#i love dustan

[questersrest]

one ancient dwarven automaton turned to a pile of junk and second minor key emblem acquired

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this one came out of no where.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s uncharacteristically grim on the plains of Debray. Rains pelt the tall green grasses, flattening them in a slanted downpour that dims the horizon. Clouds blot out the daylight and lend to atmosphere of unease in the warring lands. 

Behind the castle walls, one can forget about the bloodshed staining the counties red, though it is all the dukes and his audience can speak of. The lords that bluster through those gates, sometimes at the toll of morning, some in the black swathes of night. You can’t count them all, you can name even fewer, but they come anon and leave just as brusquely. 

A peel of thunder shakes the land and a dark line limns the curve of the horizon. What appears first as a storm cloud advances quickly through the fields, appearing more clearly to the naked eye, distant nonetheless. Men. Another party fast on the approach. 

The alarm goes up at a man’s holler. Ethred, man at the gate hollers to the other men in mail. Niam peers out from the vantage of the tower and calls back down. A hush falls and bodies scurry all around, metal clinking and boots crunching. There’s something amiss. Something you can’t quite place. 

You turn away from the window, the steam rising from the basin in your hand swirling around your head. You carry on down the corridor, wool skirts around cautious steps as you balance the swaying water in the vessel. You approach the lady’s door and give it a rap with your knee. Merinda, another handmaid, opens it from within. 

You enter without a word and place the basin on the vanity table. The duke’s daughter preens herself with a painted fan, fluttering her lashes at her reflection as her curls spill down her long back. She tilts her head this way and that. She snaps the fan shut and puts it down, touching her soft brown cheeks with a devilish grin. 

“Do you know what father mentioned last eve?” Jazlene asks with a vain flutter of her lashes. 

“What did he mention?” Her mother, Lady Rezlyn prompts lazily as she plucks another cherry from a dish heaped in fruit. 

“A husband,” the daughter grins coyly at herself, “it is well due, isn’t it, mother? Who do you think it might be? Lord Gai, perhaps? He is young still.” 

“Perhaps the Earl of Mesafin,” her mother taunts back to a disgusted gasp. 

“Do not,” Jazlene pouts, “I could never... I am much too pretty for that haggard beast.” 

“Well, then, who might you have, precious?” Rezlyn goads. 

There is a clamour in the hall that keeps the younger of the woman from answering. She rolls her eyes and darkly glare at the door. You peer back behind your shoulder as a wail goes up carrying her father’s name; ‘Lord Dustan!’ 

“What is all that?” Jazlene whines, “as if it isn’t enough with the rain and the winds. It is summer!” 

“It’s always summer in Debray, darling,” Rezlyn scoffs, “otherwise I’d have never married your father. Pray you don’t hook yourself a winter lord.” 

You peek over your shoulder as you stand near the door, in your vigil, awaiting your next order. You face the ladies again as the elder continues to feast and the younger fusses over her thick brows. You scrunch your lips back and forth, a habit that often has your jaw aching. 

Jazlene turns to narrow her eyes at you, “what is it then? What has you making faces?” 

You bow your head, appeasing her ego, “my lady, there were men coming. A party approaching from the north.” 

“There are always men,” she shakes her head, “who was it then? Anyone I should wear silk for?” 

Her mother laughs, “I warn you, daughter, that trite tongue will not endear any husband.” 

“I do not know, lady,” you answer. 

“Ugh, useless, must I work as my own handmaid?” Jazlene tisks, “come, pin my hair. Merinda find me a gown. Mother... wipe the dribble from your chin.” 

“Eh, watch yourself,” Lady Rezlyn rises and wipes her lips with her sleeve. She wears muslin in a dark shade of burgundy, embroidered with little copper finches. “Or hope you marry above me before you lash that tongue at me.” 

Jazlene merely trills with laughter. You take the pins and work at twisting her fine curls into place. Merinda brings to her a dress of teal satin and is promptly shooed away, “something pink. It brings out my bosom.” 

You ignore her bawdy jest as her mother harrumphs. You work in quiet tandem with the other handmaid. You add a touch of paint to the lady’s cheeks and kohl around her eyes. You tint her lips with pigment and she pushes out her lips at the mirror. You help Merinda dress her, pulling the noble daughter’s corset tight enough to leave her lightheaded. 

The pair of ladies, elder and younger, leave the chamber with you at their skirt tails. They sweep through the corridors with chins up. They are queens in their own minds. Their fine dresses and sparkling gems are untouched by the disparity of war. The lives lost are squares on a game board, tawdry talk for men in their studies. 

“Lord Dustan,” Lady Rezlyn mimics the earlier call for the lord of the castle, “my husband. Dear, dear husband!” 

The women go to the banister and look down upon the great hall as the flurry continues below. You and Merinda loom behind, not daring to stand at a level with the pompous nobles. You have never volunteered yourself for their impetuous lashings. 

“Woman!” Dustan booms back up, “do not trouble me now.” 

“Oh, has another lord come? Perhaps a suitor for our lovely daughter--” 

“Cease!” The duke demands hotly, “now is not the time for womanly games.” 

“Tell me it true, husband, she will be an old maid before you find a suiting son-in-law--” 

“Go away to your chambers. Now. The men who come are not to be trifled with and you lot do trifle overly much!” 

“Bah! Oh do not be so uncouth!” Rezlyn decries. 

“Father, please, is it a husband?” 

“Go before I send my guards up to put you away like thieves in a dungeon. Hear me when I warn you that this does not concern you. Not as yet,” Dustan snarls, “you would spoil this war with your puny concerns.” 

“Ugh,” his wife puts her hand to her forehead, “he does tax me. All I ask of him is to take care of us, daughter. As any husband should.” 

“I should have your lips sewn shut!” Dustan rebukes hotly, “be gone before I find a tailor.” 

The women share an aghast look. The turn back to flutter away in their skirts. You and Merinda follow them to the drawing room, closing them in as they fall onto the velvet cushions. Jazlene reclines dramatically on the chaise as her mouth mopes on a sofa. 

“Shall I be alone forever, mother?” Jazlene snivels, “why won’t he let me marry?” 

“He only wants to find the right man, that is all, darling,” Rezlyn coaxes. “He is overprotective and that is good for it means he will find a husband for you with a similar bearing.” 

“Such sweet words cannot convince me. He punishes me. When all my lady friends have wed and borne a whelp or two, I remain with the dust and stone.” 

“Do not be theatrical,” Rezlyn girds, “you are silly.” 

“I am not silly, mother. I am afraid. I am twenty and three and I have no suitor. I have only a war butchering any man who might have my hand. Why must this go on? Why must I suffer for the gripes of stubborn kings.” 

“We cannot fear. This war will be won and you will have a knight for a husband. Isn’t that better? To have a warrior you can be proud of than some bookish lord in his tower?” Rezlyn stands and moves to sit with her daughter, petting her as she cooes, “oh my beautiful, no man can resist you. You will see.” 

⚔️

Some hours pass with the restless women, pacing and chattering, about careless things beyond marriage and war. Like needlework and a banquet that should be had upon the truce. Would that the day would come sooner. 

You and Merinda stifle yawns that pass between you. The act is contagious as you stand in the tedium of the wealthy and wait for a duty to be called upon you. The hours you spend watching the women preen and swoon make you envy the stable boys and the shit shovelers. 

The noise beyond those walls continues. You heard the moat open and the clopping hooves of horses, even the clatter of carts. The voices had since hushed but footfalls carried back and forth. The wordless activity betrays an air of impatience, almost of nervousness. As the ladies within mirror the sentiment. 

Finally, as the windows darken and the candles burn brighter, a knock shakes the door. The ladies snap their heads around. Merinda is asleep on her feet as you move first. You open to a man in grey and black waits on the other side. He is not Lord Dustan’s. 

“The duchess and her daughter,” he garbles through a mouth that sounds full of salt. 

You dip your head and look to the ladies in question. There is a tension, of unease, of unknowing, of excitement turned to dread. This is not as it has been. There is not call to the dinner table. There is no buoyant introduction of a lord Dustan met as a young scamp. There is silence and fear. Has someone died? Has a battle been lost? 

The women emerge and greet the man with niceties and tight-lipped simpers. He does not pay them heed as you and Merinda exchange looks. You trail after the ladies but the man stops. He turns back, a hand on the pommel at his waist, and sneers, a furrow in his brow. 

“One of ya,” he grits. 

Jazlene says your name. She must’ve noticed Merinda swaying on her feet. If she even cares so much about a maid. You keep your head down and follow as they press on. Down the corridor and around the duke’s study, recently deemed his war room. You’ve never been within. It is not the domain of women. 

The grey and black soldier thumps on the door. Mother and daughter clasp hands. Even they can sense the unusual frigidity. The door opens from within. It is Lord Dustan. He wears a serious look on his lined face. The ladies are beckoned in and the soldier nudges you after them as you hesitate. 

Lanterns light the space from the desk at the rear of the chamber. The large table draped in maps, wooden horses, and little wooden pucks stands central on a thick rug. A figure stands behind it, head down as his burly and broad silhouette seems to sop up the shadows. 

The ladies follow the duke to stand across from the man. His head is down as he slides a horse along a road on the map. He stops it and grips it tight. He looks up and the lantern light dances on his features. You suck in a breath, as the rest do, stunned by his appearance. 

His hair is white, his eyes are a goldish yellow, pupils deep pools of black, and his square jaw is just as thick as the rest of him. You have never seen a man like him before, but you have heard of one. Of him. King Geralt of Rivia. 

You stand in similar confusion to the ladies. Their silent confoundment is broken by Duke Dustan as he nears the table. He sniffs and presses his fingers to the table top. 

“Your highness, my wife, Lady Rezlyn, and my daughter, Lady Jazlene,” he introduces. 

The women glance at each other then curtsy to the white king. He watches them dully. You fold your hands, taking it in curiously. It is rather something to witness the scene. You are so unimportant as to not be a part of it. 

“Your highness,” the recite, “it is...” 

“An honour,” Dustan finishes for them, “of course it is. We fondly welcome you and your allyship. We hope that we will be essential in ending this war. In helping you attain the peace you have so valiantly fought for--” 

The king raises his hand to silence the lord. You can’t help but quork your head. Allyship? But King Geralt, he is of Rivia, he is of the hinterland, he is the one who invaded the summer country and bid it his own. He is the foe. That is what they told you. 

“Enough...” the king speaks in a silty tone that scrapes in his throat. His eyes wander over the women and narrow. You wince as your own meet his golden irises and you shy away, putting your chin to your chest. That’s a mistake. “...words.” He slaps his hand down, “you do not win wars with words.” 

“Yes, your highness, you are correct. I know it well. It is why I invited you here. It is the very reason I made my entreaty. You have my men, they will win this war for you.” 

The king is hardly impressed by the fact. He looks back to the table and moves the horse further before turning it back. He knocks it over and stands completely straight. 

“And the daughter of Debray, your highness. To have a wife of summer’s blood, men will bend the knee. If you show them you do not mean to eradicate but to join with them,” Dustan moves to stand closer to his daughter, “isn’t she a fine queen for a fine kingdom?” 

Jazlene swoons and falls against her father. She’s fainted. Rezlyn grabs onto her other shoulder and you peek up at the chaotic scene. You come forward to help, snatching a pillow from the single couch, and you place it under Jazlene’s head as they lay her down on the floor. 

A shadow shifts as Dustan and Rezlyn fuss over their daughter, fanning and calling to her. You look up as darkness clusters over you. You see the king staring down at the scene. No, not them. He staring at you. Before he can reprimand you, you put your head down. 

You must quit that lest you find yourself at the wrong end of a switch. 

[jobrker]

small canonical details in sweeney todd:

i've been obsessed with this musical for far too long. i will likely be making a second post. enjoy.

lucy could have married up. whether this is due to her family being better off than benjamin or just because she was beautiful, the line in poor thing, "had her chance for the moon on a string" implies that she could have married better than she had. someone who could "afford" to buy her the moon.

lovett's first name is nellie. this comes from a line of dialogue before not while i'm around where she says, "sit here by your aunt nellie like a good boy and look at your lovely muffler."

lovett has an aunt named nettie. nettie lived near the sea and lovett would visit her as a child, explaining her desire to move there. we do not know if aunt nettie is still alive or not.

mr. lovett's first name was albert. he developed gout and possibly passed away due to complications with it.

toby is implied to be an alcoholic. he grew up in a workhouse and he claims that is what they gave to the children.

catholicism was extremely controversial in england during the victorian era. it was just becoming legal in the 1840s. so the fact that pirelli mentions shaving the pope probably isn't very impressive to the crowd of londoners. pirelli, being irish, was probably catholic himself which explains why he brags about it.

during the competition scene between todd and pirelli in the 1970 bond play, todd uses anthony during the tooth-pulling segment and yanks out one of his molars. anthony immediately forgives him, being the good boy he is.

pirelli sees a tailor. this may imply that he makes enough swindling people into buying his elixir that he can afford such an expense whereas a lot of people of his background likely couldn't.

saint dustan's church is what's actually at the address of 186 fleet street. in a string of pearls, the tunnels underneath are used. this explains the bells we hear throughout the show, before not while i'm around and johanna (quartet) and this is the church anthony plans on bringing johanna to in order to marry her.

johanna was a year old when benjamin was sent away.

turpin works at the old bailey. this courthouse has since been destroyed (due to a fire). the "old bailey" was actually a nickname for it because of it the street it was on. it was actually called the central criminal court. it was renamed in 1834. todd was in australia by that point so he likely doesn't know the new name.

lucy sewed, as most victorian women/housewives did.

anthony is from plymouth, a (then) fishing town in south-eastern england.

lovett is uneasy at the idea of discussing what goes on in asylums when todd and anthony begin forming a plan to get johanna back. potentially, this has to do with lucy and knowing her fate.

lovett mentions visiting aunt nettie and the seaside during the august bank holiday. however, this bank holiday wasn't established until 1871. sweeney todd takes place in 1846.

despite knowing that lucy had been prostituting herself, todd still calls her virtuous in his last moments.

todd has some knowledge of engineering and construction since he was able to turn his barber chair from just a chair to one that connects to a chute and can send customers to the bakehouse. he would have to make that chute himself. he possibly learned this from his time in australia.

lovett adopts a few birds between act one and two. they are in a cage outside of the pie shop for customers to enjoy. she also has a garden out there.

act one takes place in august.

[fluffychubbydragon]

Dust backstory! :O

Alrighty! Just a note, the nicknames that all of the sans Aus go by are changed to different names or I've used their fandom nicknames for this particular Au/story. That being said:Dustan (Dust, though this version of him does go by this name as a nickname still, I know, really lazy of me) and Manoja (Dust's Papyrus, fandom usually just calls him Phantom)

Dustan was born and raised in a coastal town. It was right before his 5th birthday that his father died of unknown reasons (at least to him as no one ever told him the truth) leaving Dustan's mother pregnant and to raise him by herself. It wasn't long afterwards that Manoja was born at the price of their mother's life, leaving Dustan to try and take care of the both of them.

They had no home and often stole what they could to try to survive. Dustan also found that taverns often didn't care or didn't notice when kids would walk in and take shelter, finding places to hide in so the owners wouldn't find them in which they would sleep at night, sometimes multiple nights.

Everything was going just about as well as it could with two children living on the streets by themselves for years until something happened in town one night when Dustan was 18 (and Manoja was barely 13)...

There were sounds from outside the tavern and a blaring sense of wrongness that settled in Dustan's bones that bolted him awake, his eyelight quickly adapted to his surroundings as they had done many a times before. His gaze swiftly went to where Manoja was sleeping before he had nodded of himself, only to find the spot vacant.Where was he? Where was his baby brother!?

He panicked searching around the tavern to find him only to find the boy by the window looking out. A sense of relief flooded over the young skeleton as he still ran over to his brother to pull him away from public gaze. Being seen was never a good thing and Dustan learned that early on, yet when he actually reached the window with his brother he saw what had grasped his attention:

Fires, sounds of screaming as citizens fled, and soldiers that Dustan didn't recognize. Not only were they not covered in traditional metal armor, but most were rather bulky in structure. Most held axes as weapons, yet those were not the only blades they carried. It was then that Dustan recognized what must be happening...

Their coastal town was being invaded by mercenaries from the Southern continent, and for the second time in his life, (the first after his mother died and his brother born) he didn't know what to do. These were hired soldiers of another kind of warfare than what he was used to. If they tried to escape, it could very well kill the both of them. Yet, if they stayed put or tried to hide, they would be found and killed. The only chance he might have to at least save his brother was to fight, but even Dustan was afraid to die. Not for the fear of death, but for the fear of leaving his baby brother alone in the world to fend for himself... But it was still better to protect what he held most dear to him than to both die in vain.

"Hide Manoja. Stay out of sight, don't dare peek out of hiding. Not even if something happens to me. I'll protect you, but know I love you my brother. Go." He remembers telling his brother as the door starts to bend under the pressure of someone ramming into it. He remembers creating two long sharp bones to defend himself and his brother, but everything else happened so fast: The big mercenaries barging through the door, him fighting the mercenaries, screaming as other mercenaries run upstairs to the rooms, ones who were able to get behind him and knock the wind out of him, pinning him to the ground with their foot on his back, threatening to break through his ribcage from the weight...

...and then everything started to slow considerably as he heard his little brother's screams. He tried to get up to fight, to protect his brother, to do ANYTHING! The tall one that held his foot over him leaned down and pulled him up by his non existent throat, the fist so tight around his cervix that the bones groaned and started to lightly splinter on the outside. But Dustan was DETERMINED to keep his only family alive, so with what strength he had, he stabbed sharp bones into the hand holding him, effectively dropping him to the floor. He ran and stumbled, summoning more sharp bones to stab the one who was crushing Manoja, yet by the time that Dustan actually got to killing the mercenary, his brother had started to dust... Manoja turned to ash in his brother's arms as magic tinted tears ran down both their cheeks, one of them for the very last time.

Dustan doesn't remember much after that, but he does remember thick lines of scorched earth and crateres that spanned through the entire town and the tickling feeling that he might have enjoyed a sickening event that he doesn't remember.

And so Dustan was left entirely alone in a scorched and torn town by the sea with no one but "his brother" to keep him company. Later he would travel to other places with a cloak over his head, shadow coving his face, encountering people he would later consider family. The family he could never have as a child.

[ambalambs]

Okay another question! Tell me a little bit about each member of Miko's adopted family and his relationships with each of them please! <3

Okie dokie! Gonna toss this one under a cut too in case I get carried away again lol also kinda nervous to share info on basically npcs ive made for my oc but we're gonna choose to ignore the cringe in this house!

Okay so first since ive already talked a bit about her before is miko's adopted mom. Her name is Fiona u3u she's the rock of the household obviously. She keeps the kids and even her husband in line but she is so so compassionate. Her grandfather was an instrument maker and he'd play them too so she was raised around music which miko was very fortunate to stumble on a family that had that kind of background (perhaps there were some higher power at play there that guided him to this specific family. We may never know lol) she and miko get along sooo well he adores his mom. She's had to drag him around by the ear a few times tho while he was growing up lol but she has always been very good at reading him which when it comes to miko who is master at hiding his pain, she was always the first one to be like nuh uh come talk to me lol

Next is his dad, Brynstan. Miko's mom always lovingly calls him Bryn for short. Miko's dad is a good and simple guy. He's just a farmer lol he'd much rather not think about what's going on in the rest of the crazy world and only focus on his crops and chocobo and family. It took him a bit to really figure out how to be with miko when he was a kid. Like he came to love him a lot and seeing him as his own son but there were a lot of "what am I even doing" moments for him. But miko was always the biggest help to him around the farm and never complained and always found silly ways to make him smile. Their relationship is good of course but there's like this shadow over them I think that they both have always felt that for miko its like "You're my dad and I love you but you aren't the dad that I was supposed to need" if that makes sense? Considering the situation of Miko's real dad was always left as a mystery. But still his adopted dad is a really good guy who only ever did his very best by him ;u;

Now for his siblings lol his little brother's name is Dustan and oh boy are he and miko a pair. They would constantly tease and pester each other. Dustan would always get a kick out of pulling miko's tail or blowing on his ears to make them flick and just drive miko insane lol they never got into any serious fights tho it was just lots of brother teasing. Dustan was just a toddler when miko joined the family and was the one who actually coined the name miko for him. His little kid talk would try to say miqote but itd just come out as miko and so he'd just pitter patter around the house after miko repeating mikomikomiko over and over until it just became a thing lol miko just kinda accepted it since it seemed well enough to have a new name for a new life. But now that his brother is older they still tease each other but just not as much. Deep down dunstan kinda has a bit of nervousness around him since his big brother is now some big crazy super hero wol out there killing gods. Probably wouldn't be wise to pull the tail of a guy with that kind of power anymore, which miko notices that a bit in him but he tries to not let it bother him and tries to act like things are the same as they always were between them.

And lastly he has a little sister named Bayla. She was born not long after miko was taken in so miko has been there a part of her life since day one. And oh gosh she is just precious. Definitely has her mom's temperament but she is super gentle and has a bit of an adventurer's heart in finding wonder in everything she encounters in the world. She definitely looks up to miko a lot and she'd follow him around like a little duckling when they were kids. And miko was so good with her, he would braid her hair and put flowers in it, he'd let her follow him out on his little ventures in the woods and teach her all the things he learned from his miqo'te tribe and teach her songs and just all sorts of things. They were bestest buddies and she definitely took it the hardest in the family when he decided to leave and explore the world. Every time they get a letter from miko tho she's the first to rush into the house and excitedly beg their mom to read it outloud to the family lol him being the wol is the coolest thing to her, except the moments when she hears the stories of the really awful things he's had to fight from people in town spouting his legends. Its hard for her to know if its true or not when miko doesn't include some of those tales in his letters. She won't admit it tho but she is a teensy bit jealous of the twins cuz they get to adventure with her brother and why can't she gosh darnnit! She has half a mind to join the adventurers guild herself so she can go with him but her mom keeps trying to stop her lol she's still too young for that. But anyway I've rambled off about her a lot more than the others oops but yeah she and miko are super close and he misses and thinks about her a lot ;u;

Also just as an aside miko and his siblings would sometimes hang out in his room way past their bedtime and play triple triad. Theyd get scolded every time they got caught xD

But yeah thats the family! I hope that was kinda the info you were looking for. Its probably not terribly exciting since they're honestly just a very simple family living in a quiet spot out in gridania territory. For miko when he comes home after some of his adventures its always kinda jarring for him cuz its almost like time stands still there for him, not much changes except his siblings getting older. Miko does worry a lot tho that any enemies he's made out there will find out about them and come back and hurt them to get to him so he does try to keep as little information about them as possible from reaching the public eye.

[citationsavenue]

Sh*t, hindi naman ako tanga. This was truly the love that I had not even thought I'd feel. The kind that I knew would make me finally be truly happy and really afraid at the same time. Oh my f*cking god, I was in love with Dustan. I was in love with the hudas na super vain.

Thespian Tragedy (Wonderland, #2) by Selina Matias

[dstrachan]

'VIEWS FROM THE EDGE' - w/c 8th July 2024

Captain Sensible ‘Glad It’s All Over’

Joy Division ‘New Dawn Fades’

Fat Les ‘Jerusalem’

Heart ‘Voodoo Doll’

The Jam ‘News Of The World’

Propaganda ‘Duel’

Fall On Your Sword ‘Gunship Video’

Pitbull feat. Jennifer Lopez & Claudia Leitte ‘We Are One (Ole Ola) [The Official 2014 FIFA World Cup Song]’

Bob Dylan ‘Turkey Chase’

Best Themes Collection ‘Super Mario Bros Theme’

Chumbawumba ‘Tubthumping’

I, Doris feat. Dustan Bruce ‘Not Done Yet’

Heather Peace ‘Fight For (Jack Guy Remix)’

Beau ‘Fight For The Right’

Cheryl Cole ‘Fight For This Love (Crazy Cousinz radio edit)’

K’Sandra ‘Come Up Fighting (feat. Durga McBroom)’

Nervous Twitch ‘Another Fight’

The Rolling Stones ‘Street Fighting Man (live, Get Yer Ya Yas Out)’

Elton John ‘Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting’

Bullet Height ‘Fight Song’

Kala Chng ‘Fighter (Dr. Moody remix)’

Christina Aguilera ‘Fighter’

Todd Rundgren ‘Zen Archer’

Billy Connolly ‘Cripple Creek’

Billy Connolly ‘Talkin’ Blues’

Erin Bennett ‘Never Give Up The Fight’

Delivery ‘Fighting It Out’

Disturbed ‘A Reason To Fight’

[wutbju]

This is just a scream. Look at what I said (I'll bold it) and what got *ME* put in time out. Me.

BJU hates women who act. Hates.

John Stephenson ​​when u stack the board, it’s easy

Daniel Malabanti ​​yooo whos clay dawg

Kamalei Goff ​​We need the chat for any function at FMA for now on

Chris Meaders ​​TRUMP

Daniel Malabanti ​​CLAYTON!!

Clay Dawg ​​Clayton James

Bigcat23 ​​He is not conservative enough

Wesley Boudreau ​​joe mama

All Gems ​​Tolla LOLOL

Clay Dawg ​​BANTIIIII

Holly Shiveley ​​He's trying to give us background for the process which I think is important for us to understand.

Wesley-76 ​​Oh no more steps

CrazyAsianAirsoft ​​A board of people who were against moving the school to a post 1999 era. Great.

Johnny Pierre ​​I second Clayton James

Clay Dawg ​​❤

Natetastic ​​its either crockett or the other guy

Daniel Malabanti ​​I second Clayton as well

Camille Lewis ​​MOAR STEPS

Josh Watts Music ​​I'm glad he's keeping this from being too hype

Clay Dawg ​​let's gooo

Clay Dawg ​​Johnny!

Steve Von Bokern ​​Makenzie, now we are on steps.

Satyr_Legz ​​i hate to be impatient but just get to the point pleaseeeeeeeeeeee

Mackenzie Mohnacky ​​Yeah, knowing the process is important

CrazyAsianAirsoft ​​I’ve seen faster moving icebergs than this guy

Chris Meaders ​​The votes are still coming in

achy228 ​​lol 2 hr meetings….its not looking good for us on brevity of this speech

Eric Dickinson ​​please be jurgen

Charlie Eldred ​​Points, steps, bowls, vials, trumpets …

Mark Bonikowsky ​​#fekirin

Matthew Smith ​​Certified yapper

Jessica Nowachek ​​Politicians 🙄

Sydney Patton ​​Who’s counting the votes

Clay Dawg ​​my president is Johnny Pierre 🤚

Charlie Eldred ​​The effective speaker …

Daniel Malabanti ​​aye it's Ginger!

Chris Meaders ​​ACG

Clay Dawg ​​Matthew?!?

Wesley Boudreau ​​at least we know its a him…

Bigcat23 ​​5 years??

Eric Dickinson ​​hand-pink-waving

Sven Loeffler ​​weathers

Natetastic ​​5 YEARS??

Clay Dawg ​​dats my roommate!!

achy228 ​​Oh good grief

CrazyAsianAirsoft ​​With this build up, it better be John the Baptist himself

Mackenzie Mohnacky ​​This is like announcing who won the week competition at The Wilds

Bigcat23 ​​Gotta be benson

Timothy Kain ​​I would love for them recant and re-install Steve Pettit.

Steve Von Bokern ​​ha

Bigcat23 ​​They wont put a new guy for 5 years

Josh Watts Music ​​It's Pedro Pascal

achy228 ​​Plot twist - it’s actually him

Efan ​​Steve Pettit has the most aura

Holly Shiveley ​​I think this is to strengthen our support and trust. Just listen people

Anthony Lehn ​​Still wild that Pettit wasn't conservative enough smh

Tyler Greenly ​​Go bruins!!

CrazyAsianAirsoft ​​Get on with it already

Steven Hudson ​​“The board elected me”

Timothy Kain ​​So it is a HIM!

Johnny Pierre ​​bro, he's definitely reading this chat while speaking and purposely prolonging this 😂😂

Satyr_Legz ​​ITS TIME???

Natetastic ​​McAllister?

Charlie Eldred ​​Sam Horn?

Chris Meaders ​​Jennifer, its the guy you know

achy228 ​​It’s been 84 years

Steven Hudson ​​Dr Minnick

Larsens ​​A pastor

CrazyAsianAirsoft ​​text-green-game-over

Andrew Lawson ​​hoping the best for BJU

Paul Rebert ​​Crokett!!

Toby Jorgensen ​​Crockett

Eric Dickinson ​​🤣

Efan ​​Steve Pettit has maximum aura

Sven Loeffler ​​its crocket

Redneck rascals ​​If its 5 years its Bensen

Tolla ​​L

Satyr_Legz ​​indiana??

Camille Lewis ​​Yeah, it sounds like Crockett.

Stephen Washer ​​Crocket fs

Rebecca Bate ​​Crockett

Paul Rebert ​​Crockett pastored in IN

achy228 ​​Indiana Jones?

Jahn Mark ​​better not be Crockett

Bill Alger ​​A Hoosier? Let's gooooooooo

Eric Dickinson ​​chelsea fc. giving longer contract than needed

Tolla ​​Who

Johnny Pierre ​​oh, he's from the Midwest….

Tolla ​​Asked

Camille Lewis ​​So Bob 3 didn't get his wish.

Bigcat23 ​​Joshua crocket

Dustan Chevalier ​​Whoa. Crocket.

Efan ​​I know about the secret tunnels under Bob Jones

Peter Cartwright ​​we want Benson

Bigcat23 ​​He said it

Beyheena Eliacin ​​���

Camille Lewis ​​Wow,

Chris Meaders ​​….

Josh Watts Music ​​Let's go Joshes!

Jahn Mark ​​dang

Prince Juliegh Sarnicula ​​whoa

Jack H. ​​ain't no way

Katie Tucker ​​PASTOR CROCKETT

Efan ​​Crocket has no aura big dawg

Eric Dickinson ​​huge if true

Fellowship Baptist Church ​​Congratulations brother Crockett

Katie Tucker ​​YES

Natetastic ​​Crockett???

Mackenzie Mohnacky ​​WHOA!

Jahn Mark ​​rip

Bill Alger ​​mind=blown

Mystic ​​oh its that guy

CrazyAsianAirsoft ​​At least it was someone under the age of 1000

Andrew Lawson ​​woohoo!

Dolly McCabe ​​Wisconsin

Jack H. ​​nepotism at it's finest

Daniel Malabanti ​​yoooo

Lisa Weddle ​​Awesome!

Tolla ​​I give the school 5 years max . . .

Mystic ​​wait nvm i dont think ive seen this guy before

Mackenzie Mohnacky ​​Didn't even know he was running

Timothy Kain ​​Shazam

CrazyAsianAirsoft ​​Aight im out

Mackenzie Mohnacky ​​He's my pastor at Morningside

Tolla ​​L

Wesley Boudreau ​​I don't even know him

Wesley-76 ​​Wait, it it bad I don't know who this is?

Jack H. ​​booooo

Mystic ​​i havent seen him before either

Jahn Mark ​​I've heard him preach, this could get rough fast

meli08chan ​​when did he graduate?

Natetastic ​​what a twist

Jack H. ​​drake or kendrick?

Adrian Stargazer ​​wait a minute, this isn't metal gear

Jack H. ​​that is NOT solid snake

April Treas ​​kendrick fs

Timothy Kain ​​Is this the CROCKET from CROCKETDOODLEs?

Brendan Warren ​​great pick

pcviewer1 ​​Steve Pettit told the board he would leave if they didn't stop doing stuff behind his back.

Adrian Stargazer ​​hey dudes, the university is pretty chill, maybe you should like, join it or something

Mackenzie Mohnacky ​​It's his brother

pcviewer1 ​​So Steve Pettit probably wont be back because of that

Wesley Boudreau ​​im in the university

Bill Alger ​​o7

Brendan Warren ​​Josh is a great guy

Jack H. ​​nepo

Sven Loeffler ​​no this is the younger brother

Tolla ​​Heresy alert on the daily

Paul Rebert ​​PTL, Josh is a great decision!

Bigcat23 ​​Wesley nobody cares

Sven Loeffler ​​He was the pastor of Morningside baptist

Timothy Kain ​​TY

Matt Black ​​My kids (BJU students or graduates) love him. Praise God.

Wesley Boudreau ​​i do

Efan ​​Wesley consider yourself an opp

Wesley-76 ​​He sounds like a great guy. If he won by this much, he's probably going to be good. I'm looking forward to hearing him this Fall!

Jack H. ​​new rap beef

Bigcat23 ​​Wesley shut up

Matt Black ​​I appreciate that he's young. He's a reasonable and godly man.

Eric Dickinson ​​the hat man got 2 stars in cwl

Jack H. ​​that hairline…

Timothy Kain ​​Seems like a wonderful choice. May GOD guide him and his decisions.

Luke Griffith ​​Crockett doodles

Timothy Kain ​​Sense of humor….check

Bigcat23 ​​Why the 5 years tho?

James Bussard ​​A pastor should not be allowed to be the President of a college. Either the church will suffer, or the college will. Or both. This is pure ambition, and poor discernment.

Jessica Nowachek ​​He seemed like a good pastor when I visited morningside.

Jack H. ​​no shot triple sticks didn't have a say in this

Bigcat23 ​​What if he mess this thing more than it is already

Josh Watts Music ​​Bussard I'm afraid I have to agree

Bigcat23 ​​Would he still be a pastor though?

Holly Shiveley ​​He was a student when I was a grad student teaching speech. His name sounded familiar. It's possible I taught him😄

Josh Watts Music ​​good question

John Juan ​​@James Bussard - I'm 99% sure he will no longer pastor Morningside Baptist.

Anthony Lehn ​​Triple sticks ftw

Timothy Kain ​​A coach needs time to build. It Should keep pharisaical thugs at bay for awhile.

Eric Dickinson ​​hat man was supposed to go for 4 but went for 1 and got 2 stars.

Mackenzie Mohnacky ​​I believe that he will do a great job. He's been my pastor for the last three years, and I believe that God is going to do great things through him.

Sven Loeffler ​​the prez is to by ordained

Tobe Witmer ​​Josh C. is a good compromise. Good guy Academic.

Jack H. ​​this look like the battle pass

Jonathan Washburn ​​Bragging about getting all of your degrees from one school isn't the W he thinks it is.

Timothy Kain ​​Great connections to money and sustenance.

Tobe Witmer ​​Not All his degrees. “Most”

Anthony Lehn ​​Well, it's a couple more degrees than you have Jonathan Washburn

Camille Lewis ​​The students are not going to be won with this.

Bill Alger ​​this could have been an email, but I'm glad it wasn't.

Timothy Kain ​​Well I'm off to collect my winnings. 😂

James Bussard ​​If he does abandon the pastorate (and the people of Morningside), did God suddenly change His mind about the man's "calling"? God doesn't do that. Not this way. Again…smacks of ambition and flesh.

Tobe Witmer ​​Wrong Camille. As normal

Wesley Boudreau ​​well it must be Gods will because nothing happens that isn't

Sven Loeffler ​​true

Mackenzie Mohnacky ​​Amen, Wesley

Jack H. ​​15th professor is a goober

Andrew Black ​​Proverbs 10:19 " In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin: but he that refraineth his lips is wise."

Camille Lewis ​​You like this, Matt? really?

Jonathan Washburn ​​Josh and his brother were decent hoopers in high school. I'll never forget watching Eric Newton drop like 50+ in the state semifinal in a raucous crowd against the best team in the state.

Camille Lewis ​​And how do I become your fixation even here?

Michael Ball ​​Who is the new president?

Aurum ​​wish Camille could be blocked from this

Camille Lewis ​​Bless you all.

Jack H. ​​fake news huh? ok goober

Camille Lewis ​​This is not a good acceptance speech, friends.

The15thProfessor ​​yeah fake news

Jack H. ​​15th i'm in your walls

The15thProfessor ​​Now I know who you are

Jack H. ​​do you now

CurlyFries ​​‍

Charlie Eldred ​​Text is on unity; chat dissolves into anything but

Cor Frost ​​Caleb its not fake lol

Jonathan Washburn ​​Is that you Jack Hyles?

D.o.G. ​​Man, I hope I'm dead meat if this is as good as it gets. sorry I am well below my standards

Camille Lewis ​​Who remembers the stuffed bear in his Dad's living room? It was a scream. [This is what got me put in timeout? A taxidermy memory?]

Adrian Stargazer ​​guys, stop arguing in the presidential announcement

Matthew Leys ​​Praying for a strong future for BJU and that God would put to silence the scorners.

Jonathan Washburn ​​Josh's younger brother Luke is among the kindest people I've ever met. He also scored the game winning goal against us in the 2003 State Semi-final and it still hurts.

Tobe Witmer ​​Pettit! Way to go Josh!

Cor Frost ​​rip

Anthony Lehn ​​Thanks for the history lesson Jonathan Washburn smh

Isaac Balardelle ​​chat is this real

Wesley Boudreau ​​no

Jack H. ​​15th i'm right behind you

Eric Dickinson ​​beta gamma won 7 turkey bowls in a row

Jonathan Washburn ​​@Anthony Lehn Sigma 72, Beta 70

Stephen Burch ​​Praying for BJU and President Crockett!

Ben Waters ​​Chi Delta 4Ever!

Jonathan Washburn ​​Stay classy Chi Delt! @Ben Waters

Eric Dickinson ​​wil the new president take care of the turkey bowl alpha won with an ineligible player. the last president refused to comment

Camille Lewis ​​This is gonna be a rough transition. [I couldn't post this because I was in timeout.]

Wesley Boudreau ​​XEΔ

Aurum ​​bruh

Jacob Vanaman ​​@Jonathan Washburn - that one win was a claim to fame for the Sigma Spartans…but after a while that trophy got heavy.

Anthony Lehn ​​1 loss in basketball in four year

PofE Plays ​​wesley imagine being a wolf smh my head

Jacob Vanaman ​​@Anthony Lehn - wins fa' dayz

Quin Machado ​​why wasnt the turkey bowl fiasco of 2023 the number one concern addressed?

Jack H. ​​15th you have no idea who I am but I know everything about you

Anthony Lehn ​​Hey coach @Jacob Vanaman !

Bigcat23 ​​Wolves are among the weirdest people on campus

PofE Plays ​​lol thats what 15th hates more than anything

Wesley Boudreau ​​@Bigcat23 no you

The15thProfessor ​​why do i have such a reputation

Jacob Vanaman ​​@Anthony Lehn - good to hear from you buddy!

PofE Plays ​​100 bigcat

James Bussard ​​I investigated Morningside for my daughter to attend while at BJU. It falls short in many ways, when compared against Scripture. Sadly, plastic Christianity may continue to abound at BJU.

Efan ​​Bob jones lost so much aura

Kamalei Goff ​​chat, is this real?

PofE Plays ​​ok camille alt

Bigcat23 ​​Wesley Boudreau is among the weirdest guys on campus, playing Minecraft all the time

Anthony Lehn ​​Can't help but inch closer to the door

[queenscharacters]

"It's the only picture I have of myself from when I was little..." Farrah to Dustan

“You’re so stinking cute.” Dustan murmured, pressing a kiss to his girlfriend’s temple. If he had known she had been in the middle of a moment of reminiscing, he probably wouldn’t have crept up on her like he did. It was too late, though. His chin had been on her shoulder, eyes on the photo, as soon as he wrapped his arms around Farrah’s waist. He could only see the side of her face; and he wasn’t trying to be too obvious about gauging her reaction.

He knew her past was a delicate subject. Dustan wasn’t trying to make light of that. As much as he would do anything in his power to change things for her, he also realized that without all that crap, he might not have met her how and when he did. They might never be expecting their girl; he might never know what true love felt like. He want being dramatic, either. This pregnancy was expediting things, but Dustan knew that she was the love of his life. Penny might’ve be an accident, but she was no mistake.

He was keen on keeping her happy. Not just tonight, but for the rest of their relationship. “I’d say were, but you still are today. Like, on top of being the most beautiful woman alive.” He spoke earnestly. Dustan gave her bump a gentle tap, his hands already against their growing daughter.

“I hope she looks like you…” Dustan continued. She couldn’t see his face, but she could surely hear the dreaminess in his tone. He pressed another kiss to her collarbone. “If there’s any way of recovering more photos of you, I’m ready to invest, Far. Our whole family could use more of them.” He mused. At the end of the day, he knew he would appreciate more photos of little her, but so would Penny, and, obviously, so would Farrah.

[angelwiththeblue-box]

HAEMOGLOBIN!!!

ok so stardust is about this kid Tristan thorn who is the son of this guy Dunstan thorn and this faerie woman. In the prologue, Dustan and the faerie woman Do The Do and then the faerie woman goes back to faerie because where dunstan/Tristan lives is this town called wall and once every nine years on the mayday the meadow beyond the wall welcomes the faerie market and thats how Dunstan and the faerie woman met anyway so after they fricked the frack the faerie woman went back to being enslaved by this very unkind witch who turned her into a peacock for her troubles and Dunstan went and married a very nice woman who pretended Tristan was her baby when he turned up on the doorstep in a basket and so they raised him like that

FLASH FORWARD EIGHTEEN YEARS Tristan has never been allowed to go to the faerie festival. He is very close with his father and not as close with his mother. And he’s head over heels for this girl Victoria forester and one night he’s like eyyyy Victoria heres all the things I would do to win your heart and its very romantic etc etc and anyway they see a star fall to the ground in the far distance and Victoria is like bring that star to me and I will give you your heart’s desire and Tristan is like Bet and he goes on his merry way with a full endorsement from his father

Anyway he crosses the border into faerie and he meets this short little man who feeds him things and gives him a candle that will take him miles in one step (its magical) and he also learns that he knows the locations of Literally Anything in faerie as long as it is an established place like it can’t be a person

CUT BACK TO WHEN THE STAR FALLS, BUT FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF FAERIE

The lord of the stormhold is dying. His three sons, Primus, septimus, and secundus (the others were all killed by each other) are all wondering who will be the next lord of stormhold. Anyway he takes this stone he’s wearing and YEETS it out the window like fucking FAR. It hits a star and they both fall to the ground and the lord is like ok whoever brings that stone back to the stormhold will be the next king. And then he dies.

AT THE SAME TIME, A COTTAGE OF WITCHES OBSERVES THE STAR FALLING AND ARE INCREDIBLY HAPPY ABOUT IT

Why, you may ask? Well, my heart, there are six of them. Three are youthful as ever, and three are not. The three who are not wish to be youthful again, but they can only do so by eating the heart of a star. So they draw straws and the one that wins eats the last piece of the last heart they had and she becomes youthful but only for a little while. You see, she needs the heart of that new star.

ANYWAY TRISTAN MAKES IT TO THE CLEARING USING THAT FANCY CANDLE HE GOT BUT O H N O IT BURNS ALMOST OUT!!! HES STUCK!!! HES TRAVELLED HUNDREDS OF MILES IN MINUTES, SURELY IT WILL TAKE SIMPLY M O N T H S TO GET BACK!!

Ah but check it out theres this really pretty girl here and she’s shining in the night almost like the stars WAIT A MINUTE-

Yeah the star is a girl (its a romance what do you think)

She broke her leg when she fell and is pretty much like. Broken. Anyway Tristan comes up to her and is like hey. You are my kidnappee now. I have to give you to the love my life so she’ll marry me. And the star is like weird flex but ok and then Tristan puts a chain on her (not good) and then they go on their merry way (not really they’re kind of stuck and shit out of luck)

AT THE SAME TIME THE PRINCES OF STORMHOLD (THERE ARE TWO LEFT BECAUSE SEPTIMUS KILLED SECUNDUS) ARE CHASING EACH OTHER AND PRIMUS IS TRYING HIS LEVEL BEST NOT TO DIE! HE DOES SMART STUFF ETC ETC

MEANWHILE THE NOW YOUTHFUL WITCH IS ON HER MERRY WAY TO FINDING THE STAR! She stops at a caravan of a familiar looking old woman with a very familiar peacock and is like hey I’m a witch you’re a witch lets be besties and the old witch (who is the old witch from the market if you did not catch on) is like aight bet and then she puts truth serum in the youthful witch’s food and she’s like hehehehe I’m so smart anyway whats new Scooby doo and the youthful witch has to tell her but when she does she is like I cast this spell upon ye that you will never remember any of this you will never see this star so long as you shall live (hold on to that its important) and then the youthful witch goes back to the search (the peacock the other witch had is watching all of this very disdainfully)

Also Tristan and the star have found a unicorn! They’re riding it now. And the star is like so I got knocked out of the sky because SOME DUMB FUCK THREW A ROCK AT ME and she pulls out the rock that the lord of the stormhold threw and she’s like this is so fucking dumb Tristan look how dumb this is and Tristan is like yes I see how dumb it is and she’s like good will you let me go now and he’s like no

uhhh. Things happen. They bond over shit.

THE STAR MAKES A BREAK FOR IT WHEN TRISTAN GOES INTO TOWN FOR FOOD!!! SHE TAKES THE UNICORN AND FUCKING G O E S! Tristan goes after her LITERALLY ONLY BECAUSE HE WANTS TO GET WITH VICTORIA NO OTHER REASON along the way he meets this very nice man who says his name is Primus and he has this very nice carriage! How nice!

AT THE SAME TIME

THE WITCH HAS SET UP A POPUP IN RIGHT IN THE PATH OF THE STAR! THIS IS WHERE SHE WILL LAY HER TRAP! She transfigures two goats to be the innkeeper (her husband) and a pot-maid (basically a servant) and then she waits! Eventually, the star (who’s name is yvaine) happens upon the inn. Salvation, at last!!!

pay no attention to the innkeeper’s wife, who is sharpening a knife and licking her lips. All is well.

Also yvaine doesn’t eat food or drink anything because she subsists on the moonshine or some shit

Ok back to Tristan who has spent some time in this carriage with this fellow Primus and they’ve just happened upon an inn!!! How nice!!! Tristan volunteers to sleep in the barn with the horses and theres a white horse back there too but no matter he’s too tired Primus tells him he’ll get the pot-maid to bring out some brandy and thats the end of it.

UNTIL!!! THE BRANDY IS BROUGHT OUT!!! AND JUST AS HE GOES TO DRINK IT!!! THE STABLE CRASHES AND THE UNICORN COMES BURSTING THROUGH AND STICKS HIS HORN IN IT!!! TRISTAN RECALLS SOMETHING: UNICORN HORN NEUTRALIZES POISON!!! GASP!!! HE’S ALMOST BEEN POISONED!!!

HE RUSHES INSIDE

AT THE SAME MOMENT

THE WITCH IS GETTING CREEPIER AND PRIMUS IS TRYING HIS BEST

TRISTAN BREAKS IN AND IS LIKE PRIMUS BRO I ALMOST GOT POISONED SHE ALMOST POISONED ME AND THEN HE SEES YVAINE AND HES LIKE OMG BABE IVE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU AND THEN ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE

THERE IS SHOUTING

THERE IS FIGHTING

THE WITCH KILLS PRIMUS

SHES COMING FOR YVAINE AND TRISTAN

BUT TRISTAN STILL HAS THE CANDLE

HE FASHIONS A WICK FROM HIS SHIRT AND THRUSTS IT INTO THE RAGING FIRE! HE AND YVAINE TAKE A STEP AND A STEP AND A STEP AND TRISTAN HOLDS THE CANDLE UNTIL IT BURNS OUT, SCARRING HIS HAND BEYOND BELIEF!!!

WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

On a cloud. chilling.

The witch flees the in and septimus happens upon it and sees his dead brother and is like ha lol ur dead and then he’s like FUCK I DIDNT KILL YOU NOW I HAVE TO GO TAKE REVENGE ON THE PERSON WHO DID FUCK U BRO

So he goes to go kill the witch (he killed like all his brothers so he should be fine)

Ok and then Tristan and yvaine get picked up from the cloud by some flying people who know Tristan through that little fellow who gave him the candle in the beginning and they spend some time with them (a few weeks maybe?) they help to heal Tristan’s hand and yvaine’s leg, though it never heals correctly, so she always has a limp now

And eventually they get dropped off a ways away from wall (closer than they were but still far) and the flying people are like byeee!!! Lovely to meet u :))) and then Tristan and yvaine are like damn better get moving I guess

The witch is like hehehehe they want to get to wall let me set up camp in this pass which is the only way to get there hehehe no one will stop me!!! And septimus is like IM GONNA ARSON IT and he almost does but she catches him and is like BITCHBOY I AM A WITCH YOURE DUMB and then she kills him

Anyway yvaine and Tristan meet this old witch lady (its the same one with the bird and the peacock) and barter with her safe passage to wall because she’s headed there for the faerie market. They use this glass flower his dad gave him which he got from the faerie market himself. Weirdly enough the witch doesn’t notice yvaine or acknowledge her like???? At all???? Ok then and also she turns Tristan into a hamster because why the hell not

So they’re on their merry way to wall and tristan is a hamster and yvaine is still not noticed by the witch so she chills with the bird sometimes and the bird is nice very smart for a bird actually

And they of course pass by the home of the youthful witch who almost got arsoned but did not and also she’s not that youthful anymore and she’s like HALT and shit and she’s like WHAT HAVE YE IN UR CARAVAN and the old lady witch is like nothing hehehe just a hamster hehehe (and because she is cursed to never notice yvaine) the witch believes her!!! They escape thanks to the failings in the witch’s own spell!!!

BACK TO WALL!! THE FAERIE MARKET IS IN FULL SWING!! THEY TRY TO GO IN BUT ARE BARRED BY THESE GUARDS WHO ARE LIKE MMMM NAH AND TRISTAN IS LIKE GOTDAMN OK

So they go back to the faerie market and have a sleep with long romantic pauses (Tristan is seriously reconsidering marriage to Victoria at this point cos like. Yvaine is fucking great yk) and yvaine is like HE WILL NEVER LOVE ME BUT I WILL COPE BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT I DO and in the morning its like TRISTAN THERES SOMEONE HERE FOR YOU and Tristan is like ah yes my lady love Victoria brb yvaine (because men) but actually its his sister who is like YOU FUCKER YOU WERE GONE AN ASS LONG TIME WHAT THE HELL and Tristan is like ah yes about that and then he sees Victoria who is like TRISTAN W MUST TALK IMMEDIATELY

Basically she eplxains that she is going to marry mr Monday (who once employed Tristan) and she is very happy but a promise is a promise and if he has her star then she will fulfill his heart’s desire and Tristan is like well I’m a Grown and Matured man now I DESIRE THAT YOU MARRY MR MONDAY LITERALLY THIS WEEK and also that I get to be with yvaine lets gooooo and Victoria is like FUCK YEAHHHH!!!! And so she and mr Monday get married

And Tristan is like yvaine can live with me in wall but also wall fucking sucks what if I just live in faerie forever that would fuck 

Also yvaine can’t cross the border out of faerie bc then she turns into a rock (similar to the stone of stormhold which she still has btw)

WHEN VICTORIA AND MR MONDAY GET MARRIED THE PEACOCK WHO IS NOW A WOMAN FOR FAERIE MARKET REASONS IS LIKE AHA IM FREE!!! Because the terms of her enslavement were that she would be freed on a week where the moon lost her daughter (the stars are the moons daughters) and two Mondays came together in the same week (Victoria and mr Monday got married) and so she’s free now and she finds Tristan and is like SURPRISE BITCH IM UR MOM ALSO IM THE LAST REMAINING CHILD OF THE LORD OF STORMHOLD BET U DIDNT SEE THAT COMING DO U KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS OH YEAH UR THE FUCKEN LORD OF STORMHOLD COS UR BAE OVER THERE HAS THE ROCK

And Tristan is like wait no I don’t wanna and he and his mom are all ready to get up and arms and yvaine is like mmm I’m gonna go now and she wanders off and runs into NONE OTHER THAN THE NO-LONGER-YOUTHFUL-WITCH who luckily can’t get her heart anymore and they have a conversation and the no longer youthful witch is like I don’t get it why can’t I steal your heart and yvaine is like perhaps because it belongs to someone else (and it was at this point in the book that I came upon my brilliant idea) and then she throws a wanton glance at Tristan and the witch is like *insert that one hades meme here*

Anyway Tristan and his mom have it sorted that she’s (his mum) is gonna go back to the stormhold and be the interim ruler while he and yvaine make their own way and she’s like yeah ok and it turns out she’s such a fire queen that by the time (about six months later) yvaine and Tristan get there its so good they leave a note like “hey so we’re gonna stay out longer don’t begrudge us our travels xoxo gossip girl” and so they do that for a bit

Then they come back and Tristan and yvaine take over as the rulers of the stormhold and all is peaches and cream forever and ever and then Tristan dies and yvaine doesn’t but she does sit in a tower gazing at the stars for the end of time and no one ever mentions her limp

THE END

damn

[botanicalmuses]

My boy dustan growing up and joining cults. *sniff sniff* Im so proud.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 16

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I didn't sleep very well but I'm here.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you move North, the sunlight fades sooner and rises later, the nights cooling with each mile. Nearly a fortnight on the road, and you return to the service of the queen. Bryce escorts you between the carts, gesturing in passing to his comrades, other times letting past another body on their own mission. You reach the front of the train where men with swords pace and keep watch over the surrounding lands. 

“Evenin’,” Bryce greets the guards outside the queen’s tent and they grumble back. The weariness of travel has overcome many of the travelers. 

You dip your head down and approach the tent flap. Before the card can pull it back for your entrance, it sweeps open from the other side. You step back as another figure falters before you. The king keeps hold of the silk and his eyes skim over you. He tilts his head and moves to hold the fabric open, beckoning you through with his large hand. 

“Your highness,” you murmur. 

His jaw squares but he says nothing. As you enter, the fabric falls heavily behind you. The king’s expression lingers in your mind, his silence even more. The tick in his cheek was hard to miss and you can hear his heavy footfalls as he stalks off. 

Within, the queen sits on a bench, playing with the tassel of her belt. Her father, Lord Dustan, stands to the side, arms crossed as he makes small steps back and forth. He tuts and chews his thumb. 

“Your husband does not behave as son-in-law,” the duke gripes lowly, “he would have let Debray fall to those vandals. He cares only for his frost lands.” 

“Father, he is only eager to be home. As much as I dread the cold, I cannot help but feel as such. I tire of this endless road,” Queen Jazlene yawns into a cupped hand. 

“Ah, but you must be a loyal wife. What of mine? What of your mother? She was alone in the castle.” 

“And you rode out to save her, didn’t you?” Jazlene prompts. 

“I am a lord of the summer lands, I am past my warring days,” Dustan snarls, “he would risk my flesh on an uprising he could crush with his left hand. He tests me!” The duke circles around as he jabs his finger in the air, “I deserve more dignity, more respect. I delivered him his kingdom.” 

“Yes, father, he is a frigid man,” Jazlene bemoans, “as icy a husband. He does neglect us both.” 

“Neglect?” Dustan faces his daughter, “does he not see to his contract?” 

She frowns and bats her doey eyes as she looks away, “it isn’t that he doesn’t fulfill his duty, it is only... how might I get an heir if I lie with my husband only once in a moon?” 

“Does he mean to deceive us? A son will bind us. A son is what we need. Does he think the summer lands will follow a king who does not sow his seed?” 

“I do not know, father. I... I have tried all I can think of.” 

“Mm,” the duke hums darkly, “that won’t do at all. Not at all. When I married your mother, she was swollen with you almost as soon as the vows were said. No, no, it won’t do. I will have word with the king, make certain he does not treat my daughter, his queen, so coolly.” 

Dustan stop and twiddles his fingers. You try to imagine him confronting King Geralt. Surely it is bluster for the sake of his daughter. 

“...we are ruined without an heir...” he mutters. 

Jazlene sits forward on the bench, “ruined, father? I am queen--” 

“Yes, yes, you are queen, but a queen has her duty too,” Dustan insists, “and it cannot be done with a negligent king. Leave it to me, daughter. The next I see the king, I shall handle our business. As I have ever done. Do you believe in me? For I did deliver you a fine marriage, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, father.” 

The duke goes to his daughter and rubs her shoulder. He leans in and you shrink against the tent wall, making yourself small. 

“Should it prove poor judgment,” his whisper scratches from his lips, “I will figure a way out.” 

He kisses her hair and turns to march out. He takes not notice of you though that is expected. Jazlene sighs as the flap falls and she leans back on her hands, swaying her leg. 

“Ah, the maid,” she cheeps, “you will fetch hot water for my feet. They ache.” 

“Yes, your highness.” 

She grins, a catlike expression and sits up straight, “yes, that is right. I am a queen and soon, the king will be certain to treat me as such.” 

You flit off to your duty. As you emerge, your chest stirs with unease. Something about their conversation has you unnerved. Though they said nothing outright, it feels as if there is more laced between the words. The queen and her father hardly sound as allies to the king. 

You try to wipe the apprehension from your mind. You are but a maid and not so well-versed on noble matters. It isn’t your place to unpiece their declarations or untangle their riddles. You are to get the water to sooth the daughter of Debray’s feet, it may yet save you a box to the ears. 

⚔️

You shiver as the cart bounces over the hard ground. You count a month or so since your departure from the capital though the days blend in a fog. The gradual creep of the chill has advanced upon the part, slowing the wheels, and sending the riders to pause and cover their horses. You keep the fur cloak over your lap as you lean into the corner of the cart though Bryce seems enlivened by the atmosphere. 

The dim sky harkens the crossing of the intangible barrier between the summer and winter lands. Sprawling plains and rounded feels give way to rocky passes and jutting mountains, interspersed with lumpy tundras speckled with patches of mud. Several times, your soldierly escort has had to help yank free the wheels from some rut or another. 

“Are we there?” You ask through as chatter, blowing into your hands. “The Hinterlands?” 

“Mm, by my guess, we are at the Fox’s Tail. You see, it is the little strip of land where no man lives, summer or winter,” he explains, reaching to scratch his beard. You envy the warmth it must give to his cheeks. “Isn’t so cold yet, mouse, better brace yerself.” 

You nod and look ahead at the grey, brown expanse. There are dustings of frost but not snow, only on the distant caps of rugged mountains that shadow the horizon. You hug yourself as Daisy’s breath plumes in misty clouds around her head. 

“Why does no one live here?” You ask. 

“There are no trees, no grass to feed the livestock or game,” he shrugs, “it is barren...” he sucks his teeth and thinks, “there was a war. Hundreds of years ago, maybe more. The summer folk spilled upon the winter lands, some squabble over a slain lord... they put salt to the earth. They did not only want vengeance on the living, they wanted their descendants to suffer for their misdeeds. Starve out an entire people.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “what the summer people didn’t understand is that the winter skinned do not stay still. They move with the winds. You’ll see, mouse. You haven’t done the last of yer scurrying.” 

You huddle down as another cold breath sweeps through the air. You’re not used to it but you will be. That’s how it always is. You just have to take what you get and make it work. You can’t complain for what you have; a warm cloak, a cart, and a kind companion. 

⚔️

Your teeth chatter as you hold closed the front of the fur cloak, the hood over your head as you walk the frozen earth. More often than not, you’ve left the prized cape in your cart for your return. It is too heavy to wear while serving the queen but the weather permits you no mercy. It is far too bitter to forgo the extra layer. 

Bryce is unbothered in his mail and the simple fur trim the collar of his wool cloak. He only seems to thrive in the dipping temperatures, stoking a fire for your nocturnal return so that you may sleep in its warmth. His constancy keeps you from mourning the lost summer sunshine. 

He stands behind you as you cross to the queen’s tent, now raised with several layers to insulate the walls. You enter as you do every night, unnoticed as Queen Jazlene mindlessly stares into the pages of a book. She’s grown quiet these last weeks as the travel wears on her, even her wardrobe showing the effects. 

You feel a gust from beneath the tent wall and step away from it. You watch the queen, huddled beneath a blanket on a stool, shaking as she tries to warm her hands in each other. She wears several satin cloaks layered over each other but the fabric is too sleek to garner much heat. 

She puffs into her palms and groan.  

“Damn this cold,” she mutters, then sits up, “maid, tea!” She demands, “Something warm! Anything!” 

You utter a small “your highness” and spin away to your task. You step out into the cold and go off to find a fire and a pot. The queen has some berry tea in her chests.  

You acquire a cup of steaming water from a cluster of servants around a flame. You linger for a moment to absorb some of the fire’s haze then set back toward the royal tent. As you near, a shadow nearly collides with you. You keep the cup balanced as you scramble around the figure. The torch light catches the king’s golden eyes as they meet yours. 

“Your highness,” you murmur. 

He grunts as he stops fully. He stares down at you wordlessly. You cannot read his expression as shadows dance around his features, flickering various emotions across his face. He bows his head and presses on. You turn to watch him go as concern rolls up your throat. 

In those last weeks, months you believe, you’ve not seen much of the king. You’ve wondered after his elusivity. At first, you thought it might be due to the combat at Debray, perhaps he was disheartened by the last act of resistance. Then you surmised it might be evasion of his own wife. Alas, you could not guess and fathomed it was not your place to do so. 

This brief encounter further perplexes you. You can’t help but question if it is you. You recall the last day in the capital, the grit of his voice casting you out. Go. The memory ripples through you. 

You think much of yourself. It wouldn’t be anything to do with a paltry maid. You focus on the hot water in your hand and continue on to the queen’s tent. 

You enter and wrap the dried berries and leaves, steeping them in the steaming water. You hover over the cup, waiting for the water to deepen in hue and cool enough to drink. When you bring it to the queen, you feel her gaze upon you. 

“Your highness,” you hand her the cup. 

She hesitates to take it, only doing so after deep consideration. She holds the tea in one hand as her other tugs on your cloak. She makes an ugly noise. 

“And where did you find this, maid?” She sneers. “Hmm, I sit her in my summer garb and you wear a bear’s skin?” 

Your lips part and you raise your shoulders. You look at the tent wall and frown. You poke your hand outside the cloak and touch the soft fur.  

“Your highness,” you look down at the cloak then at her trembling grasp on the cup. “Would you like it? You look awfully cold.” 

“Yes, I want the damn cloak!” She yanks it hard, “I am the queen and you did not think to offer me a proper cloak? How stupid are you.” 

You bow your head and reach to unbuckle the cloak. When it is loose, you shrug it off and hand it over. You will find a spare blanket. There must be some left among the luggage. 

She shoves the cup at you and stands. She swings the cloak around her and hums as she pulls its snug around her figure. She sits again and rubs her chin against the fur. 

“Much better,” she says, “I’ve been suffering this damnable place for far too long.” 

She takes the tea back, spilling a drop on your hand. You back away, the liquid cooling and sending a new chill through you. You cover one hand with the other and clutch tightly, locking your jaw against the tremor that crawls up your spine. 

The queen slurps from the tea and makes a face. She sneers, “I want wine,” she pouts, “how long must I be deprived? Wine!” She snarls down at the cup, “but I must drink this bile. Oh, but the king bids it,” she raises her voice mockingly, “you must obey your husband.” She shakes her head and takes another gulp, “at least it is warm. At least--”  

She holds the cup away from her suddenly as her face twists. She drops it and recoils, panic washing over her. She keels forward, holding her skirts out of the way as she spews onto the rug spread over the hard ground. She wretches loudly, spasming with the horrid sounds snagging in her throat. 

The smell of her vomit permeates the tent. She stays bent over her lap as she pants. You come forward and offer her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. She sits up and gulps tightly, her features drawn. She pats her lips. 

“Well, clean it up,” she turns her feet away from the puddle between them. “Stupid maid.” 

She pokes a sharp nail into your arm and you wince.  

“Your highness, are you unwell?” You ask, “shall I fetch a physician? Or some ginger?” 

“No, you stupid cow, I am not unwell,” she flicks her fingers at you before waving away the stench of her bile. She stands and walks away from it, her hand settling on her middle. She faces you and smiles broadly, “I am carrying the king’s son.” Her face darkens as she wrinkles her nose, “I told you, you twit, to clean that up. You best do so before I make you eat it.” 

You nod and bend your neck, “yes, your highness, I will fetch water.” 

“I don’t care, just do it,” she snaps and rubs her stomach. She lets out a shuddery groan and turns her back to you. You watch as she draws tight the cloak and sways with a trill, “I will be a true queen now. He cannot deny me any longer.” 

[a-tale-of-legends]

On a totally different note, I'm playing Blaze Black 2 and recently caught a dwebble. His name is Dustan. He has a lax nature and given the op -ness of the last Pokemon that had a lax nature, I know he will become the MVP of the team. Even if he isn't, I love and cherish him a whole lot.

( and is probably gonna make me love bug types a whole lot more, cause Unova went wild with their bug types)

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

I loooove your plus size reader stuff, for the freakyficks can u do one of those with Hopper from stranger things activities 4 and five???? <333333333

A Good Thing Here

Chief Hopper x Reader - 803 Words - More Freaky Fics

Notes: Activity 4- trick or treating, Activity 5- decorating for Halloween. I really love Hopper with an s/o of a comparable size it just makes me feel all warm and happy. Part 2

Warnings: 80’s movie typical swearing, kissing, alcohol use and description, someone only wearing a t-shirt.

- - -

You got home from work late, the box of decorations heavy in your hands as you nudged the door open with your hip. Inside Hopper sat with an impatient El and her typical gaggle of friends around your coffee table.

With all the drama associated with growing teenagers, and the typical government conspiracies and cover ups- you’d never gotten around to putting up any Halloween decorations. Hawkins’ Trick-or-Treat started in three hours. Judging by the empty Pizza boxes, the kids were ready to turn the tiny lawn in front of your home into a Halloween haven. After all, it was El’s first real Halloween and you wanted to make it a good one.

“I wanna set up the yard zombies!” Dustan yelled excitedly pulling the fold-out cutouts out of the box. Mike, Will, Max, and Lucas were equally excited and the group tore through the box and onto the lawn in an impressive display of chaos.

You turned your attention to El who still looked a little reserved, “you were late.”

Her little voice sounded older, and for the first time, you realized she was growing up. “I know honey, I’m sorry. But I’m here now,” you softly smiled before tossing a conspiratorial grin towards Hopper.

You grabbed a box of orange twinkle lights from the bottom of the box and pulled El closer to show them off.

“Honey, do you think you might be able to help your daddy get the lights up around the porch while I finish up your costume?”

He groaned and pulled himself out of his chair. You couldn’t help smiling as he wrapped an arm around both of you. “Save it, kid, I can’t tell both of you no.”

El laughed and enthusiastically hugged back before pulling him outside with the others.

You quickly stepped back into the living room proper to fox together the last few pieces of El’s costume. You’d taken the time to sew it yourself so you knew it would be perfect. It just needed some ironing, and a little nip here, a slight stitch there... You’d just gotten the thing finished when the kids burst back inside.

You shoved the pieces into a paper bag and waited until it was El’s turn to get dressed. For a moment El looked confused, the costume fit her perfectly and you were pleased to notice how well it matched with Mike.

Carefully El double-checked the paper bag before looking at you in wonder, “no mask?”

You grinned, “not any more honey.”

Once that was sorted you waited for Steve to come pick them up. Then you watched the kids pile into Steve’s car and you pulled Hopper over to wave from the window as they drove off. Once they were out of sight you set out a bucket of candy, leaving the twinkle lights on for any visitors, and locked the door.

Hopper had quietly moved into your shared bedroom to change out of the day’s clothes which gave you the opportunity for a little trick of your own. You ducked quietly into the bathroom and slipped into something a little more comfortable before slinking back into the kitchen.

You stood behind the kitchen island, smiling as he emerged dressed in stretchy pants and a soft t-shirt. Hopper paused, you hadn’t been wearing that shirt before had you? He puzzled over it as he walked towards you, certain it was one of his shirts. Although, it fits you pretty well too.

“Care to trick-or-treat chief?” You asked with a teasing lilt to your voice.

“After almost falling off that damn roof in front of that Wheeler kid it better be a treat.”

You hummed in agreement before pulling a cold bottle from the fridge and turning down the room’s lights. It made the small disheveled place feel a little cozier.

“For a treat...Pumpkin beer,” you said walking around the counter.

“Christ,” Hopper said, swallowing thickly as you walked out and around from behind the kitchen island. He was happy to notice he was right, you were wearing his shirt, just his shirt. The fabric fits you well and the hem rested just below the soft edge of your stomach.

You giggled softly as you watched him take note of the particular way your hips moved the shirt as you walked. You handed him one of the cold bottles, and set yours on the side table before walking him back into his favorite chair. You sat on the chair’s armrest, and tossed your legs over his lap, pressing yourselves together in the already restricted space. His free hand found your body immediately, and you wrapped an arm around his shoulders to keep you steady as he downed the drink.

“That’s good shit,” he said evenly before tossing the bottle onto the carpet, “want a taste?”

[random-brushstrokes]

David Murray - 'It was the time of roses' (1914)

‘It was the time of roses’ illustrates the view from Forty Acres Rose Garden, St Dustan’s, Canterbury, reflecting a late impressionist style. The title of the work is from a line in Thomas Hood’s (1798-1845) poem ‘Time of Roses’: (source)

IT was not in the Winter     Our loving lot was cast; It was the time of roses—     We pluck'd them as we pass'd!

That churlish season never frown'd     On early lovers yet: O no—the world was newly crown'd     With flowers when first we met!

'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,     But still you held me fast; It was the time of roses—     We pluck'd them as we pass'd!

[virtualcarrot]

Rash Confessions

I prompted the light-hearted idea of Crowley being physically incapable of enduring affection on the Ace Omens server, just feeling faint and stumbling about at the slightest term of endearment because he’s a demon and he CAN’T. HANDLE. THE LOVE. Elmo improved it by saying Crowley was allergic to it, I didn’t catch on the fact that they were actually going to fill the prompt, so this happened except I took all the fun out of it and made it sEriOuS

(on AO3)

*

There’s a cozy teahouse somewhere in the City.

Well, there are multiple cozy teahouses all over London, some comfy in a tourist entrapment kind of way, others more genuine if dusty, but this specific one is where they’re seated, happy and relaxed and awaiting their order. It’s the one that matters.

It’s a few streets past St Dunstan-in-the-East. Crowley actually took his foot off the pedal as he drove past it just so he could spare a good look at the plot of the church he desecrated. He found it lush and green over the carefully maintained ruins, vines crawling up the walls just enough to add a casually romantic charm to it, the stone kept from harm by some judicious pruning of their most destructive tendrils. Aziraphale let out a small noncommittal hum at the sight. Crowley’s throat felt achy and he didn’t let them linger.

The first floor of the teahouse is devoid of any other customers, which suits them just fine. It’s dimly lit by poor artificial lighting, bathed in soft shadows that the French windows they’re seated at cannot quite make up for. Outside, the sky is surprisingly clear. The weather has this side of a chilly bite that makes burrowing into a safe, warm, comfy place all the more agreeable. Crowley feels pleasantly drowsy.

“This place is lovely,” Aziraphale murmurs, casting curious glances around, past the bare wooden beams, to the narrow staircase that creaked on their way up, and then over the old chipped ceiling, the fresco past the point of legibility.

It is lovely, indeed. Crowley feels the telling tightness on his skin that accompanies the feeling. At this point, he’s used to it. St Dustan itself already pulses a distant heat on the map of his mind’s eye. Across from him on the table, Aziraphale smolders like a reddening branding iron.

It’s worth it.

The waiter climbs up the steep stairs with a slight huff. It’s the kind of place with a carefully constructed family-establishment feel and student hires as a main workforce. She looks young enough for the part and sets their order in front of them with the overly careful gestures of someone who hasn’t yet gotten past the fear of spillage. A pretty fine china plate of scones follows, beside which she plunks down a small hourglass. Plastic, though that changes the moment her back is turned. It only takes a handwave. Aziraphale smiles bashfully at the sight, the apple of his cheeks tight with the effort of keeping his giddiness in check. They are pink, reddening more and more by the second.

When their eyes meet, Aziraphale’s smile doesn’t grow, cannot grow, too leashed back by a sense of propriety, but the corner of his lips curl upper still ever so slightly. They’re as pink as his cheeks. Crowley’s heart aches, as does the roof of his mouth. He wants so much his tongue feels heavy and thick with it.

The sand trickles down. Crowley doesn’t want to drink alone and his own coffee wouldn’t dare grow cold against his will, so he waits it out, too. The weight of Aziraphale’s grateful, knowing gaze in return is almost palpable.

Eventually, the tea is infused enough to pour. The place is so silent that the sound it makes as it splashes into the teacup echoes against the walls. Aziraphale takes a slow sip, closes his eyes with a sigh of contentment, and then reopens them like a flaring beacon radiating across the bay. 

“This is marvellous,” he says softly, staring straight at Crowley. It’s really unfair that he so unfailingly catches his eyes even past the sunglasses.

Sweat beads up against the collar of Crowley’s jacket. He grunts something back and dips into his coffee. It’s dark and intense, with a delicate citrus-like tang and the discreet bitterness of a roast that may have gone on slightly too long. Overall, not unpleasant.

When he lowers his cup, Aziraphale’s right hand is just far enough on the table to count as a potential offering.

“My dear,” Aziraphale whispers, and Crowley sneezes.

Crowley sneezes, and sneezes, and sneezes, and sneezes. Bolts up from his chair to try and get some space, but Aziraphale follows instantly, jittery like the idea of not doing so is unthinkable, and radiating concern and such unadulterated affection that Crowley actually trips on a chair on his way away from him.

Aziraphale crouches by his side, worry etched into every single line of his face. The hand he holds out to help Crowley up is as tantalizing as it is alarming.

“Don’t touch me!” Crowley croaks out. Aziraphale recoils like he would to a blow, and it would take Crowley’s breath away if it wasn’t so short and his chest so constricted already.

He hadn’t expected Aziraphale’s affection to be so open, so powerful, so overwhelming, and, really, how could it have been otherwise? Being overwhelmed by events was the story of Crowley’s life, after all, and single-minded focus the story of Aziraphale’s. “Just, give me a minute.”

One minute turns into many more, long enough that by the time Crowley staggers to his feet—on his own—the tea has gone cold in its cup, and the one in the teapot disappointingly lukewarm. As has Crowley’s decidedly unimpressed coffee. He still drinks it, half out of spite, after he drops down into his previously deserted seat. Aziraphale spares him a quick glance, but it’s clearly against his best wishes.

Irritation is good. Irritation won’t send Crowley’s demonic nature into nonsensical fits.

Aziraphale chews carefully on the rest of a scone and dabs his mouth with a napkin the teahouse never provided before he speaks. “Care to explain what happened?”

Crowley does not know where to start. There’s a way to put it delicately. A way that won’t send Aziraphale running for the hills of denial. This thing between them, it’s right there, just ripe enough to be offered to Crowley, ripe enough to bite into and feast upon, and he can’t have it yet but he wants it, wants it to the point of an ache so deep and so sharp it’s worth fighting the mere essence of his self. He doesn’t want it to be taken away. It’s his.

“I’m... a demon,” he starts, uncertain, giving out feelers and hoping against all hope for a hint of how best to steer this improvised confession.

“Yes, aardvark, I remember,” Aziraphale replies with affected demureness and an edge of sharpened steel underneath that’s so petulantly hostile Crowley finds himself wrestling with the urge to touch him. Just dart out a hand and graze the tip of his fingers to his face, the back of his hand, the halo of his hair.

He’s so taken with it he loses track of what he’s saying.

“Well... I’m allergic to, er, affection,” he blurts out, aware of the words that escape him only a beat too late to keep them in. But they’re out now, and sure to push away the one he most wants close. Still, instinct steered him towards a euphemism and he’s very thankful for that. He scrunches his eyes shut, as if that could avert the trainwreck of this discussion. 

There’s a pause. Aziraphale shifts in his seat. “What?!”

He sounds too bewildered for anger or rash self-denial, so Crowley risks an eye open, and then the other. This conversation requires some adjustment; he crosses his arms and slowly sinks down in his seat until he can lean the back of his head against the backrest.

“I’m allergic to affection,” he repeats. “Or close enough. Demons, we’re not equipped to handle it. When it’s ours, it’s easier to manage—not that I’ve exactly had much chance to exchange notes on the subject Down There.” He gives Aziraphale a wry look. The angel’s eyes soften subtly in humor but his face remains stern, encouraging him to go on. So he does. “I guess because it’s already demonic. But when it comes from, er, outside sources, our essence fights it back. Like an infection. Or something,” he finishes lamely with a twirl of his hand.

Aziraphale downs the content of his teacup. From the smell of it, it’s no longer the smoky oolong that he ordered but something a lot more fermented and plenty more distilled.

“Any affection?” he asks, to which Crowley nods. “But I’ve always…” He starts, then cuts himself off with a haughty glare like he holds Crowley responsible that he came too close to saying more than he intended.

Feeling generous—and like he’s already got more than enough on his plate to deal with, which granted isn’t that much since, as someone who eats in small quantities, he can quickly be overwhelmed by too many over-filled dishes, and that’s how well that metaphor works—Crowley doesn’t push him. “It’s, you know, the boiled frog. Thing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but do go on.”

That arched judgemental brow on Aziraphale’s face has no right being as attractive as it is. It’s very distracting, is what it is, but Crowley soldiers on.

“More often than not, it didn’t register. Not really. It came in small quantities and increased slowly over time.” By which he meant millennia. Millennia of self-restraint. Sure, Aziraphale slipped here and there occasionally, but the Englishmen had nothing on him when it came to ingrained denial. “I guess I got used to it. But now…”

Now that things have changed, he doesn’t say, now you’re free from Heaven’s influence and I’m free from Hell’s governance, now you’ve allowed yourself to feel this, now you’ve set it loose, that’s another thing. And it should be so heady, so satisfying, to be loved with even a fraction of this intensity, but mostly, it makes Crowley want to tear at his hair and scream when he’s alone, and flop down onto the ground and lie there when Aziraphale is near.

“Oh Crowley, why didn’t you say so?”

Crowley wants to answer, he really does, but then a wave of tenderness sweeps over him and he winces at the itch of it. He’s not discreet about it either, can’t even begin to downplay it. Aziraphale catches it and his gaze becomes shuttered at the sight. The way he reigns it all in is like a physical pull that leaves Crowley swaying in relief and gritting his teeth in yearning at the same time. He wants it. It is his to have, darn it all. 

And what the heck, in for a penny, as they say—

“I want it, Aziraphale. Anything you can give me, anything you want to give me, I want it, too. And I’ll match it, don’t think I won’t. We have an Arrangement, after all. Balanced in all ways.” He offers Aziraphale a smile, one that’s small, yes, but not weak. It’s toothy, and it’s bold, and it’s honest. Fierce.

The angel smiles back briefly, unhappily. The curve of it is wistful. “It’s hurting you, Crowley.”

“Yeah, well… How do you think the opposite feels, angel? The lack of it?” Crowley rubs the back of his neck. “Terribly unpleasant, let me tell you.”

They share a look. Aziraphale brings his hands to his lap where he tugs at the bottom of his waistcoat, then lifts them back to the table when he realizes. His already perfect posture takes on a martial quality, his back straight and his head held high.

“So what now?” he asks. His eyes are sure and his jaw is set, waiting for the axe to drop. He’s so brave. And so close. It’d take so little to reach out for him and just touch.

Crowley throws his hands out with a flourish. “Desensitization. Exposure therapy. We’ll boil this frog. I know it works, we’ve been doing it for—” Millennia, he doesn’t say, doesn’t want to give too much away. He needs to keep some sort of dignity after all. “—ages. It’s just, going from utter repression to open affection, that was…”

He trails off with a pointed look, and Aziraphale bristles in that tetchy way of his when he feels he’s being made to take on unfair blame. This time, the swelling in Crowley's chest has nothing to do with any sort of metaphysical struggle and everything to do with being overfilled with his own adoration.

The angel snaps. “I couldn’t very well have known, after all, you didn’t tell me!”

“Well, I just did! So there!” Crowley retorts, because Aziraphale doesn’t have a monopoly on petulance.

They stare, neither one willing to look away. The air of the room is thick with tension and it’s ridiculous, they’re ridiculous. They’re so ridiculous they just have to laugh at it. Crowley’s face aches with the grin that overtakes it, and Aziraphale wipes away a few tears that aren’t all entirely due to laughter, but enough.

“Come on,” Crowley says softly, pushing his chair back in order to get up. “Let’s ask for another serving. I know how much you dislike miracle-heated tea.”

“Ah, yes, very well,” Aziraphale agrees happily before adding in a purposeful mutter: “I still don’t see what frogs have to do with this.”

Such fondness should not be allowed to exist in a lone entity. Crowley rolls his eyes in equal parts at Aziraphale and his own self and goes to knock on the wooden panels of the stairwell.

“Hey Miss! We’d like to order something else!” he shouts. It doesn’t matter whether she hears him or not; she’s close enough that the invocation he’s weaving will reach her. The choice whether to comply is hers alone but she seemed professional enough that he doesn’t doubt she’ll show up soon.

The wood is at once smooth and rough under his hand, polished by time and creased by the same. He presses a nail into one of the gouges, hesitates, decides. The carpet scrunches audibly as he detours to the angel’s side instead of going back to his own seat. Aziraphale looks up at him with open curiosity, a small furrow of concern still weighing his brows but his eyes clear and soft. They’ve overcome worse odds. His hands are on the table by the plate of scones, one playing with the edges of his napkin.

It’s the right one.

Crowley doesn’t think, but even if he had, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He cradles the hand in his, delicately, and lifts it to his face at the same time as he bends. They meet halfway. The skin is warm and dry against the lips that he presses there, oh so earnestly, a bit desperately, fully hopeful.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes out, stunned. Emotions rush to the surface of his mind, disrupt the calm mirror of it, gleaming scales reflecting sunshine just below the line that draws the border between the privacy of the pond and the exposure to the outside world. He feels himself boiling over, overcome; shudders against the strains of keeping it all in.

This is an uphill battle he cannot win, not without Crowley’s help, and the demon is very set on being as unhelpful as he can possibly be. It's exasperating, truly, but that's not enough to counter the satisfaction of Crowley’s lean hand wrapped around Aziraphale's plump fingers, demonic thumb caressing the back of his hand over the lingering tingling of that too-brief kiss. He's happy, is the thing, and Crowley's such a stubborn creature, really, there’s only so much Aziraphale can do.

Fondness spills out of him in waves past the cracked dam of his will, that Crowley was expecting, that Crowley was prompting, and who rides them out with a vindictive grin, hand in the angel’s hand to keep himself anchored against the tide until it recedes. It itches and burns like the rash Crowley’s body once dared to experience early on in his stay on Earth, before it remembered itself. Crowley could not care any less. It's his to have.

He loves you, he thinks to himself. Feel how he loves you.

“See, this time it went better,” he points out a tad smugly.

Aziraphale shakes his head, charmed against his better judgement. “You silly—” he starts saying, voice tight with relief, then halts. There are storms in his eyes, whirlwinds of emotions, and still he smiles, brimming with affection, shoulders wriggling with it. He squeezes Crowley’s hand, presses it to his cheek and then lets go. 

The waitress finds them seated in a perfect scene of propriety a few moments later. And if Crowley has darker patches of color on his skin that she doesn’t recall from earlier that afternoon, well, who is she to judge? Dermatitis is sure to have made her own teenage years awfully awkward, and her acne probably still flares up at the most inconvenient times when she gets too overwhelmed.

“We’ll have another of everything,” Crowley says, artfully slouched in his chair.

“Again?” she asks, eyeing the almost full teapot of cold tea and the half-drunk coffee. “Did you not enjoy—?”

Ever so polite, Aziraphale beams up at her reassuringly. “Oh no, my dear, it was absolutely lovely, but I’m afraid we got distracted,” he admits. His next words, when he speaks them, are aimed at Crowley, who feels his posture go even more limp as he basks in the knowledge of the angel’s devotion, no matter how leashed.

“But that’s alright,” Aziraphale says. “We have all the time in the world.”

*

*

(beta read by Elmo, any remaining mistakes are mine; title by @goodduckingomens because it’s a pun so of course it is; thanks for the existence of the Ace Omens discord which is both a blessing and a curse of Enablement)