#i do wish it was more of a proper sleep aid instead of a . telling you to go to sleep audio

[erial-c]

absolutely nobody is surprised that the one thing that drags me back to redacted is erik dropping a guy audio

[silksaddle]

lullaby

rating: 18+ only!

pairing: frankie morales x afab/fem!reader

summary: two love birds fucking to sleep.

word count: 2.2k+

content: fingering, brief intercrural sex, piv sex, biting, praise, choking (if you really, really squint)

a/n: ahhh. ignoring all the day’s responsibilities to write frankie smut. you know how it is.

It’s that usual slump of the rainy afternoon, your brain fogging over at the same rate that your eyelids grow heavy, blurry bursts of attention dwindling down to a steady and constant disinterest. Caffeine would do little to help, you think, clicking the pen in your hand— the only thing that keeps you alert. Incessant, slow snaps of noise against your thumb.

Resting your chin in your palm, you look over the same string of words that have flown through your vision three times, always forgotten once your sight leaves them. A break would help, should help, but you can’t pull yourself up from the chair. Instead, your arms become a pillow underneath your head, crossed and slightly uncomfortable for your neck as you scoot the chair outwards and lean against the desk.

Half-conscious, you hear the door crack open, then listen to the way it squeaks further as Frankie carefully pokes his head in. You hum in acknowledgement of his presence, but it’s the most you can manage, turning your head to rest the other cheek over your forearms, pushing the work back in the process.

His chuckle follows, warm and cheery sounds filling your ears until his large hand rests firm on your shoulder, fingertips applying light pressure in a too-gentle attempt at pulling you upright.

“Baby...” he whispers, lowering his head until his lips are just shy of your ear, “that doesn’t look very comfortable.” There’s a concerned tone lurking underneath the sweet edge of his voice as he begins to rub his fingers into both shoulders, working into the knots and tension. “Time for a nap?”

He presses a little harder into the spaces beside your neck and you raise your head with a sigh, leaning into his calming touch. 

“Looks like it,” he continues, bending to leave a soft kiss on your neck. “Come on, sweetheart. Up.” He places his hands under your arms and lifts, raising you a fraction of the way until you hold yourself up for him, standing on your feet and then lazily falling into the support of his strong arms.

“Hi,” you smile into his chest, all woodsy and warm with the essence of campfire.

“Been working real hard, huh?” he smiles back, gingerly leading you to bed, minding the steps you take.

At the foot of the bed, he sits you down and kneels at your feet, deft fingers working at the button of your jeans. His tongue pokes out in his focus, sliding across his upper lip.

“What’re you doing, baby?” you question, brushing a curl off his forehead with a single finger.

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but jeans aren’t comfortable to sleep in,” he laughs, his head chasing that subtle touch of yours. His fingers hook at the waistband and tug, you lifting your hips for him to aid in the process. The denim bunches at your feet and he pulls off each pant leg, dropping a kiss to each knee.

You thank him as he stands once more, planting his palms on either side of you as he leans in for a long, simple kiss to your lips. “You know I’m always available if you need to be undressed,” he says into your mouth and you giggle back into his. He urges you to lay down after ridding himself of his own pants, pulling you up with him on the mattress.

He’s a warm, solid comfort behind you as he tucks his smooth legs into the backs of yours, a heavy arm draping over your waist and bringing you ever closer to himself. His nose tickles the back of your neck as he uses it to move your hair, getting it out of the way for his lips to leave kisses there.

“Frankie,” you laugh, light and airy, squirming in his gentle grip while his kisses gain firmness and you feel the unmistakable yet lightning quick swipe of his tongue. His movements slow, an arm sneaking under your shirt and a thumb seeking out your nipple. He brushes over it languidly, hooking his chin over your shoulder to watch you and hear the way your breathing quickens. 

“Frankie...” This time, you sigh his name instead of laughing it out and you can feel him rapidly hardening against you, his hips beginning an unhurried roll.

“What kind of man would I be...” his breaths are shallow in your ear and he punctuates his words with a rough grind, “if I didn’t fuck my girl to sleep?”

“Oh, God, baby...” Breathless, you match and mirror each roll of his hips, listening to the low groans falling out of him. He brings his thumb up to your mouth and waits for you to take it in and wet it; you swirl your tongue before he withdraws it and brings it back to your nipple, massaging its wetness into the sensitive skin. 

“Is this okay?” He moans the question, reaching his hand down the front of your underwear and whimpering when he feels how slick you are for him, how physical your neediness has become.

“Fuck, always, Frankie, keep going,” you splutter, earning a pleased chuckle, his fingers spreading your wetness and circling your clit softly. Your head falls back into his shoulder and your body rocks with each thrust of his, sheets rustling beneath the both of you.

“Shit, you’re wet, baby.” His voice teeters on the edge of trembling as he slides two thick fingers in to stretch you out, fucking you with them in time with his grinding. Your own hand is quick to grasp at his wrist, nails digging, your moans filling the room in high and breathy, desperate and desirous noise. He curls the fingers inside you, pressing them tight to that spot he knows you can barely handle and keeps them there, rubbing it, massaging it. 

“Fuck, I need to fuck you, have to... have to have you,” he grunts, rubbing a few more circles before slipping his hand away, leaving you whining at the loss. “Shhh, baby,” he soothes, reaching down and tugging your underwear off. You kick them from your feet and attempt to turn and help him out of his but are powerless against the strength of him pinning you on your side. “No, I want you like this,” he tells you— warns you, sliding an arm under your neck and bending it to hold you still, squeezing you between his bicep and forearm. 

Taking his cock out, you feel it hard on your skin with the slight dampness of precum dripping. For a moment, he slides it between your thighs, your arousal allowing it to slip easy and thoroughly through your folds. At another whine of his name, he notches it at your entrance and before stretching you on it, he hooks a hand under your knee and raises your leg.

He gives you the first few inches and pauses to let you adjust, though his restrain is steadily running out. Once he’s sure you’re okay, he lunges forward to the hilt and his grip tightens on your neck, your leg, and the sound that leaves him is wrecked; a serrated and low hiss causing you to wet his cock even more.

“Jesus, fuck— you feel perfect like this,” Frankie babbles, lips catching on your ear lobe. You tilt your head to leave a free space for him and he takes it, open mouthed nips pulling at your skin, but not lasting— he turns to simple mouthing at your neck when he pulls out and pushes back in, the ability to place proper kisses diminishing, replaced by his pleasure.

He’s so thick, even more so at this angle, filling you to the point you feel complete with him nestled into you like this. The scruff of his cheek scratches on your neck, your hand reaching back to keep him there, fingers threading through what used to be a neat head of hair, now a mess of curls.

“M— more, please,” you beg, wishing you could turn your head enough to kiss him. Frankie notices the strain of your need, leaning his face as close to yours as he can, capturing your lips in a messy, sloppy kiss; it’s a desperate joining of mouths. His thrusts grow more urgent when he feels your slick dripping out onto the rest of him, sharing his breath with you; his groans to your lighter sighs.

“Yeah baby? You want some more?”

Lifting your leg even higher, deepening the crease in your hip, he fucks into you faster, harder, hitting something profound inside you and he tells you how fucking good you feel, how pretty you are, how gorgeous you sound. 

Mewling, you tug roughly on his hair, jolting with every push. His teeth scrape your shoulder, trailing until he bites down on it with a loud grunt, grinding his cock deep instead of fucking you in and out, keeping it inside you with each small but hefty shove.

He surrounds you; his flannel-covered chest and soft belly flush to your back, his wet, desperate mouthing, his cock filling you up so well. He lets your leg free, dropping that hand to your clit, running the tip of his middle finger over its slippery surface.

“That’s right, baby, just let me fuck you,” he coos, nuzzling his cheek on your shoulder, “just let me take— fuck— take care of you.”

“Frankie, you feel so good, baby, I can’t—”

“S’okay, I’ve got you.”

Another moan breaking from your throat forces him to start moving again, hard enough to make those sharp slapping noises of his pelvis against your ass, though not as loud as his harsh breaths in your ear, his strained praise. He picks up the pace of his fingers, swiping petal soft patterns on your clit, your sensitivity allowing that gentleness to be wholly pleasurable.

“I’ve needed you like this for so fucking long,” Frankie confesses, a deep furrow in his brow, his teeth catching his bottom lip. “Thought about fucking you from behind, making you cum on my cock, hearing you moan just for me...” 

“Francisco!” You cry, his fingers working you up almost too fast, and paired with the sensation of his intense pushes, there isn’t much time left to brace yourself for the way you’re about to cum, for the way it’s swiftly building up strong and relentless.

“Come on, baby, cum on me, I wanna feel it.”

You can faintly hear him urging you to take a deep breath right as it washes over you, the tingling, fiery release spreading from your head to your toes, all while Frankie fucks you through it. His cock brushes every inner part of you, his finger on your clit stopping just to apply pressure that sings from your core.

“Good girl,” he rasps those sweet words, your throat turning sore at the endless panting and use of your voice, your leg falling limp to the mattress after holding it up so long for him. From the corner of your vision you can see him fisting the pillow underneath you, the veins of his hand prominent, the muscles of his forearm tensing.

“Can I—”

“Yes, please, baby, cum inside,” you whimper, his cock pushing in even smoother with the added slick of your orgasm and he mewls at those words, getting a few more rhythmic thrusts in before they turn ragged and he spills into you with a soft shout. His nose burrows into your neck as he tries and fails to catch his breath; you, letting him hold you close as he comes down.

He resumes those featherlight kisses, a line leading up to that spot just behind your ear— warm presses of his lips with no other intention than to feel you.

“Okay?” He manages to ask, so quiet and bashful, even, as he feels his cum trickle out of you and onto his lap.

“Mhm,” you smile, finally able to turn in his hold, and the sight of him makes you want to do it all over again; his flushed face, his wide, dark eyes looking back at you in admiration, the disheveled state of his button up. The sleeves pushed up to his elbows are all crinkled, and you let your thumb run over the edge of the fabric before feeling your way up his arm. He smiles, a sleepy state of contentment taking over him and he pulls you onto his chest, keeping you safe, a hand on the back of your head.

The patterns of your breathing match, in and out, slowing down, his heartbeat losing speed under your ear.

He makes a happy noise when you place a chaste kiss on his collarbone, the rain picking up outside, washing down the window behind the see-through curtains. He taps the small of your back three times, and you know this is him telling you he loves you, a tap for each word; so you kiss him three more times, two kisses on those smooth spaces where hair refuses to grow, and once on his lips which he returns gratefully.

Drawing the comforter up over your shoulders, he ensures it’s snug over the two of you. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you deserve it.”

+ taglist: @filthybookworm​ @frannyzooey​ @omgreally​ @kjim16 @anatanotegami​ @redkenobi​ @yeliahk @acrabbybish​​ @battletales​​ @catsnkooks​​ @mitchi-c​​ @xcertaindarkthingsx​​ @ihavenoaesthetic​ @belleropho-n​​ @i-love-marble-hornets​​ @trollsarenotwelcome​​ @tossacoin2yourwitcher​​ @lycheemi​​ ​ @jennacide02 @astroboots​​ @wigwitch​​ @buckypascal​​ @altarsw​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @agent-catfish-kenobi​ @leonieb​ @sleep-tight1​

[stephreynaart]

Gravity Falls - “Waiting”

Pop-Pop AU

Stan sits in a hospital waiting room, thinking about his life and the people he loves.

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This is kinda old, but I realized I never posted it on tumblr. Hope ya like it!

Lots of fluff, the only ships are Soos and Melody.

AO3 LINK

- - - -

It had a square aspect ratio. Ink pen and watercolor on white heat pressed cotton paper in a bland white frame. One single blue flower in a red vase with what looks like a yellowish shadow. One shadow going left, the other going right. The lack of confidence and inexperience was obvious, the lines were unfocused and jagged, the color plainly filled the shapes and gave no other visual interest to the image.

Below the frame was a small white card that read “Painting donated by Jessica Blaise from Gravity Falls Elementary School”

Stan scanned the painting at least 20 times while sitting in that chair. The too rough and too soft at the same time chair that had similar copies populating the almost white room he sat in. The wallpaper bouncing off light pinks and blues with tiny ducklings as a makeshift wainscoting was starting to irritate the old man. It was too bright, and the consistent buzz of the fluorescent lights seemed so loud. Stan adjusted himself in his chair, switching his crossed legs to a wider spread and leaned his head against the wall.

The only other stimulus in the room were a few posters promoting proper hand washing techniques, the play area with a small table and chairs with large blocks, crayons and that weird “game” with the metal wiring and wooden beads that’s in every waiting room Stan’s ever sat in. He played with the toys to give himself something to do after he read all the magazines. The novelty wore off fast.

The television mounted on the wall was airing some cooking channel with no sound and no subtitles. Looking at food when you haven’t eaten in a few hours was practically torture, so Stan had been averting his eyes.

There were other paintings on the wall, one was less of a painting, but instead a print of a painting. He doubted that the artist got any compensation from it, if they were still alive. The other was a charcoal drawing done by a student from the community college a town away. Another square, but the entire image was black, the brightest thing on the page was an intruding infant hand coming from the left with the arm fading into the dark background. The fingers seemingly mid-twitch and grabbing at something. The lighting was dynamic and interesting. Stan swore it was a drawing of a penis the first time he glanced at it, which resulted in his brother’s laughter. Stanley smiled at the memory, it was only a few hours ago, but he relishes any time he can make Stanford laugh.

Stan’s eyes darted at the door in the far corner when it opened suddenly. He eased back into his chair when the nurse crossed the room to talk with the receptionist. He couldn’t hear the conversation very well, but could tell they were just gossiping and making jokes. Nothing that was of his interest. So he looked back to the elementary school child’s painting and analyzed it again. His eyes were dry and he was tired. He wished he could sleep, the chair wasn’t comfortable enough and when he did managed to sleep, his neck was sore when he woke up. He was only lucky Ford let him use his shoulder as a pillow for a while. He looked to his left and noted the book his brother placed in the seat. It seemed thick and in what looked like Hebrew. Stan wasn’t very surprised Ford was fluent in the language they were acquainted with as children. Their grandparents on their father’s side were the last to be fully fluent in Hebrew. It was like his brother to be curious of their heritage, but Stan only remembered a few phrases and words he learned from holidays and special event when he had to recite anything in Temple.

Stan crossed his arms and glanced at the clock on the wall and let out an exasperated sigh. It had only been 10 minutes since he last checked the time. He wanted to be at home, be in his soft warm bed and getting ready to eat pancakes at this time in the morning.

He and Ford were on the porch of The Mystery Shack when Soos rushed them off to the hospital the yesterday afternoon. What he originally thought would be a couple of hours of waiting turned into almost twelve. Apparently labour can last a long time.

Stan wished he could be a witness for Soos and Melody like he was when Dipper and Mabel were born, but Melody wanted her privacy, which Stan could respect, but Soos wanted him there…..so he and Ford waited in this bright, annoyingly pastel waiting room, twiddling his thumbs awaiting the arrival of the new member of the mystery family. He was glad he was in at least comfortable clothes, some gray sweatpants and a sweater Mabel knitted for him that read “godfather”.

He was never clear on what the title entailed, but it was mentioned a few times by Soos�� grandmother and the kids insisted that Soos was intending to ask him. He hadn’t, but he didn’t protest Stan wearing the sweater. Whatever job godfathers had, he was willing to play the part if Soos were to ask him.

Stan looked at the double doors a few feet away that lead out of the waiting room and into the halls. His brother left to find something for them to eat, but was taking his sweet time. The turkey being basted on the television was no help in aiding his growling stomach.

He distracted himself by returning his thoughts to Soos and Melody. Just down the hall they were experiencing the strange and beautiful phenomenon that was witnessing the arrival of a brand new person. Stan remembered the feeling so clearly. His entire life he’s felt the presence of human beings. It’s inherent in most people to feel when someone is in the room with you, the other soul sharing the same space as you. Imagine being in a room with a set amount of people and someone else comes in, but imagine they came in without using a doorway. Just appearing seemingly out of thin air. Suddenly another person is with you, and they’re brand new to the world, a life full of potential and power. Yes, today is indeed a happy day, but no amount of positive thinking would ease Stan’s nerves. His foot began to bounce and his hands unconsciously began to fiddle with each other. He didn’t want to think anything would go wrong with Soos’ baby, but anything can happen and life is so fragile, especially at the start of it.

He recalled his nephew’s nervousness the day Dipper and Mabel were born. His hands were shaking and he was constantly checking on his wife and asking the doctors loads of questions. He didn’t fully understand the twins’ father’s behavior until the end of that day.

Mabel’s birth was swift and easy. Her mother only needed to push one and a half times before she was here. It was as if she was eager to meet everyone waiting for her. She cried like most babies do, but Stan could’ve sworn they were tears of joy. While Mabel was greeted with, “hello, beautiful”, “hi, sweetie” and “she’s perfect”, Her brother’s introduction to world started with, “what’s wrong?”, “wait, let me hold him”, and “he’s not moving”. Dipper was rushed out of the room before his mother got a chance to look at him. Stan managed to catch a glimpse of the horrifyingly blue tint on his great nephew’s tiny face. The memory still gave him chills. He remembered how much he wanted to hold Mabel, who began to fuss and cry, obviously missing her brother. He was terrified at the prospect of another incomplete set of twins in their family. After the longest 30 minute of his life, Stan’s great-nephew returned with a bright pink face, wailing with all the power his little lungs could produce. Once the twins were reunited in their mother’s arms, they settled down almost instantly. The doctors told their parents Dipper was significantly lighter in weight than his sister, but both were very strong and healthy. Every so often Stan thinks about Dipper and how much he has impacted his life. His thoughts lead to darker places and he questions if Ford would be here if Dipper wasn’t there to find the third journal. He shook his head as a cold shiver went up his spine.

Stan did his best to distract himself from revisiting the scare that Dipper caused him 16 years ago.

16 years…..17 in August

Stan blinked. The squishy, bright faces that stayed with him that first summer had changed significantly. They stayed in contact all year round and visited every summer since they were 12. But every in-person meeting was always a shock. Dipper was developing the square jaw Stan, both his brothers and nephew shared. He started to regularly wear glasses their second summer with the Stans. Poor kid will grow up looking like Filbrick like the rest of the Pines men. He reminded Stan of Ford at that age.

And Mabel…..

Stan will never get over how much she looks like his mother. It didn’t strike him until Soos and Melody’s wedding and she put her hair in a bun. She’s calmed her hyperactivity down a bit, but not by a lot, she still brightens his day with her wit and creativity. They’ve both matured physically, but not much has changed personality wise and they still acted like big children when they’re around each other. Stan loved them very much, and wished he could see them more often. He wondered what the future held for all of them. Would they still visit town after going to college? Would they move here? Or somewhere else?

He’s had several conversations with them to see how they’re managing the prospect of separating. They’re much better at communicating than he and Ford were and they seem actually excited to have some independence. It made Stan nervous, but he was sure their close relationship wouldn’t suffer.

Wendy chose to be elsewhere for the next few years. She and her friends booked a plane ticket and plan to backpack and hitchhike around Europe and the UK. Stan hopes they stay safe and watch out for each other. Lotta weirdos in Amsterdam. She was set to leave in the coming days, Wendy wanted to wait until today arrived so she could meet Soos and Melody’s kid before going away for who knows how long.

A tap on the shoulder woke Stan from his deep thoughts. His brother arrived with some warm sub sandwiches and coffee.

“Any word yet?, he asked Stan

“Nothin’ yet”, Stan felt helpless not having any clue how Soos and Melody were doing.

Stanford took his seat next to Stanley and they both silently enjoyed their late breakfast. Since arriving they’ve witnessed families reuniting and going past the door in the far corner to meet their children, grandchildren or siblings. Stan looked at the clock again. How has it only been another 5 minutes? He sighed, leaned back and finished the rest of his sub. One hand holding the sandwich, the other went back to gripping the arm rest, then a six fingered hand went down to rest on top of it. Stan let go of the armrest and tangled his fingers between Ford’s and held onto it with a, hopefully not too tight, grip. It was like an anchor to reality, much better at easing his anxieties than any words could. Over the past 4 years, Stan and Ford’s bond grew stronger. Stan still feared one day he would wake up and find himself still in that basement surrounded by broken machinery and languages he didn’t understand. He hasn’t yet, and was enjoying the time he had left with his twin. Stan took a moment to look at his brother again, Ford made eye contact and smiled then continued to read his book. Hands still intertwined

Stans thoughts went back to Soos…

It amazed Stan how much he had grown and it still baffled him that Soos idolized him as much as he does. Before Soos, Stan had no one. His brother was….gone, the rest of the family didn’t talk to him much outside of the holidays and special occasion. There hadn’t been any sense of consistency in Stan’s life for years, decades even, until he hired the chubby little kid he barely glanced at one random Saturday. Soos always arrived to work early, sometimes with breakfast for both of them. Stan didn’t know how much he needed a reliable companion until he had it and he enjoyed the 10 years he had with that kid… or man he should say. Here he was…a few rooms away, becoming a father.

Stan used to daydream a lot about the prospect of having kids when he was younger. He’s was always good with them when he had the chance to babysit his nephew, then later Dipper and Mabel when they were toddlers. He loved having kids in his house that first summer. He loved the energy and the sense of adventure the twins brought. They gave him a sense of purpose and belonging he hadn’t felt in years. He wished he was brave enough to have his own children. Not that he was ever with anyone long enough to want to have kids with him. He supposed it was for the best that he didn’t subject a child to homelessness or an unhappy marriage. He was also terrified at the idea. His dad used to say having kids ruined his life. He wondered who his father was before his older brother was born. Did they really ruin his life? Stan often wondered if he would be like his own dad if he has children of his own. Would he change and become that annoyed parent that resenting his children?

He thought about Soos again

That was probably the closest to parenthood he ever experienced. The first time he felt like one was when Soos asked him for homework help after closing. He initially told Soos no, he wasn’t exactly smart and didn’t think he would be any help. It apparently upset the kid, so Stan sighed and gave it a try. It was fairly simple middle school math, he didn’t remember everything, but helped Soos do more than half of it. Soos thanked him and went home happy. Stan felt weirdly proud, he was glad he made a small difference and managed to teach Soos something he didn’t even know he knew.

The second time was when Soos was a teenager. His grandmother wasn’t able to teach Soos to drive, since she had forgotten how and her late husband used to do the driving, she mostly walked everywhere. Soos offered to work for free so Stan could teach him. Stan loved driving and found teaching Soos cathartic. He was a fast and eager learner, he only bumped Stan’s car once while trying to figure out parallel parking. Little did Soos know that he was getting paid for his normal work hours. Stan just put it away long enough to help buy the kid some old used truck in the junkyard for getting his license. They fixed the truck up and in only a few weeks it was ready to be on the road. Soos has taken good care of it and it’s still his ride to this day

Stan was very proud of Soos. He taught the kid some basic self defense and managed to be a decent influence in his life. Soos at least has his priorities straight.

Stan was even glad to see that Soos was willing to question him. When the portal was reaching the final countdown, he didn’t hesitate to protect the kids from him when he thought Stan was dangerous. He didn’t know, none of them did, so he didn’t blame Soos for distrusting him. He hoped he never had to betray him again. They both had crappy dads, and Stan knew how Soos saw him. Stan was never really sure if he reciprocated those feelings. It felt natural to act the part, but to put a label as important as “dad” on Stan was daunting. Soos definitely deserves better than what he was given, Stan wasn’t sure if he was it.

Stan looked up at the familiar voices running towards him from the double doors.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Mabel waved to them

The two teenagers and Wendy walked in holding a balloon and various toys. They took some seats across from the Stans and asked how everyone was doing and if the baby arrived yet.

“Not yet, hopefully soon” Ford answered

Stan relaxed and silently enjoyed his family’s company. He laid his head back and leaned slightly on Ford to rest for a minute. His eyes shut as he listened to the kids joke around and talk amongst themselves. He squeezed Ford’s hand one more time before drifting off.

He knew he should’ve tried sleeping earlier, he wasn’t out for more than 15 minutes when Soos came into the waiting room. Stan’s eyes shot open and he was on his feet faster than he did when he was being chased by angry costumers as a door to door salesman. Soos’ red eyes sagged and he seemed exhausted, but carried a proud, wide smile across his face. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“It’s a boy”, he squeaked, “mom and baby are okay”

Dipper and Mabel were first to start the hugs, and the room filled with cheers of congratulations and love. Stan felt light as a feather giving Soos a hug and joking about child labor.

“Can we see him?”, Mabel bounced with anticipation

“Yeah, dudes!”, Soos gestured everyone past the corner door and into the suite. “But only for a little while, Melody has to sleep”

The room was small, dimly lit and warm. The Pines crew collectively lowered their voices as Melody came into view on the bedding holding a bundle of blankets decorated with small yellow ducklings. She was leaned back on a large pillow, covered in blankets and toted a soft smile on her face. Soos stroked her hair and picked up his little son to show to the Pines’. The younger twins got a look at him first,

Mabel squealed and cooed at the tiny infant. Then Wendy, who said hi to the baby and told Soos she’d make sure to send him gifts while she was away

“What’s his name?”, Mabel asked Melody

“I named him after my dad”, Melody replied, “Jacob”. She smiled sadly at the memory of the father she lost the year before.

Soos approached the Stans, Ford smiled and complimented the couple on a having such beautiful little boy, but shot Soos a look, who silently replied with another one. Something was up.

Finally Stan got a look at baby Jacob. “Wow” Stan smiled, patting Soos’ arm. “He looks exactly like you”

Soos laughed, “really? I think he looks like Melody”, there was a short silence before Soos spoke up again.

“Do you want to hold him, Mr Pines?”

Stan looked at Soos and smiled, “heh, sure”. He held his arms out. Soos lowered his arms to pass the baby to Stan, who scrunched his face up and started to fuss. Stan took the infant and managed to hold him with one arm. He bounced and shushed little Jacob until he calmed down. “Heya kid”, He’s held babies dozens of times, but something felt different about this one. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Stan felt an almost magnetic pull towards him. Jacob settled comfortably against Stan and continued his rest. Stan softly beamed at the tiny person in his arms.

“Hey, Stan?”

Stan lifted an eyebrow and looked at Soos, who was fidgeting with his hands and nervously smiling.

“Uh..”, he paused, taking in the sight of Stan holding his child. “You know about my dad”, Soos looked at Ford again, who shrugged and nodded. Stan studied Ford’s face, who’s eyes strayed away as he hid a small smile. Soos got his attention again.

“You uh…he wasn’t…”, Soos choked up, his voice strained a bit, “I met you when I was probably the loneliest I ever was in my entire life”. Stan pictured the little boy he hired on the spot, he didn’t remember him until Soos showed up at his door step the next day ready to work. He didn’t know how much that quick, thoughtless decision would change his life.

Soos perked up and walked across the room to a table and picked up the piece of paper sitting on it. Soos glanced at it, then at Stan and smiled, gaining some emotional strength it seemed.

“You mean a lot me”, Soos, “you were there when I really needed it, you gave me a job, taught me just about everything I know. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that”

Stan got a bit nervous, Was this him asking to be the godfather?Everyone was silent and curiously watching. Soos held his hand out and handed the paper to Stan. He adjusted his arm to properly hold Jacob in his arm and took it. Stan flipped the page and noticed it was the baby’s birth certificate. Stan eyes bounced off the page and read the various information: birthdate, weight, parents, but he froze when he read the full name. Stan’s wide eyes questioningly studied Soos’ face.

“Are you…”, Stan felt his own throat tightening, crap. Come on, not in front of everyone “really?”, he asked. Soos gave a genuine nod and sniffed.

“I uh” Soos cleared his throat, “I was wondering, since Jacob doesn’t have one…if you wanted to be…. his grandpa?

There it was

Stan felt dizzy and took a small step back before remembering who was in his hands and regained his balance. Ford came to his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Stan decide not to look at his brother and chose to stare forward, then his eyes went back to Soos, who look deflated. Oh man. Stan was terrified, he didn’t want to say no and hurt Soos, but if he said yes….he wasn’t sure what made him so nervous. The entire concept sounded so alien to him, like he didn’t deserve the title. He always considered Soos, Melody and their son a part of his family. But to bare a title like “grandpa”, had to mean he had children that that children. That he was already a parent without his knowledge. It all felt so natural to want to lean into this and become part of this family like Soos wanted.

He heard something make a noise from beneath himself. Stan looked down at little Jacob, who was mid yawn. The baby’s mouth grew wide opens and inhaled, scrunching up his face and suddenly shut. Suddenly two tiny eyes opened for just a few seconds, enough time for Stan to make eye contact before Jacob shut them and got comfortable again

Everything was different now.

Stan didn’t notice how quiet the room had gotten nor the tears forming in his eyes. Stunned by beauty and overcome with pride and a sense of purpose. The pride he felt teaching Soos math, how to drive and attending his graduation all combined just looking at the perfect being in his arms. If he said yes, he would want everything that came with it. Stan lifted the birth certificate up to read the name again.

Jacob Stanley Ramirez

“Y-Yes”, he heard a shaken voice say, almost not realizing it was his own “of course”. He looked at Soos, tears in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. He still wasn’t sure if he deserved this, but Stan wanted it. He wanted it all. Why not indulge just this once? He gave the certificate to Ford and used his now free hand to pull Soos into a hug. Gently sandwiching his…..grandson in between him……and his son.

[ackerpreach]

This ending .... I can name 500 reasons and I will name them right now, because I don’t think I’m the only one who is upset with how things turned out. (Also, A positive message for all of you at the end)

MAJOR LEAKS SPOILERS/ READ WITH CAUTION

Update: after reading more theories from fellow RM bloggers, and sleeping over it one day, this entire chapter might be an april fools... Don't fully lose hope yet beautiful people. It's me just giving a review on a possible fake April fools chapter

After following this franchise since 2013, so nearly a DECADE. this ending is a pure disserve to the entire fandom. I feel like Yams has rushed it just for the sake of being done with the entire manga. So many things are left open, characters and their developemt are reverted back all the way to chapter 1 or are left even worse than that...

Mikasa’s worthless character development/ Aaronmika’s horrible toxic codependent relationship 

Oh honey... Let’s start with how horrible Isayama has treated her. We were all rooting for her, because we all felt like she was so misunderstood. She had a horrible childhood and imprinted on a guy who treated her like trash 99 percent of the story. And then, slowly but surely, she starts to realize she has to stop obsessing over him in the uprising arc with the help of a real man who treats her like a queen, more importantly, he treats her like a real human being. This man sees her for her abilities and that she has the power to be self dependent. She learned parts of herself, that she was able to work together with him like no one else could.  She learned parts of herself she was unable to do so if she kept obsessing about Aaron. All this love, care, mutual understanding and RESPECT these two shared. 

but...NAH FUCK THAT, right Yams?? Throw all this development away, all this bonding. Let’s make the main female lead even more yandere than she already was in the first season. Let her make out with his decapacitated head (like dude, this is also pure disrespect to Aaron’s dead body btw) and let her obsess even more about the guy who has treated her no better than a piece of toilet cloth 99 percent of the time. The guy who was never really appreciative in front of her for saving his ass billions of times, who always pushed her away, who yells at her and snaps at her whenever he can instead of reasoning and talking calmly with her in mature way. (EVEN PARODY YOUTUBE CHANNELS WHO DONT SHIP ANYTHING MAKE IT A TROPE WHERE AARON TELLS MIKASA HE HATES HER GUTS WHENEVER HE CAN) 

Then after all that, suddenly Yams tries to last minute persuade us Aaron’s always been head over heels for her???  He should have build their relationship better which he hasn’t even tried to do so... He must be thinking his fans are stupid for eating this from his hands.    

Like seriously??? What is this??? 

Isayama is just fully contradicting himself. It’s like someone tipped him off with a buttload of money for him to write Aaron like this to satisfy shipping needs and to cash in those extra money’s from it. Even if he tried to cater to Erem*ika, this is not how you write a loving and caring couple which people will root for. 

This next two panels just freaking infuriates me to the core of my soul. I can’t even describe how dissapointed I am with Mikasa. 

Why is she clutching that head so obsessively like that?  Why is she walking and turning her back away from her comrades? After everything they have done for her, after all they’ve been through?! After everything Armin has done? Standing up for Mikasa, beating up Aaron for hurting her. I feel like even Jean, Connie and Sasha have cared more for her in a healthy way.  Sure, Aaron cares for her romantically too apparently (What a twist Yams :)), but has he aided her to becoming a mentally healthier individual? Has he aided in her mental stability? The answer is a big fat NO!  All I see between these two after today’s raw Chapter’s are too Yandere obsessed individuals who have no clue on how to maintain a healthy relationship. 

Love should only go as far as the heart can endure and it seems like her character is not willing to be aware of that. Even Armin was able to let go of Aaron in those latest panels. Why does her entire character resolve around this guy??? I really do not understand. Her Ackerbond and her age is not an excuse for her to throw her life away like this. 

Shonen’s disgusting portrayal of women 

I’ve seen this countless of times in the many years I’ve watched anime. SasuS*ku from Naruto, Ichih*me from Bleach, Shinji and that oranged hair girl from Neon Evangelion.. Why do these women get decreased to simpletons with one single goal? And that is to obsess over a bland male lead who either treats them like trash or doesn’t notice them up until the last last chapter (LITERALLY WHAT YAMS HAS DONE). Some go even as far as the male leading wanting the kill the female love interest and yet the female lead is still in love with them???. It’s disgusting for him to write the MAIN female character this way. 

It’s dissapointing we believed in Isayama doing Mikasa’s character right. That she’s finally being able to let go of her codependency and to live for herself maybe live in Hizuru and find more about her roots???, but every single time she shows some improvement, it’s burried deep in the ground again by the Author. It almost seems like a lowkey kink of some of the male Mangaka’s to write about a girl obsessing over them no matter what. I see this so many times to the point that I truly stand behind it that some of them might have this fantasy. 

I wished he didn’t portray her last panels like this. Everyone else is living their lives while Mikasa is still grieving about him. I’m not saying she’s not allowed to grieve and everyone takes it at their own pace, but cmon... Show her living her life too. This is too much. Her being next to his grave and grieving him as her last panels just shoves it in our faces that YET AGAIN, BEING OBSESSED WITH AARON IS ALL HER CHARACTER STANDS FOR. 

I truly despise how Isayama handles her grieving, kissing his decapacitated head, carrying it around like some handbag, and her last panels being thissss.

The world leaving Paradis alone miraciously after all that??? 

It’s so weird and out of place with so many political feuds and disagreements between the world and Paradis, the entire Rumbling happening and we can see Mikasa just chilling outside in Paradis with no one bothering them. You can see the rings of the walls in the picture below.  I don’t know the exact reason behind as the manga is still in Korean, but from what I see, the story went the route of: throwing a happy ending without enough proper reason and  it was all fixed just like that in a snap! It doesn’t fit the entire narrative of attack on titan for things to be so peacful out of nowhere. When it comes to the narrative, how things work in that world, how hard it is to achieve peace, everything made somewhat sense up until chapter 138. 139 seems so so out of place...  It’s like I’m reading a chapter from a totally different manga. 

Aaron Yoghurt got defeated so easily/ Aaron’s character assassination

The build up on the first part of the rumbling was great, those kids carrying coins. You could feel humanity’s fear and Aaron’s hatred in those pages. As if he truly had a goal and he has turned away completely from his comrades and his closest friends with no return. The world seemed truly doomed, but he  got defeated just like that. He was in the nape all this time (because screw the warhammer power of hiding yourself elsewhere in his ginormous titan body). There is no master plan as we all expected, and in the end he just acts all yandere in the paths with Armin and that’s it... They massacared his entire character as well. Many fan theories created a better ending with his character. Him being reincarnated as Historia’s baby would be so much better. For him to still keep on seeking and to strive for power. It has always been his motive. It’s his personality from the start until chapter 138. Even if things are okay, to keep on going and to seek that adventure, but then.. He’s so weak and directionless suddenly.. It’s so weird... This is not Aaron at all???

Using Aaron for him this entire post, because I don’t want others to invade our tags... :)))

Historia’s baby 

The only panel we got from Historia’s child was this. Just a normal kid, normal life... Why did Isayama put so much effort in highlighting Historia’s pregnancy if it was nothing too spectacular anyway? It seemed he had major plans for this kid and for their development too??? It’s again, big plans, big developments, big relationship dynamic, but all  got thrown out of the window... 

Don’t read the next sentence if you are a minor :’) 

It’s like almost ejaculating, but stopping right before it and repeating that every single Arc.

My energy when writing about this chapter is the same as Nostalgia Critic and his hatred for atla the live action

In Conclusion...

I know us fans should not be deciding on how this story should end, because this is Isayama’s story after all, but I truly wished for him to wrap up things much more rounded. There are so many unanswered questions... Again, I think for the sake of being done with this manga, he rushed all of it. He’s become a millionaire from this story and now his pockets are jammed full, I guess he doesn’t need to put in any effort anymore, right? Perhaps a controversial opinion, but I really wished he cared for his fans a little bit more with this last chapter by giving some answers that make sense at least. It’s his fans who gave him this platform and the opportunity to tell his story and for him to at least give in a bit of effort especially in the last chapter is the least he can do. Rivamika being canon or not, he truly rushed it without thinking much about the entire story line. He expanded it so much, he didn’t know how to bind it all together.

Even after all this, I’ll still ship them in the headcanon type of way. I do give credit to Isayama for giving us a template for such a beautiful dynamic between Levi and Mikasa. He decides to waste it, but that doesn’t mean we have to.  I want to thank all the people with amazing writing skills, the ones who give us beautiful art like @carmenlee @phit chan @vialesana​ and many more. I want to remind all of you that we can create something beautiful of our own and we don’t neccesarily need canon lore for that. The art I’ve seen, the fanfictions I’ve read have touched me deeper than Isayama ever could at times.The Mikasa in our mind is appreciate of Levi, is mature, classy and has a strong will for herself. They spend their remaining days together peacefully. Keep writing, keep drawing, stay creative. 

I love you all so so much, I’ve only been publicly active since March, but thank you Rivamika fandom for giving me so much joy as a lurker these past 7 years <3

[free-pancakes]

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary:��LeviHan Canon-Divergence fic

Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price--particularly at Levi's expense.

Chapter 8/? Chapter 7 Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

crossposted to ao3 here: link

notes: sorry for such a late update. this also turned out much longer than expected. it's real fluffy though, and quite self-indulgent, but hope you all like it!

CHAPTER 8:

“Was he really that important to her?”

The words echoed in Zeke’s mind as he continued to watch the memory unfold before him.

Hange returned to the room with a steaming hot mug in her hand, and carefully handed it to Levi. She watched in anticipation as he took a quick sniff and sipped on the tea.

“Not bad,” he whispered. And at that, Hange’s face lit up, and it took all her might not to let out a loud “Yahoo!” in her excitement—she heard Levi was quite particular with his tea, and she was feeling absolutely ecstatic that he didn’t spit it right out.

Levi soon fell quiet, satisfied with the drink. Hange sat down at the desk right next to him, keeping him company as she scribbled away in one of her notebooks where she kept notes on her titan research, often speaking her thoughts out loud. While listening, Levi’s eyelids began to droop. To Zeke, he seemed... almost as though he was fighting sleep just to listen to her for a little longer.

The memory soon dissipated, Zeke finding himself standing in a new setting—a gigantic ballroom lay before him, the massive chandeliers glowing dimly above him, hundreds of people wearing ornate, traditional-looking suits and gowns. A sign by his side read, “Annual Sina Military Ball”.

Zeke walked around, trying to find Hange but instead found Levi standing alone, a small cloth bag in his hands.

“The previous commander?” Zeke said under his breath as Erwin and two others approached Levi, clearly teasing him.

“Guys, please. And Mike, shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just sayin, if she turns you down, you can join me. Open bar this year yknow?”

“Mike, stop stressing him out!” Nanaba replied, swatting Mike on the shoulder as he laughed.

Erwin stood behind Levi, grabbed him by the shoulders and gently pushed him into the crowd.

“Just go already, she’ll love it.”

As Levi walked into the crowd, the three huddled together.

“He’s hopeless isn’t he?” Nanaba sighed.

“Yup. Erwin and I will wait at the bar,” Mike answered.

Zeke walked behind Levi into the crowd of people, until he saw him hesitate before tapping the shoulder of someone in a long navy blue gown shimmering with gold. Big, beautiful brown curls turned to reveal... Hange?

Zeke’s jaw dropped—he barely even recognized her.

“Oh! Levi! Aw I’m sorry—“ She itched at the fabric on her side. “I wish they’d let me wear a suit or something to one of these things, all this traditional wear or whatever is too much, but I mean your suit doesn’t even look comfortable either! Man, I just—“

Hange paused as soon as she noticed the small cloth bag in Levi’s hands.

“Oh? What’s that! What do you got there?”

His heart was thumping so loud, he was sure Hange could hear it. He reached into the bag, to pull out a yellow hair clip—it was his mother’s.

Hange’s eyes grew wide and nearly sparkled in the low light, and she smiled as Levi pulled the strands of hair from her face, and held it up to the side of her head with the clip.

“Not bad,” Levi said under his breath, his heart almost stopping at how stunning she really was. Hange gave him a quick hug hiding the blush suddenly reaching her cheeks, and the hug sent Levi’s head spinning. She then reached out her hand—

“Levi, the orchestra’s playing my favorite! Let’s show them all what a proper slow dance looks like!”

Levi rolled his eyes, but took Hange’s hand, accompanying her to the dance floor.

Sand began to fall like a curtain in front of Zeke, wiping the scene away to the open sky, sun setting peacefully in the horizon above the water. The smell of salt tickled at his nose, and he stood ankle deep in ocean water. Young voices sounded from behind him.

“We probably should get going soon, right? The sun’s already setting.”

“Aw Jean, just let them have a moment. I haven’t seen them this happy in such a long time.”

“Sasha, Captain Levi never looks happy!”

“Connie shush! You can tell he’s happy underneath! Come on, just look!”

Hange and Levi stood knee deep in the water, and Hange held up a small, cream-colored conch shell. Levi’s face scrunched up in disgust as she held it towards him, but she pulled him close by the shoulder while trying to reassure him, and held up the shell next to his ear. Zeke waded in a bit closer to hear what they were saying.

“You can hear the ocean inside the shell! It’s something I read about once.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Come on, Levi! Just listen.” And when he finally did, his eyes lit up ever so slightly, his mouth just partially agape.

“So you’ll always remember our first trip to the sea,” Hange said. And before she could hand the shell to Levi, she dipped it into the water letting it fill up, and splashed him with what collected inside.

“What the hell, Hange!” Levi grumbled, kicking water back at her. Splashes back and forth escalated so much that they had gotten absolutely soaked—Hange laughed as she tackled Levi into the sea, the two coughing and giggling stupidly as the rest of the kids ran back into the water to join them.

Once again, sand whisked away the scene and Zeke was now standing in a balcony, overlooking a courtyard. He looked back to see what was going on inside—another ball? He then looked down to see Hange and Levi standing together out in the venue’s garden. They looked a bit more mature, older. And Hange was wearing an eyepatch—it must have been a different memory from before.

Zeke heard footsteps coming from the hallway behind him.

“I’m telling you, Mikasa, smelling someone’s hair during a hug means they love them!”

“I guess now that you say it, I suppose that could be true…”

The two walked out past Zeke, and leaned their elbows on the balcony together, looking down at the courtyard and garden. They gasped and crouched when they saw who was standing down there.

“I’ve never seen Sasha so nervous! She wanted to dance with Niccolo, so I took the hair clip off and put it on her—yknow for the confidence boost. I hope that’s okay, Levi?”

Levi looked at Hange, and tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I like it better on you, but I suppose Sasha needs it tonight, then.”

A new song echoed from the orchestra inside—Zeke recognized it to be the same from the earlier military ball memory.

Levi reached out his hand, just how Hange did before.

Hange giggled and grabbed his hand, pulling Levi close, practically in a hug as they swayed together. She leaned into him, her cheek pressed against his forehead.

“New shampoo, huh? Lavender—you know that’s my favorite, right?”

Jean and Mikasa heads snapped towards each other, their eyes locked and faces red in realization.

“Hange-san smelled his hair—“

Mikasa slapped a hand over Jean’s mouth.

“Shush, they’ll hear. Let’s go before they notice us—“

The scene quickly changed, and it was quite jarring for Zeke this time around.

He found himself staring into the face of his past self, sitting miles above Liberio inside the war balloon the Scouts had taken control of. This time, he could see the room where Hange and Levi walked off to after hearing about a fallen soldier named Sasha, or something like that.

Levi stared at Hange, in his eyes a mix of worry and anger stirring inside him.

“Stop looking at me like that, Levi,” she said curtly, clearly trying to hold herself together.

“Hange…” Levi urged.

He watched her hands shake as she reached into a first aid kit from her bag, pulling out a half used tube of wound ointment—the same one she had always used on him.

“C’mere,” she beckoned, and Levi obliged begrudgingly, letting Hange pull down his shirt slightly to apply the ointment to the lacerations on his shoulder. He watched Hange biting her lip—he knew she was holding back the tears, trying to “look strong” for everyone else, but he thought that was utterly stupid. She was allowed to have feelings… Commander or not.

“Hange…”

“I’m fine, Levi, would you stop pestering me already??” She barked back, though still maintaining her gentle touch as she tended to his wounds. She continued in silence until they landed.

Hange and Levi left the back room, standing together outside the door as the Scouts filed out with Zeke and Eren. Oyankopon nodded at them both, and left. Lastly, Jean, Mikasa, Armin, and Connie, holding Sasha’s body, all of them a tear-ridden mess. Both Levi and Hange saluted them as they walked past.

Hange started to follow behind them but Levi took hold of her hand. She didn’t look back.

“I’m okay, Levi. Really. I have to—“

Levi pulled her and ushered back into the room, now that everyone was gone.

“Go be okay in there for awhile. I’ll stand outside.”

Before she could protest, he gently closed the door behind him, and stood guard outside of it. He knew it was exactly what Hange needed.

From behind the door, there were muffled sounds of glass breaking, boxes thrown, and anguished wailing.

Zeke watched as Levi stood unmoving from the door his head down, biting his lip as a few tears ran down his face.

The memory faded and Zeke was now in a small office. Levi sat before him, holding a familiar cream-colored conch shell. He lifted it up to his ear, listening, and maybe, just maybe, a smile began to form on his lips.

A quick, loud knock on the door startled him, and he hastily shoved the shell into a drawer, slamming it shut.

“Levi, quick!”

He stood up frazzled.

“What’s wrong??”

“A camera, Onyankopon got us a session with a camera!”

“Hange… what the hell is a camera? And you know I don’t trust all these Marley things…”

Hange gave him a big pout. “Aww, Levi! Come on, it takes photographs! Like the one in Eren’s father’s notebook! The one of his old family?”

“My family photo…” Zeke thought, his own past memories now aching at his chest.

The memory dissolved, but the same scenery returned, unchanged. Yet this time, Levi was holding a framed photograph in his hand—a picture of him standing next to Hange seated, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. He looked tired, a light shade of purple hugging the skin under his eyes. But when Levi laid his eyes on the photo, his face lit up with a genuine smile as he stared.

Then once again, a quick, loud knock on the door startled him, and he quickly stuffed the photo into the backpack sitting at his feet.

“Hey, Levi! You busy?”

Levi stared back at Hange, both need and sadness swimming in his eyes.

“I know Levi… but I brought you a surprise!”

She pulled from behind her a white, spherical object, and held it out for Levi to see.

“A… baseball?” Zeke said under his breath, emotions tugging at his chest.

“Hange… this is the last afternoon we spend together just us—God knows long I’ll have to watch Zeke in the forest before I get to see you again…” He said, avoiding eye contact with Hange.

“Don’t you trust me, Levi?”

Levi continued to look down towards his backpack, fiddling at it with his foot, only stopping when he felt Hange’s hands on his cheeks, and a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Do you really have to ask me that, Hange?”

She laughed, the sound of it bringing Levi comfort. She backed up and held her hand out towards him, a smile on her face, her eyes beckoning him to come with her. And of course, Levi sighed, and took her hand.

They walked outside, a clearing in the patch of trees next to the barracks.

“Here take this, they’re called mitts! Helps soften the blow when you catch, since the baseball is pretty hard.” Levi took one and wore it.

“So I read a bunch of different Marley novels, and for some reason, playing catch is such a common kind of bonding time? Between a parent and child, or between friends? A symbolic kind of theme, maybe? I thought it was fascinating!”

Levi looked at the baseball—“So what… we just, throw the thing back and forth? And what? We’ll magically become friends??”

Hange threw her head back and laughed. “Good one, Levi! We’re already friends! So, hm, how about we just throw it back and forth for now? If it gets too boring well, we could always just drop it. Sounds like a plan?”

As soon as Levi nodded, Hange grinned and ran a distance away. She waved to make sure Levi was ready, and lobbed the ball over to him, landing with a satisfying thump as it hit Levi’s mitt. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the red laces, and soon pitched it back to Hange a bit too far, so she ran and dove for it, catching it just before it hit the grass.

“Hange be careful!”

She laughed in excitement, and got up to throw it back.

Before long, they were throwing for hours, talking about anything and everything. Sharing memories that hadn’t been touched in years, laughing over inside jokes, the 104th kids, and their past, beloved friends.

Their voices began to fade, and Zeke strained to listen, calmed by how comfortable their conversation felt, comforted by the sound of the baseball hitting their mitts, back and forth.

Soon, the memory went black, a burst of light, and he was back.

Paths.

And there was Hange, laying down in front of him with her back towards him, the sand no longer black surrounding her.

“H-Hange?” Zeke asked.

Hange didnt’ turn around to face him.

“So, you saw all that then too, huh?”

“I… did. Sorry, they seemed like private memories,” he answered cautiously, careful to guard himself if Hange decided to fight him again.

“No harm, Zeke. Not like that was your fault.” She finally sat up, sniffling and wiping away residual tears.

“But we do have to thank Levi—he got us out of a potential mess.” She ran her hands through the sand, now colored a bright white. “Susceptible to our emotions huh. Could have been a disaster.”

Hange caught on quick, Zeke thought. But something she said bothered him a bit—

“What do you mean, thank Levi, though?” Zeke asked, genuinely confused as to how she thought he played any part in getting her out of the black sand ordeal just now.

Hange smiled, knowing exactly what Levi must have done. The box of things she had him pick up—he probably opened it.

“Not bad, Shorty,” she whispered to herself.

She laughed to herself again, but soon stopped as she saw Zeke holding out his hand in front of her.

“Are you… are you deciding to help me?”

Zeke’s chest tightened as he thought about all the memories he had just seen. He was angry at how much it moved him, both personally, and objectively—Hange and Levi had a history he never imagined existed between them, based on what he knew about them prior.

With his free hand, he pinched at the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He hated that he wanted to help. But he couldn’t deny it—he felt for Hange.

“Yeah,” Zeke replied. “Let’s figure this out, together.”

Hange grinned excitedly, and grabbed Zeke’s hand.

[twelfth-harbinger]

A/n: Greetings! Request away! Here’s a sample of my writing! Just a few cute head cannons I’ve been dreaming up! — I plan do Liyue next! Enjoy ^^!

Nightly Routines — Monstadt

Warnings: None! All Sfw!

Mentions: Bed time routines and nightly activities!

Lisa

She likes to read before before bed, I suppose this is not much of a surprise but alas...

How could she not allow herself to be lost in the sweet confines of a book in the late night hour?

If she is not reading — the Purple Rose is experimenting with an array of different ingredients.

Crafting potions... she so eagerly wants others to try.

“Come now, these are just harmless concoctions. Nothing dangerous cutie. Nothing that a Calla Lilly won’t heal.”

Sometimes she’ll read Klee a book before her bedtime.

Reading with company like Klee is always a treat.

Lisa likes to “save energy”, with all the book keeping work she has to do during the day.

Hunting down those who have overdue books.. at night is so taxing.

She’s usually in bed early to be ready for the next day to come.

Sometimes she’ll have long talks with Jean about miscellaneous things that happen throughout their day.

It’s very relaxing and Lisa gives great advice.

Klee comes up a lot she just worries about those bombs..

Jean

She’s doesn’t really have a bed time routine.

She falls asleep at her desk instead of in a proper bed. It worries Lisa and Barbara.

What’s sleep? She’s always up late into the night doing paperwork “It’s exhausting just looking at the work pile” — Kaeya

Though, when Jean is able to finish up for the day without any issues, she likes to take the time to soak in a hot bath.

She stays inside for as long as she can.

It simply relaxes her muscles and relieves any tension the day might’ve given her.

Lisa joins her sometimes, seems that woman gives her peace of mind.

When she’s all tucked in at night she enjoys indulging in books akin to Lisa.

Reading tales of legendary heroes. Her favorite being the King of Khaenri’ah.

Honestly, she does not like sleeping. She has asked Lisa for a potion that keeps her awake.

But, when she finally does wish to sleep she has a hard time doing so and well...asks Lisa for aide.

Lisa reads her a bedtime story too or rather she tells her stories about the strong and admirable people she has met at Sumeru Arcademia. — This occurs during their long late night talks.

Kaeya

He wouldn’t be Kaeya if he didn’t have a glass of wine before bed.

He’s enjoys the company of Lisa from time to time they will share a glass.

Before going to bed and leaving for the night, he checks in on Klee.

He makes sure she’s alright but, that’s usually only after she has caused trouble for Jean that day.

Those pointers seem to go to waste. Pls don’t report him.

Kaeya likes to take his time before getting into bed.

He usually takes off his clothes and strips down to his bottoms. Or naked

Yes, he removes his eye patch but, only his reflection has seen what lies underneath.

Kaeya stargazes as he enjoys his nightly glass of sparkling wine.

Once he has had a few and they’ve warmed his insides, he’ll take a cool shower to regulate his body temperature.

It relaxes him more than a hot bath or shower would.

When he’s out falls asleep fairly quickly.

Diluc

He does not sleep much.

Given his nightly rounds keeping Monstadt safe from any posing threats, overseeing Monstadt’s wine industry and running the Dawn Winery...

Diluc escapes sleeps like Houdini.

Not that he wants to but he simply doesn’t have the time.

Like his voice line for relax is literally “Guess we can rest for a bit” like he didn’t have any plans on doing that before lmao poor Diluc.

He cares about the safety of Monstadt and her people.

Kaeya may be an ass at times but, he can tell that even he worries about his lack of sleep.

When he does have a moment to relax, he will play a round of chess with his butler while drinking grape juice.

He likes to drink that before bed instead of wine in difference to Kaeya.

Diluc often gazes at the collection of artwork he has around the manor.

It’s so intricately detailed, many thoughts and emotions were sewn into each of the piece by its maker. He notices it all.

He does all these things because he’s so used to being up for long periods of time that when it is finally time to rest his head. He’s up doing these idle things.

Diluc lies in bed for a long while before drifting off into a restless sleep, before he even realizes it — sometimes the sun rises and he needs to work yet again.

Klee

She’s never truly tired when her bedtime rolls around.

Always doing bomb experiments inside of her “room”

The guard that stands outside her door is genuinely scared they’ll get blown up...again.

Jean has to confiscate everything so she goes to bed on time.

Lisa will read to her for a while.

Her voice is so sweet and soothing it’ll easily put her to bed.

Klee keeps Dodoco close by when she’s tucked in.

She never sleeps without it, she also sleeps with a bomb right next to her.

It may not be a good idea to surprise her in the middle of the night.

For everyone’s safety lmao.

After a long day of treasure hunting with Bennett or being saved from a disaster by Razor. Klee will fall asleep quite easily.

Amber

She has a lot of energy even before bed.

So, to tire herself out she will go for a nightly run or jog in and around the city of Monstadt.

She will also glide around from time to time up by the church.

Feeling the night wind in her hair is a nice stress reliever.

She may not sleep right away, she wanders around the Knights HQ and often sees Lisa up reading if she isn’t sleeping.

She may also check in on Klee, she doesn’t really like her being inside that confinement cell.

If she isn’t doing that, she may go on a nightly hunt before bed too.

Just so she can cook up a good breakfast in the morning.

All that energy needs to go somewhere.

She’ll eat moon pie before bed, she knows it’s not good to eat and then go directly to sleep but... it just tastes so good!

Barbara

Outside her room everyone can hear her humming to herself.

The acoustics in the cathedral are top notch she sings there are night when it’s empty.

Bennett often walks in covered head to toe in scraps and bruises.

Nearly scares her half to death. She heals him of course.

In her pjs’s Barbara sits in front of her vanity, singing to herself as she brushes her hair.

She has a melody to go along as she counts each brush stroke.

She checks in on Jean to make sure she’s not working herself to death.

Some nights she helps Jean to a proper bed.

If she isn’t sleeping during the late night hour she may be performing at the Angel’s Share.

Diluc frowned the entire time.

Her performances tucker her out and she sleeps as soon as she sees her bed!

She’ll take a bath first though and sing there too. Barbara will never stop singing!

Fischl

When she’s alone out adventuring on a quest Fischl can relax a bit more.

She sits under the illuminated night sky with Oz, gazing up at the stars.

Dreaming of far off worlds with the company of Oz by her side.

She can break character in front of him.

She lets her hair out and takes off the eye patch when she’s not in front of people.

She brushes her fingers through her hair a few times to allow it to fall freely. Only to pick up one of her favorite novels.

Always manages to read herself to sleep until or until the sun rises.

She reads a lot of fantasy novels and of course makes sure to return them on time.

Fischl spends her time in the adventures guild usually until the late night hour.

It’s a bit hard to understand her word choice but everyone there tries to be nice about it.

It’s a good thing Oz is there to translate.

Fischl is one for walks through the city of Monstadt at night, well that’s when she usually returns from her adventures outside the city.

She’s tired then and will quickly fall fast asleep, she’s more of a day time bather than a night.

Diona

She spends her nights bartending.

If she’s not busy making delicious drinks...

She’s out in the wild searching for ingredients to make a concoction with a horrid taste.

All in efforts to bring down the wine industry in Monstadt.

She has her reasons but, she dares not to speak of them in front of anyone and especially with Diluc around. — Seems he has eyes and ears everywhere?

Diona is an excellent bartender in fact, she’s so good at her job that the people who frequent there are there for her!

Her nights consist of entertaining the guest at the Cats Tails whilst also making drinks.

It’s fairly tiresome but when the night is over she goes home.

Not to sleep no, but to try and come up with a drink that will utterly topple the wind industry.

If she comes to a standstill, Diona will go out and ask around about the things people would most hate to drink.

When she does sleep, she will crawl into the comforts of her own bed. Doing nothing but stretching to get comfortable as she moves to rest.

Which seems to occur when the sun begins to rise. She sleeps throughout the day so that she can focus on her job at night. — that is unless she’s asking around to feed into her plans. One may see her during the day!

Razor

Will always watch the moon and star lit skies before he falls asleep.

He does this while keeping watch.

He checks on his lupical throughout the night too.

Just to make sure they’re all sleeping easy and peacefully.

Will sit and eat meat casually letting his feet dangle by the cliff side.

He honestly doesn’t do much before falling asleep.

Razor think about a plethora of things though before it tires him out.

How he’s not a real wolf mainly — it saddens him.

In any case he enjoy going to bed with a full stomach.

If he’s feeling restless, he will go for a run as well.

All that excess energy disappears once it’s concluded.

After that he’s too tired to think about anything else other than sleep.

He smells like a wolf and won’t bathe too often — doesn’t see it as a necessity to being a wolf.

If he’s out at night and sees Lisa she will make sure he’s clean even if she has to shock him.

Bennett

He sleeps like a baby most times but as luck would have it...sometimes he doesn’t.

It’s mainly when he’s out adventuring.

When he finally drifts off into sleep — not that he does much to prepare for sleep to begin with other than getting comfortable.

Bennett keeps his fire going to stay warm.

It unfortunately attracts hilichurls.

He stays up late trying to defend himself and his treasure from them.

He lost everything once lmao.

When he isn’t out and about, he’s in the guild.

Staying up late taking care of his Dads.

Always makes sure they’re all alright before he even thinks about sleeping.

Bennett, after assuring their happiness and comfort would then rest.

He thinks about death but not in a fearful way albeit, it does cross his mind often at night but he tries not to dwell.

Sometimes his nights are spent being mended by Barbara — he falls asleep at the cathedral too if he’s too tired to move.

It all depends where his adventures have him end up!

Noelle

She cleans before bed, any surroundings that may be out of place Noelle will scrub, sweep and dust until it shines.

She’s often doing errands during the day or helping out with the Knights at HQ.

When night falls she’s fairly tired.

Albeit she does not show it, the hard work she does is quite the energy drain.

She barely lets herself rest often doing the “less dangerous” jobs assigned to her by Jean or Kaeya. All in efforts to keep her safe.

When night falls and she has done everything she could do for that day, Noelle will practice with her claymore crafted by Wagner.

She stays up late trying to refine her skills until she can’t swing anymore.

She may have super human strength but after a few rounds of practice she will get tired.

She likes to soak in a hot bath with geo salts. It’s relaxing and rejuvenating.

The healing properties aide in strengthening her body when she’s exerted herself from a longs day work.

Sucrose

Research.

It takes up her days and her nights.

Lisa is always so insightful to almost everything that she does.

It is very helpful but Sucrose seems to never know why.

She loves alchemy and will often fall asleep at her work station. With experiments bubbling over and materials by her head.

Albedo wakes her only to tell her to go rest somewhere properly — wait for a new day to begin again.

Sucrose uses this time to bathe as well but she won’t soak in a bath for very long she prefers hot showers they’re brisk and warm her up just the same.

She will read alchemy books before moving to rest for the night and sometimes she’ll fall asleep with them in her lap.

Scribbling down notes along the way, she often wakes up in the morning with books and paper scattered throughout her bed.

Mona

She is a night owl, very rarely will someone see her during the day unless she’s shopping for something to eat at Sara’s.

But even then she’ll go out and do that at night if it’s not too late.

She scrys, usually somewhere out in about in one of the forests of Monstadt.

Honestly it’s hard to fall asleep on an empty stomach so she reads the stars like a book until she’s too tired to do so anymore. In hopes of possibly making a breakthrough of some sort.

Astrology being the only thing that can put her to sleep when she’s feeling restless.

She will indulge herself in a few experiments as well, getting “important work” done so that she can further her magical prowess.

Mona can’t discern the origins of a few things in Monstadt — that often keeps her up as night.

She will read star maps while she’s soaking in a warm bath at night before bed.

They float above the water and she turns the wheel in the air with as she proceeds with divination.

Being surrounded by water in a warm bath and their reflective surfaces always helps her see clearly.

Venti

He does not sleep at a set time.

Be it night or day...

It is always random with him.

Not to say he does not get tired but..

Venti does things on his own time.

He stays up drinking through all hours of the night.

He will sit atop his statue within the heart of Monstadt.

Always with an expression on his face that reads that of melancholy and longing.

It is there he falls asleep and it’s not for very long.

He doesn’t do anything to prepare for sleep it simply has to catch him in the wind.

Venti will sing, of tales new and old.

He may even go to the cathedral to see Barbara — he has watched her preform at Angels Share.

He often tries to bum a drink off Diona but never gets very far.

If he’s not in the city he’s out by the large tree you can always find him under.

Writing poetry, songs and playing the lyre.

He will fall asleep doing these things.

It’s there he will sleep the longest and where the sunrise wakes him for the new day.

[elisaphoenix13]

This Dance Of Ours

Another Witcher fic, but I believe I got it out of my system (for now) so I can turn my focus back on my Marvel WIP's 😂. Still getting a feel for writing in this fandom so I apologize for any OOC.

Geralt woke up with a start. The feeling of wrong nagging at him as he sat up and looked around the small campsite. Roach stamped the ground in her unease and the Witcher could smell the metallic tang of human blood hanging in the air. If that wasn't alarming enough, Geralt finally realized what had been missing. A heartbeat.

A quick glance to the bedroll nearby confirmed his suspicions when he found it empty.

"Jaskier?" Geralt calls out.

It wasn't unusual for the bard to respond to the call of nature in the middle of the night, but considering Roach was uncharacteristically restless, Geralt knew something was wrong. Jaskier's lute was still strapped to Roach's saddle as well so it wasn't like the bard took off without a word. Geralt was always aware of his surroundings, even while he meditated or slept, but maybe it was because he was used to movement from Jaskier that it didn't disturb him. He got to his feet and walked over to Roach to calm her with a pet to her flank and then tried looking around the immediate vicinity. It was the night of a new moon so the forest was nearly pitch black, even for Geralt, so he had to assume that Jaskier didn't go far. If he couldn't see the campfire on a night like this, he wouldn't go any farther.

The stench of blood was also worrisome.

"I'll find him." Geralt says to his horse as he digs through the saddle bags for some potions and strips of cloth.

With another pat, Geralt grabs his swords, drinks one of his Cat potions, and follows the smell of blood as the elixir takes effect. He was better able to see when it did, so he was also able to catch more than one set of footprints just outside the radius of the campfire. He found blood as well. As he followed the tracks and the periodic drops of blood, Geralt wondered in the back of his mind how he hadn't heard Jaskier being attacked. Had he gone so long without adequate rest that he fell into a deeper sleep than he normally did?

Did Jaskier even get to call out for help?

Geralt didn't get a chance to think much more about it because the tracks led him to a cave that was poorly lit and narrow. He could hear voices from within, but as he silently walked in and made his way through the passage, he had yet to hear Jaskier. He was hoping it was either because the bard had somehow gotten away or he was here and unconscious.

Unfortunately, neither ended up being true when the passage opened up into a large chamber and Geralt carefully peeked around the corner to assess the situation. Normally, he would have strode in with his usual confidence but if Jaskier was there, whoever took him might use the bard as a human shield. His quick glance revealed that Jaskier was in the cavern, and that the guilty party for his kidnapping were bandits...the smell of blood was stronger than ever as well.

"You said he would come!" One of the bandits snarls.

"He will." Another bites back.

"Not before he bleeds out!" The first says while motioning to Jaskier's unmoving body.

Geralt decided it was best to step into the cavern if Jaskier's life was in jeopardy, and did so while drawing his sword. "You have something of mine."

He had counted five bandits while he listened to them argue amongst themselves, and they all turned to face him. Before anyone could utter another word, the Witcher scrunches his nose in disgust when the smell of urine overpowers the smell of Jaskier's blood. He looks at the bandit on the far right and regards him with a raised eyebrow when he finds the very obvious wet patch in his breeches. Bandits were notorious for being courageous in a foolhardy way, but this one clearly missed the memo.

"Don't worry. You'll be free of your embarrassment soon enough." Geralt growls out.

The Cat potion tended to make him look a little feral so Geralt wasn't too surprised. A lot of people would run screaming if they saw him like this. All but the bard that is.

"Give us everything of value you own and we'll let the bard go." The leader bargains and Geralt glares at him.

"I don't make deals with bandits."

"Then we'll take it off your corpse!"

Geralt dodged the arrow shot at him and focused on getting closer to Jaskier. The bard wasn't in shackles, or even in a cage, but he was alarmingly pale and barely conscious. It was no wonder they didn't bother. Jaskier was in no condition to move, let alone run, and there was a small puddle of blood beneath his leg where he was no doubt shot with an arrow. The situation only served to further anger Geralt and he used his Aard sign to send a blast at the group of bandits once he circled them out of Jaskier's range. He dealt with each bandit that got up and ran at him in preparation of their own attack but didn't get a chance to land and they were all dead within moments.

It was pathetic.

"...alt…"

Geralt sheaths his sword and looks back at Jaskier before rushing to his side and dropping to his knees beside him. He carefully lifts the bard's face to look at his eyes and ignores Jaskier reaching out to grab the front of Geralt's tunic. He hadn't even bothered putting his armor on in his haste to find Jaskier. Just some bandages that he started to wrap around the bard's wound. Fortunately it looked like the arrow missed anything fatal and would heal once Geralt got the bleeding to stop and Jaskier got some rest.

"Jaskier, what happened?"

"Got shot in the leg with a fucking arrow. That's what happened." Jaskier mumbles and looks up into Geralt's eyes as the Witcher binds his leg. "You look feral...like it…" he continues to mumble. "Makes me feel safe--OW!"

Geralt ties off the bandage. "It doesn't look like you're going into shock like I originally thought."

"No. Just hurts." He answers and groans when Geralt pulls him to his feet and wraps one of his arms around him. "As much as I enjoy our little excursions, being shot and then asked questions later isn't ideal. I told them they were wasting their time because you wouldn't come for little old me…"

Geralt let Jaskier ramble despite the fact that he was wrong. While the bard was always talking, somehow he knew this time it was to distract Jaskier from the pain. He figured he didn't need to deny Jaskier's assumption anyway since Geralt clearly did come to his aid, and instead led the way back to camp. With the bard's injury, they would have to find somewhere with a proper bed to stay so Jaskier could rest and recuperate, but the nearest town was a day's ride.

"Sorry."

Jaskier's sudden apology nearly made Geralt stumble in surprise, but he managed to keep his feet and finish the walk to the campsite. He silently helps Jaskier sit down against a tree before moving about to pack up their bedrolls and stash them in Roach's saddle bags, who look more relaxed now that Jaskier was safe.

"What are you doing?" The bard asks. "Going after the basilisk? I'll be alright here-"

"Jaskier." Geralt sighs heavily and the bard falls quiet as he walks over to help him back to his feet and over to Roach. "Come on."

"What? You mean on Roach? Oh, okay!" Jaskier yelps when Geralt helps him mount the horse. He looked even more surprised when Geralt mounted behind him after extinguishing the campfire. "Why are you…?"

"If you pass out, it'll be easier to keep you on the horse this way." Geralt grunts out.

"That...makes sense. Now that you mention it, I am a little tired." Jaskier admits.

Geralt hums and urges Roach forward, quickly finding the road and taking it toward the next town. Jaskier continued his rambling for the next half hour before his talking turned into mumbling and he started to nod off, but instead of falling forward like Geralt expected him to, his head lulled back. Jaskier's body followed, and Geralt soon found himself with the younger man resting against him and fast asleep. He did have to keep the bard from falling sideways at least once, and kept his arms somewhat rigid to keep Jaskier in place as he continued toward town.

Geralt wasn't uncomfortable with the situation like he thought he would be (and was prepared to be), but he was definitely concerned. He found himself looking down at Jaskier's leg more often than not to check the bleeding, but even if that had been easy in the beginning, it proved almost impossible once the effects of his elixir finally wore off. Even with his enhanced vision, there was only so much he could see on a night like this.

Makes me feel safe.

Jaskier's earlier words suddenly came to mind and Geralt's first thought was that the bard was insane. He had seen his reflection before after taking that specific potion and he knew it was a terrifying sight, but Jaskier...saw things in a different light. While most ran from him in fear, Jaskier ran toward him. Without fear and for protection and safety...and Geralt provided that. He couldn't help it after the younger man stepped right into his personal space, made himself comfortable, and wormed his way into Geralt's heart. Now he couldn't imagine life without Jaskier in it. Which was why he was insistent on finding even the smallest hamlet with a tavern or an inn.

As if destiny heard his wish, Geralt came upon a small town an hour later...if it could even be called a town. But it had a tavern and he rode up to it without hesitation and dismounted carefully so he wouldn't knock Jaskier off before he was ready. Geralt made sure he wasn't in danger of falling off the saddle while he went inside to ask for a room, and pet Roach.

"Steady. Don't let him fall." He tells her before heading inside and over to the barkeeper. "I need a room. Is there a healer here?"

"One is supposed to pass through in the morning." The barkeeper says as he hands Geralt the key after the Witcher pays.

Geralt nods and goes back outside, fortunately finding Jaskier as he left him, and carefully pulls him down. Since the bard was in no position to pull his weight, Geralt hefted him into his arms and carried him inside and up into the room, ignoring the curious glances directed at him. It was probably quite the sight to see a Witcher carry someone, whether they were injured or not, and Geralt wouldn't be surprised if it caused suspicion. Hopefully nothing would come of it, and they would be undisturbed.

He changed Jaskier's bandages once he laid him on one side of the bed, and when he was finished and washed his hands clean of blood, he looked at the other side of the bed. His attempt at proper sleep was disturbed and he was starting to get desperate for a good night's sleep before there was another djinn incident. When he thought about how Jaskier might react if he woke up to see Geralt sharing the bed with him, he sighed because he knew the younger man wouldn't mind. In fact, he would praise the decision and say something along the lines of "See? There's nothing wrong with the occasional indulgence of comfort."

That had been what drove Geralt to kick off his boots and collapse heavily onto the other side of the bed with a sigh. Jaskier had already seen the best and the worst of him so this was nothing in comparison. He'd be more careful about staying aware of Jaskier's condition though. He wouldn't let anything happen to him while he had anything to do about it.

~~~~

Jaskier woke to the feeling of his trousers being removed and rather than panic immediately, he first looked to see who the culprit was. He definitely wasn't expecting it to be Geralt though.

"As flattered as I am, could you hold off until I'm in considerably less pain before you try...what was it you said? Hide your sausage in my pantry?" Jaskier says and Geralt looks at him for a long moment before smacking the bard's uninjured leg.

"I need to clean your wound. Shut up and behave." Geralt growls.

Well that certainly wasn't the response Jaskier was expecting. He thought Geralt would glare at him and toss him off the bed for being a pest. But since he had reacted like this, it made Jaskier very curious about what was going on in the older man's head.

"Ow. Way to hit a man while he's down." Jaskier complains.

"How's the pain?"

"Not as bad I suppose. It just throbs." Jaskier sits up and watches Geralt wrap his leg in fresh bandages. "Geralt? Have you slept?"

"Yes. Now lay back down." He replies and pushes Jaskier down. "The healer said you need to rest and drink that." He points at the cup sitting on the table by Jaskier. "It should help with the pain and stave off infection."

Jaskier sits up again just enough to grab the cup and swallow the contents before coughing at the bitter and foul taste. "Oh gods, it's like drinking the guts of a rancid fish."

"It is rancid fish."

"Wh-What?!" Jaskier gawks at Geralt and he huffs when he finds amusement in his eyes. "Oh yes, very funny, pick on the bedridden bard. See if I help you next time you get hurt!"

"Rest. I'll bring food."

"Bread, cheese, grapes, and ale?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Stew and apple juice."

"Really Geralt. I'm not a child." Jaskier bemoans as he lays down and stares at the ceiling. "At least make it grape juice."

"You'll get whatever I bring you." Geralt grunts.

Geralt throws a blanket over Jaskier before he stands up and leaves the room. The fact that the older man was showing such gentleness was a surprise to Jaskier. Not just with the blanket, but how he had tended to his wounds. He was so gentle that the younger man was just now processing that his hands had been big and warm...and that Geralt had applied a soothing salve. It only made Jaskier wonder if maybe the Witcher would always be that gentle with him. No matter the reason for the touch. Especially with the jest he made earlier.

And then there was what Geralt had said last night. You have something of mine.

No matter how much Jaskier told himself not to look too much into it, he couldn't help the giddy feeling welling up in his chest. He prided himself in being one of the very few people that knew Geralt well, and he knew the older man wouldn't say something like that just because. In fact, he would go out of his way to deny any sort of friendship with Jaskier. But what he said? It was intimate.

When Geralt returned with their food, he held out the tankard. "Don't say I never do anything for you."

"I would never."

Jaskier took a swig of his juice, fully expecting apple, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was grape.

He's a big softie.

[ivesambrose]

Is this taken from that Danny Devito meme? Yes, Indeed it is.

Choose by intuition or pendulum and not visual appeal (or you can use the technique I learnt from Servantofthefates here to pick an image that strikes a memory in you)

DM or email me at jovescorpioreadings@gmail.com to book a personal reading with me.

Tips are appreciated 🍀

1.

You have either been struggling with savings and finance in the past few months. You may also been having a false sense of security (could be somewhere you're at, a place you work, someone you're with or a habit etc). Eitherway, there's something in your life that isn't as stable as it seems. Whether you notice or show it or not. Perhaps you're struggling with self expression and having anxieties in regards to your public image or career. I see some of you may be dealing with nightmares, improper sleep and fatigue as well. I see you getting some rest from your burdens. Trust me, you need it. You simply need to unwind.

Good news is things will progress and move forward in terms of career or business / any projects that you have in mind.

Slow progress is stable and sturdy progress remember that. Some of you maybe changing locations or want to leave something behind and start afresh. You'll get a chance to do that as well. You're hesitant in taking the first step but you'll soon discard the worry and go for it anyway. You have a life ahead of you.

A lot of you will meet your soulmate / a fated connection after you have changed locations. It will indeed mean leaving things behind first which includes people, perhaps a breakup might occur as well. (depends on your situation)

I feel you're either Cancer, Gemini or an Earth sign or they are significant in your life in some way. Perhaps it could be the energy that will be surrounding you soon. The energy of this pile has a lot to do with you, the way you're breaking a pattern and moving forward in life.

Timing is anywhere between one season to within a year.

2.

You're stuck somewhere but that's not completely stifled your creativity. Yes, I understand that you wanted to do more. But you're doing all you can with what you have. You're trying to make something from scratch, you're bringing something to life and it's progressing. It indeed is. Maybe you're manifesting the life style you desire or the love you want or the way you see your ideal self to be. Transformation takes time. You've been bogged down by people before, people you have considered your friends. Now that you sit alone in silence and in your own company you realize how empty some words can be but you recognise yourself a lot better to know what you deserve and where you're going from here.

A lot of you are learning to reparent yourself as well.

You're surrounded by love or I feel there's someone out there who straight up prays for you. Maybe they are not in your life yet but when the weather gets warmer they wish for you or think of you, you bring warmth into their heart. You'll feel their love soon, it's coming.

But first a transformation will come, don't be surprised when people come and tell you that you've changed or they can't recognise you anymore. Because you're gonna drastically change. This is the group for a strong fire sign or a scorpio, definitely some scorpio or 8th house influence in you. I can feel it. You're breaking free from a very tight coccoon.

There's a driving force or passion in your life or simply the fact that you want to achieve a certain thing that's pushing you forward. Please remember to rest because some of you take on the energy of multiple people and circumstances very easily.

One thing you can look forward to is simply pushing past your obstacles and going your way. There's a change coming. You've put up a strong fight. You'll get time to stop and smell the roses and also see the tiny details in made up for the bigger picture. I also see some of you straight up moving overseas. There is a long distance travel somewhere. I'm also getting a significant message. Message from a community or institution? I'm seeing greenery too. A lot of harmony and an increase in status. Also being desired by a lot of people. Make sure to establish proper boundaries.

For timing, for a lot of you it's already begun.

You're highly likely going through your first or second saturn return. The wheel is already turning for you, you've got this.

3.

You feel as though situations or people that are no good for you latch themselves onto you easily with no intention of letting go. You get charmed pretty easily and don't recognise deceit. Deep down you know it, you've been stubborn in your ways. Went left when everyone else is going right or taken a different route when you've been shown the way. That's left you in an energy you find rather difficult to fully trust but it feels like something you've grown accustomed to so you stay put. You may even be dealing with some form of addiction (this is not limited to substance, it could be something as simple as a habit) you may feel stuck to a set means of income too, you want to do more. You may think you've found your tribe or you tell yourself to have gratitude for the same. But you're still rather far from it. Please don't get disheartened though.

You can look forward to building a sanctuary for yourself. The start of the journey will be rather solitary till you learn how to truly nurture yourself and grow to be the person you're meant to be. It doesn't have to be too tedious. Bug it will require unlearning and relearning some things.

I see some of you investing in property, plot of land or a house too. I see some of you trying to fix your relationship with your mother or sister or a female friend. This in turn will aid you in your own journey. I see some of you wanting to spend more time in nature, with your pets or around animals. You might take up gardening or organic farming too? Or wanting to eat more organic and healthy food instead of processed ones. A lot of you have realized how bland and structured life feels. A lot of you will realize you had dropped certain plans and paths that were for you but you decided to settle for things just because they suddenly seemed more available for you.

You'll have certain realizations that may not be as pretty as first. Things might topple over. Things might change and perhaps you don't handle change as easily. This is definitely not the mutable sign pile. I'm also sensing neptunian influence/dominance here. Also capricorn (rising perhaps?)

Whatever happens will led you to build an empire for yourself. Something you'll feel extremely proud of. You'll be presented with several choices and opportunities, but this time your intuition won't lead you astray. The opportunities will impact your life purpose and career. You may pick up new hobbies too maybe with a friend?

A lot of you will realize how important it is to shift one's energy and try new things. Don't be scared to take this journey by yourself as intimidating as it sounds. It's necessary for you. You can't keep carrying different energies and crumbs from different people.

For timing, I'm not getting something definite yet. It could be anywhere from pisces season to a year or within a year.

[kiapet2]

where the two ends meet

The newly-elevated Crown Prince Roman knows two things:

First, that his brother is dead.

And second, that it is his fault.

But when Roman journeys into the witch’s forest on a quest of penitence, he discovers that there is more to the story than he could have known. What he finds there may be his salvation— or his ruin.

Takes place after @whenisitenoughtrees‘s fic thrice for another day. Can also be read on its own.

Pairings: Platonic Creativitwins, Background Intrulogical

Word Count: 4,029

Warnings: death mention, grief/mourning, blood and injury, abusive parents

AO3 Link

Nearly a month after his family buries an empty coffin, the newly-elevated Crown Prince Roman slips out from his castle room and walks alone into the forest.

Unlike past evenings, Roman does not turn into the stretch of woods closest to the castle. At this point, he could likely name every rock and tree and still not find what he’s looking for. Instead, he walks in a straight line, heading deeper and deeper into the woods.

There is said to be a witch at the center of this forest, one who preys on the surrounding villages and whom no man should approach lest he meet his end. Roman had once thought to adventure into the woods to slay such a foul creature, but his intention tonight is far different. He has need of help only a wielder of magic can provide.

And if the venture is to end in his death, so be it.

...

Roman hasn’t been walking for long when he becomes aware of someone following him. The feeling comes and goes— a tingling on the back of his neck, like he’s being watched— but as Roman scans the woods around him, he cannot detect any signs of unusual activity.

The third time he feels the presence, Roman comes to a sudden halt and places a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Show yourself, whoever you are!” he calls, then scans the trees around him for any sign of a response.

“Why have you entered my woods?” an irritated voice says from somewhere behind him.

Roman whirls around and draws his sword in a single, fluid motion.

The person standing behind him raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Roman takes the man in: dark hair, a sharp-featured tan face, and piercing dark blue eyes that seem to peer straight to Roman’s core through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Despite the man’s simple clothing, Roman knows with a deep certainty that this is the witch.

Ignoring all his instincts, Roman sheaves his sword and holds out his empty hands in a gesture of peace.

“I have been searching for you,” he says. “I have a request to make of you, and am prepared to reward you well.”

“I don’t make a habit of dealing with royalty,” the witch says coldly.

Roman’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Yes, I know who you are, Prince Roman of Thaylar,” the witch says, “and I am surprised you would dare come here, considering your family history. You are either very brave, or very foolish.”

“Both,” Roman says, “but I mean you no harm. If you would hear me out—”

Dark blue energy forms in the witch’s hand. “I have nothing to hear from you, witch-killer. I would advise that you vacate my premises, before I am forced to take action.”

Roman swallows and takes an involuntary step back. Perhaps he should listen to the witch’s warning, abandon this fruitless quest and return to his bed.

It’s not worth it, his father had said after they found Remus’ trail leading to the forest. He couldn’t have gotten far anyways.

Roman straightens his spine and lifts his chin. He owes this to his brother— owes him so much more than this, but it’s the only thing left that Roman can do.

“I only wish to find my brother’s body,” Roman says, “So that I might bury him. Aid me in this and I will ask of you nothing more.”

The witch seems to search Roman’s face for something, his expression unreadable. Then he nods once, sharply.

“That, I can answer easily enough.”

Without another word, the witch turns on his heel and heads off into the forest. Roman hurries to catch up, biting back the urge to question where they are going. The walk lasts far longer than it feels like it should, and Roman suspects the witch is leading him around in circles so he will not be able to tell how to get into his lair. Or how to get out, some part of his mind whispers. He shoves it aside.

Finally, they reach a small clearing with a wooden cottage that looks surprisingly simple and well-kept for a witch’s lair. The witch leads Roman around the back of the house to an herb garden, stopping at a small pile of stones. For a moment Roman wonders what spell the witch intends to cast here; then the shape of the stones registers fully.

A cairn.

“I found him a little ways out from here,” the witch says. “His ribs had broken and pierced his lungs, and he’d been bleeding internally. It was a miracle he managed to make it even that far.”

Roman lowers himself to his knees and hesitantly places a hand on the upturned earth, trying to comprehend that under it is all that remains of his brother. Even now, it feels like all of this is a terrible dream, and one day he’ll wake up and Remus will be alive and driving him crazy again.

“I am sorry for your loss,” the witch says stiffly.

Roman’s chest feels tight, and he swallows past something lodged in his throat.

“He would like being buried here, by the garden,” he chokes out. “He always went on about how everyone becomes food for worms and fungus eventually. If you were to grow your strangest plants over his grave, it would have made him very happy.”

It feels wrong, to speak of his brother in the past tense.

“Might I ask what happened?”

Roman squeezes his eyes shut, holding back the tears that burn at their corners. He doesn’t deserve to cry, not over this.

“I gave him up as a witch,” he whispers. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, and the words seem to grate and tear at his throat. “He trusted me with his life, and I betrayed him.”

The silence behind Roman is telling.

“Thank you,” Roman rasps, “For putting him to rest.”

He stays there, kneeling in the dirt, long after the witch has returned inside.

...

Remus cries out as he tumbles into the tower room’s wall, jarring harshly against the rough stone.

“Father,” Remus cries, “Father, wait—”

“You are no son of mine!” Father snarls, lifting Remus by the front of his shirt. “Foul demon!”

Roman’s mind screams at him to do something, to run forward and grab Remus or yell at his father to stop but instead he just stands there, frozen in horror, as in one great motion his father shoves Remus through the tower’s window and dangles him out over open air.

Time seems to slow as Father screams curse after curse in Remus’ face, as Remus clutches at the hands holding him above a dizzying drop. Remus’ gaze slides over to meet Roman’s, and for one terrible moment Roman sees in his eyes pure devastation. The agony of betrayal.

And then Father releases his hold, and Remus is gone.

Roman wakes up screaming.

He rolls over onto his side and curls up in a ball, taking harsh, gasping breaths. It takes a moment for him to register that he’s not standing in the castle tower staring in horror at the empty space where his brother used to be— the space that was right there in front of him as if Roman could have reached out and touched him but he was already gone and it was too late—

Breathe.

Roman closes his eyes and listens. In place of the screams that still ring in his head, he hears only the sound of wind swishing through trees. He reaches a hand out and feels loose dirt beneath him. He’s lying on the ground, outside. Roman opens his eyes and sees a dark sky full of stars.

Perhaps Remus is among those stars now. Would he like that? He’d probably think it was boring, to be honest. The thought brings a slight smile to Roman’s face.

Roman sits up, focusing on his breathing. It takes another moment for him to recognize where he is: the witch’s clearing, right by Remus’s... by the grave. It is dark except for the light of the moon— full, a poor omen. Roman had meant to be home by this time as the forest becomes vastly more dangerous at night, but apparently his many nights of lost sleep have finally caught up to him. There’s no use to it now; he’ll just have to wait for the light of dawn to find his way home.

Father will not be happy when Roman returns after dawn has already broken.

Roman has been much less concerned with keeping his father happy, as of late.

No, what bothers him most is why he’s been allowed to stay here at all. Considering the witch’s initial hostility to him, Roman figured admitting to turning in his own brother for using magic would result in being thrown out at best and murdered in his sleep at worst. And yet here he is, sitting in the witch’s clearing un-murdered.

Roman reaches out and touches Remus’s cairn with reverent fingers. He can’t bring himself to regret falling asleep here, dangerous though it may have been. It feels right to have slept beside his brother one last time.

“Well isn’t this sweet! Roro, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

Roman freezes. He knows that voice. But— but that’s impossible—

Roman scrambles to his feet and turns, heart in his throat.

Remus stands before him, illuminated by the light of the moon. He’s clad in the clothes he died in— Roman would know, he sees them in his dreams every night— and there’s a stain of something brown on his shoulder and neckline that Roman doesn’t particularly want to identify.

Roman gapes. “Re, what— how—”

Remus’ smile is bright, but his eyes are cold. “I think you know, Roman.”

Roman feels the blood drain from his face.

They’ve all heard the legends: spirits of magic-users who roam the earth, invested with their magical power and seeking vengeance on those who wronged them. Roman’s father once taught him the proper ways to... dispose of... witches to prevent such a phenomenon from happening. It was Roman’s least favorite lesson by far.

“There it is!” Remus cheers as the comprehension dawns on Roman’s face.

Roman falls to his knees, trembling.

“Remus,” he breathes, “Remus, I—”

He breaks off, lost for words. Roman has thought about what he would say to Remus if he had the chance dozens of times, dreamed up countless scenarios where he prostrated himself and begged for forgiveness or explained himself in a way Remus would understand. Now that he’s actually here, those dreams seem childish and futile in the face of everything that’s happened.

“So funny story,” Remus says, “I’ve thought it over and someone must have told the king about me, right? But I never practiced where anyone could see, and there’s only one person I ever shared my secret with. The person I always shared everything with. Got any idea who that could be, brother?”

Roman’s stomach feels like lead, and he can’t bring himself to look Remus in the eye.

Remus laughs softly. “That’s what I thought.”

His face twists in sudden fury and he shoots forward, getting in Roman’s face and forcing him to flinch back.

“Do you know how it feels, Roman? To have every bone in your body shattered, shards of your own ribs stabbing your insides until you drown in your own blood? Do you know how it feels to lie helpless and dying on the forest floor, knowing your corpse will stay there forgotten, with you replaced without a second thought? How it feels to be betrayed by your own twin, the one person in the world you’d thought you could trust?”

“Stop!” Roman cries, clutching at his head.

“Aw, is baby Roman too sensitive for all that?” Remus croons mockingly, pacing around him. “Do we need to protect his innocent little ears from the icky details of his brother’s brutal murder?”

Tears gather in Roman’s eyes, and he struggles to keep them from falling.

“Remus, I swear, I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Then what did you want? Why did you do it, Ro? Did you want my throne that much? Or did you just hate witches more than you loved—”

“No!” Roman protests. “No, Remus, I could never hate you!”

“Then why?” Remus says, and the raw pain that fills his voice is so much worse than the anger. “Why did you tell him?”

Roman’s throat is tight and his eyes burn, but he forces the words out anyways. Remus deserves to know.

“Y-you kept hurting yourself. You’d come in bleeding and half-dead from experimenting with your magic and you wouldn’t see a doctor and, and I thought that one day you were going to kill yourself and it would be my fault for not stopping you. I thought if I— if I told Father, h-he would make you stop—”

Remus laughs bitterly. “You thought old daddy dearest, who has scores of magic users killed every year, would what— let me off with a warning?”

Roman flinches. “You’re his son! I didn’t— he was understanding before when I—”

“He was understanding of you,” Remus says. “You are his son. I’m sure he was thrilled at the chance to get rid of me.”

“I’m sorry.” The words force their way out in a whimper, and Roman’s stomach twists at their inadequacy.

“You’re sorry,” Remus says flatly.

Roman’s response catches in his throat, and instead he just bows his head, refusing to defend himself further. Nothing can make up for what he’s done.

Remus laughs suddenly, loud and manic. He snaps his fingers and mutters under his breath, and Roman is lifted into the air, a gentle pressure holding his arms against his sides with far more control than Remus ever had in life.

Remus gives him a vicious grin. “And what if I said ‘sorry’ wasn’t enough? What if I said I was going to have my vengeance, right here and right now?”

Roman’s tears finally overflow, and with them the pain that has been building ever since Remus went out that window.

“Do it,” he sobs. “Kill me.”

“What?” Remus says, sounding startled.

Roman bawls, not the pretty tears of the heroes in his books, but in wracking sobs that tear at his throat and send streams of tears and snot running down his face.

“Please, just kill me. I killed you. I killed you, and I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I killed you.” He cuts off with another sob. “Do whatever you want with me, please, I deserve it. I deserve it.”

The force holding Roman releases and he drops heavily to the ground. He curls up, chest heaving, and waits for the first blow to fall.

But the touch that falls on his arm isn’t painful; it’s soft and warm. It pulls him up and holds him tightly against a chest that is solid, breathing, beating.

Alive.

“I’m not going to kill you, Roman,” Remus says, his voice strangely choked, and Roman can feel it reverberating through his chest. “You’re my brother.”

Roman’s heart feels like it’s going to pound out of his chest. Remus, he’s... he... how did he—

The world spins, and Roman sees a brief flash of Remus’ worried face before everything goes dark.

...

“Roman! Roman, please!” Remus screams. He clutches at Roman’s hands where they grip his shirt, his face a mask of terror as his legs dangle over nothingness.

Roman fights desperately, screaming from deep within his mind, but his body doesn’t move.

“Why, Roman? I’m your brother!” Remus whimpers, tears gathering in his eyes.

Roman hammers at the boundaries of his mind but is helpless to stop it as his hands steadily, inexorably loosen.

Remus screams again as he slips through Roman’s fingers and falls into the darkness.

“Roman!”

“Roman! Roman, wake up!”

Roman jolts awake, his heart pounding as he gasps for breath.

“Ro? Hey, can you hear me?”

Roman blinks blearily and a face fades into focus above him. Worried red eyes, that ghastly mustache, a white streak in his hair...

“Re?” he croaks.

Remus grins. “There we are!”

“Remus,” Roman breathes. He reaches out with one shaking hand to cup Remus’s face and feels warm flesh beneath his fingers. “Are you really here? Or— or am I dead?”

Remus gives him a lopsided smile. “Takes more than getting thrown out of a tower and smashing my bones to smithereens to kill me!”

Roman surges upwards, wrapping his arms around his brother and burying his face in his shoulder.

“Hey, come on,” Remus says as Roman begins to shake, his tears wetting Remus’ shirt. “You’re going to dry yourself up if you keep crying this much. Just shrivel up like a human raisin until you end up a dried-out mummy and someone finds you like a thousand years later and wonders what the hell happened.”

The thought is so gross and ridiculous and Remus that Roman finds himself laughing through his tears.

“Gods above, I missed you.”

Composing himself, Roman pulls back and looks Remus over. He’s wearing simple, weathered clothing, his hair is an absolute mess and there are dark bags under his eyes. He’s the most beautiful thing Roman has ever seen.

“How?” Roman says, his voice cracking with emotion. “I thought you were— that I’d— How are you even here right now?”

“I healed a bit and then dragged myself here,” Remus says. “Logan did the rest.”

Remus looks back over his shoulder with a surprisingly soft smile, and for the first time since waking Roman tears his gaze away from his brother’s face to look at where they are. Roman is sitting on a cot in a simple wooden room, bare except for a small table and worn bookshelves lining one wall. The witch’s house, Roman assumes. The witch himself is standing stiffly a little ways behind Remus, his face transitioning from warm concern to dark displeasure as it moves from Remus to Roman.

“You lied to me,” Roman says. “You knew he was alive all along”.

“Technically, I never spoke a falsehood,” the witch— Logan— says coolly. “I did find Remus with the injuries I described. I merely was able to heal them, if barely.”

“We had to be careful,” Remus says. “I didn’t know, if...”

If Roman felt any real remorse for what he’d done. If he would turn Remus in again, once he found him.

Roman rises from the cot, causing Logan to dart forward in alarm. But Roman just lowers himself to one knee, bowing his head and placing a hand over his heart.

“I swear to you on my life, I never meant to harm you in any way,” Roman says. “I have regretted what I've done every day, every moment, since we parted.”

“Yeah, I got that from the whole bursting-into-tears-and-telling-me-to-kill-you thing,” Remus says. “Which was dramatic even for you, by the way.”

“People will often show their true selves during states of heightened emotion,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses. “The ruse was a logical course of action to discern your intentions.”

“And also fun!” Remus says. “You should have seen your face, Ro, it was so white! I make a pretty scary ghost.”

“You were terrifying,” Roman says honestly, which makes Remus beam.

Still on one knee, Roman turns to address Logan. “And thank you, my good witch, for saving his life. I am forever in your debt.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Logan says sharply. That and his icy glare make it quite clear that he is not as forgiving as Remus. Roman winces internally; this whole debacle is not the best first impression to make to a sibling’s lover.

And that’s what Logan is, or at least what Remus wants him to be— it’s written all over his brother’s face. Before... before, Roman would have teased Remus about it, and then Remus would probably have made some sort of lewd comment that would make Roman sputter and shove at him. They’re not quite at that point now, he thinks. Not yet.

Roman inclines his head to the witch. “You have my gratitude all the same.”

“Look at us, all making up and being friends!” Remus cheers, but Roman knows him well enough to see the lingering discomfort in the slant of his shoulders and curve of his smile. Remus isn’t as okay as he’s pretending to be.

Roman rises and clasps Remus’ hand in his own.

“Remus, I have done you a grave disservice. While I cannot take back the pain I have caused you, I can offer you back the crown. If you wish it, I will give you my blade and the clothes off my back so that you may return to the castle in my stead and reclaim your birthright under my name.”

Remus stares at him for a moment, then throws back his head and cackles. Something deep in Roman’s chest loosens at the sound; he hadn’t realized how much he missed Remus’ laugh.

“Like hell am I going back to that burning trash heap!” Remus says. “Look, getting thrown out a window sucked major ass, but finding this—” he gestures to the house around him— “is probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Behind Remus, Logan’s face turns bright red. Well that answers that, then.

Remus takes Roman’s other hand, meeting his eyes. “If you really want to make this up to me, go back. Become king. And change things.”

Roman bows his head once more. “I do not deserve this second chance, brother,” he whispers.

His hands tighten on Remus’s and he meets his twin’s gaze again, determined. “But I will do as you ask. I swear it, with every inch of my being: I will make things right.”

Remus shouldn’t trust Roman with something this important, not after Roman made it so clear what his word is worth. And yet, Remus nods as if satisfied and steps back.

“It is past sunrise,” Logan says. “I will not have you drawing search parties into this forest when the castle discovers you are gone.”

“I’d best be off then,” Roman says, knowing a dismissal when he hears one.

“I’ll walk you back!” Remus says.

“Absolutely not,” Logan snaps. “I will not allow you to walk that sort of distance while you are still on the mend.”

“It’s been a month!”

“And you were bedridden for weeks!”

“Logan can show me out,” Roman says firmly. “The last thing I want is you hurting yourself more over me.”

Remus’ eyes go watery. “But we just found each other again.”

Roman pulls him into another hug. “I will return, as long as you will have me.”

Remus nods into Roman’s shoulder, tightening his arms around him. They stay like that for a few moments more before they reluctantly part.

“Right, then,” Roman says. “Goodbye, for now.”

“Goodbye,” Remus says, unusually subdued.

Logan shows Roman to the door, and together they begin to walk across the clearing to the trees.

“You should know,” Logan says, “that if you break his trust again or hurt him in any way, all the guards in the castle will not be enough to stop me from killing you.”

Roman laughs heartily at that.

“I knew I liked you, Specs!” he says, slapping Logan on the back. “I’m glad Remus has someone like you looking out for him.”

Logan blinks. “Right, then. Good.”

“Wait!”

Roman looks back to see Remus standing in the house’s doorway. He looks... concerned?

“I know it’s going to take some time to be okay with what happened,” Remus says, “For both of us. But you weren’t the person who threw me off that tower. The king was. Just... remember that, okay? Remember that and come back.”

Roman nods mutedly, and the door closes.

“Right,” he says, clearing a mysterious obstruction from his throat, “let’s go then.”

With that, Roman turns and walks into the woods, headed back to the castle. Back to the duty he promised Remus he would fulfill.

And this promise, Roman intends to keep.

[delicioussshame]

No Abyss trash/porn AU in 3... 2... 1...

Luo Binghe has had sex with Shen Qingqiu, and it is the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

How is he supposed to keep on living when he now knows the taste of his shizun’s skin, or the feeling of his… everything? He’s supposed to keep pretending this didn’t happen, like the diligent pupil helping his teacher through a bad moment he was?

Impossible. Even if Shen Qingqiu had obviously been reluctant to ask Luo Binghe for his help with this particular matter, it hadn’t been enough to quiet his student’s own passion.

Luo Binghe had done a poor showing of himself, too. He can tell. He didn’t know what to do, faced with his poisoned shizun grudgingly asking him for his support.

Luo Binghe has, of course, been taught, like every disciple, to be wary of the vicious effects of the many plants a cultivator could come across. In cases such as these, he should have been running back to Qian Cao Peak and gotten a proper healer instead of trying to handle this by himself.

He couldn’t. They had been so far away from the sect, or the nearest village, that the idea had been ridiculous. In this case, he had to be the one administering first aid.

This was what Shen Qingqiu had been asking for: treatment, nothing more. So that’s what Luo Binghe had tried to offer, stilling his shaking hands and hiding his love behind nervousness.

He’d barely managed, too overwhelmed with what he was being given. But Shizun, ever indulgent, hadn’t said a word of reproach, letting him act as he wished.

He’d also, to Luo Binghe’s utter distress, dismissed his resulting heartfelt confession with a wave and a barely hidden smile, confident that the situation had confused Luo Binghe. No matter how much his disciple had tried to convince him of his truth, Shen Qingqiu had ignored it, babbling nonsense about wives and ridiculous happenstances.

This brings them to here, with Luo Binghe going back to bed in the bedroom he outgrew years ago, as far as he was concerned, while the shizun whose naked body he was holding barely a few days ago slept by himself. A tragedy if there ever was one. Shizun should never be alone, and by that Luo Binghe means he should never be without his best disciple by his side. Luo Binghe is sure he could be of even more service to Shizun if he were allowed to, let’s say, dress him himself, or wash his body in the bath…

Luo Binghe groans as his mind brings his own body back to a very familiar state, of late. Worse, masturbation has lost all appeal with he very much remembers Shen Qingqiu’s warm hand around him.

Would Shizun really turn him back if Luo Binghe entered his room and slipped between his sheets? It’s not like it’s something they’d never done, hadn't it? He’d do better this time! Without the urgency of having to save Shizun pushing him on, he might be able to control himself better! Surely not even Shizun would refuse his mouth on him? Luo Binghe would love to learn how Shizun tastes everywhere. He bet it would feel much better than Luo Binghe’s clumsy hand. And, maybe, maybe he could get Shizun to take him… He cannot imagine anything grander than that.

Luo Binghe rises from his bed before he can stop himself. He’s got nothing to lose. Shizun doesn’t believe him. At least, he might think his disciple is serious if he shows up this late and this… affected. At worst… no, Luo Binghe cannot believe Shen Qingqiu will be mad at him. His affection is certain, if not his attraction.

He escapes his too small bedroom to enter his shizun’s.

Who doesn’t so much as twitch when Luo Binghe enters his room, or when he approaches, or even when he starts pushing aside the sheets that are cruelly keeping him away from the object of his desires.

Luo Binghe reaches for his unveiled shoulder, the robe having drifted away in his sleep. “Shizun…”

Foggy eyes blink awake. “Binghe…? What are you doing here?”

“Shizun was too far away. I wanted to be with him, to-“

Before he knows it, he’s trapped into a hug. “Binghe had a nightmare? You’re too old for this, but it’s the middle of the night, and I’m sleepy. Stay here if you want.”

And he promptly falls asleep again, this time on Luo Binghe, completely obvious to his disciple’s real intentions, or how precarious his own position is. For a moment, Luo Binghe is this close to waking his shizun up again, not with a kind hand and soft words, but with a hungry mouth and torn garments ripped off his frame.

Shen Qingqiu deserves better than being forced, so Luo Binghe abstains. He gets to spend the night in Shen Qingqiu’s bed, even if it’s only courtesy of Shen Qingqiu’s sleep-addled brain, so there is progress.

Still, he does not believe he will sleep tonight.

Really, Shizun can be so cruel.

[anarchyduck]

[appear] “ i need help. please. ” gerfra

So sorry this took for-freaking-ever OTL ---------------------

Takes place: 1942, Paris

  Germany does not find sleep easily anymore. The wheels in his head continue turning, agonizing over battle plans and strategies, over conversations he held with subordinates and superiors. He thinks about the paperwork that sits untouched on his desk, in untidy piles that would usually dive him made. A half empty bottle of brandy sits in the middle of it all, a glass of it in his hand as he stares out the window to the Parisian streets.

 A rapid knock breaks through his thoughts and he stills, waiting. It is late and he is not expecting company at this hour. Another knock pushes him to move. He sets the glass down on the desk as he crosses the room, hand on his pistol as he nears the door. Thoughts filter through one by one, all with the touch of paranoia as he wonders who it could be.

 “I know you’re there.” A voice, tired and strained, and slightly muffled through the wooden door. “Don’t be rude.”

 A moment of shock stills his actions but then Germany opens the door. France stands before him, his clothes shuffled and worn. His face is narrower than last time Germany saw him, and he looks in need of a shave. More alarming than that is the blood that covers the side of his face.

 “I need your help.” He says before Germany can ask. Tired blue eyes fix on him. “Please.”

 He should not. He knows he should not. The last time he saw France was nearly two years ago after taking Paris. How tall and mighty France stood high even after being defeated. He was bloody then too. Though he was hurting, he walked with his head held high and greeted him with the same grace and charm Germany remembered him for. He came willingly and there was no need for shackles. Few days later, France was gone. Now here he stands, dressed in dirty clothes at his door.

 Germany pulls him inside, closes and locks the door behind them. “You shouldn’t be here.”

 France laughs dryly. “I could say the same about you.” He stumbles in his step before sitting down heavily in the closest chair. He groans as he leans his head back, his eyes falling close as he rests.

 Germany realizes the strange situation he has found himself in. His enemy enters his living quarters in the dead of night, wounded and exhausted. He doubts France has the strength to fight back. The thought of radioing it in snakes into his mind. He should call it in. France would be arrested, placed into the cuffs that he avoided before. It would certainly resolve some problems. His superiors would congratulate him for the capture. Something about it does not sit well. The mental image of France being carried away to execution makes his stomach churn.

 He finds himself walking to the bathroom to retrieve a first aid kid and wet washcloth. France is still in the same position when he returns and, were it not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Germany might have suspected him to be dead.

 A chair scraps across the wood floor as Germany pulls it around the coffee table to France's side. He sets the kit down and, with the cloth, begins to carefully wipe the blood from the man’s face. “What happened?” he asks.

 “Just a touch of carelessness on my part.” France replies. His eyes are still closed, though his brows twitch together every so often.

 “Thought you had gone south.”

 “I did, for a time. But I missed my city.”

 Germany continues cleaning the blood away and finally finds a wound at France's hairline. It is clotted and closed now, though he wonders if it needs stitching. His brows pull together, and he moves the cloth away with a frown. The thought from before resurfaces once again, gnawing at his mind. A little voice tells him to call for reinforcements and another tells him to take care of it himself. Other questions came to mind, the top of them being why was France back in Paris?

 France's eyes open and he tilts his head to look at him. He looks awful, Germany thinks. Cheeks are hollower than he remembers. Dark circles beneath his eyes and a day-old bruise on his jaw. A still healing scrape blemishes his cheek and he looks tired. Worn thin. “So?” he asks, drawing Germany from his observations. “How bad is it?”

 “It’s fine. You’ll live.”

 “What wonderful news.” France says and Germany cannot discern if it was sarcasm or not.

 He stands and takes the bloodied cloth to wash in the sink. When he returns, France is helping himself to the brandy at his desk. Germany stills a moment and thinks of the many secret documents laying open on his desk. The paranoid voice hisses in the forefront of his mind and he chooses not to pay mind to it. Instead, he looks at the man standing by the window that overlooks the city. How delicately he holds the glass as he drinks, the moonlight in his hair.

 “Quiet night.” France says. “Never could stand the quiet when I was younger and now, I don’t mind it much. This industrial age is so noisy that I almost wish for quiet nights again.” He takes a sip then looks to Germany. “Suppose you wouldn’t know much about those nights, would you? Long before the wonders of electricity and automobiles.”

 “Why are you here, France?”

 “This is yours, yes?” France picks up the other glass of brandy Germany left on his desk and holds it out to him. “Drink with me. And do not worry, I didn’t poison it.”

 “I wasn’t thinking that.” Germany retorts as he takes the offered glass and, if to prove his point, takes a sip. France smiles lightly in approval.

 “We both know it would take more than poison to harm you.” he says calmly. “It is exhilarating, no?”

 Germany frowns, mind scrambling to catch up. “What?”

 “Conquering. The rush of new territory folded into you. Better than any drug in the world. Better than sex.” France chuckles lightly as Germany’s cheeks color red. “Once you have that first taste, you only crave it more. Don’t you, Germany?”

 “I don’t believe that’s an accurate description.”

 “But you do understand, don’t you? The good and the bad of it.” France swirls the liquor around in his glass. “All that territory, it doesn’t belong to you. Your body becomes a war within itself and you crave more in hopes it will satisfy the ache.”

 “Why are you here?” Germany asks again.

 France exhales a sigh and, for a moment, stares into the swirling brandy. Then he takes a drink and says, “Wonder if I could take a bath while I’m here?”

 Just how long does France intend to stay, he wonders. His mind wars with itself, frustrated he cannot gauge a proper read off the Frenchman. A thought that sounds awfully like his brother tells him to not to trust France. Do not turn your back, it says. Then again, Gilbert said that about many other nations. His chest tightens slightly at the thought of his brother and quickly pushes it out of his mind.

 “Yes, of course.” he replies, and France smiles again.

 “Thank you, my dear.” He finishes his glass in one swallow then sets it down onto the desk. Germany watches him go down the hallway and hears a door close. He drums his fingers around the glass in hand and looks to the empty one on the table. Pipes rattle in the apartment walls as he faintly hears the rush of water and he wonders how he has fallen into playing host to his enemy. He knows the trouble they will both be in if someone caught them.

 If.

 Germany’s mind falls back on France’s hollow cheeks and before he realizes it, he is in the kitchen preparing to reheat soup from earlier.

 France emerges sometime later. In the time spent, Germany has cleared his desk and consumed another glass of brandy. It is enough to finally take the edge off and silence the whispers that slither in his mind. Soup is sitting warm on the kitchen stove, its smell taking over the small apartment. He wonders if it will be enough. If France will take it alone or if he will distrust a meal from his enemy. He looks up as his new guest enters the kitchen and frowns lightly.

 “Are those my clothes?”

 “Found them in the wardrobe. Hope you don’t mind.” France finishes buttoning the cream-colored shirt, leaving the last few buttons at the top undone. It hangs from his body though not in the same way it does to Italy. Though he is broader and taller than France, Germany cannot help thinking the clothes should not hang off that much. “God, I remember when you were smaller.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “You used to be this cute little darling that Prussia adored showing off. And now look at you, all grown up.” France exhales a sigh as he ties back his still damp hair. Few stands escape to frame his face and it's then Germany notices he has shaved. The shadows beneath his eyes remain, as does the bruise on his jaw. His eyes drift upward to the cut on his forehead and feels relief when he sees it is nearly healed. His gaze catches France’s and he sees the man smirking at him. “See something you like, Germany?”

 Germany’s face warms and he hastily turns away towards the stove to lift the pot and stir the soup. Behind, France chuckles lightly and he wonders how much of this the man enjoys. All of it, he realizes. Would it be too late now to throw him out of the apartment? His jaw tightens for a second as he ladles some soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table.

 “Thought you would be hungry so I…” he trails off awkwardly as he catches France’s still smiling at him. He is not sure what about this time.

 “How kind.” France muses. He takes the seat and stirs the contents around in the bowl with his spoon. Faintly, Germany wonders if the man will take food from him. Would he think it was poisoned? But then the worries fade as France begins to eat.

 “Entire city is rationing and here you are with real meat.” he comments between bites. “I thought all resources were going to the front.”

 Germany’s jaw tightens as he frowns. “They are,” he replies.

 “Don’t suppose you have cigarettes on hand, do you?”

 “I don’t smoke.”

 France raises a brow at him and puts his spoon down. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin metal container from his pocket. “Then what’s this?”

 “Gift.” Germany replies. “But I don’t smoke.”

“Hm. Mind if I do?” France asks as he pulls out one of the cigarettes from the box. He quickly lights it and inhales deep, holds it, then exhales. Germany waves off the smoke that wafts in his direction and moves to take the other seat at the table. They sit in relative silence. While France smokes and eats, Germany once again attempts to figure out the situation he has found himself in.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimes twice as France lights his second cigarette. “Does it ever stop?” he asks suddenly.

Germany frowns. “Does what stop?”

“Those gears in your mind.” France leans back into his chair, cigarette between two fingers as he looks at him. “They have been excessively turning since I arrived. You’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

“I am curious, yes.”

France hums in his throat and brings the cigarette to his lips. Smoke curls in the light as it floats about the room. “You wonder if I am here to steal your precious plans. Stuff papers and secret documents into my trousers and carry them off to my leaders.” He takes another drag, the end lighting on the inhale. “Or perhaps I sneak into your bed and slit your throat while you sleep.”

 Germany’s brow furrows. “The thought crossed my mind, yes.” he says tensely. “Why else would you come back, knowing the danger.”

 He laughs and flicks ash into the empty soup bowl. “My dear, I’m not crude like Arthur.” he says. “Besides, in my current state, I could not hurt you even if I wanted to.” 

“Then what do you want?” Smoke swirls around France and it reminds him of Bismarck. When Prussia brought him to Versailles to be crowned as the new German Empire. He had his first cigar then and found it distasteful. It made his eyes water and the smell clung to his clothes for days. France had been there too. Silent and seething from across the room when Wilhelm was proclaimed emperor.

“What I want,” The memory fades as France begins to speak. “I cannot have.” He takes another long drag and Germany wonders if he intends smoking it down to the end as he did the first one. “Least not immediately, so I will settle for second.” 

“Which is?” 

 “A soft bed to start,” France’s lips curl into a smile. “And perhaps your warm company.”

“No.” Germany says immediately and leaves the table, ears growing warm as France’s laughter trails behind him.

[ridiculousn3sswrites]

Unwanted Advances - My Princess Pt. 8

*Zendaya x Reader

*Summary: Prince Thomas makes a move on the Reader. Zendaya and Reader aren’t happy about it.

*Warnings: Minimal threat of violence (not against main characters or Reader), let me know if I missed anything.

*A/N: Next week is finals week and then I’m officially a college senior ;-;

Tip Jar

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten

**********

Surprisingly, the meeting with your parents wasn’t as bad as you expected. Sure, you were being informed of more details concerning your engagement as negotiations continued, but there were small highlights of the meeting. Perhaps the brightest point was learning that your engagement was being prolonged; instead of being married before the year was over, ongoing negotiations and the upcoming ball made it appear that the wedding would probably occur sometime in the next year. The difficult part of the meeting came when your parents were discussing what would happen following your wedding. As it stood, it was likely you would be sent to Xerin to rule alongside Prince Thomas. The throne in your own kingdom would remain with your parents until they were too old to rule, then would go to your cousin (you assumed that was the relation, even though you didn’t exactly know how they were related to you).

For once, the issue wasn’t with your parents. No, the issue came in the form of one overzealous Prince Thomas. Dinner itself went by without real issue - he asked about your day, gushed about how excited he was to have his friend coming to the kingdom for the ball, talked to you about anything that came to mind - but the issue came during the walk back to your chambers after dinner. Prince Thomas insisted on escorting you back, and you agreed, not thinking anything ill of it. Then he had the audacity, right in front of your door, where your beloved sat on the other side waiting for you, to attempt to kiss you. He’d held your hands, talking about how nice it was to spend time alone with you, and then leaned in. If you hadn’t been quicker with your hand on his chest, pushing him away, he would’ve kissed you.

“Prince Thomas,” you chastised him, voice harsh to show this wasn’t a coy attempt at flirting.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so… I can’t even put it into words,” he said, eyes looking at your lips once again. You took a step back.

“It’s not proper. I’m afraid I’ll have to have a chaperone on any further outings with you. Goodnight.” With that, you let yourself into your room, closing the door before Prince Thomas even had a chance to respond. You waited for a few seconds, listening for his retreating footsteps. You hear a soft curse as he walked away, and you weren’t sure if that was at your rejection or at himself. As soon as you heard the footsteps far enough away, you finally turned to find Zendaya sitting at your desk.

“My Princess, what troubles you?” Zendaya asked, watching you with concern. “Did the meeting with your parents not go well?”

You huffed out a small laugh. Of course Zendaya would think your parents were the cause of your troubles as they normally were, but for once she was wrong. “I wish that were the case. My meeting with my parents actually went fantastic, my wedding has been pushed back due to the ball.”

“That’s great news,” Zendaya interrupted, though you knew she was still waiting for you to tell her what else happened.

“It’s the Prince,” you finally said, still trying to figure out how to tell Zendaya exactly what happened. Sure, he hadn’t actually kissed you, but the fact that he’d been that close just made you feel off.

“What did he do?” There were few times when Zendaya got as serious as she was now, you couldn’t even remember the last time she was like this. “(Y/n), I can’t do anything to help you if you don’t tell me. If the Prince was inappropriate wit-”

“He tried to kiss me.” Zendaya clenched her jaw as she took in the new information. “I stopped him, but he tried.”

“When.” It wasn’t a question, Zendaya was demanding to know. With the way her fingers now fiddled with the dagger on the table, you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“Love, he-”

“Just tell me when he tried to disrespect you like that.”

“Just now, when he walked me back here,” you explained, looking down at your feet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let my guard down like that. I didn’t think he’d try something like that, especially right at my door.”

“Wait, love, are you crying?” The harsh tone Zendaya had taken was now long gone, replaced by a low one, like she was worried about scaring you. You reached a hand up to your eye, feeling the tears gathering there. You didn’t know why you were crying, or even when you’d started crying.

“I guess I am…” you trailed off, not sure what else to say. 

“Love, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m so sorry,” Zendaya got up, going to your side and taking you in her arms before you could really process it. “I didn’t mean to push you, I realize now how uncomfortable that must’ve been for you. I can have one of the other guards give him a talk, make it seem as if one of the maids came upon the scene.”

“I told him I’ll need to have a chaperone with me on any further outings. I didn’t know how to just tell him I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to marry him. Hell, I’m not even sure I’d consider being friends with him anymore,” you lightly swore even as you choked a bit through your crying. “I wish I could just end this whole engagement and run off with you.”

“(Y/n), you did what you were trained to do. I don’t blame you for any of this. Requiring a chaperone was the safest option you had. I’ll be sure to be by your side every time you see the Prince now, and if not then I’ll have some of the other guards I’m close with on standby. We’ll make sure you’re safe and you feel safe, that’s the most important thing to me,” she told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re not upset with me?” You asked, the little nagging voice in the back of your head still insisting that you were to blame.

“No, my Princess. I could never be upset with you. He was the one that tried it, but you stopped him and immediately put distance between the two of you. Even if he had kissed you, you aren’t to blame,” Zendaya told you. You nodded. “Come now, Princess, let’s get you ready for bed. I want you to rest, you’ve had a stressful day.”

“Can you sing to me? It will help me sleep,” you decided to try. It was rare that she’d sing for you, but you loved her voice. Zendaya gave a heavy sigh, but nodded.

“I’ll do anything to help you, my love.”

**********

For the next few days, Prince Thomas made himself scarce. You’d heard some of the chambermaids talking about how he’d received a visit from someone you knew trained under Zendaya, but you didn’t know exactly what he was told. You didn’t know if it was the (unproven) threat or if he genuinely felt bad about your reaction to the almost kiss, but you were glad for the newfound space. It allowed you time to actually breathe and process everything that was going on around you.

Rihanna provided you with a list of the potential candidates to take your place as Prince Thomas’s fiancee, with most of them vaguely knowing the Prince or having previous relations with him. You vaguely knew many of them, having encountered them in your years of hosting and visiting other kingdoms, but you couldn’t say you knew them well enough to picture Prince Thomas with any of them. You tried doing your research on the other Princesses, having some trusted aides go off to find information and report back to you. You needed to be more involved with this, this was your future you were talking about. You weren’t going to sit idly and let this just happen to you.

Since many of your lessons had been reduced due to the other nobles needing to prepare for the ball, you finally decided to use your free time for good. The library had records of alliances between the kingdoms, tensions, and the histories overall, so you spent your time pouring over these volumes, trying to find kingdoms that would make sense to pair with the young Prince of Xerin. Of course you had to worry about the Prince getting along with whatever Princess it was, but you also had to worry about their Kingdoms coming to an agreement. If the newfound engagement didn’t work out, Xerin may attempt to reign your kingdom back in with a renewed proposal.

You recording any findings and speculations you had in a leatherbound journal that Sir Chadwick had gifted to you years ago, but you always found too pretty to actually use. You were sure Sir Chadwick would approve of your use for it. You didn’t notice the guard switches as you worked, letting your mind become filled with only the politics of your neighboring kingdoms. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like for the great academics of your kingdom, occasionally called in to help advise where even the advisers did not have the historical knowledge to help.

Sometime after the sun had already set, leaving you sitting in the candlelight as the moon and stars shone through the sunroof, you heard the door to the library open. You glanced up, blood running cold as you saw the young Prince standing there, looking like he didn’t know if he should leave or not. You knew there was a guard stationed outside while the shift changed, waiting for Zendaya to come back to her post. You also knew the guard knew Prince Thomas wasn’t supposed to be allowed near you without someone else present, so why did he let the Prince in alone?

“Princess (y/n)-”

“Prince Thomas, you should go. I don’t know why my guard let you in, but-”

“I need to talk to you.”

“And that can be done with a chaperone present. I’m sure you’d rather have this talk later rather than have me call for my guards now,” you insisted, standing your ground even as you looked back down at the book in front of you. Surely he wouldn’t be dumb enough to continue even after you’d threatened to call the guards.

“I just wanted to apologize.” Apparently he was dumb enough, but if you could get this over with as soon as possible, maybe he’d just leave you alone.

“You have two minutes and you need to remain over there,” you ordered, using your firmest voice. It wasn’t one you used often, but it demanded respect. He nodded, and you sat up straight, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Right, thank you. I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you, perhaps I- no, I did grossly misinterpret the situation. I didn’t intend to disrespect you, but I know I did, so I’m willing to do whatever it takes to gain your trust. I promise I won’t try anything like that again, but I do truly enjoy spending time with you. You don’t have to forgive me now, but I just wanted to let you know I deeply regret making you uncomfortable,” he rushed out, still slow enough for you to understand. You stared blankly at him, not sure how to take this. You’d never had another royal apologize to you, especially not so… sincerely. 

“I shall think about it, but you should leave now. Lady Zendaya is the next shift and it wouldn’t do you well to run into her,” you told him.

“Thank you for hearing me out, Princess.” He gave a slight bow before turning to leave the room. You nodded, waiting for the door to close before finally allowing yourself to relax some. You tried to get back into your research, but you just couldn’t get yourself back into the right frame of mind. What was the Prince’s game here? Surely there was something he hoped to gain from apologizing to you. Was it just access to you? There was no way he could’ve genuinely fallen for you in the short time you’d known each other. You stared at the book in front of you, tapping your pen against the desk, but you started getting lost to your musings. Before you could spiral further, there was a soft knock at the library door.

“Come in,” you called out, rubbing your eyes. Maybe you just needed to reset a bit before you got back to work.

“My Princess, I brought your dinner from the kitchens. You’re lucky the cooks realized you weren’t at dinner so they made something for you. Sorry for being late,” Zendaya apologized, trying to balance the tray they’d sent your dinner on. She placed the tray on the table, finally taking a good look at you. “How’s the research going, my love? I heard you’ve been in here all day.”

“I just can’t focus anymore,” you huffed, putting down your pen. Zendaya walked to your side of the desk, petting your hair as she dragged your meal in front of you.

“Eat, darling. It’ll help you feel better and you need to take a break anyways,” she insisted. You nodded, figuring she was right. “Have you learned much?”

“The political landscapes of the kingdoms truly is insane, I don’t know how the nobles navigate it,” you admitted. Zendaya could tell you didn’t feel like talking, so she gave you a recap of her day. For the days she had night and morning watches, she was supposed to spend her afternoons sleeping, but she rarely spent the entire afternoon asleep. She talked about the archery training she was undergoing, wanting to strengthen her skills with the bow since she rarely used it. After she was done talking, you finally decided how you wanted to broach the topic. “Love, the guard before you was Sanders, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“I believe he needs to be demoted for a while. Before shift change, he allowed Prince Thomas to enter unaccompanied even though the guards were told of the new requirements,” you explained, going to grab Zendaya’s hand. You could tell she was about to get a bit heated. “Nothing happened. Prince Thomas stayed by the door, apologized, and then exited in under five minutes, but he should not have been allowed in the first place.”

“I will let my superior know, love. Well, after I get done with Sanders,” she muttered the last part as though you wouldn’t be able to hear it muffled by your hair.

“Love, don’t hurt him too bad.”

“So I can hurt him just a little.”

“Try to make it look like an accident. I wouldn’t want you to get punished over something petty like this,” you explained. “Though I’m sure I could get you out of it, I don’t want people to think I’m playing favorites.”

“Please, everyone already knows I’m your favorite. It’s not hard for people to see your heart eyes when you look at me,” she teased, as though what she said wasn’t truly accurate.

“It’s not my fault when you’re genuinely gorgeous,” you pouted, looking up at her. She laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Finish eating, then we can clean up here and I’ll tell one of the handmaidens to draw you a bath. You’ve been working for too long, love, you need to rest. I don’t want you to get burnt out.”

“Fine, but I need to figure more things out if I want this plan to work.”

“We can’t force him to fall in love with one person in particular. We just need to present him with the options and encourage whichever one he wants,” Zendaya said. “The plan won’t fall apart if you rest for the night. Please, my Princess? For me?”

She had you there and she knew it. Whenever she directly asked you for something, you could never say no to her. She smiled at your little pout, leaning down to kiss you soundly until you stopped pouting. Before you could truly give in to her methods and smile into the kiss that you only wanted more of, the sound of the door fully closing interrupted the silence in the library. Zendaya pulled back,  the both of you immediately looking at the door. “Did you close it when you came in?”

“I did. Stay here,” she ordered you, drawing her sword as she went to go investigate. You stayed in your seat, biting at your thumbnail as you watched her leave the library, pulling the door completely shut behind her.

**********

Tag List: @uncookspaget, @ddesert-rosee, @gangganggg

Permanent Tag List: @treatallwithkindness, @laic2299, @delaber

[songbirdsingingthings]

Chapter Six - Skipping to First in the Ever Growing Line

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter ~ Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Word Count: 2.5K

You hadn’t left your father’s side for a week and counting. Every waking moment was spent fretting over him - whether he was warm enough, whether he had enough to eat… whether he ate at all. You no longer made much of an effort to attend balls, much to Nemuri’s chagrin, and it had been a few days since you took a proper bath. Izuku was feeling just as drowned as you were - while you were serving as a caretaker of sorts, Izuku took on all of the work your father had to do on a daily basis; check the budgets, arrange business meetings, manage the family’s finances… it was just so much to do. Every time you heard your father croak or make a move to get up, you were always on your feet to aid him with whatever he needed. This kept you up late into the night and into the wee hours of the morning. You busied yourself with reading whatever you could to keep you awake. They whirled you away into their worlds of fantasy, romance, and adventure so rich and lovely that you wished to be swept up and dropped right into them. 

It was late, very late, and your nose was buried into the latest novel you had come across all the while making note of every time your father’s breathing was irregular and shallow. That’s why it surprised you when Mei stepped in quietly to say that you had company. You peered over at the little clock that was sitting atop the nightstand and looked back at her with a “are you serious?” look. She merely nods and motions with her head to follow. You don’t budge from your seat, instead pointing at your father who was asleep. With a silent motion, Mei pointed at you and then out of the door, then she pointed to herself and the chair that you were sitting in. You understood and, unhappily, rose from the wooden chair, patted her shoulder, and made your way down the long sweeping staircase. You were sure your hair was a mess and that your dress was all wrinkled, but you didn’t care. It was almost 1’oclock in the morning after all. What surprised you was that you didn’t have just one visitor, but four. All dressed in sharp suits and looking fresh as a daisy, the four young men looked up at you and gained a different response. There was Lord Iida who not only carried a briefcase, but also a vase of beautiful flowers. Well, his butler held that. Your gaze flickered to Shouto’s, and for a brief but fleeting moment, held them. And then there was Lord Kirishima and Lord Bakugou - the boys you had known for almost forever. Katsuki would tease Izuku relentlessly when you were younger, so he did the same with you, but it was all in good fun. Lord Kirishima became Lord Bakugou’s closest confidant - and you did expect that there was more to that relationship than they were letting on - and another one of Izuku’s friends. You cleared your throat as you stopped in front of them, gaining their undivided attention.

“Gentleman, to what do I owe the pleasure of this… lovely, yet early, meeting?” Your words come out a bit more harshly than you intended, but nevertheless you continued to stare the four of them down without your confidence shaking.

“Deku mentioned that he was in need of some help, Half-pint, ” Katsuki said, stepping forward. Katsuki had always been taller than you, hence your loving nickname that left his mouth so often. “Y’know where we can find him?” You didn’t have the urge, nor patience, to listen to why your brother needed four of them exactly, so you just led them to the study instead. You knocked twice and opened the door, revealing a frazzled Izuku sat at his desk, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows and his hair a frizzy mess. He looked up and his weary eyes met yours, and then the rest of your company.

“Midoriya, it’s been a while!” Kirishima said gallantly, walking over to him and putting a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Seriously Deku, no words for a couple weeks and then we get a letter saying ‘need your assistance’? It would’ve been a shame if that got into the wrong hands and rumors started to float around.” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. While the three of them conversed, Lord Iida stepped towards you, his butler in toe.

“I thought that you might be under a significant amount of stress lately, so I offer aid in any way necessary. He explains, earning a soft nod for you. “I also thought you might enjoy these flower arrangements - shall I have my butler place them in your parlor?”

“Yes, thank you Lord Iida. They’re lovely.” You decide not to mention how the arrangements were made up of white lilies, the flower that represents death. Lord Iida bows before you and in return you give him a quick curtsy. You slowly begin to step out of the room and you almost make it down the hallway before Shouto stops you.

“Y/N,” He breathes, his voice light but heavy with concern. You don’t correct him when he uses your first name. Instead, you turn to face him slowly. You see him open his mouth to talk but then hesitates.

“Would you like me to fetch a servant for tea? Because other than that, I genuinely do not know how I can be of service to you,” You sigh, bringing up one of your hands to daintily rub your eyes. I need to get back to reading, otherwise I’m going to fall asleep, you think to yourself. Shouto frowns and takes a step towards you.

“I want to be of service to you.” He admits. His eyes are soft and tender as they look at you, making you wish you had the strength to turn around and march back upstairs to your bedchamber. However, you were running on almost no sleep and hadn’t eaten in awhile, making you weak to his pretty face. Despite your fatigue, a small laugh escapes you.

“I’m not quite sure how that might work,” You say, letting one of your hands settle on your hip. “The young gentlemen of your social class, to my knowledge, have never been subjected to the studies of taking care of someone. That task normally falls upon the women of the household. And, from what I was able to see at your estate,” Shouto tenses at your words, remembering how your whole relationship dynamic swiftly changed when he brought you to his home, “you are up to your knees in servants awaiting your beck and call.” While your words might’ve seemed severe, they were true in all stances. Shouto knew this.

“I’m aware, I still want to help you.” His voice is no longer hesitant, but earnest and insistent. You give in.

“Alright then,” you murmur, motioning with your head that he could walk beside you. He took that opportunity quickly and the two of you settled into a comfortable pace, taking your time walking down the long hallway that ran through the left side of your house. The two of you are silent for a minute before Shouto decides to speak up.

“How much sleep have you been getting?” You expected this question, but that didn’t make it easier to answer. I should just tell him the truth, the bags underneath my eyes are evidence enough you think.

“Two, maybe three hours a night.” You hear Shouto suck in a breath and you peek over to see his eyes widen in concern.

“How much have you eaten today?” He asks more quietly, like he’s scared to hear the answer.

“Enough,” you say, hoping that will quell his questioning.

“Y/N,” He breathes, grabbing hold of your arm. Your nonchalant look seemed to cause exasperation from him. “You need to take care of yourself.” You shrug his grasp off.

“I need to take care of my father.” You say instead.

“Where are your kitchens?” He asks, provoking confusion to flash across your face.

“Is there a reason to visit them?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“We can get something to bring to your father.” And with that, the two of you began the ‘journey’ to the far corners of your home.

“Do you happen to know where everything is kept?” He asks you, peering over pots and pans that were hanging on the wall. You stifle a laugh at his incomprehension of how a kitchen works.

“The utensils and cookware resides there,” you point towards where Shouto was standing. “There is dried fruit in the cupboards over there and next to them are the fresh vegetables,” you motion to your left. “And the ice house is outside, which stores the milk, butter, and other perishables.” Shouto nods as he looks to where you had motioned, taking note of where everything was located.

“Perhaps we should bring him some dried Y/F/F,” He suggests, strolling over to the cabinet. With a small smile on your face, you shake your head.

“I have to disagree, Father can’t stand the taste for some reason,” You explain. Nonetheless, he digs through the cupboard and finds a little basket of dried Y/F/F. He places them in front of you on the small table.

“But you can. They’re your favorite.” He says, causing you to fluster.

“How did you know that?” You wonder, eyeing him.

“I would’ve loved to say intuition, but Izuku had mentioned it when I came into your parlor. That day when you so charitably entertained Lord Mineta?” A wistful smile fell across your face, thinking back to that time. Shouto had saved you from what would’ve been a most horrendous outing with that suitor, if you could’ve even called him that. “He said something about the fruit tarts on the table he and your father were sitting at, and mentioned how Y/F/F was your favorite. So, eat up. Then we can take something to your father.” You obliged his wants, taking a dried slice of fruit out of the basket and biting into it. The flavors seemed to wrap your taste buds in a warm, and much needed, hug that prompted your smile to grow bigger.

“Thank you,” you say genuinely. A small smile flickers across Shouto’s face at your words as he leans back on a countertop.

“Lord Iida’s flower choice was certainly interesting.” He says bluntly. You bark out a laugh and make haste to quickly cover your mouth, but the damage was done.

“I’m sure he meant no ill intent,” you try and reason, causing Shouto to roll his eyes.

“However he managed to become the suitor at the front of your ever growing line of them is beyond me.” You can hear the hints of jealousy in his voice, bringing you back to your conversation before you heard about your father’s condition. You choose to wave it off though.

“Ever growing line, huh?” You say, plucking another piece of fruit from the basket.

“You must know that you are the most desirable young lady that is out in the season.” He states. You cock your head to emphasize the point that you were in the dark about the subject Shouto was talking about, so he continued.

“Y/N.” The way your name leaves his lips causes your heart to leap. “Not only are you of high social status and come from an honorable and cherished family. You are kind,” he takes a step towards you. “Intelligent,” another step. “Beautiful.” He is now very close to you, maybe only about a foot away. It was when you looked up into his eyes that you knew. He was the one you must marry. Shouto was the only young man you have ever truly imagined a future with. He was not a bore like Lord Ojirou or disagreeable and sickening like Lord Mineta. You could be yourself around him. If you married Lord Iida, you would have to put on a show similar to the one you performed with his mother - the perfect little lady who was quiet, abiding… unspoken. Shouto liked your spunk and your loud little family. He treasured the small facts he learned about you with such care. He loved you.

“Shouto…” You whisper. To hell with the notion of marrying Lord Iida. You could deal with the social repercussions of that later, along with Shouto’s father’s clear disdain of you. That was all just white noise when you looked at the man in front of you and the tender look on his face. It was taboo to engage in serious romantic affairs before engagement, and even then, it was rare for a couple to show public displays of affection. But, you found yourself absolutely drawn to his lips. You leaned in just like the heroine from your book had, making sure that your eyes fluttered shut before you met his… but they never did. Thanks to the clamour coming from down the hallway, the two of you sprung apart and busied yourselves with something in the kitchen when the kitchen maids came in. Fighting a flustered expression, you made yourselves look up and meet your maids’ eyes.

“Oh Lady Yagi, we did not expect you to be here!” One of your maids piped up, curtsying to you and Shouto.

“It’s quite alright, Lord Shouto and I were just preparing something for my Father and didn’t want to bother you,” you explain, earning nods from the little group.

“Please, allow us!” They say, quickly working their way around the kitchen to whip up a small and nutritious meal. Cheese and crackers were placed atop a small tray along with a glass of chilled water. “Shall we take this upstairs to the senior Lord Yagi?” One of them asks, earning a shake of your head. You gently take the tray from her hands and smile.

“If you’ll allow it, I’d like to take it to him,” you say, your voice placated. The maid nods and curtsies again, letting you and Shouto pass through the small hallway together. Silence graces the two of you again but it’s different this time. It was no longer awkward and tense, but comforting and hopeful. The two of you would keep sneaking glances at the other, sometimes catching each other in the act.

“Can we discuss this…?” Shouto asks, his tone now shy again. You nod, not trusting your voice, and give him a smile. “Maybe on the promenade tomorrow morning?” You knew it was ridiculous to get as excited as you were about promenading with Shouto - for heaven’s sake, you already knew that he harbored feelings for you! But his invitation made it all the more real.

“That would be lovely.”

[self-loving-vampire]

Ultima IV: Quest of the Avatar (1985)

Ultima 4 is a very historically-significant game, as well as being where the Ultima series cemented itself as something truly unique. Where the previous games in the series (as well as the RPG genre in general) often dealt with defeating some kind of evil overlord, Ultima 4 has no antagonist and instead calls on you to perfect yourself and embody a set of eight moral virtues.

Summary

You start the game by answering several moral dilemmas to determine your class and starting location. You are then transported to the fantasy land of Britannia to embark on a spiritual quest to become the Avatar of virtue and read the Codex of Ultimate Wisdom in the Abyss.

To do this, you must master eight virtues and understand the three principles involved in them.

The game has been widely ported but I will be reviewing the free version available from GOG.

Freedom

Ultima 4 is an extremely open game in many ways. There are eight possible classes and each is rather different, with a unique starting location. Most importantly, all of the many tasks the game asks you to complete prior to the final descent into the Abyss can be done in any order you desire.

You can maximize your virtues in any order, explore dungeons in any order, travel the world as you wish, find the runes in any order, and etc.

So all in all, this game is very non-linear when it comes to exploration and objective order.

Note, however, that due to the way this game is designed it is not actually very replayable. Even if the initial experience is different for each class and you can complete the game’s many objectives in any order, those objectives are still the same and they all do need to be completed by the end. There are no alternate ways to complete any objectives.

By the end of the game, you will be playing largely the same way regardless of what your initial class was or what order you did things in.

This is made worse by the fact that ranged weapons completely dominate the game. There is little reason to use melee if you have the option to use ranged weapons.

Character Creation/Customization

Besides your name, gender, and choice of class, you cannot really decide anything about your character. Once in-game, you also don’t have that many options for upgrading your party besides obtaining better equipment and finding magical orbs in dungeons.

That said, the game does get some points for the variety of classes and for how radically some of them can affect your experience, particularly in the early game. 

The most striking example is the Shepherd class, which you get for having humility as your favored virtue during the character creation questions. Shepherds are terrible at everything. They can’t use magic at all (most other classes can to varying degrees) and are awful at combat, having a very limited selection of weapons and armor available. They also start in a ruined island populated by monsters. It is basically the game’s “hard mode.”

You can answer these same questions and find your class here (the link says Ultima VI but it’s really the same ones as far as I can tell, or at least close).

Story/Setting

The game world is reasonably large and memorable, but to be honest the setting of the Ultima games has always been on the more generic side, even if some of the games in the series are pretty immersive. The virtues introduced in this game are really the primary spice on the game world.

It is a medieval fantasy setting with all the staples: Fireballs, orcs, dragons, liches, skeletons, and so on. It does have a few less common creatures as well (like balrons and zorns).

A generic fantasy setting is not necessarily bad, but it is not particularly good either. It is just the baseline as far as I am concerned, and can be boring on its own if you are not drawn in by anything else a game offers.

In this case, the setting is not really the game’s selling point so much as its unique objective. It is also still a massive improvement over some of the earlier games in the series, which feature things like space travel and time travel.

Another point in favor is that the towns scattered throughout the land are not just generic fantasy towns, they are dedicated to specific virtues. Those virtues seem to be particularly alive in the minds of their inhabitants in this game as well. The virtues are so embedded in the setting for the rest of the series that it does give it more of an identity.

The story itself is, as previously mentioned, unique among all RPGs I know of. While there is a lot of combat and dungeons to explore, there is no big antagonist for you to defeat.

Your behavior is tracked from beginning to end. You will need to do things like donating money to the needy, donating blood at the healer, and letting non-evil creatures (generally animals) flee in order to become the avatar. I also do not recommend “grinding” out these virtues unless you really need to, as I found that as long as you know how to raise them you can easily achieve avatarhood in several of them just by playing the game normally, talking to everyone and visiting Hawkwind every time you’re in the castle.

In addition to maximizing your virtues and then meditating at the proper shrines, your quest will see you travel throughout the entire world to collect the artifacts you will need for your descent into the abyss. 

You will need the eight stones of virtue (most of which are within dungeons), the Key of Three Parts, the three artifacts of the principles, the word of power, and more. You will also need to recruit seven party members to aid you in your quest, each representing one of the virtues (you are the representative of the eighth).

Immersion

I know it’s probably not that bad by the standards of its time, but I can’t say the game’s immersion is all that good. It does gain some points in some areas such as the way the manuals work and how you need to actually do things like keep track of the phases of the world’s two moons (clearly not something you’d see in our world!) to make proper use of moongates, but overall it is definitely not on the same level as other RPGs I have played. As was sadly the case for the technically-limited time period the game was made in, the world does not really react very much to your actions even though your virtues are tracked.

I do like the initial character creation questions, however. Trying to answer them honestly based on your own moral principles can be a good way to get started. It is also good that the whole virtue angle requires you to actually roleplay the quest of the avatar in order to win.

Gameplay

Playing the game is extremely simple as long as you reference your keys as needed and read the manuals (perhaps it is even too simple, with only one type of non-spell attack action and relatively few and uninteresting equipment options). Talking to every NPC you meet is also recommended, as they not only have a lot of advice but also several vital clues that you will need if you plan to complete the game without a walkthrough, as the whole thing is rather obscure about certain aspects of your quest.

The magic system is a mixed bag. You have to gather and mix reagents to cast spells. The reagents must be mixed ahead of time and are consumed. You must also know which reagents to mix. The spell manual that comes with the game explains most of the combinations, but there are some that you must discover on your own within the game, and they are for some of the most potent spells too (such as Resurrect).

On one hand, I like how the game invites you to actually learn its magic system in order to make use of it, with many reagents having consistent qualities that can let you guess what kinds of spells they may be used for. On the other, it can be a bit time-consuming to manually mix these reagents every single time you want to prepare a spell.

However, the thing that really kills the second half of the game is the combat.

The combat is initially a bit simple but functional. You can press one of the arrow keys to move in one of four directions, you can press A followed by a direction to attack in that direction, or you can press C to cast one of your prepared spells.

With such simplicity, combat in the early game doesn’t take very long, especially since as far as I can tell there are less/weaker enemies early on (though there’s enough encounters to make it a bit of a pain still). However, as you gather more companions (and you must have a party of 8 before venturing into the final dungeon and completing the game) combat starts to drag on as you have to manually command each of your eight party members.

It’s especially bad in that one party member in particular (Katrina the Shepherd) is, to put it bluntly, a complete burden on the party as you might expect from a shepherd. She will be missing every single attack against the stronger enemies that populate the late game, and not hitting very hard when she does hit due to the awful weapon selection shepherds get. I wish you did not need to recruit everyone.

This would have been a bit of a pain on its own, but not that bad. No, the real problem is one single spell: Sleep.

A handful of late game enemies (such as gazers, but especially reapers, and balrons) will spam this one spell without mercy, even if your entire party is already sleeping.

This is a spell that can incapacitate multiple characters, potentially half your party or more, for several turns. The Awaken spell is pointless as a counter to it, as it affects a single target and the enemy can spam Sleep every round while you will quickly run out of Awaken even if your spellcasters somehow manage to avoid the sleep themselves.

Your characters do not wake up if they take damage, and there seems to be no limit to how often the enemy can use Sleep.

This is still manageable when fighting only one or two of these enemies in reasonably open ground, but in tight spaces where sleeping characters can block the way for the rest of the party or in dungeons where you face half a dozen or more of these enemies in a single room it can make for an experience that is just painful.

It is not even that this makes the game difficult either, the enemies do very little damage even when they are not spending all their turns casting Sleep over and over again, but it does make some dungeon rooms feel like they exist merely to waste your time.

The single worst offender was this room at the bottom of the Abyss.

10 Balrons that you can’t even reach due to a wall of force (central blue square) in the way. They can Sleep half your party despite this, regardless of where anyone is in the room. I timed it and it literally took me about 20 minutes just to walk everyone east at this one turn. There are other rooms that have this same issue as well.

While there’s annoying things like that, the game is actually extremely easy in terms of combat, at least once you get over the initial hump.

Aesthetics

As noted in the setting section, the game is on the more generic side aesthetically. That said, the simple graphics are at least readable for the most part (magical fields and the like aside) and the unique main quest gives the game a very distinct feel.

Accessibility

Surprisingly high due to its simplicity. Combat is about as mindless as you could ask for in an RPG other than making it completely automatic like Ultima 7 did, and there are not actually that many keys to remember.

However, there are still a couple of things that modern players will have to adapt to. Chief among them are consulting the manuals throughout the game and taking notes.

The game has no quest log to record all the clues the game’s many, many NPCs provide you with. You have to actually write those things down together with things like the mantras for meditating at the shrines, the visions you get as you achieve partial avatarhoods, and etc.

Your knowledge of the virtues will be tested at the very end.

Conclusion

I would not blame anyone for jumping ship once the late game begins, as things become slow and repetitive at that point. However, I believe that this game is worth trying regardless (especially now that it is given out for free).

This is an RPG unlike any other I have seen, demanding its players to not only live up to heroic (and largely secular) moral principles but also encouraging them bring them out of the game and applying them to their lives and become better people.

While its combat can become a bit of a pain later on, the game’s ideas remain interesting at the very least. It is also possible to import one’s Ultima 4 save into Ultima 5, and then from that game to Ultima 6. Both of those games also have rather interesting premises that I will talk about in time.

In the end, I think you should at least try it if you are interested in the history of RPGs. This is the point where Ultima really “gets good” and ditches the nonsense that plagued the early games, though Ultima 7 is still likely a much better starting point for modern players.

The game ends with a call to action. The Quest of the Avatar is a lifelong journey that does not end with the game. You are told to return to your own world and put the virtues you have learned into practice and live as an example to your people, to truly be the avatar.

In the future, other games in the series will challenge and twist these ideals in various ways, but I like the heroic idealism on display here.

[carewyncromwell]

“It's just like déjà vu, me standin' here with you, So I'll be holdin' my own breath -- Could this be the end? Is it that moment when I find the one that I'll spend forever with?”

~“Gotta Be Somebody” by Nickelback

x~x~x~x

In 1941, the vampire called Bat Varney was murdered by the dark wizard Grindelwald for aiding the resistance movement organized by Ministries across Europe. Bat left behind many friends, including Danny Gibson @catohphm​​ and the Selwyn-Ellison family @that-ravenpuff-witch​​​​ -- but the person most devastated by Bat’s death was his most constant companion, Atticus “Grim” Grimsley @cursebreakerfarrier​​​. Never in his life had the retired professor considered that he’d be the last one standing, out of the two of them -- and in his last days on earth, just before he died peacefully in his sleep at a ripe old age, all that he wished was that he might see his first true friend again. Little did Atticus know that -- in his last moments alive -- Bat had made a similar wish...praying that maybe he and his mate Grim could meet again someday, somewhere where Bat didn’t have to regulate how much or how long they touched...maybe even with his real face...as Robert.

About a decade after Professor Grimsley’s death, the only son of a well-respected Pureblood family started his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was Sorted into Ravenclaw house. The boy -- appropriately enough also named Atticus -- wasn’t particularly popular at school, given his hyper-focus on his academics and on satisfying the high standards of his father. Not only was Atticus expected to bring his family honor and esteem, but he also had a rival at Hogwarts who he was expected to “outdo.”

Bartholomew “Barty” Gilbert (pronounced “JO-behr”) was the only son of an up-and-coming Pureblood family who’d just emigrated from France and made a lot of money investing in robe shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade alike. He was also now a Gryffindor in Atticus’s year, and Atticus’s father was very firm that Atticus not let the boy surpass him in anything. Although Atticus normally obeyed his father with a certain degree of reluctance, in this case, he didn’t like the thought of losing to Barty Gilbert either. Not because the Gryffindor wasn’t pleasant -- no, in fact, he was almost too pleasant...too amiable, too inoffensive. And that made it so that even though Barty got away with doing whatever he wanted without worrying about his family’s expectations, it only served to earn him more friends and admirers. Even before that, though, when Atticus had met Barty in passing before school, he still couldn’t help but dislike the other boy. There was just something off about him -- something Atticus could hardly put into words. It was like whenever Barty opened his mouth, he sounded wrong -- whenever he smiled, it looked wrong...even his eyes weren’t as they should be. There was something almost familiar about Barty’s auburn hair, face, and height -- and yet something was wrong. And it just made Atticus upset for a reason he couldn’t really explain. It reminded him of those times, when he was a very small child, when his mother would try to comfort him after he woke up sobbing and could hardly explain why. Something about someone with red eyes squeezing his shoulders, tears streaming down his face and laughing like his heart was breaking...

So Atticus was determined to throw himself into his studies and do everything expected of him. Just because Gryffindor Golden Boy Barty Gilbert refused to do things the right way didn’t mean he shouldn’t -- and Atticus knew karma would eventually go his way in the end, if he put in the proper work. It didn’t mean that he didn’t still sometimes feel somewhat resentful every time Barty Gilbert waved to him in the hall, his two best friends at his side. One of them was the most popular girl in their year (of course), another Pureblood witch named Cecelia “Ceci” Crouch -- the other was one of Atticus’s own dormmates, a poor Muggle-born boy who in third year had become Ravenclaw’s Star Chaser named Robert Bellamy. Despite sleeping in the same dorm for five years, Atticus and Robert had really never talked -- Atticus was focused almost exclusively on his studies, of course, but even Robert seemed actively disinterested in talking to Atticus. Perhaps it was because of how much Atticus kept sticking his nose up at his best friend Barty -- perhaps it was because of how much of a stick-in-the-mud Atticus was -- or perhaps it was for a reason Robert couldn’t quite put into words, the same way Atticus couldn’t completely explain his instant dislike of Barty.

One day at the beginning of fifth year, however, Atticus and Robert were forced to engage with each other when Professor Binns inexplicably decided to actually assign a paired homework assignment. (A possible result of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore casually reminding the History of Magic professor of a similar assignment he’d assigned his OWL class back in the days when he was still alive.) Although Binns of course didn’t remember any of his students’ names, he nonetheless paired Robert with Atticus. Neither of the Ravenclaws was particularly pleased, but none of them was the type to actively argue or complain.

After class, Atticus approached Robert outside the History of Magic classroom. Robert told Barty to go on ahead to the Great Hall and that he’d catch up. Once Barty was gone, Atticus uncomfortably questioned Robert about when they could meet to work on their oral report on the Witch Hunts of the 14th century.

Robert frowned slightly, his well-toned arms crossing casually over his chest.

“Hogsmeade weekend starts tomorrow,” he said placidly. “You occupied then?”

Unlike the rest of his classmates, Robert wore his bronze-trimmed blue Quidditch robes over his disheveled uniform, instead of his usual black school robes. Atticus couldn’t help but wonder if Barty Gilbert’s buddy just liked to remind everyone that he was one of Ravenclaw’s Chasers.

Pushing this faintly condescending thought aside, Atticus shook his head. “No -- I’m available.”

“Good. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks and we can talk there.”

He turned on his heel as if to go. Atticus couldn’t help but sputter and he quickly rushed in front of the other Ravenclaw to stop him from walking away.

“What is there to talk about? We need to get started right away!”

Robert raised his eyebrows. “Tomorrow isn’t soon enough for you?”

“The project’s due on Monday,” said Atticus seriously. “We’ll need to spend a good deal of time at the library, if we want to be prepared -- ”

“No need,” said Robert with a shrug. “I already know everything we need to know.”

Atticus couldn’t keep himself from quirking a disbelieving eyebrow. “Oh really? Robert Bellamy, slacker jock who always dozes off in History of Magic, knows enough about the Witch Hunts of the 14th century to get us an O on our oral report? Somehow I doubt that.”

Amazingly Robert didn’t react with anger -- instead his black eyes turned very cool.

“The Witch Hunts really can’t be narrowed down to just the 14th century,” he said in a very level, matter-of-fact voice appropriate to a professor. “Not only did the ‘witch hysteria’ phenomenon last well into the 18th century, until the Age of Enlightenment, but there was a lot of set-up beforehand that laid the groundwork for it. Witchcraft, specifically black magic, was considered illegal even in ancient times -- the Romans considered it a capital offense. And of course one can’t ignore how early Christians demonized pagan beliefs by associating them with witchcraft, hence why images of the Devil came to embody traits associated with the nature god Pan. The Witch Hunts of the 14th century largely came about because a bunch of Muggles got their knickers in a twist about an increased interest in necromancy and herbal remedies among the poor, spurred on by the printing and circulation of older Islamic texts. The fact that many of those people who had the most use for those herbal remedies were women -- frequently mid-wives -- scared the church as well, of course, given the sexism of the time. And of course when bad things happen and there’s no explanation for it, people love to find a scapegoat. Add a text like the Malleus Malificarum that tells the terrified masses all of their problems are the fault of evil witches to the mix, and Incendio -- you’ve got yourself a bonfire.”

Atticus was completely sideswiped. He caught himself staring with his mouth open, and quickly closed it.

“That...well...”

He felt very sheepish. His ears burned -- his mother would’ve been scolding him if she were there, for jumping to conclusions like that.

“...That’s really impressive,” Atticus said self-consciously. “Forgive me, I...I was very rude, just then.”

He brushed a loose piece of his dark brown bangs out of his eyes.

“...How did you even know all that? I don’t recall Professor Binns ever saying -- ”

“I doubt he did,” said Robert. Once again he didn’t seem the least bit offended by what Atticus had said and was currently grinning cheekily. “I got my hands on the fifth year History of Magic syllabus from an older student before term started. I went to the Muggle library and borrowed a whole stack of books about the Witch Hunts so I could read them over the summer.”

Atticus blinked. “Muggle books? But -- but wouldn’t that information be incomplete?”

“In some ways, yes. But honestly, magical history isn’t much better that way -- it leaves plenty of stuff out.”

“I suppose it does -- but Professor Binns expects you to know what he teaches too. That’s why he does those lectures.”

“And puts the whole class to sleep,” said Robert with a snort of laughter.

“That’s beside the point,” said Atticus firmly. “It’s good that you studied the material so thoroughly -- very admirable, in fact -- but there is a right way to do things, and falling asleep in class when your professor’s trying to teach you will only make it harder for you to get top marks.”

Robert shrugged. “Guess I don’t see the need to regurgitate my professor’s lessons like a parrot. And how do you know I don’t already get top marks? I don’t remember you ever asking to see my grades.”

Atticus faltered. “Well -- it’s just -- I never see you study.”

“Probably because you never leave the library,” said Robert with a rather mischievous smile.

The words were an unpleasant barb in the corner of Atticus’s chest, and his eyes narrowed to hide the slight hurt he felt. Noticing the shift in the other boy’s expression, Robert immediately put down all trace of humor.

“Only joking,” he said defensively. “Crimey...you really are too grim for your own good...”

As soon as the sentence had left Robert’s mouth, there was a strange, silent ping that seemed to ripple through both young men’s ears. The word “grim” had hit Atticus in the heart stronger than anything else Robert had said. The young Pureblood had stiffened sharply, and his expression tensed further when he realized that Robert too seemed to have suddenly gone oddly pale.

Did...did the word affect him too? Did he also find it so strangely, frustratingly, achingly familiar? Why?

The two stared at each other, both looking incredibly disconcerted. Then Robert, stuffing a hand into his pocket, quickly strolled past Atticus.

“...I’d better go catch up with Barty,” he muttered. His voice sounded oddly calm to Atticus’s ears -- almost evasively so. “Is tomorrow at noon okay?”

Atticus glanced over his shoulder to look at Robert’s retreating back.

“...Yes,” he said quietly.

Robert didn’t turn back around.

“Three Broomsticks?”

“All right.”

“Good. ...Bring some books from the library, if you want. I’m sure Madame Pince will have some suggestions I haven’t read yet. Just don’t tell her we’ll be at the Three Broomsticks -- poor thing would probably throw a fit if we spilled butterbeer on her books...”

With that, the Ravenclaw Chaser departed down the hall without looking at Atticus again.

Atticus didn’t move from his spot in the hall for a while afterward, unable to completely shake the heavy, invisible weight that had settled down on top of his heart.

He’dd only ever felt such a strange, irrational kind of déjà vu around Barty Gilbert before, but this kind...this kind was different, somehow. The feeling that accompanied Barty Gilbert made Atticus feel irritated for no reason at all. This one accompanying Robert Bellamy...it was cold, and yet also so soft at the same time -- like the feeling one has when they hear a beautiful, sad song...or when they wake up sobbing from a dream where someone is squeezing their shoulders, while tears stream down their brokenly laughing face...

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 11

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/637989270079078400/odins-ward-chapter-10

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 1531

Warnings: None

Y/n: 18 // Loki: 20 // Thor: 24 // Audunn: 46

Loki’s POV

I had known it was coming. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

Still, it came as quite an unwelcome shock.

Well, maybe less of a shock and more of a crippling punch to the gut.

Yes, that describes it better.

Mother had smiled brightly, fanning herself with the elegantly decorated invitation. Thor and Father indulged her with smiles and questions about what she would wear, giving their regrets for not being able to attend. Noticing I’d fallen silent, Mother had turned to me, asking if I would escort her to the wedding.

I’d frozen, not wanting to disappoint my mother but also being sure that I would not survive attending Y/n’s wedding to another man.

Uncharacteristically and much to my chagrin, my brother came to my rescue, quickly fabricating a reason why I could not attend and offering to rearrange his schedule to escort our mother instead.

So now I wander the castle library, trying not to pace, and annoyingly indebted to my brother.

I wonder if she’s walked down the aisle yet, or said her vows. Is it binding? Is there still time to—

Stop.

I grit my teeth against the wave of grief that threatens to overtake me. You must let her go.

I want to kick myself.

We had all those years to be together, and I fought it. And for what, her reputation? Mine? Maybe if we had gone public and our parents had seen how happy we made each other, they might have let us wed. Marrying into the Royal Family would surely be more appealing to her father than some random man from Alfheim. Of course, he wouldn’t be willing to relinquish his only heir…but we could have gotten around that. Surely I could have sent a regent to Alfheim until one of our sons was old enough to take over. And I am expected to marry an Asgardian noblewoman anyway, and Y/n is of Asgardian noble blood. It wouldn’t be too hard to persuade people to overlook the fact that she is technically of Alfheimish citizenship—she’s spent most of her life here!

And once again, my heart sinks, thinking of her all alone in a foreign realm. Yes, she has her fiancé—I grimace—and her father, but everyone she truly knows is here.

I am here.

Perhaps I should have gone to the wedding, if only to have a proper goodbye.

With shame, I reflect on our last interaction. I had the opportunity to look her in the eyes and sincerely wish her the best. Or actually say the word ‘goodbye’. Or tell her one last time that I love her. Or anything other than what I did! I should have been brave enough to swallow my despair and give her the seeing-off she deserved.

But instead I probably made her think that I don’t care. I probably made her feel even more isolated.

I hear a group of women coming my way and grab a book at random to hide my clenched fists.

“Hello, Your Highness.” Lady Naerys, one of Y/n’s least favorite ladies of court, leads the four women with her in a deep curtsey, staring at me suggestively.

A memory of an unpleasant conversation between Y/n and Lady Naerys jumps to the forefront of my mind and, fueled by the anger I feel towards myself, I am not quick enough to hold my tongue.“Thor’s spurned you, hasn’t he? Unfortunately for you, Lady Naerys, the ‘lesser of the two princes’ does not find you appealing. Better scurry off.”

She straightens, going red in the face. With a strangled huff, she storms back in the direction she came, the ladies hastening to curtsey to me again before following on her heels.

My satisfied smirk does not last long. Lady Naerys may be two-faced and rude, but she did not deserve to bear the brunt of my anger. With a sigh, I replace the book on its shelf and exit the library, following the swishing sounds of five long dresses.

I’m halfway down the hallway when I hear it: the trumpets announcing Mother and Thor’s return to the palace.

Without consciously deciding to, I’m running in the direction of the throne room. I beat Father, taking my place at the end of the receiving line near the throne. I wring my hands, unsure of what to expect. Part of me foolishly thinks Y/n will return with my family, ready to live here permanently. Father joins me just in time for the golden doors to open and Mother and Thor to walk through, both much too smiley for my liking.

The fragile hope I held sinks to my feet when Y/n is not with them.

I clench my hands behind my back tightly, wanting to flee from the room and protect myself from hearing about Y/n’s wedding while also desperate to know every detail. Protocol decides for me, and I wait for Mother and Thor to join Father and I by the throne.

The greetings seem to last an eternity. Finally, Father suggests the four of us retire to his chambers for a private dinner. Once we are all settled, Mother begins to recount the wedding. I hear endless details of flower arrangements, attire, notable guests, musical compositions, and catering, before she finally gets to the name I’ve been so desperate and terrified to hear.

“Oh, I wish you could have seen Y/n. She looked absolutely stunning, just ethereal! And her husband is quite the looker too, if not a bit older. The ceremony—”

One part of her sentence bothers me enough to dull the pain of hearing the word ‘husband’ for the first time. “How much older?”

Mother raises an eyebrow at my interruption. I’m quick to apologize, then repeat my question. Thor shoots me a warning look.

Mother makes a slight face before schooling her expression. Warning bells go off in my mind. Surely they wouldn’t force Y/n to marry an old man, right? “Easily 1500 years between them, maybe a few more.” Whatever my expression is doing causes her to smile soothingly. “Do not be alarmed, son. She and I got along fine, and I am over 2,000 years older than her.”

Fury burns through my stomach. “Yes, but you’re not meant to marry her. You were a parental figure to her, this is someone she’s meant to—”

The ability to put together words leaves me.

It’s their wedding night.

She’s probably having to sleep with him right now.

Bile rises in my throat.

Thor once again comes to my aid. “Father, Mother, if you’ll excuse us, I have much to tell Loki about Alfheim’s local talent.” He wiggles his eyebrows, earning indulging laughs from our parents. Crossing to my side of the table, Thor hoists me up by the elbow and drags me from the room.

Once we are safely out of earshot from others, he shoves me into one of the stone walls. “You have to get a grip of yourself.”

“Spare me,” I spit, anger rising to the surface once again. “You don’t know what it’s like!”

“Because I am not stupid enough to get involved with a woman I know I can’t have!”

I laugh without humor. “You are woefully daft in many other areas, fear not, brother.”

Thor growls, stepping towards me with a hand raised in warning. “Take care, brother. I am being lenient with you because I know you think your heart is broken, but I will not tolerate much more slander. You are angry with yourself, and no one else. Do not think you can take it out on me.”

I clench my fists, pushing away from the wall. Thor eyes me warily, unsure of my motivation for moving. I roll my eyes. How little he trusts me.

“Oh, do calm down, brother, I am not planning on hitting you.” I groan, anger giving way to exhaustion. I’ve never felt so helpless in all my life. “Perhaps you’re right,” I mumble. Thor gives me a look of surprise. “Perhaps I was wrong to become involved with Y/n. There’s no way it would have ended in any other way than our separation.”

Thor exhales, coming to place a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Do not be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes, especially when beautiful women are involved.” He elbows me, obviously trying to be funny, but I have no room in me for humor. With a sigh, Thor grips my shoulder again, this time turning me in the direction of the garden, where a lone woman sits on a bench, reading a novel. “Loki, take the advice of your older brother. You have suffered a romantic heartbreak. The only way to bounce back is to enjoy a romantic conquest.” When I don’t move, he gives me a shove. “Go on. It’ll get your mind off Y/n.”

He has no idea how impossible that is.

But he refuses to leave so, mentally swearing to only speak with the girl, I make my way towards the garden.

A/n I haven’t written from Loki’s POV in a while, so this was really fun! Please let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list :) 

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/638162885025120256/odins-ward-chapter-12

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