dedication and physical labor. 

Yet your eyes remained trained on the pure silver spears they held at the sides, pointed ends lifted straight in the air as they slammed the butts of the weapons down against the polished floors in tandem. 

A loud metallic ringing filled the ballroom and harsh bootfalls began to echo. 

Din stiffened in your arms before gently extricating you from his hold, the both of you turning to face the open entrance.

You swallowed harshly as a hulking figure took the space of the doorway, silver armour gleamed in the lights above, clearly displaying the pure gold accents weaved through the chest plate and accompanying pieces- dark clothes thick and concealing any form of skin to be shown, brown gloves worn, flaxen tips stark against the deep colours.

Just like his guards, he was not unarmed. But unlike carrying a spear of his own- you did not miss the pure obsidian claymore sheathed around his back. The hilt was brilliant against the darkness of the blade- made up of what seemed to be the same material that adorned his body. 

His helmet was simple- unlike the tribal colourings of his people, his was silver- notes of gold bled through the seams of the visor, framing it with its simplistic beauty and fur lined his shoulders, gold chain clinking against the silver metal and the crimson cape billowed behind him as he continued with his heavy gait. 

“Is it him? Surely not!”

“I expected a fanfare- yet this is not what I had imagined.”

“Do they dress like this in Mandalore? Will I have to?!”

“Look at them, so primal!”

“Why do they carry weapons? So uncivilised.” 

Whispers filled the hall as the foreign stranger stopped, his helmet scanning the room.

“The twenty-fourth monarch of our sovereign land,” The guards called, demanding silence from all in attendance, “The First of Clan Mudhorn and sole ruler of Manda’yaim. We present our king, the Manda’lor.” Their fists beat against their breastplates as they turned and faced their leader and bent their knee to the floor, heads bowed in respect. “This is the Way.”

The dark visor continued to survey the hall until it stopped-

-directly onto you.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes caught your reflection staring back at you from across the room, you could no longer feel Din’s presence beside you. A quiet, rasping voice rang true from beneath the ornate silver helm, so familiar and yet completely unplaceable.

“This is the Way.”

[yinses]

college au! headcanons

gojo satoru, geto suguru & nanami kento

rqst: college au for nanami, geto and gojo?

a/n: so i divided it into three categories to help keep my head straight. honestly almost straight kicked gojo out of college bc i couldn’t decide on a major for him. the jjk discord server is heaven sent for my sanity. ty everyone again 🌺

last time i should have to post these. hoping everything is fine now. 

gojo satoru

MAJOR

—he starts off undecided for a long time. the fact that he’s on scholarship allows him to be more flexible with his classes given that he’s not responsible for costs. he grew up with expectations from his family but university is suppose to be his opportunity to spread his own wings and grow from his experiences.

—so he tries a bit of everything- sciences, music and social studies- anything to prompt a spark. (took a business class once and made a point to sit next to nanami everyday just to annoy him) by his second year he’s getting as frustrated as his counselor because if he doesn’t decide soon he’ll be a potential 5th year senior.

—he’s overthinking it but gojo wants to invest in what he believes will make the most significant impact to his ability. his counselor takes those crumbs and runs with it.

—he gets steered towards political science and actually excels at it (that advisor gets a raise). surprises most of the class with his analytical skills because they thought he was just a pretty boy- surprise he’s beautiful and smart.

—develops a vested interest in governmental policies. might run for president one day idk. brings donuts to his early am class. doesn’t share.

SOCIAL

—he’s not the jock per say, but as the star athlete of the basketball team, the school likes to take advantage of his image to draw in sponsors.

—his face is plastered all over the auditorium whether they’re in season or not. sometimes it’s not even to promote basketball, gojo is pretty and they’re not afraid to use it. which also makes him one of the most recognizable faces on campus.

—due to his student athlete contract, he’s not allowed to sign autographs freely in the event they’re attempted to be sold as quick cash. but yikes, he can barely walk to class without someone stopping him for a picture. to the best of his ability he tries to laugh it off, poster boy image and all, but it gets pretty fucking old and annoying quickly. especially when it makes him late for his next lesson and the instructor shows no sympathy.

—his height didn’t only help him get into basketball, but its also convenient when it comes to shouldering politely through the student masses. his golden rule is don’t make eye contact. the busier the crowds the easier it is for him to pretend like he could’t possibly have heard them.

—gojo doesnt scout fraternities, fraternities scout him. but he’s not interested in the slightest. as an athlete he already gets into any social circle he wants without the additional effort. that and he doesnt think he could tolerate an alpha male trying to exert his dominance without barking back.

—loves to show up to parties but always arrives late enough to the point where they don’t think he’s coming. it helps him slip in when he wants too. he’s a connoisseur of all alcohol varieties and a master of beer bong. he’s not necessarily the life of the party but his presence is kind of hard to miss.

RELATIONSHIPS

—he gets too much attention to date casually. most potential suitors are in it more for the benefits they receive than him anyway. he’s got enough on his plate with career indecisiveness and games to try to pursue anything serious before third year.

—he’s not completely celibate though. he tries to keep the same partners as long as he can. not only to keep himself clean and safe but because he often goes into an agreement to keep it casual. sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. either way he gets coined as a ‘heartbreaker’ before the end of his freshman year. frankly the rumors obscure most of the truth and give him more freedom. people always expect that he’s with someone even when he’s not, which helps keep his invasive teammates off his back.

—gojo can easily graduate without securing something tangible but there is still a window for potential.

—you’re both his consistent classmate and occasional friends with benefits. its the former title that keeps bringing him back around. he cant exactly avoid you without subjecting himself to 8am classes. it helps that the sex is good too.

—he can text you an offer to study together for the next test and roll over after an hour and wreck you for the rest of the week. its hard to tell who gets addicted first but he does appreciate the way your skin looks when youre wearing his marks.

geto suguru

MAJOR

—he’s a STEM kid, particularly interested in bio-genetics to improve overall health. he believes that simply becoming a physician just keeps the issue at bay and his goal is to eradicate the problem at its source.

—since high school he’s been cataloging different programs across the country before deciding what he wanted and putting all his efforts into it. so it’s no surprise when he gets in.

—geto doesn’t need counselors but they’re required so he listens to them prattle on about using university as an opportunity to explore. this man came in with more college credits than most sophomores, he knows what he wants.

—always on-time to class and never misses an assignment. also that kid who goes above and beyond, even on the simple stuff. he rarely gets teased about it, not even behind his back. geto straight up scares some people even when he’s smiling.

—not afraid to correct teachers when they’re wrong. in fact he lives for it.

—he’s the one who graduated early and starts his master’s program before most of his age group declare their own majors.

SOCIAL

—he tends to frequent the same circles- handpicking his acquaintances out of class rosters, clubs and honor lists. he’s less in it for the friendship and more so to scout for potential research partners.

—met gojo in one of his science electives and literally carried him through the class. they somehow end up friends but only really hang out at each other’s places- bunch of chill movie nights and pizza.

—there is no interest in fraternities, but he does join university funded clubs that allow him to further his research. they give him unique access to labs, take him on trips to different conventions and have an alumni list a kilometer long for future collaborations.

—the man does not party but he will occasionally slip into quieter bars to ease some of his frustrations. he actually enjoys karaoke thursdays , not to sing for himself but the drunken antics of others bring him some amusement.

—smokes weed occasionally, but only his own product. it helps him relaxand fan out the stress. he never sells it but sometimes gojo nicks some of his stash. given that he gets drug tested often, geto doesn’t know how the athlete never gets caught.

RELATIONSHIPS

—not interested in seeking out relationships in the slightest. the man has a plan and he’s already married to it.

—he’s not completely immune to sexual advances though and occasionally splurges but none of the friends with benefits crap. he’ll hit it once and stay celibate for the rest of the year easily.

—you might be able to squeeze in as his fellow lab partner. remain invested in the work and not him and he’ll start noticing the little details of your company- the way you subtle perfume lingers on his lab coat hours after you’ve adorned for the day, how he knows you have to keep your hair up for safety precautions but he thinks about running his fingers through it daily and your mind, damn, he wonders what else you can come up with when he has you laid out on his sheets.

—if he’s interested, geto won’t hesitate to broach the topic. he’ll ask you out for coffee and when you try to bring up research he’ll be upfront about his attraction. ultimately if you start dating the two of you are an absolute unit- not that you weren’t before.

—you’re the one variable he didn’t plan for but he’s glad to have added you to the equation.

nanami kento

MAJOR

—he was made for the business world, brought by a CEO who raised him to inherit the company. administration major marketing minor.

—takes initiative in all his classes and is often coined as group leader for projects. mostly keeps to himself  and only speaks up when prompted or disagrees with something.

—he takes the earliest sessions possible because it means less people more often than not. doesn’t really care if its in the front, middle or back but always sits near the edge.

—doesn’t really want to but it looks good on his resume so he joins the marketing team where they present mock business plans for competitions. they win a lot. nanami honestly doesn’t care. but again it looks good.

—it only took him a brief summer internship to learn that he found nothing satisfying about board meetings and macro management.

—he decides to invest in law school to handle the company from a legal standpoint instead.

SOCIAL

— sort of like geto, only wants to make friends on a need be basis.

—he would rather keep to himself but knows the benefits of socializing so he interacts with his frequent classmates when he can- through study groups or car pooling to seminars.

—he does join a fraternity, its the same one his father did (and uncles, cousins, whatnot. its a generational thing). its geared towards bettering future leaders. they focus building resumes, charity events and run the organization like a proper business. nanami gets elected president by his third year and runs two terms.

—the only parties he attends are networking events- full of wine and fancy horderves. wine is plentiful but he’s always nursing a scotch on top of his headache. if one more person squeezes their stocks into a conversation he’s going to personally take down the whole market

—zero interest in college party life. spends some of his downtime at the campus theater watching old time movies and classic plays.

—he’s the coffee shop hoe. he wakes up early sometimes just to sit by the window and read some casual literature. has his own thermo that gives him free refills to cart to class. do not talk to this man before he’s had his caffeine.

RELATIONSHIP

—he probably has a high school sweetheart that he’s still clinging too, whether on the same campus or long distance. it helps him because he can’t really see himself pursuing a relationship while focusing on school.

—he’s been with you long enough that you understand his ambitions and won’t feel bested by them. the two of you have a system- starting the day off with sweet ‘good morning’ texts before class and ending the day with long conversations as you digest the last 12 hours.

—nanami is independent but he is thankful to have you to rely on when classes start to overwhelm him. the two of try to escape briefly for the weekend when you can. often going to near by reservations just to get off campus

—other times the two of you will cuddle close on your dorm bed, his long fingers combing through your hair while he reads over some notes for class.

—sometimes you have to be the one to tell him to take a break and to enjoy life while he can. even if that means dragging him the events and concerts hosted on campus. he resists at first but you can see the tension ebbing away as the night comes to a close.

—the two of you start living together in your senior year just because you can. he insists on buying a house. not only because he can afford it because it can be rented out after graduation. always the business man.

[dottielovegood]

ASMR

Elriel Fanfic. Read here on AO3

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

I was thinking about Elain's gift to Azriel for Solstice and how she would help him sleep if they were just regular people in our modern-day world. And thus, this chapter was born. I haven't really decided if this will just be a one shot or if I will continue with a few more chapters. Please tell me if you want more.

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

Azriel couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t a new occurrence. Sleep rarely found him, and when it did, it was tainted by nightmares. Ever since his childhood, sleep had been a battle. Other people talked about how much they loved sleeping, and how they might spend an entire weekend in bed, just sleeping. Azriel always nodded when he heard people say such things, but he never understood them. If he could, Azriel would skip sleep altogether. If he could, he would just keep going without rest.

But to his dismay, his body did not agree. It needed sleep. His traitorous body needed the thing he hated the most. This had led to Azriel trying anything and everything to fall asleep. He had tried working out for hours before bed. He had tried tea that was supposed to make you sleepy. He had tried calming music and meditation. Nothing had worked. He still woke up after an hour, covered in sweat. When he had become really desperate, he had tried medication (which made him feel like a zombie the next day) and weed (he hated it. It made him feel sick.)

He had almost given up at this point. He was in his late twenties and had come to accept his fate as an insomniac with horrid nightmares.

But maybe his fate would change tonight?

It was in the middle of the night and Azriel was browsing Youtube, as he so often did. He had started with an interview of one of his favorite musicians, and then he had clicked on a recommended video, and all of a sudden he was down the rabbit hole. He was just about to give up when he found himself watching a video about how to grow a micro garden (he had no interest in micro gardens, so he had no idea how he ended up there). He was just about to click off when a thumbnail of a different video caught his eye.

The small picture showed him a young woman in a lilac top. Her hair was the color of dark honey and she had some small freckles across her nose. But it was her eyes that drew him in. They were a light brown color, and he would probably describe them as doe-eyes. Big and beautiful and innocent. And kind. She looked so kind.

He clicked the video without reading the title. He needed to see more of this girl.

The video started with her sitting very close to the camera. There was a microphone in front of her and she leaned in close and whispered “Hello my lovelies, lovelies, lovelies. Welcome back to my channel.” The girl paused and moved her hands in front of the camera. “Tonight’s video will be personal attention and hand movements.” Her voice was soft, almost angelic.

He didn’t know what he expected to see when he clicked the video, but it wasn’t this. Azriel had no idea what he was watching, but he couldn’t stop.

The girl on the video picked up a hairbrush and started tapping the back of it with her nails. “I am going to brush your hair,” she whispered into the microphone, and Azriel could feel himself relax as she started to move the brush in front of the camera. She had added a background sound that actually made it sound as if she was brushing someone’s hair. “Does that feel good?” she asked into the microphone. Her eyes never left the camera and it felt as if she was staring into Azriel’s soul. She continued the brushing while whispering affirmations into the microphone. Azriel felt a tingling sensation that started in his neck and traveled down his back. He had no idea what this girl was doing to him, but he wanted more. He glanced at the channel name: Flower Girl ASMR.

He made a mental note to google what ASMR was when the video was finished.

He did feel a bit weird watching this though. He was just watching this girl whisper sweet things into her microphone, and it felt as if she was whispering them into his ears. She had finished the brushing and was now giving him a face massage. He knew that it was weird. He knew that his friends would laugh their asses off if they found out that he had been watching this video. Luckily, they would never find out.

Flower Girl ASMR moved her hands slowly in front of the camera in small circular motions. She smiled gently at the camera and he could feel himself smile back. He actually smiled at his phone. God, what was this video? Witchcraft?

“If you like my content, you can subscribe to my Patreon,” she whispered halfway through the video. “For only five, five, five dollars a month, you get access to hundreds of videos, and I post five new videos every week that are exclusive to my patreons.”

Never in his life had Azriel wanted to subscribe to someone’s Patreon, but he could make an exception for this girl.

While having her soft voice in his ears, he decided to scroll the comments.

Most of the comments were nice enough, telling her that she made them feel relaxed and helped them sleep. Was that what she did? Did she help people sleep?

Azriel didn’t really believe that anyone could help him at this point, but he had to admit that he did feel relaxed.

He continued scrolling, and almost wished he hadn’t. Among all of the sweet comments, there were some assholes that made his blood boil.

HybernCoolKid 4 days ago Pretty girl, but you could show more boobs. N00ds on patreon? OF?

Amarantha_utm 7 days ago Boring af

LucienV   6 days ago Just subscribed to your patreon! I love watching you every night when I fall asleep. I always wish that I will dream about you <3 ily

LucienV 5 days ago You are so pretty. Can you please make a video with kissing sounds?

MortalGraysen 4 days ago People only subscribe to you bc you’re pretty. I mean ngl I only watch your videos to look at that pretty face while I jerk off.

Azriel curled his hands into fists to keep himself from replying to every single weird comment on this video. Didn’t she moderate her comments? She could easily block words from appearing in her comment section. Why didn’t she?

The internet was full of creeps, which he was well aware of since he worked in IT. He had moderated many comment sections in his life, and people never ceased to surprise and disgust him. But he couldn’t understand why people would comment such things on this lovely girl’s video. She was obviously just trying to help people.

He shook his head in disbelief and clicked away from the comments.

The video soon ended, and another one started automatically.

In this video, the pretty girl was sitting in front of a wall covered in flowers. The microphone was still in front of her and she was using a make-up brush on the microphone. It made a swooshing sound, and Azriel could feel that tingling sensation again. He put his phone on his chest and relaxed on his bed. The swooshing sound of the brush combined with her sweet whispers made his entire body feel good. He thought to himself that he should subscribe to her channel, but before he knew it, he was drifting off.

Slowly, he fell asleep and no nightmares plagued him that night.

Azriel jolted awake to the sound of his alarm. Sleepily, he found himself cradling his phone. His air pods had fallen out of his ears during the night and he found one under his pillow and the other one on the floor.

He was sleepy, but also...rested?

He couldn’t even remember what it felt like to sleep for hours without waking up to nightmares and anxiety. Was this what normal people felt like every day? No wonder they loved sleeping so much.

Azriel picked up his phone and walked out to his kitchen to make some breakfast. While he waited for the coffee machine to brew his coffee, he leaned against the counter and clicked the YouTube icon on his phone. He searched for “Flower Girl ASMR”. Video after video with her beautiful face appeared on his screen. He clicked on one of the videos he had watched last night and decided to leave a comment. He usually never left comments on videos, but there was just something about her…

Shadowsinger 3 minutes ago I have no idea what ASMR means, but this video put me to sleep last night. I can’t remember the last time I had hours of uninterrupted sleep. Thank you!

He then clicked the link to her Patreon and subscribed to her there. It will be the best five dollars a month ever spent , he thought to himself as he poured coffee into his favorite cup.

Today was going to be a good day, all thanks to Flower Girl ASMR.

[alittlebitmaybe]

comme un écho

AKA whoops i talked to @yoursummerfrost about orpheus and eurydice and then tripped and fell on this very weird ficlet that is only sort of what i meant it to be. uh oh. (title lifted from “it’s never over (oh orpheus)” by arcade fire because i’m incredibly literal sometimes)

warnings: off-screen major character death

*

The mage had told him to perform the ritual in a field of wildflowers.

“Plenty of life,” she said.

Jaskier had asked, “For what?”

“To feed it,” she said, and did not elaborate.

And as he follows her instructions, surrounded by blooming weeds and swaying grasses, he sees that she was right. As the herbs and other unmentionables in the bowl burn, scorching the wooden sides, the green around him darkens to black. He feels the magic tugging at his energy and resists it. The ruin spreads from his epicenter, cursing the very dirt on which he kneels. A slow but inexorable exchange, and Jaskier thinks it fair. Geralt had watered the earth with his blood and now the earth must give back.

“You’re out of your depth, bard,” the mage had said as he turned to leave, her lips pursed. Was she amused or disapproving? Jaskier didn’t care, nor, he suspected, did she. Her pockets were full, and his own empty.

He hefted the lute higher on his back, clutched at the strap across his chest.

“And yet,” he said.

“He will not come easily,” she said.

“He never did,” Jaskier replied.

The flame in the bowl burns out with a flare of noxious smoke that stings Jaskier’s eyes, makes him cough. The world hums. It’s a tune of his own, as of yet unsung, plucked from his consciousness. It reaches out to him and burrows under his skin. Pulling. He follows it.

Between two gnarled, ancient trees, in the arch of their overlapping branches (Which belongs to which? Where does one stop and the other begin? If one was broken, would the other suffer for it?) the air shimmers.

The tune fades and in its place is a whisper saying, Come.

*

The stairs spiral downward for hours, days. Jaskier’s legs do not ache and he does not hunger, but it is ever so quiet. He takes the lute from his back and plays every song he’s ever composed in Geralt’s honor. Maybe Geralt can hear them. Maybe he will know Jaskier is on his way.

“Get ready, Witcher,” Jaskier says to the darkness. “Gather your underworldly things. You won’t be coming back any time soon. I can promise you that.”

And he says, “I’m sorry that you were alone. I’m sorry that I was too late.”

And he says, when the darkness presses upon him, when it seems the stairs will never end, “I don’t know when I began to love you, but it has been long enough that I don’t know how not to.”

And he says, “I’ve done this for you. You deserve to have a better life. You deserve to live.”

And he takes one more step and trips, for there is no stair where he expected there to be one. He taps the toe of his boot against the ground. It’s solid. He lifts his hand in front of his own face and it is invisible. There is no breeze, no sound, no smells, no light. There’s nothing down here.

In the face of such vastness, Jaskier is insignificant. He is nothing. You are nothing. You are less than a flea clinging to the fur of a great beast. You will be mine. You will become a part of me. You will cease. You will be forgotten.

“Hold on now,” Jaskier says, head whipping around. “Who’s there?”

I am everything that has been. I await everything that is. I anticipate what will be. I am.

“You’re Death,” Jaskier realizes, perhaps belatedly.

There is no such thing. I have no name. I have no need of it.

“That’s okay,” Jaskier says. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who or what you are.” His heart thumps arrhythmically, and sweat drips from his brow. He swipes it off on his sleeve. He is far under water. His lungs fill. He ignores it, swallows. Throws back his shoulders. “I’m here for Geralt of Rivia.”

There is no Geralt of Rivia.

“Bullshit.”

You are insolent.

“I’ve been told.”

You will be mine.

“Perhaps.” Jaskier licks his lips, an unbreakable habit. “But I will live on.”

You will not.

He laughs a little, despite himself, a nervous little giggle that he stifles as quickly as he can, clearing his throat. “On the contrary, I am an artist. I shan’t die as long as my art lives. And art does not die.”

Art? Art is not living. I have no use of it.

“Exactly,” he says. “Yes, precisely. It does not live or die. It simply is. Whatever you—whatever you are, being of, ah, all-ness…or what have you—whatever you are, whatever comprises you, you have none of art. You have no music, no stories, none at all. You will always lack it.”

There is a thoughtful pause.

I desire it.

“I can give it to you. Did you hear? I played my whole way down.”

I heard.

“Did you enjoy it? Three words or less.”

It was pleasing.

Jaskier exhales. “That’s actually a decent review, as these things go. I’m glad. I mean, would you like more? I could write you a song. Got a decent hand at improv, me. Won’t take a moment.”

A song. For me?

“Yes,” Jaskier promises, feeling the weight of it as it passes over his tongue, “a song, only for you. I shall never play it again. Well, um, on one condition.”

You want Geralt of Rivia.

“Oh, you were paying attention. Smart one, you are, Your…um, Majesty.”

I can retrieve him. If I am careful. He is me. I am him.

“Truly, I understand. His loss, for me, was…” Jaskier struggles for adequate words. “Irreconcilable. But you will always have the memory of your song to take his place.”

You sang of him.

“I do. Rather habitually. Every day of my life, in fact.”

Hmm.

“You sound like him already. So, whaddaya say?”

Play for me.

*

He plays, and every note that vibrates out from his lute, every note that leaves his mouth disappears from his mind. It is absorbed from him upon conception. He doesn’t know what the last measure was, nor what the next will be. He does not know what key or time signature his song is in, but he knows it’s a song. And that is all he promised.

It ends, and Jaskier does not notice. Possibly his jaw hangs open stupidly for minutes after it is over. He closes it.

“Was, um, was that…”

Yes. I will give you your reward.

“You will?” Jaskier asks, surprised despite himself.

I will release Geralt of Rivia, for you have given me something in return. And I will regain him, as I will gain you. We will meet again, bard.

“I—How do—”

You will walk forward. You will ascend, and he will follow. Until he emerges above, he is still a part of me. You may not look upon him, as you may not look upon me. You must not look back.

“How will I know he is there?”

He will follow.

“How will I know it is him?”

You must have faith.

“How—” Jaskier chokes now, tears welling up. He is glad no one can see. “Will he be—himself?”

Entirely. Once he emerges.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers.

It is time. Walk forward. In three paces, you shall begin to ascend. Be well, bard.

*

Jaskier climbs. The stairs remember his tread, the shape of his feet. It’s easy.

There are footsteps behind him. Are they Geralt’s? Do they match the way he shifts his weight, the deliberate heel-toe steps that Jaskier has been hearing for decades? He’s not sure.

Jaskier is afraid. More afraid than ever before. There could be anything back there. Anything at all. He must not look.

But he is not forbidden to talk.

“Geralt?” he says, tentatively. “Geralt, is that you?”

A grunt. “It’s me, Jaskier.”

And it is, thank the gods, it is. “Sounds like you,” he says, voice carefully measured, lest he sob in relief.

Silence. Four, five more stairs. They will not end. When will they end?

“How’ve you been, Witcher? It’s good to hear you again, my friend.”

“Where are we?”

“Well, who’s to say,” Jaskier says lightly. “Tell me, what do you last remember?”

“Bleeding out in a forest. I couldn’t get up. I waited to die. I…died. I died, didn’t I, Jaskier?”

Jaskier chooses to take that as rhetorical, and does not answer.

“Anything else?”

“Not until now. Is this a dream?”

“To my knowledge, no, Geralt, it is not. I pray that this is not a dream.”

“Then where—?”

Jaskier picks up his foot, sets it down. One stair at a time. There have been hundreds, there will be more. Is that light above? No, a trick of his eyes. He is still blind.

“Not to worry. We’ll soon be outside. It’s a beautiful day, you know. Big blue sky. Everything in bloom. Your favorite time of the year. We’ll have to do some foraging, stock up for potions. I have your things, of course, but I don’t know the shelf life of your concoctions.”

“A quarter year.”

“Ah, might have to make fresh, then.”

But no, it is growing brighter. Jaskier can see the faint silhouettes of his hands, the edges of the stairs to come. If he were to turn back he might be able to see the gleam of Geralt’s eyes, but he mustn’t.

Why mustn’t he? Oh, yes, the warning. He—can’t look back. He must not—

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again. “I’m dead.”

“You are, Geralt, yes, is that what you would like to hear?” Jaskier says, a little hysterically. “But you won’t be for much longer, if we just keep going.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Where? Where?” His pitch climbs with the staircase. Around and around. Dizzying. So many circles. “Above, Geralt. Back home, of course.”

“Why?”

Jaskier has to stop himself from whirling around. “Good gods, you ask me why? I follow you for decades, I immortalize you in song, and the witcher asks me why.” He draws in a great lungful of air, releases it. “I love you, you great idiot. I have loved you.”

The response comes, so softly, a mere rumble, “I know. That’s why I asked.”

The stairs are made of warped stone. He can see that now. They are well worn, dipping in the centers. It can’t be far. “Please, Geralt, we’re almost there.”

“You haven’t answered me. Why you would do this.”

“I was supposed to let you rot, huh? I was meant to live on as if it was fine? As if nothing was missing?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted to come back.”

“Of course you did. Of course you do.”

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

Jaskier stops, and behind him the second set of footsteps also halts.

“It was peaceful. It was my time.”

“It wasn’t,” Jaskier whispers. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

There is a touch to the small of his back, a gust of air across the nape of his neck. So familiar. He aches.

“Jaskier.” A strong hand closes around his wrist. He doesn’t look down at it, not even a glance. “The world doesn’t need me anymore.”

“What about the monsters? The wars?”

“There is Yennefer, and Ciri, and Eskel and the rest. There will always be someone.”

With dread creeping through his limbs, Jaskier says, “You’re telling me you don’t want to come back. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He can almost hear the creaking of the intertwined, ancient trees above. It is just a few more steps.

“You can’t tell me that, not when I—”

Arms come around him, and he shuts his eyes. “Jaskier, I would rather have done what I have done and no more, than continue on and overstay my welcome. I would rather have my peace.”

“What if I need you?” Jaskier breathes.

“I am with you.”

“You weren’t.”

Geralt’s hand comes to rest over his heart. It is not cold nor hot through Jaskier’s doublet. It simply isn’t much of anything at all. There, but insubstantial. It trails its way up his jaw, traces over his bottom lip. “You forget,” Geralt says, “that I am in your words. That I will live on. Isn’t that what you said? Art does not die.”

“You heard.”

“I must have.”

“That’s not fair.” Jaskier sniffles, knowing full well he sounds like a child. “I came all this way. I have always followed you. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Whatever you wish.”

“I will sing of you until I can’t any longer, to anyone who will listen, and to many who will not.”

A smile, pressed to his ear. “I can think of no better way to be loved.”

Something nags at Jaskier, and he can’t say what. He is surrounded by a body he knows as well as his own, yet it’s not right. Why?

The body releases him. It says, “Look at me, Jaskier. That’s all you have to do.”

“You’re not Geralt, are you,” he says with trepidation, eyes still squeezed tight. “Are you? Don’t lie.”

“Jaskier.”

He breathes in. Opens his eyes. Grips the lute strap in both hands. Turns.

Silvered hair, sad golden eyes, a sharp nose, wispy around the edges.

“Geralt,” he whispers, reaching out even as the form dissipates. Called back to the bottom of the stairwell.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” it says, and then it is gone.

[tundrainafrica]

a song recommedation: for me the biggest levihan song is Skulls by Bastille. i don't know if you've ever heard it (or maybe it's a basic song for every levihan fan out there and everyone collectively knows about it)...it sounds like they're having a conversation the entire time. especially these lines: "when all of our friends are dead and just a memory, we're side by side, it's always been just you and me" "i don't want to rest in peace, i'd rather be a ghost that annoys you"

Title: Milestones

Summary: 

“And just like with every loss he had ever felt, Levi would count down the hours, the days, the months and the seasons following the death, labelling them each as a milestone to trudge past. In that aspect, Hange’s death was no different.”

Levi has this habit of counting milestones following the loss of a close comrade.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Notes:  Thank you for the song rec anon! I made it a little homework for myself to listen to this song today while I did some grocery shopping and this really screamed Levihan, so loud I got a little inspired and I came up with this small ficlet.

The grieving process had always been respected.  

Soldiers could easily request time off to mourn the death of comrades and loved ones. In the survey corps, one or two days after a mission were usually given as a little gift for those who had given their lives and for those left to pick up the pieces.

It was a generous gift at face value but for many who had experienced too many deaths to count, it had started to twist into something a little short of cruel. 

Soldiers who had experienced more than enough deaths after all, eventually realized that the losses only completely sink in when they finally go back to their routines. The largest and strongest waves of grief come when the soldiers are left to navigate their routines, changing around their daily routines to fix what the dead had left behind. 

For some cruel reason, losses were rarely felt in the losses and the memorials that celebrated them. They were felt in routines that followed.

Levi had survived one of the longest in the survey corps and had experienced more losses than he could count. Having to quickly go back to routines after dealing with losses and having had to navigate these same routines peppered with continuous losses of squad members and teammates, Levi had developed a little habit, something to occupy himself between expeditions and missions. 

As Levi quickly noticed, that habit had gotten a little out of control that time around. 

Of course it would, there was nothing else to do. Levi had made the decision to retire. There were no expeditions to prepare for. The government was more than eager to grant humanity’s strongest pension already. He was also certain he couldn’t fight like before anymore either. 

And that extra time and mind space had given his grieving brain a little more wriggle room and consequently, a little more power. Levi found himself scrambling for a routine. With that free mental space, that habit decided to take control again. 

Levi had nothing much else to do but let it take over. When he was at his most vulnerable, when he was at his most alone, that habit had ended up becoming his best friend. 

He allowed that best friend to guide him once again as he went about the daily routine of a retired soldier. As it did with every loss, that best friend would religiously remind him that time continued to pass. 

And just like with every loss he had ever felt, Levi would count down the hours, the days, the months and the seasons following the death, labelling them each as a milestone to trudge past. In that aspect, Hange’s death was no different. 

At the same time, Hange’s death was special. Possibly because they had been working together for five years. Possibly because compared to the other times when he had wanted to grieve, he was in no pressure that time to recover quickly or go back to a routine. 

There were no distractions that time to fall back on. Levi was left with memories, milestones and himself. 

First sunset without Hange. 

The sunset and the gradual flashes of colors from yellow to orange to red. Levi had always found sunsets beautiful. Objectively, nothing had changed about that sunset. Somehow, Levi couldn't help but notice that he was seeing less colors than before. 

First Monday without Hange. 

Levi hated the typical Mondays in the office. The paperwork always made it unbearable. He had always preferred expeditions and combat. He was retired though and Levi was sure the paperwork would be nothing more than a memory moving forward. But reflecting on that monday in particular, he was certain he would have given up the world for it. 

First Friday without Hange. 

Depending on who won the argument or bet of the week, Fridays could be either drinking or heart-to heart-in-the-office-over-tea days. That particular Friday, Levi made sure to do both. He wasn’t sure what she would have wanted and it’s not like he could have asked her. 

First full moon without Hange

He didn’t even know he had built that habit of staring at the full moon until he looked out the window and felt time stop for a few seconds. In those few seconds, he was brought back to a time long ago, when Hange had been next to him, staring in complete awe at the full moon in front of them. He was too distracted by her then to have looked at the moon. 

Time started to move and Levi was reminded that he did not have much to distract himself anymore from the full moon in the sky. 

First spring without Hange 

Levi, when this war ends and I retire as commander, I really wanna explore the flora and fauna outside the walls. Let’s study them together!

He had tried to appreciate nature. He had tried to sit on the grass and just stare and touch the prettier or the uglier weeds that stuck out of the common grass. They were all weeds dotted with some flowers.  

Hange would have found them beautiful either way. He just found it mocking. 

First summer without Hange.

Hange loved ice cream. Ever since the first ice cream shop in Paradis opened. They made sure to get one as a treat after a hard day of work. Levi hadn’t gone back to the shop since he had last been there with Hange last summer. He wasn’t thinking of going back there either. 

First autumn without Hange. 

First autumn without Hange. 

Autumns were always special. The cool nights that only got colder and the days that only got shorter could have been depressing for most. Levi saw beauty in it because they built up to something else. 

They built up to her special day. That one special day Hange kept as a little treat for herself. She always decided what to do and she always made sure to rattle off her plans to him during down times between meetings and deliverables. 

Every year, she always had something she wanted to do and somewhere she wanted to go and every year, she always made sure Levi tagged along.

And as Levi thought back to their last conversations, he quickly figured out she had suggested one place she would have wanted to go with him. 

That passing thought she had shared during one of their conversations, that one night in the forest at least gave him direction. With her gone, Levi was the one who made the final decision to go there himself.

I came here for sanctuary

Away from the winds and the sounds of the city

I came here to get some peace

Way down deep where the shadows are heavy

In the first autumn after Hange’s death, In the forest glade where Hange had nursed him back to health, Levi had a small cabin built. Many could have concluded it as a capricious decision, even Levi himself. As he walked out and lay on the soft grass beneath him, he couldn’t help but think if he just closed his eyes and  focused on the familiar surroundings, he could imagine Hange next to him saying those words once again 

“Maybe we should just live here together.” 

I can't help but think of you

In these four walls my thoughts seem to wander

To some distant century

When everyone we know is six feet under

When Levi entered the newly built cabin and inspected it of any dust, he realized, maybe that was the first thing he had done for himself. He was already a retired soldier with nothing much to think about but himself. Levi was never one to constantly think of himself though, so he thought of everyone else.

When all of our friends are dead and just a memory

And we're side by side it's always been just you and me

For all to see

When our lives are over and all that remains

Are our skulls and bones let's take it to the grave

The cabin was cozy and there had been nothing much to clean. It kept the cool air of early autumn out and if he had been feeling a hint of self preservation, he probably would have stayed inside. His body was not as strong as it was before and even the night air of early autumn had him shivering. 

Self preservation had always been low on Levi’s priority list. Because of the lack of responsibilities that came with being retired, it managed to bump up to at least third. It was still the last thing on Levi’s mind though. 

The cold air and the rustle of the trees brought back countless memories at once. It brought back the faint pounding of the hammer, the swish of the bandages and her hitched breaths as she worked tirelessly as he slept. 

It evoked memories from times before that. 

Every year, when the wind was starting to get a little colder and the leaves a little redder, there was always one special day where Hange would take him out. 

To a place of her choice. It was that one day after all the commander would always spend for herself. The destination was always a different spot outside the walls. Sometimes it was a glade in the middle of the forest, sometimes it was a cave, sometimes it was a swamp. The places varied but the cool winds that came as the sun started to set were constant stimuli. The orange hues that stuck out of the green trees around him were also a constant view.

That night, Levi held his arms close to his chest, conserving warmth as the cool winds of autumn continued to barrel through his already battered body. He looked up at the trees around him, observing closely as some of the leaves started to stand out under the moonlight. The leaves were starting to take on a different shade and others were starting to fall off.

All those signs culminated into a scene and an experience Levi was all too familiar with. They were all heralding the coming of autumn

Hange’s special day always signaled the start of autumn.

Happy Birthday, Hange. That was the first birthday he’d be spending without her.

And his little habit made it so that he would never forget to spend it in the years to come. Even if he was painfully aware, he'd be spending every single one without her.

And hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms

I'll be buried here with you

And I'll hold in these hands all that remains

[hawkland]

Destiel fic recs/what I’ve been reading (round #2)

I promised (eventually!) more fic recs and I figured I’d better do it soon before my list to talk about got TOO long. Also I’m just bubbling to praise up an amazing fic I read last night that literally has given me a fanfic hangover this morning and I need you all to suffer with me.

Starting with that fic in question:

Aria for an Angel (84k) by anyrei, mugglerock. I hurt all over from this one and I command you to do the same.

That said, DO NOT READ if you can’t stand the idea of Cas finding love/happiness with someone else (even if the fic is endgame Destiel). Also don’t read if you can’t stand your heart being shattered by pain before being carefully put back together again. Those warnings aside, this is one of the most stunning fics I’ve read yet in SPN fandom and I’m going to rec it at you no matter what. I’ve been feeling very pissy at Dean lately, as I’m on season 12 in my complete watch-thru, and with how much Cas has been suffering and getting beaten down for, like, SEASONS now. And it got me looking for fics where Cas gets some of the TLC/love/care that he needs from someone else, at least until Dean can get his shit together. Enter Mick Davies. Mick comes to Cas for help with a case that ends up involving a Grigori, and the two grow closer as Cas enjoys spending time with someone who genuinely expresses care and concern for him...but when Dean finds out will he have to choose between the Winchesters, his found family on Earth, and his new boyfriend? And when tragedy strikes, is it too late for a second chance at his first love again?

This story is funny, hot, heartbreakingly sad and just completely wrung me out emotionally. The characterizations totally worked for me, the growth they all went through was the kind of stuff I only wish the writers of the show could pull off. There’s just...there’s so much pain and love and some good stuff with poor Sam and Mary caught in the middle of this shitstorm and I wasn’t sure I could be brought back around to wanting Cas and Dean together in the end, but the authors pulled it off and everything about this story hurts, and heals, in the best possible way.

The rest of my recs in this round-up beneath the cut.

Seek to Know You Better (32k) by ahurston. Season 15 canon-divergence—so no Empty, no rusty nail, but things are relatively calm and settled in the hunter/Winchester world. As such Dean and Cas go on a road-trip together, investigate some minor cases, and gradually open up and really TALK via a “36 Questions That Lead to Love” article Cas finds on-line. One of those fics that just gives you a happy glow inside to read; it feels very believable and the characters have a maturity and adultness to them that just feels right. The little details of all the places they stop for food while talking are a delight, and it’s just the right amount of pining (for me) before they finally get things together.

Purgatory, director's cut (27k) by runsinthefamily. THIS IS THE ULTIMATE PURGATORY FIC (well, in my reading adventures so far.) Written (apparently?) before season 8 actually aired, it takes a very different - and weirdly creative and bizarre - look at what purgatory would be like. And if Cas stuck with Dean through it all.  It also posits that as a human Dean would be “allergic” to purgatory and need Cas’s grace to hold himself together...but the deeper they travel, trying to get out, the more precarious Cas’s hold on his vessel becomes. I love everything about this fic, the weird imagery, the way Dean just...rolls with everything happening to Cas and still loving him because it’s Cas, not his vessel, that’s important.

Grooming Instincts (26k) by jemariel. More wing!kink which...yeah. Gimme all the wing grooming/back massages and weird angel anatomy, please. Cas is grumpy while going through what he describes as “molting” only...it’s a bit more complicated than that. And Dean has no idea what he’s gotten himself into until Cas starts grooming him...and Kevin is able to translate/figure out what’s happened. Funny and hot and just...a yummy happy read with great bits from Sam, Kevin and Charlie for good measure.

Things that Leave Marks (23k) by thestoryinsideme. Canon-divergent from Season 9.  Wherein it takes Dean three years to find Cas after getting kicked out of the bunker. And when he does, it’s apparent he’s been through a lot, and he’s not exactly ready to or certain about going back to life with the Winchesters. This was sad and sweet and fluffy and angsty in all the right ways for a comfort fic read. (Also features Cas the budding artist! I love that idea!)

Wavelength-gasm (11k) by Mumble-Bee. The fuck or die trope gets a very fun twist when it involves needing to fuck an angel in his true form. Dean certainly learns this the hard way! This rec is for all the trueform!Cas-loving freaks like me out there...I’ve certainly never seen a smut fic embrace the weirdness of it all like this one.

Drive Faster Sammy (7k) by almaasi. Speaking of fuck-or-die fics, pray for Sam in this one. He has to listen to Dean helping when Cas gets struck by one (again) and they don’t have time to make it back to the bunker—so things get kind of graphic in the backseat of the Impala.

Love Burns Its Casualties (5k) by anactoria. Beautiful and bittersweet fic set during “The End”. Present-day Dean can’t sleep, and ends up invited by future!Cas to spend what he knows is likely his last night alive with him.  Features casual weed use (if that bothers you), some very hot shotgunning (if it doesn’t), and is just...a wonderfully written atmospheric story that I’ve already re-read several times. (It’s especially a good read when slightly stoned yourself. Um. Not that I’m necessarily advocating for that sort of thing, unless it’s legal in your neck of the woods. Um. Anyway...)

something quiet and minor and peaceful and slow (3.7k) by celeste9. Heaven fic, so don’t read if that’s not your thing. Also don’t read if you’re completely convinced John Winchester is an unredeemable homophobe and terrible parent all around. I, personally, liked this take a lot more as it shows a struggling but not horrible John confused about why this angel keeps popping over, asking Mary questions about what Dean will want in his little slice of Heaven. The title really describes the lovely mood of this little fic and I liked it a lot.

heaven, reconstructed (9k) by vaudelin. Another Heaven fic, more focused on Cas than Destiel (but that is endgame). Goes into what exactly Cas was doing, working with Jack to try to build a better Heaven while awaiting Dean’s eventual arrival. It’s a great fic for world-building (in more ways than one!) in the SPN universe and I like a story that explores Cas’s relationships with others beyond Dean and Sam. I’d add too that as a fan of The Good Place, I just in general enjoy stories that look at the complexity of what actually would constitute a “perfect” afterlife. So imagine Castiel as a TGP architect here if you will (I certainly did!)

The Passion of the Christ (and his angelic ex-boyfriend) (4.9k) by Bzzee. Another heaven!fic, but pure delightful crack. What happens when Dean and Cas run into one of Cas’s ex-boyfriends in Heaven’s roadhouse...who just happens to be Jesus Christ. Dean isn’t too happy with that knowledge (and neither is Judas). Just read it—heresy and all. For a crack fic it’s actually wonderfully smart and wicked.

Can't You Hear It Calling (4.7k) by imogenbynight. A “missing scene” from s8e32 (Sacrifice). Cas expects to never see Dean again once he (expects to, at least) close the gates of Heaven. As a parting gift, he takes Dean back in time to a Led Zeppelin concert...and then a motel room to spend a final night together. As a music lover, the description of the excitement of the concert (and the happy/sadness when the show is almost over) totally hit me in the feels...and it’s such angsty/beautiful smut when they get together.

You're Gonna Live Tomorrow (3k) by MajorEnglishEsquire, microcomets, orange_crushed. Cas doesn’t know a lot about being human (yet), but he does know one thing - he wants to marry Dean. Sweet, sweet happy fluff, just enjoy.

Who's Counting? (1.7k) by Annie D (scaramouche). Just some pure angel-powered delicious smut. Dean learns the hard way, over and over again, that angels have basically no refractory period.