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drowsy-writer · 4 years

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I Can't Stop— regulus black x reader

Summary: An unmovable object vs. an unstoppable force (aka Reader tries to get Regulus to bed)

Warning: cursing, angst, bittersweet fluff, crying

Notes: Reader has she/her pronouns and is a Hufflepuff; this can also be read as either romantic or platonic also yes I sometimes face claim regulus as Benjamin Wadsworth pls don’t @ me i’m new here lol

Hogwarts 1975

Every Hufflepuff knows that when 10:00 hits, the kitchen goes silent. No pots boil, no ovens switch on―without the house elves, the place is as silent as the library on a good day. The alluring scents of the day’s meals would linger in the air, hitting the face of every Hufflepuff who entered eager to make it to their common room and call it a night.

Tonight the smells of roasted chicken and creamy beef stew were replaced with the stingy aroma of coffee as two students sat at the end of the kitchen’s massive table, books spread out amongst themselves. Two gigantic porcelain mugs were placed within arms reach and a fresh pot of coffee sat between them.

“Find anything yet?” the Hufflepuff asked. Her [h/c] curls bounced slightly as she looked up from her piece of parchment, observing the pale Slytherin boy across from her scrunch his brows.

“No,” Regulus shut another book and tossed it on top of the stack next to him. He reached over to his mug, which embarrassingly had an orange flat-faced kitten painted on it, and downed its remaining contents. He then slammed the mug on the table and ran both of his fingers through his short ebony locks,” nothing. Yet.”

“House elves are bound to wake up soon,” [Y/N] mused. She cocked her head towards the tiny door sitting next to the fireplace,” maybe we should call it a night.”

Regulus groaned as he reached for the pot of coffee and poured himself another cup. The pot shook a bit as Regulus poured it, the bags underneath his eyes growing darker. [Y/N] looked at her friend and sighed.

“We’ve gone through almost the whole library, Reggie,” [Y/N] said. Regulus took a quick swig of his refilled cup of coffee and cracked open another book,” look! That’s even the same book you opened last night. Cover and all!”

“Nope,” Regulus held up the book and tapped his pale finger on the cover where it read Volume 2. It was [Y/N]’s time to groan as she took her own mug, this one with a silly looking dog on it, and sipped at the now cold contents. Her face scrunched up as she placed the mug down,” Zatara might’ve been a loon, but he was Bullock’s assistant. He probably hid something in here so Dumbledore or anyone else couldn’t find and burn it..”

“What makes you think that Volume 2 is gonna have something when the first one didn’t?” [Y/N] had got up from her chair, cold cup of coffee in hand, and dumped it down the drain of the sink behind her. She turned the faucet on, rinsing out the mug and gently putting it back on the drying rack. When [Y/N] spun around, she was met by Regulus’s signature scowl,” don’t get your knickers in a twist. You know I’m right. I’m always right with these sorts of things.”

“I know,” Regulus hissed. He looked back down at the book,” but right now, I’m hoping you’re wrong.”

[Y/N] huffed as she sat back down on her chair again. A small yawn escaped her lips but she knew it’d be a while until Regulus decided to pack his stuff and leave. This was the case every night since 2nd year where Regulus and [Y/N] would stay up right before the elves came back in to prep for breakfast, reading and discussing topics both school related and pure nonsense. Neither knew how this little tradition started and, quite frankly, neither cared. It was a breath of fresh air for [Y/N] and a sense of normalcy Regulus craved for within his ever turbulent life.

As of recently, however, their midnight meetings were overwhelmed with a sense of dread. It had been months since Regulus had properly been exposed to the world of the Death Eaters and of Lord Voldemort, courtesy of his mother. From then on, he had been put into an almost inescapable hole, one that he was intent of crawling out of. Regulus might've not had the luxury of running away like his brother, but he sure as hell wasn't going to give in without a fight.

“So if I am wrong, what’s gonna happen next?” [Y/N] asked.

Regulus quirked a brow as he stopped reading the passage he was on. Not even bothering to look up, Regulus clicked his tongue in thought. He then, to [Y/N]’s annoyance, shrugged his shoulders and continued to read.

“I don’t know. Haven’t thought that far yet.”

“What do you mean you haven’t thought that far yet? We’ve been looking into Horcruxes for the past three months and you haven’t the clue as to what you’ll do next?!”

“Something like that.”

“You're so—,” [Y/N] let out a muffled scream as she buried her head in her hands,” you're insufferable, you know that? Why am I even friends with you?”

“Haven't thought that far yet either,” Regulus smirked.

“Very funny, Reggie. Now c’mon,” [Y/N] motioned towards the stack of books,” let’s stash these away. We’ve got a Potions exam tomorrow morning, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

Regulus didn’t make an effort to get up and continued to read through the book. As Regulus flipped through another page, [Y/N] muttered underneath her breath as she jumped down from her seat and walked over to the Slytherin’s side.

“Alright. That’s it.”

Before Regulus could make sense as to what was happening, [Y/N] wrapped her hands around his waist and hoisted him up from the seat.

“[Y/N]?!” Regulus sputtered, dropping the book from his hands,” let me go!”

“Oh shut it, Black! You need to get some sleep!”

Still in her arms, Regulus tensed as their bodies pressed against one another. He cursed himself underneath his breath as his face flushed red.

“Just put me down. Now.”

“No.”

“[Y/N]—!”

[Y/N] tightened her grip as Regulus squirmed within her hold. She dragged him from his chair to the middle of the kitchen where he finally pushed himself off.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You need to sleep, Regulus! You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends. You’ll fall back if you keep doing this.”

“Well what else am I supposed to do, then? Run away from my problems like my brother? Ignore them? I can’t just turn away from my family and pretend nothing ever happened!” Regulus shouted. His breathing turned ragged, as if he just finished yet another Quidditch match, “what would you expect for me to do?”

“I—I don’t know! I don’t have the answers for everything!” [Y/N] retorted. Regulus groaned as he turned around, intent on picking up where he left off in his book,” but I do know that when the time comes, whatever remnants of a plan you do have, you’ll be too exhausted to do anything about it!”

Regulus stopped in his step as he stared at the rack of spices before him, afraid of meeting his friend’s eyes. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and turned around. His eyes had yet to meet [Y/N]’s as they shifted throughout the room.

“Why are you—ugh,” Regulus sighed as he ran his hands through his hair,” I just—this is how I work, [Y/N]. You’ve known it since 2nd year. Even when I stop, I can’t stop. When I go to sleep at night, my mind is still racing with all this bullshit about purebloods and Muggles and—.”

“But you can’t just—.”

“—And the fucking potions test you won’t stop telling me about! There’s so many things in my mind that I think Bellatrix’s head looks healthy compared to mine! I can’t stop thinking about my family, my house, even Sirius for Godric’s sake! I can’t stop worrying that if I were to put a pause for even a sliver of a second, everything I’ll ever love will cease to exist. I can’t risk that [Y/N]. Not for a second. Not when I have so much on the line.”

[Y/N] looked down at the floor as her friend’s words ran rapid through her head. She touched her forehead with the palm of her hand, dragging them down until they met the bridge of her nose.

“Fucking—I know that, Regulus. I just—,” [Y/N] gave a pained expression as she pinched the bridge of her nose,”—fuck! I just want you to be okay, ok? You’re my friend. My best friend, actually. It hurts like hell because there’s nothing I can do about it. I can get you as many books as you want, sneak out around the castle as much as you want, lie to as many people as you want , but I can’t—no. I won’t stand here and watch you whittle away. Not when I can do something to prevent it.”

Regulus swallowed hard as his eyes met [Y/N]’s and the pit that had been growing inside his chest began to increase, pushing painfully against his rips. He felt his lungs constrict and if Regulus didn’t know any better, he’d say someone casted a Crucio curse on him and it was slowly ripping his body from the inside out.

“I just can’t let him win, [Y/N],” Regulus mumbled. He leaned back on the table and pressed both hands to his face, rubbing at his eyes as tears began to build up in the corners,” I can’t let that thing win, no matter what.”

Shielding his face from [Y/N], Regulus quietly sobbed as his friend stood in front of him, tears threatening to pour out from her eyes as well. Taking a deep, shaky breath, [Y/N] slowly walked towards her friend and gently wrapped her arms around him. Despite the slight size difference, [Y/N] was able to situate her friend so that his face was buried in the crook of her neck. She combed a hand through his inky, black locks.

“I know won’t,” [Y/N] said,” but I highly doubt snake face over there is going to wait for you to take a quick power nap. We’ll beat him, but not like this.”

Regulus’s grip tightened around [Y/N] and she felt his lips pull into a smile as a low chuckle emitted from him.

“It’s amazing how you’re not a Ravenclaw with how much wisdom you spout out.”

“Well I’m far more interested in my friends then a bloody book,” [Y/N] stepped back, hands still wrapped around Regulus, and smiled,” now let’s clean up and head to bed. You deserve at least one good night’s rest.”

#regulus black #regulus black imagine #regulus black x reader #harry potter #my writing #harry potter imagines #reader insert #hufflepuff #slytherin

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smaidjor · 3 years

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i know they're losing (Chapter 1)

hi mothers and fuckers of the jury, this fic is a hot mess but so am I, please appreciate it. Also, obligatory disclaimer this is about the characters not the people, all that important stuff.

Some important notes:

1. You will probably hate Scott just a little at points. He has chronic dumb bitch syndrome and there's a whole lot of bullshit going on in his life that you don't see in this fic because it's not his pov. That being said, he's still a bit of a jerk.

2. This has a lot of lord of the rings lore. A LOT. You may be kinda confused if you're not a lord of the rings fan. It's fine, Jimmy's confused too, and all of it will be explained at some point.

3. The chapter titles are from the Last Goodbye from the Hobbit films. The general title is from I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski.

4. General content warnings: there is a little blood, and a little violence, and a lot of mentioned death and morbid jokes. If you don't do well with themes involving death this fic is probably not for you. There is also possibly going to be referenced emotional abuse and generally unhealthy ways to raise children, though that will be talked about much further down the line. I will also put specific cws at the start of each chapter, don't worry!

5. The alternate title for this was '10k words of flower husbands being sad'. You have been warned.

Title: i know they're losing

Chapter Title: under clouds, beneath the stars

Current Total Wordcount: 3740

Content Warning: referenced/past character death, very frank discussion of death.

Snippet:

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.”

AO3 Link

Actual fic under the cut

Scott’s hands are cold. That’s the first sign, the chill that’s uncharacteristic of an elf.

Scott’s chest hurts. That’s the second sign, the bone-deep ache he can’t seem to quell.

Scott is weaker than normal, and that’s the third sign, the one that confirms what’s happening beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’s fading, Scott thinks as he leans against a wall, trying to stop his head from spinning. He can’t say he’s surprised, not after all he’s been through; in fact, he’s more astonished it took so long to start.

In another world, it happens like this:

Scott’s hands are cold, and Shubble notices as he shows her around the nether. It’s worrying, a bit, how icy his skin is even in the boiling dimension, but Scott’s empire has always been cold, hasn’t it?

Katherine notices how long it’s been since Scott visited her, one of his few allies, and she worries, a bit. But Scott has always been distant, hasn’t he?

No one notices or worries enough to go check on him, and Scott fades away to nothing, cold and alone in his icy empire.

What actually happens is this:

Katherine has gotten word of the demon that haunts the server, and amongst all her worry, one of her thoughts is ‘has anyone checked on Scott?’. The answer is no, and next time she has a free day, she sets out for Rivendell. It’s not a long trip, not with elytra, anyways, and soon she’s at the doors to his keep.

“I need to see Lord Smajor,” she tells the guards.

“He’s not taking visitors right now.” is the response she gets.

“It’s a vital matter to the safety of both our kingdoms.”

They let her in.

Katherine spends far too long looking around the elegantly decorated downstairs and storage area before she realizes he must be up the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. She’s never been upstairs in Scott’s house before, which makes her a little nervous, but… this is an urgent matter, so she presses on into what turns out to be a very pretty bedroom. Decorated with bookshelves aplenty and gorgeous lanterns, it practically screams Scott.

The man (elf?) himself is harder to spot. At first, Katherine’s worried he isn’t there at all, but eventually she realizes that he’s still in bed despite the fact that it’s a quarter to one, only his pale face sticking out from under the covers.

“Scott?” She asks, cautious. “Lord Smajor?”

He blinks at her tiredly. “Hi, Katherine.”

“I came to talk to you about some empires stuff, but, I mean, if this is a bad time, I can come back later…?”

“No, no, stay.” He waves at the sole chair in the room, which is near-enough to the bed. “I can muster the energy for a meeting, just don’t ask me to get up.”

Katherine takes the seat hesitantly. “I came to talk about the corruption on the server, but- are you okay? Are you sick?”

Scott laughs, a little bitter. “In a way, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take my hand.”

She obeys, confused, and finds that Scott’s hands are like ice despite the warmth of the room.

“Elves don’t get sick like mortals do,” Scott says. “Nor do we die of old age. But we get...heartsickness, you might call it. We call it fading in our tongue- the cold hands are a symptom of that. Our souls are fragile, and the grief of the mortal plane can be overwhelming. If an elf is too struck by it, they fade away and die.”

She gasps a little.

“It usually happens to old elves, world-weary,” Scott continues. “Those who are tired of existence. But any elf who has experienced enough grief is at risk.”

It takes Katherine a moment to process everything, and once she does, she stares at him in horror. “You’re- fading? But doesn’t it usually happen to old elves? Wait, are you old?”

“I’m fifty-five.”

“Is that old?”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fifty is the elven equivalent of eighteen for humans, the age of maturity.”

“Oh.” She struggles for words for a moment, settling on “How can you be so calm if you’re dying?”

“I’m tired, Katherine. The world tore me away from the people I loved, and..I’m tired of fighting it.”

Try as she might, there’s nothing she can say to that. “Is there a way to reverse fading- to fix it?”

Something pained and raw flashes through his eyes. “Technically, yes. If an elf recovers enough emotionally, it’s reversible. But whatever caused them to fade the first time can- and often does- cause it again.”

Katherine nods seriously, absorbing the information. “We’ll just have to reverse it, then.”

“That’s sweet, Katherine, but I’m dying.”

“No,” she tells him firmly. “You’re not going to die. Now come on, you can show me your empire while I fill you in on what’s happening on the rest of the continent.”

Scott stares at her for a long moment, but eventually he takes her outstretched hand. “Alright.” His hand is frozen cold in hers. “We can try.”

Katherine lets him lead her around Rivendell, pointing out the sights. He’s done an impressive job decorating, like her, and an even more impressive job at uniting the elves and building an empire from the ground up. The people of Rivendell are weary and battle-scarred, for the most part, elves who have seen too much, but the children are bright and happy, and the cyan and gold banners wave proudly in the wind.

As they walk, she also tells Scott about the demon, Xornoth. “The demon’s already visited a lot of people, I think. Gem and Shubble for sure, and Fwhip and Sausage. That’s not even mentioning the corruption that’s been spreading.”

Scott nods. “There’s corruption in Rivendell too. Likely Xornoth’s work. And given that Jimmy still has Vilya- well, I haven’t been able to do much.”

“Vilya?”

“A ring of power. My inheritance from the Noldor.”

“Why does Jimmy have it?”

He doesn’t answer that one.

Katherine leaves feeling unsettled, with more questions than answers. She has new resolve, though, and a new goal: keep Scott from fading. He’s a good friend, though they don’t know each other that well yet, but more than that, he’s a powerful ally. And Katherine can’t afford to lose allies. So while they’re both rulers and busy in their own right, she promises to visit and drag him outside at least once a week.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Scott jokes, but his laugh is weak.

Katherine vows to hold herself to it.

The plan works for three entire weeks before Katherine has a week that’s so busy there’s no way she can find the time for a trip to Rivendell. Worse than that, because Scott is so isolated, he has almost no other friends, and many of Katherine’s allies are busy too. She’s a little short of options, to be honest, which is how she finds herself on Jimmy Solidarity’s doorstep that Sunday afternoon.

“Hello?” Jimmy asks as the door swings open. Katherine can see why Lizzie calls him the sweet swamp boy- his confused head tilt is frankly adorable.

“Hi! I know we don’t talk much, but I could use a favor,” she says.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need you to visit Scott.”

Jimmy looks beyond startled. “What- I mean, he doesn’t even like me! I couldn’t possibly.”

“Please?” She wheedles. “I promised him a visitor every week, but I have meetings all week this time.”

He shakes his head, hesitantly at first and then stronger. “No, Katherine. He’d just throw me right out again. I’m his enemy, for goodness sake!”

“If he hates you so much, why do you have his ring?”

Katherine knows she’s won, watching emotions flit across his face too quickly to catch. Grief is what he settles on, and she feels a little bit bad for the ring comment when his voice comes out wobbly.

“I guess I should return that, huh? Alright, I’ll go.”

“Sorry,” she says.

Jimmy brushes it off, saying there’s no need to worry, but he fiddles with the ring on his finger all the more. It’s on his left ring finger, Katherine notes. She wonders if that truly means what it implies.

“I’ll visit him tomorrow,” Jimmy says.

“I’ll hold you to that!”

Jimmy isn’t sure why he agreed to this at all, to be honest. Scott may have given him this ring in another world, another lifetime, but that doesn’t mean Scott doesn’t hate him in this one. What other explanation is there for how all his gifts have been rejected, how cold the elf is? Jimmy would be surprised that Scott’s never tried to take his ring back if it wasn’t for how thoroughly Scott avoids him nowadays. Getting the ring back would require talking to Jimmy, something Scott has made it very clear that he doesn’t want to do. Jimmy doesn’t have another use for it, and try as he might to forget flower fields and warm hands in his, he can’t bear to throw it away. So it’s remained on his hand all this time, a painful reminder of someone who used to love him.

Jimmy tries to avoid looking at it as much as possible, every glimpse bringing back the memory of Scott gently sliding it onto his hand, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and a smile on his lips. Even the faint shimmers in the blue gem remind him of how the starlight seemed to get caught in Scott’s hair when they were out at night. The ring had been one of their most valuable possessions on 3rd Life, the rare silver band and elegant forging more than proof of that. Now, though, the ring has to be one of the least valuable things Jimmy owns; on 3rd Life, they were humble folk in little hobbit holes, their most expensive possessions being their diamond armor and swords, but here, they’re kings and lords. Scott probably has a thousand treasures more valuable in his elven empire, so Jimmy’s not sure why he’s bothering to trek all the way across the world just to return this one.

Then again, it’s not really about the ring, and never has been. It’s about the way starlight used to shine in Scott’s eyes when he smiled, his rare, soft grin that was reserved just for Jimmy, how he gave Jimmy the most valuable thing either of them owned. It’s closure, in a way, giving it back. He won’t have any debt to Scott once this ring is returned, and they can both move on like Scott so clearly wants to.

Shaking off those thoughts, Jimmy slows to a stop in front of Scott’s house. It’s grand, nothing like his old hobbit hole, but still so clearly Scott in the decoration and color schemes. Jimmy would know who built it even if he hadn’t known Scott lived in these mountains.

“I’m here to visit Scott,” he says to the guard stationed outside.

They raise an eyebrow, presumably at the familiar way he refers to Scott. “On formal business or personal?”

“Personal? Sort of? I mean, I don’t have any diplomatic reason for being here.” Truth be told, he has no reason to be here at all, really, but...the ring.

“Then Lord Smajor cannot see you.”

Jimmy grits his teeth, suddenly furious at this whole ordeal. “Then tell Lord Smajor that I need to return his ring.”

“May I see it?”

He sticks his hand out obligingly, and the guard examines the ring, surprise blooming across their face. “I did not realize my Lord had lent you Vilya! My apologies, Lord Codfather, I see the alliance between our kingdoms is stronger than I had assumed. You may pass.”

Vilya? “Thank you, gentle, uh, gentleperson!”

The guard dips their head slightly as he walks by, a gesture of respect that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. He shakes off the strangeness of the interaction, though, pushing open the door to Scott’s house.

The inside is beautiful, exactly the kind of decor Scott loves...and empty. There’s no one in the spacious kitchen, the storage room, or anywhere else for that matter. Jimmy’s seconds from giving up and going home when he realizes that there are stairs up to the balcony above. That’s where he goes, finding himself in Scott’s bedroom.

Which is awkward, to say the least. It’s not like they never slept in the same room when they were married, but now that there’s this awkward, painful distance between them, Jimmy feels like he’s intruding. What’s worse is, Scott’s still in bed, laying on his side with his face tilted away from Jimmy’s awkward entrance.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

Jimmy half-jumps, not expecting that. “How’d you know it was me?”

Scott rolls over to face him, and Jimmy notes that his face is too pale for it to be natural or healthy. “Do you think I could ever forget the sound of your footsteps?” He goes on before Jimmy can answer. “What are you doing here?”

“Katherine asked me to visit, I’m not sure why, but...here I am. Say, why is she visiting every week?”

Scott’s laugh is bitter. “Katherine thinks she can save me.”

“Save you from what?” Jimmy asks, concerned despite himself.

His (ex?)husband doesn’t reply.

“Save you from what?” Jimmy presses, and gets no answer yet again.

Instead, Scott sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You should go.” He stands, and immediately stumbles, Jimmy rushing to steady him on instinct. Scott’s hands are like ice when he grips Jimmy’s arm to regain his balance, taking several deep breaths, and Jimmy’s instantly struck by how wrong that feels. Scott’s hands were always warm, even on the coldest nights in 3rd life. Some elven thing, probably, that Scott didn’t want to talk about or have time to explain to a silly human like Jimmy.

“Scott, what is going on?”

The elf brushes him off again, heading for the stairs, but the regal effect is ruined by how hard he has to grip the railing.

“Scott, seriously! Answer me, are you okay? What’s happening?”

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.” Scott turns back to the stairs. “Come on. If you’re not going to leave, I might as well show you around.”

Jimmy follows, reluctantly, trying to think of something to say that isn’t incoherent sputtering with a bit of ‘why do you hate me now’ added in. “You can’t just drop something like that on a man, you know!”

“You did ask, to be fair.”

Why oh why is he so stupid around Scott? “I guess so, but- but still, dude.”

Scott pushes open the side door, holding it for Jimmy. “Here.”

Jimmy nods and slips through the door. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They start along the path, Scott walking far too quickly for Jimmy’s comfort given how terrible the elf’s balance is currently. He nearly has to jog to keep up, irritatingly, but at least they aren’t snapping at each other for a few precious moments.

Of course, Jimmy has to go and ruin that. “So, uh..are we going to talk about 3rd life?” He has to hear it from Scott’s own lips that he remembers, that it affected him even half as much as it’s affected Jimmy.

“No.”

“Why not? We need to talk about it some time-”

“I said no .”

“It’s literally killing you to not talk about it!”

Scott freezes, face going icy calm in the way Jimmy knows means he’s actually upset. The elf’s hands grip the fabric of his robes tight, his back going rigid. This is a bad idea, Jimmy knows.

He’s in too deep to back out now, though, the pent-up hurt of the past few months all coming out in a rush. “Tell me I’m wrong, Scott! I dare you, tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you never cared about me, tell me you didn’t bother to bury me, tell me it didn’t hurt even a little when I died! Tell me I was just stupid little Jimmy, a toy for an elf who’d live far beyond my lifespan! Tell me whatever, just tell me the truth! ”

Scott breathes out slowly, fury gradually building on his face. “Fine. You want to know what happened after you died? You want to hear about me screaming until my throat went raw? You want to know that I kissed your face and sobbed and begged you to wake up, over and over until I couldn’t speak at all? You want to live with the knowledge that Grian had to physically pull me away from your body? Is that what you want to hear, Jimmy ?”

Jimmy’s name on Scott’s lips punches all the remaining air out of him, sounding so wrong in that angry, bitter tone. Beneath all the rage, Scott sounds wrecked , and the fight leaves Jimmy’s body abruptly. “No,” he says softly. “That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. I’d rather you be happy than love me.”

Silence follows those words, only the faint sound of a waterfall in the distance there to break it.

“I buried you on the hill above our houses,” Scott says finally. “I planted a poppy over your grave.”

“Oh.”

“Grian came over the next day. I didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t you, but I let him in because I had to. He helped me do the straps on my armor and asked me if he could do anything else to make things easier. I told him to bury me next to you.”

Jimmy swallows hard. “Did he?”

“How would I know?” Scott’s tone softens, just a little. “Grian was honorable enough, though, loyal to his allies. I like to think he did.”

“He was a good guy,” Jimmy agrees. “A little bit bloodthirsty, I guess, but good. I don’t suppose he survived any better than the rest of us, though maybe being bloodthirsty helped.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I- can I ask you why you hate me so much now? I mean, if you mourned me in third life and all.”

Scott turns away again, starting down the path a second time. He’s not looking at Jimmy when he says “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” It’s a shock, honestly, given that this is the first time the two of them have really spoken since the beginning of empires. “But you burned the pufferfish-”

“I didn’t. I kept it.” Scott still won’t look at him. “I never hated you. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I’ve been kind of busy dying,” Scott says dryly, and Jimmy doesn’t even realize it’s a joke until he looks over at Scott’s wry little grin.

“Scott! That’s not funny!” He scolds, aghast.

“It was a little funny.”

“No!”

Scott must hear the genuine distress in Jimmy’s voice because he drops the act. “Jimmy, I’m an elf. I won’t live far beyond you, but only because I’ll fade without you.”

“So your solution is to isolate yourself and fade now?” Jimmy demands.

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that, doesn’t it? But I lost you once, and I don’t think I could bear it again.”

Jimmy wants to argue, wants to fight him on this, but there’s nothing he can say. Instead, he puts a hand on Scott’s arm to stop him walking any further. Scott turns to look at him, seemingly startled, and Jimmy throws his arms around the elf.

Scott stiffens before slowly relaxing, arms coming up to wrap around Jimmy in return. It’s not as natural a gesture as it used to be, but it’s warm, gentle in a way Jimmy thought he’d never get again. It reminds him of the soft, starry-eyed boy who put flowers in his hair and laughed at him over a cake. Scott will never be that soft again and Jimmy will never be unscarred, but they’re here. They’re alive, that has to count for something.

Scott pulls back, his expression so achingly tender and heartbroken all at once. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.” His voice is raw, a little shaky. “I can’t. Not again.”

“But-”

He’s cut off by Scott shaking his head. “Losing you will destroy me. We dared to love, and now all we can do now is lessen the pain when it all comes crashing down.”

Jimmy’s in too much shock to speak, the ache in his heart returning tenfold as Scott turns back towards the house.

“Goodbye, Jimmy.” He sweeps away, elegant as ever, but stumbles and nearly falls as he reaches the door. Jimmy’s not there to catch him.

Jimmy stumbles home in a daze. It's somewhat of a miracle that no mob manages to kill him, honestly. To be so close to a resolution, to have the person he wanted most right there in his arms, and then to have all that ripped away- he can’t think of anything that could have hurt more. Even his deaths were less painful than this- at least an arrow through the throat is quicker than feeling like your heart is being ripped out through your ribs, Jimmy thinks, a little bitter. He throws Scott’s stupid ring in a pool in the swamp, watching as it sinks to the bottom of the shallow water with hardly a bubble.

Wait.

The ring.

It’s significant, somehow, according to a Rivendell guard, and more than that, it’s an excuse to see Scott again. One last chance to change his mind about the stupid plan that’s literally killing him.

Jimmy dives in without thinking, scrabbling around until his fingers close around the smooth stone and thin band. When he pulls it out, the gem glitters in the starlight even under the layers of dirt, and it looks like something special. It looks like hope.

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #uhh #empires smp #i wont tag 3rd life since its only referenced #my writing

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comfortwriting · 4 years

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hi! can you write the number 16 from your prompts list with fred and a slytherin reader? also, love your posts ❤

A/N: It’s so nice to meet a fellow Slytherin!! Thank you so much for making a request, I hope you enjoy my lovely!

Prompt 16: Reading the diary entry over and over, your hand slipped into your underwear.

Warnings: swearing and smut

For the second year in a row, you decided to spend your Christmas at Hogwarts instead of going home. You lied to your parents, telling them that you were drowning in books, parchment, and practical potion-making tests; but the truth is, you were only staying at Hogwarts because Fred Weasley wasn’t going home.

The two of you have what most would call a ‘love-hate’ relationship, you just found him incredibly infuriating but so fucking hot at the same time; going weak at the knees for him. The two of you got to know one another very well during a match of Quidditch, dodging his bludgers, and catching his cheeky grin when you did so. In the classes you have together he always tries to get you into trouble when he’s unable to get your attention, despite what your fellow house had to say about him - you were really into him.

You knew their dorm room would be empty tonight and that he and George would be scrambling into the kitchens at any moment, being given plenty of food from the hard-working house elves, making this the perfect opportunity for you to get your own back on the more daring twin.

Creeping into Fred’s dorm room quietly (incase you were met with a surprise) you spotted his bed and smirked, walking over to it. At least their bedrooms were warm, shame about the red being splattered everywhere - you preferred green, always green.

Pulling a rope out of your pocket you pulled his quilt back and placed the rope on the bed, you had been practicing this for months now - you couldn’t get it wrong now; you needed to master turning this rope into a snake.

Looking up and down the bed to figure out if you should move the rope lower down or higher up, you noticed something poking out beneath Fred’s pillow. Pulling it out, you were now in possession of what looked to be a homemade diary, sporting a massive ‘F’ on the cover.

‘I’ve hit the jackpot!’ you told yourself, ‘who needs a surprise snake from Slytherin when you’ve got this’

Part of you wanted to put the diary back under the pillow and to continue with your plan but the itch that started to spread inside you wouldn’t go away unless you were to give in, and who knows, the diary could just be another one of Fred's pranks waiting to trap someone who went snooping.

You chucked the rope onto the floor and took off your shoes, getting into Fred’s bed you made yourself comfy, you wanted to enjoy this.

Flicking past the first few empty pages you finally found an entry, dated two years back. Sinking into his bed and embracing yourself in the warmth you started to read.

She looked at me again today, those eyes... her gorgeous eyes eating me up like I’m prey, they stand out, even more, when she wears green. She’s so beautiful, all wrapped up in her Slytherin Quidditch jumper, scarf, gloves, and hat, George tells me to stay away but I don’t think I can.

You felt your cheeks burning but there were plenty of other girls in Slytherin, in order to find out if Fred was, in fact, writing about you, you had no choice but to keep reading. You skipped a few pages, reading another entry now dated from one year ago.

I just can’t take it anymore, having to sit next to her and not kiss her is the hardest thing in the world, even harder than getting away with coming home late when I’m back at home. I can’t help but chase her, I can’t help but make things harder for her on the pitch... I want her to know that I’m after her.

Yup. This whole entire diary was a shrine to you, a whole dedicated series of Fred’s feelings for you, and honestly, you were flattered.

Getting a little bit too hot you pulled the covers down and you took off your robe, once again flicking through the diary and picking another entry to read - this one the most recent of all, two days ago.

I can’t help but just stare at her soft pink lips, those exquisite breasts that show through her shirts, those stunning smooth legs that make me want to run my hands up them.

You breathed out heavily, the image of Fred touching you getting you excited. You took off your skirt, only laying in your shirt, tie and knickers.

I just want to grab her whilst she’s walking down the halls, drag her into an empty classroom and bend her over the nearest desk. I want to spread open those stunning legs and eat her out like I’ve dreamt about so many times before. My heart and cock ache for her, I’d do anything to have my way with her; making her cum with my fingers or on my cock, I want her to feel it all.

Reading the diary entry over and over, your hand slipped into your underwear. You completely lost yourself in Fred’s confession, imagining the acts he so desperately wants unfolding within your thoughts. Your index and middle finger coated in your spit moved in circular motions on your clit, one or two moans of Fred’s name leaving your mouth.

Without noticing while you played with yourself, Fred had entered the dorm room embarrassed at first of the sight of his diary in your hands but now he stared at you with hunger, desperation, and pure filth; the sight of you touching yourself over him made his cock hard.

“Need some help love?” He called out, his voice like melted honey.

You were startled at first, shocked that you had been caught in the act but then it dawned on you, this is exactly where he wanted you, he knew all along you were going to prank him and he still won.

Fred walked over to you, a smirk playing on his lips and his cock poking through his trousers. “Don’t stop all because I’m here”

You looked into his hungry eyes and bit your lip, Fred kicked off his shoes and took off his belt, climbing into the bed and on top of you. “I guess the only snake in the bed tonight is you” he smiled, noticing the rope, peeking out of your robe pocket.

“I’m guessing you’re all talk Weasley, you’ve gone into graphic detail describing what you want to do to me and I’m laying here, waiting.” You smiled back.

Your backchat caused Fred to crash his lips onto yours, the two of you kissing as if your life depended on it. One of Fred’s hands traveled down to your wet pussy, and two of his fingers dived inside of you. Moaning against Fred’s lips, your hand went to his trousers, tugging the zipper down.

Fred pulled away from the kiss “want to get you nice and wet before I fuck you” and attacked your pussy with his mouth, swirling his tongue around your clit whilst continuing to finger fuck you.

You couldn’t take anymore, the tension had been brewing between you for too long, waiting suddenly became unbearable for the two of you. “Please fuck me, Fred. I want to feel you so bad.” You moaned out between breaths.

Fred didn’t need to hear it twice, he pulled away and sucked your juices off his fingers. He took off his trousers and removed his shirt, you copied him struggling with the last few buttons.

“Get on all fours” Fred ordered, slapping your arse as you did so.

Fred spat into his hand and spread his saliva across your entrance, without warning he started to pound into you, grabbing onto your hair.

“Fucking hell, Fred!” you moaned out, “you feel so good!”

“Told you us Gryffindors weren’t that bad, you stupid serpent.” he teased.

You had no idea that your relationship with Fred would come to this, the staring contests at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the Quidditch matches and games he’d torment you in, the countless detentions he caused you to get.

You were surprised you wanted him so badly, but then again how could you be surprised? You were being fucked senseless.

Fred’s hand marks were all across your arse, scratches all over his back, love bites on both of your necks, and your lip bleeding from biting it so hard.

Fred picked up his speed, fucking you harder and deeper in your new position (your legs upon his shoulders) he could feel your walls tighten around him, causing his cock to twitch.

“Fred, I’m going to cum” you moaned out.

Expecting Fred to give it all he’s got you were shocked when he suddenly stopped and pulled out of you, laying down next to you laughing. You were so confused and didn’t understand, did he not enjoy it?

“That's what you get for trying to put a snake in my bed” Fred smirked, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

The tension that almost broke free just became ten times worse.

“You’re such a twat!”

He laughed in response “George is going to be in the kitchen awhile, don’t feel as if you’ve got to disappear.”

What the fuck just happened?

#fanfic #fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp #imagines #weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fanfiction #smut #Slytherin #x Slytherin reader #writing prompt #prompt

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samstree · 3 years

Text

splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (1/?)

Geraskier, Prince!Jaskier, fairy tale elements but with a twist, fluff and angst, 6.9k, rated T

Read on AO3

Geralt finds himself drawn to the prince despite himself. As he and Jaskier grow closer, war also looms on the horizon. It's the stuff of fairy tales, but can a witcher find his happily ever after in the time of heartbreaks and deaths?

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened next?”

“The farm girl became a princess and married the prince. They lived happily ever after,” she smiled, her eyes so warm in the candlelight.

“But what next?”

“Happily ever after, sweetie. It means there will only be happiness for the rest of their lives.”

She places a kiss on the top of his head and blows out the candle. Her hands are soft and gentle when she tucks him in.

“Ma?”

“Yes?”

“Will we live happily ever after?”

She pauses in the darkness.

“Of course, my darling. Now you need to close your eyes—”

“Like the prince and the girl?”

“Even better.”

“But she married the prince. How can it be better?”

She sighs. The warmth of her palm brushes across his forehead, making his eyelids droop heavily.

“Your future holds much more, my sweet boy. You will find out tomorrow when you wake up.”

Sleep overcomes him. Indeed, he dreams of fairy tales and royal balls, magic spells and grand weddings.

The next morning, he wakes up believing in those happy ever afters.

Sometimes, when stones are thrown and pitchforks raised, Geralt regrets ever doing so.

The crown prince of Aedirn is a beautiful thing.

His pale blue doublet shines under the bright morning sun, the silvery embroidery sparkling in the light. A big smile —that ever-so-friendly smile that Prince Julian is known for— spreads across his face as a man with blond hair riding next to him speaks. Windswept brown hair brushes over his eyes, obscuring his youthful features.

Everything about him screams royalty. Privilege.

Even his horse is the most nicely-groomed white stallion Geralt has ever laid eyes on.

Prince Charming needs the whole get-up. The witcher snorts behind the bush, observing the royal convoy. It’s too small and moving way too slowly. They must have let down their guard because of the proximity to the castle. If Geralt were to assassinate a royal, he would choose to do it here as well.

It doesn’t take long for the first one to approach from the side of the road, hiding behind the shrub just like Geralt. The man in black works silently and quickly, but not as quickly as a witcher.

Geralt strangles him from behind, gripping tightly until the man passes out. A crossbow falls to the ground. The convoy travels ahead, unaware of the witcher disposing of a deadly threat to their prince’s life.

The swoosh of an arrow pierces the air.

“Protect the prince!”

Two dozen assassins in the same black suit appear out of thin air, charging into the royal guards’ formation. In an instant, the heap of pale-blue is tackled to the ground. Swords clash as more men start yelling.

“Fuck.”

Dodging a stray arrow, the witcher rushes into the chaos. The small convoy being overwhelmed by the incoming force, they hardly notice one of the assassins circling around the battle and moving directly to the prince. With a few long strides, Geralt stops the man with a clean strike.

“What—” the prince scrambles back at the sight of blood, looking at the witcher’s towering form with disbelief.

“You need to come with me,” Geralt says, before hauling him up by the collar of his doublet.

He half drags the prince to the hide-out. It’s only a cave where he left Roach earlier, but it should be enough. The young man slumps down against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Why are you—”

“Shh.” The witcher quickly crouches on the ground and presses his palm over the prince’s mouth. Distant footsteps disappear in another direction, before he slowly lets go. “We should be safe for now.”

In the quiet of the cave, he can hear the prince’s pounding heart, his eyes blown wide like a startled deer. Specks of blood smear across his cheeks, making him appear even younger.

“My men?”

“These are hired assassins. They will disperse once you are gone.” Geralt is surprised at how gentle his voice comes out. “Are you all right?”

“I—” the prince swallows, and looks down to his bicep where the flesh is grazed by an arrow. The wound is shallow and slowly seeping blood into the torn fabric. Geralt reckons that it should be fine left alone. “I’m fine. I—I’m…fine, yes. I’m alive.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, both in shock and relief. The prince tries to appear unaffected but the overwhelming panic in his scent betrays his seemingly neutral expression.

“You are lucky it didn’t go through your heart.” The witcher leaves him to check on Roach. Sensing the danger in the air, the mare has stayed quiet this whole time. He pats her mane in thanks. “Didn’t think the prince of Aedirn was this careless.”

“I didn’t think witchers got themselves involved in political squabbles either.” Cornflower blues meet Geralt piercingly, despite his shakiness. “I know who you are,” he chuckles tightly. “The witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt grunts.

“I didn’t get involved.”

The prince only gestures to himself, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve saved your ass. Now you can return to your castle and pretend we’ve never met, your highness.”

“Please, call me Jaskier.” The prince stands, patting the blue silk to get off the dirt and wincing when the movement tugs at his arm. “Aren’t you curious as to how I learned about you? Your fame precedes you, witcher.”

The young man meets his gaze assuredly. There’s no trace of fear in his scent.

People usually learn about Geralt one way—his moniker is not something to be escaped. But the prince doesn’t act like everyone else who meets the Butcher. Or at least, he hides it well.

“Are you not scared for your life, prince?”

“It’s Jaskier. And no, I’m not scared by the Butcher, if that’s what you mean.” There’s a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know you from a… mutual acquaintance, let’s say.”

“Oh?”

“Filavandrel mentioned you.”

“The elf king who hides in the mountains?” Geralt frowns. “I never really knew him. Not for more than a day.”

“No? He spoke of a white-haired witcher who was paid to hunt his people. Only that witcher left his own coin purse to them upon finding out about their circumstances. It showed compassion that no human had ever shown them, witcher. From his description, I thought the elven king and you shared a moment that day, or rather, an understanding.”

“Only of men.” He pauses. “Haven’t you come to the same understanding? Or why else would the prince of Aedirn make a target of himself by providing shelter to elven refugees?”

Geralt remembers his encounter with the elf king vividly, his anger and despair. The path took him back to Lower Posada years after that day. His curiosity drove him back to Dol Blathanna, only to find a much larger settlement and an exploding population of elves and other non-humans. Not only that, everyone there spoke of the kindness of the prince, who gave equal status to all sentient creatures on Aedirn soil.

“I see someone did homework on me.”

“People here sing your praises on the street day and night. It seems half the country has fallen in love with you,” Great admits begrudgingly.

“And the other half dislikes that I’m giving land away. Land that could have been providing for humans. The other half of my country believes I’m crazy just like all the other kings and queens in the north.”

The prince steps into Geralt’s space.

“You see, Geralt of Rivia, I cannot change the war that others deem just. I cannot stop the Lioness of Cintra from slaughtering elves and non-humans alike on the other side of the Yaruga. All I have is a piece of land in the Blue Mountains and, perhaps, I can provide them the means to rebuild. Those settlements are only a start.”

“It sounds like a noble cause, prince, but I’m not sure how much you can achieve.”

“Sometimes,” the prince’s attention shifts to Roach. “I wonder the same thing. The continent won’t change overnight just because one kingdom decides to show them a little bit of decency. The same decency that we humans are treated with all along.”

The young prince falls silent, his hand reaching out to touch Roach’s mane but retreats when she snorts anxiously. Geralt shushes the mare with a carrot from the pack.

“And I think, my friend,” the young prince continues. “Despite your claim of neutrality, you are on my side.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No? But I wish to become yours. After all, you just saved my life so selflessly and gallantly,” he proclaims dramatically. “You should have seen yourself, Geralt. So brave with a sword, like a knight from the stories! If we were in a fairy tale, this is where I offer myself to you in eternal gratitude.”

“Are all princes this cheeky?”

“I don’t know. Are all witchers this heroic and beautiful?” Blue eyes roam up and down the witcher’s body, before meeting his gaze with clear interest.

Geralt grunts, ducking away from direct eye contact with the prince. Suddenly the air in the cave feels too warm. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Are you being shy, Geralt the witcher?”

The teasing comes so naturally for the prince. Gods, is that why all the maidens out there are so enamored with him? With those easy smiles and dreamy blue eyes, as soon as he throws in some flirtatious words, any inexperienced country girl would swoon upon meeting with him.

What fools they all are.

“We are not in a fairy tale,” Geralt says, palming his face. “Don’t expect a happy ending from this, my prince.”

“Jaskier,” the prince repeats insistently. “Although I do like the way you call me ‘my prince’. I’d certainly like it more if we were in a… different situation.”

He raises an eyebrow suggestively, and Geralt wonders if he can un-save this ridiculous man’s life.

“Fine then. Jaskier.”

The prince, who insists his name is a flower, smiles smugly for having gotten his way.

“But why?” he then faces Geralt head-on, his voice steady. “Why help me? If you don’t seek the favor of a prince, and the conflict never concerns you?”

Geralt blinks.

He’s not sure what drove him to the decision. The only emotion he had upon hearing about a price on the head of the crown prince was unease. The witcher has seen the war and how all the non-humans were killed with little reason, their corpses a feast for ghouls. The prince of Aedirn made himself an enemy to many realms by taking in all the refugees.

It wouldn’t sit right to let him die.

“I was in Cintra a month ago,” Geralt answers.

Jaskier tilts his head.

“So was I. I went to negotiate the relocation of the defeated elves with Queen Calanthe.” Something dawns on him. “You heard something, didn’t you? Was this assassination ordered by her? The negotiation ended up a complete waste of time, but never have I thought she could resort to such a dishonorable way of killing. No matter how much she must want to get rid of me permanently… Oh, I—I never thought…”

The prince—Jaskier trails off, his face drained of blood.

“I only learned about the bounty on your head,” Geralt explains, confused by the prince’s sudden show of weakness. “Hired swords get quite loose-lipped after a few drinks. As to where the order came from—"

“Wait, I…"

A pained grunt escapes the prince’s throat. He sways on his feet ever so slightly, but steadies himself with a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. They both look down to where the wound is still trickling slowly, soaking his sleeve with a patch of dark crimson.

“Wait, I thought…” Geralt reaches out to hold Jaskier’s arm. His palm comes away covered in blood. “Shit, it shouldn’t be bleeding this much.”

“You followed all the way from Cintra, just to stop them from killing m—" Jaskier breaks off for air as Geralt rummages through his pack for bandages. The prince clenches the fabric over his chest, as if something is hurting him from within. “So much for… n—not getting involved.”

“Shut up, prince.” Geralt’s fingers reach the bandage. “Or Jaskier, or whatever flower you prefer.”

A strained smile contorts into a grimace on the prince’s face, his knees buckling.

“Shit.” The witcher barely manages to catch his limp body before his head hits the ground. Blue eyes become unfocused as his head sags against Geralt’s shoulder. “Jaskier? Prince? Can you hear me?”

Geralt inspects the wound on his arm closely for the first time, and that’s when his witcher senses pick up on the faint trail of bitterness.

“It’s poison,” he mutters and curses under his breath.

Jaskier whimpers weakly upon hearing the words, his eyes filled with full-blown panic. For the first time that day, the witcher senses potent fear in the prince’s scent.

Or is it his own?

Geralt can’t tell.

Roach is almost at her limits. The weight of two grown men puts a lot of tires her way too quickly, but Geralt doesn’t dare to slow down, not until he can see the castle walls.

“Don’t die now,” the witcher murmurs into the prince’s ear, who is slumped against his chest, half-delirious and slurring nonsense. The make-shift tourniquet on his arm is soaked through with specks of blood.

The poison is attacking his heart, Geralt notices. It’s also speeding it up, disrupting its rhythm. It’s the vicious kind, one that is designed to make the victim suffer before they die.

Jaskier’s face is white as a sheet, and his lips are turning a sickening purple. The trembling comes and goes, making it harder to keep him in place. His blue eyes roll back, and for a moment, Geralt thinks he’s lost him.

“We are here, prince. Do you hear me?” The gate opens when the guards realize that their prince is brought back injured. A lot of people are shouting but it’s all a blur when Geralt carries the prince down from the mare’s back. “Just hang on, Jaskier.”

Jaskier clings, his heartbeat fluttering dangerously.

They take Jaskier away with force, his limp hand slipping from Geralt’s grip. Someone kicks the witcher behind the knees, sending him to the ground. Weapons suddenly appear at his throat, stopping him from going any further.

“G’ralt…” Jaskier protests, his hands grabbing blindly.

“He needs a healer!” he shouts at those guards who only seem to be interested in restraining him.

Cornflower blues are fixed on golden yellow. The prince’s skin is covered in sweat, his lips quivering, struggling to form words. It takes a second for the witcher to realize that he’s talking to the guards.

“He saved my life. Don’t… He saved…me,” Jaskier chokes out a breath, and Geralt feels those guards release him.

The witcher is left kneeling as more men surround the prince and rush him inside. They’re either fussing over Jaskier or calling for help. His faint heartbeat gets lost in the commotion.

“Wait, is he going to—"

The gate shuts in his face. The last thing he sees is Jaskier collapsing in someone’s arms.

No word about the prince comes out for months. Not about the assassination. Not about his poisoning.

Rumor says that he was gravely injured during the attack, and that he has been bed-ridden since returning from Cintra. Some even suspect that he’s already dead.

“…I opened the envelope and it was an invitation from the prince!”

“It was magical, wasn’t it? He doesn’t show up for ages and suddenly we are all invited to a ball! In his castle! A royal ball where anyone can attend, no less! I heard he will choose one to marry tonight.”

“Although I heard he’s sick for quite some time…”

Geralt ducks his head while listening in on the two women’s conversation. They are each dressed in a luxurious ball gown, their faces powered and lips painted. Like everyone else in the room, they are trying to impress the prince at his first outing in months.

But that is not why he is here.

Geralt has been lingering in Aedirn since that day, when he sent Jaskier back to the castle with poison coursing through his veins, not knowing what would become of him. Months of dead silence only make his stomach sink further.

A chance presented itself when news came out that the prince will hold a ball to the public.

It only makes sense that he should go and check, just to make sure Jaskier is all right. After all, he doesn’t want to put in all the effort to save someone only to never know if he will end up fine.

He will see for himself that Jaskier is well, and then he will leave.

He will not get involved.

Of course not.

Geralt takes another sip of the wine, surprised at the buzz it gives to his temporarily human body. When the mage sold him the potion that could hide all visible witcher traits, she did not mention it would also slow his metabolism to an ordinary human’s.

“The disguise will expire at midnight, when the bell strikes twelve.” Luckily she didn’t forget about this.

What a cliché.

It seems that no mage can resist a touch of dramatics.

For now, he looks like another random lord with dark hair and brown eyes. She also threw in a spell to turn his clothes into a silky ensemble in a muted black color.

“His royal highness, Prince Julian!” someone announces.

The crowd turns their eyes to the top of the stairs, where the heavy wooden doors open in everyone’s anticipation. One of the two women lets out an audible gasp as the prince steps out.

And there he is, Jaskier.

Those blue eyes are bright as the sky, those cheeks rosy-pink. He’s a picture of health compared to the last time Geralt held him in his arms. The witcher lets out a relieved sigh he never knew he was holding.

A smile spreads across the prince’s face. Suddenly the wine isn’t the only thing making Geralt all warm and fuzzy inside.

The prince descends the stairs with such elegance, his doublet a pristine ivory color under the chandelier’s sparkling light. The clothes sit perfectly on his frame, but with a heavy heart, Geralt realizes that he’s also lost weight.

It’s minuscule, and the puffy sleeves hide it well, but it’s there. Bed-ridden for a long time, they say. The witcher swallows the lump in his throat.

The crowd parts for the prince, retreating to the edge of the dance floor. No one dares to breathe as they await his invitation to the first dance. Once the dancing starts, the music will be too loud and the people too busy, giving the witcher a window to easily disappear into the night. But Jaskier continues to search through the crowd as if he has a specific someone to look for.

Before Geralt can even react, blue eyes have locked with his. The piercing blue makes him instinctively want to hide, but the witcher is frozen to the spot. The prince walks directly towards him, the grin spreading even wider if that is possible.

“May I have the first dance?” Jaskier reaches out, his palm facing up.

Countless eyes fall on Geralt, making his skin prickle, but he pays no mind. All he can focus on is the prince’s expectant look. Even now, without his witcher hearing to know Jaskier’s heartbeat, he can see the tentative hope in the way Jaskier seems to hold his breath.

Geralt takes his hand.

The royal garden is quiet under the night sky. The cool breeze is nice on Geralt’s skin, the faint hum of cicadas a soothing balm to his ear after hours of music and dance.

“Apologies. I was getting a little… uncomfortable in there.” The prince leads the witcher to a bench. His hand rubs at his heart like it’s bothering him.

“Are you well, my prince?” Geralt helps him sit down.

“Please, call me Jaskier.”

Geralt pauses. Does Jaskier tell his preferred name to anyone? Even a stranger he just met at a ball?

“Why Jaskier?”

“It’s the person I dream to be,” he answers wistfully but adds nothing to explain. Geralt wonders why a prince could possibly dream to be another person.

“I see.” He nods. “Are you feeling alright, Jaskier?”

The prince’s eyes soften as he reaches out to tuck a lock of curly brown hair out of Geralt’s face. The movement is so gentle that the witcher can’t help but catch his hand, holding those slender fingers in his palm.

They are way too slender, he thinks. Repressed worry bubbles up in his throat again.

“I’m fine now.” Jaskier squeezes his hand reassuringly. “Although I haven’t been for a few months, as you already know.”

“Uh…yes.” Geralt splutters. This closeness, combined with the touch of skin, seems to be slowing his brain. “There are rumors, from outside the castle. It was an attack, wasn’t it? At least that’s what I heard.”

“It was. They used poison, no less. The healers told me that it weakened my heart, even stopped it for a few seconds.” He chuckles sadly, threading their fingers together and pressing both their hands over his chest. “The pain still comes and goes these days, but I cope.”

The thumping underneath Geralt’s hand is rhythmic. Calming. It feels so fragile, especially now that he knows how little it takes to stop it. To snuff out the light in those cornflower-blue eyes along with it. And yet, this heart keeps beating.

“I’m glad you survived, Jaskier.”

The name comes out reverent, like a prayer.

“So am I, my friend.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

Moonlight frames Jaskier’s fond expression, giving it a soft glow. Long lashes cast a shadow on his faint blush. A grin spreads across the prince’s face when he answers.

“I hope? Or maybe I can hope for more. After all, this ball is held so I can find my future intended in the crowd.”

The implication makes Geralt’s breath hitch. He blinks.

“You don’t even know my name.”

Jaskier’s eyes darken as he leans in. His hand comes up to cradle Geralt’s chin. “Somehow, I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

The crisp night air is mixed with the fresh smell of grass, but on top of it is a floral scent that reminds him of spring and hope. Geralt lets his senses be overwhelmed by the prince, by his soft breaths ghosting over his skin and those enchanting lips well within reach.

Not getting involved, the back of his mind screams.

Despite himself, Geralt meets Jaskier halfway, their lips a hair’s breadth away when—

The bell strikes. Once, twice…

The noise is the loudest wake-up call, turning Geralt’s blood to ice. What is he doing? Is it midnight already? Fuck… he needs to get out of here before the magic expires.

“I need to go,” Geralt blurts out. “I have to leave right now. Ah… I’m so sorry.”

Jaskier’s brows knit together in confusion. “What is wrong? I thought you—”

“I came here to make sure you are all right, Prince Julian. Nothing more. It was never my intention to let you believe there could be anything else.”

The prince’s face dims at his apology. The dejection on his face tugs at something in Geralt’s chest. It leaves him wanting, but there’s no time. The bell counts down his sentence.

He takes Jaskier’s hand and places a simple kiss there, and turns to leave, only to be halted by the prince’s tightening hold.

“Wait, you don’t have to go."

“You don’t understand,” Geralt’s voice quivers with urgency. “It’s important that I leave.”

Those gentle fingers wrap around Geralt’s steadily, Jaskier’s skin cool against his. The prince continues to ignore his plea. If anything, he steps closer.

“Stay. Please.” Jaskier whispers, and it’s all it takes.

The witcher can break free easily, but for some reason he is unable. For some reason, he feels the weakest he has ever been under the intensity of Jaskier’s pleading gaze.

To his horror, the magic fades. Geralt can feel his hair change and grow longer, his teeth sharpening. The flow of chaos stings his eyes that are certainly turning back to yellow. His face crumbles.

And yet, Jaskier never wavers.

If anything, the adoration in those stormy blues only grows, ever so beautifully, as the swirl of magic circles around Geralt, revealing plain clothes instead of silk.

The bell strikes twelve.

The sound still echoes in the air. Slowly, with the utmost determination, Jaskier’s fingers thread through what is now silver-white hair. Tears glisten in his eyes.

“You told me we were not in a fairy tale, and yet, you try to leave me at midnight. You tried to leave me here under the stars. Alone and heartbroken.” The prince lets out a wet chuckle. “Because you think I wouldn’t recognize the man who saved my life. You think I wouldn’t know the witcher who’s risking everything right now just to see that I am well. I’d know you anywhere, Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier’s feather-light touch continues to trace the shell of Geralt’s ear, the tiny scar under his eye, and then finally, the corner of his mouth. It’s not often, in his long life, that Geralt gets his breath taken away, least of all by a prince.

“How?”

“I suspected,” Jaskier whispers. “Or rather I hoped when I saw you in the ballroom. I prayed. That it’s you.”

“You danced with me because—”

“Because I wanted to thank you properly. We were kind of in a hurry last time.” The prince teases, his palm tilting Geralt’s chin. “May I?”

He nods.

As if in a dream, soft lips press against his, tasting of salt and moonlight. Geralt lets out a tiny gasp as Jaskier opens him up patiently and draws it out like they have all the time in the world. Like he’s something to be treated with gentleness. Something to be treasured.

He pulls away panting, only to realize that tears are rolling down Jaskier’s cheeks freely, so he catches them with the pad of his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Geralt shushes him, but Jaskier sniffles with a smile.

“I’m not upset. Trust me when I say these are tears of joy.” Red-rimmed eyes sparkle like the stars. “But Geralt…”

“Yes?”

“Will I see you again?”

Geralt blinks. He only sneaked into a royal court with one goal. Now that he has achieved it and more, there’s nothing that should bring him back to Jaskier again. His heart twists painfully at the idea, and words tumble out of his mouth. The last of his sanity screams against it, and yet his heart has made the decision.

“I hope, Jaskier. I can only hope to see you again.”

Jaskier beams as he presses another kiss to Geralt’s wrist.

“That is enough for me.”

“Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh…”

Jaskier’s voice echoes hauntingly. In front of him, the elven family sits huddled together, listening intently. The two children are concentrating so hard that they are almost falling off their parents’ laps. Finally, as the soft strumming of the lute comes to an end, they start clapping with passion.

From a distance, Geralt can only see the prince from behind, but somehow he can sense the big smile Jaskier returns to those excited children. The wind in the Blue Mountains ruffles his brown hair. Jaskier continues to take off the strap and carefully hands the lute to the elven woman.

The witcher approaches quietly.

“…thank you so much! It is such a beautiful instrument.” Jaskier’s voice is warm and welcoming. She’s certainly charmed when they keep talking about music and folk songs.

Geralt stands there and lets Jaskier’s presence wash over him. In the end, it’s the other woman who notices him and gestures in his direction.

Jaskier turns his head and beams.

“Geralt! What brings you here?”

With a few long strides, the prince rushes over and slams their bodies into a bear hug. Anyone who’s not a witcher might have been knocked over by the force, but Geralt catches Jaskier steadily.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” Jaskier exclaims as he presses a chaste pack to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I haven’t seen you since the manticore hunt.”

“It was still weird that you would want to come with me on hunts.”

“What is life if not to see your favorite witcher in action?” Jaskier waves it off as if a prince getting monster gut all over himself is a common occurrence. He checks Geralt all over. “Anyway, how’s the path treating you, my dear? Any injuries? Exciting stories?”

“The path is fine.” His excitement is too contagious that Geralt feels his lips tug upwards. “And it hasn’t been long. Two months at most.”

“Nonsense. Any amount of time not seeing you feels like ages.”

The parents lead their children away, the girl still humming the song from Jaskier’s private performance.

“I didn’t know the prince could play the lute. Or sing,” he teases.

“Ha! I’m full of surprises, you shall see! Besides, I always thought—” Jaskier cuts himself off, ducks his head before continuing. “I always thought that in another life, I would have been a bard.”

“Would you?”

“Mm-hmm. I would travel the continent, write songs about heroes and adventures. With a lute on my back, I could go to the edge of the world and beyond. Maybe even meet some interesting people, find my muse, or… fall in love.”

He winks at Geralt cheekily when the witcher realizes something.

“So is Jaskier the stage name you picked? For this bard life?”

“Why yes.” Jaskier sounds so surprised. “How do you know? Oh, my dear witcher, you do understand me like no one else! Not even Valdo is a match to you, no matter how well he claims to know me.”

The mention of Valdo Marx’s name sends a pang of bitterness through Geralt, though he has learned long ago that it’s irrational. The prince’s life-long friend, now an important right-hand man, is the most devoted advisor in Jaskier’s council. He’s supported Jaskier in everything throughout his life, having done nothing wrong by the prince, and yet, Geralt can’t bring himself to like the man.

Maybe it’s because of his too-shiny blonde hair. It gives him a headache if he stares at it for too long. Maybe it’s his all-knowing eyes that tend to judge the witcher silently every time they meet. The distrust is too typical for politicians such as him.

Or maybe, it’s because anyone with eyes can see how Valdo is desperately in love with Jaskier, but apparently, it’s not that obvious to the prince himself.

“I know because only you will have a tacky name like Buttercup for your professional career.” The words come out more sour than Geralt expected.

Jaskier squawks with rightful indignation, and Geralt can’t help but snort out a laugh. It’s truly too easy to rile him up.

“It’s just hard to picture.” The witcher continues, while taking Jaskier’s hand. “Someone like you, with soft hands like these. It would take a lot of hard work if you want to make it as a musician. I’m not sure if my prince is up for that job.”

Jaskier slaps him on the arm offendedly. “I’ll have you know, Geralt of Rivia! I am perfectly capable of enduring hardship for the right cause! Now that was truly rude of you to assume that I am spoiled just because I’m a prince! Really, it’s very unbecoming of you!”

“Hmm.” Geralt tilts his head, amused. “And what is a right cause in your book?”

All jokes dissipate after that question.

The prince looks around to the new camps and make-shift houses, everything illuminated by the setting sun. Bonfires are lit where families are gathered after dinner, laughing and dancing together, despite the hardship that brought them here.

“I want everyone on my land to live happily, no matter how they came to Aedirn. I wish they could all see it as a home,” Jaskier says sadly. “That is the most important cause in my life, Geralt. Although I’m not sure if that’s just a fantasy.”

Geralt squeezes the prince’s hands gently. They are exceedingly soft, and cold to the touch. The witcher used to assume that Jaskier just runs a little colder than the average person. But later, to his dismay, he found out that it’s yet another result of the poisoning.

He never wants to see Jaskier’s chest pain flare up again. He never wants to see Jaskier bend over in agony, his hands turning into blocks of ice from the lack of blood flow, his face skin covered in sweat in an instant. Just witnessing it happen almost gives Geralt phantom pain. What’s worse is that there’s nothing he can do but wait it out, holding Jaskier close and rocking him back and forth slowly.

At least he’s now feeling contrite. Teasing Jaskier about not being strong enough was a low blow, when in fact, the young prince is the furthest from deserving such an accusation.

He doesn’t need swords or muscles to be strong.

Jaskier is strong for his stubbornness and his unwavering faith. The elven settlement around them is the best testament. He carried on despite being hated by all other kingdoms, despite the attempt on his life, one that was nearly fatal. One that still hurts him in the quiet of the night.

“Fantasy or not,” Geralt’s insides melt at the way Jaskier looks at him expectantly. “I’d like to see it through with you, if you allow me to.”

Blue eyes suddenly sparkle with renewed excitement.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Geralt?” Jaskier asks carefully as if he could spook the witcher. “Are you finally saying yes to my proposal?”

“I’m considering it.”

“You’ve been considering it since the first time I asked!”

“You asked on our third ever meeting, Jaskier.” Geralt chuckles in exasperation. “And you’ve been asking every time we see each other.”

“And you’ve been giving me the same response every time.” His pout is too adorable Geralt wants to kiss it away. “One might suggest it’s rude to string a prince along like this.”

Geralt hums while cupping Jaskier’s jaw in his palm, tilting it so their gazes meet.

“One might also suggest that our beloved Prince Julian is too good for a witcher like me.”

Ho only means to joke but the smile on Jaskier’s face falls, hurt immediately replacing the earlier chirpiness.

“Shit, Jask… Forget I said that.” Geralt closes his eyes, regretting having ruined the moment.

“Darling, we talked about this.”

“No, you’re right. Of course…”

Jaskier takes the witcher’s hand and places a kiss in his palm. “I won’t allow terrible things to be said about the man I love, and that includes you, my dear. I’d hate it if you joined those senseless folk who can’t see you for the good man you are.” He bites into his lower lip. “Now, I understand if you have reservations about us. I mean, what I am… or what I do, is a lot. I won’t rush you into a decision anymore. I never meant to pressure you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Jaskier.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “We are from completely different worlds. Anyone who has eyes will tell you we’re not compatible.”

“Did Valdo say something to you again? Or is that truly what you believe?” Jaskier takes a step back. “Do you wish to end things with me? I—I’ll understand if you want to—"

“No, Jask.”

“—I know how much I’m keeping you in Aedirn, and maybe you wish to be free of court rules and politics and—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt interjects, and cornflower blues meet him in earnest. He knows too well how the prince could spiral out of control, dredging up all the terrible scenarios hidden in the dark corner of his mind. Jaskier looks so lost right now and all Geralt wants to do is make it better, so he does it with action, as always.

He kisses Jaskier with a bruising force. It’s too rushed, too clumsy compared to the gentle caress they normally share, but it conveys everything Geralt cannot promise yet. Not out loud. Not right now.

Geralt threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, playing with the soft locks. He lets Jaskier lean against his shoulder when they break off the kiss.

“I’m yours, my prince,” he whispers.

“Have I told you how much I love it when you call me that.”

Geralt hides his amusement in soft brown hair.

“Many times, my prince,” he indulges Jaskier. “And yet I cannot help but worry. I fear that things will not work because of our differences. I am a witcher. I am the Butcher of Blaviken, no matter how noble you believe me to be. I will never become someone else. Not like in fairy tales, where a farm girl can transform into a princess and suddenly become worthy of her prince. I fear you’ll make too many compromises because of who I am, bear too many scrutinies, and you will end up resenting me.”

Jaskier shakes his head at those words, his hair ticking Geralt’s ear.

“You speak of my sacrifices, but what about you?” His hand rests between Geralt’s shoulder blades. “You’ve walked the continent for so long. Will you resent me for caging you in a castle because of who I am?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes the name solemnly. “You promised to never trap me in the drudgery of court life. You promised that no matter what we become, I can always return to my path when my heart desires. I trust you on that.”

“And I trust you in return, that you won’t dishonor me. Not in ways that matter.”

They pull away. The sun is hanging just on the horizon, drawing a golden line around Jaskier’s hair.

“I will ask one thing of you, my prince,” Geralt says. “Allow me more time to be sure. Of myself and of our future.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkle at the corners, taking the witcher’s hand and presses it over his heart, where the doublet is left wide open. The warmth of his skin seeps through the thin chemise and into Geralt’s calloused palm.

“Don’t you see, my darling? I’d give you the stars if you asked. What is a little more time?” His chest rises and falls. “Although I need you to promise something as well.”

“What is it?”

The last of the sunlight fades, darkening Jaskier’s eyes like a stormy night.

“Don’t break my heart in the meantime.”

The plea comes out desperate, vulnerable. Under his palm, Geralt feels the soft thumping that he knows to be fragile.

“I won’t,” he breathes the words reverently. “I promise.”

Jaskier’s heart is so full of the world and its sufferings, so full that there’s hardly room left for himself. So full that the witcher should build a shrine for whatever gods out there that it gives him any attention. To think that he has any power over it, that he can hurt it easily, makes his stomach turn.

He’d live out his life fulfilling that promise if allowed.

The witcher walks the path just like he’s done for the past decades. Temeria’s wind is as freezing as ever, and its secrets even more so.

Another dangerous contract is nothing new, and yet, something in him shifts. Somehow, the days ahead are no longer painted with monotonous black and white, but an unpredictable mixture of colors—orange like the setting sun on Jaskier’s long lashes, or rosy-pink like the too-easy blush that dusts over his cheeks when he’s pretending to be unaffected by Geralt’s attention.

More often than not, he sees in his future the blue of Jaskier’s eyes, deep and vast like the sea.

The same blue is what flashes across Geralt’s eyes as the striga’s teeth bury into his neck. With the crypt cold and hard against his back, the witcher would laugh at the irony of it if not for the blood choking in his throat.

Funny how the moment of revelation does not come in a whirlwind of poetry, one that is befitting to Jaskier. The moment Geralt realizes that he is finally ready to take Jaskier’s hand might just be his last moment.

He drifts into bottomless darkness and wakes to cool fingers on his forehead.

And here Jaskier is, sitting by his bedside, his frame so lonely in the Temple of Melitele. A relieved sigh by his lips and tired bruises under his eyes. Gone is his composed regality. Jaskier looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he just rode all the way here with wind still in the tousled mess of his hair.

“Yes,” Geralt croaks.

The prince rushes forward to fuss over his bandages and splints, cooing with the most distressed frown. “What do you need, my dear?”

“Yes.” Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand, caressing those cool fingers. The stitches in his neck tug uncomfortably.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, my prince.”

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @theultimatenerdd

Are the tags working? Anyway feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #prince!jaskier #fairy tale elements #hurt/comfort #i can't believe this became a full story #hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #geralt doesn't see himself as a heroic knight #and jaskier is hardly a traditional prince charming #knight and prince dynamic with a twist

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lilxberry · 4 years

Text

Fond Of This Dwarf - Thorin Oakenshield

Requested By: @heyitsgarnet

Hi! I really love your writing! Could I request a Thorin x elf reader who's with the company? He's kind of an doushe to her but then she saves his ass from orcs or something and he's like "oh shit I'm in love." thank yooou! <3

This probably isn’t exactly what you were looking for but I think it’s sweet and does just a good a job. I’m so sorry it took me forever to finish your request, I really wish I could’ve done something for you sooner. Thank you so much for being patient

Warnings: Probably a bad word somewhere lmao. I guess racism??? Angst. Fluff. Mentions of war and death. Pretty much it, I reckon.

Words: 2,331

Parings: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader (x elf reader) (x female reader)

_______________

How on Middle Earth had Gandalf think adding you to a company that consisted of multiple dwarves were a good decision you’ll never quite know. You’re completely certain that the grey wizard knew of the dwarves hatred for elves, of course he knew, definitely explains the precautions he had taken when introducing you to those who you were to travel to the lonely mountain with.

Luckily, that hatred slowly dispersed as time passed during your journey. All the dwarves had eventually taken a liking to you, apart from the ever grouchy, complacently brooding Thorin Oakensheild. Even Dwalin had begun to be a more civilised dwarf towards you, for Valars’ sake!

The first one to show some form of kindness to you were Balin. Obviously, he had reason to be all sorts of rude and crude towards you because of your race but you figured he has witnessed enough hostility within his lifetime so refused to show any when truly nessicary.

Ori had been next. It took some time considering he was under the watchful eyes and influential words of his older brothers. Fílí and Kílí followed after that and before you knew it, they all began to follow suit.

Needless to say, you and Bilbo had no issues from the get-go. In fact, you were and still are joined at the hip. And Gandalf, well, he’s Gandalf. You’re not even sure he can actually hate anything.

The journey had been long and treacherous, but you were getting closer and closer each day, even with each and every hindrance and snag you faced. Running everyday for survival is outright exhausting but utterly needed, which is what you were currently partaking in.

“I spy-“

Ori was swiftly cut off with a collective groan from the company whilst you and Bilbo shared an amused look, no doubt Gandalf had a similar expression across his face at the front of the group.

“Not again, lad, for the love of Mahal, please.” Dwalin grumbled as he pressed his fingers against his forehead as if trying to sooth a forming migraine. Ori visibly deflates and sighs quietly, looking like a kicked puppy.

“No, go on, Ori. I’ll play with you.” He perked up just as quickly as he had been denied moments earlier. He beamed up towards you as he straightened out his posture.

“I spy, with my little eye, something…beginning with…T!”

“Tree.” The company’s response was almost automatic, the answer as clear as daylight.

You and Bilbo chuckled before you both turned your attention to the dwarf beside you once again looking down and ashamed. “Don’t worry, Ori. I’m sure as we get closer to the lonely mountain, we’ll find more things to spy.” Bilbo’s encouragement was so sweet that you just had to jump in and help brighten the young dwarfs sour mood also.

“Definitely. Don’t get me started about the endless possibilities for ‘I spy’ inside Erebor.” Ori smiled his widest smile towards you and the hobbit as the others chuckled. All finding amusement in your merriment of a silly childs’ game. All except one.

“You humour me how you would think I would allow you to step foot inside my mountain.”

All humour, all happiness quickly faded until there were scowling faces amongst everyone. You furrowed your shaped eyebrows and slowed to a stop and burn holes into the back of Thorins’ head. You shook your head and began to walk once more with haste, shouldering the rude dwarf as you pass him and race ahead of the company.

You wouldn’t admit it, not verbally, not so outwardly, but his words and distain towards you hurt, very much so. Even though Thorin has shown nothing but his dislike towards you, you couldn’t help to admire his strong will, his caring side that he had shown his kin, his handsome appearance-

-‘NO! Y/N, stop it!’ You scolded yourself mentally as you shook your head to rid yourself of those thoughts just as quickly as they had entered your mind once more. He didn’t like you, not your race at least. He made that more than obvious for you and everyone around you.

You sighed inwardly before slowing your strides, allowing the company to catch up to where you had stormed off. You could hear the scolding the few bold enough to do so were giving Thorin, though you knew that the probability of him actually considering of what they were saying were nought.

Someone, who you presumed to be Gandalf, cleared their throat, noting the proximity between you and the group now they have caught up to your small steps. The silence consumed the company as they all sluggishly dragged their feet as they trudged along, awkwardness surrounding each and every dwarf, once again, all except that stubborn royal pain in the jacksie.

“Out of the way, elf.” He spat the name of your kind with such distain and disgust that your heart panged with an immense pain, your chest tightened, your intake of breath quick and sharp. You felt the burning of tears build up within your eyes as he passed you gruffly but refused to let them fall.

You will NOT seem weak in front of people- no, dwarves- like him. Bilbo caught up to walk beside you and places a gentle, comforting hand on to your forearm, smiling up at you sympathetically. The rest of the walk was silent, that was until you all heard the shrill cry of an orcs horn.

_______________

Your lungs begged for air, every inch of muscle within your body burned and longed for rest. Fatigue was catching up with all of you and fast.

“We cannot run any longer, we must stand our ground!” You couldn’t tell if Dwalin was pleading or trying to be demanding with Thorin and Gandalf, all you knew was that his tone was as brass and harsh as usual.

“We can take them, of do you really have such little faith towards your company, Thorin?!” You huffed, clearly just as agitated and enraged as the others.

Thorin halted immediately and swiftly turned on his heel to face you, a deep, raging fire of hatred filled his gaze. He groaned in aggravation and drew his sword, ensuring the others quickly followed suit. You deeply exhaled through your nose and you spun yourself around to face the oncoming threat as you unshouldered you bow and raising it higher.

You withdrew an arrow from your quiver, quickly lining your body perpendicular towards the enemy and drawing the arrow back towards your cheek, staring down the length of the arrow. You exhaled as you released your firm grip and so, first blood had been drawn.

_______________

It was nearing the end of the gruelling battle but in truth, it was difficult to tell, exhaustion taking over every single one of the company. It felt as though the enemy just kept coming, multiplying as you take a singular orc down.

Blood coated you and the others, mainly that of orcs and Wargs alike, dried and cracked. As you took down yet another enemy, you heaved out a shaky breath, exhaling heavily with a slight groan.

You looked towards the others, all seemingly fairing well, all grouped together, all except, you guessed it, Thorin. Two orcs atop their Wargs brought the dwarf down on to the hard, filthy ground, defenceless, weapon astray. He crawled backwards, even that looked like such a struggle for him though.

The Wargs snarled and growled as they closed in on the drained dwarf, the orcs straddled upon their fur coated backs grinning wickedly. As quick as a whippet, you powered through your own exhaustion and pain and sprinted towards the predators closing in on their prey.

You released a cry of anger and frustration as you withdrew your elven sword from its place on your back before bringing it down on to the beasts head, emitting a pained whimper before it fell harshly against the floor, body now limp and lifeless.

The orc that once sat atop the dead creature stood from where it landed next to its Wargs’ corpse with a seething anger and charged towards you. You swiftly cut him down and turned your focus to the final orc/Warg duo all the while Thorin looked on with wide eyes and bated breath, watching you with a new found admiration.

Almost as quickly as the last, you had taken down the enemy and collapsed down to your knees, exhaustion washing over you completely. Your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you inhaled and exhaled heavily in repeat.

“Are you…okay lass?” Balin approached you cautiously as the others watched on, concern and their own tiredness evident on their faces. All you could offer in response was a single nod of your head.

Thorin snapped out of his reverie and slowly came to a stand, but before he could proceed to close the gap between the two of you, you raised to your own feet and began to walk away from the group. “We should keep moving. No doubt another pack or two is a day behind them.”

“Yes, Miss Y/N makes a valid argument. Come on.” Gandalf had gruffly agreed with the statement made from over your shoulder. And with that, the company tiredly trudged further along, leaving behind the corpses of their slain foes and the final dwarves’ disdain towards you.

_______________

“We make camp here.” Thorin’s authoritative command travelled throughout the clearing within trees and into the ears of the company. Pained grunts, relieved sighs and heavy knapsacks thudding against the ground were Thorin’s confirmation that he had been heard.

He dragged his feet as he walked over to lazily slump against the bark of a sturdy tree, exhaling heavily through his nose and closing his eyes, basking in the knowledge that he lives to see a new day. His eyes barely reopen as he scans across each and every member of the company. Or at least, nearly every member.

He luckily caught a smidge of your form disappearing past the treeline and his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Surely you were tired? You had to be from all the walking and fighting you’ve done. Why would you head off away from the others?

With a huff of air, he pushed himself from his leaning position against the sturdy trunk and headed off towards the direction you disappeared in. Thorin kept himself quiet as he walked weaved passed trees, his strides small and light footed. He came to a slight clearing which was perfectly illuminated in the moons light, a heavenly glow across the small, vacant area.

And then he spotted you.

Sat precisely in the centre of it all, eyes softly closed, eyelashes resting on your cheek ever so delicately, the light breeze brushing your hair back from your face, a face that, even though is covered by the dried and cracked crimson smears, looked fair and filled with serenity, a calmness that was affect Thorin in many ways.

He had become so entranced that he hadn’t realised that he walked out into the opening further as he stared, stared at someone who he considered the enemy for far too long, at someone who he now admired, at someone who has kindled a newfound feeling deep within him.

“Are you going to keep standing around like some lemon or are you going to join me?” the sudden sound of your voice actually caused the dwarf to jump ever so slightly, taken off guard. You peeked an eye open, finding the situation amusing at a miniscule amount.

Thorin cleared his throat and wiped his hands down his front with a tinge of nervousness before making his way over and lowering himself beside you, arms rested atop his knees. A silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable passed before he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

The simple two-word statement accompanied by his deep, gruff voice caused your eyes to widen slightly and snap your head towards the dwarf to your right. “W-what?”

“I’m sorry. For how I acted before. It wasn’t fair of me to judge you based purely off of who, or rather what, they are. I’m greatly disappointed with myself. Please forgive my ignorance.”

You were flabbergasted. THE Thorin Oakenshield, a prideful and stubborn dwarf, was apologising, hell, even begging, for your forgiveness. Thorin must’ve thought you were trying to imitate that of a fish out of water, your mouth opening and closing multiple times as you searched for the right words to proceed.

You recomposed yourself impossibly fast before flashing the sheepish, nerve wracked dwarf in royal blue and furs a kind, sweet, small smile. “It is okay, Master dwarf. It isn’t as if you had no base reason for your hatred towards my kind. Hopefully, like the rest of the company, we may put our bad blood behind us and move forward working together.”

Thorins’ sigh of relief was large and fairly loud, causing for a small giggle to pass your lips. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he flashed you the smallest, microscopic of smiles. “I’m glad. Oh, and thank you. For saving me.”

You gazed at him with such a soft and gentle expression that he was certain he could have melted at the sight. “Your most certainly welcome.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his hair covered cheek before ever so gently laying your head atop his broad shoulder. His whole body tensed at the actions before slowly unwinding, leaving him red in the face and bashfully playing with his fingers.

A peaceful, comforting silence quickly engulfed you two as you sat side by side, his arm now loosely wrapped around your waist, basking in the beautiful surrounding area. You weren’t sure how long you two had sat within each other’s embrace, but you weren’t one to rush a nice thing when it presented itself, so you continued in your contented bliss with a dwarf you had grown quite fond of. Fond of indeed.

_______________

AAYYYYOOOO IS THIS AN UPLOAD??!

That’s right ya dang bunch of cutie pies, I ain’t dead

My uploading is still extremely slow but I thought, since I’m close to being on top with my college work, I would finally finish this fic

It’s weird and probably makes no sense but it’s the best I can do with the amount of stress I’m enduring ‘cause of college so bare with me peeps

Anywho, I hope you enjoy reading this

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

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jaskicr · 4 years

Text

reverse au BUT canon universe geralt and jaskier are sent to an alternate universe where their roles are reversed but they remember their canon lives

ft. bamf jaskier and blushy geralt

canon universe geralt and jaskier touch a weird artefact and they’re sent to an alternate universe where jaskier is a witcher and geralt is human

(this is established relationship)

so they grow up without memories of their past (???) selves but they get vague impressions/dreams that tell them something’s not right

they regain their full memories they’re 15/16 ish

jaskier is born first. he’s sent to kaer morhen and goes through the training and the trials to become a witcher (he gets extra mutations bc i said so, im a sucker for witcher!jaskier with white hair and cat eyes ok)

he remembers his life as a bard when he’s 16, not long before he sets out on the path

and he realises that geralt isn’t with him in kaer morhen - he’s in the cohort geralt would have been, he’s friends with eskel and all that, but geralt isn’t here

and jaskier thinks that whatever happened, geralt must be dead

it hurts, as he walks around kaer morhen, knowing that geralt should be there, knowing that, in another life, geralt had walked within the same walls

but jaskier still holds out hope, returning to kaer morhen every winter and hoping that someone like geralt would show up

but geralt never does, and on his travels, jaskier asks mages and researches to find a way to reverse whatever was done, but he can’t

after maybe 2 decades, jaskier gives up and properly mourns the witcher he had known, who doesn’t exist here

once, he tries picking up the lute, but it hurts too much. it reminds him of what he’s lost, reminds him that geralt isn’t here

he puts down the lute and picks up his swords. he doesn’t touch the lute after that

something like blaviken still happens but maybe in a different way bc it’s jaskier

a few decades after jaskier is born, geralt is born into a noble family

from a young age, he’s unnervingly good at sword fighting and combat, and he enjoys it, but something draws him to music

at first geralt isn’t very good at it, but there’s an inexplicable urge within him that tells him to continue, a quiet yearning for melody and music that makes him want to be good at it

so he goes to oxenfurt, and that’s when he remembers being a witcher once, remembers the path, remembers jaskier

and he searched desperately for jaskier. he scours the campus, asking professors and students, searching the faculty and alumni

but no one has heard of jaskier

and geralt knows that there’s no way that jaskier wouldn’t have gone to oxenfurt - the only reason jaskier isn’t here, isn’t in whatever universe this is, is because he’s dead

geralt vows to live in jaskier’s memory, and he takes up the lute

he misses jaskier’s singing, misses his songs. so he learns the lute, learns to sing, so that there’s always a part of jaskier with him

when geralt graduates from oxenfurt, he sets out on the road

in a fit of nostalgia, he travels to posada, something bittersweet and wistful rising within him

unbeknownst to geralt, jaskier is heading to posada as well, tracking a contract

they unknowingly end up in the same tavern

at this point, jaskier has learnt to tune out bards. it hurts too much to remember what he’ll never have, so he doesn’t register the bard that’s playing right now

geralt is playing when he spots a dark figure in the corner, black armour and swords marking him out as a witcher

it’s all too familiar, and a tentative hope blooms in geralt’s heart

maybe -

he makes his way over, heart hammering, and says the words etched deep into his memory

‘i love the way you just.. sit in the corner and brood’

and geralt’s heart is in his throat, hoping and hoping and hoping for the right response

and jaskier hears a familiar voice saying words he had said, a lifetime ago

jaskier raises his head and sees a familiar face, a face he knows as well as his own despite the different hair and eyes and stature, and his heart stutters

it can’t be. but it is. and jaskier just knows.

geralt almost cries when unnaturally bright blue eyes with slitted pupils rise to meet his, set in a familiar face marked by a long scar and framed by silver hair

‘i’m here to drink alone’

it’s this familiar exchange, repeated but reversed, that lets them know that the other remembers, that they’re here

and for the first time since they woke up in this different world, they feel complete

they bask in the moment, drinking each other in, because they’ve found each other, and even if they’re different, even if everything is different, they’re together

geralt slides into the seat opposite jaskier, and it’s so, so familiar, but so different

‘i thought you were dead,’ geralt whispers

jaskier smiles, a small and sad thing, but he reaches over and grabs geralt’s hand. their callouses are reversed, now. jaskier’s hands are rough from the grips of his swords, and geralt’s fingers are padded from years of playing the lute

‘me too,’ jaskier confesses softly. then his smile turns slightly more playful. ‘i didn’t think you’d have red hair and green eyes. you look good.’

then geralt ducks his head and blushes under his freckles (yes he has freckles it’s hella adorable ok) and jaskier is fascinated bc he’s never seen geralt blush

(and he!! has freckles!!!)

‘this suits you,’ geralt mumbles, still blushing. he peeks out from under his lashes and jaskier sort of melts. ‘the hair and the eyes, i mean.’

and, well. jaskier had been insecure about his mutations that mark him as something other, something inhuman, but hearing geralt’s acceptance of him...

jaskier squeezes geralt’s hand, still in awe that he’s here, he’s real. they’re here, together. ‘i missed you.’

geralt beams, and jaskier‘s heart warms at how easily geralt seems to smile now. ‘i missed you too.’

the elves happen pretty much the same way apart from the fact that geralt and jaskier expecting it

and when geralt follows jaskier, neither of them object to it

they try to find out what happened to them, but all they’ve figured out is that their lives have been reversed, and no one else seems to be affected

so they travel the continent together trying to find an explanation or a cure

they try to return to the place where they found the artefact, but they only find a patch of dirt

jaskier brings geralt to kaer morhen

they ask vesemir about their situation (and geralt aches at the fact that his old mentor doesn’t know him), but he has no idea

eskel and lambert look at geralt with no recognition, and it hurts

but they take to geralt easily, and in no time, it’s almost like they’re back in their own world

they find yen earlier than they do in canon. she’s hostile at first, not knowing why they’re seeking her out, but when she hears their story she’s intrigued and promises to try and find a cure

in the meantime they try to settle into the new lives and new dynamic

they both have two lifetimes in their heads, two whole lives that are theirs, that they’ve lived

of course, they’re not the same people, shaped by new experiences as well as old

geralt is more open, more affectionate, more vocal with his thoughts and feelings. he smiles more, and he’s less gruff with others, though he still isn’t completely comfortable in social interactions

jaskier is a bit quieter, a result of his witcher upbringing. he’s still mostly open about his emotions, and being around geralt makes him smile and chatter liked he used to, but there’s a hypervigilance in him borne out of his witcher training, something lethal and deadly

they learn about each other again, finding new things to love and explore

now, geralt is the one who plays in taverns, and jaskier is the one who takes contracts

geralt still retains the skills and memories of his training as a witcher. though he lacks the enhanced strength, he can still fight, and jaskier gets some lightweight swords for him

geralt helps out on contracts sometimes, when he’s confident that he won’t get hurt. jaskier is reluctant at first, but concedes that geralt should be able to hold his own against weaker monsters

that’s when geralt realises that witcher!jaskier is a huge bamf and also very buff (buff jaskier rights!!!) and geralt really shouldn’t like it as much as he does

jaskier also looks unfairly good in armour with his swords in his hands

and now he understands why jaskier used to be obsessed about his black eyes after taking a potion, because HNNNG

with geralt by his side, jaskier doesn’t mind playing the lute again. it doesn’t hurt like it used to, with geralt by his side once more

geralt lends jaskier his lute and jaskier plucks out tentative notes on the strings, before he launches into one of his songs

jaskier’s voice is rough and untrained, lacking the oxenfurt training he used to have as a bard, but it’s pleasant and sweet, and geralt joins in, their voices twining together in a lovely duet

jaskier doesn’t join geralt when he sings in taverns, fearful of how humans would react, but on the road, they sometimes sing together, and it’s unexpectedly nice

(maybe jaskier gets a glamour at some point, and the continent discovers that the famed bard geralt occasionally gains a partner)

as a witcher, geralt had been unable to lash out at the people who’d insulted him and attacked him

but now, he’s human, and watching jaskier’s shoulders slump as humans spit vitriol at him, well, geralt gets to be feral now

he’s far more dangerous than jaskier had been as a bard. sure, bard jaskier was feral, but he lacked the skills that geralt remembers from his time as a witcher

the humans don’t stand a chance against geralt, and jaskier is the one hauling geralt out of fights now, and many taverns witness a white-haired witcher dragging his redheaded bard out as he yanks him into a fierce kiss

they’re both very soft and very gone on one another. geralt is far more tactile now and jaskier does not mind. they cuddle a lot and jaskier is the big spoon

they’re both openly affectionate, there’s a lot of soft hand holding and hair braiding and casual touches and like. they’re just soft, ok?

jaskier makes it his mission to make geralt blush as much as possible, because it’s adorable

(he also discovers how far down that blush goes, and geralt gets to witness jaskier’s witcher strength and stamina)

they make it work. jaskier gets insecure sometimes, knowing that his features are unnatural and scarred and nothing like what he’d looked like as a bard

but geralt reassures him, telling him that he’s beautiful no matter what

sometimes, geralt hates his own human frailty, how weak he is without his enhanced strength and how easily he gets hurt

but jaskier shows him everything he loves about geralt’s human body, telling him how happy he is that geralt gets to live a life without the suffering of a witcher

and the longer they’re together and the more they get to know each other all over again, they become less sure whether they want a cure or not

geralt likes being a human bard. humans don’t hate him anymore, and he likes being a bard more than he thought he would

but he knows that jaskier is, by nature, someone who loves people. and watching jaskier be rejected by prejudiced humans makes geralt’s heart hurt, because jaskier loves people so fucking much, and now he’s hated by them

but jaskier doesn’t mind being a witcher either. he can help people now, even if they’re ungrateful. there’s a deep satisfaction as he slays monsters terrorising innocents, and like this, he also gets to protect geralt

(not that geralt needs protecting, but still, it’s nice. and geralt has realised that he quite likes jaskier swooping in to save him aka picking him up in his arms)

and jaskier sees how free and easy and open this geralt is, unburdened by decades of hatred and conflict, and he wants this for geralt, wants geralt to know the happiness of a human life without being hated by the very people he helps

both of them like the lives they lead now, and they don’t know if they want to go back. but their old life is the original world, and they still wonder if they should go back

idk how it ends - either they somehow find a cure and return to canon universe with a whole load of new experiences, or they never find a cure and they learn to live in this new world

or maybe they do find a cure and decide that they’ll stay in this world because they’ve learnt to accept and love each other even with the changes, and it’s their world now

there’s a fic for this now!

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #witcher!jaskier #witcher jaskier #bard!geralt #the witcher #mine*

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Six ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 4044

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Happy Thursday! Thanks for all your responses so far -- I’m so grateful! Alright, time to see what Haldir thinks of all this!

We are sixteen days into our journey when we reach the mountains.

We made good time, considering all the stops and adjusting for our human guests. Now that I know they are more capable than I anticipated, I will be pushing us to clear the ranges in five days. I do not want to travel these mountains any longer than necessary.

Everyone feels the tension. My right hand never leaves the hilt of my sword and I know my brothers travel in a similar fashion. While I am always careful when traveling through the orc-infested mountains, this time more so than usual. The stakes are higher. Lavandil is trusting me to deliver her betrothed to her in one piece. My brothers and Baranor are trusting me to guide them safely on this treacherous journey. And the humans…

Well. They can’t possibly know what they’ve gotten into, so that’s on me, too. They have no experience in battle, nor do they seem ready for a fight. I worry they’ve never even seen an orc, at least not that they can remember. I am as responsible for them as I am for the kin that accompany me.

I turn on Faervel to face my companions, trusting Orophin to watch my back as I take in those that follow me. My brothers are watchful like I am, one hand on a weapon, one hand holding the reins. Their eyes constantly observe our surroundings, never lingering on one spot for too long. Baranor looks mildly nervous — this is only his fifth pass through the mountains and I know his mind is running through his previous journey, remembering the warden we once nearly lost to a poisoned arrow. A dull ache throbs in my left shoulder. The wound is long ago healed — the memories, however, are not.

Cosima holds tight to Rumil, looking around worriedly. I never told her what we might face in the mountains, and maybe that wasn’t the right decision. Every sound makes her jump — she’s obviously expecting to be attacked at any second.

My eyes shift to Alexander, the most recent addition to our group, and I fight the urge to narrow my eyes. I don’t trust him. Not that I automatically trusted Cosima, but she hasn’t given me any reason to be suspicious. She helps with the chores and talks with us freely, even if she has been pulling back a little lately. Alexander can’t boast the same. He’s been nothing but standoffish and keeps himself isolated from the group — dragging Cosima with him.

He glowers at me, and I return his glare. Of course, mine has the force of nearly three thousand years as Marchwarden behind it, and the human quickly looks away.

I return to my inspection of the group. Cosima’s cloak is a beautiful, vibrant red—obviously made for style rather than the stealth and durability needed for travel. I haven’t the faintest idea why she would choose to dress that way if she knew she’d be traveling, nor what kind of leader wouldn’t catch it and make her change. This only serves to irritate the thought that’s been budding in the back of my mind since her arrival. Maybe she really isn’t from our world. Stranger things have happened. Alexander, too, has an unusual cloak, though not as bad as Cosima’s. His is a deep forest green — expensive, the kind that would take months of precise dyeing. Still a suitable color for travel, but not at all practical — already, it’s darkening with mud kicked up on our journey, ruining the maker’s handiwork. I don’t understand it and the mystery of their origins are too much to ponder on the road. So I resolve to deal with what I can now and handle the rest later. At present, Cosima can’t travel through the mountains in that bright red cloak.

I get her attention. “Put your cloak away in your bag, it’s too noticeable. If you get cold, someone will lend you theirs.” She visibly blanches at my words but balances herself atop Roch to do as I say. She is so clearly frightened and part of me wants to reassure her, to tell her not to worry, it’s just a precaution. But I can’t. Lying might make her feel better, but it would also set her at a disadvantage. It is better for her to be on edge. It will keep her sharp, and staying sharp can be the difference between life and death. I wouldn’t sugarcoat it for one of my wardens, so I won’t sugarcoat it for her.

Still, I can’t help myself from offering her some measure of security. I instruct Rumil to take position behind me and send Orophin to guard the back of our line. Perhaps Cosima will feel better being towards the middle of the group rather than at the very back — it is safer.

I put on my most well-practiced fortifying look and address the group. “Remember to ration your water — we won’t come across another stream for some time. With luck and perseverance, we will reach Imladris in five days. Cosima and Alexander — if we are attacked, stay on your horses. Rumil and Baranor will protect you.”

Rumil chuckles lowly and leans back in his seat to whisper to Cosima. “I can’t keep you safe if you strangle me first. Relax.”

Cosima laughs sheepishly and seems to make a concentrated effort at loosening her arms around Rumil.

I pull my eyes away, turning to look the right way down the path.

And off we go.

{***}

Weather in the mountains is unpredictable. There’s a faint breeze hinting at the possibility of rain, and I pray against it. Humans are so fragile compared to elves and I worry the two newcomers won’t do well in another day of downpour. I don’t mind the harsher conditions, my brothers, either — Valar knows how many drills we’ve run, battles we’ve fought in the extremes. But the humans, even Baranor, aren’t so conditioned.

I stop our company a little later than usual and send Rumil and Orophin to take first watch. Baranor pulls Alexander aside to redress the wound on his leg. Cosima and I stay to tend to the horses.

She glances at me from where she brushes Roch’s coat. I raise an eyebrow, cleaning my own horse. She purses her lips and I can tell that she’s scrutinizing me.

“You don’t like the mountains.”

There’s no point in lying. “No. Too many places for the enemy to hide.”

She’s silent for a moment, likely thinking through my words. Unexpectedly, I feel the bite of regret — I probably just scared her again. I should have kept my mouth shut.

Thankfully though, she doesn’t seem frightened. She smiles, a sort of serenity settling on her. “It’s kind of pretty though, if you can find a moment to enjoy it. Did you see the sun sinking over that peak way in front of us? It turned the sky purple and gold.”

I did notice the sky, but only briefly. I hadn’t even stopped to ponder its beauty, only checked to ensure no one hid on the horizon.

She sees the answer in my face and grins, shaking her head. “Maybe you’ll be able to relax once we reach Imladris. What’s it like, there?”

Now it’s my turn to smile, recalling my second favorite place in the world. “Beautiful — much more so than these mountains. There are waterfalls taller than any I’ve ever seen and they cast rainbows at sunrise and sunset. The main city rests on those falls and you can see the water sweeping under you, falling over the cliffs.”

She stares at Roch’s coat, a distant look in her eye. “How long are you planning to stay?”

You. Her question hangs between us as I analyze her use of the word. She didn’t say ‘we’ or make any reference to herself and Alexander. She’s making no promise to stay. That realization shouldn’t bother me, but, nevertheless, I feel discomfort settle in my stomach. I try to distract myself by answering her question. “A month or two, three at most. The journey home will take about three weeks and I want us in Lothlórien well before winter sets in.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

I blink, trying to follow her line of reasoning. I’ve got nothing. “How does that relate to what I just said?”

She closes her eyes, the peace leaving her and morphing into a pleading, distressed look. “Please just answer the question.”

The feeling in my stomach worsens and I hurry to say something to try and put her more at ease. “Honeyed breadrolls,” I blurt, not even sure if that’s my favorite.

She laughs weakly, looking at me from the side of her eyes. “That’s not a balanced meal.”

I grin, relieved to see the stress beginning to fade from her face. “You said favorite food, not healthiest.”

“Oh right, my bad.” She rolls her eyes, a playful light there that wasn’t present before.

Evidently annoyed with the lack of attention, Roch bumps his head against Cosima’s shoulder, snorting noisily. She giggles and pets the horse affectionately.

“He likes you,” I observe, the sight of them bringing a smile to my face.

Cosima shrugs. “He just wants snacks.”

There’s a pause and I feel a sense of urgency, needing to fill the silence before the conversation can come to an end. “What’s yours?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Hm?”

“Your favorite food.”

“Oh.” She pauses, looking at the ground in thought. When her eyes return to mine, she looks a little lost. “I don’t know. I don’t mind the lembas bread and fruits, though I couldn’t say for sure if it’s my favorite because I can’t remember much from my homeworld. I guess—well, I do remember some food here and there, but nothing stands out as my all-time favorite.”

Her admission seems to make her sad. I can understand that — it must be terrible to not know who you were or what your life was like. Once again, I feel the need to make her feel better. “Elrond won’t let us go hungry. There will be many new things for you to try.”

She opens her mouth, a spark lighting in her eyes, ready to respond.

The loud, heavy footsteps give away Alexander’s approach. Cosima hears it too and turns to see her incoming friend.

I let my face fall into a neutral expression, not entirely pleased with Alexander’s arrival. He is a lost human in need of help, just like Cosima, so I will offer him my protection and aid, just as I did to the woman at my side.

But that doesn’t mean I have to like him.

From what I’ve observed, he has a manipulative streak that I do not trust. I can understand not being ready to accept his new reality, but Cosima is trying to move on. He shouldn’t try to interfere with her progress.

He addresses Cosima only. “I’ve got dinner for us both. Meet me on the rock when you’re done?”

She shifts her feet, looking uncertain.

“No, you will stay with the main camp.” I hear my voice before I make the actual decision to speak. Cosima nods automatically—and, is it my imagination, or does she look a little relieved?Alexander only grimaces.

“Why?”

A muscle twitches in my cheek. I’m used to leading wardens that follow my every order. In this environment, one that is fraught with danger and requires constant attention and strict regimentation, I don’t like my orders being questioned. It’s not only a waste of time, but a danger to us all. I know well from the battlefield that hesitation—that single moment of questioning—can be the difference between life and death.

I raise an eyebrow, meeting the human’s challenging gaze. “The danger is heightened in these mountains. While you travel with my company, I am responsible for your safety. I will not have you all spread out — it makes it more difficult to protect you should the need arise.”

“I don’t want to sleep on a rock, anyway.” Cosima surprises us both by speaking up.

Alexander squints, looking quite caught off guard that she’s sided against him. “What—“

“Haldir’s right. It’s too dangerous and besides, the grass is softer.”

Alexander opens and closes his mouth a few times, then exhales, shaking his head and stomping back to camp. Cosima turns to Roch and resumes brushing his coat, a new tension in her jaw.

I try to broach the subject delicately. I’m not entirely sure it’s my business, but I suppose any information into the pasts of these mysterious humans is useful. “Do you remember much of your relationship with Alexander from before? Do you know what he was like?”

She closes her eyes—something she does when she’s stressed, I note—and sighs before opening them again. “I’ve been asking myself that a lot recently. I get that this whole…whatever it is, is impossible. I know that. And he does, too, which is why he’s having such a hard time adjusting.”

I bristle at the insinuation that I and my world aren’t real, but then make myself relax, putting myself in Cosima’s shoes. How would I feel if I woke up in a world completely different from the little I could remember?

She continues. “But I like it here. It’s beautiful and exciting and there’s so much to explore…I’m making friends.” She smiles up at me shyly, and I immediately return it. We are friends. I don’t know when or how it happened but we are. I like having her around.

“But with Alex…” She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m having a hard time not accepting my life here because it’s all I really know. I don’t have anything else to hold on to. Alex can’t seem to do that…I wonder if he remembers more than he lets on.”

I keep my expression carefully blank. I’ve been pondering the same thing. Something she said does bother me, though. She didn’t say she’s having a hard time accepting our world, but not accepting it. What’s holding her back? I try to dig around. “Cosima, this is your world now. Why wouldn’t you want to accept it?”

She shakes her head slowly, the sadness creeping back. “I can’t accept my life here because there’s no way it’s possible. I trust you and your brothers and Baranor, but something about this place is off. It’s completely unnatural—from what I remember of my world, we don’t have elves. We have cars instead of horses and ways to communicate that stretch across the globe.” Her voice rises in pitch, the first misty hints of tears entering her eyes. “And there’s only one world. There’s no way to go back or forward in time or hop to another planet or—”

“That you know,” I correct, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. Seeing her struggle is not only upsetting, it’s frustrating. She is here, and this world is as real as she is, as real as I am. All this back and forth is pointless. “You said it yourself—you don’t remember much about your home world. And even if you remembered everything, who’s to say that you could know everything? For all you know, you fell asleep in your world and woke up in mine. And, at present, I don’t know of any way to send you back. Elrond or the Lady might, but that’s not a question we can answer until later. So for now, you need to accept this world. Because you are here. This world is real and your life here is real.”

She takes in a shaky breath.

I freeze. Oh Valar. I’ve made her cry.

I hurry to try to undo it. “Cosima—”

“No.” She cuts me off, wiping the corner of her eyes with her sleeve. “I needed to hear that. You’re right. I’m only wasting time and stressing myself out with all this. Because regardless of what I think is logical or possible, the fact remains that I am here in Arda and I feel real and alive. And so does this world. And so do you.” Her eyes, still shiny with tears, meet mine and she offers me a watery smile.

I accept it with a breath of relief and work consciously to soften my tone. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to make you cry.”

“Oh,” she chuckles softly, still wiping away her tears. “I don’t think it’s your fault. I’m just tired and stressed and—what was it you said again?” She throws me a teasing look and I know she’s about to bring up my earlier comment. “You said I was sensitive. That’s right.”

I hold back a groan. Probably not the most well-advised thing I’ve ever said. “I only meant that you are more expressive with your emotions than I or others that—”

“Nope. I’m gonna stop you right there.” She holds up a hand, thankfully still in a joking mood. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

She’s probably right. So I halt my attempts, shaking my head and laughing at myself. “I suppose I should apologize for that too?”

She shrugs off-handedly. “Nah. Because for the record, about the time you decided I was sensitive, I decided you’re way too serious.”

And, with that, she sets Roch free to graze and jaunts back to camp.

{***}

Aside from the brief interlude with Cosima, I don’t allow myself to relax as we continue through the mountains. There are too many peaks and rocks and caves and crevices where the enemy can hide. All it would take is one well-aimed arrow to fell one of my companions, or myself. I have to be vigilant. They’re trusting me, and I must not let them down.

{***}

On the third night in the mountains, Rumil and Orophin stage a sort of intervention, trying to force me into a full night’s rest.

“Brother, you have stood watch every night for the past five nights and most of the nights before that.”

“I am fine,” I retort, straightening my back. “I am perfectly capable of sacrificing rest to keep watch of our surroundings.”

“But without rest you will grow weary and slow,” Orophin adds, planting himself to stop me from walking past him. “You will not be at your best and cannot keep us safe as you could if you had proper rest.” He raises his voice to drown out my protests. “Rumil and I will stand watch all night—we will be vigilant.”

“Now, go lay down and get a full night’s rest willingly, or Baranor is prepared to drug you.” At this, Rumil smiles broadly. He is only joking. And, capable though Baranor is, I have no doubt in my ability to stop him from forcing herbs into my mouth.

But my brothers have a point. Though I am used to many restless nights from battle and my patrol of the borders, I have not slept for more than a few hours in many nights. I feel the heaviness in my eyes, the weariness in my bones, and, though I know I could push through, it is of no benefit to my company. So, reluctantly, I sheathe my sword, nodding to my brothers. “Wake me if there is any trouble.”

Orophin agrees readily. “Of course. You’ve trained us well.”

At this, I must grin, remembering the countless hours I put into developing and perfecting their skills. “I know.”

I leave the outcropping of rocks that has become our watch station and jog the short distance back to camp.

“Wow, look who’s decided to join us for a change,” Cosima jokes. There’s a note in her voice that tells me she had knowledge of, if not a hand in, my brothers’ plan.

I roll my eyes, matching her teasing tone. “I couldn’t leave the three of you unattended for long—who knows the trouble you could have gotten in?”

“Oh, yeah. Baranor was about to redress Alex’s wound — troublesome, indeed.”

I sit on the empty mat in between her and Baranor, greeting my elven friend with a nod. Alexander doesn’t acknowledge me, so I don’t acknowledge him.

Cosima passes me a bundle of leaves containing a ration of lembas bread and a handful of blackberries. I smile my thanks and take the food eagerly—I haven’t eaten since morning.

“Glad to see you resting, mellon nîn,” Baranor nods in my direction then returns his attention to Alexander’s leg. The herbs and healing power in Baranor’s spirit have done wonders, but the traveling aggravates the wound. Really, he should take a few days to rest, but we do not have that luxury.

Cosima breaks a piece off her own bread. “How long until we reach Imladris?”

“Within three days, I imagine.” It’s an estimate, but a fairly accurate one, I’d wager. After many journeys, I know these mountains quite well.

She smiles. “That’s not too bad.”

“Agreed.” Baranor sighs and nods, indicating that he’s done dressing Alexander’s wound. He returns to his mat on the other side of our bags, completing the circle we lounge in.

A particularly strong gust of wind blows my hair around. Cosima shudders, pulling her blanket tighter over her shoulders — her cloak is still in her bag. Temperature doesn’t bother elves in the same way it does humans, I remember. I shed my cloak of deep grey, holding it out for her to take. “Here.”

Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head vehemently. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to be—”

“Take the cloak, Cosima.”

She bites back a smile, and I know why. Even as I was trying to be nice, I still ended up making it an order. Oops. But it did the trick. She takes the cloak, wrapping herself tightly in it and then adding the blanket for an extra layer of warmth. “Thank you.”

I only nod in response. After all, it’s my job to see that each member of my company is cared for. That includes fragile humans who could possibly die from exposure to the elements. And, thankfully, she does look much warmer now — her shivers have subsided and the wind only has the chance to bother her face, as the rest of her body is encapsulated in a cocoon of cloth.

“So Haldir, what do you do?” Alexander’s direct question catches me off guard, as well as the suspicion behind it.

I bristle. “Pardon?”

Alexander raises his chin, eyes narrowed at me. “What is your job? Because you seem awfully comfortable ordering people around.”

I forget how immature humans can be. I push against the annoyance that rises within me. “I am charged with the protection of my realm.”

“So you left it unguarded?”

I speak through clenched teeth. “I took leave.”

“So if you’re on leave then why are you still in charge? We’re nowhere near your realm.”

I feel my pulse quicken. “The others have accepted my authority. I am the most experienced—”

“Have I accepted your authority? Has Cosima?” He raises a challenging eyebrow.

“Uh, don’t bring me into this,” Cosima practically yelps, pulling the fabric tighter around her.

“Yes, this is a good time to stop,” Baranor interjects, looking completely serene — the exact opposite of how Alexander and I must look.

“It’s getting late,” Cosima agrees, darting nervous looks between me and her human friend. “We should all get some sleep.”

Alexander and I stare each other down. I feel no small amount of pride when he breaks his gaze first, then admonish myself for my immaturity. I should have handled that better — I know better than he does. Unbidden, my eyes dart to Cosima. Has my arguing with her closest friend upset her?

But thankfully, she smiles at me when my eyes meet hers, then reclines on her mat. Her voice rings over the small clearing, effectively ending any discussion between us all for the evening. Probably for the best. “Goodnight.”

And, though I am still angry, my body and mind cannot ignore how exhausted I am after days of insufficient sleep. It doesn’t take long for me to find rest.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day :) Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged, try subscribing on Ao3! That will notify you automatically when I post there.

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guardianofrivendell · 4 years

Text

Lost in Translation

Éomer x reader

Requested: Nope

Warnings: mentions of certain body parts and a bad ending

A/N: Wow! Not a Legolas fic? You’re as surprised as I am :) This is just a silly fic I wrote a while ago for another fandom, and I kept thinking how this would be perfect for Éomer. Slightly AU.

Words in bold are in Elvish.

“Come on, Y/N, hurry up. There’s not much time left!”

You shuffled right behind your friend, muttering profanities and cursing your inability to say no to her. She could’ve carried a few things herself instead of making you drag it all alone. You weren’t her slave. Although you probably were at this point.

When you entered the kitchen of the castle, you put down all the baskets your friend had made you carry. Before you could say anything, they were already gone, doing who knows what.

How did you let them trick you into coming along, you thought, shaking your head in annoyance.

Your friend worked in the kitchens of the castle of Rohan, and was in charge of organizing the grand feasts and balls King Théoden held. This morning she had visited you, in the middle of a nervous breakdown because her kitchen staff was sick. You knew there was supposed to be a big ball tonight and now she was left to handle it alone.

You genuinely felt bad for her and really wanted to help, so you made the mistake to ask her what you could do. And that’s how you ended up as her kitchen maid for the evening. No, scratch that. Kitchen slave.

Two hours later everything was ready for the guests to arrive. The food in the kitchen was ready, the tables in the ballroom were set up and the ale and wine were stocked.

You were wearing a plain dark green dress and your black flats. You had tried to keep your braided hair up with the few hair pins you had. It wasn’t your best shot at a decent hairdo, but it would have to do. It’s not like you really knew the people that were coming tonight. This was a feast for the upper class, and you were definitely not a part of that.

The guests started to arrive and you anxiously waited in the kitchen with your friend, waiting for her signal to start and walk around with the food.

This was the part you dreaded the most. You weren’t the social type, and to be thrown out there in public, asking strangers if they wanted something to eat was a step too far.

But you had promised your friend to help her out and you weren’t the one to break a promise. Besides, you would get back at her eventually. She owed you big time after this.

You felt your feet aching when you put down the empty serving plate on the giant table in the center of the kitchen. All the appetizers were served and you were desperate for a break.

You put your hands on the table and leaned forward, trying to remove the pressure of your feet. If you would allow yourself to sit down, you probably wouldn’t be able to get back up again. It’s not like you were being overdramatic - okay, maybe a little bit - but you weren’t used to standing on your feet for this long. Why was this a good idea again?

Your friend looked at you sympathetically, but noticed something different.

“Okay, who caught your eye?”

You looked at her questioningly, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y/N, come on! You’re blushing!”

That comment made you blush even more. You looked the other way to try and hide it from your friend, but you should have known she would notice.

“So you did meet someone? Tell me!”

“No!” you hissed at her. “If I tell you, you would only try and make me go talk to him.”

Before your friend could say anything, you were interrupted by a young nobleman coming into the kitchen. This was highly unusual.

“Excuse me my lady, would you mind hurrying up with the rest of the food? The guests are waiting,” he asked with a bored expression.

Your friend smiled at him, gently guiding him out of the kitchen. “Of course my lord. I am sorry for the inconvenience. My servant will open the buffets right away.”

Servant? Oh, now I’m suddenly the servant. But you had to give it to her, she knew how to work these people. If it were you who had to handle that person, you’d probably rolled your eyes at him and told him you only had two hands to work with, not four.

“Okay, Y/N. You heard me, go to the tables in the great hall and help the guests serve their food. Whatever you do, don’t leave the food alone. Especially the desserts because I made just about enough for everyone. I’ll help out as soon as I can.”

“Yes, my lady,” you said, making a small curtsy as a joke.

This was something you almost enjoyed. Almost.

People came to you and you only had to see they didn’t overfill their plate, so there was enough for everyone. If you saw someone having trouble cutting off a slice of meat, you gave them a hand. You preferred this work over the walking around with appetizers job, because this time you didn’t have to look people in the eye.

Except with one person of course…

You had noticed him when you were walking around with your plate. Clumsy as you were, you tripped over your own feet and if it weren’t for him, you had thrown all the stew on the ground. He had grabbed you by your upper arms and steadied you, without spilling one drop of the stew.

“Wow, quick reflexes,” you gasped, and then your breath hitched because you finally had a good look at your saviour.

He was tall, but not towering over you. Dark eyes in a gruff, but friendly face. Your eyes trailed from his broad chest, down his forearms and then his hands, which were still holding on to your arms.

“Are you okay, my lady?” he asked.

You blinked a couple of times and smiled. “Yeah… Yeah, I am alright. I am sorry, I’m so clumsy!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled.

You held up the plate to him. “Stew?”

After he took one of the bowls, you rushed around handing out the other bowls, your eyes often wandering towards him. Even though he was talking to some of the other guests, he always returned your gaze. When you finally handed out the last one, he winked at you and that made you return to the kitchen with flushed cheeks.

When he joined the line at the buffet, you started to get nervous. What if your clumsiness made you do something embarrassing again? Oh my god, what if you chucked some gravy on his expensive clothes?

Your hands started sweating and you wiped them off on your dress. He passed you, filling up his plate without asking for assistance, and you were almost disappointed he didn’t take one look at you when he suddenly said, “My name is Éomer.”

You stood there perplexed, not realising at first it was you he was talking to. But when his dark eyes met yours, you answered automatically.

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He smiled and walked away with his plate only half full. You followed him with your eyes and forgot you were holding a serving spoon, dropping it to the ground with a loud clatter only a few seconds after.

Your friend had chosen that moment to come and assist you. She had one eyebrow perked up and you half expected her to tell you off for whatever she thought you were doing wrong, but to your surprise that didn’t happen.

“Was that him?”

You sighed, shaking your head in response. You should’ve known this was coming.

“Come on, work with me here,” she said, starting to speak in Elvish. The both of you learned the Elven language when you were young and often switched to it if you wanted to have a secret conversation. Since there weren’t any Elves present, it was safe for them to use it. You rolled your eyes, there wasn’t anyone there at the buffet so you got away with the gesture.

“Fine. Okay? Yes, he is the one I was talking about,” you admitted.

“Well? Go talk to him!”

See? You knew this would happen.

“I can’t leave the food. The desserts need protection.”

“But there is another dessert waiting for you.” She nodded her head towards Éomer.

You bit your lip.

“He is cute though.”

Your friend nodded, a smirk appearing on her face. “Has a nice butt too.”

Your eyes widened at her comment, thanking Eru Illúvatar nobody could understand what she was saying to you. At least, you hoped no one could.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to where he was standing, glancing at a particular area. When you looked up again, you saw him staring back at you. You felt your cheeks burning, realising you were caught staring at his butt. You saw your friend barely holding her laughter.

After a couple of minutes Éomer was lost in the crowd. By that time a lot of guests wanted dessert so you were thankful your friend was there to help you.

When Éomer joined the line at the end of the buffet, you drew the attention of your friend again with a little wave.

“He does have a nice butt.”

“It’s probably not the right time for me to say to you that I understand Elvish?” a voice sounded, making your blood run cold.

“Y-you do?” your friend stuttered.

Éomer grabbed a slice of cake.

“I had to learn it because we do a lot of business with the Elves of Lórien. It comes in handy once in a while,” he grinned.

You were still speechless. Your friend noticed and thought she could intervene and ‘help’.

“Well, then you know Y/N over there thinks you’re really cute.”

He looked at you, his eyes full of mischief. It was adorable. “Does she now?”

He took a bite of his slice of cake, his eyes never leaving yours.

“She also thinks you have a nice butt,” she added. Éomer almost choked on the piece of cake in his mouth. That’s it, you were going to plan her funeral later tonight.

“I’m so sorry,” you tried to apologize.

“Don’t be, I’m flattered,” he laughed. “What do you say, when you’re done here, you want to go and take a walk outside with me and my butt?”

“I’d love to!”

When the feast was over and you were almost done cleaning everything up, your friend called you over to the kitchen.

“I talked to one of the guards just now.”

“And?” you asked, not understanding where she would take this.

“They always speak Westron when communicating with Lórien,” they whispered. “Éomer doesn’t understand Elvish at all!”

You looked towards the mostly empty hall, where Éomer stood waiting for you. He had an extra cloak hanging over his arm, for you to use on your walk, and was looking towards you.

“You don’t understand a single thing of what I’m saying to you, do you?” you said to him. He just smiled in return, a slight panic in his eyes.

“Hey, at least you got a date out of it!” your friend laughed.

#éomer x reader #eomer x reader #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfiction #éomer x y/n #lord of the rings imagine #guardianofrivendell #lord of the rings oneshot #eomer oneshot

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flowercrown-bard · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Prompt 1: Hanging

“You know I trust you, Geralt. I need you to trust me too.”

Jaskier’s words echoed in Geralt’s mind, a hollow mockery, as he watched the guards drag the bard away. Jaskier didn’t turn around to look at him. How could he not look Geralt in the eyes while he was doing the unforgivable?

A hand patted Geralt’s shoulder. He tensed, but didn’t look up. He didn’t need to, to know that it was the baron who had set the reward on Jaskier’s head. Geralt’s eyes were burning into Jaskier’s back, until he was swallowed by the castle gate.

“You have my thanks,” the baron’s voice shook him out of his thoughts.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Geralt pressed through clenched teeth. “I didn’t do it to earn your gratitude.”

“And yet you shall have it.” At Geralt’s scowl, the baron added “But of course you will also get the promised reward.”

Geralt let himself be guided through the castle. If he had been with him, next to him, Jaskier surely would made had some remarks about the tasteless decorating. But as it was, Jaskier was stumbling in front of him, being pushed and dragged by the guards. No snarky comments left him, only pained grunts when the guards pushed him too harshly.

“Tell me,” the baron said in a tone as if they were having a pleasant afternoon tea and not discussing a man’s fate. “How were you so quick to betray the bard? I was under the impression he was your friend.”

The words stung, but Geralt kept all emotion out of his voice as he said “Your impression was wrong. We aren’t friends.”

For a split second, Geralt thought that he saw Jaskier wince. Geralt looked away.

The baron’s chuckle sent an unpleasant feeling creeping up Geralt’s spine. “No, I suppose, you aren’t.”

They came to a halt in a grant hall. The weight of the gold the baron pressed into Geralt’s hand with a smile felt heavier than anything he had ever carried. This was blood money. Payed for with Jaskier’s freedom.

“What is going to happen to the bard now?”

A muscle in Geralt’s jaw twitched. He shouldn’t have asked. It was foolish and yet every fibre of his being screamed at him that he needed to know.

“He will be brought to justice, of course.” Again that chuckle. “I cannot have people try to break into my castle. I will make an example of him. At dusk, he will hang.”

A stone dropped in Geralt’s chest. Dusk was less than an hour away. Without him wanting to, his eyes darted over to Jaskier. The bard’s shoulders were tense, but he stared at the ground with determination.

“Hanged? So soon?” the words escaped him, before he had time to think better of it.

“The hangman is already preparing one execution for today. Some girl who thought she could get away with insulting the way I govern. It would be a waste of time and effort to have two separate hangings.”

For a few painful heartbeats, the baron was quiet, looking at Jaskier with squinted eyes, contemplating.

“But you do have a point,” he said finally and Geralt released a shaky breath. “The main punishment is waiting for the execution and he won’t have much of that. I suppose I’ll have to find a different way to make the most of his punishment. Guards!”

Geralt watched with horror, as the guards pushed Jaskier to his knees at a gesture of the baron. Every punch that made Jaskier groan, every kick that made him contort in pain; Geralt watched them, frozen in place. The sounds of pain Jaskier made his blood boil. He clenched his fists.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Jaskier’s pained outcries sounded too similar to how he had sounded years ago, in that cave with the elves. Back then Jaskier had trusted Geralt to do something to stop the pain. No such trust did he have now. Throughout all the pain he received, Jaskier didn’t look at him. Not once. Not as he was crying out, begging the guards to stop, all while knowing that they wouldn’t grant him that mercy until the baron told them to.

Geralt didn’t even notice that he had moved forward, until Jaskier finally lifted eyes, wide and pleading.

“Geralt, please.”.

Geralt stopped dead. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. But he had to. Jaskier’s words danced in his mind, mocking him, screaming at him You know I trust you, Geralt.

He didn’t hear the baron give the command to take the prisoner away. He didn’t listen as the baron once again thanked him for his service and left to do his own business, trusting Geralt to find his way out. His ears were still ringing with Jaskier’s cries, the pleading look in his eyes seared into his mind.

Geralt started to slowly walk towards the exit, waiting until he was sure the baron and his men had well and truly left, before he strayed from his path. With every window he passed on his way, his heart clenched further. It was only minutes until dusk. How long had the guards beaten Jaskier, while Geralt had just stood there, unmoving? It had felt like an eternity. It had been far too long. The minutes were passing by. Every second the sun got closer to meeting the horizon was a second Jaskier was closer to meeting his demise and Geralt was still rushing through the corridors, not knowing where to go and wasting precious time by avoiding guards.

His steps faltered abruptly. Was that-? He rushed in the direction he had heard the faint melody from. With every step he took, the louder he got; the closer he got to Jaskier. The haunting words send a shiver down his spine.

“Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Wear a necklace of rope

Side by side with me.”

The singing faltered, as Geralt got close enough that the echo of his footsteps reached Jaskier.

Geralt rounded a corner and there he was. Jaskier. Beaten and with new formed bruises on his face, flinching away from the bars that separated him from freedom, as soon as Geralt came into view.

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of the discolouring on Jaskier’s face and the dried blood on his nose.

“Jaskier, it’s me,” he said in a hushed voice.

For a terrifying moment there was no answer. Of course there wouldn’t be. He had been the one who got Jaskier in this situation. He had stood by and watched him get brutalised. Telling Jaskier that it was him would not make the bard any less terrified. You know I trust you, Geralt.

Then the moment of agonising doubt passed. Jaskier came closer, a smile on his face so brilliant that it was almost blinding. It was a smile Geralt had not expected to see again. Not so soon. Not after what he did.

Jaskier reached out for him through the bars and Geralt took his hand without hesitation, held it close and prayed that Jaskier didn’t notice the trembling.

“It worked, Geralt. She is here.”

It took all of Geralt’s willpower to look away from that endless blue and instead look at the other person in the cell. The reason why Jaskier had tried to break in. The reason he had talked Geralt into letting him get captured.

“Priscilla, this is Geralt, the one I told you about.” There was a softness to Jaskier’s voice that ignited something deep inside Geralt’s chest. “Geralt, meet my sister.”

“We don’t have time for introductions,” Geralt grunted with a quick look over his shoulder. “Stand back.”

Immediately, Jaskier grabbed the woman and dragged her into the far corner of the cell, shielding her with his body.

A quick Aard and the door to the cell flew open, ripping parts of the wall with it.

Even after they had made it out of the castle, they didn’t stop running. The two bards looked like they were near exhaustion, but Geralt wouldn’t let them stop until he was sure they were safe.

When they finally stopped, the bards immediately sank to the ground. Ice spread through Geralt’s chest as Jaskier’s gingerly touched his bruised cheek.

Geralt shouldn’t have agreed to this stupid plan. He should have never let Jaskier get hurt. He should have found another way to free Jaskier’s sister, one that didn’t put Jaskier in danger.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Everything in him longed to go to Jaskier, to comfort him, to hold him in his arms and tell him that it would be alright, that he was safe now. But how could he assure Jaskier that he was safe, when it was Geralt who had put him in danger in the first place?

A pointed cough ripped him out of his spiralling thoughts. With a frown he looked at the girl who nodded her head in Jaskier’s direction, unmistakably telling him to go to Jaskier.

Geralt swallowed against the lump that was forming in his throat. Carefully, so as not to startle Jaskier, he touched the bard’s shoulder.

“I am so sorry, Jaskier. I’m sorry.” The words didn’t come out right. They sounded choked and they weren’t enough to convey what he truly meant.

When Jaskier lifted his head to look at him, Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. He tried to prepare himself for the inevitable, though he knew he could never be prepared for a life without Jaskier. Any moment now, he would see the burning hatred for what Geralt had done. Any moment now, Jaskier would tell him to leave and never come back and Geralt would do it. He would do it, because if this was what Jaskier wanted then Geralt would not stay with him and hurt him even more with his presence than he already had.

Instead what he found in Jaskier’s eyes was confusion.

“Sorry?,” Jaskier let out a shaky laugh. “Geralt, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I let them hurt you. I-“

“I told you to do that. I was the one who came up with the idea. Nothing that happened in there was your fault.”

Geralt averted his eyes, unable to face the sincerity in Jaskier’s face.

“Hey, look at me.” Cool fingers found his chin and tilted his face upwards, until he could no longer avoid Jaskier’s eyes. “You helped me save my sister. And you got me out of there, as I knew you would.” His eyes softened impossibly. “I told you, I know I can always trust you, Geralt.”

#whumptober2020 #no.1 #hanging #the witcher #fic #Geraskier #I wasn't going to post this #but alas #I wrote it so I might as well post it #my writing

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

Text

Eternal Love ~ Diavolo x Reader

Today was supposed to be just an ordinary day of school, until I was informed by Lucifer that Diavolo wants me to attend the council meeting as well, so who am I to deny such a gracious invitation?

Apparently, we were supposed to discuss the plans for the school’s festival, and they picked me to be the leader, which should be pretty fun!

“That sounds like fun! Thank you for trusting me with something as big as this! But...What do I have to do? Is there anything fixed already, or do we brainstorm and come up with the most exciting thing?” I asked, giving the prince a cat-like smile of excitement. “We change ideas yearly, so I’d like to hear all your thoughts and ideas that come into your mind.” Diavolo asked us, which made us all ponder.

After discussing the official problems, like budget, what each class wanted to do, if there were any problems, or two classes who wanted to do the same things, any objections, we started coming up with ideas.

“How about a band? I’ve seen you during Karaoke nights, and Asmo’s voice is amazing! Besides, you’re all thousands of years old, I’m sure all of you know how to play at least one instrument. And Levi, if you don’t want to take this as a Guitar Hero type of game, and are too socially anxious, you can make the band’s costumes!” I suggest, which made the brothers talk between themselves. “I wanna be the vocalist! And we gotta sell lots of merch...How much are we gonna charge for admission?” Mammon got incredibly excited, which made Lucifer sigh and shake his head. “Well, that settles it. The idea is rejected.” he muttered, making me sigh as well. “Great...No more music...But how about a play? Doing little plays is quite a thing down there in the human world. What do you say?” I asked, snapping my fingers in realisation. “Ohh, I bet that would be fun!” Asmo chimed in, along with his brothers. “And it means we can cosplay! I’m all in!” Levi grinned in glee. “Sounds like fun! Y/N, you’ll be in charge of putting together the production.” Diavolo nodded at us, giving the approval. “That means I am allowed to come up with the play’s script? And the roles? What to do with the background, music, costumes, magic effects and all that?” my grin widened even more, as did his. “Of course! Have fun, that’s the most important thing! By the way you’re so enthusiastic, I’m sure the end result is going to be great. Do you already have an idea?” he asked, which made me nod vigorously. “Y/N, what are you going to work on first? Also, you’re going to have to give all of us an assignment.” Lucifer pointed out, but most of it got overlooked. “I’m going to write the script! I am inspired by a beautiful story from the human world, written a century ago, but only published recently. Is that okay?” I asked, trying to hold on to my excitement. “Ohhh! Is it a tragic love story, like Romeo and Juliet?” Asmo asked, jump behind me, and hugging me. “Yes, much so much better! It has romance, it has fantasy, it has adventure, it has tragedy, it has despair, it has sorrow...It has everything you can think of, all thread together in such a wholesome story!” I explain, which made Asmo take a hold of my hands, waltzing together messily. “I love it! Let’s do it! Can I be the prince charming?” he giggled, which made me stop and smirk. “I...Had something else in mind. Diavolo, do you want to be in our play?” I let out a low chuckle, which seemed to make him widen his eyes. “Of course! I would be honoured to get included in it!” he grinned, giving a mirthful laugh. “Sweet, then it’s settled! I will do my best to work on the script and give everyone their roles, come up with some music, special effects, the background decor and costume ideas. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I have to go have a talk with Simeon.” I smirked mischievously as I skipped out of the council room, not caring about Lucifer’s protests, since I wasn’t officially dismissed.

The whole night I spent revisiting the book I had in mind that would be the influence for the script, and started writing on my laptop everything, while listening to Eurielle’s many angelic songs and sending them to Simeon, so he would know what to do.

Needless to say, I was nothing short of excited beyond borders of imagination, clearly never having expected to be able to take part in something so great, as to create and take part in a play of such caliber...There’s no way I won’t make this anything more than perfect, that’s for sure, especially since this book has been so close to my heart and soul for a long time now.

And so, days passed, Simeon agreed to be the harp player, since he’s an angel and nobody could best him, and the narrator was Solomon, who would help me and Satan with the magic effects.

I would be the female protagonist, while Diavolo would be the male protagonist. Barbatos would be the one to sacrifice his life to save Diavolo. Satan was going to be the frenzied werewolf, while Lucifer will be the enemy hound turned ally that would fight alongside Diavolo.

Belphegor will be the evil king, and Beel will play the role of his most loyal servant, while Asmodeus shall be the girl’s father, and Mammon would be one of the Gods, the Judge of the Dead, Master of Doom.

This left Luke to be one of the enemy werewolves, while Levi, who would have as few lines as possible, considering he would be too busy with the costumes, would be the owner of the Hound.

And so, we began rehearsal for the play, earning lots of praises from everyone for writing something so great in such a small amount of time, while also keeping it short, making sure nobody would forget their lines and timings by mistake.

“You’re doing very well, Diavolo! But try to be a little less stiff, okay? Try to relax, it will make things more natural.” I started massaging his shoulders as soon as I gave everyone a little break. “Sorry, I guess I’m a bit intimidated since you are a natural at this.” he chuckled lightly, offering me a thankful smile. “Hmm...I wouldn’t say I’m a natural, per se, but I read the original book a few times before, and I wrote the script. Or maybe it’s because I’m a human...I don’t know, it’s always been easy for me to act.” I shrugged, dragging a chair to sit in front of him. “That much is obvious. Look at them, you inspire all of them to learn their lines and come up with the best version of themselves. It’s very rare when I see everyone working together so diligently...Thank you for you effort, Y/N.” Diavolo took ahold of my hands, squeezing them lightly. “No need to thank me, Dia...I’ve always dreamt of doing something like this, but I never really had an opportunity to do anything more than 1 minute skits. This is a dream come true...So really, I should be the one thanking you instead.” I chuckled, tilting my head slightly. “I’m glad to hear that, then. There is no doubt in my mind that the festival is going to have more success than it ever has before.” he grinned, making him look something like a Golden Retriever puppy. “And you don’t even know about my Trump Card. Well, in truth, nobody really does...Except for Simeon, but I have a reason to that, so you better be eager and awaiting for that.” I winked at him playfully, which seemed to get him in an even more curious and cheerful mood. “I certainly can’t wait until we perform on stage.” he nodded, making me take a deep breath and smile softly. “Yeah...Me too.”

I said that, and yet, time sure flies so fast that I barely realised today was the day of the play, and Asmo and Levi were helping me into my costume, doing my hair and make up, while the others were in their demon forms - Except for Diavolo, of course - and so, we went backstage, checking that the lights were perfect, the background decor was in check, Solomon had his lines written down, since he will be backstage, yet his voice will resound throughout the room regardless.

“Is everyone ready?” I clapped my hands together, grinning and biting my lip, trying to keep my nervousness in check. “I’m a nervous wreck!” Levi whined, and yet, he was thankful he didn’t have to do too much on stage. “I can’t wait to get up on stage and SHINE!” Asmo chimed in, pushing Levi to the side. “Diavolo...Are YOU ready? You are the protagonist, after all. You have the most lines, the most interactions with everyone and so on.” I look at him with a gentle smile. “Y/N, Diavolo has been doing public speeches for centuries and longer, I doubt he’d be as anxious as others are...Or you, that is.” Lucifer gave a side smirk. “Don’t speak for others, Luce~!” I thrilled playfully, earning nothing more than an amused scoff. “I am more excited, than nervous, but Lucifer isn’t wrong.” the prince chuckled softly, giving me a nod of thanks. “Very well, then, the play is going to start now. Solomon, Simeon, it’s your cue.” Lucifer pointed out as Levi and Satan raised the curtains just as Diavolo got on the stage, and was surrounded by fire and some magic-made enemies.

Diavolo’s make up made him look as if he had been fighting long and bravely, and yet, he and his army lost, his father was defeated by the enemies, and now, he was trying his best to escape with his life.

“Diavolo, the son of the Leader of Men, was the sole survivor of the attack from the Dark Lord, the feared Belphegor, the once God of Valar, who turned evil and stole the Sacred Jewels, the ones who gave immense power to Elves, the pure Silmarils, and so, he was able to easily wipe out every village of men, dwarves, dunedain, trents and elves alike, with no such thing as discrimination. And so, the brave Diavolo ran away from the place he once called home, that was now nothing more than fire, ruin and ashes flowing in the sky, and found himself in another place altogether. It was the realm of Elves, the most beautiful and gracious beings alive, and here, in Doriath, he ended up in a glade, filled with so many colourful flowers, illuminated by the silver light of Mother Moon...And there he saw her.” Solomon narrated the story, and then stopped for a few seconds, allowing him, Satan and myself to mutter some spells so the background will change, along with the holograms and the lights.

There was nothing more than darkness, for just a split second, which allowed me to jump up on the stage, and thus, a gentle light appeared, with me in the spotlight, as I did a small dance, while surrounded by holographic forest critters and a unicorn.

“There, his eyes found her, a maiden more fair than any he has seen before, and he was unsure whether he was being cheated by some spell, or if what he was seeing was reality, for the pain he felt was no more...And he was wondering whether seeing her cured if of all wounds. Blue was her raiment, as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey, as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness ; and in her face was a shining light...And so, Diavolo fell in love with the Elleth dancing in front of him.” Solomon continued the story, which was my cue to stop dancing.

“What is this I am seeing? A mortal ranger, wounded, seeking refuge in Doriath, the Realm of Elves? You must be rather bold, are you not?” I stopped dancing, and approached him, circling and interrogating him. “I had nowhere else to go, My Lady, for the Dark Lord, Belphegor, has laid waste to my home and my family. I am the sole survivor, yet my heart burns with sorrow and need to wreak vengeance upon the enemy who took my father’s life so cruelly.” he explained, regaining his senses and breath. “I see...So Belphegor has started his rampaging once again...It truly is a pity that life cannot be without death inflicted before its time. Very well, then...I shall welcome you in my home, so you can feed yourself and have your wounds treated.” I nodded at him, motioning for him to follow me, only for him to stop me with his questioning. “My Lady...May I know the name of the fairest elleth in the world?” he asked with such a gentle and sweet tone, that it made my heart skip a few beats. “My name...Is Luthien.” I answered, looking down for a few seconds, before turning away once again. “Y/N...Y/N...Such a beautiful name, for such a beautiful woman...And your voice rivals any nightingale. You are a wonder among wonders.” he spoke out, making me widen my eyes and blush, flustered, turning around to face him properly. “You should not speak such sweet words without telling your name first, stranger. It would be nothing less than disrespectful, especially should my father be informed of this folly of yours.” I spoke a bit harshly, yet the jesting tone was obvious in my voice. “My name is Diavolo, my dear, and from the moment I laid my eyes upon you, I fell in love with you. You will have to forgive me for being so bold and rash with my words, I am but a simple mortal man, yet my heart will know no more joy unless you know my feelings for you.” he spoke, kneeling in front of me, which took a lot of effort not to blush more than I already was. “Raise up, brave warrior, and let me heal your wounds, both the flesh ones, and the ones your heart felt so far, for I seem to share the same feelings as you do.” as so, I put my hands over his, and humming a little song, I made a spell to remove the dirt and make up from him, so it would look as if his he had his wounds treated.

The lights went down once again, the background changed to that of a kingdom, and Asmo, wearing a crown, as he was the Elven King, sitting on a throne, and of course, he was shining, beautiful, glorious, just as he always is.

“You think you are worthy of my daughter’s heart? How foolish! You, nothing more than a mere human, whose life is hanging by the thin thread of a spider that could be so easily severed, even by something as insignificant as an illness? I commend you for your braveness, so I would not say, foolishness! I shall allow you to stay here, but you are a mortal, and your place is not here, among the elves!” Asmo’s voice was serious and booming, which was something not many would expect from someone as soft and adorable as him. “My Lord...With all due respect, but my heart belongs to your daughter, and no power in this world is strong enough to erase my love for her. I beg of you, Lord Asmodeus, allow me to marry your darling Tinuviel, and if you need me to prove my worth, give me any task, and it shall be done!” Diavolo kneeled in front of the throne of the lord, who frowned in displeasure. “Tinuviel...? Now you went as far as to give my daughter the nickname of a Nightingale...You heard her angelic voice...You are truly undeserving!” he leaned forwards in the throne, slamming his fist on one of the armrests. “Father, please, hear him out! His love for him is as true as the beauty of the stars, and so is mine for him! You will doom me to an eternal life of sorrow, should you not accept him, so father, please be reasonable!” I fell to his feet, hugging his legs, and I was sure Asmo’s face softened with conflict, as he put his hand on my head, as a way to make me raise my gaze. “My daughter...You, an immortal, fell for someone who will die before you can even realise you were courting him. However, if you are so sure of your own feelings for him, then I shall give him a task, to prove himself worthy of you, my darling. Listen carefully, Diavolo, for I will only say it once - Should you succeed in getting back at least one of the Sacred Jewels, I will allow you to wed my wife.” he spoke, which made me jolt to my feet in an instant. “But father...! The Three Silmarils were all stolen by the Dark Lord Belphegor, the very foe who destroyed his family and village! You are dooming him to sure death!” I gasped, letting a few tears fall down my face. “If that means I will be allowed to marry you, then I will do anything you wish me to. I thank thee for this opportunity, and I shall depart at morn, at the earliest hour.” Diavolo nodded, sharing a look with Asmodeus, which made me throw myself at the man. “No, Diavolo, don’t go! You will perish, if not by the Dark Belphegor, but by his lackey, Sauron, or one of the countless orcs he’s making! You cannot succeed...Not on your own!” my eyes were wide with fear, and he only smiled softly, kissing my forehead gingerly. “Have faith in my, my darling nightingale, for I shall return to you, no matter what. I vow on my pride as a human, so wait for me, and if I shall not return, I beg of you to sing me a wonderful requiem, but not to mourn for me. I love you, Y/N.” he spoke, before leaving off the stage, and so, the lights went off once more.

The stage became now an elvish stronghold in the middle of a wasteland, where Diavolo met Barbatos, Leviathan, Lucifer and a few more generic elf-holograms, and they talked about how to get inside the enemy’s garrison.

“And so, Diavolo arrived in the wasteland, the territory of the enemy, only to stumble upon an elvish stronghold, where he met Barbatos, another Elven King, Leviathan, one of the sons of the Elven Lord who once created the Silmarils, and his loyal Hound, Lucifer, the most powerful Hound, dating from the First Ages. Prophecy has it that only the most powerful werewolf could ever defeat Lucifer, so Leviathan knew that he could trust his companion. While Lord Barbatos agreed to join Diavolo’s cause, as he once swore an oath to Diavolo’s father, to aid his kin if in need, so they took a few warriors and went to the enemy territory disguised as nasty orcs. Leviathan, however, was very much against their quest, as he believed the Silmarils belong to him, legacy from his father, so he took Lucifer and went after them.” the white haired wizard spoke out, letting the scene unfold before him.

“Are you with me, brothers? I will be honest, my quest is a selfish one, and by taking the Jewel, I will be allowed by Asmodeus, the Elven King, to marry his daughter, the fairest maiden to exist. However, I am sure that no matter what, as soon as the Jewels are out of Belphegor’s posession, the world will have less peril and ruin.” Diavolo spoke out, which seemed to impress the Elven King. “As per the oath I swore to your father long ago, when we first fought side by side in wars, I shall aid you in any quest you will find yourself, young Diavolo. To hear that my old and dear friend met his doom by the hands of the Belphegor’s lackeys is nothing short than an insult! I am with you.” Barbatos spoke out, patting Diavolo on the shoulder and taking a few trusted men by his side. “You cannot take the Silmarils from the Dark Lord, Diavolo, no matter with how many men you march to his garrison. The Silmarils belong to my family, for my father forged them, and they gave power to the Two Sacred Trees of Valar! You have no right to take them, no matter the affections your mortal heart holds for some elleth you don’t deserve!” Leviathan frowned, at them, but Diavolo didn’t heed any of his warnings. “I am sorry, Leviathan, but this must be done. I shall not allow Belphegor to wipe more innocent lives from Arda, out Earth!” Diavolo spoke with much confidence, fire and conviction, leaving the place, while also igniting a fighting spirit in his men. “Not fair...That’s not fair! How could they even think of doing something like that?! Lucifer...We must stop them at all cost! And did you hear that? That stupid, wretched human wants the hand of the daughter of King Asmodeus! Ha, as if! But imagine...If we take the Silmarils, and I give the King only one, without him knowing that I possess the other two, he will surely let me wed Y/N, and we will create a strong alliance this way! Everyone will bow down to me, the Mighty Leviathan!” he chuckled darkly, motioning for Lucifer to join him as they ran away after Diavolo’s party.

“What nobody was aware of, however, was that Y/N, afraid for her paramour’s fate, fled from home in search of Diavolo, to aid in the task he was given - And yet, just as she arrived on the enemy’s territory, she was found by Lucifer’s keen sense of smell, which allowed his owner to kidnap her and imprison her in a tower, guarded by Luke, one of the most powerful werewolves in Beelzebub’s army. As she was left alone, in a cell, she pleaded to Lucifer to let her escape, and it seems he, for once in his long life, felt pity for the elleth, and decided to aid her.” Solomon continued the story, and so, the stage changed to the prison tower I was held captive in, with Luke, dressed very uncharacteristically evil, was guarding me, and Lucifer’s eyes bore straight into my soul.

“Why would one, so strong and great as yourself, aid the cause of evil? Leviathan, a once proud elf of benevolent will...His heart became darker than the nightly abyss. Look at what he is doing - Trying to cheat my father, to deceive him, only for his own selfish desire to quench his thirst for power. He is miserable, that one, but he is more pitiful than ever. I wonder, my poor Diavolo...Have you seen him? Is he still alive and well? Oh, how I miss him so, and fear for his life, for he is fragile, and brittle, nothing more than a human resembling the first Snowdrop of Spring. May the great Eru Illuvatar watch over him, for I cannot but mourn and sing for his glory the way I am now.” I grabbed the bars of the cells, letting tears fall down my face as soft sobs escaped my throat. “Tell me, Y/N...” Lucifer spoke, for the first time in ages, as he crouched down to my level, and said, in a softer voice, as to not alarm the enemy. “Are you willing to do anything to save your beloved mortal? You speak of my master’s pitiful state, and yet, you do not see yourself and the misery in which you wallow as we speak. I can sense your magic is strong, and you could aid the one you hold so dear to yourself. Should you lend me your power, I will be able to properly defeat your enemies and help your reunite with him. Will you accept me, Elleth Princess?” his voice was velvety, as with one hand he raised my chin up, to look into my glistering eyes. “Yes.” was the only answer I gave him, as he raised with a smirk, piercing poor Luke with his glare.

Muttering a spell, I proceeded in putting a protective shield around Lucifer, that grated an improvement in his powers, and so, he was easily able to take down Luke. However, sensing danger, Beelzebub, the Dark Lord’s most powerful vassal, came forth to attack him, in the form of a werewolf, knowing the prophecy, the only way of defeating the Great Hound Lucifer.

But it was in vain, for my power, combined with Lucifer’s, meant for nothing short of greatness, and so, we were able to defeat him.

“Beelzebub, you have been defeated, and so, you must free all the prisoners you have taken! There is nothing more for you to do, except to obey!” my voice was firm, and clear, and with a growl from the defeated lord, he begrudgingly freed the prisoners, before he became one himself. “You will not escape this place with your lives still your own, you silly elleth! You think anyone can defeat the Dark Lord? Never! Belphegor is undefeated!” Beel’s dark, booming voice echoed throughout the dark prison tower. “We seek not to defeat him, but deprive him of most of his power. And we will succeed, without question, nor fail.” I spoke with grace, sure of myself, until Lucifer guided me away from the cell. “Maiden, you must flee. Enemies are making their way here. Take this passageway and be reunited with your lover. I will make sure not even one of these disgusting orcs may come and hinder your path.” Lucifer said, staying on high alert. “I will eternally be grateful for your aid, Lucifer. I wish to see you soon, and well.” I nodded at him, running away, and the scene cut with Lucifer getting ready to fight some holograms, while Beel was able to flee by transforming into a fly and getting out through the barred window.

“But not everything turned out as great on Diavolo’s side, as he, too, was ambushed by enemies, and his whole little army was taken captive, and executed one by one, until only Diavolo himself, and King Barbatos remained. Enraged by this folly, just as the human was about to get mangled by the great werewolf executing them, the Elven King managed to break the shackles and wrestled the beast with all his might, until both of them perished, and thus, successfully completing the vow he swore to his father.” Solomon continued on the narration, as the stage showed, for just a little bit, the heroic act of Barbatos sacrificing himself, allowing Diavolo to escape with his life.

“Go, and complete the task you set yourself on! Be successful, and reunite with your lover once more. There may came a day when you will die, but I assure you, today is not that day. I have already foreseen your greatness.” were the Elf’s last words, as Diavolo thanked him, and the scene was cut once again, to where I and Diavolo are reunited at the gates of the throne room.

“Diavolo, my darling, you are alive! I prayed and prayed for the great Eru Illuvatar to shine his light upon you and protect you from harm...And here you are, alive, and in my arms once more! I cannot but weep in joy, seeing you before me, my beloved Diavolo!” I cupped his face, examining him for any wound, before kissing his face, not caring that the height difference was making it pretty difficult. “Y/N...! My beautiful nightingale, what fareth thou in this terrible place? You should be safe, at home, with your father, not on this plagued wasteland of death, in the heart of the very enemy we fear the most!” he was shocked, and afraid for my well-being, but before I could reply, a long tail swept him away from my embrace, throwing him to the ground, and the enemy was revealed none other than Leviathan, who wore an evil smirk on his face, looking down at the mortal. “You...! How dare you do such a thing! First, you imprison me, wanting to use me for my father’s power and title, and now, you try to destroy the one being I love the most in this life? Unforgivable! You will never be welcomed back to Valinor, not matter how much you beg and grovel on your knees!” I threatened him, but he only seemed to laugh mockingly. “How adorable of you, some weak elleth, to think that you could come between me and my aspirations. You truly believed some mortal would be able to take the great Silmarils, feat that so many armies of Elves failed to do? You have lost your mind, Y/N! But here, with his death, you will have no more reason to be here. I heard your voice is truly magical...If your voice was to put to sleep the whole place, stealing the Silmarils would be an easy feat, and so, I will be the most powerful an Elf can get!” Levi spoke out, his long tail swishing left and right, as I ran to Diavolo, holding him to my chest as I healed his wounds...Only to notice a figure rushing towards us, and it was now my turn to smirk, as the enemy was trampled to the ground, easily destroyed. “Lucifer, you have returned so fast! The enemies proved to be no match for your might, did they?” I grinned brightly at him, as he only scoffed in amusement. “And your paramour seems to be doing great now that you’ve healed him. It seems that my former master became driven by evil more than I anticipated...It truly is a pity that he turned this way, but there was no way to live the way he did.” Lucifer spoke, and so, the place went dark, so the stage would change to Belphegor’s throne room, him, wearing a crown.

Taking a deep breath, I started singing a spell, just as Leviathan previously suggested, which put to sleep every living being in the place, and so, Diavolo was able to cut away one of the Jewels from his crown. He continued with the second one, but misfortune seemed to follow us, as a little piece from the crown fell on the Dark One’s face, waking him up from his slumber.

“You...! You, puny worms, truly think you could defeat me? Steal away the Silmarils from my possession, and walk away, unscathed?! How impertinent of you! You shall be tortured for an eternity, and even longer than that!” Belphie’s growl resounded through the place with an even graver tone, thanks to Solomon’s magic.

Diavolo took my hand, and we started running, the light flashing, to make it look as if we were going for a longer pace, until we arrived at the gates, guarded by none other than Satan, a werewolf bred specifically to kill Lucifer, to complete the long-foreseen prophecy.

“Satan attacked Diavolo, and before he, or Lucifer, could retaliate, Satan bit off the hand that was gripping the Jewel tightly. As Diavolo ell to the ground, gripping his hand and wailing in agony, the purity of the jewel emanated a strong light in the werewolf’s belly, which set him on a frenzy. He was berserk, clearly lost his mind, and there was nothing that anybody could do to reverse the process. This feat of luck, however, allowed the maiden to call out to the mighty Eagles, who flew them back home. Together, they spoke the tale of their adventure to King Asmodeus whose heart softened by everything they have been through, and despite not completing the task, allowed the two lovers to marry.” the sorcerer spoke the tale, that seemed to be the happy end...

The scene cut to just a few weeks later, the background showing the Kingdom getting destroyed by the Werewolf Satan, and Diavolo and Lucifer going to bravely destroy it, but unfortunately, the triad ended up perishing altogether.

“The story that was fated to have a happy ending, became drenched in blood, as both her beloved Diavolo, and her trusted companion, Lucifer, died together to prevent the rampaging Satan from destroying anything more in his path. The girl, who was waiting by her father’s side, was worried beyond belief, as her father embraced her, trying to sooth her concerns, as Diavolo was a strong human, and had Lucifer by his side... But not long afterwards, a ravaged Diavolo, barely dragging himself upwards, grabbed Asmodeus’s hand, putting the Sacred Jewel that he extracted from the Werewolf’s belly.” Solomon continued the story, as the music turned even graver.

“No...No...! Diavolo, my darling, hang on, please, I will heal you! You cannot die! You cannot leave me like this...After everything we went through! We weren’t even given the time to marry...!” I sobbed, holding Diavolo’s body to my chest. “My beautiful Y/N, all I did, was for you, and now, I am truly worthy of even daring to ask you to marry me. It is selfish, I am aware, but I am but a mere mortal, and thus, as my life ends, I ask you to please hold me in your heart and memory, as dear as I hold you. I love you, Y/N” he spoke with his last breath, before going limp in my arms. “Y/N, my sweetling, I’m so sorry this happened...” Asmodeus knew no words were going to stop my wailing, take away my sorrow, or mend my irredeemably broken heart, and only held me, as I screamed to the sky, cursing fate, and the Illuvatar, the stars, the moon and the sun. I cursed everything in existence, even time, for taking away the one I loved the most, until the scene was cut by the lights, and we could hear the audience gasping, some of them lightly weeping, some even cursing as well and telling their pity.

“There was nothing more her father could do to bring back the joy in his darling daughter’s life, and with his heart broken, just like hers, he allowed her to leave his home, and watched her walk away, to the Halls of Mammon, until he could see her no more, and the horizon was overshadowing her unseeable form. So, she arrived at the Halls of Mammon, the Judge of Death, the one who was stoic and unmovable in front of everyone, never wavering from his judgement of anyone’s souls. The walls were covered by tapestries woven by his wife, depicting life as it is, from the beginning of times, until the present. Y/N laid on the ground, singing the song of her ill fate, of how she will never be able to meet her beloved once more, not even to properly say goodbye to him, feat that would break her heart even more.” the scene revealed only myself, in the Halls of Mammon, in front of the stairs to his throne, as Simeon’s harp started slowly mellowing everybody’s senses, giving them a sense of amplified sorrow, as if the play so far didn’t already play with their heartstrings.

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“Oh great Mammon High among Valar I come to you in sorrow And with a broken heart Long has been my journey That led me to these halls But now I kneel before thee As grief my spirit calls I seek a man named Diavolo Whom I bid await me here I pledged that I would find him Before he leaves this sphere This man of whom I speak He gave his life for me But thence my soul grew weak And at last it too broke free So borne upon an urgent breeze I travelled to this place Where only one thing could appease The torment I now face Oh tell me I am not too late To see my love once more For that would be too cruel a fate I beg him be restored That we may take a little time To bid our last farewell And remember all we shared erstwhile Such joy no one could quell For never was a greater love Than that within our hearts Once born, forever binding us E’en though through death we part”

My voice was powerful, mournful, my face wet from the river of tears streaming my cheeks, and I am sure I shocked all the demons present, for sans a few basic, simple songs, I never showed them my skill in singing, nor that my voice was, as Simeon described it, pretty angelic, so adding the harp was nothing short of heavenly.

The scene ended with me, dying, as I laid on the stairs of the throne, and through the silence, as the lights were slowly dimming, I could hear Mammon sniffing and trying his best not to sob.

“I cannot let this be the end of you and your fateful love story. With the power that has been bestowed upon me, I shall change this dreadful fate, into one more wonderful, as you deserve. You have fought and braved such a storm to be together, and death will not be the place of your eternity.” Mammon spoke, his voice wavering, barely able to keep himself straight.

“The Great Mammon, for the first time in his eternal life, felt his heart moved by the elleth’s song, feeling pity for the fate of the two lovers, so ruthlessly torn apart, so he allowed himself a tiny bit of self-indulgence, for as soon as the fair maiden’s life ended, from her broken heart, he restored both her and Diavolo’s life, yet this time, he awarded her mortality, so she would be able to live her whole life together with him, in happiness, as they deserved.” Solomon’s words were the cue for the scene to change back again, to the glade where he first laid his eyes upon me, and we were embraced in each other’s arms, gazing at each other with love.

“Why ever would you give up your immortality, my darling Tinuviel? You were immortal, had the time on your side, and your father, and people, there for you. I do not understand, my sweetling, so please explain to me.” he asked, looking down at me, brushing away a strand of hair from my face. “I would rather spend one short life time with you, then be teased with a few years by your side, that would pass for me similar to blinking, and then realising that you are in my life no more. Life without you is meaningless, my beloved Diavolo. I love you, and this time, an untimely death is not going to keep me away from letting you know my feelings loud and clear.” I spoke out in a soft voice, getting on my tip toes and pulling him into a loving kiss, which he reciprocated. “I will love you forever, with all my heart, my beautiful Y/N.” he said, as so, the curtains were closed, indicating that the play was over.

The audience started cheering, whistling and clapping loudly, as I motioned for everyone to come on stage so we could give the final courtesy to them, as a thank you for watching our play.

As we got off the stage, Asmo jumped on me, kissing my cheeks, and continuously praising me for how amazing I was. “You, my darling, were truly the star of the play! Why did you never tell me you had such an angelic voice?! Honestly, we should definitely go to karaoke and have you sing more!” “Sure, Y/N’s voice was a shocking surprise for everyone, but we have to applaud how amazing Lord Diavolo’s performance was as well, don’t you think?” Lucifer mused, earning an agreement from the butler. “And let’s not forget that Levi’s costumes were absolutely amazing. And the magic was amazing.” I pointed out, clapping for everyone. “Everyone was completely awesome today. Thank you for doing your absolute best...You managed to make my dream come true, and I’m very happy.”

And so, we all changed into our comfortable clothes, and went to celebrate at Diavolo’s castle, drinking and eating things we ordered from Hell’s Kitchen, setting off some fireworks, doing karaoke and all that...

But for some reason, I was feeling rather...Off, so I went out in the garden, taking a nice and relaxing stroll through the flower-guarded path, until I reached a nice gazebo by a pond and I sat down on the grass, dipping my feet in the cool water, looking up at the moon and letting my thoughts wander.

I wasn’t sure for how long I was there, alone, until a voice woke me up from my trance, and Diavolo sat down next to me.

“It’s not safe for a human to go wandering carefree in Devildom, you know?” he spoke jokingly after a few seconds of silence. “I am in your gardens, aren’t I? I find this the most dangerous, and yet, the safest place in Hell.” I let out an amused breath, which he seemed to mimick. “You wouldn’t be wrong to believe that. Why did you leave?” he asked, looking at the reflection of the silver moon’s on the mirror sheen of the water. “I needed some fresh air, I guess. And you?” I asked back, doing the same as him. “I noticed you weren’t around, so I went to look for you.” he smiled softly, leaning back a bit. “Thank you for your concern, but I am fine. Go back there and have fun. You earned it, after the amazing performance you put there. You were absolutely terrific.” I tilted my head to give him a small smile. “But there is something on your mind, isn’t it? You can talk to me, if you want and feel like it.” I tried to encourage him, as he nodded to me. “You are unbelievably perceptive for a human, aren’t you? No wonder you managed to get Lucifer’s brothers to finally get along. I was just thinking why you chose me to be the lead of the play. I wasn’t expecting that, to be fair. I thought you’d choose Lucifer, or Satan or maybe even Asmodeus...But you didn’t, and I’d like to know your reasoning.” he asked, his voice going softer with each sentence he spoke. “...I wonder if anyone noticed how lonely you are. You try so hard to have the brothers, and others, forget that you are a Prince, and act with you normally, to include you in their activities, so chat with you leisurely...And yet, they all get intimidated by your status. I know what it’s like to be an outcast, and it’s the last thing I’d want you to feel like. I know you like to have fun, so I thought that maybe, for once, you would have enjoyed playing the mortal, while I am the immortal one.” I chuckled softly, hugging my knees, I was met with more seconds of silence. “I was right when I said you would be an amazing influence on us. You are right in everything you said. I’m grateful. If I think about it, it has been a long while since anyone said such nice things about me, without wanting to gain something...Especially since I am a demon. The Demon Prince, nonetheless.” he explained, making me sigh, shifting my gaze to the moon. “I...Well...I think I drank a bit too much champagne, so I guess telling you this won’t hurt, in the long run, anyway. You don’t even have to acknowledge anything I say. Just play it off as a tipsy rant or something...But honestly...You are amazing. You are the kindest person I’ve ever met in my life. I know it’s very short compared to yours, but it’s much more meaningful and impactful to us. You have showed me nothing but kindness and understanding, lots of opportunities to have fun with events, and pranks, jokes, trips...You looked out for me all the time...Especially when Lucifer almost killed me...Which wasn’t few times, really. And you try to bring everyone together, no matter their race or ranks...You are like a big golden retriever who just wants hugs, attention and affection...And your smile and laugh is to die for. If only you’d see the way your eyes sparkle when you’re happy, or feel the warmth of your embraces and how soothing they are. I picked you for more than one reason, Diavolo, and I’m pretty sure it’s obvious now.” I chuckle lightly, not caring about the consequences of my words. “I...Am speechless. Nobody managed to stir such feelings inside me since I first saw Lucifer as an archangel, and this tops it. I cannot but thank you...But now it seems like you’re the one who has things on her mind.” he pointed out, wiping away a stray tear going down my face. “My performance on the stage was so great because those feelings of mine were genuine...But reverse. I am going to die before you even realise it, and just a little later, you’re going to forget me. There is no place for my feelings, no matter how I look at it. I’m mortal, and you’re not. I’m a simple, ordinary human, while you’re the Demon Prince. I will never even be close to being as great as you are. I’m selfish, I’m a jerk, I’m mean, I’m jealous, I’m not talented, I’m not smart, I’m not beautiful...I’m nowhere close to your level, no matter how much I try to get better. Soon, I will have to return back to the human world, and you will still be here, becoming the best Demon King the Devildom ever had...” I shook my head, smiling sadly. “How long have you felt this way?” he asked softly, putting his arm around me, pulling me close to his chest. “A long time...And it only got stronger since then.” I sighed, leaning my head on his chest. “I’m glad to hear that...Because my emotions from the stage were as true as yours. Every word I spoke up there, is true. For a while now, I have been thinking about you and how we could make this work without any of us having to suffer like Beren and Luthien from your story. You are the most unique and beautiful person I’ve met, and I don’t mean only your looks, but your personality and heart as well. I hate it when you bring yourself down and compare yourself to me, because everyone has their own traits that make them who they are.” Diavolo’s voice was gentle and heartfelt, making me raise my head to look at him, searching for the truth in his eyes. “Did you know that this story was written as a tribute to the author’s wife, whom he nicknamed Luthien? The author, Tolkien, fell in love with her when she danced and sang for him in the glade, and since then, he has been very much in love with her...Going as far as to have her nickname, Luthien, written under her name on her grave stone. If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is.” I smiled softly, feeling my heart skipping quickly. “Humans are truly capable of the most incredible things. They never cease to amaze me, no matter how much time passes. In your short, mortal lives, you are capable of unbelievable potential and wonders. You praised me so much today, but trust me when I say it, I could go for ages complimenting you, and I wouldn’t run out of nice things to say about you. Y/N, trust me when I say it, I love you, and I promise you that your feelings are safe with me, and I won’t let you die. I know a way to make it work.” Diavolo said, putting his hands on my face, as his eyes held only love. “If you’re certain you are okay with it, and aren’t afraid of any consequences, then I can say with no fear that I love you as well, Diavolo. Endlessly.” I grin at him, chuckling lightly as he leaned in, sharing a loving kiss, yet this time, the emotions were flowing much more powerfully than on the stage.

It was true, it was pure, it was ethereal, and definitely, it was eternal.

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