#Regis isn’t invited

[sparklecryptid]

@hamelin-born said: Ardyn snatches him from your arms. "Mine, thank you."

And that’s how I get into a fight with the former accursed about who has dibs on Ace while Ace stands there and desperately wishes his life wasn’t this weird

[kuwdora]

new witcher ficlet!

Insomnia. 712 words. Cahir/Regis. PWP. Rated M. Masturbation and hand jobs. Cahir's insomnia has worsened and Regis offers to help.

Closing his eyes, Cahir slips into a fitful state of restlessness, his thoughts racing ahead to the known and unknown dangers that lie ahead of their unconventional company. He doesn’t even manage to dream of Ciri. He’s tossing and turning between Dandelion and Milva’s bedrolls for what feels like hours, feeling more defeated with every passing moment.

Cahir’s brain tingles with fatigue. The scratchiness behind his eyes is driving him mad. So he gets up and moves through the camp, past the copse of trees, looking for a good place to be alone. Maybe tonight could be the night he could force his body and mind to relax. The breeze is warm, but acrid with the scent of ash and death wafting from a nearby village.

He finds a suitable tree and slumps down against the trunk and pulls his cock out. He gets a whiff of strong herbs and freezes. Cahir clears his throat.

“My apologies, I did not mean to bear witness to your moment of privacy,” Regis says, a shadow moving between the trees. His voice grows closer. “I was checking the perimeter and was about to leave you undisturbed when the wind shifted.”

“Could happen to anyone,” Cahir mutters and lets his head fall back against the trunk.

“Your insomnia has progressively worsened the further south we march. The valerian tea I gave you isn’t helping?” Regis asks.

Cahir closes his eyes and sighs. “No.”

“And your nightly masturbatory excursions seem to have less efficacy than before,” Regis says in that polite observational tone.

Cahir grunts in assent. Regis was right, of course, like he usually was. “The last few nights… I can’t—it’s not…” Cahir mumbles. He hasn’t been able to get himself hard for the last few nights. He’s more frustrated than ever. It’s not like he’s ashamed. Cahir is just so tired.

The smell of Regis’ herbs is drowning out the scent of ash and smoke. Familiar and comforting.

Regis clears his throat. “Without adequate sleep your reflexes will slow. If we come upon a fight that requires your swordsmanship, I’d rather you be well-rested for it.”

“Do you have something stronger than the valerian root?” Cahir asks.

“No, but perhaps… adding the novelty of a partner’s hand will hasten your orgasm and help you break through your insomnia. The additional stimulation would aide the psychological release as a physical one. This has been a difficult journey for most of us and companionship does go far. I believe under the right circumstances Milva could be amenable to such an arrangement if you were to ask her,” Regis muses.

“I’m—not asking Milva. For that,” Cahir says quickly. He wasn’t prepared for that kind of suggestion.

“I am pleased to volunteer if it means it helps you get the rest you need.”

“I—what?”

“If the proposition bothers you so, you are welcome to disregard our conversation and we never have to speak of this again. However if you would like some assistance tonight or any other night, you only have to ask,” Regis says, ever so polite.

Cahir scrubs his face with his free hand and sighs again.

“No need to decide now. Open invitation,” Regis adds smoothly and begins walking away.

Inside his skull, desperation and fatigue claws at Cahir. “Wait.”

Regis pauses and turns around.

“Please,” Cahir rasps.

“Of course,” Regis says and returns to Cahir and sits down beside him, pressed thigh-to-thigh. Cahir listens to to Regis rummage through his bag.

Cahir resumes stroking himself and closes his eyes. When Regis pushes his hand away and wraps his slick fingers around Cahir’s cock, he exhales sharply.

“Now, my boy, remember to breathe,” Regis says and begins stroking his cock.

Arousal seeps into Cahir’s bones as Regis patiently works him through his orgasm. Cahir groans quietly and falls apart beneath the barber-surgeon’s hand. He vaguely remembers Regis’ gentling fingers on his face, murmuring something about the soporific effect.

Cahir wakes up, his limbs blissfully heavy and his mind is quiet and warm. He’s still slumped against the tree, but he’s been covered with a blanket and his ration of water is beside him.

He feel rested. Like Regis said he would.

Cahir sighs in relief and stretches, ready for for the new day.

also on ao3

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

With that bombshell dropped, Regis might be willing to climb into the Secret Tunnel then and there. (Damn his knee, full speed ahead!) No, he wouldn’t really be that reckless, but it’s a tempting thought, isn’t it?

If Regis were just a few years younger, he totally would just up and explore the tunnel without telling anyone. But now he's tired. And old. So he doesn't.

Instead he invites Solaris to come sit down at that table over there, because his knees are secretly murdering him right now. And then he proceeds to tell her about his son. About how he used to come and read here all the time, at this very table, in fact.

Solaris is suitably awed by it all. She gets to take a look at one of the books that is on the table. It got some real neat pictures around some of the letters and in the margins. Which gets her talking about the book her parents have. And how hard they are always working and that she is really scared for them and her brother.

That last one throws Regis a bit, so he asks. And doesn't like the answer one bit.

Apparently the earthquake damaged the city more than anyone could have guessed. The old supports (the ones that should be defunct, but aren't) have grown unstable. It has become very likely that parts of the city might collapse because of it.

'The sky falling down on our heads' Solaris calls it.

Which begs the question: Where does the girl live? Solaris showed him how she had gotten inside the archive. The tunnel leads down, not up.

Together they look for old city maps and actually find a few. They are drawn on parchment and the oldest one is about ready to fall apart. (Someone really needs to make sure to preserve all of this knowledge about to be lost, Regis thinks)

Regis gets the archivist to make copies. Said archivist is not happy about it. Though she wonders in which corner of the archive those maps were found. Two of them are not in the catalogue. (Solaris found them in an old, dusty corner, wedged between a shelf and the stone wall.)

While the archivist is busy making copies (and resolving to comb through the archives with a fine toothes comb, because if those maps aren't in the catalogue, what else isn't?), Regis and Solaris are back at the table. The girl gets to look at the books some more. Regis meanwhile is writing a letter to his son.

He asks Solaris (his possible granddaughter, and while he knows she is too old to be Noctis's by blood, that doesn't really matter to Regis) to take the letter with her together with the copies of the map. And to come back again soon, so he might show her some more books.

She agrees to it all readily. Until she reads the name on the envelope Regis hands her. Her face pales in shock and her hands slap at it, to cover it up.

"Secret name!" she yells.

"That is my son's name," Regis explains patiently. "It is not a secret."

Solaris gnaws at her lower lip for a while until she admits: "That's papa's secret name."

[kisenth]

RION ROSE : ROAD TO HEALING

Done with @floorsandwiches​ who is my go-to Peony and Nia when it comes to Rion. All these events will be considered as part of Rion’s ‘canon’. There’s also mention of Kira when needed, but it’s about the family, and about how Peony tries all he can, to help Rion heal even a little. This all happens shortly after he turns 21.

An innocent comment makes Peony aware that he is an uncle. Not one made by Rose either. No. Instead, Kira perks up when she learns Peony is Rose’s younger brother because- “So you’re Rion’s uncle-ya?” When Peony visibly deflates in response, she wonders if it’s related to Nia, but he tells her that no, it isn’t.

While Kira is off researching the Regis, Peony leaves a shakily written note in case Nia comes by, and goes to visit Rose, in jail. Separated by the transparent screen and clutching the phone, Peony demands to know why he was never told about Rion. Why he was never informed he’s an UNCLE. Rose stays calm and simply smiles as he explains there was nothing to tell. Everything was being handled properly. If he wanted proof, Oleana would no doubt be happy to show him the child support payments. Peony loses his temper and doesn’t even realize that he jumps up, the chair clattering onto the floor, yelling for Rose to stop smiling like everything is alright because they AREN’T. The guards reach for their pokéballs, and Peony forces himself to take a deep breath, raising his hands a bit to show he’s harmless.

Once back at the base he tries to call Rion a few times, but each time Evelyn is the one who answers the phone. Each time she refuses to let him speak to Rion, or to let him visit. She wants nothing more to do with that ‘cursed blood’, and it’s already bad enough Rion HAS it. He doesn’t need to MEET it.

This is alarming to hear, and definitely makes Peony concerned for Rion’s situation. He tries to call a few more times but each time he gets the same sort of answers. When Kira starts to pack up to head home after the expedition is over, Peony asks her for Rion’s address. He’s ready to plead for it if he has to. He’s grown more than a little concerned with how Rion might be living if his mother speaks of his genes like that, and he won’t be able to rest properly until he personally checks out what is going on there. Kira may not be one to give out personal information so easily, but the time spent with Peony has shown he’s a just and honest man, and her newfound experiences in the world has her look back on the past with slightly different eyes. Some memories with Rion are a bit concerning, now that she thinks back to them. She decides to give him the address. Peony thanks her profusely, shaking her arm so much it nearly pops out of her socket. He can finally check out the situation that’s been gnawing at his mind.

Peony visits the house to check out the situation there. When Rion opens the door he at first thinks that it’s Rose there, but realizes shortly after that it’s not. Still, he’s defensive about this stranger before him. He’s not the only one who’s shocked. Peony didn’t know what to expect, but he didn’t expect Rion to look just shy of a corpse. He stutters over his words while clutching to his cap as he introduces himself, stumbling over his words as he expresses he’d been wanting to see him. Rion barely reacts through this all, then flatly tells him that, whatever Peony is hoping to get by visiting, there’s nothing for him there. Peony quickly tries to assure that he’s not there to GET something, but that he just wishes to KNOW him. Extends invitations to have a meal together, to just chat - anything, really. But Evelyn interrupts the meeting by showing up, beer in hand. She’s seen better days - she’s really gone off the deep end and it shows. She tells Rion to close the door, muttering about cursed blood and how some people aren’t welcome at their house. After a second’s pause Rion tells Peony he should leave and closes the door. 

Peonia doesn’t help much. She doesn’t get why Rion doesn’t simply 'leave’ if it’s that bad at home. Since Rion is an adult he can make his own decisions and she doesn’t take it too seriously. She always likes exploring her own freedom, so why wouldn’t Rion do the same? He looked just fine in the clips she happened to see parts of when Peony was looking at recordings of Rion’s gym challenge. It’s on him if he stays at home, right?

Rion doesn’t expect to see Peony again after that, but he does. A lot of times, in fact. But either Evelyn stops him at the door and bars him from seeing Rion; or he is the one who answers the door and she will inevitably wonder who’s at the door, and tell Rion to close the door when she sees its Peony. 

Evelyn’s already gotten so snippy at everything, but even more so whenever Peony visits, so one time Rion just asks Peony why he keeps coming over, because it’s a pain. He’s started to look worse however, him and his mother both. Weight loss is the most apparent. Peonia has long since trained Peony against Rion’s snappy comments so he can take those at least. Undeterred he tries to invite Rion to a restaurant instead, painfully concerned about the state he’s been falling in. Rion just doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get why he keeps coming back, doesnt get why he keeps trying so hard. Doesn’t really get the concept of family. But at he’s become kind of resigned to Peony always showing up every time and, rather than his usual snapping, he simply tells Peony that he can’t. He thinks that’s the end of that, but Peony brings both mother and son some food back from the restaurant. Despite how upset he is with how Evelyn’s situation is affecting Rion, it’s clear she’s struggling and unwell, and Rion relies on her. He leaves a note with the food, about how he’s not sure what Rion liked to eat so how he picked some things, his contact information and a doodled smiley. When Rion heats the food up later, Evelyn asks who got them it and Rion wonders what to say so she won’t toss the food out. Then he just quietly says that a friend did.

Later he actually makes use of the phone number on the note. Peony’s initial excitement of Rion calling dies on the spot when he hears what’s going on : Evelyn took her sleeping pills with beer, and Rion found her in her own vomit and she won’t wake up. He’s so freaked out he can’t even remember that he’s supposed to call the hospital. Instead he saw the little note and called Peony, and he has no clue what to even DO. Peony rushes over because Rion shouldn’t be alone right now. He has his wife call the emergency services while he tries to comfort Rion over the phone and tells him what to do. Fortunately he’s not far from Postwick because he’d been with Sonia, talking about the Tundra expeditions. He arrives before the ambulance does. He tries to make sure Evelyn is on her side and keeps an eye on that she’s still breathing. When the paramedics come and ask who he is, he replies that he’s Rion’s uncle without skipping a beat. He tells them what happened, tells them the state of affairs ( he didnt get the name steel peony because he cracks under pressure ) and joins Rion at the hospital. With everything going on, Peonia is starting to realize just how serious everything is, and kicks herself for brushing it off before. 

Evelyn needs to stay in the hospital for a while, and she needs to get rehab after. She won’t be home for a while. Rion doesn’t react much as the doctor tells him and Peony what’ll happen next, doesn’t really listen. All he can see is the memory of his mother on the floor, vomit and beer everywhere, foaming at the mouth. He didn’t even know if she was still alive. It’s all he can think of now when he thinks back to his home. Peony offers to take him home with him for a bit and, spur of the moment, Rion takes that chance to run from reality and accepts.

T B C . . . . .

[littlewinter1917]

Outskirts of Paradise

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI. 🔞 Don’t repost my work anywhere.

Words: 3.6k

Pairing: Stucky x Fem!Reader (Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes)

Summary: You, your two boyfriends, and the rest of the Avengers go on a little summer holiday and naturally, chaos and shenanigans ensure.

Warnings: Teasing. Fluff. Petnames. Some suggestive themes, but no actual smut. Bucky and Steve being dorks in matching swim shorts. It's implied that everyone in the trio is Bi.

If there are any warnings, that you think are missing, please don‘t hesitate to reach out and tell me, so I can add them accordingly.

A/N: The title is inspired by this song from Bad Suns. I listened to a lot of their music while writing this. Enjoy!

Standing outside, on the balcony of your hotel room, you lean against its railing while looking out at the beautiful scenery in front of you.

The beach is illuminated by the early morning sun, giving it a golden glow, and letting the ocean waves sparkle. There are only a few feathery, rose-colored clouds grazing the sky, as the horizon loses itself in the sheer endlessness of the sea.

“Thought I might find you here.” An amused voice states from behind you, and before you even get the chance to voice your surprise, two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you close.

“Steve!” You exclaim breathlessly, and he lets out a small chuckle while gently placing a sweet kiss on your temple.

“The view is to die for, isn’t it?” He whispers against your ear, and you hum in agreement, eyes still fixed on the breathtaking landscape in front of you two.

“I can’t believe we actually made it,” you quietly admit. “When Tony first proposed the idea of a small holiday, I initially thought he was kidding.”

This time it’s Steve’s turn to approvingly hum before his lips slowly trail down your neck, and your breath hitches as one of his hands travels down further.

“Has anyone seen our sunscreen?” Bucky suddenly calls out, making you two jump and inadvertently breaking up the tender moment. You hear the balcony door slide open before his head pops into view, and he lets out a small whistle as he takes in the state of you two.

“Well, well, well, look at who’s getting frisky in public.” he comments once he registers the current placement of Steve’s right hand, and he tsks disapprovingly. “We’re barely fifteen minutes here, and you’re already all over each other? Not that I object, but I would like to be invited next time.”

“Sorry, invites where send out belated.” Steve states, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

“Yeah, and I didn’t even know there was going to be a party,” you chime in while gently removing Steve’s hands from you.

Your comment makes both of your boys laugh, and you smile at the sweet sound of that. You hope to hear their laughter more in the upcoming weeks while you’re staying at the resort.

The next few weeks are supposed to be nothing but a relaxed and good time, and God knows your two Super Soldiers deserve that.

You make your way back into your hotel room. It’s a small suite with the most beautiful ocean view you’ve ever seen. The bed, that’s placed in the middle of the room, is spacious enough for all three of you.

To be fair, you haven’t explored much of it yet, since upon your arrival you immediately made a beeline for the balcony, trying to get some last glimpses of the proceeding sunrise.

After picking up your abandoned backpack, which you had carelessly tossed aside earlier, you try to help Bucky locate your shared sunscreen. It ends up being in Steve’s suitcase, together with some of your beach essentials.

While hunting down your bathing suit, you notice the absence of your two beloved Super Soldiers.

That is, until you hear their shared laughter coming from the bathroom.

You’re about to make your way over to them when the bathroom door suddenly opens and both Steve and Bucky simultaneously exclaim an enthusiastic “Tada!” while jumping into your view.

It takes you a minute to register the sight in front of you.

Both of your men are wearing matching swim shorts with a tropical print, and seemingly matching sunglasses.

“What do you think, Peaches?” Bucky playfully asks, excitement clear in his voice.

“Uhm, what is happening?” you counter question, brows furrowed in both confusion and amusement.

“We’re matching!” Steve states matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“We even got you a matching set too!” Bucky adds, smiling brightly while extending his metal hand, offering said piece of swimwear fabric to you.

“Tony said, matching couple outfits are all the rage now.” Steve explains, and you don’t know whether you should laugh or groan.

Damn you, Stark! you think.

“I didn’t know where taking fashion advice from Tony now,” you mumble teasingly while taking the bathing suit.

“You don’t like it?” Bucky observes deflated, and you’re quick to reassure him of the opposite.

“No, no, baby. I do! I just didn’t expect us to be that couple, but it’s a cute idea. Thank you!” you say, the smile on your face earnest.

While this fashion choice wouldn’t necessarily have been your preferred one, you can clearly see how excited your boyfriends are about their idea, and the last thing you want to do is rain on their parade.

So, you take the gifted bathing attire and quickly get changed.

Once your two beloved soldiers see you in the matching bathing suit, both their smiles, and eyes widen.

“You look even cuter than I imagined.” Bucky whispers into your ear while wrapping his arms around you protectively.

“I Agree, and now we can spot each other more easily while we’re at the beach or by the pool.” Steve chimes in.

“And other people will know that we belong together.” Bucky adds, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

Sure, you think, nothing screams unadulterated commitment quite like matching clothing items shared with your partner – or in your case – partners.

Once your men also equip you with your own pair of matching sunglasses, you’re pretty much ready to go. It’s only then that Steve suddenly realizes that neither one of you actually used the sunscreen after successfully finding it.

And that’s how you three end up standing in a small circle, putting sunscreen onto each other’s backs, and drawing weird shapes into each other’s skin. While Steve is taking care of your back, you are taking care of Bucky’s, and Bucky is drawing little sunscreen hearts on Steve’s.

Once you’re done, you start gently kissing the juncture between Bucky’s shoulder and his metal arm, making him let out a small moan, before he turns around to you, eyes darkened.

“Careful Peaches, or we won’t make it to the swimming pool at all.” he warns, voice low.

“Would that really be so bad?” you counter, and Steve behind you groans.

“Guys, behave yourselves!” he exclaims, making both you and Bucky laugh.

“I didn’t do anything!” Bucky defends himself.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure you didn’t. Now let’s get ready and get going.” Steve says, before pulling you and Bucky close and placing a gently kiss on each of your noses, making you two giggle.

While making your way down to the swimming pools, you pass Bruce and Thor in the Lobby. The duo is having an animated discussion about what sightseeing destination they should be visiting first.

Valkyrie isn’t too far off, watching them with a judging look on her face, arms crossed. Her eyes light up though, when she sees the three of you, and yours do the same.

You wave to her, a bright smile on your face, and she quickly mirrors you, before turning her attention back towards the two bulky men, who are still feuding in front of her.

“Are we sure we cannot add one more person to our trio?” you mumble once you’ve passed her.

“Sweetheart, we talked about this already. We’re a sealed deal package. No one in, and hopefully no one out.” Steve tells you and you pout.

While you’re admiration for Valkyrie is mostly platonical, you do have to admit that you wouldn’t mind, getting to know her a little bit better.

But you drop those thoughts, while walking next to your two Super Soldiers towards the swimming pool area.

As soon as the three of you step outside, you’re hit with the blazing heat of the sun, and it makes the refreshing water of the surrounding pools seem even more inviting.

Your thoughts get interrupted when you hear Vision’s voice call out to you. He’s lying on a sunbed next to Wanda near the pool, doing crossword puzzles.

“We were just talking about the three of you!” he exclaims, and Wanda nods while carefully placing her cocktail on the small table between the two.

“Yes, we were wondering where you three were at,” she explains, before Pietro suddenly appears out of nowhere, making you jump.

God damn him, and his super speed, you think, but he just gives you his most charming smile.

“Ready to get wet?” He asks, and you have to roll your eyes at that ambiguous remark. You’ve always had a playful and somewhat flirtatious relationship with Pietro, but it’s all fun and games, and never something serious.

You’re about to ask him where the rest of the team is, when you feel two strong arms wrap themselves around you once more. You don’t pay them to much mind, knowing it’s Steve, until you notice that he’s picking you up and carrying you towards…

Oh no, you think.

The Edge of the pool.

“Steve, Steve wait!” You exclaim, trying to reason with him and squirming in his grasp. “I’m still wearing my beach skirt, please put me down again, Stevie!”

But your pleads do nothing to stop the soldier in question. Instead, he keeps pretending like he’s throwing you into the water, laughing and dangling you above it, and you brace yourself for the impact, when suddenly a small yelp leaves Steve’s lips instead.

Turning your head back towards him, you quickly realize what’s going on once you’re met with Bucky’s cheeky gaze.

Steve, who’s still holding you in his arms, has been picked up in return by Bucky, who is now threatening to throw both of you into the cold blue.

“Bucky! wait!” Steve calls out, but it’s already too late, as Bucky unceremoniously throws the two of you into the water, making it splash.

“Oh, that calls for revenge!” Steve exclaims, once he has resurfaced from the water, lifting himself out of the pool easily, before running after his laughing boyfriend.

“That’s the first time I’m seeing you run away from a fight!” Steve yells after Bucky.

“Not true, Stevie! You’re the one who’s usually never backing down. Remember the kid from the alleyways?” he counters, and if it wasn’t for the water in your lungs, you would be laughing right now.

It’s at that moment you finally spot Sam and Nat, making their way over to you and the rest of the group. They’re quick to join you in the pool, together with Pietro, and the four of you talk about your first impressions of the resort.

With your boyfriends still running around the premise, you fondly watch them chase each other, and your attention shifts back to them from time to time, while you continue talking with your friends.

“So, are you thinking about signing up your boyfriends to those classes?” Sam asks you, and you frown.

“What classes?”

“The 60 and over water aerobics. I saw a sign earlier near the bar.”

The laugh that leaves your lips is earnest and warm.

“Oh my God, Sam. That’s brilliant! I’ll definitely be doing that!”

“Thought you might,” he says, smiling.

Once Steve gets his revenge by throwing Bucky into the pool, the shenanigans inside the water continue.

The six of you decide to play tag in the water, but you whine at the advantage your boyfriends and Pietro clearly have.

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, after you’ve been trying to catch them for the last 10 minutes, defensively crossing your arms over your chest.

“Aww, don’t pout, Princessa.” Pietro teases. “We can team up,” he offers, and when you look at him confused, he just picks you up and speeds with you through the pool, making you laugh.

Steve and Bucky watch your antics with an adoring gaze. They know your friendship with Pietro is purely platonic, even if it sometimes takes on a more flirtatious character.

“Pietro, I’m getting dizzy!” You exclaim breathlessly, in between heaps of laughter, as you come to a stop.

As soon as your friends and you have the swimming pool all to yourself, you decide to play a few rounds of blind man’s bluff.

Sam has lined the inside of some diving googles with some dark, non-transparent foil. While one person is essentially ‘blindfolded’ with them, the other ones have to avoid getting caught or touched by the blindfolded player.

It’s a lot of fun, and the laughter you all share strains your voices. Even Wanda decides to join you at some point, and that’s how the midday continues.

The swimming pool shenanigans end with a small swim noodle fight, before hunger gets the better of you.

Sam suggests for everyone to get dressed, freshen up a bit and then collectively meet up at one of the restaurants. You unanimously agree, before making your way back towards your individual hotel rooms.

On your way to the building, you pass Clint, who’s teaching some children how to shoot coconuts straight out of palm trees with the help of some small bow and arrows. He promises to come around too, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot about it.

As soon as the three of you are back in your shared hotel room, you quickly get in the bathroom with the intention of getting ready.

You opt for a nice, flowy dress and get your cosmetic bag out, when Bucky and Steve come to join you.

“I cannot get over how huge the bathtub is.” Bucky comments, while looking at the jacuzzi behind you.

“Hm, we can definitely all fit into this thing,” you mumble in agreement, voice distracted, since you’re occupied with finding some softly tinted lip balm in the depth of your makeup bag.

“I love the idea of us just winding down in there tonight.” Steve comments in a casual manner, yet the glimmer in his eyes lets you know exactly what he means.

“Winding down, huh? Is that what you call…”

“Bucky, have you been using my lip balm again?” you interrupt your boyfriend.

“The peach flavored one?” he asks, and you nod.

“Uhm, maybe,” he admits, small blush grazing his cheeks, but once he notices the unamused look on your face, he’s quick to add: “Sorry, Peaches, but it tastes just like you. Can’t really blame me for wanting to have you on my lips all the time.”

“Bucky, you can use my makeup as much as you like. I just want you to put it back where you got it from once you’re done.” you explain, voice patient.

“Sorry, I must have… “ Bucky pats down his swim short for a moment, before his eyes light up and he pulls out the small tube in question.

“Must have pocketed it earlier, sorry.” he says, before continuing: “Wait, can I put it on your lips?”

The small, excited sparkle in his eyes makes your heart flutter.

“Sure,” you agree, trying to hide your amusement.

“Okay, pout!” He instructs, and you do as he says while he’s removing the cap of the lip balm.

Taking in the sight in front of him, he stops for a moment.

“You’re so cute when you pout.” He coos, looking at you adoringly and gently brushing his fingers over your skin.

“Bucky, the lip balm,” you mumble out between pursed lips, while butterflies swirl around in your stomach at the fond sight of him.

“Right! Right, the lip balm,” he repeats, trying to get back on track and fumbling with the item in question.

The restaurant you all decide to meet up at, is illuminated by a warm light with open spaces and a big buffet.

“Oh neat!” You exclaim when you pass the desk with all of the deserts.

My god, do they have a selection.

Some of your friends have already gathered around a long table, and even Tony and Pepper are back from their little boat trip. You wave before making your way over to them.

Once you’re all seated – Bucky and Steve, securely placed to your left and right – you have to decide if you want to order à la carte or eat from the buffet.

Since you all end up settling for the buffet option, Steve, who’s tummy growls have been becoming continuously louder, quickly sprint into action.

“Alright, let’s go!” he exclaims while taking your hand, and yours instinctively reaches out for Bucky’s.

The selection of food on the buffet seems endless.

There are steaming pots of freshly cooked rice and savory dishes. There’s a salad bar and trays with appetizers and small snacks, and of course, the dessert section, which features a wild array of treats and sweets.

You grab some plates for you and your boyfriends, who are both taking in the various selection of foods.

The three of you are standing next to each other, plate in hand, when Steve suddenly pulls you a little bit closer while pointed at a Thai curry dish, with a vibrant yellow color.

“You wanna try some of this?” he offers, and you excitedly nod.

Steve gently takes your plate and gets you a small portion, which you gratefully accept.

“Thanks, Stevie.” You state, but he just bops your nose, making you laugh.

“No worries, Angel.” he adds, and you beam up at him. Bucky watches the small interaction between the two of you with a soft smile, and you and your boyfriends are about to stroll towards the next table when an elderly woman comes up to you three.

“I’m sorry for possibly disturbing you, but can I just say you make such an adorable couple!” The Woman states while looking at you and Steve.

“Thanks!” all three of you – Bucky included – call out simultaneously, and the woman’s eyes widen.

She excuses herself with a comical expression written on her face, and it takes you a moment to realize what just happened.

You have to bite down on your lip hard, trying to keep yourself from laughing, before gathering some more food, getting back to your table, and finally digging in.

The cuisine, just like the rest of the resort, is amazing, and for the next few hours, you’re all sharing food, stories, and laughter. Once everyone is done eating, you decide that the beach should be your next destination.

The sand under your feet is hot to the touch, and you quickly jump back to the safety of your shaded towel after having made your way over to Nat, handing her some of your sunscreen.

She’s currently sitting near the water, building a small sandcastle with some kids, while teaching them Russian swearwords.

Most of the boys, on the other hand, have assembled to play some volleyball matches, and you watch your two Super Soldiers adoringly.

The warm glow of the sun makes the dripping saltwater and sweat on their body glisten, and it’s mesmerizing to watch their athletic physique move with such grace, even if it’s just for some small volleyball game.

You lean back on your towel, breathing in the salty air, and exhaling slowly, wishing you and your men had more peaceful moments like this.

A small ocean breeze carries their shared laughter and banter towards you, making you smile.

God, how you adore them.

Looking out at the vast ocean in front of you, you notice a small jet ski circling the coastline.

“Are that Mobius and Loki?” you ask, dumbfounded when the water scooter passes you by once more.

“I believe so.” Vision confirms, and you stare at the surprising sight in front of you. Both of them are wearing small straw hats, and Mobius excitedly waves your way, once he catches your gaze.

“Every time I think I’ve truly seen it all, something like this happens, reminding me that that’s in fact not the case.” you mumble under your breath, before turning your attention back to your boys.

A little time later, Bucky shows up next to you, breathless, and sweaty.

“You wanna grab a drink, doll?” he asks, nodding towards the small beach bar not too far off.

“Sure! I’d kill for some iced tea.” You admit, and he smiles, before taking your hand and helping you up.

The hot sand under your feet makes you wince once more, but luckily Bucky is quick to notice.

“Hop on!” he says, while bending down, beckoning you to jump on his back, so he can give you a piggyback ride.

Once you two made it to the desired destination, he gently lets you back down, as you make your way towards the counter.

You go for a simple peach iced tea and Bucky picks up some more beer.

When he takes a sip from your colorful cup, he keeps his eyes locked with yours while shamelessly saying: “You still taste a lot better, peaches.” You feel the heat on your cheeks rise up at his words, but he just gives you a playful wink before offering you another piggyback ride.

Winter Soldier or not, you think, he’s still a menace.

As the day slowly fades out, you and your beloved soldiers go on a quest in search of a more secluded spot on the beach, from which you can watch the sunset in peace.

You’ve been walking next to them, hand in hand in hand in hand, treating, and jumping through the water, that’s gently surrounding your feet.

The last rays of the setting sun illuminate you and your boyfriends in a golden glow.

Once you’ve found a spot to your liking, the three of you sit down into the sand, which is still warm to the touch, but not unbearably so.

You’re seated between both Bucky and Steve, who’s hands are each securely placed around your waist. As the sun sinks deeper into the vast ocean in front of you, you’re overcome once more with the overwhelming feeling of love and adoration you store in your heart for the two men next to you.

“God,” you say, leaning your head against Bucky’s shoulder and pulling Steve’s arm closer around you.

“I love you two!”

“I love you, too.”

“I love you, too–wait, I mean you two, too!”

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

And that's it! Thank you so much for reading!

[levimoid]

Geralt: How weird would it be to be invited to your own funeral?

Regis: Actually, it isn’t that strange. It’s kind of like a birthday party where people cry.

Geralt: Have you been invited to your own funeral?

Regis: Once or twice

[noirbriar]

FFXV AU: The Lion, the Coeurl and the Cub (8)

A dragon and a kingdom in fire and darkness. Gladio and his father are too hard to write and fight scenes are a mess.

And yes, finally justice is served and peace awaits.

PART 1   PART 2   PART 3   PART 4  PART 5  PART6  PART 7

(possible crossover of FF lores ahead in this AU.OOC-ness and plotholes are all on me.Do I know what I’m doing?NOPE.)

-Gladiolus remembers their first meeting, the fidgety chocobo that greeted him cautiously from behind Noct after he found (caught) them at the arcade. Who gradually warmed up and joined him on working out when invited, and sharing a waffle stack afterwards at that one diner at the park’s corner on weekends. 

He was unsure about how the foreign looking kid was always hanging around Noctis so much. Though seeing Noct open up and having a friend outside him and Iggy, their originally solemn trio, was quite a relief really.The terrible first meeting aside. Gladio had not much expectations about Prompto, he was a normal schoolmate. At least, until the attempted kidnapping of Noctis. He should have suspected then. The fact that he was the son of The Immortal and the Hero of the Kingsglaive? Nope,didn’t see that coming at all. Although, it also kinda explains why the Marshal and Nyx had thrown him down during practice for 2 weeks straight after their first meeting.

-Yet now, his friend glows in the light Etro, ephemeral and extruding pure unadulterated power, this was a different Prompto. He summons a double Ultima effortlessly to clear the first wave of Red Giants for the armies to charge through Insomnia’s borders and began the battle against the daemon horde. Gladio has to be beside Noct as support and defence like his father for Regis. Cor is focusing on protecting Prompto while Nyx coordinates the joined army’s assault with Ravus and Arenea.

-There were just so many daemons. As if Insomnia is now an endless abyss of darkness.The boulevard he used to walk to the Citadel, the cafe he had lunches with Iggy, Prom and Noct’s arcade, Iris’ favourite shops…now rubble and decay.

-And also when did Ifrit have damn pet dog?! The thing is sleeping smack middle of the square like it owns the place and is no pushover. Even with Noct attacking all three heads, it still stays sharp and keeps dodging around the buildings.Cerberus then takes a leap and dives aiming at Prompto who is focusing on healing and support for some of the glaives, Cor grabs him and ducks out of the way as Nyx tries to warp over to assist after dealing with a psychomancer. In a blink of an eye, a shadow suddenly swoops in to carve a hole out of the demon dog from hell, slamming it into the department store and releasing a roar in show of smug victory…

- Okay.He sees it clearly now.Thats like a lion.Thats a DAMN BIG CROSS OF A ZU AND A CAT AND ITS A FLYING FELINE, oh shit,Prom and Iggy weren’t kidding then. 

But the creature doesn’t linger for long, leaving as soon as it appears, a pleased rumble echos from Griever after a small nod of acknowledgement from the Marshal. Griever pushing off with a flap of his wings, retreating into the air as it fades out into fragments of light. Gladio himself and some of the soldiers are shocked stiff at the sudden intervention and loss of their enemy but hey, he’ll take it.

-Meanwhile the Infernian is mad but Ardyn still had to be a snarky asshole.

“He~llo~ my old friend! Such a warm adoring welcome you have graced us with!” 

Annnd now the Astral is even more pissed while trying to make a giant bonfire out of Insomnia, his burning blade taking a swipe at everyone trying to warp nearer. The Niflheim division manages to get the Omega weapon to get some damage in luckily, allowing the Kings to do the rest.Three Armigers is nothing to scoff at, but if Luna suddenly marches forward, her dogs paving her way forward like the fierce queen she is? With Gentiana who turns back into Shiva, freezing the burning mess? By all means he isn’t complaining. 

Even as Titan, Ramuh and Leviathan manifest, pushing down the daemon Astral into submission. Prompto then finally calls for Gilgamesh and the undead souls to push back another wave of daemons to clear the area around the Citadel. Things look to be running smoothly until a giant sword slams down and pins Leviathan’s fins into the ground, screaming.

- “So you have come to meet your end.” The draconian’s voice echoes from the top of the citadel, soaring overhead. Well, screw you too Bahamut. 

-The 3 generation of Kings come forward and faces off the Draconian,summoning their royal arms as the kings of yore materialises. Ardyn casually takes his spot on the mystic’s shoulder, Regis stands with the Wise and Noctis graciously allowed to perch beside the rogue queen. 

Ifrit takes this time to trash and free himself, releasing a burst of hellfire in mad defiance, which the Draconian simply waves away the flames and grabs the insane astral in a chokehold. 

“Futile are your efforts.Now, fulfil your purpose forced upon you by mankind, the same beings you have adored once just as she did.The same creatures you have granted your fire and love.They are your downfall.But this is your blessed redemption, grant me your powers and the darkness, my brother.I will recreate the world in which you have dreamt.” 

The starscourge and fire then flows into Bahamut who revels in the energy, its almost an act of cannibalism, Gladio thinks. This was the god that they had worshipped. A truly heartless, wretched being.

The other Astrals attacks but are blown back by his bladed wings, smaller Bahamuts shaped by light emerges from him, before diving down to attack the army.Even the Omega Weapon ended up in smithereens in the shockwave of energy.

“To lie and to betray your kin, I am sensing a pattern here, Bahamut~!” Ardyn comments coolly. The Mystic remains silent. The founder Kings began their attack just as Leviathan recovers decides to have her revenge, hurling herself towards Bahamut who casually throws down the now almost fading Ifrit at her.She screeches in the language of gods back at him. (“Ohhh, my, I never knew that was a possible curse!”Ardyn.Not now.)

-Noctis and the Rogue cuts down more daemons, letting Regis join Ardyn in the assault, when Prompto asks for cover as he skids over in effort to make it closer to the Ifrit. Cor lets Noctis take over and goes to help Nyx and Ignis against a rampaging Behemoth King. He warps over and lets Prompto do his thing as he arrives by the fallen Infernian’s side.His eyes bright as he places a hand by his face, the shadowy vines of death dances wildly and lets the fragile astral breathe again. Shiva approaches, hovering by her old love quietly. 

Noctis then rejoins his father and Ardyn in their attack on the accursed Astral. Bahamut deflects while readying his tetraflare, the ability finally reaching its peak and achieving what he set out to do 2000 years ago.

-“All-mother...?”

”Shh.My dear flame who once shared my love with mankind…There will be time for amends.”

A humbled Ifrit gets up and kneels before Etro, who gently pats his horn. Garuda appears, floating nearby, ever his loyal messenger in the days of old.The other Astrals wanders closer alongside their messengers (the dogs pattering around Shiva, and to Noct’s amazement, Carbuncle appears by his feet before rubbing itself against him, and bouncing off to join the other gods.) 

All of them had gathered around the Goddess’ side.The Eyes of Etro then turn to address the wayward dragon. 

“Etro. Your interventions have been pitiful.”

”And yet I am here now, Bahamut. I ask you only once. Will you cease and return to your calling as my Eidolon?”

”My calling is to be the almighty.”

”Then I pity you.” Etro closes her eyes as she relays her command in the language of the Gods. 

“Bring him into the beyond and I will bring Salvation upon Eos. Let these souls balance the scales of Life once again! With this, penance has been made, wrongs have been made right. Now, purge the land of darkness and may it flourish for the Living!”

-Bahamut roars and proceeds to cast the boosted tetraflare but the astrals attack deflects and intercept the blow, thus causing the magic to backfire into a mighty blast. The divine beings scream as the light expands out across the ruined Insomnia, before constricting into a contained orb of pure light in the darkness. Phantoms of the Astrals and the messengers remain, containing the impact as the gigantic orb pulses in rhythmic waves, piercing through the endless miasma of darkness and burning daemons into ash.

-The Kings of Yore fades out as the daemons vanish and burn in the blast, the souls of the dead flicking and flittering towards the light, they have completed their duty to Etro. 

The army of Eos stops in bewilderment. The air is no longer heavy but darkness still remains. 

-Ardyn wanders up to Etro.

” He’s in there isn’t he? His spirit.”

”Its his domain. A place he selfishly carved and reside away from his other kin.The astral plane.A space between the living and the beyond where time does not exists.Where the essence of Gods can be found. 

“Then it is time to finish this curse, wouldn’t you agree? Come along, my dearest nephews!” 

Regis and Noctis simply return a deadpan stare.

”Rude! Somnus will hear of this! His descendants, simply terrible!” 

And with that Ardyn saunters his way into the light, as the other 2 Lucis Caelums follow in with their retainers. Luna nods to Ravus who lets her go as she marches forward, determined to see the end with her own eyes. They leave Crowe, Pelna, Libertus, Arenea to help look after the remaining troops and Iris, Dustin, Monica to help the wounded.

-Cor and Nyx noticed that Prompto has not moved from his spot, his eyes no longer bright with Etro’s power, but simply gazing at the gateway of light silently.The exhaustion clear, but something else was beneath the facade as well.Their son reaches to hold onto his fathers’ hands. Right as they were about to address anything else, Prompto looks up brightly and tugs them along.The others are awaiting.

-There in the vast crystalline space, they face off the weakened Bahamut’s spirit and revenge never felt better. 

The Kings of Yore manifests and one by one, they run their weapons through the broken Astral. Until only 3 remain. 

A strike, from a father forced to let his son die. 

A slash, from the boy who has yet to live. 

A stab, from a man wronged and forsaken by all.

The Draconian groans in resignation, his body dispersing into fragments of light.The Lucis Caelums and Nox Flurets were finally free as they watch the glittering pieces become lost.

Without Bahamut, the Astral Plane darkens and dims like a dying star, leaving the light from 2 points. The living and the undying realms. The team tiredly began to make their way to the exit back home in relief. The taste of freedom feels so delightful-

Until Prompto grasps Noctis’ wrist and the prince looks back at his friend in confusion.

Everyone turns and notices the boys falling behind them.

”Prom?” Prompto doesn’t reply, his head hanging low.

Something feels…off.

-“I..I don’t know how you did it Noct. Being in that crystal for 10 years.I don’t think I can myself haha…but,it shouldn’t be too bad…right?”

”Prompto, what are you-“

”I saw so many things you know? So much deaths and loss. His majesty, Lord Amicitia, my baba, Luna, Iggy, Ravus, Ardyn…you. I saw all the doors. I saw all the ends.”

“I wonder, if you know of the truth, would you all hate me for ignoring the sacrifices you, Luna, Iggy, and everyone have made for my selfish wish?”

“Wha-No way, Prompto I-“

“I just-I wished-no.I’m just happy I got to see you guys again. I’m glad no matter what, in all the universes, we still met.“ 

Prompto quietly summons his gun and pushes it into Noctis’ hand before backing away slowly. More floating souls of the dead gather around them. The unearthly vine like tendrils of darkness from the Beyond began to curl around Prompto in an eerie embrace.The tattoo on his wrist now growing, morphing, as he looks back at his love ones, the pain evident in his posture.When he finally looks up shakily, Gladio feels a chill run down his spine as he sees crystals bursts from various parts of his friend’s skin.

The Eyes of Etro stares back at them from the darkness. A tear. A smile.

“I’m sorry. Thank you.”

A snap resounds in the back of Gladio’s mind, and the line of magic between Noctis and Prompto shatters. 

“PROMPTO!” -----

I lied. Its not really final fantasy without a final final boss isn’t it? FINAL PART 

[kaer-cuan]

Higher Vampire Jaskier concept

Because I am Weak: higher vampire Jaskier but he's an absolute BABY. He's only like 50 years old and just starting out in life, just dumb as bricks, and runs into Geralt on his first real outting on the Continent and just goes for it when he sees this guy because he smells like ADVENTURE and Jaskier wants to see the world!! Thankfully Geralt is not very observant and completely misses why his new little bard friend is so weird. He's a bard! Bards are weird! He's not going to question it. He’s got better things to do, like stare into the distance and brood a bit. Jaskier loves this guy, he’s hilarious.

A few years down the line Geralt starts hearing about how there might be a vampire in Oxenfurt, but the signs only show up in winter. He only thinks about it because Jaskier goes back to winter in Oxenfurt. So he tells him to be careful, and there might be a vampire about, and Jaskier’s like “hahahah cool cool thank you BYYYYE”

Jaskier is just really bad at keeping a low profile and look!!! Blood tasty!!! It's like getting drunk!!!

Geralt does eventually figure out that it's Jaskier after getting called in to handle it and finding this idiot drinking from a very happy young man and is just like "........I don't know what I expected, also, what do you MEAN you have a group of idiot humans who think it's hot when you drink from them"

Jaskier, least subtle vampire on the Continent: I mean it seemed rude to not ask for their consent??

Geralt, screaming in the distance: THIS IS HOW YOU GET KILLED YOU DUMBASS

-

They talk it out and Jaskier swears up and down it’s only people who actually like it that he’s drinking from, so Geralt decides that he can live and they can still travel together, because like… Regis exists. It’s fine. It’s totally fine. On the road he does eventually get curious and after like a WEEK of taking white honey daily to make sure his blood isn't toxic very awkwardly asks him if he'll show him what the big deal is and. Well.

Turns out white honey blood is VERY TASTY. And also that geralt is a bit more of a freak than he anticipated. (Notably: Geralt absolutely gets a bit of a high off of the blood drinking and he is also a freak for biting, and Jaskier is just the most smug asshole about it.) 

Life carries on and they meet Yennefer (who Jaskier likes immediately and who Geralt likes even more immediately), and they get a Ciri, and life is generally pretty okay aside from the whole Nilfgaard thing. And then there’s the hanse arc, and Jaskier meets Regis (who we’re pretending Geralt has known for a while before this for the sake of fun silliness). When Jaskier meets Regis he's immediately smitten because!!! Nice adult vampire who will teach me things and is very kind! He’s never really met another higher vampire aside from his POS bio father (don’t ask me how he was born, Jaskier just Is.) Geralt does not know how to feel about Jaskier bounding up with lots of flowers for Regis' approval. Regis does not know how to feel about having acquired a child, but he just kinda shrugs because. Well. Here it is. 

Regis and Geralt are carefully not talking about their wild ass dynamic with this idiot baby vamp because it'll get weird REAL QUICK if they do

Regis is definitely not mad about having Jaskier plaster himself to him to beg for attention and stories though.

That's nice.

He can handle that.

Dettlaff has no idea what to do with Jaskier when they meet later in life, when Jaskier is the delicate age of 85 and Regis invited them to come meet the guy who brought him back to life. Regis just shrugs helplessly while Jaskier yammers on about how Dettlaff has to tell him about 300 year old chord progressions

-

Regis: .....do I have to give you the shovel talk 

Geralt, watching Dettlaff glare at him while he pats Jaskier's head indulgently: you really, really don't

-

Dettlaff and Regis wind up essentially acting as co parenting divorced exes with baby Vamp Jaskier, and Geralt is frantically NOT thinking about the number of times he's fallen into bed with Regis. Yenn thinks this is the funniest thing that has ever happened in her entire life.

When Geralt gets Corvo Bianco he does it with the resigned knowledge of his damn vampiric equivalent of in-laws dropping in and out for the rest of time. Regis and Dettlaff both decide to stay in Toussaint, with things working out much better for all involved during Blood and Wine, and Jaskier pops in and out of the place wreaking havoc all the time since he’s made up with Anna Henrietta and has a sort of sister in Orianna, who’s given up the orphanage scheme and is behaving herself.  Jaskier is the youngest higher vampire on the Continent so all the older bruxa have no idea whether to bow to him or pinch his cheeks and coo for the next hundred years.

Side note, Regis and Geralt have DEFINITELY given in and slept together at some point Jaskier started sleeping with Geralt and treating Regis like a father, and Jaskier thinks its very funny that they're embarrassed by it, because it's not like they're legal kin or anything.

-

Jaskier, sipping his coffee when they stumble into the kitchen in the morning: soooo something you want to tell me 

Regis, covering his face with his hands: if I never bring up the couch incident again will you go away? 

Jaskier: lmao no this is HILARIOUS

Dettalff hears about this and cackles relentlessly for weeks. Regis seriously consists moving to Kovir.

-

The relationships in this world could be summed up with Orianna pulling down a chart and saying "by all accounts it doesn't make any sense"

Jaskier and Geralt: live together when he's in Toussaint, technically partners 

Geralt and Yenn: have a thing going, leave it undefined 

Yenn and Jaskier: have a REAL good time every time they meet up and whether or not that includes sex is a mystery for the ages 

Regis and Geralt: would love it if the other would stop being so fucking attractive good lord knock it off oh no we did it again 

Regis and Dettlaff: big divorced spouses who inevitably call each other on their anniversary and talk about how they miss each other and wind up in a motel 6 because the sex was DEFINITELY not why they broke up energy

-

Lambert, poster child for personal monogamy and professional demisexual: gross

Aiden, his husband, poster child for non monogamy, who has definitely tried the White Honey thing with Jaskier since Lambert does not give a shit what he gets up to so long as he doesn’t have to hear about it: oh yeah totally lmao

Eskel "slept with a succubus after doing fisstech" Wolfschool, who has also done the White Honey thing: just ridiculous, all of them

-

Jaskier: I'm a goddamn adult 

Dettlaff, hoisting him by his armpits with ease: baby. Tiny child. Leetle.

Jaskier: >:[

-

Jaskier: you should let me come on that hunt with you! 

Dettlaff, doing paperwork: what did Regis say? 

Jaskier: well, he said no. 

Dettlaff: then why are you asking me? 

Jaskier: because he's not the boss of you 

Dettlaff, internally: THIS IS A TRAP

-

Jaskier: I'm NINETY YEARS OLD, I CAN DO WHAT I WANT 

Regis: oh absolutely the fuck not, this is not a good choice.

Dettlaff: he’s right, listen to your father, you tiny baby child. 

Regis: your mother is right, you should listen to me. 

Dettlaff: Regis ISTG, DO NOT CALL ME-

-

Ciri, age 12: Wow, Geralt really likes tall collars 

Ciri, age 20: OH MY GOD

-

Detlaff, hauling Jaskier out of Beauclair to hand him off to Regis after he made Anna Henrietta mad again: Control your child, Regis. 

Regis, unimpressed: When he’s in Beauclair he’s YOUR son.

Jaskier: :3c

[mysterioushogwartsrequests]

Hey i wanted to ask if you could write a reader x fred fic where they learn about the mirror of erised in class and then the reader has to step in front of it to say what they see and they say smth like "fred could you step aside" or "could you get out of the frame, you are in the way" and it turns out he wasn't even close to being in the mirrors view and so they just announced that their deepest desire is fred, ik it's very specific but please🥺❤

I’ve actually been thinking about writing something like this so I am very glad you sent this in!!! And, honestly, really specific requests are always welcome because I know exactly what you all want! I love any request you send my way :).

Title: The Desired Slip-Up

                                         ϟ ϟ ϟ

Fred and George’s Sixth Year at Hogwarts had already started off with a bang. The announcement of the Tri-Wizard Tournament had everyone in high spirits, and they all waited impatiently for the Winter holiday celebrations. Sure, they were dealing with an unpleasant scammer by the name of Ludo Bagman, but the Twins were certain they would get their way eventually.  

Like any other year, Fred continued his usual school-yard scheming with his brother, occasionally stopping to view the petrifying tasks of the Tri-Wizard Tournament where Harry Potter managed to avoid the clutches of an irritated Hungarian Horntail. Despite having excellent marks, the Twins often found themselves bored with the courses at Hogwarts and were often discussing ways to avoid attending them. However, the possibility of their mother finding out about their misbehavior urged Fred and George, despite their grievances, to attend their classes.

Professor Moody currently held the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and often introduced unorthodox items in his teachings. Well, what could really be considered unorthodox at a school for Magic?

On a particularly cold Novembers’ day, Fred sauntered into the classroom, tailed by his brother, and at once caught sight of the ornate mirror at the front of the room. The students were gathered around each other’s desks, exchanging whispers as to what the mirror could do. Waiting for his students to settle, Professor Moody rapped his fingers against his desk, his blue eye ardently scanning the room as two more girls trailed in.  

Fred and George took their usual seats at the center, roughly setting down his belongings behind Angelina Johnson, who turned to face the noise with a hint of annoyance.  

“Making sure everyone hears you arrive?” She asked teasingly, swinging her legs over the empty space beside her.  

“You know us, Angelina-” replied George with a thumbs up  

“Always putting on a show” finished Fred, shooting his friend a wink before acknowledging the empty seat, “And (Y/N)?” asked Fred, earning a shrug from Angelina. However, before Fred could ask anything else, Mad-Eye Moody rose from his seat and tapped the edge of the mirror with his wand, effectively silencing the class.  

“Now, I’ve prepared a very special lesson for you lot and I expect your undivided attention” Moody declared, his good eye trained on Fred Weasley, who was doodling product designs on a spare bit of parchment. George, noticing Mad-Eye’s intense stare, jabbed Fred’s side and gestured for him to look forward.  

Begrudgingly setting his quill down, Fred rested his cheek against his palm as Mad-Eye cleared the first row of desks nearest to the mirror. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in Mad-Eye’s teachings, Fred just found it rather difficult to concentrate when he was plagued by thoughts of (Y/N)’s absence. Although (Y/N) (L/N) was quite the prankster herself, she was not one to miss classes, especially if the Professor was known for dealing out harsh punishments if he caught you.  

“I want a nice, clean line facing the mirror” Mad-eye announced, gesturing towards the empty space he had cleared, “This isn’t your ordinary, everyday mirror so don’t let me catch you fixing your hair and makeup in front of it” He warned, eyeing the group of giggling girls lining up beside him. With a sigh, Fred pushed himself off his seat and followed George and Angelina towards the front of the class, gaze trained out the window as he wondered what it would feel like to fly through the cold-wind at this very moment.  

Paying no attention to the lesson, Fred narrowed his eyes at the shape whizzing meters from the window. “Is that a person? Flying towards the castle?” he thought, subtly inching towards the glass to get a better glimpse of the robed figure, but they had already vanished. Scratching his head, Fred directed his attention towards Mad-Eye Moody, who was pointing at the calligraphy above the mirror which read:  

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi” or “I show not your face, but your heart’s desire” as Mad-Eye translated.

“When you look into this mirror,” Mad-Eye began, stepping in front of the line so the students could only see his reflection, “You will see what your heart most desperately desires, but be careful” He added with a wicked grin, his eyes trained on his reflection, “Some of you may go mad if you stare for too long…”  

Fred eyed Moody suspiciously, it seemed like he himself was transfixed with what he currently viewed in the mirror, only stepping away after giving his head vigorous shake. Bearing the same wicked smile, Professor Moody gestured towards the mirror, “Any volunteers?” he asked nonchalantly, but the prospect of going mad spooked the usual eagerness to participate out of his students. The Sixth years looked around at each other, trying to see who would be brave enough to face the Mirror of Erised.  

At that moment, the door to the classroom slammed open and the sound of running footsteps filled the room. Gasping for air, (Y/N) (L/N) looked up at Professor Moody with disheveled robes and a broomstick gripped in her right hand, her satchel hanging loosely over her shoulder as she set her broom against the wall.  

“Professor, I am so sorry. I lost track of time while at the Quidditch Pitch and—” but Professor Moody cut off her rambling excuses with a swift raise of his hand.  

“As a result of your tardiness,” Moody growled, his good eye trained on (Y/N) as the other whizzed from her broom and back to her, “And flying around the grounds without permission” he added and (Y/N) bowed her head in shame, setting her satchel down beside Angelina’s before walking towards the front of the classroom.  

“You will be the first to demonstrate the effects of the Mirror of Erised,” Moody finished, his eyes glinting with anticipation as he urged her in front of the mirror, “I’ve already explained what the mirror does, but unfortunately, you were late so you will find out on your own” he explained, looking back at the group of students behind him, “And none of you runts will tell her, got it?”As he snapped, a couple of frightened Ravenclaw girls nodded intensely causing Fred to roll his eyes for the third time in the hour.  

Feeling increasingly nervous, (Y/N) looked towards Angelina with a sheepish smile, then towards the Weasley Twins. George shot her encouraging thumbs-up, but Fred only grinned at her, urging her forwards while mouthing, “This is your punishment.” She and Fred had not always been great friends, she actually despised him during their second year when a balloon full of ink fell on top of her head, spilling its contents all over her new robes. Despite being increasingly furious that day, (Y/N) found herself laughing at the prank after Professor Flitwick removed the stains of her clothes and Professor McGonagall scolded the Twins in the middle of the Courtyard. After seeing the embarrassed looks on their faces, (Y/N) went up to them and declared the beginning of a prank-war, therefore igniting the first flames of the friendship.  

At the end of their second year, (Y/N) was crowned Prank Champion, complete with a parchment crown and colorful ribbon Lee Jordan had prepared for the winner. The summer after that, the Twins invited (Y/N) over to The Burrow where they spent the hot months of July playing Quidditch in a clearing and enjoying Mrs. Weasley’s delightful cooking. It was not until the 1994 Quidditch World Cup that (Y/N) realized her feelings towards Fred were more than friendship. She often recalled the late-night talks they would share in the Astronomy Tower, neglecting the homework they promised they would do that evening. But she really couldn’t help it, Fred was so easy-going that it was no arduous task to get lost in conversation with him. Now, they were in their Sixth year and she had collected an assortment of sweaters gifted to her by Molly Weasley, as well as many joke-shop prototypes from Fred and George.  

With the announcement of the Yule Ball, (Y/N) immediately imagined herself in a beautiful gown, circling a ballroom with Fred Weasley at her side. As she stepped up to the mirror, she took a deep breath with her eyes closed, the image of Fred’s infectious smile fresh in her memory as she opened her eyes. 

Well, it was not difficult for her to imagine Fred’s wide grin because it was staring right back at her, standing beside her with a singular rose extended towards her. Blinking rapidly, (Y/N) leered at the mirror, stepping towards it with her eyebrows furrowed, frustrated by Fred’s overconfident grin shooting towards her.

As the minutes passed, her annoyance only grew. Not only did she not know what the mirror was supposed to show, but she also had Fred’s playful gaze trained onto her. With a large huff, (Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest and moved towards the right, trying to cover Fred’s presence in the mirror.  

“Something the matter?” coughed Mad-Eye, whipping the droplets of his drink away from his face and stuffing his flask into his robe pocket, “Tell us what you see.”  

Without taking her eyes off the mirror, (Y/N) clicked her tongue in frustration, “I really can’t see anything with Fred in the way,” she admitted, “Can you get out the way? You’ve been grinning at me like a mad man”  

Fred registered George’s snort of laughter beside him, his ears flushing red as he replayed (Y/N)’s words in his head, “(Y/N), sweetheart” he spoke up, raising his hand up in the air to show how far back in the line he was, “I’m over here, love. How could I possibly be blocking your view?” teased Fred, stepping out of the line as (Y/N) whipped around to face him. 

With her mouth agape, she locked eyes with Fred and realization dawned on her, it was impossible, Fred was too far away, and he was the only one the mirror was reflecting... She should’ve at least seen the rest of the class or even Mad-Eye!  

Turning back towards the mirror, (Y/N) noticed Fred’s smiling face again, but also noticed the green dress robes he was wearing and how she was wearing the most magnificent purple gown she had ever laid eyes on, “I don’t understand” (Y/N) uttered out, turning her head towards Mad-Eye, “I- only see Fred and I… going to the Yule Ball together…” she admitted, lowering her voice as she did so.  

“Well, Mrs. (L/N),” Moody began, “The Mirror of Erised shows your heart’s most desperate desire and it seems yours is to be Mr. Weasley’s date,” he said matter-of-factly. (Y/N) blushed furiously at his words, her eyes darting towards the real Fred, who bore the same smile as his reflection. She could verbalize the relief that washed over her when the bell, signaling the end of class, rang and immediately taking the opportunity to bolt out of the classroom, leaving her broomstick in her wake. The rest of the students exchanged whispers as Fred and George exited the classroom, making jokes about what they thought they would see in the mirror.  

“Would you like some alone time?” asked George mischievously, handing Fred (Y/N)’s forgotten broom, “I’m sure there’s plenty the two of you should talk about” George then waved his brother off and ran down the corridor to join Angelina.

Fred looked down at the broomstick in his hand, his thumb trailing over the initials she had carved into the wood. A small smile appeared on his face as he caught sight of his own initials in her broomstick, the ones he had carved during the summer after (Y/N) lost the bet at the World Cup. With a newfound sense of courage, Fred strode down the corridor in search of (Y/N), determined to find her before she could hide in her common room.  

                                        ϟ ϟ ϟ

(Y/N) halted once she reached the Training Grounds, her hands placed over her knees as she took deep breaths, the crisp, frigid air filling her lungs, “Way to go!” she exclaimed angrily, stomping her heel against the ground out of pure embarrassment. Sinking down onto the snow, (Y/N) covered her face with her hands as she racked her brain for any sort of excuse she could give to Fred, but ultimately came up empty.  

“You know,” called a familiar voice behind her, “If you wanted to go to the ball with me, all you had to do was ask…” stated Fred, stepping towards her curled up frame. Jumping at Fred’s words, (Y/N) pushed herself off the ground, wiping the snow off her robes before pointing a finger towards her crush.   “Listen here, Fred” she stated defensively, “I-I have a perfectly clear explanation for this…” (Y/N) tried to explain, her voice wavering as he stepped closer to her, the scent of his cologne mixing with the chilly air, effectively weakening her resolve.  

“I’m all ears, love” He added, a playful smirk playing at his lips as he stuck out her broomstick, “You forgot this on your way out, it’s nice to see my initials are still there” Fred winked, letting his hand rest above hers as she attempted to retrieve her broom.  

“W-Well, I did lose the bet after all” muttered (Y/N), the blush returning to her cheeks as their fingers brushed together.  

“And I’m sure you’ll lose this one too” added Fred casually and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him, “What do you mean by that?” she asked cautiously as he laughed.  

“Well, I bet that you want to go to the ball with little old me, but you’re too afraid to ask” Fred stated confidently, smiling at the look of shock on (Y/N)’s face. He was not surprised by her reaction, not at all, it was what he had expected to see, to him, she was so easy to read. Fred understood what it meant when she scrunched up her nose during their late-night study sessions, how her leg would bounce underneath the desk when she was itching to go play Quidditch or the cute frown she bore when something did not go her way. It was not difficult to understand that this expression of shock meant he had been right on the mark.  

“Am I wrong?” He asked, his hand snaking around her waist, pulling her closer to his taller frame. Closing her mouth, (Y/N) looked down at their closeness and then up at Fred, “You’re not.” she admitted, swallowing her pride for once in her life.  

“Then, allow me,” whispered Fred, stepping back, and pulling out his wand before uttering the word, “Orchideous.” At that moment, a large bouquet of roses popped out of the tip of his wand, which Fred then took and dramatically brought himself down to one knee.  

Clearing his throat, he raised the flowers up and said, “(Y/N) (L/N), would you do me the utmost honor of accompanying me, Frederic Weasley, to the Yule Ball?” he asked, his grin growing wider than she ever thought possible.  

She would be lying if she said she had not imagined this moment playing out in her head, but never thought about it actually happening. However, there was no denying that the real thing felt better than her usual daydreams...  

With her heart beating against her rib cage, (Y/N) delicately wrapped her fingers around the bouquet and brought them up to her nose, the intoxicating smell of roses easing her nerves, “I would be delighted to accompany you to the ball, Mr. Weasley” she replied with a grin, slipping her hand into his extended one as he stood up.  

“Brilliant,” He whispered, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “But you know, you did lose a bet…” Fred muttered, his thumb trailing over her cheek as a faint tinge of red appeared over them once again.  

“Yes, that is true,” (Y/N) admitted with a nod of the head, “I suppose there is something you want me to do?”  

“I wouldn’t say that,” added Fred, stepping closer to her, and placing his other hand on her cheek, “I think the winner deserves something sweet” He stated huskily, his face dipping closer to hers, “Don’t you agree?”  

(Y/N) nodded, their proximity sucking the air out of her lungs and her blush darkening as their lips brushed against each other, “I do, why don’t you show me then?” she asked teasingly, a smile appearing on her lips as the smirk on Fred’s face grew.  

“Alrighty, then” With that, Fred closed the distance between them, one hand cupping her face as the other pulled her towards him by the waist. This, too, was better than anything Fred could’ve daydreamed, and he wondered why it had taken him so long to finally kiss her. He recalled the many occasions he could have kissed her, but never committed to it, afraid she might turn him down to preserve their friendship. But after the altercation in Mad-Eye Moody’s class, he knew there was nothing left to lose.

Fred Weasley had always loved (Y/N) (L/N), but it took a magic mirror for him to realize that… Not that he was complaining, better late than never.  

Pulling away from their first kiss, Fred tapped his finger against his chin, “You know, I don’t think just one was enough” he admitted, sliding his arm behind (Y/N)’s knees and scooping her up into his grip, “Wouldst the fair lady grant me one more?” He asked, wagging his eyebrows at her, making her burst out laughing.  

“As many as you want, My Lord,” giggled (Y/N), placing her hands on his cheeks and pulling him in for another passionate kiss.  

As the snow began to fall around them, Fred carried (Y/N) out of the training grounds, both bursting with excitement for the upcoming Yule Ball and the new memories they would make together.  

[aiorevelations]

What do you think Jason's reaction was on first meeting Edwin Blackgaard?

He probably went so pale, and looked like he had seen a ghost (literally lol 😂) when he first saw Edwin because he looked so much like Regis, who he saw “die”.

This is how we imagine it could have happened.

Soon after arriving in town Connie invited Jason to see a play with her at the Harlequin theater.

As soon as the curtains go up and Edwin steps on stage Jason turned as white as a ghost and just sat there frozen in shock. Later, Connie leaned over to whisper to him and said “isn’t he so good. It’s unbelievable” Jason swallowed heavily and replied “yup. It’s unbelievable all right”

After the performance Connie and Jason went up with the rest of the audience to Edwin in the lobby to shake his hand and give their compliments on the performance. Connie extended her hand and said “Awesome job Edwin! You made a wonderful Hamlet.”

Jason looked from Edwin at Connie and then back at Edwin and said “Edwin?”

Edwin: Yes?

Jason: You’re Edwin?

Edwin: Yes the one and only Edwin Blackgaard. Unless there’s another Edwin Blackgaard I don’t know of who’s also a world renown thespian.

Jason: *stares blankly still processing this. He quickly snaps out of it and extends his hand* Hi I’m Jason Whittaker.

[rallamajoop]

The Witcher: The Games vs the Books part 2 – Characters and Accents

So, I've already talked at length about the relationship between the Witcher books and games, but how well they captured individual characters is its whole own subject – and you’d better believe I have enough thoughts on it for a whole extra post.

Andrej Sapkowski's skill for creating vivid and engaging characters really is so much of what brings the books to life, and no matter how much work an adaptation might put into worldbuilding and plot, it's the characters you've really got to nail to get the long-time fans on board. Especially when you’ve done what the games have, framing themselves as a direct continuation of Sapkowski's story. Nothing invites comparison to your source material like basically forcing fans to read the original novels to understand even half the backstory alluded to in-game. 

So how did they do? I can only offer my opinion – characterisation is necessarily going to be a lot more subjective than just telling you what plot points the games contradicted outright – but like any fan, I have opinions in plenty.

Of the main cast, I feel Yennefer is the character they've captured the best. They've done just as well with some supporting players – I have no real complaints about Dijkstra or Phillipa, for example, who are favourites of mine in both games and books. For the main players though, Geralt and Regis seem to be the ones who's differences I'm most inclined to forgive, whereas I don't feel like they've done Ciri justice at all. Book!Geralt is much less of a smartarse, for one thing, whereas Book!Ciri is much more of one. But if we're talking about the differences, I’m afraid we really need to start with Dandelion.

Dandelion

For all the genuinely good work the games do with characters, old and new, I don't think I can overstate what a disservice the they've done Dandelion, who I could not stand in TW3, but is now one of my favourite book!verse characters. Alas, Dandelion is a prime example of something the Witcher games really don't do well: camp. Being the archtypical bard, Dandelion is about as flamboyant as any enthusiastically-heterosexual man can be: you should be able to spot this guy by body language alone, he should be flouncing around and he should talk like a spoiled noble auditioning for Shakespeare. Book!Dandelion is over-the-top and ridiculous and just so much fun, and I loved him well before I'd even really gotten into the rest of the books around him.

Here's just a bit of dialogue from one of his first appearances, to give you a sense of how he and Geralt play off each other.

The  bard  seized  the  fingerboard  of  his  lute  and  plucked  the strings vigorously. ‘How would you prefer it, in verse or in normal speech?’ ‘Normal speech.’ ‘As you please,’ Dandelion said, not putting his lute down. ‘Listen then, noble  gentlemen,  to  what occurred  a  week  ago  near  the  free  town  of Barefield. ‘Twas thus, that at the crack of dawn, when the rising sun had barely tinged pink the shrouds of mist hanging pendent above the meadows—’ ‘It was supposed to be normal speech,’ Geralt reminded him. ‘Isn’t it? Very well, very well. I understand. Concise, without metaphors. A dragon alighted on the pastures outside Barefield.’

Though TW3's Dandelion certainly looks the part, you have to go hunting through art from the Gwent cards to find much that comes close to really capturing his personality (see left pic below – though even there, a Dandelion who'd voluntarily break his treasured lute is a very hard sell). Though a lot of fanart does better (right-below – credit goes to Tatiana Ortaliz).

But as poorly as the games capture his flamboyance, they're not that much better when it comes to taking him seriously. TW3 left me thinking he was all talk and no substance; the books make abundantly clear that he really is renowned enough to be welcome in courts across the continent. Though he often overestimates what he can talk himself out of, he isn’t stupid either: he's lectured at Oxenfurt, spied for Dijkstra, and then there are the moments where the frivolous playboy mask slips and you realise he's sometimes much better at understanding people and relationships than Geralt will ever be (which is honestly kind of funny considering how many of Dandelion’s relationships end with plates being thrown at him from an upper story). He's not at all above mocking Geralt when he deserves it either (and especially his personal and relationship issues) – Geralt will happily mock him right back.

We never do learn how they became friends (I'm pretty sure the incident listed in the wiki is just the date of their first expedition together, not their first meeting), but Geralt just doesn't form lasting friendships or romances with anyone he can't have an intelligent conversation with. And Dandelion is a damn good friend to Geralt – one who, despite being a helpless, squishy little bard, will keep Geralt's secrets under torture, or will follow him into Nilfgaard in the middle of a war simply because you don't let a friend make a trip like that alone. (Seriously, I don’t ship it nearly as much as some, but hot damn there is some material in here if you do.) In short, it's basically inconceivable that he'd leave an amnesic Geralt wandering around Vizima alone, as he does in the first Witcher game – which is the kind of thing I can mostly forgive as a gameplay conceit, only it doesn’t really get better from there.

He’s also supposed to be blond, something I don’t think is technically specified until fairly late in the novels, but 100% what I’d been picturing since his first description as a man in a colourful bonnet with cornflower-blue eyes (let’s face it: Dandelion’s hair isn’t the only thing about him that screams ‘blond’). It’s a shame no-one from the games to the show to the novels’ cover artists seem to have noticed – but at least there are some fanartists out there who were paying attention (credit for these goes to Asphaloth, Ghostcupdraws, Hvit-ravn (tumblr deleted), 94355 and itsmespicaa).

As for the games? Well, I cannot speak to how Dandelion came across in the original Polish, but I think it speaks worlds about the priorities of the English version that they didn’t even bother to cast someone with a halfway-decent singing voice as their master bard. There are isolated moments of dialogue that come close to sounding like book!Dandelion– mostly in Witcher 2, which comes closer to capturing the spirit of the books than either 1 or 3, or his attempts to convince his captor he's a disguised noble when you rescue him TW3 – but his voice actor is just painfully ill-suited to the role.

Geralt

Geralt fares much better than Dandelion, though he’s still a little hard to square with the Geralt of the books. Book!Geralt spends a lot more time sulking, just to begin with: he sulks because his job is complicated and gets him no respect, and because the world is unjust and unfair – and, most of all, he sulks because Yennefer has dumped him again. He also gets mocked for sulking, and usually deserves it. Book!Geralt is generally a lot more taciturn and a less prone to making smart comments just to have something to say – arguably because in book!Geralt's world, making smart comments often ends at the gallows, or at least with some corrupt official making your life much harder. Book!Geralt's world kind of sucks, and he's just got to put up with it.

As much as he often plays into the expectations of being an uneducated monster hunter, he's also got a more of an intellectual streak than you’d guess. He may prefer to stay out of politics (because damnit, his job is to save people from monsters, not people who are monsters), but he attended school at Nenneke's temple and has even taken classes at Oxenfurt academy, and there's a lot of thoughtful nuance to his opinions – his speech to Ciri about why he can't in good conscience take a stronger stance against the Scoiata'el contains a wealth of historical perspective, just for one example. Even his smart comments tend to be, well, somewhat smarter in the books.

Book!Geralt’s explicitly a lot younger than Yennefer – around 50 is the usual estimate, falling far short of the 100-ish the games suggest (the scandal of having a man fall for – gasp! – an older woman clearly didn’t bother Sapkowski one bit). You don’t see nearly as much "I'm getting too old for this" from book!Geralt, who's really not that old by witcher standards, and is apparently still hunting monsters long into his future. I'm also a little annoyed by the way they play off his hatred of portals like he's a grumpy old man who doesn't like mobile phones, when his distrust originally came from having seen the gruesome deaths that result when portals go wrong. This is not to say Book!Geralt lacks other ordinary human flaws, however – twice in the last two books of the main saga, he gets severely sidetracked after his ego gets the better of him (in the adulation he receives after being knighted, then after arriving in Toussaint), and it's quite some time before he properly gets back on track for that whole rescuing-Ciri thing again. He’s also pretty hopeless when it comes to romance and relationships – breaking things off gracefully is really not in his skillset.

So why does game!Geralt not bother me more? Well, he's the main player character of a game franchise, and one who has to carry the experience largely solo. Some adjustments for genre are pretty much inevitable in that position. He's certainly fared better than Meve, for example, who's been softened far more from her book characterisation for her PC role in Thronebreaker. Then there's the whole amnesia thing – it's easy to believe that sort of experience would change a man – and if he doesn't sulk so much as he used to, maybe he's grown up a bit. Geralt's also in many ways the straight-man of Sapkowski's Witcher universe – there largely as the reliable centre for other, louder personalities to play off. But I expect the real bottom line here is that I do still like game!Geralt enough to forgive him a lot of what he lacks.

The books never do describe Geralt as being very attractive – something book-based fanart often tries to reflect. The point has been made before that the rather-alien-looking Geralt of the first game (left pic above) is probably a lot closer to his book-description. However, the main distinguishing factor you’ll see in book-based fanart is probably the ubiquitous headband, which genuinely is what book!Geralt wears to make his hair behave (the example on the right above comes from Diana Novich).

All that said, if Sapkowski really wants me to believe that nearly so many women are eager to jump into bed with him, I’m going to have to shallowly assume our witnesses are unreliable on this front, and Geralt is at least as attractive as Witcher 3′s take on him. Nothing else makes sense. *g*

Regis

Regis varies mostly in that book!Regis is a lot more smug, sometimes verging on obnoxious – and a lot keener to make fun of Geralt (who generally deserves it). But then, Regis is old and wise and superpowered enough to dance rings around most everyone else – can you blame him? By Blood and Wine, Regis' overconfidence has been recently smacked down hard after his near-death-experience at the hands of Vilgefortz, and that kind of thing could knock some chips off anyone's shoulder. Throw in the fact that with Dettlaff, we have a situation not even Regis could make light of, and the changes to game!Regis make a certain amount of sense.

I do feel it's a bit of a shame that the vocal direction didn't work just a little bit harder to capture some of Regis' smugger side, or emphasise that his long-winded philosophising on human behaviour is supposed to sound a bit pretentious. This is actually something I suspect they were going for a few times in the script, but which didn't come through in the dialogue quite the way it was meant to. Still, again, I'm sure I'm biased by the fact that I like game!Regis far too much to find much fault in what they've done with him. They've done a lovely job capturing his friendship with Geralt too.

Looks-wise, there's a tendency in book-based art to portray Regis with long hair (even some pre-Blood-and-Wine Gwent art did so – see the two pics on the left above, from Gwent and early B&W concepts. The right-most pic is cover art from the books). I couldn't rightly tell you where long-haired-Regis comes from, though – perhaps it's described more explicitly in the original Polish, or perhaps it comes up in passing in some passage I've forgotten, though it may just as well just be a fannish meme.

The books do describe him as looking rather like a tax collector, slim, middle-aged, with an aquiline nose, prone to wearing black, and his hair as 'greying' or 'grey streaked', so presumably somewhat younger-looking than the game would have it. The hammer-horror-esque sideburns are likewise a game-verse addition, though I do like the look they went with – it's distinct from Geralt in a way that making him another long-grey-haired man wouldn't have been, and that's probably the point.

Being the hopeless Regis fan I am, I have quite the folder full of different fanart takes on book!Regis, so have a selection – art here is by gellihana-art, justanor, greysmartwolf, Nastyaskaya, NatalyLanier, beidak, natalliel, ellaine and afternoon63. For what it’s worth, I feel beidak’s (bottom pic, second from the left) comes the closest to what I’d have pictured personally, based on how he’s first described.

Ciri

I find it much harder to rationalise the changes to game!Ciri, who I didn't exactly dislike, but found stuck too close to the role of generic-macguffin-girl-who-just-wants-to-be-normal to be very interesting. Having read the books, not only do I much prefer book!Ciri, I'm not sure I can emphasize enough how much the game did NOT prepare me for utter gauntlet of whump and misery that girl survives in the last four titles. Book!Ciri is a character who works for me mostly because of the same flaws the game mostly strips her free of – TW3 makes some token noise about how you can't tell her what to do, but she’s an utter little royal brat when we first meet book!Ciri, and it’s so much of what brings her to life. She throws herself into her witcher training with the enthusiasm of a kid going completely native, but still revels in getting to be girly for a change when Triss first arrives at Kaer Morhen. She hates Yennefer at first, but soon bonds with her just as strongly as she ever did with Geralt, picking up some of Yennfer’s haughty mannerisms along the way. And then she gets thrown through a portal and lost in the distant wilderness, and the whole world comes down on her head.

The build up to the first time Ciri actually has to kill someone is intense... and things only get worse from there. Steadily. For another couple of novels at a stretch. Seriously, a major caveat that pretty much has to go into any rec for these books (and I will absolutely rec these books) is that Ciri's story gets heavy. So heavy one finds oneself using phrases like, "that time that one guy died of his wounds on top of her while semi-consensually feeling her up was honestly one of the less traumatic incidents in the period."

By the end of the novels, Ciri has nearly died of thirst, been beaten, tied up, dragged around the country as a prisoner, run with bandits and killed innocent people for the fun of it, done fantasy-cocaine and got a tattoo, fought off more than one attempted rape, been drugged, lain for multiple nights next to an impotent elf who completely fails to impregnate her, watched the bodies of her friends and girlfriend being mutilated in front of her, and did I mention where she got that scar? She has survived hell, and it is absolutely a testament to her own strength that she somehow comes through it and puts herself back together at the end. When Geralt finally arrives to rescue her, what matters most isn't that her ordeal is over, but that she finally knows she hasn’t been abandoned by everyone who’d ever loved her after all.

The Ciri of the books is fierce and wild and arrogant, but she's learned her morals from the best, and she holds onto them until she can't, then picks them back up again when she can, and above all she survives. For all that her story turns arguably too much of the last two books into a slog of misery, oh boy does it pay off at the end. And that's probably about as much as I can say about her Big Moment in the last book without spoiling too much, so suffice to say that by the end of the saga, Geralt has pretty much become a supporting character in Ciri's story, not the other way around. (Seriously, you’d be surprised how few chapters of the last two books he’s actually in.)

Finding art which captures the aspects of Ciri’s character and history which are missing from the game has turned out to be pretty hard, though the fanart above from her bandit phase takes a decent crack at it (credit to Loles Romero and NastyaSkaya). I do rather like that one shot of her on horseback beside her girlfriend too, which comes from Denis Gordeev’s illustrations for the novels (below).

How much of this does TW3 get across with her portrayal in the game? Well, she's still pretty headstrong, I guess. And they let you give a 'sorry, I like girls' answer in one bit of dialogue, so they remembered her girlfriend existed. That's nice. But game!Ciri still has a kind of wide-eyed innocence that book!Ciri lost years ago, while book!Ciri is a little force of nature in ways the games hardly even hint at, and that's a really shameful loss.

You'd think, with a character so young, it ought to be easier to imagine she's simply grown up since we saw her last, but so much of what's changed about Ciri feels like a step back rather than forwards. I can shrug off Geralt and Regis' differences and still enjoy their game-verse-selves, but Ciri leaves me genuinely disappointed.

I’d say the official art that comes closest to capturing book!Ciri is that one portrait of her as a very grumpy young child (right above). Some of the early concept art (left above) feels a little more like it has her attitude, though she’s rather too yellow-blonde – not to mention too pretty. I think it also bears pointing out that Ciri isn’t really supposed to be the kind of beauty she is in the game – even before she gets what’s meant to be a seriously ugly and disfiguring scar. (Fanart below by justanor and bobolip)

But of course, the male gamer fanbase can’t be expected to give a fuck about a girl they wouldn’t want to fuck, so game!Ciri must be generically gorgeous. Le sigh.

Triss

I suppose I should at least touch on Triss, too, though she's a very odd case. She's so out of character in the first Witcher game that I am wryly amused that the biggest thing they arguably do get right is that taking advantage of Geralt the moment he showed up with amnesia is... pretty well in-character for her (look, I gotta be honest here, I'm not much of a fan of Triss in any of her incarnations).

The second game does a much better job with her – she actually feels like book!Triss, she has some good dialogue, we're finally dealing with some of her conflicted loyalties to the Lodge and to Geralt – though by the third, her characterisation has been so softened into “the nice one” that none of that potentially meaty conflict is ever resolved, or even really mentioned. Perhaps there's more buried in the Triss-romance path, which I've never bothered with, but the writers seem to have just given up on dealing with anything that might make her look less than wholly sympathetic. Heck, we hardly even get a clear statement about why she and Geralt broke up between Witchers 2 and 3.

Even speaking as such a not-a-fan of Triss, I promise there is more they could've done with the character the books give us. There's her ongoing trauma in from the Battle of Sodden, where she was injured so badly she was memorialised as one the dead: the 14th of the hill. There's her furious impatience with the neutrality of both the witchers and the Lodge: Triss has fought and died for a cause, and is ready to do so again. The second game sort of gets into this, but by and large, the games really aren't up to tackling the moral complexity of having such a theoretically-sympathetic character as Triss, who was still broadly willing to go along with the Lodge's plans to pair Ciri off and get her pregnant as soon as possible – her own wishes be damned. No, instead, Triss has conveniently left the Lodge before the rest of them go spiraling into abject villainy in the second game, clearing all that messy grey stuff out of the conflict.

Of course, the really big unresolved plot point still hanging over book!Triss is how badly she needs to terms with the fact Geralt's just Not That Into Her, and never has been – but since the games want Triss to be a serious romantic option, that's definitely not getting the resolution it could've used.

Book!Triss also pointedly avoids any outfit with a plunging neckline because her chest is covered with the ugly scars she received in the Battle of Sodden, something the games did not have the guts to reproduce. In a more confusing note, the books do consistently describe her hair as 'chestnut', which we'd usually think of as meaning 'brown' – though it turns out the games actually may not have been wrong to make her a redhead, since in Poland 'chestnut hair' apparently mean dark red hair (google some pictures of actual chestnuts, and you'll see why). Still, the firy-red-haired Triss of TW3 who wears nothing but plunging necklines remains a bit of a stretch, however you slice it. Once again, TW2 gets her best (and I must say, gave her the nicest outfit) – though even here she's conspicuously unscarred in all her sex scenes.

(Leftmost pic above is official Witcher 2 art, whereas Triss-with-scars fanart comes to us – once again – from nastyaskaya)

Shani

Shani sort of falls into a similar category as Triss as someone who isn't terribly well-served by any of her appearances, given that both exist in the first game largely to compete for Geralt's attentions. But I can't honestly say I find Shani’s portrayal in the Hearts of Stone expansion to be much better – the degree to which either version exists solely to fall all over Geralt is a bit painful, especially given that their relationship in the books is limited to a single, undramatic hook-up. Book!Shani really only appears in a couple of chapters: we meet her as a medical student friend of Dandelion's, who's been surreptitiously selling pilfered university supplies to fund her degree, then later see her again in the final book, where she proves herself as a battlefield medic during the climactic Battle of Brenna. She's pragmatic to a fault, and I really can't see her as the type who needs Geralt to point out to her that her patient is dead, for example, or who'd subject a guy with Geralt's problems to such an extended feelings-dump as you'll get out of her during the wedding.

Shani is a reasonably logical book-character to bring back, if only because she’s one of those who explicitly survives the ending, but for my money, "serious contender for Geralt's affections" is just not a role she works in.

Anna Henrietta

The duchess of Toussaint, Anna Henrietta, is another case who differs more from her book counterpart than you might think. In the books, the duchess is by far the least competent of the (pleasantly many and) various female leaders and rulers we meet – she comes across as rather young and naive, and every bit as absurd as everyone else in the ridiculous fairy-tale duchy she rules. She is, for example, most displeased to learn that Nilfgaard's war against the north is ongoing (something her courtiers have carefully avoided mentioning in her presence), because she'd long since sent the Emperor a stern note demanding he brought it to an end. She promptly has one of her ministers sent to the tower for misinforming her, and demands the others prepare an even sterner note for the emperor, which will surely do the job.

After Dandelion (inevitably) cheats on her, she has him repeatedly sent to the gallows, only to change her mind and send him a reprieve at the very last minute each time. Picture yourself a much younger and prettier version of the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland, and you've about got her general vibe.

Blood and Wine sort of waves at this part of her character when she first speaks about Dandelion, and again in suggesting there's a widespread feeling she lacks compassion, and once more as she proves utterly immovable on the subject of her sister. But the generally sensible and insightful woman you deal with for most of the main story is a far cry from her book-verse characterisation. That’s a bit of a shame, because I feel like there's a lot more they could have done to blend the two versions of her. Still, it’s hard to argue the duchess we get suits the story being told around her.

Other characters

Much as I love Yennefer, Dijkstra and Phillipa, I don't really have much more to say about them because I feel the games have done such a good job. The Yennefer of the books gets to show a lot more depth and complexity simply because she has more scenes and more space in which to do so, but when ‘there isn’t more of her’ is your biggest complaint, the game is officially doing pretty well. I could certainly gripe her about how “dresses in black and white” seems to have been taken as “dresses in black with maybe a trace of white trim”, or how Yennefer and Triss seem to be the only sorceresses in the world capable of wearing pants, when Phillipa (just for one) is in sensible men’s clothing the very first time we meet her, but that’s getting into serious nitpicking territory.

(Not that Yen can’t look amazing in outfits with more white – art by Emily Caroll, theclashofqueens, BarbaraRosiak, and cosplay by greatqueenlina)

Vesimir, Lambert and Eskel, Geralt's fellow witchers from the School of the Wolf, fall into a similar category for me – though we spend far less time with them in the books, everything we see of them in the games feels like a fairly logical extension of their book-roles. Vesimir is somewhat over-played as the old fogey, and his death is painfully cliched, but the impact on the characters and Kaer Morhen still hits home – and the games do some especially great work expanding Lambert into a much more complex character. To my mind, the only shame is that more of the book-original characters didn't get the same treatment.

Who have I missed? There's Avallac'h, of course, but I think I've got him pretty well covered by that last post. Zoltan, perhaps inevitably, has had his personality largely flattened into 'generic dwarf', with nothing better to do than hang around Geralt and Dandelion. You wouldn't know Book!Zoltan was apparently incapable of turning away women and children in need, for example – even human women and children with the chronic inability to say thankyou for his help. Or that he eventually admits to Geralt that the luggage he and his friends are carrying comes from a decidedly unsavoury source for such a supposedly charitable, upstanding guy. Yes, even Zoltan gets to be a morally complicated character in the books – who knew?

Speaking of dwarves, pleased as I am that Yarpen Zigren gets remembered in TW2, he's an odd one to talk about, since even in the books, he appears to have had a substantial personality transplant between his two main appearances. Yarpen’s a largely comedic figure in The Bounds of Reason short story, where he cheerfully admits to having considered letting his men knock down a particularly pompous aristocrat and piss all over him to teach him a lesson, but he’s evolved into a studious voice of reason against the scoiata'el by Blood of Elves. TW2 doesn't do a particularly good job of capturing either version, which I suspect probably bothered me more than most people – I liked the later book-incarnation of Yarpen immensely (and not even just because he's one of few ever to really call Triss out on just how much she needs to stop misreading Geralt's friendship as anything more than it is). His chapter in Blood of Elves packs a hell of a punch.

On the subject of accents

I do have to wonder if I'd have warmed up to characters like Triss, Shani and Dandelion (or even Letho) more if they'd only had halfway decent voice actors. It's not just that none are exactly leading the talent at the acting part of the job, it's that their American accents stick out in TW3 like a sore thumb.

Geralt mostly gets away his own US accent by dint of being the very first character we meet, so we've gotten used to the way he talks long before we notice how he stands out – hell, maybe that's just how they talk down in Rivia (hilariously, book!Geralt eventually reveals he's not even from Rivia, but simply picked the place and taught himself the accent so he could feel a bit less like the abandoned foundling he is, which only gives us yet more excuse for why his accent might sound a bit weird). More importantly, Geralt is meant to stand out, to be the outsider wherever he goes, so having him sound like no-one else fits the character.

But neither Triss or Dandelion are "of Rivia", and by the time they show up we've had dozens of hours in a game where literally everyone else sounds British, or Scottish, or Irish, or vaguely-eastern-European in the case of the Nilfgaardians. So why do these weirdos sound like no-one else on the continent?

The short answer seems to be that every character with an American accent in TW3 is someone who had an American accent in at least one of the previous games, which were way looser with their casting and had enough incidental American accents around that they didn't stand out. Clearly, by TW3, consistency with prior games has been prioritised over consistency with literally anything else we’re hearing.

Gaetan is an exception to the rule as the only new character (at least that I caught) with an American accent – presumably because between Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, Berengar, and Letho (and cohorts), some sort of 'witchers have American accents' rule has been pretty well established (another random American-accented witcher shows up in Thronebreaker, just to underline the point). We're going to mostly ignore Jad Karadin here, since his British accent is presumably a recent affectation to go with his new identity, and so makes sense.

This still doesn't really work though, since Letho’s school is all the way down in Nilfgaard (land of the Eastern European accents), while the oldest witcher from Kaer Morhen (Vesimir) is the one guy with a British accent. He sounds nothing like any of his students, despite the fact he's logically the guy they ought to have learned their accents from. So the logic falls in a heap however you slice it, and I'm thrown right out of the game.

With TW3 as your intro to the series, it feels almost as if characters like Triss and Dandelion have been assigned American accents because they're just too important to be saddled with the same pedestrian British accents as everyone else, which did nothing to endear them to me. The only one I eventually warmed up to was Lambert, and then only because he's just such a bitter asshole that he eventually goes full circle and comes out the other side (somewhere around when you've heard his miserable backstory, then gotten drunk together and told him how much you love him, man). Gaetan similarly snuck in under the same clause – American accents clearly work better for me in this series when attached to characters you're supposed to find pretty insufferable on first impressions.

Some final notes

To conclude, it seems only fair to throw in a quick nod to some of the more memorable book-characters who don't appear in the games. Neither Mother Nenneke (Geralt's sort-of-surrogate mother) or Vissena (Geralt's biological mother) ever appear either, alas – Vissena doesn't even merit so much as a Gwent card, which seems quite the wasted opportunity.

Milva, Cahir and Angouleme – the three remaining companions of Geralt’s who died alongside Regis but who were not so easily resurrected – naturally don’t appear. But nor are even really mentioned in all the games, which seems rather less than they deserve after giving their lives to Geralt's cause.

Cahir and Angouleme do at least have pretty badass Gwent cards to their names, though I am properly offended that Milva (who has the dubious honour of being my very favourite book character who doesn't ever appear in the games) is stuck with a card of her freaking death scene – which not only gets the scene wrong (believe me, there was no grimacing and gripping the arrow buried shallowly in her chest for poor Milva), but doesn't even bother to get her hair the right colour, for fuck’s sake. Basically, Milva was a stone cold badass and absolutely deserves better. #justice4milva

One can only guess how I'd have felt about some of these characters had I read the books before playing the games – I am obviously biased towards forgiving changes to characters whom I liked in their game incarnations, regardless of how they compare. Still, I think it does speak wonders that there still all these characters who suddenly made sense only after I'd met them in the books.

Even if only for Dandelion and Ciri, I can only dream of seeing a bit more of the book-original characterisations make it into the collective fannish consciousness. There's nothing wrong with getting into the canon purely based on the show or the games, but having read Sapkowski's novels, it's no longer any mystery how they spawned this massive franchise. That the saga wasn’t even fully available in English until well after Witcher 3 was released – a solid couple of decades late, and long after it had already been translated into Russian, French, German, Spanish and more – is a real shame. For once, it’s us in the anglophone world who’ve been missing out: these books deserve so much more than to be thought of as a footnote to the games or the show.

[searchingwardrobes]

Not the Type - 6/8

Finally! A new update :) Sorry for the delay, but the muse has been fickle as of late. In this chapter, Emma has her first competition of the season, and it's psyching her out. Will Killian be her encouragement, or will she push him away in the midst of it all? This chapter includes another iconic scene from the movie, when Torrance dances around her room to Cliff's song. I wanted to use the actual lyrics to the song, but in looking at it, there were a few lines that bothered me. One literally says "I'd bring you flowers every day just to roll you in the hay." And then there's a constant refrain that says "I'll make you mine." Those lines just don't seem to jive for me with Killian's character when in canon he specifically tells David that he doesn't see Emma as loot and tells Emma that he will win her heart, but not through any trickery. We know he isn't the kind of guy to give a woman flowers in order to manipulate her into sleeping with him. We also know how much agency means to him, so I didn't think telling Emma in song "I'll make you mine" fit either. Anyways, that's a long way of explaining that the lyrics are 99% like the ones in the movie, minus those two parts.

Massive thanks to my beta, @hookedonapirate who takes my confusing sentences and makes them sound purty ;) You’re the best! And thanks also to the @captainswanmoviemarathon​ for putting together this event and being massively supportive and patient. 

Summary: Emma Swan first notices him in the stands at the Friday night football game. She can tell right away Killian Jones is not the football type. Then again, she’s not the cheerleader type either, but here she is with pom poms. Life hasn’t ever gone the way Emma planned. Lately, that’s actually been a good thing. Maybe Killian Jones is a good thing, too.

My loose Captain Swan AU of the movie Bring it On

Rated: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @kmomof4  @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @teamhook @let-it-raines @winterbythesea @spartanguard @shireness-says @superchocovian @thesschesthair @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @hookedonapirate @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @bethacaciakay @optomisticgirl @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @ekr032-blog-blog @itsfabianadocarmo @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @xsajx @jennjenn615 @zaharadessert @stahlop @scientificapricot @thislassishooked @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @lassluna​

The room was thick with hair spray, and Emma and the rest of the Storybrooke Knights Cheerleaders were sucking on orange slices. Except for Ruby who was touching up her blood red lipstick in front of one of the mirrors propped up on the classroom’s smart board. 

“I think they’re red enough already, Ruby,” Coach Ava remarked as she sprayed more Aquanet all over her daughter’s hair. MM was having to wear a hair extension so she didn’t look out of place with their “hair” theme, and Coach was paranoid it was going to go flying across the gym floor during their routine. Emma wasn’t sure hairspray worked that way, but she wasn’t about to say so. 

Ruby smacked her lips together with a loud pop. “The redder the better, I say. I want them to see my smile.”

She turned to the rest of the group and flashed a toothy grin. They all laughed, and Belle grimaced. 

“More like a predator about to devour her prey.”

Ruby winked at Belle and growled, resulting in more laughter. Coach Ava rolled her eyes as she capped the hairspray. “Just don’t get it all over your teeth, okay Lucas?”

“No worries, Coach, it’s that long-lasting stuff that isn’t supposed to come off.”

“So why did you need fifty coats?” Tiana quipped.

They were all still laughing when a woman wearing a t-shirt that read, East Maybrook Invitational and holding an ipad poked her head into the classroom. “Storybrooke High in the hole!”

The girls all stood, gathering up their things, tossing orange peels into the trash bins and giving their hair and make up one last glance in the mirror. They followed the woman in the official t-shirt down two hallways to East Maybrook High’s cafeteria where cheer mats had been set up in the same configuration as on the performance floor. The girls took their places as if they were really performing, and marked out the routine while Coach Ava counted out the beats. If something went wrong with the music, they would have to keep going. They only pantomimed doing the stunts, however, not wanting to risk a last minute injury. 

After running through the routine, a nervous silence fell among them. Some girls stretched, others did a few jumps, or even a back handspring. Anything to handle their nervous energy. Emma bounced on the balls of her feet, heart pounding in her chest more than usual. A phone call had followed the letter: someone from the UK cheer staff would be in the stands today. 

And she still hadn’t told her friends about it.

“Storybrooke High on deck!” 

The girls gave each other nervous glances and clasped hands in little groups as they followed the woman out of the cafeteria doors. Emma had Ruby on her left and Mary Margaret on her right, their arms threaded together. For once, Ruby was quiet. 

As they neared the gym, the girls could hear the familiar sounds of competition: loud music, an announcer's voice, shouts as the audience cheered for the cheerleaders for once. It made the adrenaline pump even harder. It usually was at this moment that Emma went into her competitive “zone” where everything around her went fuzzy and her mind became laser focused on the routine and what she had to do. Today, however, she felt like she was on sensory overload, unable to turn off all the sights, sounds, and smells around her. 

Before she could even process everything, Storybrooke was being announced to the crowd. Emma ran out onto the floor with a huge smile, cheers, and fist pumps for the crowd, but it felt like she was outside of herself, watching. She took her place on the floor, standing in prep, her arms straight at her sides and her head down. Her fists were clenched, and she tried to control the nervous tremors coursing through her as she waited for their music to start. 

A synth-pop remix of “Hair” from the Broadway musical started to play, and the Storybrooke Knights whipped their ponytails as they started their back handspring/back tuck peel-offs. Coach Ava always said that the music needed to appeal to every generation represented in the judge’s panel as well as the crowd, and as Emma flawlessly landed her tumbling pass to roaring applause, she saw the two boomer judges smiling and bopping to the music. 

She reprimanded herself for looking at the judges as she jogged across the floor for her next tumbling pass. Nevertheless, she scanned the crowd just before she started her pass, wondering where that UK recruiter was. It was the most difficult pass in the entire routine: a back handspring into an arabian, then a double whip into a full twisting double back. She hesitated, stumbling, before getting started because of her distraction, and by the time she did her second whip, she had a sinking feeling. Sure enough, when she landed her double back, she was way out of bounds. She didn’t need the loud buzzer from the line judge to alert her to the fact. She gritted her teeth in frustration, but then remembered to fake a smile as she got into the dance formation. Her face ached from her forced smile as she swung her hips to the rhythm of “Whip My Hair.”

Emma’s next mistake came in the squad’s first pyramid. It felt like she had a weight attached to her ankle, and she couldn’t lift her leg as high as she normally did to connect to Mary Margaret’s stunt group to her left. She almost lost her balance completely, but Ruby compensated and saved it. Mary Margaret didn’t falter either, thank God. Emma was practically shaking as she went into the twist up stunt - her nemesis in this routine. Kelly Rowland singing “Crown” as Emma popped up, her hand grasping her ponytail, helped her power through, as cheesy as it sounded. 

Despite the mistakes Emma was berating herself for, the crowd was going crazy for the combination of the theme, the music, and the cool tricks. By the end, the entire gymnasium was on its feet with thunderous applause. Emma ended the routine seated on the mat, back to the audience with her head flung back. Since she saw them all upside down, she couldn’t pick out her family or anyone in Kentucky blue. 

Ruby yanked Emma to her feet, screaming loud enough to shatter her eardrums. Mary Margaret and Ariel sandwiched her in a hug, and then they were swept away by the rest of their ecstatic teammates. 

“Amazing job, girls!” Coach Ava praised, gathering them in a big, squirming, awkward group hug. “Mary Margaret didn’t even lose her hair!’’

They all laughed giddily, except for Emma. Her mind was reeling. “I went out of bounds,” she confessed.

Coach Ava waved off her words. “It’s our first competition. It’s normal for there to be kinks to work out. Let’s not worry about that until the next practice, though. For now, let’s just celebrate a solid opening for the season.”

Her teammates seemed to all be in agreement, and so did the judges, awarding The Storybrooke Knights with a third place finish. It wasn’t their best opening - that had been last year’s first place trophy to kick off the season - but making the top three was the goal of every top squad right out of the gate. Even the UK recruiter had congratulated her on a solid routine.

“I could see the nerves a bit,” she told Emma, her smile kind and reassuring, “but the level of tumbling skill you possess is rare. Top five I’ve seen so far, no doubt about it. We’ll definitely be in touch.”

Emma, however, couldn’t shake the feeling of failure that clung to her. 

“I’m blown away, Swan, that was amazing!”

Emma was in Killian’s arms before she could even register that he’d rushed out of the bleachers and onto the floor to greet her. He brushed a kiss to her cheek and deposited a bouquet of white daisies into her arms. 

“It wasn’t amazing,” Emma whispered, staring down at the white flowers. 

“Come now, don’t be modest.” Killian’s grin conveyed giddy pride in her which she found inexplicably annoying. 

“I stepped out of bounds on my big tumbling pass, I almost took down our first pyramid, and I was shaky on every single stunt!”

Killian’s eyes narrowed. “Your team doesn’t seem put out with you.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “They’re being nice. If we hadn’t placed, it would have been a different story. It would have all been my fault.”

“Whatever happened to the whole we win as a team, we fail as a team thing?”

“My team relies on me keeping my head on straight!” Her voice had risen, and she slashed the air with the bouquet of flowers. White petals fluttered to the gym floor. 

Killian cocked his head and studied her. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing!”

“It’s something, Swan.” 

He stepped forward, reaching for her, but she stepped out of his reach. 

“I just let everyone down, but no one will be straight with me. Why can’t you all just admit I screwed up today?”

Killian shook his head. “I don’t think you’re seeing things clearly. I saw an amazingly talented athlete today, Swan. You were amazing.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Of course you’d say that. You’re a high school guy. You’ll say anything you have to to get in a cheerleader’s panties.”

Killian’s eyes widened and his head jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “You really think so little of me?”

She tilted her chin. “I’m no fool. Did you think tonight would be the night? Show up to my little competition, compliment me, throw in some flowers, and I’d spread my legs for you?”

Killian backed away, his jaw clenching, nostrils flaring. “I’m going to assume you don’t mean any of that, Emma, so I’m walking away before either of us can say anything we might regret.”

“Fine!” she yelled as he turned and walked toward the gym doors. “Walk away! That’s what every guy does when a girl won’t put out.” She threw the flowers at his retreating form. She watched the white petals swirl through the air and the green stems hit the parquet floor with a soft swish and crinkle of cellophane wrapper. 

“Emma!”

She whirled around to see Ruth standing there, frown upon her face and her brow furrowed. David stood next to her, his arms crossed in disapproval. Nearby a cluster of her teammates stared as if she’d morphed into some mythological creature with two heads. Her face burned as she realized how loudly she’d yelled at her boyfriend. 

Probably ex-boyfriend now. 

Humiliated, she turned and fled, fingers pressed to her flaming cheeks. 

*********************************************

“Go away,” Emma muttered into her pillow.

“What if I were Mom with a plate of brownies?”

Emma grabbed a teddy bear, clutching two tiny red pom poms (a gift from Ruth after last year’s state championship win), and smacked her brother in the head with it. She glared at him through one eye, the rest of her face still smashed into the pillow. 

“I knew it was you because you crashed down on my bed hard enough to catapult me out the window. Ruth’s more subtle.”

David just laughed as he rubbed at his cheek where the bear had met his face. 

“Go away,” she repeated, turning her face fully into the pillow again.

“You left your phone downstairs.”

“So?”

“So, you have like fifty text messages and thirty missed calls.”

Emma rolled over, still clutching her pillow to her chest. “Well, he’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“It wasn’t just Killian. Your entire team is worried about you.”

“Because I choked?”

“Because you're delusional,” David shot back with equal parts humor and frustration. “You didn’t choke. You didn’t let any of us down. You didn’t give a lousy performance, or any of a thousand other ridiculous claims you’ve made in the past few hours.”

Emma turned to look at her brother. “I made mistakes, David.”

He shrugged. “Who doesn’t? It was one competition, Emma, not the Olympics. It wasn’t even the state championships or regionals. One. Competition. At some tiny high school in the middle of nowhere, Maine.”

Emma groaned as she pushed herself up to the headboard and let her head drop to David’s shoulder. He put his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about Kentucky?”

Emma sighed. When the recruiter had called, she insisted on speaking to Ruth as well. Emma should have known she would spill the beans to her son, especially after Emma acted like a complete lunatic. 

Yes, a delusional lunatic. Her brother wasn’t wrong. 

“I don’t know, it was just . . . a lot to process. And a lot rides on this. I mean, there aren’t any football recruiters looking at you, which means college is gonna be expensive, Mr. Quarterback. If my tuition is taken care of, Ruth can just worry about you.”

“I could get other scholarships.”

“You’re a white, middle class male. You aren't getting any other scholarships.”

He chuckled and poked her in the ribs. “Regardless of all that, Mom just wants what’s best for you. We’ll figure out college and the money and all that, but we’ll do it together. That’s what a family does. Okay?”

This family thing was still new for Emma, so she just nodded in agreement against David’s shoulder. 

“But speaking of Killian,” David said, waving her phone in front of her face, “some of these calls and texts are from him. He sent you a video, too. Then called me and pretty much begged me to get you to watch it, so just give him that much, okay? So he’ll leave me alone?”

Emma rolled her eyes as she took the phone. David could protest all he wanted, but she knew about the little bromance he had with her boyfriend. 

She waited until her brother went downstairs before she sat cross-legged in the center of her bed and pulled up the video from Killian. She gnawed on her bottom lip nervously before pressing “play.” 

And there Killian was, on the tiny screen, smiling like they’d never had a fight. Emma’s lips pulled up into a grin of her own. He was also holding his guitar in his lap and fidgeting.

“Hi, Emma,” he said with a nervous little wave. “You’ve been ignoring all my calls and texts, so I decided to pull out the big guns. I was gonna give this to you as a gift for like Valentine’s Day or something, but  . . . you know . . . desperate times call for desperate measures.”

He cleared his throat and shifted again, and Emma blinked back tears. She’d never seen him at such a loss for words. 

“I wrote you a song,’ he continued, “so, I’ll just shut up and sing it already.”

Emma gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as he began to strum his electric. It started 

out as a kind of slow, cheeky punk rock ballad.

Oh, Emma, I don’t get your cheerleading squad, but I love your pom-poms. I'd feed you bon-bons all night.

Then it transitioned into a full on rock song, and Killian began to shred on his guitar. He was really good, and the song had Emma bobbing her head to the music. 

1,2,3,4. Yeah, you got me to feel all those butterflies inside. In your locker I would hide. The truth, it's only you I see, and you're just what I need. I'll bring you flowers all the time in hopes that you’ll be mine. Well I'm feelin' fine, I'm right on time. I hope I’ll win your heart.

When he transitioned into the chorus, Emma leapt up from her bed. She propped her phone on her nightstand and began to dance around the room to Killian’s song.

And you're just what I need. And you're just what I need. Not everything works as it seems. Is that so hard to believe? So I went down to the record store. Picked my head up off the floor. The truth, it's only you I see. And you're just what I need. And if it's my world that you fear, let me make this very clear. Well I'm feelin' fine, I'm right on time. I hope I’ll win your heart. And you're just what I need.

The chorus repeated a couple more times, and Emma danced around her room like she hadn’t in a long time. She even grabbed an old pair of pom poms she’d gotten as a joke at the squad’s white elephant Christmas party. They were those enormous pom poms cheerleaders used to wave in the long ago days of letter sweaters and megaphones. They made a fun swishing sound as she bounced around the room to Killian’s song. 

A song he’d written for her! A song about her! If she wasn’t so giddy and happy, she would burst into tears. 

When the song ended, Emma collapsed onto her bed, panting from her ridiculous dance party and grinning ear to ear. She rolled over and grabbed her phone. She texted rapidly, her fingers trembling. 

I watched your song. 

Did you like it? 

I LOVED it!

Good. I meant every word. 

I’m sorry. 

I know. 

[axoxtxhxh]

Nobody is You - Chapter 2 - The Mission

Summary: The Scouts prepare for an interesting mission. While on the mission, Miche and Reader think back to a conversation they had when they were much younger.

Content: Mild sexuality

Word Count: ~ 3,500

The mission was simple: Get the files back. Erwin and Y/N were called into Commander Shadis’s office as the only squad VPs invited in on this mission. Their job was to assist the veteran scouts with retrieving stolen files from an important function the following evening. While the mission was simple, the delivery was where Y/N was struggling to understand.

She stayed seated in the commander’s office, a bewildered look on her face, as everyone stood up and started filing out. Erwin was next to her, lightly pulling her arm to exit the office with everyone else.

“Excuse me, Commander,” she appealed.

“What are you doing?” Erwin whispered, pulling her harder. She stood up, but instead of following Erwin, she walked closer to the commander’s desk. He was facing the window, looking at the grounds outside.

“Commander?” she called again.

“What is it, squad VP?” the commander responded without turning around.

“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but isn’t this job better suited for the Military Police or even the Garrison?” She asked firmly and Erwin let out a quiet gasp at her boldness, still tugging at her arm. She shrugged him off. “As squad VPs of the scout regi—”

“As squad VPs, you should be listening to your commander. Shouldn’t you?” Commander Shadis’s voice rose at his question.

“Yes, sir.” She nodded.

“Yet you question my decision.” He turned to face her, his eyes bearing holes in her. She had no idea what Hange saw in him, but then again, Hange always did have a thing for intimidating, hard-to-read men.

“I only want to make a suggestion.” She noted. She could feel the heat coming off of Erwin’s body behind her as he started sweating.

“A suggestion.” The wrinkles around his eyes tightened as he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Yes, sir.”

The commander walked over to his desk and placed his hand on the back of his chair. The leather scrunched noisily under his fingers and his grip tightened.

“And what about you, Squad VP Smith? Do you have another suggestion?” He emphasized ‘another’ to remind Erwin of his meeting with the commander previously.

“No, sir.”

“You can leave.”

“Yes, sir.” Erwin glanced down quickly to Y/N and turned around to leave, closing the door behind him.

Erwin immediately ran down to the mess hall, searching for Miche and Hange. He didn’t have to scan the group for long, they both sat at their usual table, eating lunch. He moved quickly and slammed his hand on the table causing both of them to jump and look up at him.

“Y/N spoke back to Commander Shadis.”

“What are you talking about?” Miche aggressively bit into his sausage, one of his favorite meals.

“Y/N.” Erwin was lightly panting, still nervous from the interaction with the commander. “She told the commander she didn’t like his plan for the upcoming mission.”

“She what?” Hange spit out, palms hitting the table. Erwin turned to Hange and nodded. Miche swallowed his food and laughed. “You think it’s funny?”

Erwin and Hange both looked at Miche with wide eyes. He licked the grease from his lips and picked up his bread, taking a bite before dropping it back on his plate with his sausages.

“She’s definitely a wildcard.” He took a sip of water. “What was the meeting for anyway?”

“Upcoming mission.” Erwin answered. “It’s a strange one though. I do have to admit, I was thinking the same thing Y/N was.”

“But you didn’t say anything?” Hange asked.

“I didn’t really want to question the commander’s decisions twice in one week.”

“Coward.” Miche laughed and Hange tried to hold their own laughter.

“Do you really think it’s wise to question the commander? It’s not as if it was our squad leader, but the commander.” Erwin defended himself. He adjusted his belt, knowing he made the right decision to keep quiet.

“Do what you want—” Miche put his hands up in surrender. “—But it’s balls like the one’s Y/N has that will get you promoted.”

“You think I should be taking more risks?” Erwin started looking worried again. “Maybe I should.”

“Did he seem upset?” Miche ask, taking another large bite of sausage.

“Yeah, how did he look?” Hange spoke up. Miche looked at them with a raised eyebrow. “I meant because he was angry… sheesh.”

“Sure you did.” Miche smiled and took another bite of his food.

“The commander? Obviously he looked angry. He always looks angry.” Erwin pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be more surprising if he looked happy?”

“You’re probably right, but I imagine he would have looked… angrier?” Miche said with a mouthful of food.

“I hope she doesn’t get reprimanded.” Erwin thought.

“Speaking of which.” Miche pointed with his nose and Erwin turned to see Y/N walking to them.

“I need you to come with me.” She grabbed Miche’s arm.

…..

Y/N walked out of her room wearing the red dress she had fitted earlier that day. It definitely wasn’t her size, but she was able to make it work, Hange helping her pin certain areas so the pocket hidden in her waist wasn’t as visible. Miche and Erwin both noticed her immediately.

“Y/N??” Erwin’s eyes were wide as he watched her adjust the waist.

“Wh—wh—where did that dress… when did you hit puberty?” Miche stumbled over his words, blinking quickly to try and regain his focus.

“Very funny,” Y/N said sarcastically, adjusting the dress for the third time.

Miche wasn’t joking, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She looked amazing. Every curve on her body was hugged tightly by the fabric of the dress, the deep red color complimented her skin tone amazingly and her hair bounced with each step she took towards him. Along with each step, every time she stepped her left leg forward, the high slit of the dress exposed her entire leg, parts of her thigh Miche had never seen before. He swallowed hard.

He was barely in the right frame of mind to put his arm out for her and she took it, heading down the stairs. Erwin’s eyes following her the entire way down.

It was a slow ride to town since they couldn’t exactly take their horses. The one carriage the survey corps had for this particular situation came in handy, but still extended their ride time by a good thirty minutes.

Miche cleared his throat preparing to speak but didn’t say anything. He had done this a couple times already in the last fifteen minutes and it was beginning to get on Y/N’s nerves. He cleared his throat a fourth time and she had enough.

“Is there something you want to say?” She demanded, he jumped back a bit as she stared at him.

“Nothing.” He looked away quickly. “I was just wondering if maybe you were cold.”

For a brief moment she thought that he was being sweet and she softened her face a bit. When he let out a small laugh, she knew there was more to it. Looking down she could see her nipples, stiff and poking through the dress. She looked up and smacked his shoulder.

“Oh, very mature.” She smacked him again. “Such a gentleman you are.”

“I’m sorry.” He laughed. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled off the jacket from his suit and handed it to her. She quickly put it on, feeling the warmth from his body heat still set in the inner layer. She pulled the front of the jacket closed and shivered a little. Miche leaned in and put his arm around her.

“You should have just told me you were cold,” he said, looking at the passing trees and Y/N looked with him, going over the plan in her head. She knew Commander Shadis trusted her with this, she was just worried about trusting herself.

[Back in Shadis’s Office]

“Let’s hear your suggestion then, Squad VP.” The commander spoke seriously, gesturing for her to sit as he sat at his desk and she sat.

She swallowed, her throat now dry as the commander stared at her from over his desk. She wasn’t lacking confidence, but it had certainly weakened slightly now that Erwin was gone. She cleared her throat.

“I think it’s—it might be more favorable, that is to say, a possibly more expedient strategy, if you would consider the fact that, it’s likely, maybe even more than likely, that perhaps—”

“Spit it out,” he griped.

“If you insist on this mission being carried out by the scouts, I believe there is a benefit to using unknown members for the undercover operation of this mission to decrease the chances of someone being recognized,” she blurted out, “sir.”

“Is that so?” He leaned forward, his fingers crossed in front of him. “And you believe you would be best suited for the undercover operation?”

“I wasn’t suggesting myself.”

“And if I told you that it was an order?”

“Sir?” She sat up straighter, her eyebrows knitting together.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers clasped over his stomach now as he faced the wall to her left.

“I had been considering your very suggestion, but I wasn’t sure there was a member able to handle the task.”

He paused, staring at the wall for what felt like minutes. Y/N could feel a bead of sweat roll down the side of her face, from her temple to her jaw and down to her chin.

“You‘ve shown interest in being promoted, is that right?” He looked back to her, his eyes dark. “Had your eye on squad leader?”

“Y—yes, sir.”

“Let’s say if this mission goes well, I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Y/N’s eyes went wide and she quickly composed herself, doing her best not to smile as widely as she wanted to.

Squad leader. She took a deep breath. Squad leader could be hers if this mission goes well. All she had to do was impress some government lackeys and steal a file. She could do that. For squad leader, she could definitely do that. “Sir, may I—”

“You’re dismissed.” He waved his hand and she stood up, making her way to the door and reaching for the handle. “Oh, and Squad VP.”

“Yes, sir?” She turned to look at him.

“You will need a date.” He looked up quickly, as if he were thinking and his eyes were back on her. “Not Smith. He’s smart, but too rigid. Take someone charming. Someone you could use as a distraction.”

“I know just the person.” She nodded and continued out, doing her best not to skip down the halls.

Back in the mess hall she could see Erwin leaning over the table in front of Miche and Hange. Miche nodded in her direction and Erwin turned to look at her as she approached.

“Are you okay? What did he say?” Erwin looked genuinely nervous.

“I’ll tell you in a bit. For now—” she turned to Miche, “—I need you to come with me.”

“What? Why are you both trying to ruin my lunch? It’s sausages,” he complained, gesturing to his plate.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him up from his seat as he fought to stay near his plate. He stabbed the sausage with his fork and stuff as much as he could in his mouth before Y/N dragged him away from the table and back in the direction she came, stopping in the hallway when she was out of earshot of everyone else.

She stood him against the wall and looked at him. He could barely close his mouth as he tried to chew the gigantic bite he took.

“So charming.” Her face twisted in disgust and he smiled.

Y/N smiled to herself in the carriage, nearly in town now. She was much warmer since getting Miche’s jacket and looking down she noticed that at some point, Miche had put his hand on her thigh. Another possible reason for her sudden warmth.

They pulled up to the event and Miche stood up, holding Y/N’s hand and helping her out of the carriage. They both knew they only had one shot at this mission. They had until midnight to get in, get the file, and their instructions were to wait a couple blocks down at midnight.

“You should put this back on.” Y/N took off Miche’s jacket and handed it back to him. He watched her adjust her dress and smiled.

“You really do look pretty.” He reached over and fixed her sleeve that had slipped off her shoulder, her eyes meeting his and she smiled.

He held out his arm for her and she took it, both of them walking to the front door of the event hall.

…..

They had been dancing for a good chunk of time, trying to survey the room and see when they could sneak into the offices to get the file. Her feet hurt from the heels, she was tired of dealing with Miche’s jokes and she just wanted to figure out who smelled so bad that seemed to always be around her because she really wanted to throw them through a window.

They had barely eaten anything at all since they missed their mealtime. They had both been confused when food would be served and decided to start searching the rooms when everyone else was eating. This started out as a great plan, getting a lot done and knowing people wouldn’t be bothering them, but they didn’t realize that their food would be taken away if they weren’t in their seats.

“Can you focus on the mission for, like, two seconds?” Y/N was getting annoyed. Miche had been complaining about everything so far, not even treating this mission as something important when they both knew just how important it was.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t think of anything right now.” His hands were on her waist and he lowered his lips to her ear. “The only thing I can think about is tearing this dress off of you.”

She let out a small gasp, her eyes widening, entirely unsure of his reasoning for telling her that and why he had to whisper it in her ear, but it had her heart racing and a flush of heat running to her face. She stepped back and looked at him, but he was looking ahead, pretending that what he just said didn’t have any effect on her.

She was suddenly aware of how warm he was, how big his hands were as they rested on her waist, how much bigger than her he was. Her hands were on his shoulders and she could see how broad he was. He definitely didn’t look like he did when he was nineteen anymore, but her heart was beating just like it did for him when he was. She quickly looked away, trying to think of anything else.

Miche could definitely feel Y/N’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He had no idea what had gotten into him. What on earth possessed him to say that to her? Even now, he had to hyper fixate on how he was holding her waist. He couldn’t hold it too tightly even though he really just wanted to lift her up into his arms and feel her warmth pressed up against him. But he also couldn’t hold it too loosely because they did need to make this look convincing. He knew his role tonight was boytoy Miche and he was playing the part well up to that point.

He couldn’t resist and he looked down at her. She had already looked away, her eyes scanning the room. She was doing what they should be doing. Always following the rules. He wished he could be like her so much of the time. He wanted to take this job seriously. The only reason he was taking it as seriously as he was, was because of her. He did his best to look around the room with her, his eyes more than occasionally dropping down to her, admiring her face.

“Talk to me,” she said suddenly. Miche looked at her. “I’m so bored.”

“What do you want me to say?” He smiled.

“Anything, honestly. I just need a distraction right now.” She sighed and looked up at him.

His eyes were sparkling, a small glint in them as he smiled at her. He held her gaze for a bit before looking back up to survey the room.

“What made you cut your hair?” She asked him and he looked back down to her.

“I thought I was thinking of something to say?”

“I’m buying you some time.” She smiled and he felt an unfamiliar twisting in his stomach. He ignored it and pulled her waist a little closer to him, returning his eyes to scanning the room.

“Do you want the truth?” His voice was quiet now. The honesty of the conversation making him feel like everyone was watching them.

“Why would I want a lie?” She made a face and he laughed.

“I was starting to feel like it defined me.” He watched her face twist in confusion and laughed again. “Long-haired Miche. Playboy Miche. Humanity’s Strongest Miche. Sometimes I just want to be Miche.”

“You act like those are bad things. People know you.”

“People don’t know me.” He corrected, annoyance in his tone. “They don’t know me as Miche, they know three insignificant things about me. And I was able to take one of those things away.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. She had honestly never heard him talk in that way before and it seemed like something that actually bothered him. To be fair, he had given those names to himself, rather, done things to get those names. She understood though. The only one that was easy to get rid of was his hair.

“I’m sorry you felt the need to cut it.” She moved her hand to touch the shorter hairs in the back of his head and he sighed, the growing warmth in his chest forcing him to pull her closer against his body. “I always kind of liked it long.”

He looked at her and smiled.

“If I remember correctly, you really liked it long.”

“I didn’t ‘really like it long’,” she mocked the way he said it, “I really liked you. And I quickly came to my senses after you humiliated me.”

“Is that what you think happened?” He pulled away from her a bit and watched her as she looked around the room, her face set in annoyance.

“Think happened?” She quickly looked up at him. “I was there!”

“I think you’re misremembering.” He smiled that smug smile and she scoffed at him.

She knew she was remembering correctly, but she also knew that there was going to be another side to the story. Miche’s side never really occurred to her when she started holding this grudge, but she also realized that maybe he didn’t know her side either.

“Well if you think you know so much, then tell me. How did it go down?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I simply told a fourteen-year-old that she was too young for me.”

“You never said that.” She started pulling away from him, but he held her firmly, knowing she was getting worked up. “You never said anything about me being young or you being old.”

“It was implied.” He was starting to struggle holding her still and he was worried people were going to notice them arguing and they would lose their inconspicuousness. Y/N lost all care for that and she was beginning to lose any interest she had in this mission altogether. Bubbles of feelings she had when she was fourteen were making their way to the surface and she couldn’t hold them back. “Implied?” She pushed him away and he finally let her go, backing up to stand a couple feet from her as she huffed at him in frustration. “You rejected a girl’s first real crush on someone—on you, with an implication?”

“Y/N…” He walked closer to her, putting his hands up and looking around, hoping that no one was noticing their argument. “Please, you need to ca—”

“I need to what? Calm down?” She laughed. None of this was funny, but she couldn’t help but laugh out of anger, she was infuriated and she hated herself right now.

She knew she needed to calm down, she knew she might have been overreacting, but Miche had hit a nerve. This may have been something that happened a long time ago, but she couldn’t help the feelings that it brought up in her. She sniffled, wiping her nose and moving from the dance floor to the bathrooms.

Miche stood there, dropping his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. This was definitely his fault. He knew he caused this. This wasn’t the first time they’ve had a small argument about what happened that day. The last time was less anger and more Y/N running to her room crying, which could be more or less what she was doing now. He knew not to touch the subject and yet he did.

“Damn it.”

Taglist: @luanabonn​ @hadassackerman​

[kingxlight]

'I want a baby'

@inimiicus: continue from here

"Oh?" Ardyn replied, slowly pulling the scarf from around his neck languidly as if he'd all the time in the world; he did, really, so there was no rush, and the scarf soon found itself discarded across the back of a chair.

Followed by his coat. Then his vest, all the while his gaze remained on the monarch. Of course he knew quite well that Regis was hardly serious, and yet he would take it as an invitation as he slowly advanced on a man that was both younger and older than he. At his full height, he towered, his presence filling the room...

Then a shove, he pushed the man flat on his back on the bed, crawling over him to settle into a straddle over Regis' hips.

"And here I'd thought you'd have far better options than I. You must truly be..." Leaning down, the Chancellor kissed him. "...desperate...Is your dear son that much a disappointment that you'd desire another cursed offspring to take his place?" he whispered against his lips.

"You and I know I cannot give you what you want."

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

Regis stares at him from at the edge of the bed, damn drunk and more. But he didn’t care at this point. Damn, when did he last care, really? But seeing the scarf get tossed, his eyes looks over at Ardyn.

Watching as each piece of fabric leaves Ardyn’s body, his own gets hotter as he swollows a large lump in his throat. It was only a matter of time before he was being towered, bit instead of shivering in fear, he shivers with excitement at the sight.

Being shoved back, the King gasps and groans as he soon feels the weight on his hips. 

Face flush from the alcohol and substances, as well as heated emotions he continues to watch. It was at the kiss his body starts to tremble with his heart. The mention of his son makes him scoff. “This has nothing to do with Noctis...” He partly lied. He would never replace him. 

“That wasn’t the point... Just...gyah...Just take me damn it. Isn’t that what you want? Me at your mercy?... Fuck...” His mind was dizzy and confused, desperate for relief and yet he knew Ardyn would only satisfy him for the time being till he wants more. But he can’t, he wanted, no... his body burned for me. “You already done it three times, what ever is the difference with a forth?...”

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

Prompt: Going to a Fair Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Teen Audiences And Up Content Warnings: None Summary: A beautiful thing about Toussaint is the fairs and masquerades the dutchess holds every now and then. And the big canopy beds. Oh, those are the best part.

[This one turned out to a little all over the place but I still really enjoyed writing it. Hope you’ll enjoy it too, my darlings.]

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Crossposted on ao3 here

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

"Geralt, my love, you look wonderful, stop being so hard on yourself," Jaskier says, wrapping his arms around the witcher's waist and hugging him from the back, locking eyes with him through the mirror.

Geralt doesn't really share the bard's enthusiasm. He's used to his armour, to thick black leather with only a few elements of silver, and that is what feels natural, what feels right.

A dark-crimson - almost wine-red, really - doublet with intricate embroidery in gold thread does not.

He knows that he'd agreed to this himself, knows that Jaskier had told him that if he doesn't want to go, he won't get upset with him and just go with Barnabas-Basil or one of his friends. But Geralt always went out of his way to make his husband happy.

So, naturally, when Jaskier told him that there's going to be a masquerade and a fair in Beauclair, he couldn't say no.

"The dutchess herself is said to be there," Jaskier murmurs against his neck, smiling encouragingly. "I'm sure she will be delighted to see you. After all, we were personally invited, weren't we?"

"Isn't the whole point of a masquerade is for the participants not to recognise each other?" Geralt tries, weakly.

"Oh, don't be like that," Jaskier huffs, waving a hand dissmissingly. "It's going to be fun, I promise. Besides, isn't Regis going to be there?"

That's true, Geralt supposes. Regis is going to be there, which makes the event slightly more bearable. It's always nice to talk to an old friend.

"He is," he hums, adjusting the collar od his shirt. "Going to keep me company when you run off to flirt with the next pretty little thing you see."

Jaskier just laughs at that, circling Geralt to stand in front of him and take his face into his hands, getting a stray strand of silver out of his eyes.

"You know that never leads to anything," he smiles, leaning in to touch the witcher's dry lips with his own. "I can innocently flirt with everyone I see but it's only you I love, my darling. And only you I want."

Geralt does know that. He's not even jealous, never doubting Jaskier's faithfulness but missing an opportunity to tease would've been a waste.

"I know," he finally says, stealing another kiss. "And yet, if the dutchess herself is going to be there... She's got an eye for you, you know. Would be terribly rude of you to turn down such an important woman."

Jaskier snickers and shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Then it's a good thing that she's not going to recognise me."

-

When they arrive, the event is already in full swing.

Jaskier's eyes light up at the music that flows through the garden and the way he squeezes Geralt's hand suddenly makes the entire thing worth it in the witcher's mind.

Jaskier looks breathtaking in his dark-blue silk suit, the silver mask hiding just enough of his face for it to be almost impossible to recognise him yet leaving enough open for Geralt to still have the option of pulling his close and kissing him. in the witcher's mind, it couldn't be more perfect.

"May I hear the password?" asks one of the guards at the gates, his own face hidden behind a mask with a long beak.

"Waterlilies," Jaskier says, repeating what's been written in their invitations.

The guard nods and gestures to the doors.

"If you'll be so kind as to follow me," he says. "Our most generous dutchess Anna Henrietta has arranged a room for you so that you don't have to make a long journey back home at night."

There is nothing about Jaskier's expression - half-hidden by the mask - that gives away his delight but Geralt knows him well enough to be able to smell it on him. Jaskier is, after all, of a noble family, a court man, and Geralt knows just how much he loves it when he's treated like one, even though most of the time he happily trades it for the life on the Path.

Corvo Bianco, it seemed, was the perfect middle ground.

They follow the guard through the garden and into a big, richly decorated estate with stained-glass windows and luscious flowers hanging in big round pots. The guard takes them to the upper floor, opens the door with a key and gestures for Geralt and Jaskier to step inside and make themselves comfortable.

"If there shall be anything you need, the servants are on the ground floor, you need only call," he says, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and handing Jaskier the key. "Enjoy your night, gentleman."

With that, he bows and leaves, leaving Jaskier and Geralt alone in the room.

"Oh, this reminds me of home," Jaskier sighs, a smile on his lips as he falls onto a truly enormous canopy bed covered with red velvet.

"Of home?" Geralt echoes, almost feeling out of place in such a rich interior.

"Well, you know, my childhood home," Jaskier says, propping himself up on both elbows. "I have to be honest with you, Geralt, I miss all of this from time to time."

The witcher comes closer, sits on the edge of the bed, runs his hand over the velvet and sighs, content. It does feel nice.

"Do you think we could get a bed like this for the vineyard?" Jaskier asks, pushing him down onto his back and lying down next to him, finding Geralt's hand and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles. "It's not only amazing to sleep in but also-" his eyes light up behind his mask, and Geralt knows a little too well what that means. "Look at those poles, my love. I could let you tie my wrists to them if you were to wish for it."

Oh, that sounds tempting.

"Hmm," Geralt hums, non-commital. "Sounds intriguing. Though I might need to try first and then decide. After all, finding this kind of bed is not easy."

It takes Jaskier a second to understand what exactly it is that Geralt is saying but then he gasps in mock offence and shoves him in the shoulder with no real force.

"Preposterous!" he gasps, a hand over his heart. "This is the dutchess' cousin's summer residence, and this is, I'm more than sure, the best guest bedroom. Anarietta herself might be sleeping in this bed while visiting."

"Yes," Geralt says simply, knowing that all of that only adds to Jaskier's interest. "And tonight this bed is ours."

-

Before that conversation can take them anywhere, Jaskier demands they go back to the garden.

Geralt doesn't object, just follows the bard down the stairs and helps him adjust his doublet before they step out the door. He feels just a little strange with his hair done up in a complicated bun but then again, Jaskier told him that it will help the witcher be even less recognisable, and there was never anything that Geralt could deny him.

The disguise was, it seemed, working effectively for they've almost bumped into Anarietta - Geralt recognised her by smell - when passing the gates again but she didn't notice them. Or, at least, she didn't come up to them, to Geralt's immeasurable relief. He'd only ever said it to Jaskier but the dutchess was getting on his nerves and if he could avoid her, he gladly did just that.

"There's a Gwent tournament somewhere in the north side of the garden, as far as I'm aware," Jaskier says, making a non-descriptive gesture in the general direction, as they walk past a table with all sorts of baked sweets. "If you're interested."

Even with Jaskier, Geralt feels somewhat out of place at an event like this. And a few rounds of Gwent sound like a perfect way to forget about it.

"Sounds tempting," he says, reaching to brush his fingers over Jaskier's and take his hand into his own. He's still getting used to it. "Though you know I prefer to play with you."

Jaskier rolls his eyes in fond exasperation.

"That's because every time we play, you insist that we play strip Gwent, knowing perfectly that you're a better player than me," he chuckles. "Honestly, Geralt, all you need to do for me to undress is ask."

"I know," the witcher grins, pulling Jaskier closer to shamelessly press a kiss to his cheek. "But where's the fun in that?"

-

He plays a few rounds without Jaskier, winning effortlessly every time while the bard is making new acquaintances by the wine vault where there are multiple tables with all the best blends of reds and whites.

Geralt can't see him but he can hear him, Jaskier's voice soft and beautiful as he tells a group of young women stories about Skellige. They all gasp almost in unison when the bard tells them about that one time when they've been travelling between the islands on a boat and nearly drowned when a pack of sirens toppled it over.

Geralt chuckles to himself, knowing perfect that they were never in any real danger for it was near the coast of And Skellig and if anything happened, fishermen or sailors would've picked them up almost immediately.

Jaskier refers to him as "my husband", not giving away any names, including his own, and every time the witcher hears that, a little piece of his heart seems to melt. It's been more than five years since they've gotten married but in a way, Geralt is still not used to it.

When the time is moving towards late evening, Jaskier joins him at the table, nodding a greeting to Geralt's opponent and leaning down to brush his lips over the witcher's cheek.

"Winning, my love?" he asks, blushing just a little when Geralt pulls him into his lap.

"As usual," he grins, to great displeasure to the man across the table.

Jaskier murmurs something content, throwing his arms around Geralt's neck and sneaking a look at his cards. Geralt tries to hide them from him but the bard scratches his shoulder through the doublet and that's all it really takes for the witcher to give up and let him see.

Geralt's a long-time player and his deck is pretty much as good as it gets, nearly every gold card there is being in his possession but it's the final round and Geralt's opponent's got four cards in hand while as the wither only ahs three. By now it mostly depends on luck. But Jaskier might just know a way to get it onto their side.

"Win this round for me," he murmurs into Geralt's ear, quiet enough only for him to hear. "And I'll think about what you said back in the bedroom."

Geralt's golden eyes light up with a flame that Jaskier knows well enough to know that his words have been effective.

It all goes very fast from there. Though Geralt's only got one gold card in hand, it's a Cirilla card which has the power of fifteen and that is what ends up getting him the win, when the man across the table, with his overall score of sixteen, throws a water card onto the table, making both of Geralt's archers drop from four to one.

He wins by just one point, but he wins.

Jaskier can feel his heart flutter with anticipation as Geralt grins at his opponent, reaching over the table to get the coin they've put up. It's a rather impressive amount. The other player must be a count or something like that.

He's clearly not too happy about losing his gold but he takes it as a good player, standing up and shaking Geralt's hand with a congratulation. Then, he wishes them both a pleasant evening and leaves, waving to someone by the fountain.

"I won," Geralt states, still grinning and oh so pleased with himself. "What was it that you said, bard? If I win, what is it that you're going to think about?"

Jaskier laughs and pulls him into an affectionate kiss, one hand coming up to cup the sharp of the witcher's jaw.

"You just wait until we're back in the bedroom, my dearest."

-

It's closer to midnight when they finally find Regis.

Or, rather, when Regis finds them.

"Fascinating how people always seem to want to disguise themselves," he says instead of a greeting, appearing out of nowhere, just like he always does. "And how they seem more attracted to each other when they don't know who is hiding behind the mask."

He's got a full-black velvet suit on, adorned with raven feathers, and a matching mask that hides most of his face. If it wasn't for his voice, Jaskier would've never recognised him.

"Mystery is always thrilling," the bard smiles, taking a sip of his Est-Est. "There's something irresistibly captivating about a man in a mask. A woman, too, of course, but women are mysterious creatures in general."

Regis nods knowingly and also raises his wineglass.

"Yes, women are... A mystery no man will ever solve."

They all fall silent for a couple of moments, and even though Jaskier knows that Geralt is thinking about Yennefer, there is no more pain. There hasn't been, for years now.

It took them a long time to figure it all out, to talk everything over, and though it would come with tears what seemed like every time, eventually, it was all over. And it brought them so close that if Jaskier had to go through all of that again twice, he would.

"Well, my dearest friends," Regis finally says, breaking the silence. "I've heard that there are prize-winning games starting at midnight, would you care to join me in testing my luck?"

-

Regis turns out to be a rather talented fisherman.

That is, given that what he's fishing for is a gold ring with a bright-red ruby in the centre - one of the three main possible prizes in the game.

The other players look at him with both jealousy and fascination, loud applause echoing through the garden.

Regis looks very pleased with himself - as much as Jaskier can tell, keeping the mask in mind - but it's only when they leave the deck of the pond that he asks for Jaskier's hand and places the ring into his palm.

"Beautiful work," he says, closing Jaskier's hand around the ring before he has the chance to refuse. "But it just so happens that gold suits you better, my friend."

"Regis-" Jaskier breathes out. "I cannot accept this. You've won it, it's yours."

Regis smiles - one of those tight-lipped smiles of his that doesn't show his teeth.

"I'm afraid I must insist," he says. "If it puts your mind at ease, I don't wear jewellery at all. It gets in the way of making my medications."

"Of making your moonshine, you meant to say," Geralt chuckles teasingly.

"The most effective out of all of my elixirs, my friend."

Jaskier knows said elixir a little too well and shakes his head with a fond smile, opening his hand to examine the ring closer.

"Thank you, Regis," he smiles. "I shall treasure this gift forever."

-

Geralt refrains from any other games, saying that he's very happy with his winnings from Gwent and doesn't want to push his luck any further.

Jaskier, however, overhears that there is a bardic competition about to start and he nearly runs, having grabbed Geralt by the hand. They get there just in time for him to take one on the last remaining places.

All of the participants are given their preferred instruments and are told to improvise for three and a half minutes. Whoever comes up with the best song and gets the loudest applause, shall win five long ribbons of the finest Toussaint silk that the winner can then take to a seamstress and get their clothes adorned. Jaskier's eyes shine like the stars above when he sees the royal-blue ribbon.

Geralt and Regis take their places in the audience, the witcher secretly worried, and try their absolute best at hyping Jaskier up by rolling their eyes at the other participant's songs to indicate just how non-impressive all of those attempts are.

Jaskier smiles at them from behind his mask and giggles when Regis implies that he's so bored by one of the songs that he's about to turn into smoke and disappear.

When it comes to Jaskier's turn, the bard adjusts the collar of his doublet and the cuffs of his sleeves, stands up because he hates to perform sitting down, runs his fingers over the lute strings and takes his first note, practised and beautiful, as always.

He sings about two people meeting at a masquerade and falling on love with each other immediately. Sings about them kissing in the dark alleyways of the garden and promising each other the stars. And sings about them not recognising each other when they cross paths the next morning while also searching for one another. They part, having nearly touched hands at the gates, to always look for each other, aching with love, but never meet again.

By the time Jaskier touches the strings one last time, half the audience is wiping at their eyes, including Regis.

It's an immediate win and Jaskier shines with it when the judge hands him his silk ribbons and compliments both his singing and his lyrics.

"Such a beautiful story," Regis says when Jaskier joins them. "Tragic romance is never going to get old."

Geralt can almost smell Jaskier's blush.

"Thank you, my dearest," he smiles, only a little coy. "I'm going to make sure to write more pieces like this."

-

When they part, it's nearly dawn.

Most of the games and shows are over, the tables with food and wine nearly empty, and all the guests start slowly making their way home.

Jaskier isn't necessarily tired but he's grateful to all the gods he knows that there is no need to ride back to Corvo Bianco.

When they're saying their goodbyes, Geralt invites Regis to come visit them for a day or two - or even a week, he says - and Regis, in turn, suggest they come visit him at his crypt. Jaskier realises that they've knows each other for so long now that it doesn't even sound strange to him.

Nearly all the guests are already gone when they get back to their room.

"Remind me to send a note to the dutchess to express our gratitude for being so considerate," Jaskier says, shrugging off his doublet and rolling his sore shoulders.

Geralt just hums, non-commital.

"That song you've played," he says, letting his hair down which is a gorgeous sight to see. "Had it really been an improvised one?"

Jaskier blushes under the gaze of his golden eyes, untying the laces of his mask. Geralt's always read him like an open book.

"No," he admits, averting his eyes when the witcher comes closer. "I've composed it a few weeks ago, when we've just gotten the invitations."

"Hmm," Geralt hums again, his half-grin making Jaskier's heart stutter for what seems like the millionth time. "Thought of me?"

The bard blushes even further, grateful the dim light of the fireplace is making it less apparent.

"Always think of you," he says, leaning into the touch when Geralt hugs him from the back and noses at his neck.

Geralt breathes a pleased noise against his neck, low and rumbling, knowing a little too well just how much of a weakness it is for the bard.

"Of course you do," he murmurs, undoing the buttons of Jaskier's shirt one by one without looking and leaving long hot kisses on his neck.

Jaskier lets out a shaky breath, throwing his head onto Geralt's shoulder and just forgetting about everything else for a few long moments before the witcher slips the shirt from his own shoulders to take it off, and he has to put the silk ribbons he's still holding down. They're all incredibly beautiful, they really are but as he sets them down onto a small round table, it's a pale-lilac one that catches his eye.

"What are you going to do with them?" Geralt enquires, letting the fabric of Jaskier's shirt fall to their feet and trailing his kisses down, onto his shoulders. "Order a new doublet from the court seamstress? Or change up one of those that you already have?"

Jaskier picks the lilac ribbon up, unties the bow that's keeping it folded, wraps it around his wrist once, twice, and pulls to see how it feels. The silk is pleasantly cool against his skin.

He bites his lips and turns around in Geralt's arms to lock eyes with him and run his hand through his hair.

"I might have a better idea."

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

The Bard, The Flowers, And An Hourglass

Rated T and up for graphic descriptions of injuries' Geraskier/Gerlion featuring a cameo by Regis Cross posted to Ao3 

Jaskier hated it. He absolutely without a doubt loathed when the witcher took a dangerous contract and refused to let him come along. Never mind that he hadn't even told him where he would be and therefore where to look if he didnt come back. Normally Jaskier would just trust that Geralt was not going to get himself killed and he would play his lute, sing, dance and be merry until the witcher returned. Not tonight. Tonight could not be any more cliche in his mind. 

He stood in the darkened room he was renting and stared out the dirty window waiting for the witchers return. The skin around his nails ached from being picked at and torn while he stared out the window into a dark and writhing tempest. The sky rent open with lightning and the wind ushered to and fro by thunder. The clouds in the sky swirled forebodingly and ominous moving as restless as Jaskier soul. The witcher had seemed concerned about this contract. Something had to be off about it, of that Jaskier was certain. He had informed Jaskier that he would be gone for a minimum of 4 days. It was the fifth night and there was no sign of the witcher. 

Jaskier had spent the last three nights playing music. That was his profession after all, no sense in squandering opportunity. He had played the fourth evening as well, though not as late. When Geralt hadn't returned, he'd walked to the town gate and waited in the dark, cloak pulled tight against the sting of spring air. He hadn't slept since against his better judgment and failed attempts. 

He couldn't recall all of the details, only that Geralt would have to pass through a very old swamp on the edge of a lake, likely filled with drowners, echinops (if the rumors he'd heard were true) and a variety of other things he didn't want to think of. Of course Geralt could have gone around it, since his contract was to take out an Archgriffin that was pestering a number of farms at the base of the mountain range and near the edge of the swamp. Instead the Witcher was, Jaskier was very certain, being foolish and going straight through it instead of around like all of the normal sane people. Jaskier could hear the excuse clearly in his head,  "I need to know how bad the swamp is. Might need to bring the others next spring." Of course Geralt would. How dare he just do the task at hand and move on. For all his airs he really was a good man, better than the people gave him credit for and better than most deserved. 

So now, Jaskier is staring out the window of his room in the middle of the night as the first of the spring storms rage, waiting for the bastard to come back. With a sigh and worried eyes, Jaskier pushes away from the window and paces the length of the drafty room instead. The fire roaring in the hearth doing nothing to stave off the chill of rain and night, or the dispare growing every hour in his gut. It sends chills down his spine, so he tries to focus on anything but his missing friend. Maybe he got laid up by the weather, that was certainly a possibility. Still, that it was going to take him 4 days to complete the contract had seemed odd, and he had hoped that it would be significantly less time. Instead it had been the opposite. 

The distractions he attempts to conjure don't last long. His mind is fixated on the witcher, not uncommon these days, he thinks. He returns to his vigil and watches the darkness on the edge of town. It's nearing 2 in the morning and he knows he really needs to sleep. He can feel it in his body. He's too tightly wound to try though so he remains at his self appointed post. He blinks bleary eyes and squints at movement caught on the edge of darkness. He turns his head to follow the shape more fully. 

"That looks like Roach” His mind supplies as the shape takes the form of a horse and single rider, a silhouette against the black of night.  “Oh no." He tears across the room, down the hall and takes the steps two at a time. He pulls the inn door open and darts into the  downpour without a second thought. He sprints through the mud slipping and sliding all the way. By the time he reaches the witcher and his stead, his fears begin to come true. Geralt is injured, badly and barely astride Roach. Panicked he does everything he can to keep Geralt in the saddle until they reach the stable. There is nothing but the deafening roar of wind and thunder in his ears, the hammering of his heart in his chest as the rain stings his face. Inside the stable Geralt falls uselessly from Roaches saddle and the stablehand, woken by Jaskiers shouts, jumps to action tending to the mare. He can see that her rider is badly injured, blood oozes from a tear in his armor, and he can’t even stand upright. Jaskeir ducks under Geralt's arm and uses his own around the witchers back to support him. It’s everything he has to get the man to their room, he's practically dragging him along by the time they reach the top of the stairs. Geralt's legs have gone limp and he’s barely standing. Huffing with exertion, Jaskier barely manages to get the white haired man to the chair and starts undoing his armor with dexterous fingers and practiced ease, before he slumps unconscious. This is the epitome of not good. Jaskier will have to go for a healer, but first he will do what he can to stop the bleeding. The armor comes away quickly followed by Geralt's undershirt and the flickering light of hastily lit candles is not enough to tend to the mottled, torn,  and bloodied flesh of his friend. Jaskier pushes down the horror in his throat and investigates the wounds as well as he can. The gash is long, it stretches from right hip bone up and over Geralt's left shoulder, diagonally across his chest, and stops just under his shoulder blade. There are large chunks of skin and muscle torn away and flapping loosely now that armor and shirt have been removed. And Jaskier is certain he can see Geralt's ribs; and is that what a stomach looks like?  He swallows against the nausea that assaults him at the sight and sets to cleaning the wound. He bites his tongue and clenches his teeth to keep from vomiting as he works. The wound will be bandaged and he will administer a dose of Swallow and then go for a healer. This is the only thing Jaskier can do for his friend now.

 Geralt opens his eyes and groans with the pain, which is a good sign. Quickly Jaskier pushes the vial of Swallow, the most important potion, the only potion Geralt had actively taken the time to show him and explain about, to the witcher's lips and he drinks understandingly. His eyes are hazy and Jaskier knows that he needs to get him to the bed now or he will be lying on the floor to recover, so he resumes his position under Geralt's shoulder and tugs until the larger man pushes himself to his feet and stubbles in the direction Jaskier leads him. It's everything he can do to keep his injured partner upright so he can bandage the wound and as soon as he is done he heads back out into the onslaught of rain and wind. There isn’t time to consider that donning his cloak would have been wise. Instead he rushes in the direction of the town's healer. It had not taken him many weeks of traveling with the witcher to learn that the first thing he should do upon arriving in a new town was inquire as to where the healer lived. And this time, like so many times before it had become a piece of information he wished he didn’t need. As he ran through the muddied streets he slipped and fell into the water and mud, dirtying his stockings and doublet. He was completely drenched, shivering and covered in filth by the time he made it to the house. Knocking loudly and insistently his teeth rattled in the cold and his knees knocked together. After what felt an eternity the man opened the door. One look at the bard and he knew the witcher was injured. Jaskier was invited to stand in the entryway while the physician dressed quickly and haphazardly and gathered his supplies. “How bad is the injury?” He asked, calm and composed in the face of emergency. “It stretches from the back of his shoulder across his chest to his right hip bone. I- I can see his ribs in places and I think his stomach. I did my best to clean and bandage it before I came but I’m not a healer.” He stutters out between involuntary shivers.

Regis, it turns out is rather spry despite his looks and old age and they make it to the inn rather quickly. Despite the speed of their travel the doctor too is soaked and shivering when they arrive. It doesn’t stop him from following quickly and silently on Jaskies heels as he takes the stairs two at a time and jogs down the hall to their room. Jaskier steps to the side and stays out of the way as the physician moves towards his patient. Only, in the shadowy and flickering light of the room it almost seems like a predator advancing on prey, and in a way he supposes that is exactly the nature of physician and patient. When Regis asks him to bring the other chair over to the bedside to act as a makeshift table he does so without hesitating. It’s easy to follow the orders of someone so calm. 

Regis is the epitome of calm under pressure. He doesn’t flinch away from the carnage of Geralt's torso, doesn’t blink at the vast quantities of blood loss. The physician doesn’t so much as sweat as he works. Finally, Jaskier thinks to inform him that he gave the witcher a vial of swallow, that he knows that another needs to be administered in 4 hours. Geralt had been clear with him about this. It was important when they were on the road miles from help. The witcher hadn’t wanted to disclose the information at all. He had wanted the bard to leave him be and go away, but when it was clear that that wasn’t going to happen and he had been injured a little too seriously one to many times, he accepted that he had help and gave up the information begrudgingly. Regis only hums at him, sideburns twitching with the motion. Jaskier can’t keep up with anything that the man is doing, he moves almost inhumanly fast. But now, as he finishes cleaning the wound his face draws grimm and he looks to the distressed bard. Jaskier swallows, he knows this look. He has seen it before on physicians and healers when someone is near death. He runs a shaky hand through dripping hair and pushes it out of his face, waiting. The action does nothing to calm his nerves. “There is an ingredient I need if I am to save his life. But I do not have it, nor is it found in this town.”  Jaskeir blinks dumbly at the man, opens his mouth to say something and closes it. “In fact, I do not believe they keep it in our sister town.” “What is it? What do you need?” Desperation colors his words dripping with despair as he looks wildly between the healer and the witcher. “There is a cliff just under an hour's ride from here, at the top of the cliff is a field. In the field grows orange lilies. I need three of them, root and all. It is the only way I can think to ensure he survives. He may as it is, being a witcher, but the chances are slim. This wound is deep and I fear infection has already settled in, his heart is weak.” “I’ll go. I can get them. I’ll leave now.” He says already moving around the room, gathering what he might need. “The road will take you through the edge of the swamp. Then you must climb the cliff face, there is no path to the top. And Bard,” He turns to meet Regis eyes, they flicker in the candle light and it sends a shiver of fear down his spine. His feet stay planted to the ground where he is and he waits, unmoving, for Regis to finish. “He doesn’t have long, no more than three hours. And the magic in the lilies will only last for one, once they have been uprooted.” He stares at the man, this harbinger of death. He is no physician, he is Charon waiting to usher the dead to the afterlife. Still, this is the best chance he has at saving his friend, the man he loves. With a firm nod he gathers his knife and cloak and a bag to put the flowers in and turns back to Regis. “Three hours?”  The physician gives a nod, and as if summoned by magic, produces an hourglass. It was larger than a normal one and Jaskier suspectes it is magic. With a grim smile Regis turns it and the time begins. The physician set back to work and Jaskier raced to Roaches side. +++++ “Roach my dear, I am so sorry about this, but I need your help. You and I both know that Geralt is right and Pegasus is slow as molasses. You’ll help me won’t you? To save Geralt.” His voice is harsh with worry. He knows that Geralt speaks to her often and he has no idea if she even understands but she is amenable to him as she stomps, almost impatiently and whinnies. He moves quickly to saddle her and she's ready to move as soon as he climbs into the saddle. 

The rain drops stings like bolts of fire as they pelt against his exposed skin. He squints against the wind and the thousands of ice spears. It’s everything he can to keep hold of Roaches reigns, his fingers have long since gone numb. The road is dark before him and Roach gallops onward into the void before them, following the road as it turns and bends and finally dips into the swamp. He doesn't have time to be concerned with wolves or other creatures of the night. He doesn’t have time to fear what he does not know, or the possibility that he may need to fight the creatures of the swamp. He leans forward over the mare's chestnut mane and ignores the pain in his joints from the cold, or the whipping around of his clothes and hair as the wind sends shutters through the trees. Blowing over those too old and rotten to stand strong against the gales. Branches fly around him and he knows that he is insane. That this entire quest is insane and yet he can’t bear the thought of Geralt dead. Of not having at least tried to save him by gathering the lilies. There is no room for fear or thought as he focuses on trying to remain alive and press on towards the cliff. Steam rises off Roach in puffs of mists. Her nostrils flare and blow steam as she snorts at the shadows surrounding them. The woods are alive and foreboding caging them in on both sides; he doesn't know the road but he knows to keep going. He prays to the gods that he makes it, that Geralt makes it. And presses onwards ignoring the feeling of being watched, of being stalked. Roach seems to know what is happening and carries him quickly out of the grasp of enemies he cannot see. Though he can feel the brush of claws, the breath of a monster too close to his flesh. 

Finally the cliffs come into sight and Jaskeir could whoop with glee. He stumbles as he dismounts and barely manages to steady himself by placing a hand on Roaches shoulder. He aches muscles tight from the ride and the constant shivering. He adjusts the now soaked satchel over his shoulder and the dagger he had brought with him in its sheath. Hesitantly he assesses the cliffside and shudders. Slowly he wraps his arms around himself to brace against the cold and his fear. There is no way he can scale the cliffside, none at all. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. Sure he had to try, but now he was here in the dark and the cold and the wind swirling around him and he knows with numb fingers and toes he can’t even attempt to climb the cliffside. It's sheer and steep and flowing with waterfalls and rivulets of ice cold water. Looking at it he isn't even certain he has the strength to climb it. 

He steps forwards towards the cliff and stretches out a shaking hand. “Get a grip Jaskier. If you don’t do this… if you don’t do this, Geralt will die. You have to try. You have too.”

Slowly he steps forward and stretches up, taking hold of the moss covered rocks and sharp edges and pulling himself up. He pushes up with his feet and they to find footholds. Craning his head backwards he tries to look for the next handhold and fails, the rain stinging his eyes. Instead he closes them and reaches blindly. He looks down and gets an idea of where he can put his feet to support his weight, but knows he can’t let himself think about how far he could fall. He swallows down his nervousness, fingers convulsing around the rock ledge in his hand. As he climbs he recites tales he had heard ages ago to himself. He needs to keep his mind focused but his heart hammers in his chest and his breathing comes out in ragged puffs as he pulls himself further up the cliffside. He’s halfway up when his worst fear seems as though it will come true. He loses his grip with his right hand and left foot simultaneously. He screams and scrambles to find purchase anywhere among the rough and jagged edges. He feels stone slice into the palm of his left hand as he manages to catch his right foot on an outcropping of stone.

He pulls himself as close to the solid formation of the cliff, irregular edges digging into his chest and hips. He rests his forehead against the stone and gulps down lungfuls of air. Rainwater drips down his neck, trails down his spine and shivers again. When he has settled himself enough he begins climbing again. He tucks his chin to his chest and grits his teeth against the exhaustion and the pain. The ends of his fingers are beginning to come raw as the calluses of many years playing are pulled away from the skin. His muscles twitch with every heave and pull against gravity as he lifts himself inch by inch up the side of the cliff. Finally he pulls himself over the edge and onto a bed of soaking wet grass. 

With his eyes closed he breathes deeply forcing his heart rate to steady. He can’t feel the rain as it falls against his skin or the brush of grass. He can’t feel the wind whipping around him slicing into his skin. It takes every ounce of his consciousness not to fall asleep where he is and to sit up instead. He casts his gaze around the clearing, skin buzzing with electricity as he crawls towards the blossoms whisking in the wind, twisting, twirling and fluttering to and fro. When he reaches the nearest one he pulls the knife out and sets to work cutting the flower from the ground and shoves it into the satchel. He repeats the process twice more and makes his way back to the cliff edge.  

Fear causes him to hesitate with his legs over the edge. The ground is very far away and he can barely make Roach out among the trees below him. He bandages his palm as best he can and turns onto his stomach. He doesn’t have a choice now. He must climb back down the cliff and he knows that the trip down will be far more difficult than the climb up. His feet slip at the initial contact of sole against stone and it takes a moment for him to regain his composure and try again. The rain slick rocks and hurricane like wind around him distract him from the slowly lightening sky. Looking down he tries to move quickly finding holes for his feet and ledges for his hands. He slips several times as the burning in his fingers and toes and calves increases. Still he pushes himself to climb faster. He doesn’t know how long he has been gone, but he knows he has been gone too long already.

Roach snorts below him and he turns his head over his shoulder to see her, but can’t make out what has her distraught as she stomps around and circles. He hadn’t tied her up, she was too well trained to go wandering far. Turning his head back to the stones he seeks out another foothold and misses, the ache in his shoulders is too much and he falls. Spots color his vision as he looks up at the cliffside, the coppery taste of blood sits on his tongue and his side aches. The throbbing in his arm catches his attention and he manages with a hoarse groan to look at it. White bone, covered in blood sticks through the sleeve of his doublet. The darkness consumes him. When he comes too Roach is nuzzling his forehead and prodding at his chest. He raises an arm to bat her away or pet her and yelps. It comes back to him in a rush, Geralt, the climb, the fall, and the time constraint. Looking at the sky he notes that it is still dark, It’s a good sign, but he has lost time. Agony threatens to rip him apart as he forces himself to his feet. He cradles his arm close to his chest and struggles to mount Roach. They need to fly, speed is the only thing that will save Geralt now, and that's all that matters to Jaskier. All this time and he had never told the man how much he meant to him. That he loves him. Choking back tears of heartbreak and physical pain, he nudges Roach into a trot and then a gallop. It is excruciating, every jostle, every movement in time with her steps sends ripples of pain from his arm to his brain. He bites down on his lower lip until he draws blood to keep from crying out. The swamp seems more dangerous now than it had before and he isn't sure why. The tempest has begun to die down and he can see that the road is clear. The shadows surrounding it are still, eerily so and he flicks his eyes hither and there attempting to scan for danger. He knows that anything predatory can likely smell his blood and fear and so he tries to calm himself. It’s no use his stomach is in knots, he’s exhausted, his best friend is dying and he might be too late to save him. All he can do is lean forward on Roach and pray for a miracle. A felled tree on the road threatens to bar their way but Jaskier nudges Roach on and she jumps it with ease. He screams, his arm, his ribs, his head and all of his muscles protest the movements and nothing but adrenaline is keeping him going. Nothing but the knowledge that if he does not get there that Geralt will die, and he likely will too. He nearly slips from her saddle as the pain keeps him from focusing on the necessity of riding. Finally the town begins to come into view and Roach seems instinctively to go faster. The poor girl is at her breaking point; he's certain, as cold and wet as he is, exhausted from carrying Geralt and himself and still despite her heaving breaths and frothing mouth she carries on dutifully. Absently he thinks to make sure she is given extra oats and to sneak her some sugar cubes or an apple or two when Geralt isn't looking. 

He slips from her saddle much the same way Geralt had and when the stable hand sees him he cuts off his ranting and stares. Jaskier moves past him and knows that he will attend to Roach, he will pay the man well tomorrow. There are more important issues to be dealt with now. He pushes himself along the wall, vision swimming and crawls up the stairs and down the hall. At their door he pushes himself to his feet and unlatches the door. Regis looms before him just on the other side. The man's eyes flash over him and he steps back to let the bard in. “How is he?” Jaskeir manages strained and hoarse and stuttered by exhaustion as he removes the satchel and hands it to the physician. He looks at the hourglass and lets out a heavy sigh, there is still sand in the top. He had made it. “Alive yet. Change and sit by the fire. I’ll tend you next.” Moving on instinct Jaskier does as he is told. He feels compelled to obey this man and so he struggles out of his soiled clothing and pulls on a long night shirt and sits in front of the fire. He could sleep if not for the pain and the fear still echoing in every fibre of his being. Regis is grinding the flowers, adding water and other ingredients. The movement makes Jaskiers head swim and he leans over on the floor, stretches out on his back and takes deep breaths. When he wakes the sun is high in the sky and Regis is sitting at the table calm and collected and dressed differently than he had been. There is a pillow beneath his head and a mountain of blankets over him. Taking a moment to gather himself Jaskier sits up using his unbound arm. His head is no longer swimming and he takes that as a good sign. “Geralt?” He tries and fails but Regis looks at him knowingly. He doesn’t have a voice, he can feel the constriction in his throat. He has a cold. He sniffles and stares at the grey haired man. 

“The Witcher will be fine, and so will you. You made it in time. Though you seem to have done some substantial damage to yourself in the process.” Ancient eyes bore into him as they pointedly look to his arm and chest and then back up. Jaskier feels the need to join him at the table so slowly he finds his feet and wobbles unsteadily to the empty chair across from him. He braces on its back and manages to find his way into it without collapsing too much. Leaning forward he rests his weight on his good arm, and holds the other protectively to his chest. “Fell on my way back down the cliff.” “I can tell.” The physician lips quirk up on the corners. “You have several broken ribs and your side and back are bruised heavily. You're lucky not to have fallen further or you would be unable to walk.”  The man pours him a glass of water and he takes it gratefully. Sitting back he sips at it thoughtfully and lets his gaze slide past him to Geralt. “He may stay unconscious a few days, I recommend poppy milk and bed rest until he is completely healed. Perhaps more of that potion of his.” Nodding slowly he manages to croak, “There wasn’t much time left in the hourglass.” “No. But there was enough.” That isn’t as reassuring as he would have liked it to be. His throat constricts with an ache and tears threaten to spill down his face. It has been a very long couple of days and he wants nothing more than to curl up beside the witcher and sleep. But there are things he must do today. He must speak to the stable hand and thank him, and to the innkeeper as well. “The stablehand and the innkeeper came to check on you both this morning. He seemed overly concerned about you, and he thought that the innkeeper should make sure he didn’t have two dead patrons in his establishment. He thought you were a ghost when you came in soaked through, pale, and with a bone sticking out of your body. They’ve agreed not to bother you until tomorrow at my insistence.” “Thank you, Regis. Uhm…” “Yes?” Blue eyes drift to his broken arm, his strumming arm. “How long until I can play again? I will be able to play again, right? And how long do you think Geralt will be,” he coughs hard and his eyes water as his ribs move freely despite the bandages around his waist, “ Unconscious?” He wheezes out. “Give your arm six to eight weeks. It will take time for the bone to heal properly. You should also wear it in a sling. I’ve treated several witchers before and each healed differently. It could be a couple days or it could be over a week. He was badly injured. The lillies and Swallow will do their jobs. I had best be going, I have other patients to see but I’ll be back to check in tomorrow morning. If he starts to wake, give him two drops of this.” The physician waves a vial of white liquid in front of him and he nods, “Take some too if you need. A drop only.” And with that the physician leaves. Mustering enough energy, Jaskier stands and makes his way to the bed on shaky legs, he sits beside the witcher and runs fingers through milk white strands. He doesn’t have the energy to cry so he lays down and sleeps instead. ++++++++ It’s three days before the witcher wakes and when he does he is on high alert. Regis has gone for the day and Jaskier is sitting at the table picking at lunch and trying to compose song lyrics. It’s much harder without his instrument. Looking up at the rustle of fabric Jaksier locks eyes with Geralt as he sits up and reaches for a sword that isn’t by the bed. “Geralt!” He yelps and the witcher blinks at him. “Jaskier” rasps the older and still badly injured man, “How did I get back here. Who has been here? It smells like…. A vampire?” Geralt's gasps and reaches for his chest. And then looks back to the bard taking him in. “What happened to you? And why am I not dead.” “A vampire, Geralt. I think you’ve hit your head. The only other person to be here is Regis, the town physician. Roach brought you back unconscious and injured four days ago. You’ve been unconscious since. You were nearly dead, Geralt,” He chokes and breathes in deeply through his nose, fights back the aching that the words leave in his chest. “I had to go and get an ingredient he needed to save you. Orange lilies but they only grew at the top of a cliff and I fell on the way back down. I’m alright though, just a broken arm and some banged up ribs. You on the other hand. Dear gods what happened, I could see your ribs, and your organs.” 

The walk to the bed isn't a long one and he makes it much more steadily than he had the first few days. Regis had come back with some herbs for his cold and it had cleared up miraculously fast. In part, Regis said, to the herbs, and in part to the amount that Jaskier was sleeping. It was a lot, even he acknowledged that, but it felt good and he was content to lay beside Geralt and hear his heart beat steady and rhythmically in his chest. Very much alive and not dead.  

“God, I was worried you’d die. You can't ever do that to me again Geralt. Do you understand? I don’t think I could handle it if you died like that. Bleeding out in my arms. I can’t. Geralt… Geralt why are you looking at me like that?” “You could have died saving me.” “Yes but I didn’t.” He can’t help the sweet smile that graces his lips, it's small and sad but he wants to convey everything he can in it. “You could have, and I don’t think I could handle that too well now.” “And why is that. Am I finally worthy of being considered your friend?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a jab, or to cause pain, but it does and he can see it in Geralt's golden irises, pupils shrunk to avoid the light, it’s so utterly enthralling he can’t tear his gaze away until calloused fingers brush his cheek. “Youre so much more than that to me.” Geralt whispers, agonizingly soft in the midday light of the room and Jaskiers heart beat picks up, hammering in his chest. He wonders if the witcher can hear it, rattling around in there like it has far more room than it actually does. But then Geralt continues and he could shout for the joy that fills his being. “And I wonder, if I am to you.”

Every pretense went out the window. Every reason he believed he couldn’t have this, that it would never exist, that it wasn't a good idea went with it, because in that moment, in that room, sitting beside one another all that mattered was the truth and so he spoke, truely and clearly. “You are. I would have died happily to save you because I love you, Geralt.” Any further words are hushed by uncertain, dry chapped lips, against his own. It’s not the best kiss he has ever shared, but it is the most important.