#Did the Ladies of the Golden Hills take them with them when they left??

[y-rhywbeth2]

Naming Systems #3

Gnomes and Halflings

Because there's so little on them one may as well simply put them together and save time and space.

Gnomes and Hin both maintain given names and surnames coming from their clan, the latter of which may be translated into common, as is the trend amongst all demihumans.

Due to large and sprawling family trees, gnomes define themselves by their closest kin and will add their family hometown onto the end as well: 'Wysdor Sandminer; of the Sandminers of Arabel,' for example, lest one be confused with the distant cousins that are the Sandminers of Suzail or something.

Halflings on the other hand set themselves apart as individuals and collect nicknames. Furthermore, halflings quite freely change their first names and leave out or entirely drop their clan name and tack on or replace them with a list of nicknames. Diminutives and pet names, adventures, skills, achievements, habits, physical attributes and just plain making shit up may all eventually bury their birth name in a 'maze of pseudonyms and false backgrounds.'

---

Anyway onto the moving slightly away from canon into breaking down names for new name building bit. As usual take a starting syllable and tack an ending on. Or just pick a vowel and put in front of an ending: Mac, Linden, Tiira, Chanar, Urgand | Pumkarti, Colee, Clandmarr, Halig, Bassa. Favik...

Gnomes:

(The svirfneblin dialect certainly likes 'k's and 'ck's. At least while Salvatore is penning 'em. Also there's a severe shortage of gnome women to mine for names.)

Surface: Burg, Colm, Col, Bur, Dorg, Dor, Fal, Hal, Cal, Cland, Er, Iy, Jar, Liss, Baer, Bar, Flan, Fland, Call, Dur, Neb, Gar, Wys

Svirfneblin: Schnick, Frick, Firb, Mark, Markt, Bel, Krieg, Brick, Pumk, Seld, Suntun, Mik, Fort, Henk, Kassa

Masculine: -gell, -ell, -marr, -arr, -gan, -an, -rinn, -amm, -dell, -ell, -ig, -van, -avar, -lar, -ran, -dal, -al, -tick, -le, -tarn, -arn, -war, -er, -ger, -ers, -ato, -avik, -wick, -jan, -dor

Feminine: -ra, -dra, -iss, -ree, -ee, -a, -issa, -narti, -arti, -ti, -assa, -ala

Clan names:

Surface: Blackrock, Blimth, Greatorm, Rivenstone, Tavartarr, Uvarkk, Whitehorn, Sandminer

Svirfneblin: Dissengulp, Quarrensonn, Mycophile, Shadowsong, Plickenstint

Hin:

Blaz, Cork, Dalab, Haland, Hal, Om, Rob, Thir, Wili, Wilim, Alon, Calath, Cal, Deld, Melind, Melin, Mel, Ol, Olp, Rosind, Rosin, Tar, Wen, Des, Arv, Yon, Cyr, Ur, Urg, Shee, Brand

Masculine: -anar, -aury, -rac, -andar, -dar, -bert, -erc, -mac, -ac, -and, -len, -olen, -een, -baris, -aris

Feminine: -iira, -athra, -inden, -den, -ara, -para, -inda, -va, -lee, -lalee, -alla, -la

Example surnames: Aumble, Bramblefoot, Dardragon, Hardingdale, Merrymar, Starhap

[themotherofhorses]

maybe you think that you can hide (i can smell your scent from miles)

summary: let it be known that accepting defeat is not in aemond targaryen's nature. and with a witch now in his hands, the distance between you and him is only shortening.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. mentions of violence, previous smut, and child loss. male masturbation. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.

notes: to quote my mom, megan thee stallion: "pressed, stressed, obsessed, i got 'em."

masterlist | series masterlist

part one | part three | part four | part five

The rain was light. From his chamber’s windows, Aemond One Eye could see the fat raindrops fogging up the glass frames and mudding the open courtyard below, where he usually trained under Ser Criston Cole. The evening weather was peaceful and calm, very soothing, but Aemond’s mind was anything but.

He had been counting the days, as it was all he could do right now.

Three months, perhaps even four, since his own lady wife vanished, leaving no trace of herself behind.

Aemond deeply regretted not having a septon marry the two of them in the eyes of the Seven that very night that he claimed her, or whisking her away to Dragonstone in secret to wed her in the customs of his ancestors. Oh, he knew that his family would object to the marriage, but he did not care. She was his, and they could not, would not, deny that. She and the babe. They both belonged to him.

And now they were gone.

It weighed him down most days- if not all, a sort of feeling so heavy in his chest that sometimes it made it hard to breathe. Were they both alright? Safe and healthy? Had she gone against his wishes and returned to her homeland? Aemond had no way of knowing the answers and that itself was most upsetting, because what if they were dead? Or injured, with the Stranger trailing after them, awaiting the chance to rob them from him?

He shakes his head at that. I will find them, he swears to himself, while a fist clenches into a tight ball, no more of these ill thoughts.

But with no more ill-mannered thoughts come those of vengeance and punishment.

How dare she, this lady wife of his, flee from him!

He promised her everything under the golden sun and more- a plentiful and comfortable life as a princess of the realm and the mother of his heirs, as well as his very own beating heart and soul and seed. What more could the foolish girl long for? Aemond stares out the window, towards the gentle hill slopes of the realm’s countryside. The land was silvery from the rain and blanketed with a thick mist. What could her homeland provide that he could not?

He sighs before turning back to his empty bed, the left side, from where she once laid, now cold and untouched, with her sweet scent slowly fading. He hates it.

Yet some of it was still left, to his many blessings, and he brings the sheets to his nose, taking in a deep whiff.

The smell makes his cock stir and harden in his pants, and he soon grows too weak in the knees and in his resolve. He tears off his trousers and lays on the bed, his cock in one hand, and her side of the sheets in the other, his mind spinning countless images of his young bride. Every thought sent more blood rushing in between his legs, memories of her pretty body and all the marks and bruises her skin wore, her cries and whimpers, and the way her tearful eyes bore into his.

After that night, he took her more and more, in varying positions. Some new, others old. Sometimes he mounted her from behind, shoving her face down into the pillows to muffle her loud moans and screams as her hips slapped against his, and while that was pleasant, he soon realized he did not care for such. Aemond liked seeing her beautiful face twisted in pleasure and the way her breasts bounced with every thrust, and how she easily flustered whenever he leant to whisper a string of praises in her ear.

He also liked when she sat on her knees with his cock in her mouth, her tongue working wonders as she stared up at him as if he was a god and she one of those whores that belonged to the Street of Silk. But he never dared mutter those kind of words aloud, fore his lady wife was so much prettier than them damned wenches, too sweet and innocent and pure, and wholly his.

And not long after that, she began to glow, the sort that came only with motherhood.

He loved it and felt nothing but immense pride.  

Was she still glowing, and swelling with his child? Aemond was certain she was, and he could only imagine the sight, one most beautiful to man. He remembered his mother’s pregnancy with his younger brother- how her feet constantly ached, and all the times she would ask Ser Cole to fan her, or switch gowns because she grew too uncomfortable and moody.

Was it the same for his wife? Were her little feet hurting as well?

The thought of such makes him bite down hard on his bottom lip, trying his best to swallow his own grunts and moan, and with a whine so unlike him, the head of his cock weeps and spills more of his seed, down his hand and onto his thighs.

What a waste, he thinks emptily, while eyeing the mess he had made, all this belongs to her, yet the foolish girl refused to see it.  

Heaving out yet another heavy sigh, he reaches for the rag that sits to his side. What more could be done? Nothing. Foolish, foolish little girl, he clicks his tongue, all this because of you. He then calls for the maid, requesting for her to draw him a bath.

Tonight, he will dream of his lady wife and their little babe and the life they should be sharing at this very moment. He will ponder over names and if the child will favor her looks or his, and how he will need to meet with the royal seamstress for a layette. And as he sinks himself into the scalding hot waters of the bathtub, he smiles in contentment.

One-eyed Aemond Targaryen will have his wife, and his child too, by any means necessary. 

It was after he sacked Harrenhal that Aemond finds the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The sixth month was nearing with still no sign of his little wife, though the princeling did not dare to consider admitting defeat. There was much pent-up frustration and fury within him, festering from all the damned months he faced of constant loneliness and dryness, and the riverlands faced the brute of it, most notably House Strong. In the ward of Harrenhal, at the hands and command of Prince Aemond, no Strong was spared- neither trueborn nor bastard, all but Alys Rivers.

He had previously heard that the rivers woman was an alleged woods witch, though she dabbled in other branches of the craft. Blood magic too, several little birds say as well.

It gives him an idea.

So he demands two of his knightsmen to bring to him the wet nurse, dark-haired and twice his age. When she stands in front of him, dressed in a soft emerald gown and with her bodice sullied wet from her breast milk, he does not expect for her to bat her black eyelashes and promise to warm his bed if he grants her protection.

“I can be of great use to you,” she adds, in tones thick with seduction.

But Aemond is quick to unsheathe his sword and hold it at her throat. “It should be known that I carry no love for your kind, witch, and that I dare not touch another woman who is not my wife,” he seethes, pressing the blade harder against her skin, “-either you pledge to help me find her, or I will sever your tongue. Perhaps I’ll send it to the whore of my eldest sister as a gift, seeing how she loved you Strongs so much.”

In the back stands Ser Criston Cole, biting his own tongue from saying anything. He may have been the second son of Viserys Targaryen, but Prince Aemond was the knight’s through and through.

The woman nods, and Aemond pulls back his sword. In his mind, he is giddy with excitement at the thought of finally having his dear wife back in his arms, where she belongs.

And the babe, he can hardly wait to see him too.

Alys wipes away the tiny welts of blood budding along her neckline, grimacing. She recognizes the blade as Valyrian-steel, with an edge that could have cut her head clean off. It is probably spell-forged too, she thinks. “My time and craft come with a price, Prince Aemond,” she says, steeling her voice to hide the fact that she is licking her wounds. “I expect to be paid in return.”

“Yes, I know,” Aemond hums, while sliding his sword back into its sheathe. “You will keep your life, and still have the chance for more babes to feed from your chest.”

He debates whether to bring her back to King’s Landing, in case his own children need a wet nurse, but the thought is off-putting, and he wishes not to offend his wife when she returns. Instead, he turns back to study the rivers woman. “My wife is missing,” he says, “and I wish to find her and bring her home.”

Alys frowns. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Six months ago, in our room. She disappeared the next morning, leaving nothing behind.” Aemond sighs. “She is with child,” he says ruefully, “and I worry every day." He rubs at his temple, shaking his head. "This is her first babe, and mine as well. I have made her into a new mother with the promise to remain by her side, but now she is gone, and I haven’t the slightest clue where she might be.” The pain returns again, followed by anger and frustration, as well as the deep regret for not doing things differently.

His words give Alys a chill. She always had a soft spot for children and the young maidens that found motherhood too soon in their lives. Maybe because that was her once, so many moons ago, losing child after child well before their lives began.

She mourned so many dead babes that the thought of another girl going through the same felt sinful.

Finding sudden courage, Alys takes Aemond’s hand in hers. “Let me help you, Prince Aemond,” she tells him, all with the gentlest smile. “A father should be with his children, and a wife with her husband.”

His violet eye finds her green ones, and she catches the smallest glimmer of hope flickering within. “Thank you.”

“Blood magic would perhaps be the best way to find your wife, my prince.”

Aemond tilts his head at Alys. “How so?” The Faith of the Seven went against magic, and harbors little love or respect towards those who practice it, and he grew up with similar sentiments. But at this point, he is too desperate to care. All he wants is her back.

May the Father and the Crone forgive him in his later years, though he has a feeling that the Mother might be rather sympathetic and understanding towards his situation.

“It is a strong and powerful craft,” Alys explains, “capable of things beyond our own understandings. This sort of magic- it has the power to deliver life and then steal it away. ”

He hums, nodding along. “And how would it work?”

Alys pauses, unsure of how to say her next words. “It would require the blood of your wife, my prince,” she says, carefully, “even just the tiniest droplet would work well. I could call upon my own gods to find her. If she pricked her finger on a needle or scraped her knee, as long as it drew fresh blood, there is no use in her hiding.” But her head then drops, and her shoulders slump too, “Yet seeing how she has been gone for so long, I do not know how it could be done, or what else to do in that matter.”

Aemond remains quiet from where he sits by the room’s hearth. He brushes his knuckles against his lips as he thinks, and thinks, and thinks some more. “Would dry blood work?”

Alys blinks. “Well, maybe?” Her mouths flatten in a line as she ponders over the idea, trying to remember if her old readings ever mentioned anything about dried blood and rituals. “I suppose so, my prince,” she replies with, fiddling with her long and thin fingers, “Blood is blood, regardless of time.”

At that, he leaves the room, only to return several minutes later carrying a single bedsheet, cream in color. Alys watches as he drapes it over the chair he had sat at, making sure to smooth out any wrinkles. When he is done, he calls for the witch to join his side, and when she stands next to him, he gestures to a bloodstain at the center, dried and a bit crusty but still obvious.

“My wife’s blood,” he says, smirking, “from the night I took her maidenhood and gave her our son.”

Alys glances at him, and her lips pull back into a smirk too. “Perfect.”

tag list: @minttea07 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @smolnuggie911 @marahisthebest @bibli0thecary @whatsonthemirror @bellaisasleep @witchy-jadda @princeaemond1eye @mefools @xcharlottemikaelsonx @browngirl101

(if I did not tag you, it’s because it did not let me! im sorry, little love, the tumblr gods hate me today.)

[theladyofbloodshed]

Neris prompt-

Nesta and Eris attending a HL meeting after taking over as High lord and lady of Autumn and having to deal with the NC except they get backed by all the other HLs from Tamlin to Helion and Kallias cause the true nature of IC is now visible to everyone after Nesta left with Eris (idk if this is understandable since my English is weak).

Over a year later, here it is! This is set after the events of my fic A Court of Tangled Flames.

***

A heavy deluge of rain soaked the paths, turning them into a slopping mess of mud and leaves.

Nesta winced at the weather from her window then turned back to her looking glass on the vanity to finish pinning up her hair. ‘Some would say this weather is a bad omen.’

On the bed, Eris lounged with one of the dogs. He crossed his ankles. ‘Would they?’

‘Yes. I think we shouldn’t go.’

Last night, she had started on a new book that was rather good and she wanted to spend her day reading that instead – especially with gloomy weather surrounding the Forest House.

‘The amazing thing about Prythian, my love, is that the Dawn Court will have entirely different weather.’

Sometimes she loved that smile he wore, sometimes she wanted to smother him with a pillow when he smiled at her. Eris remarked that it was a miracle she hadn’t yet done it. He was flashing the smile now. In the corner of her vision, she could see his reflection in the mirror.

‘Stop smiling. It’s unnerving.’

‘Hm, am I unnerving you or is the looming family reunion? High lords have never swayed you, so one has to think it’s your family.’

Nesta turned in her seat to point at him. ‘One of them is my family. One is unfortunately a marital relation. The rest are sycophantic followers who, very occasionally, enter my orbit.’

She rose at the same time as her husband. They were always in synchronisation with each other which a bond did not facilitate. Eris was right, of course, as he always was. The last time the high lords had gathered, she had warred with herself whether to tell her story or not. They’d spent the time bickering amongst themselves until Azriel and Feyre had lost control of their sense and attacked the Autumn Court. Then, she’d managed to get her dearly departed father-in-law to take notice as her story spilt out of her. No, it wasn’t the high lords that Nesta cared about. It was the ever-insufferable Night Court.

Eris helped her into her heavy gown for the meeting. It was a beautiful thing of gold and red that firmly signified her allegiance. His fingers smoothed up her back as he fastened each hook around the small buttons. Since marrying, Nesta found that she did not want a servant’s help to dress when her husband was always ready and willing to assist – especially with undressing.

A kiss was pressed to the top of her head. ‘All will be fine. No need to worry.’

‘I will retract my claws.’

Eris gripped one of her hands then brought it to his lips. ‘I love you, claws and all.’

***

The rolling hills and golden skies of the Dawn Court greeted them. A delegate from the court received them as they winnowed into the balcony then showed them to the large atrium with the stunning pool in the centre. It was just how Nesta remembered from the pink lilies floating on the surface to the white and gold fish darting through the waters. Only this time she was with another court. Her court.

If they arrived on time, Eris felt they were late so he had an annoying habit of arriving everywhere early. It meant they were the first court – except for Dawn - assembled. For once, Nesta did not mind the punctuality. It gave her a chance to make her greetings then settle into a chair beside her mother-in-law who rested a comforting hand on top of her own.

It wasn’t the Night Court in general that had a bubble of worry growing in her chest, but the potential for them to goad Eris. There had been no contact between them since the bond had been severed with Cassian, not even a single letter from Feyre regarding the babe. The Autumn Court had been flourishing under Eris’ rule and change had been staggering. What he would propose today would either be met with anger or laughter.

The Winter Court arrived next so Nesta played her role as the lady of her court, greeting them formally after Eris had, then Day and Summer came. At the sight of Tamlin winnowing in, Nesta held back her surprise enough to greet him too. She could see the beast behind his eyes that he struggled to contain. When the Night Court arrived, they looked suited to a ball rather than a meeting. Feyre and Mor’s dresses dipped low on their chest. She held her breath as Cassian came into view. Even as Eris took her to say her formal greeting to the high lord and lady, neither she nor Cassian could look at each other. It was a relief to be back in her seat.

‘You have gathered us, Thesan, get on with it,’ clipped Helion.

Thesan swept his head across the room. ‘I am merely playing host as a neutral ground. Eris?’

Confidence seeped from her husband once all eyes settled on him. He made it look easy. Everything that Eris did seemed effortless but Nesta knew he’d have imagined this meeting in a thousand different ways, ran through every possible outcome to be prepared for it. ‘Though not our jurisdiction, I would like the high lords of Prythian to offer aid to Hybern.’

As expected, a hush fell across the room followed by a low laugh from Helion.

‘Surely your father’s treasury hasn’t been so depleted by his successor that you cannot offer aid?’ asked Rhysand. ‘Why should we give up our own wealth for a country that has warred with us for centuries?’

‘When the call to arms comes, every citizen must defend their country. We know it well enough,’ continued Eris. ‘We rallied to your call, Rhysand. Many in Hybern were faced with the choice of killing or be killed. Many did not want to go to war. They had a king who would slaughter their families if they didn’t.’ He paused for effect. Nesta had heard this speech rehearsed whilst she was in the bathroom. ‘There are children there. Children without a leader, without any sort of guidance. That country hangs on the edge. Groups are vying for power still, playing tug-and-war with a country full of innocent fae. I’d like to offer aid to the ones who just want a life of freedom and peace.’

As they expected, it was met with scorn from some.

Feyre folded her hands into her lap. ‘So that I understand it, you would like us to open the doors to our courts so Hybern can sweep in?’

‘You had no problem doing that to my court,’ said Tamlin.

‘You unlocked the door for them.’

Tamlin raised his brows, gaze settling on Cassian. ‘How does it feel? Your high lord stole my bride. His court,’ a jerk of his thumb to Eris, ‘stole your mate.’

The words hit Cassian like an arrow to the chest. Nesta saw it pierce him – the sudden involuntary recoil, the breath that caught in his throat.

Despite the heat flushing her own neck from the attention on her, Eris showed no signs of trouble. He merely smiled in a gesture of innocence reserved for a child. ‘You cannot steal something that never belonged to another. I’m afraid that what happened was my darling wife told her sister that the child inside of her would kill her – a fact they all knew but neglected to tell their high lady.’

‘Eris,’ warned Rhysand.

‘Apologies, I’m not finished. The high lord threatened to have his general’s mate killed so a fitting punishment was to have her walk until exhaustion caused her to collapse. I merely happened to reach out a hand, offer a different life. And to show no hard feelings between our courts, a wonderful healer of mine helped deliver the babe. The Night Court has an heir and a high lady. We are all won that day, didn’t we?’

Eris had no problem airing other’s dirty laundry. He had been trained in the Beron Vanserra school of humiliation and misery. Nothing could ever embarrass him; Nesta knew because she had tried. This revelation was clearly news to the other courts gathered. Usually, Nesta wouldn’t want her own story shared. She did not want pity for the punishment she was given. She just wished it hadn’t had to happen for her to fall in love with Eris.

Breaking the silence, Eris clapped his hands once. ‘We are not here to discuss my beautiful wife – although, I assure you, I could talk of her until the rivers run dry and the skies bleed black because there is nobody in this world that I love more.’

That struck something in the Winter Court. Not anger or annoyance, but almost envy. Viviane had nudged her husband. In a low voice she muttered, ‘Why can’t you talk about me like that in public?’

All eyes were on the usually cool High Lord of Winter who had a pink blush creeping over his thin cheeks. He cleared his throat. ‘Why should we offer assistance? Your land is vast enough, Eris.’

‘Indeed, it is,’ he confirmed. ‘I will take any as many as I can who want to be there.’

Mor scoffed. ‘Bolstering your armies?’

‘They will be Autumn Court citizens in time. The option to serve will be there just as the option not to will also be theirs. I am not a tyrant, Morrigan, nor am I a high lord who sees my court as a disposable force.’

So much for needing the Night Court on side, Nesta thought.

‘And you believe you will be able to control them all, Eris?’

At Rhysand’s words, Eris made a show of laughing. Ever the dramatist. ‘Control them? You make my court seem like a mindless rabble. There hasn’t been an uprising in the Autumn Court since… Oh, no there never has been one. I wonder when anybody could tell me the last time the Illyrians staged a rebellion? Last week?’

Her brother-in-law’s lips thinned. From Feyre’s expression, Nesta knew they were having a private conversation through their mental link. She knew Eris was pushing them too quickly so prodded his knee in warning as subtly as she could manage.

Tarquin exhaled as he ran a finger around the rim of the glass he held. ‘We can take in some refugees. We still have ones from Spring who have settled.’

‘We want to decide though,’ added Cresseida. ‘We’ll organise a meeting with the first batch to ensure they’ll gel well in our court.’

‘Indeed, emissary.’

A long, heavy silence followed. The solar courts tended to be close-knit with each other, but the Night Court had the largest free land for Hybern’s innocent fae to settle on. There were many females without their husbands, their fathers, their brothers, their sons. Children were without parents. This was beyond a wicked king. This was about innocent fae whose lives were uprooted by a war they had no part in. With no monarch on the throne, the country lacked direction. Eris could have been vile and proposed seizing their throne to gain control of an unstable land, but he did the honourable thing. It was only a possibility now with Beron gone.  

‘Spring can take some.’

Nesta uttered a thank you before she could stop herself. Tamlin’s words had shocked her. Her gratitude shocked him in return.

The pressure built on their final seasonal ally. Viviane had wound her hand into her husband’s, squeezing it in a pattern like a pulse. Eventually, he caved and let out a wearied sigh. ‘We can take some, though the Winter Court isn’t for everybody.’

Cressieda grinned at him. ‘They can always visit the Summer Court for a vacation.’

‘Only if we are invited too,’ countered Viviane.

Although Helion was a friend to the Night Court, they had brought their own weapon with them to sway his decision. Eliška leaned forwards in her chair to catch the male’s gaze. He had been stealing enough glances at her throughout the proceedings already.

‘Helion, what of your court?’

Nesta had never seen the male so flustered. A few words from Eris’ mother and he was entirely undone.

‘My court.’

‘Your court,’ she said, voice sweet and soft. ‘Will you help us?’

With the love-struck expression that had clobbered onto his usually collective face, Nesta thought that Helion might offer up his entire court if Eliška asked.

‘Whatever you need,’ he said, eyes never leaving her face. ‘I give it freely.’

Thesan shook his head. ‘We cannot take them here. We already have many from the Continent here, but we can offer financial aid to the courts who are helping to re-settle.’

‘Thank you for your generosity,’ replied Eris.

Begrudgingly, Rhysand spoke though he did not seem happy about the decision. ‘As a gesture of good will, we will also provide financial aid. Our emissary will discuss the figure with you later.’

‘Could Lucien not make it because he’s still walking down the ten thousand steps in your house?’

Nesta knew that Eris shouldn’t have said it. He had no reason to bring that house up. But her lips still pressed together to stop a laugh from sneaking out. She could laugh at these things now. Her life in Velaris had been a misery, but her darling Eris had managed to tease out some comedy from it all that did make Nesta laugh or roll her eyes from time to time.

‘They must have very tall houses in your court. As long as my niece-’

‘Elin is not your niece,’ said Mor, a finger pointed at him.

‘I understand that relations in the Night Court can be confusing if you consider the general your brother that you also have sexual exploits with, but you are only a loosely related cousin of the high lord. I am married to the sister of your high lady, making me Elin’s uncle. The high lord’s daughter is my niece by marriage.’

Rhys stood up, the rest of them following suit, and shook his head. ‘This meeting is done.’

‘Farewell.’

‘Couldn’t resist, could you?’ Nesta muttered.

‘I never can.’

[thebeetleball]

sorry need to be abnormal over my favorite horror game rq since its the sixth anniversary. the first little nightmares' ending is the opposite of the prequel's but it's still just as grim and i'll die on this hill.

specifically, i'm thinking about what tarsier posted in celebration of the anniversary and how they captioned it;

getting thus out of the way right now i do Not think six is the lady, i think that theory only ever came to be because of the thin man and mono's situation and if you hold it up to any scrutiny it falls apart, but i do think they're deeply tied to each other in a more . symbolic way? i do not think six takes the lady's place at the end of LN1, i think she escapes from the maw and leaves it to rot, as it deserves, but she doesn't really leave it. 

as the game progresses, six's hunger drives her to eat more and more disturbing things; bread, raw meat, a rat, a child, and finally the lady herself. not only that, but her musical cues changes over the game as well. there's multiple different tracks for hunger and six's own theme undergoes a dramatic shift, with part I being droning instrumental and quiet, nervous humming, and part II having a more upbeat hum contrasted against overbearing an brass instrumental, in both tracks the humming is eventually either cut off or drowned out by the music. in the comics, there's a repeated theme about six not knowing who she is, most notably the hunchback girl's line about how you don't know what you'll see if you look in a mirror.

there's an emphasis on change and not knowing yourself when it comes to six, and it confirms for me that despite their endings being tonal opposites, both of the little nightmares games are about cycles; just in different ways.

LN2 is about a little boy who wasn't able to escape a cruel, abusive environment, and eventually grows up to be another bitter adult, another cog in the machine. LN1 is about a little girl who was able to escape the environment that harmed her, but not without taking a piece with her. childhood trauma changes you, you're not the same person you were before it, you can leave your house but your house doesn't leave you.

the six who held mono's hand and hugged nomes, or played with toys at the playground, is not the six who lashed out and left him behind or the six who devoured other people just to survive. the six who was running from the adults that operate the maw is not the six who took the lady's powers. at the end of the story, six sits exactly where the people who hurt her did, she wasn't able to remove herself from the maw's food chain, only scale it and become the apex predator. she changed, the maw changed her, like all trauma does.

which isn't her fault at all, full stop the obsession some people have with portraying six as evil or malicious, or even worse, deserving of what happens to her in LN1, is appalling to me. i genuinely can't fathom how you can play a game so clearly about childhood trauma and abuse and come out of it putting her and mono in "bad victim vs good victim" roles. there's no right or wrong way to be a victim, there's literally only just victims, the real villains of the story are the adults who put them in this situation in the first place.

six isn't wrong for killing the workers aboard the maw, but it's still deeply sad to me that the story plays out the way it does, that the circumstances are what they are. LN1 ends with her going up, out into the sun where everything is bright and golden, but she's all alone and she's taking apart of the lady with her, she couldn't survive without taking from the lady, she couldn't survive without having to become someone else.

tldr; you know that scene at the end of chirin's bell? "what they saw was neither wolf nor sheep but some unknown creature that made their blood run cold?" yeah.

[delrhcdes]

MAIKA MONROE, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER – There goes MAGDELENA ‘DEL’ RHODES checking into the Golden Motel. The THIRTY year old is a CLERK AT PAGETURNERS from HILLTOP, OH. I think they are WELL-MEANING but I heard that they can also be DUPLICITOUS. ROOM 110.

 (trigger warnings: death, car accident)

a true cautionary tale of parents staying together for their kid, only to the absolute detriment of everyone involved. growing up, her whole life had been a sort of pretending. a one-man show for an audience of none. she saw the life she wanted in classmates, saw the parents she wished for in the drop off and pick up zones. so she pretended they were hers. she had always been good at losing herself in another life.

her parents did love her, she thought. they just had difficulty navigating that love in their hatred for each other. her mom liked to take her to movies after school sometimes when her dad came home early. her dad took her for ice cream whenever her mom was out later than either of them expected, and drove around until magdelena fell asleep in the car. it wasn’t until she was older that she realized he was hoping she would be too tired by the time they got back to their double wide to hear the subsequent argument through the paper thin walls. he wanted it to work so badly that del pretended it did.

she found real solace in a neighbor. a boy next door called eric. eric, the first person to tell a young magdelena that her name sounded like an old lady, and declared that he was going to call her del. she let him, and by the end of their first summer as friends, she barely answered to anything else from anyone. 

eric was her best friend, and she’d spent most of her life being in love with him. del always thought he knew – thought there would be a day when she finally worked up the courage to say it. they were always together, the two of them. all through school, where there was eric, there was del. he punched her first boyfriend when he caught him kissing another girl under the bleachers. when her dad died, eric was the only one who was able to reach her. he took her for ice cream, ordering rum raisin – a flavor she’d always hated as a kid, but had been her dad’s favorite. after, he drove them around until his car ran out of gas. pushing the old corolla up the hill was the first time del laughed since he passed, tears streaming down her face until she was no longer sure what emotion was pouring out of her. 

they went off to the same college, his u of o acceptance letter hanging on her wall, and hers on his. everyone assumed they would end up together one day, even as they both protested. she wondered if her objections rang more hollow than his. nothing had ever happened between them – nothing more than holding hands in the way kids do on the playground with someone they met only moments ago. that was alright by del. she suspected one day she would be the best man at his wedding, and when she smiled, she would mean it. 

but eric left her, too. the summer after graduation, he was killed in a car accident. it was on impact, she’d been told. like it was supposed to lessen her grief. like there was anything inside her that could find comfort in a world without eric. he had been eleven days older, and by nature, eleven days wiser, he’d insisted when they were kids. the twelfth day after he passed was the hardest – the day magdelena rhodes became one day older than eric would ever be.  she was just twenty-two, and the only person who had ever really known her was gone, and all she had left of him was a sweatshirt that was starting to smell more like her and less like him.

it was on the twelfth day that del did something that would shape the rest of her life going forward. she found a support group online. a tiny little forum where a group of lost people tried to navigate their grief together. she felt like a person outside of her body when she started to type – watched herself build someone new in the hollow place del had once filled. she watched as lena rivers took shape, a photojournalist from boulder who lost her fiancé. she hadn’t expected to need her for long, this fictional woman who let her hide in her shadow. someone who was brave enough to say everything she’d choked on. someone who wasn’t afraid. against her better judgment, in her clawing desperation, del made a friend. it was after the first time they stayed up messaging back and forth all night that she should’ve told the truth – but she didn’t. even as their IMs turned to texts, and texts turned to calls. even when their messages were the only thing that got her out of bed some days – even when they crawled out of their grief together.

it took del eight years to decide it was time for the truth. in a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, she backed herself into a corner she couldn’t get out of. she quit her job at the library in hilltop, and she packed her car to go to new orleans. passing through, she’d said. it had been what she intended, anyway. she booked a room at the motel with no hard out, picking up the first job with books and a ‘now hiring’ sign. 

still, she hasn’t found the courage to send the ‘i’m here, let’s meet up’ text. one step at a time.

FUN DUMB STATS:

Birthday: June 30, 1992

Zodiac Sign: Cancer ☉ | Cancer ☽ | Libra➶  

MBTI: ISFP

Enneagram: Type 2

Temperament: Melancholic

Moral Alignment: True neutral

Element: Air

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

person she’s been catfishing for the past eight years

new friends

coworkers

drinking buddies

absolutely anything

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Ne let th”)

I hae a gude brains and heaven     are the golden: let them see thee: ah! I’d have loved beforne     when your hearts, suck my fruitful urn. No, fly me, forc’d, so     straight may come, let all the

North long breezy air; and I woke     with that fallen from God young years are on that dignifies     high degree, more precious empire of the dead, and my     sorrowe, that breed. Grace

serenest beauty, make fast, beaten     face, she sees his great enough the world enamoured their     skill from whence is the victim to thy glimmers in the patents     of Heaven; a new

rose blest this rhymes, ocean invade     the dead? The dying of thing sweet voice of maintain’d lover.     When I once admired every night of fraud of the two     longer. Wild. In masquer,

conquerers never come! ’St, all     cause of doubt’s pain cry, Speak once to change. If mercye and Paradise     vanish’d for, and would like and Countercharm of gold and     dark heart felt like fire; full

meaning is away, the quiet     to laments of heavens; for paint em, who successive and     lost. The subtle wreathe hill the want to lick a human naked     swayne, let the high Hall-

gardens yet unset with what precept     fail’d to make out you. The death, and round and age jumbled     they wink away, the quiet as drown’d, when, by magic, ghostly     shadow, Cynara!

Then came up to the ladies’ force     a pallace for his out it was to talk you only folly     rich praise to shew his great mone. Yet Helene once and all     is recall’d simple bootes

all vertues only passions     of their mask I try, nor did say: but will haue had climbing     out of her spies thine eye but stream, the bottom did aryse,     and make the base of your

eyes the vain old Harp that blessing     straying hound. And long as my loue wize with his mother, maiden     Aunt Elizabeth and breath’d in the grieved it not: and     all my sweet louer? Burn like

a glance all right—just don’t looking     void left behind here goat- legged buyers the brighten’d with     somethinks me you forget the retrospect finde Stellas eyes     blot outweigh a love will

to consort within my hands before     you great example on earth gone will swelling fields, and     lonely lou’d, but living all you no place. Taking room beside     her—the stronger than

a glow-worm should not worth of all     my foot was sitting. God giueth lawn. Ne let th’ vnpleasaunce,     she wander is their count both throws a death of the attending     warke vpon a diet.

[thebonggirll]

chapter six

< previous: chapter five

Y/N wanted to think that Percy took the news well, but his expression clearly defined his distaste for the situation.

The truth was, Percy wanted to strangle the Hunters of Artemis one eternal maiden at a time. The rest of the day he tried to keep busy but was worried sick about Annabeth. He kept messing up in any activity he joined.

At the top of Half-Blood Hill, Mr. D and Argus were feeding the baby dragon that guarded the Golden Fleece. Then it occurred to him: no one would be in the Big House. There was someone else...something else he could ask for guidance.

His blood was humming in his ears as he ran into the house and took the stairs. He'd only done this once before, and he still had nightmares about it. He opened the trap door and stepped into the attic.

Over by the window, sitting on a three-legged stool, was the shriveled-up mummy of an old lady in a tie-dyed hippie dress. The Oracle.

Percy made himself walk toward her. He waited for the green mist to billow from the mummy's mouth like it had before, but nothing happened.

"Hi," he said. "Uh, what's up?"

Percy winced at how stupid that sounded he said a little louder, "I have a question. I need to know about Annabeth. How can I save her?"

No answer. The sun slanted through the dirty attic window, lighting the dust motes dancing in the air.

He waited longer.

Soon he got angry and said, "All right, fine. I'll figure it out myself."

That night after dinner, Percy was seriously ready to beat the Hunters at capture the flag. It was going to be a small game: only thirteen Hunters, including Bianca di Angelo, and about the same number of campers.

Zoe Nightshade looked pretty upset. She kept glancing resentfully at Chiron like she couldn't believe he was making her do this. The other Hunters didn't look too happy, either. Unlike last night, they weren't laughing or joking around. They just huddled together in the dining pavilion, whispering nervously to each other as they strapped on their armor. Some of them even looked like they'd been crying. Maybe Zoe had told them about her nightmare.

One team had Percy, Y/N, Beckendorf, and two other Hephaestus guys, a few from the Ares cabin (though it still seemed strange that Clarisse wasn't around), the Stoll brothers, and Nico from Hermes cabin, and a few Aphrodite kids. It was weird that the Aphrodite cabin wanted to play. Usually, they sat on the sidelines, chatted, and checked their reflections in the river and stuff, but when they heard they were fighting the Hunters, they were raring to go.

"I'll show them 'love is worthless,'" Silena Beauregard grumbled as she strapped on her armor. "I'll pulverize them!"

That left Thalia and Percy.

"I'll take the offense," Thalia volunteered. "You and Y/N can take defense."

"Oh." Percy hesitated because he'd been about to say the exact same thing, only reversed. "Don't you think with your shield and all, you'd be better defense?"

"Well, I was thinking it would make better offense," Thalia said. "Besides, you've had more practice at defense."

"Yeah, no problem," he lied.

"Cool." Thalia turned to help some of the Aphrodite kids, who were having trouble suiting up their armor without breaking their nails.

"Wow, you gave in quick," Y/N chuckled, amused by their interaction. Although they weren't having long conversations as they did before, things were a bit calmer between them. Well, to be clear, Y/N wasn't seeking him out anymore. It became clearer than ever to Percy how exactly they'd been behaving with her as Annabeth went missing. Y/N was never there with them whenever they were having fun but was always there for them when they got into trouble. With Annabeth gone, and their little fight, he slowly began to understand why she preferred to spend time with Harris.

"Hey...you-" Percy got interrupted as  Chiron's hoof thundered on the pavilion floor.

"Hm?"

Percy turned to look at her. Y/N's eyes looked dull. She looked like she didn't get much sleep. He should've asked how she was doing. But...her eyes were still really pretty.

He snapped out of his thoughts as Chiron started the announcement and said, "Nothing."

"Percy!" Chiron pleaded.

Well, Camp-Half Blood lost and it was because of both Thalia and Percy. They had a little spat and were now ready to have a full-on fight. Y/N watched them from a distance. She didn't want to get in between their fight and look like some kind of messiah, saving the day by stopping her two friends' fight. They had some issues and they needed to sort it out - in what way was none of her concern. To be honest, her mind was too busy worrying about Annabeth. She already lost her aim a couple of times which made her mood bitter. She was in no mood to resolve the fight.

Percy was about to hurl it at Thalia when he saw something in the woods. He lost his anger and concentration all at once. The water splashed back into the creekbed. Thalia was so surprised that she turned to see what he was looking at.

Someone... something was approaching. It was shrouded in a murky green mist, but as it got closer, the campers and Hunters gasped.

"This is impossible," Chiron said. I'd never heard him sound so nervous. "It... she has never left the attic. Never."

And yet, the withered mummy that held the Oracle shuffled forward until she stood in the center of the group. Mist curled around their feet, turning the snow a sickly shade of green.

None of them dared to move. Then her voice hissed inside their head. Apparently, everyone could hear it, because several clutched their hands over their ears.

'I am the spirit of Delphi, the voice said. Speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python.'

The Oracle regarded him with its cold, dead eyes. Then she turned unmistakably toward Zoe Nightshade.

'Approach, Seeker, and ask.'

Zoe swallowed. "What must I do to help my goddess?"

The Oracle's mouth opened, and green mist poured out. They saw the vague image of a mountain, and a girl standing at the barren peak. It was Artemis, but she was wrapped in chains, fettered to the rocks. She was kneeling, her hands raised as if to fend off an attacker, and it looked like she was in pain. The Oracle spoke:

'Six shall go west to the goddess in chains, One shall be lost in the land without rain, The bane of Olympus shows the trail, Campers and Hunters combined prevail, The Titan's curse must one withstand, And one shall perish by a parent's hand.'

Then, as they were watching, the mist swirled and retreated like a great green serpent into the mummy's mouth. The Oracle sat down on a rock and became as still as she'd been in the attic as if she might sit by this creek for a hundred years.

Dionysus later called the council of cabin leaders to discuss the prophecy. Since almost all of the Apollo cabin members were not in the camp, Thalia suggested that she should attend. As the meeting started, everyone started talking about the prophecy and its meaning. Y/N quietly observed everyone. She was just waiting for the right moment to talk, that is when the members would be selected - who should be out there to help.

She has been training a lot and her healing abilities improved a lot. She just knew, that whoever got selected, she has to be in there to act as a healer. That was what she was good at. Well, apart from that she also improved a lot on other grounds - practicing hymns, archery, shock waves, etc.

And as expected, she was included in it. Y/N could only feel pity for Percy. It must be killing him inside cause he was the only one who was thinking about Annabeth all the time. Currently, she was sitting along with Zoe and Bianca, trying to explain how Phoebe cannot be cured as quickly as they expected her.

"How are you going to heal us then if you can't even heal Phoebe?" Bianca asked.

Y/N sighed. This was the result of a foolish prank from the Stoll brothers. Centaur blood is like acid and they sprayed the inside of that Artemis Hunting Tour T-shirt with it. "Look, for the time being, I can make sure it's not so painful for her. But even to heal it with my power, it's gonna take weeks."

It's a lie.

At the most, she could heal Phoebe in two days. Of course, she would prepare everything to make sure Phoebe is healed within a week. With the members of Apollo cabin missing, no one is there to tell them the truth anyway. And no one knew to what extent she improved. This was the only chance to include Percy. Besides, she was sure that Zoe wouldn't wait to see how better Phoebe's condition gets after taking the medicine. Before they could realize it, they would already be out to help Annabeth.

She couldn't help but be selfish about it. If she knew Percy even a little bit, she was sure that he wasn't going to stay in the camp anyway. He would sneak out once again. God knows how, where and what he could be doing alone. It would be better to include him than to do nothing, knowing he was about to be kicked out of the camp again.

"She will live," Zoe said. "But she'll be bedridden for weeks with horrible hives. There is no way she can go. It's up to me... and thee."

"But the prophecy," Bianca said. "If Phoebe can't go, we only have five. We'll have to pick another."

"There is no time," Zoe said. "We must leave at first light. That's immediately. Besides, the prophecy said we would lose one."

"We can include Percy, you know. I swear you won't have to deal with him in any way."

"The prophecy said we will lose one," Zoe looked straight into her eyes and said, "We both know you don't want that."

"How are you even sure it's gonna be him?" Y/N asked in a tone filled with annoyance.

"No, I know that if six of us go, one is bound to..." she cleared her throat, "There's less chance of that if only five of us go."

Bianca was silent. "You should tell her the rest of your dream."

"What dream?" Y/N asked.

"No. It would not help."

"But if your suspicions are correct, about the General—"

"I have thy word not to talk about that," Zoe said. She sounded really anguished. "We will find out soon enough. Now come. Dawn is breaking."

As the girls sprinted down the steps, Y/N stopped and turned to her left. She could swear she heard someone breathe. Bianca yelled, "The lights of the Big House are on. Hurry!" And she followed her out of the pavilion.

Percy was almost caught. Y/N had a good sense of hearing. He almost made a sound when Y/N turned to look at him.

For a moment, he couldn't look away. They were standing so close to each other and her eyes...were glistening. Oh, she was trying her best to not cry on the spot. She tried her best for him, didn't she? His eyes couldn't help but go down to her lips.

Thankfully, Bianca called her at the right moment. He almost forgot the position he was standing in.

next: chapter seven >

book three: the titan’s curse

percy jackson x reader series

MASTERLIST

Tags: @the-natureofme @sly-prince @kookiedesi @instabull @jumpingtrainsandflyingskies @idk-bye-no @your-typical-giggle @fjschl​ @imuziawi​ @iamparou​ @marshmallow12435​

[theartistknownaslymond]

A playlist for Checkmate-era Philippa? x

mon chois et fait

A band AU playlist for Philippa pining over Francis. cf. Francis pining over Philippa, here

The final piece of the puzzle, if you will (young Philippa’s influences, Philippa’s musical evolution from DK through to RC)

Johnny Cash - Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes

Erasure - Ship of Fools

Elvis Costello - Deep Dark Truthful Mirror

Shelagh McDonald - Stargazer

Kate Bush - Never Be Mine

Deacon Blue - The World is Lit by Lightning

Queen - Scandal

Pet Shop Boys - I'm Not Scared

New Order - All the Way

Steeleye Span - Seagull

Clannad - Almost Seems (Too Late to Turn)

Donna Summer - Breakaway

Tracy Chapman - Crossroads

Anne Briggs - Go Your Way

Shelagh Mcdonald - Let No Man Steal Your Thyme

The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl - Fairytale of New York

Prince & the Revolution - When Doves Cry

Eurythmics - We Two Are One

Faceclaims: Ellie Kendrick and Patrick Wolf. Idk when or why, but I got it in my head that the music of 1989 was largely naff, but then I started digging and it turns out there are a lot of songs about the difficulty of being in the spotlight while going through private turmoil. So - I hope you all like pain!

1) Yes it’s Ben Jonson’s poem, but sung by Johnny Cash. Technically only released on a later album, but I’m going to assume there was precedent for him and others performing it live in this style - Paul Robeson made it a big hit too, but the guitar version here is more Philippa. It’s *probably* the best I can do for a band AU equivalent to ‘Tant que je vive’, for now, at least, and Philippa has been established to be a big fan of Johnny Cash already.

2) The title of this is also a bit of a Renaissance Easter egg, but the lyrics don’t seem to resemble the text known as the Ship of Fools. 1988/89 were the big years for Erasure, but Pippa will probably have got to know them earlier, when she was working with charities and protest groups in London - Andy Bell having been out and proud from the beginning. I close my eyes and I try to imagine What you're dreaming Why can't you see what you're doing to me? My world is spinning The lyrics also make reference to ‘the baby of the class’, which I think plays on Philippa’s worry that Francis doesn’t take her seriously because of her age, and Francis’ own determination to prove himself outside Richard’s shadow.

3) This album features on so many of my playlists, but it’s really got it all! Philippa is again established to be an Elvis Costello fan in the AU. This is one of the most lyrically obtuse on the album, and fits with Philippa being as reticent to admit what she really feels as Francis is. It’s weird and increasingly troubling, which I do think fits Philippa’s search for information about Francis’ past, and how deep in she gets. A stripping puppet on a liquid stick Gets into it pretty thick A butterfly drinks a turtle's tears But how do you know he really needs it? Because a butterfly feeds on a dead monkey's hand Jesus wept, he felt abandoned You're spellbound baby there's no doubting that Did you ever see a stare like a Persian cat?

4) Keeping her folk roots - under Austin’s influence, but this song (from a woman who disappeared on the cusp of stardom in the 1970s - she turned up about 30 years later explaining that she’d had the mother of all bad trips) doesn’t need much explaining. The lyrics fit Checkmate so well: He was a stargazer She asks what'll the future bring Mercury and Jupiter will bring you wealth and golden rings They have climbed the hill and watched the sun go down to rest He said: "Will you be my friend? I fear that there's nothing left to give, my Lady" She said: "Let's follow the sun behind the hill To where it's hiding." He was a stranger to her His father was a poet Lead her by the hand on the hill Touch the golden sunset How did feelings die, he's afraid to know Why did she have to lie She'd only stay until it's time for her to go She said take the sun in your hands, be glad For this is love you hold.

5) ANY opportunity to put one of my all time favouritest songs on a playlist! But genuinely, it’s all about the unrequited love, the pining, the thinking that the other person is better off without you... Very much a Philippa perspective on Francis and Catherine d’Albon. Plus she could play a cover with the Northumbrian pipes instead of the Uilean pipes :’) And this is where I want to be This is what I need This is where I want to be This is what I need This is where I want to be But I know that this will never be mine

6) It’s maybe more precisely how Francis feels about Philippa, but as with the other playlist for them, I think a certain degree of overlap is inevitable. This is one of Adam’s favourite bands, so Pippa’s bound to encounter their new release on the tour bus or at a party. So maybe you're standing In some foreign town You've walked for miles Till the heat slows you down And your jeans and your curls Are bleached and split And your money and your anger Are all used up Maybe I'm sorry About the light in this place Makes my heart seem cold As the words on these pages Maybe I'm reminded By a shop window display or a decoration Like some church candle that might just burn Dancing under chandeliers and I'm telling you Caught in the headlights and I'm yelling it at you Why is it girl when the world is lit by lightning That I keep telling you that I love you

7) This one is just. Aughh. Philippa is in the midst of a media storm now, it’s been brewing ever since she came back from Las Vegas married to Francis Crawford with an adopted (sure, the world says, ‘adopted’) child. She’s trying to make the world better, trying to work out what kind of career she wants/what kind of music is ‘hers’, and in the middle of it she’s realised she actually loves the man she’s married to, who hasn’t yet managed to divorce her, but is publicly dating a huge French star and is also plastered all over the papers...papers that doubtless have much to say about both their sexuality, too. And like, yeah, this was released in 1989, it was one of the biggest albums of the year. It's only a life to be Twisted and broken They'll see the heartache They'll see our love break, yeah They'll hear me pleading I'll say for God sakes Over and over and over And over again, yeah

8) Neil Tennant, a fellow Geordie who refuses to talk about his sexuality to the slavering mob? He’s also since emerged as a big backer of Labour (prior to the 2000s anyway) and is a trustee in Elton John’s AIDs foundation. So definitely another of Pippa’s Ringed Castle contacts. They probably bonded over their shared love of Elvis Costello’s protest songs. And then there’s the lyrics. I mean: What have you got to say of shadows in your past? I thought that if you paid, you'd keep them off our backs But I don't care, baby, I'm not scared What have you got to hide? Who will it compromise? Where do we have to be so I can laugh and you'll be free? I'd go anywhere, baby, I don't care I'm not scared

9) Another album likely nicked from Adam, though they were also buddies of Neil Tennant. One for Pippa learning to find her own way between the music she grew up with (that Austin insists she should foreground) and the world she’s been involved in in London. Probably a bit of a manifesto, trying to toughen herself up for life after the divorce: It don't take no Houdini To tell me what I am Parasites and literasites They'd burn me if they can But I don't give a damn About what those people say They pick you up and kick you out They hurt you every day It takes years to find the nerve To be apart from what you've done To find the truth inside yourself And not depend on anyone

10) So, this is the kind of...folk rock that the ‘80s got. Bouncy! It’s also not actually a folk song I can identify, I think it was written by the band. It can be interpreted in light of the triangles in Checkmate - Catherine/Francis/Philippa and Francis/Philippa/Austin, plus Philippa’s own mission to find out about Francis at all costs. Penny the hero, Penny the fool The gold watch she gave me I'll treasure They say that it's only a game after all Apart from the pain it's a pleasure Seagull, seagull, three three in a bed...

11) More ‘80s folk! Clannad and Enya were getting big at this point, but this particular album again has a lot of Francis/Philippa relevant feelings. I just put this track on though, for the obvious...trying to work out if a relationship is still possible after painful revelations and public separation. Ah, Austin has no idea why she’s listening to it so much! To you I saw the sad decline A rift become a storm Stayed so cold last night This lonely heart inside me says

Almost seems to late to turn What to do if I'm to learn Almost seems to late to turn

12) Despite the mid-’80s rumours that she was homophobic, Donna Summer seems to have spent quite a lot of time and effort (in 1989 no less) on refuting those rumours (true, on the level of ‘some of my best writers are gay!’). And she is, after all, Queen of Disco. But Pippa and Danny have to have something to belt out together on tour bus karaoke nights! But I don't think she can take it And just friendship can't replace it She'll be strong enough for two Although it's hard for her to do She'll breakaway Ooh, ooh, ooh she'll breakaway

13) Ahh, someone had to make folk music cool again <3 Tracy is a gorgeous guitarist and singer, just the kind of inspiration Philippa needs when she’s feeling a bit lost at this end of the decade. What’s that? Another artist who is constantly badgered about their sexuality and refuses to talk about it? A second album dealing with the loss of privacy that comes with fame? She played at an Amnesty International set in London in ‘88, I hope Philippa got the chance to hang out with her then :) All you folks think you own my life But you never made any sacrifice Demons they are on my trail I'm standing at the crossroads of the hell I look to the left I look to the right There're hands that grab me on every side

14) Now this one ain’t from the 1980s, but Annie’s been established as an influence on Philippa (and Kate) from the start, and it’s this kind of pared-back, folk-club-friendly stuff that Austin’s probably hoping to get her back into. Bert Jansch and others helped to make this song Annie wrote big, so for Philippa there’s a bittersweet side to the fact that this song, written by a woman, not a traditional tune, was only recognised as being important when men started playing it (side-eyeing Austiiiiinnn). But she’ll certainly put it in her sets if she thinks Francis is watching :’) Friends and strangers bring stories When asked where you might be Magic stories they have brought to me You go your way, my love

15) This is like...the quintessential folksong for lamenting giving up your virginity to some useless guy who only wanted that from you and nothing more. For when your thyme is past and gone He'll care no more for you, you For every place that your thyme was waste Will all spread o'er with rue, rue Will all spread o'er with rue For woman is a branchy tree And man a clinging vine, vine And from her branches carelessly He takes what he can find, find He takes what he can find

16) I know we’ve kind of reached a point where people think it’s basic to say this is the best Christmas song ever, but actually, it is. So there. It’s perfect. It does contain the f-slur yes, as Shane McGowan says, it’s part of the persona Kirsty is singing, though he has also said he’s quite happy for it to be cut when people play it now. And we’ve had Pogues and Kirsty on Pippa playlists/inspiration lists before, too. Anyway - I propose: Francis and Philippa singing this live together, both madly in love with each other, knowing how in love they are with each other, daily pretending to be indifferent to one another, now having to play at hate-loving each other, while the whole world watches going ‘wtf is going on here?!’ K: "I could have been someone" S: Well, so could anyone K: You took my dreams from me When I first found you S: I kept them with me, babe I put them with my own Can't make it all alone I've built my dreams around you

17) Couldn’t have a Pippa playlist without Prince :’) And yeah, the album’s earlier, but I’m not sure Batdance really fits the mood here, plus it complements Purple Rain on Francis’ playlist. How can you just leave me standing Alone in a world that's so cold? (So cold) Maybe I'm just too demanding Maybe I'm just like my father: too bold Maybe you're just like my mother She's never satisfied (She's never satisfied) Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like When doves cry

18) A big bluesy ballad to finish up! Annie Lennox is from the same cut as a lot of other artists here: she’s done a lot of activism and fundraising, played the Mandela charity set in ‘88 and has been a big supporter of LGBT+ rights since appearing in an early Eurythmics video with short-cropped hair and a suit on. Per Wikipedia: ‘Lennox was viewed as the female version of Boy George. They appeared together on the front cover of the British music magazine Smash Hits in December 1983 with the headline "Which one is the boy?".‘ Stay classy, British music press. People like us Are too messed up To live in solitude I'm gonna cure that problem, baby I'm gonna fix it good...

[iravaid]

do u have any thoughts about andrei vtmb

Andrei VtMB, the meat man himself <3

I have the occasional thought about him! (usual stuff about these hcs not being set in stone nor the only interpretations of a character, more below)

Was born in the 12th century in what was about to become Wallachia, and then Romania. On the wiki it says he's implied to be of a revenant bloodline and I vibe with that (i say, not knowing jack shit about revenant bloodlines).

Was raised with other revenant children; groomed to either continue the line, or be embraced by interested elders. Andrei proved himself maybe not be the sharpest nor most vicious, but the most creative. A very abstract thinker who preferred to toil away quietly at a painting or sculpture, rather than delve into politics or the art of combat.

Embraced in the 14th century by Sascha Vykos (hc shared with @ryttu3k and @robotslenderman), after the events in Constantinople, and before the first Anarch Revolt and subsequent formation of the Sabbat. Something of her pet project, destined to become another mind-numb servant, before Sascha realised Andrei's own personal potential as a sculptor and torturer. He learned from the best, after all.

Was there for the Convention of Thorns; probably exchanged notes with Strauss lmao

More interested in the art of creation through Vicissitude rather than political gain or Sabbat conquest. Did not have a large part to play in the Battle of New York, and also never cared to become a Voivode of the local Tzimisce. Instead he toiled away at his creations, some would get loose and cause issues in the subways, but Andrei didn't particularly care. It's only his connection to Vykos that makes him at least somewhat aware of the Sabbat's goings on, as well as what dissuades other Sabbat kindred from trying to diablerise him.

Left to LA for the promise of better stock to experiment with: he's been surrounded by so many of the same Sabbat and Camarilla clan archetypes that the Anarchs and Kuei-jin are exotic to Andrei. Became an archbishop through the promise he'd raze the other factions and claim LA for the Sabbat - ended up ignoring most of his constituents and used the Nosferatu as an excuse to create quietly in his basement in the hills. Hence why the Sabbat aren't that impressive in VtMB: not a lot of preparation bar their hideout in the hotel.

Very in tune with pop culture and popular media, somehow. Big fan of radio shows because he can put it on in the background while he works. Probably has a strong parasocial relationship with Deb lmao, thinks they're besties.

Loved The Golden Girls and watches reruns. Obsessed with the image of him wearing a robe while draped on his stupid Flesh Chaise Lounge, sipping blood and chortling at whatever shenanigans those ladies are up to this time.

He's so messy with his Vicissitude, loves the wetness and ugliness of rot and is enamoured with the beauty of an infected wound. His Vicissitude is not the same surgical precision of any other Tzimisce elder, but instead disgusting and imprecise and abstract and living. Andrei lives for the horror when the uninitiated see his creations, the repulsion. Because he knows they'll soon become be a part of it.

In the same vein as his love for pop culture, I imagine Andrei takes some inspiration from artists specialising in the grotesque and off putting. He knows kine are inferior to him, but even cattle have their strokes of genius.

Andrei's appearance has been built on and developed over the centuries, currently he's going through a dinosaurian phase, with the big crest and zulo form that looks like a jurassic park creature. Has always been fixated on powerful, mythological creatures and chose to emulate them, it only makes sense he'd move on to dinosaurs when coming over to LA.

That's all i've got for now - thank you for the ask!

[a-funny-little-sunflower]

Lady Dimitrescu x male reader

[For my simp of a friend, Magnus and for @markiplier]

You were travelling through Europe, and you were currently staying in a little village near a large castle. The village was a tad too religious for your liking, but you couldn’t judge, and besides, the forest and castle made the most beautiful backdrop for painting habits.

One night, when you couldn’t sleep, you’d had the impulsive decision to go on a bit of walk through the snowy landscape, the fresh cool air being too much of a temptation for you to surpass.

However, you had wandered too far and before long, a sea of darkness had enveloped you, and there wasn’t even a star in the sky to guide you back to where you were staying.

Thankfully, your phone hadn’t died just yet, so you had that salvation in being able to see where you were putting your feet. But, on an icy path, being able to see where your going doesn’t mean you aren’t going to fall, and you learnt that the hard way.

You were trying to slowly make your way down an icy hill, and even with your special winter boots, it was difficult, and then all of a sudden, your feet came out from under you without warning and the last thing you remember before everything went dark was sliding down the hill and hearing something moving in the distance.

When you awoke, you felt a cold metal chain wrapped around your wrists, and you were being dragged along a cold forest floor by it.

When you managed to crane your neck enough to see who exactly was dragging you, you were met with broad shoulders and some brown locks just barely visible underneath what seemed to be a hat of some kind.

The man must have felt you staring because he turned his to look at you, and without ceasing in his dragging, he said “You might wanna catch a few more winks there handsome, we’re a long way from the castle yet, and you won’t be doing much sleeping when Alcina gets her hands on ya.”

The broad-shouldered man’s words intrigued you, but you were already feeling your eyes slip close once more, so you had no chance to ask him what he meant.

When you finally woke up again, you heard the voices of 3 women, chattering excitedly together, like an orchestra of birds.

“Oh, I just know that Alcina will love him! He just perfect, isn’t he? Oh, this will be just a lovely present, and it’s a good thing Heisenberg found him when he did, if he hadn’t, he probably would have frozen to death!” The first woman said excitedly.

“I don’t see why we have to keep him alive, why not make use of his body and blood and be done with it?” The second woman with a seductive voice asked.

“Because he bears the same mark as Alcina, don’t you see it on his wrist, see, look, look! Sister, you’re not looking!” The first said is whiny tone, she must be the youngest.

“Well, so what if he does?” The second woman snapped, “That doesn’t mean anything!”

“Oh, you are so stupid, sister!”

“Sisters please…” A third voice entered the conversation, and she must have held authority over the other two because they went silent immediately.

“The fact that he bears the same mark as Alcina means that he is her soulmate, and unless you wish to suffer her wrath, I wouldn’t even think touching him”. She said in a firm warning tone.

“Yes, sister,” the other 2 women said in unison. “Good, now come, we must tell Lady Dumitrescu that her beloved one has finally arrived, just as Mother Miranda promised.” The sound of 3 pairs of heeled footsteps echoed out the door of the room you were in, and you were left alone with your thoughts.

Where were you, and who were those women? Why were they talking about your birthmark, and most importantly, who was Lady Dumitrescu?

Lady Dumitrescu. You liked that name.

Although your limbs were sore and your back ached, you found the strength to get to your feet and look around the room. It looked like it was fit for a Lord.

The bed was a massive four-poster, there was a roaring fireplace and two seats sitting opposite each other right beside the fireplace, a desk, and a painting…Wait…Painting?

Above the fireplace, was a painting of the most divine looking woman you had ever seen in your entire life. The woman seemed to ooze confidence as if she knew that she was better than you and wasn’t afraid to bring attention to that fact. Her golden eyes seemed to glow, and you couldn’t tell if that was because of the firelight or perhaps it was some kind of divine intervention.

After all, surely there had to be some kind of divine intervention to make a being of such beauty.

You had been so transfixed with the staring at the beautiful woman in the painting that you hadn’t heard the door creak open, nor had you heard the click of heels getting closer to you and you were yet to be hit with the realization that the subject of portrait you were currently fawning over, was standing right behind you.

What finally got your attention was the fact that a shadow was being cast right over the portrait, causing your view to be obstructed and that enraged you.

You quickly span around, ready to confront the person that would dare to obstruct the viewing of a Goddess, but what you were met with was the Goddess herself, standing proudly in all her glory.

She was even more gorgeous in the flesh; everything was made to perfection. She was incredibly tall, taller than you could have imagined, wearing a beautiful white dress that complimented her pale complexion, hugged every curve of her elegant form, and displayed her breast in the most exquisite manner. She stood with the confidence of a queen, and if someone had said that she was the very being who hung the stars in the sky, you would have believed them in an instant.

You must have stood there admiring her form for what seemed like years, you couldn’t even bring yourself to blink because you want to miss a single second of this angel before you.

Your final breaking point was when Lady Dumitrescu must have found your smitten expression humorous, and let a smile grace her gorgeous face. Her dazzling smile had such an effect on you that it caused you to drop to your knees in what you could only assume to be worship.

Lady Dumitrescu stared down at your trembling form for a few moments, still smiling and then began to speak. “Come now darling, there will plenty of other times for you to get down on your knees for me in the future, let’s just a conversation first hmm?”

You nodded dumbly, left star struck by the goddess in front of you and allowed her to help you to your shaking feet and guide you to a chair by the fireplace. You shakily sat down without taking your eyes off her and waited for her to speak once more.

“Darling, do you know why you’re here?” She asked. You silently shook your head and the Lady Dumitrescu spoke again. “You were brought to my castle by little brother because he noticed the mark on your wrist, it’s identical to mine and it means that we are destined to be soulmates, just as Mother Miranda prophesied.”

She stated all this like it was already written history, but she hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Are you aware of what that means, and are you comfortable with it?”

It took a moment for all of Alcina’s words to register but you eventually understood. You and Alcina were destined to be together, the fates had written it long before the creation of the world, and after all, who were you to argue with fate?

You smiled at your newly found soulmate, and you felt as though for the first time in your life, you were completely whole. You reached forwards, gathered her hand and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to it, sealing your love for one another for all eternity.

[demonictales]

May I ask for headcanons with Wei ying, Jiang Cheng and Nie huiashang (if I spelled that right). Where reader was their one of their best friend and a Wen, but soon disappeared when the Wen clan started to take over the other sects. Boys then finding their friend, disabled from their golden core and imprisoned in a remote place where no one could have found them, because they rebelled against the clan leader. Could be more angsty if they lost their hearing or sight, because they were tortured.

oh, i’m excited how this one will turn out. here we go! my heart while writing this went →↑→↑←↑↓↑→↑←↓ also I know you said imprisioned but i got kinda carried away writing this. I'm so sorry okijd

TW: TORTURE, BLINDNESS

GUSU LAN CLAN LECTURES

First of all you were Wen Chao's cousin, unfortunately. However, you pretty much did as you wanted to because who could really control you, so of course you went along to the Lan Clan's lectures alongside Wen Qing and Wen Ning.

Of course you arrived in old fashioned Wen manner and interrupted the ceremony already breaking rules at the entrance. When no one else but Wei Wuxian spoke up. It did indeed amuse you the way he spoke up agains Wen Chao so you carefully watched him.

Excused for the day all three of you eventually went their own way. You had no idea what Wen Qing was up to or Wen Ning, so you eventually walked around the clan, exploring your new home for the few lectures to come. Eventually, in the back hill you bumped into Wei Wuxian who thought Wen Ning to use bow and arrow until that nearly backfired when Wen Qing's voice rang through the air.

"Let's say we are even now that you nearly killed Lady Wen. ---" You were joking obviously, but refering to the earlier incident.

He wasn't quite sure how to deal with you yet but it seemed you made quite the point. Eventually you walked along with him, leaving Wen Ning and Qing to their own.

Meeting Jiang Cheng once more you, indeed did apologize for interrupting his greetings earlier that day. You were quite different than most in the Wen Clan, you did apologize and show manners, though you weren't completely innocent.

As much as you did enjoy art and classics, you were also a little troublemaker, It was a healthy combination of mischief and manners that allowed you to walk the grey zone. So of course you soon bonded with Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huiasang.

You became great friends soon. You learned about Wei Wuxian's mischief, enjoyed his stories of bickering with Lan Zhan, came to know Nie Huiasang's grand taste and love for art and other not so lady like things, as well as his dislike for fighting and of course Jiang Cheng, he was rather complicated but you still enjoyed his presence. You could never quite tell what was on his mind but you knew for sure he deeply cared for his family. He was in fact, someone who seemed to long for his own little happy ending.

Meeting up in secret for a drinking which was strictly forbidden, you had lots of fun until the next morning when you were called for punishment. Even though you were a Wen, you could simply walk away but decided to stay and take the 50 hits. You had made friends for a lifetime during the lectures.

WEN CLAN LECTURES

You'd lie if you say you weren't excited to see your friends again, however, it weren't the best circumstances. You greatly disliked the way it had processed to far yet there they stood, all clans: Nie Clan, Jin Clan, Jiang Clang and eventually Hanguang Jun.

This wasn't much of a lecture, more of Wen Chao showing of his power due to the enormous power the Quishan Wen Clan had gathered. You weren't sure if you were embarrassed or disgusted by your cousin but either way, knowing Wei Wuxian's character you soon had something to laugh. And you were right.

Wen Chao made him recite the Wen Clan rules which ironicially, he didn't even know himself so you nearly busted a lung and earned an angry side eye from your cousin when Wei Wuxian recited the Lan Clan rules.

Of course this would not go without punishment, not for you not for Wei Wuxian and co.

Eventually you helped with the dung being spread, being trapped between Jin Zixuan, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan. Fun times. Once more, you apologizes for his behaviour knowing your words could do nothing. The only thing this gave you was the title of Gentle Wen. An embarrassment to your family but in the cultivation world between your friends quite the praise.

You tried getting their swords back but with no luck. You only ended up being grounded in your own room with guards outside.

You weren't able to help your friends out and it did annoy you. It seemed as if you tried harder the more complicated it would get for you to get out of here. It did drive you insane.

When every visitor was suppossed to hunt the monster that roamed through the mountain you once again were by their side, refusing to speak nor act according to your cousin's order.

Which led to quite the argument between you, who stood on your friends side, and Wen Chao and his woman, who for the love of cultivation, wondered where she came from

Either way, you stood between him and Wang Lingjiao when she had ordered to use Mianmian as a sacrifice. You at this point who would believe you, matter of fact, you knew that he was just being abusive. Safe to say it did piss your cousin off and ended up in a fight, eventually were Wei Wuxian would get hurt.

Just like the rest, you got stuck in the cave alongside the rest of the cultivators. Proofing your loyalty to your friends once more. Not so much to the other clans.

This time you helped out Huaisang the most. The poor guy was frightened to death. He was such a soft boy. You felt bad about it and apologzied multiple times while staying by his side, doing your best to help him through the situation. At this point, if you were no traitor to the Wen Clan what else could you possibly be?

You followed Jiang Cheng's introductions to leave the cave through the water, Nie Huaisang by your side.

After all you had made it out word spread proufoundly about you and the Wen Clan. Some said you were a spy, working for the Wen Clan and earning sympathy, others said you were honest about your intentions, later was some encouring words by Nie Huaisang. You truly did appreciate his words.

The moment you stepped foot into Qishan, you were confined to you room until they needed you. They made use of your connections to Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang whenever they needed to. Tricky but smart.

WEN CHAOS HAVOC + SUNHOT CAMPAIGN

It was only when you dumb cousin started to wreak havoc among the clans that you started to see the situation clearly and did not want to have anything to do with it. After cloud recesse had been burned to nearly ashes you spoke up, you were against it. Precious memories were made there and now they had became ashes, quite literally.

If you had known about all the scheming you'd have told Lan Xichen right away, made sure nothing would happen to the Gusu Lan Clan. But being confined barely gave you any choices until one day you fought your way out, meeting your uncle, confronting him about it.

You knew that the Wen Clan was better than that, but the yin iron had taken up to much of his sanity, he instructed Wen Chao to take care of you.

Of course it pained you to see all the chaos and blood being she'd of cour once former friends familie's. There did not a day go by where you begged him to stop. You even tried going against him, but failed miserably.

Wang Lingjiao enjoyed her given power, using it to destroy every piece of hope you still had. Even bringing you along to Lotus Pier to watch the massacre of your closest friends parents.

Daily torture was on your agenda. Being wipped, being burned, being starved or simply kicked and punched by her minions. But you were to prideful to give in just so easily, especially when you head news of Jiang Cheng being captured.

Again, you tried your best to stop him but Wen Chao had enough of your antic and ordered Wen Zuhliu to end it but his woman had a better idea. Get rid of her golden core and blind her. It was her revenge for you spitting the hot soup right into her face, eventually burning her slightly. It was worth it.

You were left in pain, after you felt the power leave your body, the spiritual power who kept healing you in a very slow pace if you needed it but eventually had lost it. The worst was losing your sight, the light of day, not knowing if it was day or night, not being able to navigate on your own.

Treason, that was the reason. You could have had so much more if it wasn't for your weak heart. The words were spoken as hot iron was pushed into your eyes. Your screams were hunting the people who were present. Yet you had lost all of hope and strength in one night, being dumped somewhere on a mountain with nothing but the purpose to die.

After the sunshot campaign people had wondered what happened to you as you were nowhere to be found, yet they all agreed to not search and leave things as they were, the Qishan Wen Clan was extinguished.

PASSING YEARS

Years had passed and you had managed to get yourself back on your feet, even if it wasn't as safe anymore. You learned to live with your blindness.

Deep in the forest in an abandoned little hut. It was perfect for you. You secluded yourself from the world, living in peace. You remembered some tricks your old friend Wei Wuxian had once taught you, and even though your golden core was gone, little tricks like these did do. Obviously you had to renew them every now and then but it was no bother at all.

What you did not know was that the mountain, or rather the forest you lived in belonged to a clan, and possible night hunt had given up your days of silence and years being secluded.

Only when you heard footsteps that did not belong to anything on your small land, you ended up hiding in your small hut, a knife held firmly in your hands.

The voices you could make out seemed familiar but you stayed quiet, perhaps they'd leave.

Of course they did not leave and soon it seemed, three people were standing in your small front yard where chicken where quietly eating and living.

They surely were surprised that someone had managed to live on the mountain of the Jin Clan largest property. That did put you quite in panic. You knew they were your death sentence if they would find you, so you tried to sneak away, but of course Wei Wuxian was one step ahead of you.

" Where do you think you're going ?"

" Wei Wuxian? "

Your voice was hesitant yet filled with surprise but you could definitely make out his voice between a hundred people. A smile almost creeped upon your lips, soley depending on your hearing.

Your attire was still very much simple. A very out worn red hanfu, the logos of the Wen Clan faded but still slightly visible. It was Nie Huaisang that pointed this out. Of course he would notice such details, so he still was alive and breathing. You were deligthed to know this.

However, it was Jiang Cheng who put 1 and 1 together.

" Lady Y/N ? ---"

Silence filled by gasp of Nie Huaisang, as you nodded quietly.

"Guilty."

You were not sure how to feel, happy that you finally met the people you once called friends or scared knowing it could now mean your death.

"I'm glad to hear you are all still well. How have you been all these years? -----"

They would have expected anything but not to meet you. It were raw and mixed feelings. You know you owed Jiang Cheng your live for your family had taken his. You dared not to move your head his way and kept it strictly on the ground.

It was also Wei Wuxians family but it wasn't as deeply rooted.

Nie Huaisang was the first one to approach you, carefully. Asking what had happened to you. So until late night, you told them what happened to you, what your clan did to you, how you ended up here.

You also apologized again, falling to your knees, knowing you could not make up for the loses they had suffered. You started crying, begging for forgiveness.

They explained what had happened on their side, and also admitting they hoped they had not lost you but eventually gave up. You on the other hand did not blame them.

It was a bittersweet reunion after years of forming friendship, betrayal and chaos. Feeling pain and rejoycing again.

[heynikkiyousofine]

A just because little fic for my dear friend @enchantedink-ag​, hoping you have a wonderful weekend!

Ao3: Part 1  l  Part 2 l Part 3

“I don’t give a fuck whoever you are, where is my wife?” His growl growing louder, laced with venom, causing the twin demons to shiver. Inuyasha tightened his grip on Tetsusaiga, golden eyes darting back and forth between the two, readying himself for whatever they had planned next. Sniffing, he could smell the faint jasmine on their silk clothing. Kagome.

The female demon on the left, whose long blue hair glistened in the moonlight, smirked at him, her silver eyes giving him the creeps. “My my, someone’s a little angry. Who knew the half-demon had a little wife? Did you know that’s who she was, Kimoto?”

“I didn’t Kirigaya, but it seems the woman has a protector.” The green haired demon’s matching grey eyes filled with laughter, turning to her. “It seems he has come to rescue her.” Inuyasha’s jaw clenched as he searched for some way to defeat them, unsure of their abilities. His anger coursed through him, boiling his blood beneath. His thoughts returned to Kagome. What would she do? Find out what they want with me.

It was as if she was standing right beside him.

“What do you want with her?” He seethed, his knuckles white and shoulders tense as he waited. He needed to find her and not kill them on the spot.

“As if it matters to you, we need her spiritual powers to bring back our sibling, on the night of the full moon.” Kimoto explained, with the wave of his hand, before turning glistening eyes his way. “Though I don’t why we bother telling you. She’ll be long dead by the time you find her.” Kimoto’s fangs appeared as his smile widened, a laugh coming from his chest when Inuyasha growled louder this time.

All common sense seem to just fall away as Inuyasha raised his fang above his head, calling on the adamant barrage when a loud, painful sound pierced the air. Folding his ears back, he managed to side step just in time to see Kirigaya swipe her claws, aiming for his face. Closing his eyes quickly, he shielded his head with his robe wrapped arm.

When the excruciating sound stopped, Inuyasha opened his eyes to see the pair gone. Shit.

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Kagome knew this wasn’t a good position to be in. The twin demons had caught her off guard and came from behind, striking the back of her head when she was picking herbs in the forest. She remembered a painful signing in her ears and then pain as blackness followed shortly. Turning her throbbing head as much as possible, she saw the rope that bound her arms behind her tied in an intricate knot around a wooden pole. Sighing to herself, she knew her best chance was to wait it out and for Inuyasha to arrive. If he can find me.

Frowning, she peered into the dim light room, her only source a small candle that hung on the wall behind her. The small room was painfully empty, her mind attempting to come up with an escape plan, but becoming unsuccessful. Glancing down at her dirtied hakama, she noticed a bit of blood splattered. Oh great. Inuyasha is going to have a field day with that. Faint footsteps could be heard coming from the door across the room, Kagome’s gut tightened as two matching demons strolled in, smirks on their smug faces.

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Inuyasha sniffed, searched, studied, even crawled in the dirt to catch the faint scent of his wife. He couldn’t help but be frustrated, because this was getting him no where. The two demons didn’t have a scent, which in his right mind, would’ve struck him as odd, but he was so focused on locating the calming jasmine, he didn’t care. A soft jingling could be heard approaching and he knew it was Miroku arriving by his aura. Inuyasha raised his gaze just as Miroku jogged over the crest of the hill, panting as he stopped in front of still kneeling half-demon.

“Inuyasha, what happened to Lady Kagome?! Are you okay?” He managed to get out between breaths.

“Twin demons kidnapped her, but I can’t locate her scent. It’s faint and these arrogant assholes don’t have one.” His growl growing louder as he finished his explanation. He didn’t have time to waste, Kagome could be seriously injured. Kagome. His heart ached at the thought her bleeding, crying out for him.

“No scent? How odd….” Miroku mused as Inuyasha focused his attention back to the air. After a few quiet moments, Miroku continued. “What do these demons look like?”

“One had blue hair, the other green, matching grey eyes. Pale skin, gave me the fucking creeps. No scent from what I can remember. Spoke something about reviving their dead sibling.” He sniffed at the dirt, his claws digging in the hard ground when he couldn’t come up with a direction.

“Nothing is coming to mind. Anything else?” Miroku’s fingers stroked his chin in deep thought. 

“There was this painful ringing in my ears, then they disappeared.”

“Ringing? Like a bell or a gong?”

Nodding, Inuyasha looked towards the setting sun, he needed to hurry and fast. The full moon was tomorrow night and not knowing which direction to head was making his head swarm with anger and anxiety.

“Inuyasha,” Miroku’s quiet voice came from behind him, “If these twin demons are who I think they are, you might be in for a rough battle….” Golden eyes snapped his way, filled with something Miroku had seen many times in the years he had known his friend. Fear.

“Tell me everything you know. Let’s find out form Sango and Kaede too. We don’t have much time. I’m leaving tonight.”

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“You are even prettier in the moonlight.” Kimoto purred as he held Kagome’s chin between his slender, pale fingers. “Sister, it’s a shame she won’t be alive to meet our big brother. He would love her as a companion.” Kirigaya’s gaze only stared at them for a short second before returning to the scrolls she had in front of her.

When they returned to the small room, the lit the remaining candles, bringing a soft glow upon the room. They had uncovered a small window, where the moon shown upon her features, giving her a little hope. Inuyasha had to have known by now she was in trouble. Damn, why hadn’t she grabbed her bow and arrows…. 

Kagome watched as the female studied the scroll, ignoring her brother, who reminded her of Jakotsu, a dead member from the Band of Seven. His figure as a bit on the lean side, but he wore masculine clothing. His voice, mimicking Jakotsu’s tone at times and his head, though a different color, was almost a replica of the dead mercenary. The female however, was the one who radiated energy from her aura, clearly the leader at the moment. Her stance, legs apart, back straight like a soldier only enhanced her perfectly fit clothing. It wasn’t until she was studying that what Kimoto said registered. Won’t be alive?! No way would she be a sacrifice!

“Wait a minute!” She cried, catching both of their attentions, “I will not be some sacrifice. You are going to be sorry once Inuyasha finds us!” Anger and tears began to fill her vision, as the blurry female figure stepped towards her.

“Priestess, we met your little half-demon protector.” Her smile grew broader, little fangs poking out beneath her top lip. Kagome struggled against the ropes, bringing more pain to her already aching body. Grimacing at the tight pull, she did her best imitation of an inu growl, hoping Inuyasha was alright. How dare they hurt him?!

“What did you do to him?” She seethed. Her teeth grounding against one another, the faint taste of blood on her tongue.

“My my, someone’s angry.” Kimoto laughed, clapping his hands together, as Kirigaya grabbed a fistful of dark hair and tugged Kagome’s face forward.

“Your precious husband,” she spat, “will never find you and after we are done with you, there won’t even be a body recognizable to him. Now shut up and sit there like a good little girl.” Releasing her hair, Kagome could feel streaks of tears falling down her cheeks, wetting her red hakama as the two demons grabbed their papers. Snuffing out all but one light once more, the last thing she saw was soft moonlight as she closed her eyes to sob.

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“Sango, your sure this should work against that screeching?” Inuyasha paced as he asked the others a million questions. Everyone could tell this wasn’t like him. Inuyasha is more of a fight now, talk later kind of guy, if he’s this worked up over and taking his time to figure out information about these two demons, this is a serious situation. Kaede mused to herself, grounding some healing herbs for him to take. She wasn’t sure of Kagome’s condition but he could use all the help he could get. She listened to Sango gently explain everything to Inuyasha once more, as Miroku sat beside his demon slayer wife, writing out a few scrolls. Kagome could use them easily, her apprentice having grown much stronger in the months since her return. 

“Inuyasha, take this with ye. It will help with most ailments, since we do not know Kagome’s condition.” The older woman gathered a small pouch and handed him the small plum bag, carefully setting it in his palms. Seeing him nod a silent thanks, she smiled softly for him. He had come along way as well.

“Bozou, whatcha got for me. Kagome don’t have her weapons, so these had better work.” Inuyasha settled the pouch in his robe, before turning towards his best friend.

“These should work, especially with her spiritual power. These two demons, Kimoto and Kirigaya were once part of a trio before their older brother was killed during your father’s reign by non other than Ryūkotsusei and his hoard of dragons. They were powerful in their own right, controlling the air around them. It is most likely why you couldn’t pick up their scent or much of Lady Kagome’s, because they can control the air around them. In turn hiding away anything. Finding them will not be easy. But if what you was true, I think I know where they will be. This ritual, is supposed to be fatal.”

Silence filled the small hut, the crackling of the fire the only sounds as Inuyasha tried to calm his breathing. He had to find her and soon. He hadn’t told her yet, her scent has changed. She doesn’t know she carrying our child yet.”

“Miroku, tell him about the ringing sound.” Sango whispered, her hand gripping tightly on Inuyasha’s arm.

‘Ah yes, excuse they can control air and such, the youngest, Kirigaya has developed the ability to send this painful sound, wrapping the noise around your head. Controlling how loud and painful the sound can be. Much like Kagura could with the wind itself. The plugs Sango gave you earlier should help with the intensity of the screeching as you call it, especially with your sensitive ears.”

“Is that it? Anything else I should know about these demons?” Inuyasha’s shrugging Sango’s touch off, before grabbing a small stack of sutras from him and reaching for Kagome’s weapons.

“There is one more thing, my friend. Their brother, Koyanagi, the one they are planning to bring back from the dead, is said to be very powerful. Much more than Kagura ever was in controlling the wind. Be wary. Though, if my suspicions are correct, even killing one of the three will weaken them greatly. Do you remember the Panther King?” Seeing him nod quickly, Miroku continued. “It will be much like that, with the sacrificial part, but this ritual is needing some serious spiritual power to bring someone back from the dead. A full moon, a special scroll, and the blood of a pure powerful priestess are the key ingredients, take away one of those things and they won’t be able to finish it. But Inuyasha, if completed, or done wrong, it could kill Kagome instantly.”

“I won’t let that happen. Now, where the hell do I go?” He ground out as a wave of nausea came over him.

Author’s note: Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you would like to be tagged when part two and three comes out! A special surprise for part 3 will be featured along as well. Have a great Thursday guys!💕

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 4- Four Marks

Summary: Your travels have taken you to a tavern where you meet the most unlikely of individuals. Then as per usual, trouble ensues.

Warnings: getting manhandled by some elves

Masterlist

Laughing into your mug, you catch the annoyed gaze of your silver haired lover who sits quietly to the right of you on this wooden bench, your backs resting against the stone wall. Its been a couple long weeks since either of you have had moment like this to just sit around and drink with each others company. Geralt may not particularly enjoy the surrounding company of the other tavern goers who fill the hall with their loud speaking voices and obnoxious laughter. But he knows just how much you love the easy entertainment of the civilians living their lives as they have a merry go of it.

"Did I not tell you my seductive powers would work wonders with that idiot from Bruna?"

"You did." Mutters Geralt humorously as he side eyes you.

"Ha, exactly. He had not a chance, try and steal Roach again and you will sorely regret it." You boast happily before taking a swig of your drink, "Hmm, this tastes not half bad either. I've had better of course, but this, not a terribly shit drink in all honesty."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it then."

You smile brightly at your stoic Witcher, he appears rather unenthusiastic but you know what emotions lay behind those two golden eyes of his. He's greatly content having you sit next to him and ramble on about your cleverness in the face of mortal men. He'd have no one else in the entire Continent do such a thing but you, and that's why you love him.

"Right? Great mead, anyways I am a force to be reckoned with, and you know he might have even pissed himself once I gave him a fright. It's what I like to do, lure them in with coy beauty and.." You scrunch your nose while making a fist, "...I got them in my clutches. They never even saw it coming."

"Not once." Agrees Geralt as you lean an elbow against the table to lazily look up at his handsome face.

"You know what?" You ask slyly, scarlet irises trailing all around his face.

"Hmm?"

"You actually look very nice in this lighting, the way you just look around at everyone like you hate the world. It's very sexy." He raises a brow as you smile, "Aside from the stench of horse, sweat, and blood that seems to ever linger on your skin..there's just something about your particular scent that I cannot quite put my finger on."

"You tell me this monthly."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Maybe it has to do with my blood?"

"No. Witcher blood tastes like old mule piss." You add before caching yourself, "Which I wouldn't have the slightest idea personally why. However I know a vampire or two who have divulged in that luxury and have lived to tell me....Not that it's a luxury as in a positive sort of mind, more so, an experience of indulgent sumptuousness for my kin." You're really trying to make this sound less horrendous.

"Drinking Witcher blood?"

You shrug half defensively through a sheepish grin, "What? I never said they killed these Witchers. Okay, okay, that also sounds bad. I promise you though, if they would have killed one of your brethren they would have boasted about the bloodshed. It's what vampires do. So no worries, your friends at Kaer Morhen are most certainly still breathing." Geralt simply holds back a grin as he shakes his head at you and your rambling.

He doesn't care if you know what Witcher blood tastes like, he wouldn't even care if you personally have tasted Witcher blood against your own tongue. He just doesn't want you to stop speaking, it distracts him from the sounds of the tavern goers and that bard. Geralt hums, "Y/N that could have happened three hundred years ago for all I know."

You pause a moment to think, eyes glancing from the window to him as you give a casual shrug, "It might have."

Soon the not terribly horrendous sounds of a bards singing fills your ears with the sweet tunes of an old lute giving what it can to the world as other tavern goers throw bread at the singing man. Oh right there's a bard here. You keep your witty comments to yourself as Geralt keeps his tense stare down with the wooden table while he tries not to grab anyone's unwanted attention, when you glance over to the bard again he's notably walking your way, drink in hand. What now?

Bringing your drink to your lips, you eye up the brightly colored bard as he saunters over, a peculiar smile playing at his features while he leans against a wooden pillar, "I love the way you two just...sit in the corner and brood, minus you my dear lady, what an odd place for such an exquisite creature to..."

"We're here to drink alone." Interrupts Geralt gruffly, you set your drink on the table, a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

The bard nods, looking down for a second before his blue eyes scan over you and Geralt once again, "Good. Yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except.." The curious bard walks around the oaken pillar before sitting down across from you and Geralt, "for you two. Come on. You don't want to keep a man with...bread..in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less." Inquires the cheerful bard, a smile upon his bright visage as he waits patiently for an answer. You pull your legs up onto the bench, leaning your right side into Geralt's strong body as you relax a bit more, amused by this bards bold questioning.

"They don't exist." You finally answer, tucking your hands under your arms as you attempt to get a little bit more comfortable. The bards give you a quizzical look, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"What...doesn't exist?" Ponders the bard as he raises a dark eyebrow at you.

"The creatures in your song." Retorts Geralt bluntly.

"And how would you two know?" Vouches the bard with a smile, excitement upon his face at this little guessing game he's just thrust upon himself, "Oh, fun. White hair...two very scary looking swords.." He quietly proclaims turning his attention now to you, "Hmm marvelous, irises the color of roses...dagger at your hip..." Geralt suddenly begins to get up, done with the bards never ending questions. You stand up yourself, the bard just continues to look at you two like you're the most interesting beings in the whole world, "I know who you two are." He confidently rules out while happily watching you both from his chair.

Geralt walks past him as you follow at his side, the two of you heading for the door as the bard jumps up to trail along, "You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia....and you're the dhampir princess, Y/N of Alkatraz. Called it!" Concludes the bard enthusiastically, much too loudly for your liking. You ignore the turning faces of the other tavern goers before a curly haired young man rises to his feet before you can reach the door to freedom.

"A job I've got for ya's. I beg you." He pleads almost nervously, you halt your movement as Geralt does the same, the two of you abruptly turning to face the man, "A devil...he's been stealing all our grain. In advance, I'll pay you. A hundred ducat." His eyes nervously shifting from you to Geralt.

"One fifty." Chides Geralt, the man immediately pulls out a small sack of coin previously hidden within his coat, a hopeful smile upon his pimply face.

He flashes you a warm grin as his gaze shifts from you to Geralt once again, "I've no doubt either of you'll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear." He gives Geralt the sack of coins, the bard watching intently in the foreground, time to kill a devil then.

——

You were able to walk bard free all the way to the gates of the small mountainous tavern and twelve feet into the gravely dirt road before the bard had tracked you two down. Now here you are, a good distance onto the road as you head for the hills where this devil hides, Geralt leading Roach as you walk in front of them, the bard trying to converse with Geralt to his immediate left.

"Ah. You guys need a hand? I've got two. One for each of the, uh, devil's horns." Confirms the bard breathlessly, trying to keep up with yours and Geralt's quick pace up the hill.

"Go away." Grumbles your annoyed Witcher.

You snicker, just imagining what Geralt's face looks like right now as the bard continues to pester him, "I won't be but silent back-up." The bard cheerfully exclaims, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis, you turn to look at him with an amused grin upon your face.

"Yeah I bet you really know how to muzzle that continuous yapper of yours." He smiles back at you, turning his attention back to Geralt.

"I heard your note, and, yes, you're right, maybe real adventures would make better stories..."

"That's if you survive them." You interrupt with a smirk, glancing back around, catching the animated face of the bard.

He smiles to himself as he holds onto the strap of his old lute, "Yes well, you two, smell chock full of them...amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion?" You turn your head to give him a questioning look, he gives you a quick nervous smile before continuing, "It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak, not for you two of course it's just a meaning..."

"It's onion." Mutters Geralt.

"Blood." You add.

"Right, Yeah. Yeah. Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia and his dangerous lady Y/N of Alkatraz...the-the Butchers of Blaviken!" Bellows the dreaming bard, throwing his hands into the air, Geralt suddenly stops moving, turning to face the smiling idiot.

In one quick motion he punches the bard in his stomach, sending him staggering back onto the dusty road in a coughing and sputtering mess. Geralt turns back to you with a nod before he and Roach continue on past you, you give the bard a diverted look as he slowly picks himself up.

"You've been punched by a Witcher, how's that for your first taste of adventure?" You muse, raising an eyebrow at him.

Clearing his throat of dust he grins at you, "Better then I had hoped." He replies while letting out a small chuckle as he follows you up the road.

——

"Geralt of Rivia, the-the White Wolf or-or something. Mind if I hop up? I'm not really wearing the right footwear." Suggests the bard as he attempts to reach out for Roach's rider-less backside. You sit upon the mare in front of your man, Geralt kindly letting you lean into his leather armor clad torso as he holds her reigns.

"Don't touch Roach." Warns Geralt, the bard immediately pulling away.

"Yeah, right, yeah." He disappointingly replies as you lightly chuckle at the two of them. Soon you and Geralt reach a small tree, where Geralt jumps down to tie off Roach, you sliding off to take a sharp look at your rocky surroundings. The bard watches intently at what your plans are next, deciding to deliver some historical information about the landscape as he tells you how elves called this place Dol Blathanna before they gave it up to the humans. You let him ramble on, unaware you already are educated on the history of this part of the continent, you are almost five hundred years old after all.

You raise your head to find an opening in the large rock formation where the trail appears to lead. Geralt walks past you, sharing an annoyed look as you both listen to the bard rambling on about something you're not listening to. Geralt lets out a huff before turning around and walking down the dusty trail, you trailing after him as the bard lingers in the background.

Your crimson eyes trail over the nearby clusters of tall grasses as the bards loud voice fills your ears, "Geralt? Y/N? Wh-where are you two going? Guys, don't leave me. Helloooo? What are we lookin for again?" Inquires the bard noisily from behind the two of you while you walk past straggly protruding rocks and tall green grasses on either side.

"Blessed silence." Mutters Geralt.

"Yeah, I don't really go in for that. Have you two ever hunted a devil before?" He wonders as both you and Geralt stalk silently towards wherever this devil lays hiding in the brush.

"They don't exist." You add, pulling out your large silver dagger as you listen intently for any unusual sounds.

The bard continues to ramble on while you catch the sight of something tall hidden in the grass, you can hear the rapid heartbeat of this nervous creature. A second later a tiny stone shoots from out of nowhere, slicing Geralt on the forehead as the bard cheers excitedly about how "act two" of his adventure has begun. You watch as his eyes go wide once they spot the devil rising from out of the greenery, you turn to squint at the creature, unsure of what it truly is from here.

"Oh fuck." You whisper before it launches another stone right at you, with supernatural speed you shift to the side where the stone flies past your head, this time knocking out the chatty bard in the process. You and Geralt share a confused glance as you turn to search for this horned fucker before he ends up bloodying you next time. With the beast lost from your vision, you zero in on his thudding heartbeat, not even fifteen seconds later does the devil burst forth from the tall grass. Launching Geralt a good couple yards back as you watch in bewilderment, to taken aback to help him with his unexpected assault.

Within seconds your Witcher is on the hooved half-man, pinning him to the ground as they exchange clever insults with one another. You catching the creatures name to be Torque the Sylvan as it yells at Geralt before he punches the Sylvan in the face to daze him.

Suddenly you can hear the irritated thumping heartbeat of an unfamiliar being when something cracks you across the side of your head from seemingly out of nowhere, sending you staggering to your knees as a small trail of blood trickles down the side of your temple. Your hands catch yourself on the rough gravely dirt as your knees jab into some rocks while you land. When you look up again a large shadowed person is standing above you before they violently bash you in the face with their boot, then darkness.

——

When you wake up again your hands are chained to the wall and a steel collar has been tightly locked around your neck. Your eyes slowly look up to find an unconscious Geralt tied to an equally unconscious bard. The small stony cave prison smells of recent activity in the tell tale scent only an elf could have, shaking your head in agitation you listen to the quiet clinking of your chains. This is not how you intended for today to go.

When you try to pull at your restraints for the first time, you're welcomed with an intense burning sensation flaming the flesh of your left wrist. It appears whoever has taken you prisoner has coated this specific constraint with silver, so whenever you move it just right the metal makes contact with your exposed wrist, fantastic.

After waiting another ten minutes and listening to the bard complain once he finally awoken, Geralt at long last stirs, his eyes going wide as he desperately tries to look around the small stone room. Clearly in a panic and unsure how he got here in the first place.

Letting out an irked sigh you kick his foot to gather his distracted attention, "Oh good you're finally conscious, I thought I was gonna have to kick you awake." You quip at Geralt as the bard chuckles from behind him.

"Now, this is the part where we escape."

"This is the part where they kill us." Grumbles Geralt.

"Who's they?" Asks the bard before an elven woman races into the room, she smells almost sickly and looks even more furious as she kicks them in the head, quickly shutting them up as they grunt in pain.

"Beast." She fumes in Eldar, kicking Geralt once again as you hiss at her, gaining a satisfied smirk upon her elven features, you'd rather enjoy smacking that off her face. A dark curly haired one walks into the room, immediately his eyes catch the bards old lute laying on the floor next to your dagger and Geralt's sword.

You can't see as the bards eyes go wide in fear, "Oi, that's my lute, give it back!" Whines the bard as Geralt gives the she-elf a furious glare, "Quick Y/N, do your scary vampirey thing!" He quickly urges, you'd love nothing more then to shift into a half bat creature and scare the flesh right off this she-elf's bones, but a little problem called silver is preventing you from doing so.

"Shut up." Grumbles Geralt as the she-elf first kicks you in the legs and then Geralt, you're more pissed off then in actual pain from her brief assault.

"You shut up!" She barks in Eldar.

"My Eldar speech is rough. I only got part of that." Replies the bard as you roll your eyes.

"She said shut up." You implore before getting kicked again, the burn of the single silver handcuff sending fire into your wrist as you bite back the pain. The bard then replying to you in broken Eldar as you tell him to "fuck off" back in the same language, Geralt flashing you a confused grimace, unaware that you're fluent in Eldar.

"Do you wanna die right now?" She sasses, staring them down.

"As opposed to later?" Growls back Geralt as she kicks him harshly in the stomach, doing the same to the bard as he cries out for his now broken lute.

"Leave off!" Barks Geralt as she walks around to fiercely punch him in the face.

Your eyes shimmering blood red as anger flashes through them, "I'll slit your fucking throat you elven cunt!" You hiss as she whips around to thrust a boot into your side, the silver chain sizzling your broken flesh at the jarring impact sending you into a flurry of muffled curses, Geralt's eyes softening as he watches you grimace in pain, wishing he could do something about it.

Weakened with this one silver coated cuff, you're not even strong enough to break out of here. Damn silver.

The she-elf scoffs as she glares at the three of you tied up, "You don't deserve the air you breath!" Smack, directly into your Witcher's cheek, "Everything you touch, you destroy!" Another blow straight onto his face in the same moment that the curly haired elf breaks the bards lute in two. Well there goes that.

"You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!" Screams the bard angrily as you lift your head up higher so your steel collar can't completely suffocate your windpipe, the sting in your wrist keeping you alert and ready to fight.

She sneers at him, "Do you like my palace? Hmm?" She grins maliciously, crouching down to take Geralt's fuming bloody face in her hand, "Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?" She challenges quietly before you pull on your chains, striking her roughly in the nose with your boot, the burning of the silver worth her pained gasps as she stumbles backwards. Falling onto the sandy floor of the stone cave as she sputters and coughs, spiting out a glob of blood while the bard laughs.

"Yeah, take that, pointy!" He cheers as she coughs and wheezes some more from her pathetic spot on the ground, the bard suddenly looking concerned, "Wait, what's-what's wrong with her?" He wonders, trying to twist his head around to find you and Geralt. Suddenly a blonde haired elf and the Sylvan enter into your small stony prison.

"She's sick." He simply states, reaching down to kindly tend to his fallen companion from the ground.

Giving him a bewildered look you lean against the stony wall, "And who the fuck is this?" You snap, lightly pulling on your chains in frustration.

"He's Filavandrel, King of the Elves." Quickly answers the Sylvan as he rushes to the fallen elleths other side.

"Not a king by choice." Affirms the elven king Filavandrel as he glances over the three of you.

Geralt's brows furrow in thought, "You were stealing for them." He concludes with a sneer, blood still present on his lips, the Sylvan turning to answer him.

"I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blathanna."

"Forced out? No, they chose..." Starts Geralt.

The elven king snaps his attention over to Geralt, "Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? To starve? To have a Sylvan steal for them?" Angrily interrupts Filavandrel before turning his attention back to the she-elf, "Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt."

"What's three humans in the ground when countless elves have died?" She sneers, a messy trail of blood dripping down from her nostrils.

"One human. And you can let him go." Protests Geralt with a nod in the bards direction.

"Then Posada will learn that we've been stealing. The humans will attack. Many will die...on both sides." Insists Filavandrel as he stands, walking over to look down at Geralt and you.

"The lesser evil." Replies Geralt as he raises his head to look at the elf king in the eyes, "No matter what you choose, you'll come out bloody and hating yourself. Trust me." The elven king crouches down, almost at eye level with your fuming Witcher, he's in a perfect position to crack across the back of his scull, but smartly you think otherwise.

"That's the problem. I can't. This is necessary." Implores the elven king.

"I understand. As long as you understand...that it won't be long before you follow me in death." Replies Geralt dramatically.

The elven king scoffs, "Yes, because they pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic."

"Chaos is the same as it's always been." You finally add, he turns to look down at you, "Humans just adapted better."

"You say adapt, I say destroy." Corrects Filavandrel, anger lacing his every word.

"You are choosing to starve. You're cutting off your ear to spite your face." You vouch back, his face morphing into one of great resentment and irritation.

"You think this is about pride?" He yells, "My elders worked with humans and got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered. "The Great Cleansing," humans called it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved. And now the humans proudly watch these very fields grow...our babies fertilizer for their grain. I don't wish to bury anyone else....I was once Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Now I'm Filavendrel of the Edge of the World. If I bring my people down from these mountains, it would mean bowing down to human sovereignty....They'll make slaves of us. Pariahs of half-blood children." Explains the elven king, sadness and hatred coating his very words, you truly do feel for him and all his kind have endured at the greedy hands of humans.

"Then go somewhere else. Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more then what they fear you to be." Argues Geralt, trying to help these elves see the light.

"Like you, Witcher?" Whispers Filavandrel.

"I have learned to live with them." His golden eyes suddenly finding yours before he looks back up at the elven king, "We both have, so that we may live." The she-elf, Toruviel jumps to her feet.

"Please my king. There are others. A new generation. Evellien who wish to fight! Let's take back what's ours. Starting now." She insists confidently, Filavandrel pulls his dagger from its sheath and your breath catches in your throat at what he may do next.

"Don't fucking touch him!" You growl, pulling at your tightly restrictive chains, the clink and slink of the metal sounding throughout the stony room, right as the Sylvan races to the kings side. "Wait!"

"Torque, stand aside!" Shouts Filavandrel sharply.

"The Witcher could've killed me. But he didn't. He's different. Like us." Swears Torque the Sylvan, Filavandrel simply pushes him aside as you pull on your steel chains, it almost feels like you can't breath with how tight the collar is around your throat, the fiery burning of your wrist oozing red hot blood from beneath the silver cuff and onto the dusty floor.

Your Witcher simply watches Filavendrel's every move, a defiant look his his golden eyes, "If you must kill me...I am ready." Pledges Geralt softly, staring down the elven king the whole time, no this cannot be the end, not now.

Pulling even harder on your iron chains, you growl at the king, "If you end his life I will coat the walls of your golden palace in the blood of every living creature that crosses my path!" You scream furiously, tears welling up in the corners of your scarlet eyes as you violently yank on your chains, more blood seeping out from your silver cuffed wrist.

Geralt sadly glances to you before looking back up at the elven king holding his dagger, "But the Sylvan's right. Don't call me human." Continues Geralt as Filavandrel moves to his side for a better angle to slit his throat. To your absolute horror Geralt locks eyes with you before tilting his head up, opening up his neck for a clean shot of his jugular.

Your face falls before turning into a wolf-like snarl, "I cannot promise you a clean death. But by god, I will let you watch your people suffer!" You cry desperately as the elven king raises his silver dagger, wet salty tears unknowingly begin streaming down the sides of your cheeks as your eyes go wide in hopeless dread. Filavandrel gives you one last look before thrusting his dagger upon your lover.

——

You sit silently upon the back of Roach as she's guided by Geralt who keeps one hand on the leather reins and the other hand across your waist. Your fingers hold onto his muscular arm tightly as a white bloodied cloth covers your left wrist where the silver cuff burned and tore at your flesh. It still stings and most definitely wont heal for awhile, but your pain doesn't matter, all that's of your concern is the fact that Geralt's alive and so are you.

"Credit where credit is due." Starts the bard as he walks beside Roach and the two of you, "That whole reverse-psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way." Says the bard before comically imitating Geralt's gruff voice, "Kill me. I'm ready." Geralt glares down at him before the bard continues, "Oh and you Y/N, with those incredibly convincing bloody threats, genius, they looked terrified.." He boasts for you, "That's the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly's coin to the elves."

"Filavendrel's lute not a charming enough gift for you?" You wonder, the bard swaggers with each step, a bright smile upon his dirty face.

"Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn't she? I do have respect for Filavandrel. He survived the Great Cleansing once. Who knows? Maybe he can do it again? Be reborn." Suddenly the bard begins to sing, "Will the elf king heed, What the Witcher entreaty? Is history a wheel. Doomed to repeat? No that's...that's shit." Surmises the bard, squinting his eyes as the sun beams down brightly upon the three of you on the dusty dirt path.

"This is where we part ways, bard, for good." Remarks Geralt as you lean into his body, turning your head towards the bard.

"I promised to change the public's tune about you two. At least allow me to try." He politely insists as he whips his lute around to gently strum her cords, "When a humble bard. Graced a ride along. With Geralt of Rivia..." Sings the bard, happily strumming away at his new lute as he makes it up on the go, "And so cried the Witcher. He can't be bleat..."

"That's now how it happened." Grumbles Geralt as he quickly halts Roach, "Where's your newfound respect?" Wonders Geralt as the bard turns to look at him, an unbothered smile creeping onto his face.

Shaking his head he looks up at Geralt, "Respect doesn't make history." He corrects before turning around once again, "Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plenty. O Valley of Plenty, oh-oh-oh. Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plentyyyyy." He sings loudly, continuing to delightfully strum at his prized lute while taking the lead down the dirt path, out of earshot from your whispering.

Hugging Geralt's strong arm that's lazily casted over your abdomen, do you lightly laugh at the bards antics and Geralt's moodiness, "It's a bit catchy isn't it?" You muse while craning your neck to catch his annoyed golden irises, "Why not keep him around...until he gets sick of us or...maybe eaten by a werewolf, who knows."

Geralt raises a single eyebrow to you, "Our nights under the stars are about to get uncomfortable." He simply replies, hugging you pleasantly closer as he clicks his tongue for Roach to walk again. You chuckle at his adorably concerned remark, glad that today didn't end in sorrow and death for once.

-

Tagged:  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

[renova-writes]

Coney Island Hotdogs

Requested by: @maximeevansblog

Summary: “The reader is the daughter of bucky barnes, and the have a daddy - daugther Day, but the reader wants to sleep but her dad has other plans , and end of the Day the asks what do you wanna eat Mac donalds and the watch a movie, but the reader falls a sleep trough the movie, and he carries her to bed, but she wakes up and her dad she go back to sleep button, i am carring you to bed, and allot of fluff and cuteness and if its ready you tag me right thanks”

Words: 2,004

Warnings: Just basically a bunch of Fluff. Some mentions of bullying and death, but very light and fun

Other Works: masterlist

"Five more minutes," you whined. The clock on your bedstand read 5:39 am.

"Hey, button," you heard a voice whisper. The dark locks dangling over you told you that it was your father. "Get dressed. I have a surprise for you."

"It's too early."

"I know, but I'll make you a (your favorite caffeinated drink)" Your dad obviously wanted you to get up but was not going to force you. That was one of your favorite things about him. He never forced you to do anything you didn't want to.

"Really" Your sleepy eyes lit up at the mention of caffeine.

"Yes button, really. I promise. Just get yourself ready to go, and it will be waiting for you" he smiled and walked out of your room, "Also, bring a jacket. Just in case."

With that, your dad left. As you paused for a moment in your bedsheets, soaking up the last moments of fluffy warmth before you needed to get up, excitement crawled up your spine. It wasn't often that you and your dad did things, just the two of you. He was always busy with the Avengers, or you two were over with Sam and his family. When you did make time for special days, he usually asked you what you wanted to do beforehand.

His walking into your room at five in the morning, asking you to get up so that you two could have a bonding day, was unusual. He must have something special planned.

You forced yourself to get out of bed. That was going to be the hardest part. Half asleep, you dragged yourself over to the bathroom. You did your business and paused after washing your hands to brush your teeth and your hair. A smile crept across your face in the mirror as you tried to guess what you were going to do.

The zoo? The park? Maybe the museums?

You lived in the Avenger's tower in the heart of New York City, so there were many options. You gave up trying to guess and decided to go with whatever. It was going to be fun no matter what.

It was the beginning of spring, so it was warm during the day but cold in the mornings. You picked out a light floral dress, leggings, and a cardigan so that you could have layers. Some essential jewelry and your boots would also be a part of your outfit.

After putting on your clothes and some basic makeup, you made your way to the main room of your apartment. Just like he had promised, your dad had gotten your beverage from the Starbucks next to the lobby. He had probably gotten it before waking you up as it was sitting in the microwave/fridge.

"Hey button. Nice to see that you finally have awoken from your cavern of blankets," he joked, "You ready. I've got an amazing day planned out. Just the two of us."

"Yep. Where are we going."

"Button, that's a surprise!"

"Tell me!!" you giggled.

"Well, it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you," he smiled. A goofy grin was on his face, with admiration pouring out of his eyes.

"Just a hint…" you begged. "I'll probably forget by the time we get there."

"No. I want it to be a complete surprise," your dad insisted, "that's why, after you drink your drink, I want you to put on a blindfold."

Oh dear, he was very insistent about this whole surprise thing.

"But first, BREAKFAST!!!" he exclaimed as he presented you with your favorite breakfast, waffles, and strawberries. The plate seemed to sparkle with deliciousness as your stomach cried out in hunger.

"Yummy!!!"

"See, I remembered your favorite" he seemed very proud of himself. You had mentioned that you liked waffles when Wanda had made them for a birthday breakfast.

"Dig in! I put some strawberry syrup into the waffles themselves so that we would have extra strawberry flavor."

He handed you a fork and a knife, and you cut into them. The heat fell off of the bite on your forked, and you braced yourself in anticipation. Your father could cook; he and Steve used to make dinners for the team. But that was with Steve, now that he was gone, your dad rarely cooked. It had been hard for him. He was slowly getting over it; you definitely helped. Having somebody to take of, his therapist agreed, was very good for him. But his food was very hit or miss. This morning, however, the waffles were amazing.

The strawberries tasted fresh and had the perfect amount of sweetness. The waffles were eggy, precisely the way you liked them.

"Dad! These are delicious!" you exclaimed.

"I know, right, they're so good," he nodded in agreement, "but can I admit something? I stole the recipe off Auntie Wanda."

It didn't matter where he got the recipe from. They were delicious. It took the two of you a total of 10 minutes to eat the entire plateful.

He pulled a blindfold out of his pocket and put it around your eyes. You had faith that he wouldn't let you bump into anything. You weren't going to have to worry about the crowded city streets. When the strangers passing by got a glimpse of his metal arm, they always made a beeline away from him.

You knew it hurt him. You could see it in his eyes. He was your dad, after all. When you were younger, you couldn't understand why they were afraid, but now that you were older, you knew. It never, even for a second, hurt your relationship with your dad. You loved him. You knew that the real James Barnes was a cinnamon roll. This was a man who wouldn't kill spiders when he found them in the kitchen. This was a man who hung out with the Parker boy and played video games.

Even though the blindfold around your eyes took away your sight, you knew that your dad was checking to see if his gun was where he needed it. After all, he was the Winter Soldier. But that was an everyday thing. When he stopped rustling with his pockets, you felt a hand on your shoulder guiding you out of the room.

------

As soon as you heard the crowd's excitement, you knew where you were. The smell of cotton candy and hot dogs confirmed it.

Your dad had taken you to Coney Island.

You hadn't been there since you were a little kid and couldn't control your excitement. The hand that had been guiding you on your shoulder disappeared and removed the blindfold.

After taking a moment to adjust to the light, your eyes took in the flashing lights and kids running around. The roller coasters and carnival games all around you captivated your attention and caused a smile to form on your face.

"How's this for a surprise Button?"

"Dad, this is amazing! Thank you!!!"

"What ride do you want to go on first?"

The morning flew by in a blur. You and your dad had decided to go on every single ride you could. He had enjoyed the bumper cars and had won you a stuffed panda bear on one of the shooting games. You got the famous coney island hot dogs for lunch and ate on a bench on the beach. The entire morning, there was one thing that you really wanted to do… Ride the Cyclone.

"Hey, dad….."

"Yes Button"

"Can we ride the Cyclone"

"Um. of course. We have to. What's the point of coming here if we don't."

You threw away your trash and got in line. A man with purple hair and tattoos strapped the two of you in and took your picture.

"Alrighty ladies and gents," the loudspeaker in the car said. "Are you ready for the Cyclone"

Everyone on the train whooped and hollered in excitement, and the car lurched forward. Slowly you crept up the first hill and felt the adrenaline follow. At the top, you saw the people on the benches below. You couldn't help but compare them to little dolls from your height.

With that, the car reached the top of the hill and falls.

"Whoa, Button, I think I'm going to be sick," Buck said once you were off. He was looking somewhat green and queasy.

It was your turn to guide him... to a trash can. It turned out he wasn't going to throw up, which you were grateful for, but the Cyclone's toll had been taken. He rested his body on a bench and called it quits.

"What time is it," he asked. You checked your watch. It was two in the afternoon. "How about we do something a little, slower."

"Sure," you agreed. You were in Brooklyn, his home borough, and he decided to take you on a tour of where he grew up.

"And this is the alleyway where your Uncle Steve decided to get in all those fights," he said you passed by. "One time, after I saved his tiny ass, he told me that he thought he had pulled a muscle, and I was all like, 'Steve, you can't pull what you don't have."

You giggled at the thought of skinny Steve. Continuing on your tour, you saw his old apartment and walked through the one he shared with Steve. It had been turned into a museum, and you laughed together for an hour as he pointed out every single detail that had been changed.

"There was no way that we could have two beds! There was no heater, so we shared one! Why would they change that! It wasn't like we had anything going on between us!" he argued. You laughed as the tour guide still could not recognize one of the old occupants of the apartment.

Once your dad seemed satisfied with his tour, the two of you walked down to the nearest subway stop. In the underground station, you passed those golden arches.

"Dad, can we get McDonald's," you asked.

"Are you sure, Button, we can get much better food back a the tower"

"Yeah, we haven't had it in forever, and I need to feed my inner Chicken nugget," you joked.

He must have been in an excellent mood because he gave in to the lure of the golden arches. He also seemed like he really wanted a burger because he got his usual order, Two big macs, a large fry, and an M&M McFlurry. The super-soldier serum had granted him the ability and need to eat loads of food. You also figured that he wanted a break from Pepper's food because she had decided that the entire team needed to become more healthy conscience. It wasn't that anyone hated her food; it was just somewhat bland. And besides, who wants couscous when you can have Micky D's.

After Bucky had wolfed down his food, and you had savored each bite of Chicken Nugget, you got on the train back home. You could feel yourself grow tired as your body finally rested from an exciting and full day. Your head drooped down and rested on your father's shoulder.

"Hey, button, let's watch a movie in the tower."

He picked out a classic, The Wizard of Oz, and made popcorn. You barely made it to the tornado before your eyes finally gave up. You were so tired that you didn't feel your dad pick you up and start carrying you to your bed.

Your eyes fluttered open as you heard 'If only I had a heart' playing from the TV.

"Hey, Button," your dad's voice whispered, "You fell asleep. I didn't want you to wake up on the sofa, so I'm taking you to your bed."

He laid you down and pulled up the blankets. With a kiss on your forehead, turned to leave.

"Dad, I love you," you called out.

"I love you too, Button" On that note, he turned out your light and closed your door

[beaubokuto]

━ smile a crooked smile

pairing: koutaro bokuto x f!reader

genre: best friends to lovers, royal!au, angst, fluff

summary: koutaro bokuto was the light amongst the darkness that was the kingdom of peredine. but being in love with a flame can only last for so long before burning out.

for the #tooruluv2kparty contest hosted by the lovely @tooruluv​ !!

prompt: “falling in love with my best friend...it is the most destructive thing i have ever done.”

tags/warnings: angst, royalty, swearing, medieval, fantasy, friends to lovers, characters age up throughout the story, minor depictions of violence (dueling, a little bit of blood, open wounds, the creation of a scar), stealing, made up words and phrases, mentions of domestic violence 

You met your soulmate at the age of six. As just a mere child, you had found a piece of yourself in someone else. 

It was the first day of schooling. On the first day, it nearly always consisted of crying children begging to stay with their parents and teachers pretending that everything was okay. 

You had walked to your first day alone. 

As you took the steps that lead to the small building, you walked by a small boy sobbing into his mother’s chest. She was petting his head and whispering something to him that you couldn’t hear.

He was the only one left outside.

“Look,” His mother said, this time in a voice a tad louder. Just enough for you to hear. “She is being brave and going in all by herself.”

The boy turned to you, tears in his eyes and face a shade of red that you never witnessed before. He looked on either side of you, assessing the fact that you were by yourself, and turned back to his mother.

“I can do it.” 

The boy wiped the tears that stained his cheeks and gave his mother one last hug, barely a second, before rushing to your side. You hadn’t realized that you paused on the steps. It was as if you were waiting for him.

“Hi.” The boy was a little small compared to you, still baby fat and full cheeks. “You’re alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Not anymore!” He smiled. You felt the need to squint. “I am Koutaro Bokuto and my dad isn’t here because he’s a knight, so that’s my mama. She said you’re brave.”

“I guess.” You walked again. Bokuto followed. “You’re brave, too.”

He sent another bright smile. This time it was accompanied by a twinkle in his golden eyes.

The friendship only grew from there. You would sit together during reading, play together during recess. He would wait for you on the steps every morning just to walk into the building together. 

This continued into advanced schooling, into your preteen years and into high school. 

He became a true friend.

At the age of ten, four years into your friendship, he asked you to have dinner at his house.

“Why?” You asked in return.

“I think it would be a good idea!” Bokuto took a bite of his lunch. “I can show you around! And my mother is a great cook.”

“I do not think...”

“Don’t think!” He pointed at you with his spoon. “Just agree!”

The thing about Koutaro Bokuto was that he was never formal. He would talk to teachers as if they were his friends; he would laugh at the King if he had the chance.

He was the only one you were informal with.

“Fine.” You slapped his hand away from stealing a bite of your lunch. “Meet me in the town square tonight?”

“Yay!”

That started your routine dinner. For years, you would either meet with Bokuto or arrive at his house for your final meal of the day. Bokuto’s mother would greet you every time with a smile that mimicked Bokuto’s and took your tastes into consideration while cooking.

Bokuto had a life that you wish you had. His parents were married, but his father was a knight who worked in the castle a majority of the time. He had two older sisters, one who was working towards becoming a teacher and one who was only two years older than you two. They would laugh and smile together, discuss each other’s days. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you and your mother had spoken since your father left on a mission to another kingdom.

A garden lined their backyard, and you found your peace in the flowers.

The line between love and friendship is rather thin. You love your friends, of course. But, when does that line blur and shift into something else entirely?

You feared you knew the tightrope of love.

The year between your first and second year of high school was the year Bokuto became taller than you.

He grew overnight, it seemed, as he arrived at your doorstep. His shoulders were muscular against his giant frame. You had to gain your bearings for a moment. 

You found yourself staring.

“You seem smaller.” He joked, obvious to his recent growth and broadness. 

“I suggest you bite your tongue.” You rolled your eyes. 

You were going to say another quip, something about gloating in the presence of a lady, when you noticed a bruise on his cheek. It was purple against his naturally sunkissed skin, boiled at the surface of his cheekbone directly under his right eye. 

His father.

You reached to trace the bruise that marked his skin. He must have forgotten about it; he sent you a confused look as you placed your hand on his cheek. 

“It was him again, wasn’t it?” Your thumb brushed the purple. Bokuto winced, but only a little.

“It is all right.” He took your hand off of his face and intertwined your fingers with his. “We will be late for school if you continue to stare.”

Holding hands was not something new to the friendship. Oftentimes, you would find your hand on his or fingers interlaced. Bokuto would grab your hand, and you would allow him to do so. It was a common occurrence.

But his hand in yours felt like flames. He was attempting to comfort you, telling you that it was all right without using more words. 

That he could endure the pain his father inflicted. 

"Twist your waist.” Bokuto giggled from across the grass. “You cannot possibly think you are doing this correctly.”

You sighed. “Kou, I am throwing knives. You are the one that is good at this. I am not.”

“You are good at everything you do.” He walked to your side.

He had placed a false target on several trees, lining from close to pretty distant from where you stood. The two of you spent most days under the leaves; there was a dock that lead to the seas close by, and you preferred the smell of the salt anyway. 

“This is the hardest part.” Bokuto stood directly behind you. You had grown used to his height and broadness, yet you still felt small with his chest at your back. “Here,”

His hands found your waist, clasping you at your sides. He turned you in a quick movement, only at the hips. 

“Do you see?” He was far too close for you to breathe. “Now repeat that motion, but aim at the same time.”

You inhaled when he took a step back. You felt the oxygen enter your lungs as if he had taken it away in his mere presence. 

You did as told, moving your hips as you held the knife in the same way he taught you. Letting it fly, the knife landed in the second-most outer ring of the target on the tree.

Bokuto cheered. You smiled, noticing the improvement. 

“I was right.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and leaned to your head. “You are good at everything you do.”

You wanted to tell him that you were still not hitting the middle, but you could not bring yourself to damper the mood. You pressed your side closer into him, instead, “And you are always right.”

Being the son of a King’s Knight, Koutaro Bokuto was invited to many of the castle’s festivities. There was a hierarchy according to profession, meaning that the richest were the ones who worked for and with the castle (The High Order: Knights, Cooks, Messengers). Many of the Magick and Medics lived with favor to the castle as well. 

You always stared at the Castle of Kageyama from afar. The castle sat on top of a giant hill that overlooked the rest of the kingdom; it was dark and always seemed to have a black shadow cast over it. You could only imagine how large it was if you were closer.

Bokuto and his sisters would tell you stories of balls, dinners, meetings. Sir Bokuto was high in the chain of command after General Shimizu, and that created a favorable blanket for the rest of his family. 

This particular time, Bokuto received an invitation to a ball for Princess Miwa. She decided to step down from the crown, not wishing to be a Queen and planned to travel to the other kingdoms and discover new things. The ball would be her departing gift.

Bokuto asked you to come alongside him.

“Kou, I would not even know what to wear.” You laughed. “I do not even know how to dance.”

“I want you to come.” Koutaro Bokuto pushed you. You fell onto his bedroom floor. “You do not need to dance to have fun. I am always bored at these events without you.”

“Are you able to invite me?”

“Yes, why could I not?”

“I would need a dress.”

“I can do that.”

You looked up at him from his floor, his eyes twinkling in hope and anticipation. How could you tell him no?

“Then I will go.”

The dress he brought to you was blue, mimicking his tailored black and white jacket and slacks with the same colored blue accents. 

You surprised yourself at how beautiful you could become, had given effort. The dress was one of his sister’s, but it fit you perfectly. You even did a spin in your mirror.

When you arrived minutes later at his doorstep, Bokuto was the one who opened the door.

He was surprised, too. With wide eyes, he blinked at you. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You replied. You hoped that he would not notice the blush on your cheeks when he took your hand. 

You realized that your soulmate was Koutarou Bokuto at the age of fifteen. As a teenage, you had found a piece of yourself in someone else.

At the ball, he was someone new in your eyes. He smiled at everyone, talked to every person as if he knew all of them by name, waved at the cooks and they waved back. It was completely different than any atmosphere than you had witnessed.

You could not take your eyes off of him.

He left you for a moment, something about retrieving drinks, and you found yourself alone. All you could do was watch him from through the crowd. He danced through the people as if he did it everyday, easily weeding through them and greeting some in casual conversations. 

He was glowing.

“For you, m’lady.” Bokuto said to you once he returned. The cup was of red liquid that smelled like fruit. “It is pretty good, though I am unsure of what exactly it is.”

“Why thank you, my liege.” You joked. You took a sip, the sweetness of the drink honey on your tongue.

“Good, is it not?” He took a drink after you took a second sip.

You nodded.

“That is enough of that.” He snatched the cup from your hand. You were going to protest, the words on the edge of your lips. “I believe it is time for a dance.”

“That juice must be expensive, we cannot just leave it.”

“They have plenty.” Bokuto took his hand in yours and nearly dragged you to the middle of the ballroom floor. “Follow my lead.”

Your feet matched the timing with his as he forced you to dance. The flow of the music seeped into your ears. You could feel lightness grow in your chest as the two of you danced in the festivities, fast music and laughter mixed together into a yellow light.

You never knew that the inside of the dark castle could glow such a color.

Koutaro Bokuto and you were one in the same, circling around each other and dancing to a rhythm you could only feel rather than hear. You were out of breath, sweat gleaming on your forehead, and your legs were tired. But you continued to dance. His smile matched yours, golden eyes shining with the reflection of you.

Perhaps being in love with him was similar to a dance. Unbearably exhausting, but you wish to do it forever.

You would hide your feelings, you decided. You had stared at the ceiling of your bedroom for what seemed to be hours. Your mind bleeding in thoughts and scenarios of you telling your best friend that you were in love with him.

If you knew him at all, you knew that Bokuto was dramatic. He would tell you that everything was fine, that he did not love you in the way you loved him, and he would do everything to make the situation seem casual and normal, only to make things astronomically worse.

You did not want that.

Hiding your feelings, masking them under the platonic love you shared, would be easiest. Perhaps they would go away in time, perhaps they would be replaced by someone else. 

You did not even know what love entitled, anyway.

A crumbled napkin hit your face, causing you to look up with a glare. The lunch room of the high school was full of students, eating and chatting and enjoying the little free time between classes. 

“Our final year of school and you still decide to drink milk instead of juice.” Bokuto laughed, blatantly ignoring the scowl you were sending him.

“Would you prefer I grab a juice next time, just for you to steal it?”

“I am no thief.”

He was, though, you thought. Because he had your heart in the palm of his hands.

“Sure you are not.” You jokingly agreed, though you rolled your eyes.

Keiji Akaashi was a transfer your final year of high school. He was younger than you and Bokuto, but quickly found place in your friendship. 

The two of you were walking to the peer, doing nothing other than walking off the sweat and weakness of just training and practice fighting in the woods. Bokuto loved to spar with you, hand to hand; “It is great practice for your future husband!” He would joke.

As you walked along the sand, you caught sight of Akaashi spearing fish in the shallow water. With every draw of his spear, a fish would be on the end. He hadn’t missed a single shot.

He was almost beautiful, the way he stood in the water. His dark hair reflected off of the blue that glittered in the afternoon sun. You looked at Bokuto, your best friend, and thought of how it never matched to him.

“You are excellent!” Bokuto complimented, catching Akaashi off guard. The boy turned around, spear in hand, and shoved the fresh fish into a netted bag at his side.

“I hear you are amazing with knife throwing.” Akaashi said. He walked closer to you smoothly; it was as if the water was no barrier for his feet. “I am a mere fisherman.”

The boy seemed to not do well in social situations. His words were carefully thought, said in a manor of formality you only witnessed when village people spoke to the High Order or royalty.

“I have watched plenty of fishermen.” Bokuto crossed his arms over his chest. You had to look away before you would get distracted in the veins that marked his muscle. “No mere fisherman can catch every fish as you can.”

“Perhaps I can teach you, if you wish to teach me some of your knife throwing.” 

“I can do that. I taught this one here how to, and now she is the best knife thrower in Peredine. After me.” 

You scoffed at his superiority and pushed him in his side. Bokuto only chuckled and pushed you back. 

“How long have the two of you been a couple?” Akaashi asked. He was becoming more casual after noticing your informality, you noted. 

“She is only my best friend.” Bokuto flicked your forehead. “We have been best friends since the age of six.”

“He would not stop talking, so I had to give in to his friendship.” You told him. You were not wrong, which made your joke better. Bokuto laughed.

Bokuto turned to the netted bag that hung across Akaashi’s chest. “What are you planning to do with that?”

“I planned to sell them.” Akaashi shook the bag, sending drops of water into the tide below. “I am trying to save up to a moonful. Hopefully I can enter the knight program come summer.”

“Head towards the center of the town.” Bokuto advised. “They would love fish, they usually end with what the fisherman and peer do not have.”

“Thank you.”

“You can sit next to us at lunch tomorrow.” Bokuto said. “I invite you to the sanctuary.”

Akaashi spared you a glance. You shrugged. “He has invited you. You must attend, now.”

The entirety of your life, you had wished for more.

You would walk the streets of the village hoping for more. The village, especially near the center. It was dusted in browns and beiges, dirt and dust. Moss climbed the side of buildings and horses stood on the streets.

You would not hope to live in the castle, surrounded by white and light and food for days. You would not hope to be royalty, or to be a member of the High Order. 

You would hope of travel. You would wish for what was beyond your island; you would wish for being... away.

You understood why the princess left.

Then your mind would remind you of Koutaro Bokuto. He was the only reason for your stay. Your family was not an avid presence, or a presence at all for that matter, and you had one other friend that you only recently became acquainted with.

Bokuto was your only reason for staying.

Despite every fiber of your being wishing to leave, you knew that you could not. The worst part of it all, is that you knew that if you were to tell Bokuto that you wished to leave ━ if you were to tell him that you wanted nothing more than to get on a ship and travel far, far away from Peredine and the Kageyama castle and the knife throwing every day and the walks on the beach ━ he would tell you to go.

He would tell you to live your life. He would tell you to write him every day and visit when you can. He would have a smile so bright that it burned.

How could you possibly leave someone who shined that brightly?

Shining that brightly would only end in destruction, you feared.

You already felt the inside of you withering in hopes of him returning your love.

You remembered the last day that Bokuto smiled.

It was nearing winter, cool air replacing the warmth of autumn. Leaves scattered the ground in every place imaginable. The entirety of the village seemed to be blanketed in brown and orange, reds and yellows.

You walked hand in hand, fingers interlaced and swinging with each step.

“Let’s spar!” Bokuto turned quickly, trying to catch you off guard. He might have been quick, but your reflexes were slightly faster. 

With a swish of your wrist, you sliced his face with a knife. He had been the one to tell you to “always be prepared” and wear the knife attached to your thigh. 

The moment your knife connected with his left cheek, you knew what you had done. He did not collapse, but reached up to stop the bleeding.

“Oh!” You immediately dropped the knife to check his face.

He was bleeding profusely, the hand he clapped to the cut doing nothing to stop the flow. You must have had a deeper motion than you thought.

“I’m all right.” He muttered, but there was a gargle beneath his tone. He was choking on his own blood.

“No, no. We must go to a Medic.” You said. You wanted so badly to move his hand out of the way to assess the wound, but you knew that it would only be worse.

“Yes, let’s do that.”

You held his elbow and rushed back through the trees. Leaves crunched under your feet, matching in footsteps. Blood dripped onto the ground in a trail. 

You reached his home before long. You left him to run into the kitchen, finding his mother cooking. She dropped the ingrediants that she was working with the moment she viewed your expression.

“It’s Koutaro.” 

You followed his mother out of the kitchen and to her son, who was still actively bleeding. She brought his hand out of the way to finally━ finally━ see the wound.

You had cut him across his mouth. It started just under his nose, across the left side of his lip, to his chin, and curved back into the middle of his left cheek. This may sound rather vulgar, but the skin was very gross and you wondered how it was still attached.

“We must go to the Medic. Now.” She turned to you. “Grab a towel from the kitchen and catch up to us.”

You nodded and ran into the kitchen, finding the cloth and rushed to walk with them to the Medic.

Because of their family being one of the High Order, they lived on the hill below the castle. The Medics were only a little higher on the land, their neighborhood close together rather than spread out along the grass. 

We entered a house, not bothering to introduce ourselves with a knock. The family was eating a meal at the table, standing immediately at the blood. A mother, a girl, and a boy your age. 

“We need your help.” Bokuto’s mother said. She must have known the family, because the Medic flew to Bokuto’s side.

“Aiko, the sewing set.” The mother ordered. The girl took off down the house’s hall, disappearing into the dark. “Asahi, the herbs.”

You watched from afar as the Medics worked on your best friend. He would grimace in pain, tears painting his cheeks. They laid him on the dinner table, replacing the food and dishes with his body. They were effortless in their movements, as if it was every day that they fixed a man with a gaping hole in his cheek.

“He will be all right.” The boy said from your side. He watched alongside you, as his mother and older sister finished their healing. 

“I know you.” You did not look up at him. You could not take your eyes off of Bokuto. “You are in the same school year as I am. Asahi Azumane.”

“Yes.” 

“I did not know you were a healer.”

“I did not know that you loved Bokuto as you do.” He replied.

It was three weeks for the cut to turn into a heavy, thick scar. It was three weeks of Bokuto’s absence. 

He claimed that he was too ugly for you to see him. He did not want to see anyone, his mother told you after your hundredth visit to their home. 

After the third week, he greeted you outside of your door.

“I cannot miss anymore school.” He said as a greeting. “And I cannot miss anymore of you, can I?”

Before you could take another breath, you leaped into his arms. He hugged you back, effortlessly, chuckling into your neck. 

When you pulled back, you viewed the scar that curved on his face. The stitches had been removed. The scar was lifted, pink and bruised still; you could not help but want to cry.

You had done that.

“I am so incredibly sorry.” You said as you scanned the scar. You wanted to touch it. “Please accept my deepest apologies.”

He pushed your head playfully. “Do not apologize. I am the one who taught you to do that. I am a bit proud, if I were to be completely honest.”

You pouted, but he only sent you a smile.

A smile that only lifted to his right side. His smile would be forever crooked.

Because of you.

Bokuto would not stay because of you.

You knew that he wanted to leave someday. You knew that he wished to travel and fight and be himself. It was rather hard to be yourself when everything and everyone around you expects brilliance.

You could not tell him to stay when he told you that he wanted to be a knight. It was already something that you knew. He wanted to be a knight, to work on the King’s Court and throw knives for a living. 

To be a better one than his father.

With a smile, the edge of his right lip the only one to reach the full length, he told you, “Do you think I would be a good knight?”

How could you possibly tell someone who shined that brightly no?

To be a knight on the King’s Court, there was a series of things you must do. Spend a moonful to be admitted━ a rather large sum, train in the castle for months━ dueling, fighting, training to the brink, and finally win a duel against the General or the King━ your choice. If you were to fail, you would have to pay another moonful to reenter. 

You have heard that some people had been training and failing for years. 

However, Koutaro Bokuto was confident. With his family being well off in terms of coin, he paid the castle his moonful.

“I start this summer.” Bokuto stated. Excitement drenched every feature. “Akaashi paid his sum, too, and will be coming along!” 

“Akaashi is a year below us.”

“He will graduate early, his transfer from Hittaku allows him to leave when we do.” He explained. You hadn’t thought of that. “He will do amazing with his spear, perhaps that can be his specialty.”

As he rambled about becoming a knight with Akaashi, you let your mind wander. He would leave you come summer, and he would be taking Akaashi with him. 

You would be alone.

The start of winter arrived as quickly as a blink. 

Snow replaced the leaves beneath your feet, hiding the dirt and grass you walked every day.

You wondered if your love would be similar. Hidden and masked.

Koutaro Bokuto had a sweet tooth. 

He loved desserts. He would beg after every dinner to have something sweet. He would pay for small chocolates and creams from the village center. 

You were surprised that he was broad and large instead of overweight and rotting.

“Thank you!” He gleamed at the clerk, who handed him a bag of chocolate covered berries. The clerk thanked him back, adoring the generous tip that Bokuto had given. 

“I think your addiction to sweets will be the reason for your inevitable destruction.” You told him, holding his hand as you walked through the town square. 

“That must be why I am addicted to you.” He joked, handing you one of his chocolate covered berries. You accepted.

“I am not sweet.”

“Oh, you are correct.” He pretended to think, popping a berry into his mouth. “Perhaps that is why you are addicted to me, then.”

He had no idea, you thought.

The snow had been incredibly difficult that year. Clouds and snow casted the kingdom in white every day, baring the land and stealing away the darkness. What was once hidden in the thick trees was exposed.

One afternoon, the snow had slowed. Several feet lined the ground and hovered in the branches. Yet, you found Bokuto outside, throwing knives into trunks.

You were walking to the peer, prepared to trade some of your saved food for something better with the pirates and traders that never seemed to leave the beach. You dropped your bag and rushed to your best friend, kicking up the snow as you did.

“Hey, Kou.” You announced as you approached. He must have heard you, snow was not an easy feat to run in. 

But he hadn’t. He was focused primarily on the target in front of him. With no gloves on, you could see the redness stinging his hands. Tears stung his cheeks as well. 

“Kou, hey.” You stepped in front of him as he started to aim another knife. He threw it, the knife flying past your ear and into the bark behind you next to around five other knives. “Look at me.”

He wouldn’t. His tear stained face was red in coldness, matching his bare hands. He was not dressed to be outside.

“Look at me.” You reached for his face. He did not hesitate to let his face fall into your hands. “What are you doing out here?”

“I ━” Bokuto finally looked at you. You immediately felt a burning in your chest; his eyes were dull and more brown than gold. “I have to be better if I am to be a knight.”

“You are excellent.” You tried to warm his ears with your gloved hands, but also tried to examine him at the same time. “And you cannot get better if you overwork yourself. Or if you manage to get sick.” You wiped some of the dried tears away. “What happened?”

He did not utter another word. Instead, only more tears left his eyes and he collapsed into you. You stumbled against his weight, but held him with every ounce of your being. 

His cheek was cold against yours.

“I’m sorry.” Bokuto muttered against your ear. 

You did not know what he was apologizing for. “Everything is all right.”

Seasons changed quickly.

The snow melted, cascading the land in dead grass and leaves attempting to grow again. Attempting to live again.

You wished to stop time. There must be Magick Folk somewhere with that ability, to stop and freeze time. You knew that there was not.

The grass started to turn green, bright and vibrant.

Summer was arriving sooner than you wanted. 

You could feel a rush of emotions at the thought of your best friends leaving. You were never one to be sad, or get emotional at all; but the thought of being alone left your chest aching in a way you never experienced. 

You held back tears. For the first time in your life, you thought of crying about Bokuto.

Keiji Akaashi was a great person to be friends with. He never pushed his boundaries, he knew when to speak and when it was best to sit in silence. He always seemed to know exactly what to say and when. 

He would also tell you the honest truth, which was refreshing against Bokuto’s natural optimism. 

“You love him. I am correct, right?” Akaashi asked you.

You were sitting in Bokuto’s garden, waiting for him to arrive. He was the one who wanted to go for a walk, after all. 

You sat up, looking to him. “You cannot tell him.”

“I have known since I met you.” He replied. “I would not tell him now.”

“Then yes,” You blinked. “You are correct.”

A string of silence filled the air. It was not uncomfortable; Akaashi was trying to find the words to say. 

“You should tell him.” He finally said. “He would want to hear it, before going into the knight program.”

You sighed. You looked at him, sitting beside you in the colorful flowers. “Being rejected is not on my itinerary.” 

“What will you do when he leaves? When we leave?”

“I do not know.”

You would be lonely. 

That was all you knew. 

You would be lonely without the two of them. There had never been a day since the age of six that Bokuto was not a part of. Every single day consisted of him. 

You would go to school together, walk together, throw knives at trees together, sit on the beach together. You would go to sleep only to wake up to him. 

It was no wonder you found yourself in love with him. 

Bokuto hugged you tightly on your last day of school.

You only had limited time left.

The color blue reminded you of him.

He sat beside you on the sand. The beach was beautiful this time of year, just before summer. The water made the air cooler, yet you felt warm.

“I will miss you.”

He was leaving the next afternoon. He would head into the castle, starting his training and taking a step into his new life━ his dream. 

“I will miss you too.” You told him, staring at the water.

As the sun sat close to the horizon, covering the ocean in sparkling light, you thought of him. He was the color blue, calm and kind and light and happy. 

You opened your mouth, ready to tell him that you were in love with him. Ready to tell him that you wanted him to stay, to sit with you like this, forever. You only closed it.  

If you truly did love him, you would allow him to follow his dream.

The knights in training cannot be visited or visit. Only when they become knights will they have opportunities to visit, few and far between. They have the busiest jobs. 

Once he left, you did not know when you would see him again.

You stared up at him, watching him as he watched the waves crash far away. His golden eyes twinkled, white hair shifting in the breeze.

He truly was more beautiful than the ocean would ever be.

You were talking with his older sister, listening to her stories. You were happy for her, enjoying the story of her meeting her love in a woman in her travels to Hittaku. 

“I need to speak to my best friend.” Bokuto interrupted. You looked up.

His sister waved you away, smiling still. Bokuto had given everyone their goodbyes already. You were the last one.

Akaashi told you goodbye earlier in the day, telling you a brief “Do what you think is right for you, not for him.” before departing.

He would be waiting in the dorm for Bokuto.

The moment you were alone, Bokuto pulled you into a hug. You fell into his chest, cheek pressed against his heartbeat. Strong arms were arm around you.

His head rested on top of yours. “I will miss you the most.”

“I will miss you more than I would like to admit.”

“I will write you with every chance I receive.”

You nodded. You would not cry, you told yourself even as the tears trailed down your face and onto his shirt. 

“You are crying.”

You heard the crack in his voice. “So are you.”

You pulled back, not wanting to break the embrace. His arms stayed on yours, and you kept your arms on his forearms. 

You took him in for what seemed like the last time. His white hair was pushed from his forehead, golden eyes marked with sadness. The scar looked much better, pink against his tan skin. 

His eyes met yours, and they were full of emotions you could not describe. He looked at you as if you were a dimming light in the darkness and he needed you to see.

He leaned closer, and you could feel the breath on your face. He smelled of wood and sea salt.

You could only inhale when Bokuto pressed a kiss to your lips. 

The kiss was brief. It was a peck, barely a second before he pulled back to rest his head on yours again. You hadn’t even noticed his chapped lips, or that he tasted like sweets.

It was silent for a moment.

“Until we see each other again?” You offered.

He nodded, holding you against him. “Until we see each other again.”

You decided to travel.

Listening to Bokuto’s sister’s stories, along with some of the dreams you had already wished for, you decided that travelling would be the best option.

You were on the next boat out of Peredine, only a small suitcase at your side and the sun on your face.

You never did tell him that you loved him. 

You did not think you ever would. As he hopped off of his white horse, full armor proving that he could only gain muscle, you could not help but feel the same ache in your chest.

He lifted his helmet off, his white hair releasing in a mess over his forehead. He rushed to you, pulling you into a hard hug. You laughed, the familiar feeling of drowning drenching your body.

You both were livelier, your travels and his knighthood. 

You smiled at him, listening to him talk about the castle and battles he had been in since you last spoke over a year ago.

You were drowning, but you managed to hover close to the surface. Every breath you took of his familiar and wonderful scent, you could feel the water fill your lungs.

Falling in love with Koutaro Bokuto was easy, but the consequences were excruciating.

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