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threeacttragedy · 7 days ago

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Entry 7: The One Where the Queen Asked, “Did That Go the Way You Thought It Was Gonna Go?”

I’m probably one of the few people in this fandom who find Antonia entertaining.

Goddammit – put down your fucking pitchforks!

I didn’t say I liked her – I simply said I found her entertaining.

If Antonia’s existence bothers the fuck out of you, you’ll likely enjoy my commentary here.

*And, right about here is when I’ll slip in my disclaimer: this is my opinion only; merely speculation based on information that is out there in the public realm.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes, Antonia. I don’t find her entertaining because I think she’s a great dancer. Is she? You tell me. I mean, I have two left feet so just about anyone is better than me.

And, I have never seen a picture or video where she’s made me “like” her as a person. In fact, she comes off more like a villain, but not a brilliant villain (I might like her, then). She’s more like an Iago to, say, Deux Mois’ Jafar.

I just find her so fucking reckless, but in the most amusing way possible. If she were a movie, I’d give her 4/5 stars. The movie would be a low-budget comedy, of course.

In my opinion, she loves to troll the fandom and I’m convinced she must have notifications turned on for Nicola. The patterns started patterning early on during the World Tour (and probably before). The problem is, she’s just not great at trolling. Her attempts always fall flat, and she ends up making herself look like, well, a tryhard (hence why her movie only gets 4/5 stars).

I’m not sure what Antonia ever was to Luke but, at a minimum, I will (begrudgingly) say they dated. I know some people don’t want to hear that, but she was a player in this game for a reason. Rumor also suggests she, at the very least, squatted in Luke’s flat (and I don’t mean in THAT way).

That said, I believe she was officially taken out of the game at the end of July. However, that doesn’t mean she wasn’t still making noise from the sidelines.

One of the most humorous (in my opinion) “rah rahs” Antonia pulled was on September 28 when she posted some stories of herself at a theatre. I’m not sure if she could have been any more obvious when trying to show us her phone screen. The screen was lit up, her thumb pressed against it, and angled almost directly at the person taking the picture. We get it, honey. You want us to see what’s on your screen. Not surprisingly, it appeared to be a blurry ass picture of Luke.

Big whoop, right? Well, actually it was because the Conscientiously Stupid took this as confirmation Luke and Antonia were together (again) and the Sincerely Ignorant swallowed their cyanide pills without water (again). And, the Fact Finders, while trying to resuscitate their dearly beloved Sincerely Ignorant friends foaming at their mouths, immediately called “bullshit” (again). The picture appeared to be old and, to be honest, it was too blurry to tell who was on the screen – although I will concede it could have been Luke. In fact, I tend to believe it was an old picture of Luke based on what happened next.

The problem with Antonia’s play style is that she doesn’t seem to catch on to the rules. She moves her pawn two spaces because she can, not because it advances her game. She has this nasty habit of ignoring, say, the opposing party’s pawn, which is in position to en passant her overly confident pawn.

Nicola had been living high on life throughout the month of September, which, in my opinion, is quite possibly the reason why Antonia seemed a bit unhinged by the end of the month (jealousy can make us do crazy shit). Among other things, Nicola had the Emmy’s (and the Wordle), the Gucci show, and, on October 1, she was presenting Simone with a Glamour Award. By this point, I believe Nicola had had enough of Antonia’s gameplay. The phone screen had struck a chord.

So, what does Nicola do?

She plays the game right back but not like she normally does with Scrabble boards, Dewy Skin Creams, and BTS wedding footage dropped at the perfect moment. This time, she does it with a power move that left her hands virtually spotless.

On October 3, Halley Brisker, Nicola’s frequent hairstylist, posted a set of four pictures to his Instagram grid, three of which showed Nicola casually posing for the camera and one showing Nicola in the process of having her hair done. It was the latter picture (#3/4 in the slide deck) that perked every Lukolas’ ears.

Low and behold sat a man, his face conveniently covered by a hairdresser’s arm, but his hands in full view. Hands that, at this point, we (embarrassingly) know too well. To date, no one has debunked the theory – more like, assertion – that the man in the picture is Luke.

Nicola liked this post by Halley, and even commented, “You legend [red heart emoji].” You’re welcome to read between the lines on that one.

I’ve always believed this Halley Brisker photo dump was Nicola’s very clever, albeit indirect, way of telling Antonia, “Checkmate, bitch.”

The point of this entry is not to convince you that Antonia is a red herring (she is), or that Luke is in the Halley Brisker photo dump (he is), or that Nicola plays the game better than most (she does). No, the point of this entry is to tell you Antonia’s game is over (because it is). Antonia lost.

So why does she remain on the roster?

Because, collectively, we as fans keep her there, sitting along the sidelines in her collapsable camp chair making noise with her cowbell. We pay attention to what she posts. We talk about what she posts. We argue over what she posts. We panic about what she posts. WE keep her in the game.

How about we don’t?

Why not start off this week with a positive change? And, not just for the USS Lukola, but for yourself as well.

If you’re following Antonia on social media (for sinister reasons) – stop. Meander over to Instagram, X, Tiktok, whatever, and unfollow her. Don’t look back. Stop checking her page. If you see or hear she has a new post, ignore it. Move on. The first day will be hard. But, the second day will be easier. You know where I’m going with this…

I mean, Luke can’t quietly unfollow her if we’re constantly looking in that direction, right?

P.S. If you need more convincing that Antonia’s shelf life has expired, I have a CliffsNotes response for that: https://www.tumblr.com/threeacttragedy/767137910999957504/great-blog-but-if-all-was-not-good-with-l-and-a?source=share.

P.P.S. Moving forward, I don’t give two boiled rabbits about what Antonia does. I will most certainly refer back to her in a historical sense (she does fill in bits and pieces of the Lukola timeline), but if she posts a crockpot tomorrow, don’t expect me to comment on what could be in it.

P.P.P.S. If you have any understanding of what the little chessboard I’ve dropped in to my picture means, I salute you.

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #speculation only #my opinion

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suzukiblu · 6 months ago

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WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees. ( chrono || non-chrono )

And they must have a Clark. Kon can’t imagine how they couldn’t.

He can’t imagine how anywhere couldn’t, if it came to it.

Yeah, that’s a healthy thought, Kon reflects resignedly as Alfred shuts the car door and goes around to the driver’s side to slip into his own seat. Alfred starts the engine and pulls out of his parking spot, and Jon nervously grips Kon’s sleeve. He twists his wrist to grab the kid’s hand, and immediately ends up with Jon pressed completely against his side and resuming his earlier sniffling buried against his bicep. It’s whatever, obviously; Kon figures if the kid cries on the suit a bit, he can just get it . . . dry-cleaned, he guesses? Probably this is a dry-cleaning thing?

God, who knows, Tim got the damn thing for him. It might need to be cleaned by a hyper-specific radiation or fresh water from snowmelt on the Alps or a custom-designed spray from the Batcave, for all he friggin’ knows.

“Hello, Mr. Kent,” Alfred says as soon as the aid workers on the street have directed the towncar out of the immediate area of the refugee camp, his voice wryly but politely amused, and Kon feels an immediate rush of relief. Thank fuck, yeah, okay. Not that he really thought Alfred of all people thought he was actually a version of Batman, just . . . yeah. Just–yeah. It’s a relief. “Dare I ask why you informed the aid workers that you were Master Bruce?”

“I did not, but I winked at a pretty lady while wearing a very expensive suit and holding a traumatized kid, so apparently some assumptions were made,” Kon admits sheepishly, and Alfred’s mouth quirks in the rearview mirror.

“Do tell,” he says.

“Please tell me Batman isn't gonna pull the ‘no outside capes in Gotham’ card over this,” Kon says, dragging a hand through his hair and slightly wrecking the carefully slicked-back style he had it in. At this point, he does not care. “My Batman knew I was in town.”

“Oh, did he?” Alfred asks, still seeming wryly amused.

“Mine too!” Jon blurts, straightening up a little as he leans back a bit from Kon. He keeps a hand on his arm, but Kon figures that’s no surprise. He’s a pretty familiar face, considering. Like, double-familiar, in a sense.

“Ah, yes,” Alfred says, glancing carefully at Jon in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, young man. May I inquire after your name?”

Well, shit, Kon thinks as Jon wilts immediately and tightens his grip on his sleeve, then buries his face in his bicep again. Not ideal, probably. At least, explaining Jon as a person is probably gonna be a whole thing, and not a thing the local Batman is gonna be thrilled to hear.

Could be worse, admittedly. Could be “oh, Lex Luthor cooked me up in a basement”.

Yeahhhhh. Well, at least Alfred actually recognized him, so apparently he does exist here. So like, at least they’ve only got to get through one of those explanations.

“Jon Kent,” Jon says quietly, and Alfred . . . pauses. Kon does not let himself wince or look guilty or anything even remotely similar. Look, he’d have forewarned them if he’d had the option, okay?

“I see,” Alfred says carefully. “May I inquire, young Mr. Kent, as to who your father might happen to be?”

“Clark Kent,” Jon says, his voice still quiet and grip on Kon’s sleeve probably at hydraulic-press levels by now. “And my mom's Lois Lane.”

“Ah,” Alfred says. “Please don't take this question the wrong way, young man, but would you happen to be adopted?”

“No,” Jon says, setting his jaw stubbornly.

“I see,” Alfred says. Kon–sighs, for lack of a better idea, and just wraps his arm around Jon.

“I got you, Jonno,” he says, trying to sound reassuring. He’s not as good at that as Clark is, which is immediately proven by Jon tearing up and just clinging to him, full super-strength and all. A less invulnerable version of him would definitely bruise.

And literally any baseline human would get their fucking spine crushed.

“I’m not dangerous,” Jon mutters. “And I’m not gonna hurt anybody. You know I wouldn't, right? I–I know you haven't had me yet in your reality, but–”

Wait.

What?

“–but I'm not bad, I wouldn't hurt anyone, I promise, you know you and Mom wouldn't ever have a kid who was bad!” Jon chokes past an almost-sob, and Kon’s stomach sinks like a rock.

Okay. Jon does not, in fact, have a version of him in his reality.

Fuck.

Also, apparently has some really concerning ideas about biological determinism and nature versus nurture and whatever else, but like, he’s like ten, that’s–normal, or whatever, that’s–

Fuck.

“Jon, kiddo, no, I’m not–” he tries, and then the car dashboard lights up with a low, melodious sound, and Alfred presses a button on the steering wheel.

“Report,” Batman’s voice says neutrally from the speakers, and Kon immediately winces.

Well, this is gonna go just great, isn’t it.

“Well, it seems Batman doesn't yet have to worry about an interdimensional territory dispute,” Alfred informs him dryly. “Superman, however . . .”

Fuck his entire fucking life, Kon thinks.

So much for not having to give both of the awkward explanations.

“. . . Kent,” Bruce says, sounding immediately exasperated and also way less “Batman”, which Kon wishes he could assume were a good sign. “Why the hell did you tell the aid workers you were me?”

#jan #wip: mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees

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gimmethosedaddymilkers · 9 months ago

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I Still Love You.

Okay, hi, yes, I am real, I do exist haha, anyway, I'm suffering in college but I miss writing for my cowboy so I'm gonna try to do some magic with this prompt from the lovely @photo1030 about our cowboy and us getting into a fight, the first fight, after they start dating.

Let us start!

Warnings: Arguing obviously, swearing, Arthur feeling bad, you feeling bad, female reader, possibly 18+ themes. Modern Arthur AU

Definitely maybe projecting a little bit of myself into Y/N here but we aren't gonna mention that.

Also don't you dare make fun of me I haven't wrote much recently so my noggin doesn't work, all I know is homework

You scoffed, continuing to wash the dishes in your sink as you listen to Arthur rambling on, trying to make you 'see reason' as he put it.

Usually you couldn't find a single thing wrong with Arthur. For the most part he was the perfect man. Of course, he had his flaws, as all humans do, but you guys had NEVER had a fight before, but lately...you couldn't help but fume at him.

He was just....You loved him, and you loved being around him and typically nothing about him bothered you but....

You couldn't help it.

He was just so damn...Stubborn! All the time!

No matter what, he always had to be right. Doesn't matter exactly what it's about, but he has to be right, even if it's something that YOU know more about.

"Jus' listen to me Darlin', it'll be so much easier for us to do this if we jus'-"

"I told you Arthur, that's not it, that's not gonna work!"

You sigh and turn around, leaning on the lip of the sink, your arms crossed as you look at him.

"You know, JUST as much as I do, that if we want to move in together at some point that we should invest in a place for BOTH of us, not just me moving in with you or you moving in with me."

"It'll save us money if you jus' move in with me-"

"And it'll save our relationship if I don't feel like I'm a visitor in a place that I didn't purchase. That's YOUR apartment, with YOUR decorations, YOUR pots and pans, YOUR shower curtains, EVERYTHING is yours, and even if I brought some of my stuff in, it's not MY place or OUR place-"

"So now our relationship needs savin'?"

He snorts and copies your body language, crossing his own arms as he stares down at you.

"You livin' with me, regardless as to if it's at your house or my apartment is the same as us buyin' a place together, and our relationship is just fine, it don't NEED savin'. At least I didn't think it did until ya said that."

"Oh my god, you are such a stubborn jackass."

You grind your teeth, standing up straight.

"It doesn't need saving, not YET. Arthur, a place of our own, together, would be better for the both of us, and you KNOW that."

"We would save much more money if we just moved in to one of the places we ALREADY own-"

"That wouldn't be OURS-"

"We would MAKE it OURS darlin'-"

"Arthur, why can't you understand-"

"Why can't YOU understand, I'm tryin' to save us money in the long run, money we can use to save up and buy a house later down the line, when we need one."

"Jesus, Arthur! How am I supposed to even move in with you in the first place when all you can do is try to prove you're right about everything all the damn time!"

You throw your hands up in defeat.

"You just have to always, always, always be right, don't you? You can't just understand or accept that someone else MIGHT be right!"

"You know damn well that ain't true!"

Arthur stands straight himself, putting his hands on his hips.

"I ain't tryin' to prove shit!,"

He pokes you in the chest, right under your collarbone

"I'm TRYIN' to make things easier on us! I'm tryin' to do somethin' good for the woman I love, but clearly you ain't very appreciative about it!"

"I would be, if you didn't always have to be so damn pushy, always 'oh well actually we should do this its smarter' shut UP Arthur, shut UP. It's not always your way or the highway!"

You smack his hand away, scowling at him as he shakes his hand and puts it back on his hip.

"You know how awful, how fucking stupid you make me feel, all the time!? Even when I'm RIGHT, you make me feel stupid because there's always some other way that we can do things that you always deem 'better'. What is it? You just don't like the fact that I can do things? That SOMETIMES, I have good ideas?"

"What? What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"You know what I'm talking about-"

"I don't!"

He groans in frustration and moves to your fridge, opening it to get a beer out.

"Oh, and you're gonna help yourself to my drinks too, right? That I paid for?"

"This ain't even yours! I bought these, I brought 'em over for me when I visit! You don't even like this brand, hell you drink them fuckin' fruity drinks, the what....the Smirnoff or whatever the fuck it is."

He pops the bottle cap off.

"'Sides, what's the matter? You ain't never been upset about sharin' with me before."

"It's not the point!"

You groan and move past him into the living room.

"The point is Arthur, you always have to be right. Always. You make me feel like an idiot. Even if I know something more than you. Hell you'd tell me I was wrong if I was talking about what I majored in, in college."

"Oh I would not-"

He states, following you into the living room.

"You just did it again! Just there!"

"I ain't doin' shit!"

"AND AGAIN!"

Arthur gives a huff and puts his drink down on the coffee table, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand.

"Look, Darlin', all I'm sayin' is, if we make a budget and live together at my place, or at yours, we can save up money, and EVENTUALLY get a place together. a NICE place. A GOOD place, that's big enough for us, and what I HOPE is eventually our family."

"Why can't we buy a place that's already a good place?"

"You have to have MONEY Y/N!"

Arthur closes his eyes briefly, and crosses his arms again.

"Christ, Y/N do you ever fucking listen?"

"Oh like you're any better-"

"I am!"

"Fuck you!"

The two of you stare at one another, fuming, both of you clenching your jaws.

"Get out."

You murmur softly.

"Get out and go home."

"Really? You're gonna kick me out?"

"Yes, go!"

Arthur stares at you for a moment, and then moves around the couch and takes a seat, kicking his feet up on the coffee table after grabbing his beer.

"No. Not until we talk this through. I ain't lettin' either one of us walk away angry."

You angrily groan and turn away from him, going to your bedroom. You slam the door shut behind you and lock it.

You take the time to breathe, putting your hands through your hair, trying to keep yourself from being too angry.

You move to your bed and take a seat, letting yourself think.

Granted, yes, neither of you had been extremely awful to one another, but you had said some pretty mean things, and after sitting there for about twenty minutes you started to spiral.

That was a dick move of you. A dick move of him too but...what if....

You shouldn't have said anything like that to him, calling him a stubborn jackass, telling him to fuck off, you shouldn't have said those things.

You think it over more and more, and the longer you think about it, the guiltier you feel.

Accusing him of taking your food, when you always share your stuff with him anyway, intentionally starting a fight basically.

Its another ten minutes of thinking about how you'd yelled at him, and then you can't take it.

You unlock your door and come out to find Arthur still on the couch, his arms crossed as he looks up at you.

"You done throwin' a temper tantrum, Y/N?"

You go to speak and surprisingly you find yourself choked up.

"I'm...I...I'm sorry, Arthur I..."

You can feel yourself beginning to tear up and you try to wipe your eyes without it being too obvious, but Arthur was able to see it clearly.

"Woah, hey-"

He's quick to get up and move to you, taking your face in his hands.

"Whatchu cryin' for Darlin'? It ain't that big a deal, it's jus' a spat, that's all..."

He keeps his voice hushed, doing his best to try and soothe you.

You just can't help but feel...absurdly guilty, and all the sudden, worried.

"You aren't gonna run away from me, are you?"

You question, looking up at him.

"You aren't gonna leave me?"

"What? What on earth, no!"

He pulls you closer, bringing your head to his chest, wrapping an arm around your head.

"Jesus, Sweetheart no, I'm not leavin' you, it ain't that big a deal, it ain't that bad...it was just a little spat, an argument, couples have 'em all the time...."

He murmurs, and quietly kisses the top of your head.

"I shouldn't have called you a jackass, and I shouldn't have told you to fuck off, and I'm sorry-"

You ramble on, hugging yourself tightly to him.

"I'm really happy you want me to move in with you, I want to move in with you, I love you, I don't mean anything, I don't want you to back out of it, I don't wanna push you away-"

"Darlin', Y/N, please, calm down, okay, sit with me."

He gently guides you to the couch and sits with you, still holding you close to him.

"Sweetheart, I'm not breaking up with you, you haven't pushed me away, and you certainly aren't gonna cause me to back out."

He chuckles quietly and kisses your head again.

"It's just a little argument. That's all it is, that's it. It's nothin' to break us up over. Couples have fights all the time, it's alright."

"I know..."

You breathe out quietly, his voice was certainly soothing you.

Pulling away from him, you look up at him.

"I am sorry though, I am. I shouldn't have said those things....We should talk, seriously talk, take a minute, and CALMLY talk about the whole housing thing we want to do, I don't wanna argue about it anymore..."

"Sweetheart, it's okay, really it is."

He smiles and takes your hand.

"We can sit and talk, that's okay, but you don't have to apologize, I do. Alright? You're right, I tend to try and prove I'm right, and that ain't fair....So we'll talk, okay?"

He smiles at you, and he brushes some of your hair away from your face, looking you in the eyes as he does. That little smile of his is always enough to make your heart melt, and in this case it does plenty to soothe those worries that had so easily snuck up on you.

"Honey, it's alright...really, I mean that."

You nod and breathe quietly.

"I am still sorry Arthur."

"So am I, but I promise...nothing bad is gonna happen between us, okay, nothing."

He smiles.

"Well, good things will." He adds, and chuckles quietly. "We'll sit down and talk, and for tonight-"

He moves, and puts his finger under your chin, making you look up at him.

"I'm gonna take care of you, alright? I'm gonna make sure, you have a good time tonight, we'll have a movie night, and I will make dinner, you're favorite even."

You can't help but chuckle and lean in, kissing him softly.

"Thank you, thank you Arthur, I love you so much and I'm so...so sorry again."

"Stop sayin' sorry, okay? We're both idiots."

That makes you chuckle, and you lean your head against his shoulder, scooting closer.

It was a good feeling, knowing that if you had further arguments, which, you would, as couples do, you could work things out....that he wasn't going to abandon you.

He's a good man, and you...are good too.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #milk delivery #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 headcannons

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impala-dreamer · 6 months ago

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Meet Me At The Beach

A Supernatural Story

~ Texting and emails can feel so impersonal. There's nothing quite like exchanging tangible, handwritten letters with someone you love...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader, Sam Winchester

4,025 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Angst. SFW.

A/N: This is for @jacklesversebingo "Writing Letters To Each Other" was the prompt. I hope you enjoy...

June 2

Dear Dean,

This feels so weird. Do people really write letters anymore? Am I going to get strange looks at the post office when I go to buy a stamp? Will they even know what to do with this tiny envelope and folded piece of loose-leaf paper? I almost don’t know how to write anymore. My script looks kinda like chicken scratch, huh? Hopefully it’ll get better. It is weird not typing though. But emails just seem like work. Impersonal, ya know? Besides, it gives us something to look forward to when we hit the mailbox. Nice to open something that’s not a delinquent credit card bill, huh?

Speaking of which- how the fuck do you do it? I just got another card canceled. My credit is non-existent. Fuck, I need to get a job. Could you imagine me in an office? High heels and panty hose and my hair tucked into a neat, matronly bun? I shudder to think!

OK, this is weird. I just wanted to write “LOL” but it’s not an email. Or a text. Why are we doing this again? Oh, yeah, see above.

Anyhoo- - - - I don’t even know what to say! Umm… I’m in New Orleans for a bit. Not working, just hanging out. My friend Emily from high school tracked me down online and we’ve been chatty. She’s in a band. They’re not bad. Not great, but not bad. So yeah, I took a drive down to see a show and I’m just lingering. Drinking too much, sleeping past noon. It’s fun. Nice little vacation.

Which - ahem - you should be taking. When are you gonna get your ass out of that dusty old bunker and stick your toes in the sand? I already told you I’d meet you in Pensacola with sunscreen and a cooler of beer. You know you want to. Or are you just scared to show off your ugly toes in flip flops? Your boots might actually cry if you ever took them off, so I guess it’s just as well.

Hey, do you remember that night in Richmond when it started pouring and your boots sank into the mud puddle? God, that was a mess. We were soaked to the bone. Nice way to warm up, though - cuddled in the back of the Impala. I miss that car. Sometimes, I think I can hear it at night when the world is quiet and the wind is still. It’s like the engine roars in the back of my mind and I start thinking about all our adventures, all the time we spent driving into the sunset.

I miss you. Is that wrong? I probably shouldn’t. Or at least, I shouldn’t tell you that I do. But I do. I miss you so bad sometimes that it hurts. Like someone has punched me right in the chest. Maybe we can end up in the same town soon. Grab some tacos and sit on the hood. Make a mess. I’d like that.

OK, before I get too emotional and start asking you to run away with me, I think I’ll end this ranting scribble of horrid handwriting.

Write me back soon.

Love, Y/N

June 21

Y/N-

Your handwriting does not look like chicken scratch. I like it. Mine is like some toddler just learning his letters. Whatever. I never learned that fancy shit. I can sign my name and make a grocery list. That’s all I need.

This is weird, yeah. But it’s kinda nice. Feels more… like you’re here. Does that make sense? Like seeing your handwriting, the dents in the paper- I don’t know. Just feels more real. Like you’re not just some computer talking back at me. Also there’s something strange about answering questions weeks later. I meant to write this sooner, but I got a little distracted. There was a Kung Fu marathon on and I just lost track of time. Too much pizza, not enough Carradine. Ya know? You know.

Remember that horrible motel in Raleigh when we both caught that nasty stomach bug and stayed up all night watching old tv shows? Saltines and Little House. I’ll never forget it. You were so sick that day. Shit, I was sure I was gonna end up taking you to the hospital. Sure, I was puking too, but you looked like death. I hated that. Hated that I couldn’t help you, make you feel better. I did cook up a mean chicken noodle soup though, didn’t I? Not that it stayed down for long.

Thank god for that yellow Gatorade. And yes- it’s fucking yellow. Not green.

Anyway- I miss you too. I try not to, I really do. Not all the time, no offense, but sometimes I’m just fucking insane with shit going on. But at night, especially, I miss having you beside me. I miss rolling over and seeing you there, or hearing you snore. I miss feeling your freezing feet under the blanket. I don’t know, I just-

What can I say? I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. I’m the biggest piece of shit in the universe. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.

Can’t change the past. Just gotta move on.

Maybe someday you’ll forgive me. I hope so anyway.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t dump that all out in a letter. I almost ripped this all up and started over. I actually let it sit for a day before I came back to it. But, fuck it- we said we were gonna write to each other and be honest, and here I am, being honest.

Fuck, I’m so tired. That kinda tired when sleeping for ten days wouldn’t even put a dent in it. Yeah, OK, so things are getting a little better. Chuck’s gone for good this time. Jack’s got things back in place, even made a few improvements. Sam’s- well, he’s Sam. He’s fine, doing his thing. The dog is- did I tell you we have a dog now? Yeah, I know. Me and a dog- yeah right. But we do. Miracle. He’s a good boy. I’ll send you a picture soon.

Never thought I could slow down like this. Feels like for the first time we can just - work. I mean, I’m never gonna give up hunting, not totally, but- feels like I could just ease back a bit. Been looking at some jobs in town- nothing crazy, fixing engines and stuff like that. Don’t know if you remember, but I’m pretty good with my hands.

Did you blush?

You did.

OK. I guess- that’s it for now. I have no fucking idea how to end this so - bye?

~ Dean

P.S. I’ll meet you at the beach soon. I promise.

Fifteenth of July

To Whom It May Concern:

Re: Beach Vacation

Dear Mr. Winchester,

I am very pleased to hear that you are agreeable to meeting me at the beach. It should be delightful fun to run through the surf and hunt for sea glass with you.

Oh shit! Do you remember that new age shop in… where the fuck was that? With the sea glass necklaces in the window that I said were so pretty and the witch inside said they were blessed to give the wearer riches or some shit like that. Where was that? Who knows.

Feels like we’ve been all over the world together. Well, this country at least. Lord knows I could never get you on an airplane. If only you could drive to Paris. Did I ever tell you about my trip to France? God, it was beautiful. Rained the whole time, but it was this beautiful, warm spring rain that made everything smell like dust and petals. Not rose petals, but those little white ones that grow on trees, ya know? It was so beautiful. Fuck it. I’m taking you one day. You need to see more than the dash of your car and the backroads of America. Time to travel!

Speaking of- I’m glad you’re slowing down a bit. I know that won’t be easy for you but if you think about it, you’ve spent the last forty years running from problem to problem like a damned bomb-sniffing dog.

A DOG?! Dean Winchester, I never thought the day would come. I can’t wait to see a picture. Don’t forget it next time.

I think you’d be a great mechanic. It was always very hot seeing you covered in sweat and grease especially if you had those damned coveralls on. I mean… what? I don’t think about you like that anymore, you know. It’s over and done with and we’re just friends. We are friends, aren’t we? Maybe something more than friends, I guess. Ex lovers? Ew. I hate that word. Lovers. So gross. Well, then what are we? Just two souls swimming in a fish bowl…

Year after year. Day after day. Do you know that I put nearly a hundred thousand miles on my poor truck this year? Back and forth, up and down the country. I don’t have to tell you how exhausting it is. Fun, but exhausting. Rewarding, but not. I wonder how many people remember me after I leave? Does that family in New Haven think about me whenever they go into the basement and it’s no longer haunted? Is there a photo of me on a fridge in Wilmington where I saved that guy’s fiance from the vamp nest? Probably not. I’m sure people remember you - The Great Dean Winchester. The sexy hunter with the green eyes and the giant black car. You’re hard to forget. Also, you hang out with a giant. Tell Sam I said hi.

I do remember that puke fest! And it’s green. It’s literally neon green. Fight me.

We could probably write a book, you and me. ‘Winchester & Y/L/N Do America’. It’s a coffee table book with pictures of random diner signs and gas station bathrooms. Maybe a list of the country’s best french fry places. Shit like that. Let’s do it. I’ll call my literary agent in the morning. Ha!

SPARTA!! That’s where that damned sea glass shop was. It just hit me! Stupid brain. I swear, I’ve been hit in the head way too many times. Broken too many bones. I’m getting too old for this shit. Did you know that my left knee pops whenever I stand up now? Like, how old am I?? I can’t stand it. I need a month at a spa somewhere in the desert. That’d be nice.

Damnit. I just got a call from Vinnie Alverez. Do you know him? Hunter out of Pittsburg. Anyway- he needs help on a job. Guess I’ll cut this letter short. Hopefully I’ll find a box to drop this in on the way to PA!

Miss you.

Sincerely yours,

Y/N

P.S. - I do forgive you, Dean. Of course I do. Things were just too hard back then. Life didn’t want to cooperate for us. It’s not your fault. Not my fault. It just was. Please don’t carry that guilt in your heart. You deserve better than that.

August 2

Dear Y/N-

You’re a real character, you know that? Love the corporate letter. I’m in for the book by the way. Could be awesome. We do need a full chapter on onion rings though. Make a note.

I heard about your hunt in Pittsburgh. Came through the grapevine that you kicked some serious wolf ass. Nice job, kid. Hope you’re being careful. I know how bullheaded and impulsive you can get when you’re in the zone. Just watch your back, OK? Promise me. Last thing I wanna hear is that you got your heart clawed out or you’re walking around with a demon in your ass.

Demons. Haven’t seen so many running around lately. Queen Rowena’s been keeping them in check. So fucking weird that she’s in charge now. Not that I’m surprised- she’s a badass bitch. If I had a nickel for every ruler of hell I was friends with, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice. The kids still say that, don’t they? See, I’m not old. I keep up with pop culture and shit. Started watching the tik toks. I still don’t get it, but I like the woodturning stuff. Thinking about taking up whittling. Maybe carve you a keychain so you stop losing them.

I got a call for a job interview. Chickened out though. I don’t know if I’m ready to start all that, ya know? Start a real life in the real world- just seems- I don’t know, scary. Yeah, I’ve faced every deadly thing on this and other worlds but the idea of getting a 9 to 5 civilian job scares me. I’m some kinda fucked up, huh?

I think about it a lot though. Getting a job, finding a little house somewhere, settling down. A little fenced in yard so Miracle can run around and dig up dirt. Might put a rocking chair on the porch and watch the clouds, some shit like that. Would you come visit me in my Barbie dream house? I’ll cook you breakfast every morning and you can rub my feet at night. Real cozy couple stuff.

OK, so maybe I’m thinking about you more and more these days. Maybe I’m regretting leaving. Maybe I’m just an idiot daydreaming about meeting you somewhere in the middle and sweeping you off your feet. One of those running hugs that hurts when you collide but ends in a kiss that makes everything feel better. I’m a real romantic fuck, huh? I was digging through my drawers yesterday and I found a pair of your socks. Those tiny ones that barely covered your ankle. I don’t know why they were stuffed in the back of the dresser, but there they were. Dingy white socks with the pink threads on the toes. I’ll bring them to the beach when we meet up.

Oh, Sam says hi and he hopes you’re good and he wants you to shoot him a text when you can. You can do what you want, but you better not mail him a letter. That’s just for me. God, my hand is cramping up. I’m not used to this. Oh, and you’re not alone. My knee creaks like a haunted house when I go up stairs now. And my right wrist pops, and my neck makes this weird almost squeaking sound, and my ass- well, I could go on, but just know you’re not alone. Kinda weird to think that we lived long enough to be this old, ain’t it? I never thought I’d live to be thirty and here I am staring down 42. Forty Fucking Two. Can you believe that shit? Goddamnit I got old. Let’s go find a nursing home together. Maybe we can get a double room- or a king sized bed?

Think about it. We could be cranky old people together. Losing our memories and shuffling around with walkers and shit. You’d look cute with white hair. And fuck, my beard’s already going gray. Should I grow out my beard?

Write back soon. I really like seeing your letters in the box.

Dean x

My dearest Dean Winchester, it is with great happiness that I write this letter to you and I do hope that it finds you well and happy and all good things and I can’t keep this formal shit up. Ha!

Anyway- but yeah, things are good. I know it’s been a while since I’ve written, but I was on a little trip around the continent. Headed up to Montreal for a bit. Killed some nasties, salted some bones, generally fucked around. My beloved truck crapped out in Burlington, Vermont, so I had to hang out there for a while and gather my resources to get a new vehicle. I think you’d like her. Green Ford Explorer from ‘94. OK, she’s not as sexy as the Impala, but she gets me where I need to go. Which, apparently, was Maine! I met up with some friends in Greenville. Cute little town full of witchcraft. So much fun. Also had a lobster roll on a pier… I swear to god, they plucked this thing right out of the water and slapped it on a buttered roll. You’d LOVE it. I’m gonna take you there someday.

Speaking of- We need to make plans for Florida. I picked up a little bikini on my travels and I think I really need to show it off. Maybe you could be my bodyguard and keep the creeps away while I’m sunbathing? To repay you for your services, I’ll gladly let you take it off me at night…

Oh, and I’ve thought about this extensively, and I believe that you should, in fact, grow your beard out. Like, full on, bushy lumberjack beard. I can’t wait to see all that gray. You know I have a thing for older men… and you’ll always be older than me, Dean Winchester and don’t you forget it!

And for your information, I don’t lose my keys anymore! I got one of those… apple taggy things. Now I know where they are at all times. Can’t find my phone to find them sometimes, but that’s another issue.

Two weeks later, I’m picking up my pen again. Sorry this is taking forever. Things are stupid busy. I wish I could just… put this fucking gun down and go live with you on a farm somewhere. Not a working farm, we wouldn’t keep pigs or anything because gross, but a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Big white house with a giant tree in the yard and a tire swing and a picket fence and a kid chasing the dog around and -

Shit. Do you ever think about it? I do. A lot. More than I’d like to and it fucking cuts me up inside every time. I know we could never have kept it, and life- I mean- it just wasn’t meant to be. But I do think about it sometimes. Imagine if we’d just walked away from the life and tried to be a family? Impossible, I know. Maybe in another life.

Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck. Ignore me. I haven’t slept in a while and I just

I want to see you. Can we meet somewhere? Wherever you want. I’ll come to you.

~ Y/N

Dear Dean,

This is my second attempt at writing this. Crumpled up the first one because I’m an idiot. Am I an idiot? Did I piss you off with the last letter? I honestly didn’t mean to. I just- we said we’d be honest, and you’ve been so open in your letters that I thought it was ok to talk about, but I guess not. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have dug that stuff up.

I’m so tired and stressed and I miss you so much. Since we’ve been writing back and forth it’s almost like I can’t stop thinking about you. I get so fucking excited to check the mail whenever I roll back into town. It’s like… I don’t know, it’s like Christmas every time I see your handwriting in my box. Remember the time you wrote your name on my thigh in Sharpie? That stayed on for like a week. I shoulda gotten it inked on. That’d be something, huh? Branded by a Winchester.

Fuck, Dean, I really hope you’re not mad at me. I really want to call you, but we said we wouldn’t. Just write me back, please.

I’ll be in your neck of the woods next week. Got turned onto a haunting up in Abilene. Maybe we can meet on the road somewhere? Please?

Hey, did you know there’s a Hunter, Kansas? Wonder why they didn’t build the bunker there. I don’t know, made me laugh when I was looking at the map.

Anyway- Please write me back. Or call. Or text. Or send a damned pigeon with a tiny letter taped to its foot. I don’t care, how, just do it please. Even if you’re mad at me and don’t want to talk anymore, I get it. But please. Just let me know, OK?

I’m sorry.

Love, Y/N

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t know you and my brother were writing to each other like this, but I found your last few letters to him in his private P.O. Box. I didn’t even know he had one of his own, but I guess we all keep secrets from those we love. I hope you don’t mind that I read your letters. Not all of them, but the last two that came through. Please know that Dean would have responded if he could have, I know he would have. He talked about you a lot recently. Said you two were in contact and that he was hoping to find some time to meet you for a vacation. I don’t know where you guys were planning on going, but I found a new Hawiian shirt in his closet with the tags still on it.

I know we spoke on the phone after he passed, but I wanted to send this to you. I was cleaning up his stuff and found his notepad. Looks like he’d started a letter before we left for Canton. I think he’d want you to have it.

I’m closing up the Bunker soon. I don’t really know where I’ll go, but I can’t be here right now. Not without my brother.

I’ll always be around if you need anything or want to talk. I’ll always answer the phone for you, Y/N.

Be well,

Sam Winchester

Y/N/N,

If I could take it back I would. Every fucking word. I think about it now and I know we made the wrong choice. I know we could have made it work if we tried. But we are both total fuck ups who can’t be normal. We just can’t.

Forgive me

That’s dog slobber up there, not tears. Just fyi. Definitely not tears. I think I might have been a little drunk when I started writing and then well-

Anyway- Maine sounds awesome. We were there once but no time for lobster rolls. Guess I missed out.

Not much to report since the last letter. Been kinda quiet here. But… I did apply for a job. Well, I filled out the application. Well, I started filling it out. It’s actually underneath this notepad right now. I’ll get to it. I will. I just need a good kick in the ass. Or maybe a pinch… wink wink

I absolutely think we need to get together. Pick some place stupid like the World’s Largest Frying Pan or South of The Border. I’ll meet you. Just say when.

Guess this letter will take a little longer to finish. We’re leaving for Ohio in a little bit. There’s a buncha vampire dicks making a mess. Gonna take ‘em to batting practice. Show them my machete swing. I’ll give a full report when we’re back home

Dean Dean,

I made it to the beach. It’s hot, like stupid hot. Had to stand in the water just to keep my toes from burning. I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to think of something to say, but all I can say is I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here with me. I wish things had been different. I wish and wish and wish.

If I throw this into the ocean will it get to you somehow or will my words just wash away like the sand?

I’ll see you again someday. I hope so, anyway. Let’s just pretend I’m destined for Heaven. I know you’re up there. You were too good not to be. You sacrificed so much, cared so much, saved so many people. I know you made it. If there’s any mercy in this universe, I’ll be up there someday too. Just don’t have too much fun without me.

I love you, Dean. Always.

Y/N

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 5 months ago

Note

hi!! I love your stories! 💞 Could you please write a fluffy Donna x maid, where the maid is already starting to develop feelings for Donna (unbeknownst to our favourite doll maker lmao), maybe causing her to be a bit more clumsy and flustered than she usually is. Which makes her end up injuring herself somehow (nothing serious but still enough to make Donna concerned) and when Donna is patching her up maybe that's when she has this realization "oh shit, I think I like her"

have a great day/night!!

Yess!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Your clumsy love

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Maid! Reader

Warnings: fluff, insecurities…

Word count: 5,511

Summary: Your love is starting to make you so clumsy…

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours :))) I love you all!!!

“On second thought, maybe I need a maid…”

That phrase had been going through your head over and over again for a while. The softness of her low, husky voice was something you couldn't get out of your mind.

You, an ordinary girl from the village, raised and educated to serve, were lucky.

You could have ended up like so many of your friends, in the Dimitrescu castle, maybe in the reservoir or in that horrible factory, but no. Your skills were average, nothing extraordinary, nothing the Lords were dying to have. Lady Dimitrescu had more maids than she could handle with, Lord Moreau had no maids, but experiments, and Heisenberg, well, better not to think about what he was doing in that horrible place.

You only had two options left: resign yourself and wait your turn in the castle, or try something that seemed impossible: enter the depths of the forest, into the lands of the most mysterious Lord, the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

No one in the village was able to tell you exactly what she looked like. You had heard legends, you had seen those porcelain dolls in many people's homes, but no one who had gotten close to Donna had been able to return. You were always reckless.

A monster, a giant and evil doll, the worst visions of your past... What you expected to find when you arrived at that waterfall had nothing to do with what was really there. There was a woman, a seemingly normal one, but with a certain mystery, and a living doll.

She was not a monster, nor a fish, nor a madman, nor a vampire. She was just a woman dressed completely in black, with her face covered by a veil and little desire for company.

Crazy, deranged, dangerous... The adjectives that the villagers gave to the Lord should be more than enough to make you fear for your life, but you didn't. Maybe Mother Miranda was looking out for you, or maybe not. To get Donna to hire you as her maid, her only maid, was not difficult for you.

If you could summarize your first weeks on the estate, only one word was in your head: Silence.

Sometimes you had the sensation of cleaning an empty house, of cooking for a ghost, a wandering spirit that passed by you from time to time, without saying a word, without looking at you.

At least you weren't Moreau's experiment.

That comfort accompanied you every night when you got into bed and reflected on the situation you found yourself in. Donna wasn't complaining. She wasn't talking to you. To her, it was almost as if you didn't exist. The Angie doll only served as a reminder that you had not lost your mind, that you had not disappeared. No, you were there. You were a maid, her maid.

Over time, seeing that ghost in mourning became a hobby for you. You knew her routines, her schedules. Without realizing it, you began to become addicted to the way she walked, to the air that lifted her dress whens he passed by you. Maybe it was due to the flowers, or maybe it was boredom. You didn't know and you didn't want to know either.

But everything changed the night your mistress suffered a terrible nervous breakdown. Okay, the villagers weren't lying. Her mind was troubled and hurt, but at least she was no longer alone. Thinking that you, only you, were the only person who could help her calm down began to make you feel important, indispensable.

Calming words, soft songs and a warm bath… That was your way of acting with Donna's loss of connection with the real world. The veil on her face disappeared at that moment and you, who had already imagined that woman in the portrait as a horrible monster, had to bite your tongue. No, she wasn't a monster, she was beautiful and you were dying to tell her.

“My lady, are you feeling better?” You asked, helping the lady in black out of the bathtub. No, it was definitely not the time for your eyes to wander over her body, but they couldn't help but do so.

Donna simply nodded, letting you wrap a towel around her as sobs remained the only sounds she made.

“Thank you...” It wasn't your imagination. It was a whisper coming from her lips.

For some reason that word made something inside you stir. But then again, it wasn't the time to think about those chills you felt when you were around her.

Carefully, you sat the lady in front of a mirror. Her gaze was fixed on the floor while you did what you thought you had to do.

“Is it okay if I comb your hair, my lady? I can leave you alone if you want,” you asked kindly, with an almost motherly voice. Donna shook her head and grabbed your wrist tightly, too tightly.

“Don't leave me alone, or they will catch me,” she said with a trembling voice, with a scared expression and her body still trembling under that towel.

You could have tried to reason with her, make her see that there was no one there or anyone who could harm her, that she was safe. You didn’t do it. A horrible feeling passed through your body, the feeling charged with adrenaline and courage that made you imagine a possible scenario in which something threatened your mistress and... Well, that you were the only one who could save her. You definitely needed to rethink the things you were feeling.

“No one will harm you, my lady. Not while I'm here,” you said, raising her head slightly so she was looking at the mirror as you grabbed a brush from the dresser.

“Really?” She asked, looking at you out of the corner of her eye, flashing a smile.

“Really,” you confirmed, smiling too, placing her black hair behind her shoulders and combing it delicately.

While you did so, you hummed a song, the same one that had managed to calm her inconsolable crying. It was a strange moment, but a relaxing one.

“Why do you call me my lady?” She asked with a soft voice, making you stop, with your cheeks blushing.

“Because I’m your maid,” you said in a soft voice, finishing arranging her hair correctly.

“I don't like it,” she said with a more severe tone, frowning.

“No? Well, I… I can style your hair differently if you want,” you said confused. She shook her head, taking your wrist again.

“No. I don't like it when you call me my lady,” she explained, releasing your hand and lowering her head again.

“Oh, okay...” You said, scratching the back of your neck, confused. “Do you prefer Lady Beneviento?”

“Do you know what the castle maids call their mistress?” She asked, covering herself better with the towel, as if she had just realized how exposed she was. You opened your mouth to say something, but you realized it.

“Lady Dimitrescu, I guess,” you said with an amused tone. Donna nodded slowly.

“Do I look like her?�� the lady asked, confusing you even more.

“The truth is that... Not much,” you said embarrassed, afraid that it wasn't the answer she was expecting.

“Well, don't call me like her,” she said sternly, with a hard and cold expression, far from the subtle smile of a few moments ago.

“Okay... I'm sorry,” you apologized, starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Would you like her to call you maid?” She asked again, squeezing her towel with white knuckles. You, not really knowing what to do, shook your head.

“I prefer (Y/N),” you said, almost in a whisper.

“I prefer Donna,” she whispered, looking at you through the mirror. You nodded.

“Okay, Donna…”

After that night everything changed. No, nothing changed.

Your mistress was still a wandering soul with whom you barely collided. Her black veil covered her face again as if it were a cruel irony. When she was weak, scared or disturbed, she didn't care about you looking at her face. When she was calm, her complexes were too much for her. Curious.

It only took one more week for everything to change. Apparently that wandering soul was no longer so wandering. When you finished your tasks, reading was the only thing you could do. The solitude and tranquility of the sound of the waterfall were drowned out by the sound of her heels on the wood. Like a helpless animal, studying the terrain before approaching, Donna began to read with you, far from you at first and increasingly closer.

“Where are you going?” Donna asked when you served her food.

Normally she ate alone, so she ordered it to you. That day her words made you stop in place, turning slowly towards the lady in black, already without her black veil.

“I…I…” you stammered. “Well, it's time to eat and…”

“Sit down, please,” Donna asked kindly, pointing with her hand to the chair in front of her.

You weren't used to that, but you accepted, fearful. There was a moment of tension. You were there, sitting, not really knowing what to do. Donna ate quietly, as if you weren't there, until she put the spoon in the soup and looked up.

“Why are you still here?” She asked without looking at your face, with an accusatory tone.

“What?” You asked, with your forehead sweaty as your legs trembled, endangering the plates on the table. “Sorry but... I don't understand the question. You asked me to…”

“No, (Y/N), why are you still my maid?” The lady asked again, with her gaze colder, as if she were analyzing your expression.

“Why not?” You asked involuntarily, too abruptly.

“Don't you have eyes on your face? Look at me...” She said with a sharp voice, with anger in her eye.

“I…I…”

“I'm a monster,” she finally said, crossing her arms. “Why do you want to continue working for a monster?”

“You're not a monster, Donna,” you said with a serious tone, frowning.

“Do you know why I have never had maids?” The doll maker asked, leaning on the table, with that studious look not wanting to move from yours.

You didn't respond. You just shook your head.

“Because when they saw how I am... They ran away,” she explained, her voice cracking and her knuckles white again.

“What nonsense,” you said, a bit nervous.

“Does it seem nonsense to you?” She asked, leaning back.

“No, Well... I mean that... You are, you are a beautiful woman,” you stuttered, noticing the heat that your blush caused on your cheeks.

“Liar,” she said, looking away from you.

“It's not a lie,” you said, searching your mind for a way to fix that situation. “My uncle Iulian, that was a real monster.”

“Your uncle?” She asked curiously, with a strange look. You nodded.

“Yes, well... He had a huge nose. I remember that when he had to take care of me I avoided looking at his shadow on the wall. I thought that one day he would be able to absorb me,” you said erratically.

“Absorb you,” the woman in black repeated, confused by your ramblings.

“Yes, you know...” you said, making a sniffing gesture with your nose and smiling innocently. Donna stared at you and raised her eyebrow.

Just when you were about to faint from your clumsiness with words, Lady Beneviento's face changed, she relaxed and her mouth began to form a smile.

That smile came a wider one and her body shook as a shy laugh filled the walls of the room. It didn't seem like something so stupid would amuse your lady, but apparently, it did, and quite a bit.

Hearing her laughing, really laughing, was one of the reasons why your feelings became more and more confused.

From that moment on, as if it had been some kind of psychological barrier that had been broken down with a comment and an absurd joke, the relationship between you and Donna changed, changed completely.

There was no longer a trace of the veil and it was much more common to see her smile with anything you said. Everything seemed fine, correct. Your work and your integrity were not in danger, but there was something that was, your mind.

Every night you imagined her face, her smile, her voice... It was your particular way of sleeping, wishing to dream of her once again, to be able to see her in your dreams. You didn't need to wish it. Donna had been accompanying you in them for a long time, always with that smile, with that look. You were already lost, unable to think why of all the people you knew, you had to fall in love with her.

Like an addict denying its problem, your conscience told you over and over again that it wasn't love, just friendship, or attachment. That your loneliness had made the need to be loved coincide with the lady in black; just attachment, nothing else.

To acknowledge it would be to admit that you had lost your mind, it would be to admit that it hurt you to think about living without her. You were addicted to Donna, and you were unable to even admit it.

“Tea time, stupid!” A shrill scream made you grimace in disgust. Of course, the Angie doll was always there to interrupt you in your downtime, to interrupt your reading, a reading in which the characters were no longer themselves. You and Donna were the protagonists of the books, you and your impossible love that always came true.

“Yes, yes, I'm coming...” You said sighing and leaving the book at the best part, in which they were finally, or rather, you and Donna were going to kiss each other.

While you boiled the water, you kept thinking about that story, about that kiss. You wondered what it would be like to kiss her, what it would be like to have that intoxicating lavender perfume so close to you. You no longer only dreamed about her while you were sleeping, you had taken to doing it while awake as well.

“Excuse me. I'll bring you tea,” you said, carrying the tray into the workshop where your mistress spent the time. She left her work and looked at you with that smile, with that damn smile.

“Thank you, (Y/N), you're always so punctual,” she said amused, moving away from the table so you could leave the tray on it.

With your heart beating fast and your hands trembling, you did so, quickly retreating before you got lost in the sensation of your dress brushing against hers.

“Well, with Angie it's hard not to be,” you joked, pulling back and putting your hands together in front of your body in a politely way.

Donna laughed, shaking her head.

“Yes, I guess you're right,” she said amused, looking at the cup you had served her and frowning.

“There is something wrong?” You asked nervously, looking over her shoulder to try to make out the source of her strange look.

“No, there's nothing wrong, (Y/N). Or rather, there is nothing,” Donna whispered, gesturing for you to come closer.

You obeyed, making a superhuman effort to move your legs. You almost had a fit when you saw where the problem was.

“Oh, wow... I...” You said embarrassed, checking how there was only hot water in that cup. Not a trace of tea.

“Normally tea is darker, don't you think?” Donna said with a normal tone, but inevitably amused, at your expense.

“Yes, I... Oh, I don't know what I was thinking... I'm so sorry,” you said, hurriedly grabbing the cup, accidentally causing your hand to collide with hers. The soft touch of her skin on yours was more than enough to make you freeze in place, even more so when Donna didn't seem to want to let your hand go.

“Calm down, (Y/N). I like hot water,” she said without taking her eyes off yours, without taking her hand away from yours. You wouldn't be able to tell if the caress you noticed was your imagination or if, on the contrary, it really happened.

Surely you had imagined it. You had been imagining things like that for too long.

“No, please, I… Oh, come on, let me make you some real tea,” you said hastily. Donna removed the cup from your hand, setting it down on the table and looking at you curiously.

“It's not necessary,” she said softly, stirring the water with a spoon. “If you bring me a slice of lemon I will be happy to drink it.”

You closed your eyes, trying to make the red tone of your cheeks fade a bit.

“I... Okay, okay,” you muttered before turning around and disappearing from the workshop, cursing under your breath about your sudden clumsiness.

The following days were no better. That clumsiness continued to manifest itself. Broken vases, smashed dishes, silly knocks against furniture… Everything inevitably coincided with the presence of your mistress, with a greeting, with a kind word. Whenever Donna was around, your body did everything it could to embarrass you.

It was already too much to bear and finally, during one of those nights of imagining your love story, you took the first step to cure your addiction, admit it.

“I'm in love with you...” You whispered, covering yourself with the sheets. No one was there to hear you confess an irremediable truth, only the dim light of the moon and the old walls of the house. You wished that whisper had reached her ears. You needed it before you completely lost your mind.

“Hello, (Y/N), I hope I’m not bothering you,” Donna said, interrupting one of the many fantasies you imagined with her while you were cooking. Out of shock, you put a hand on your chest and turned around.

“Oh, Donna, you’ve scared me,” you said nervously, frustrated because, every time you imagined your love story, you never got to kiss her, there was always something that interrupted it.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to,” she said politely, moving closer to you.

“Did you want something?” You asked, brushing off your apron to avoid looking at that glowing smile, to stop daydreaming.

“No, I was just coming to see you,” she replied, leaning on the counter casually.

“Oh, I…” You said, embarrassed again, playing with your apron. No, (Y/N), it's not what you think. It will never be what you think.

“What are you cooking?” She asked, looking at the oven with curiosity.

“Well, I... I was making...” You said proudly, noticing an unbearable itch in your throat, which led to a horrible cough.

Suddenly, your vision cleared, or rather, darkened due to the black smoke that you began to make out in the kitchen. How long have you been fantasizing?

“Oh, shit... No, no, no,” you said hurriedly, opening the oven and checking that there was no food, but a tray with something black on it. “Oh, no…”

“It looks like you burned it,” the lady in black joked while you removed that culinary aberration with the help of a couple of rags.

You lowered your head in shame and nodded.

“I'm so sorry...” You murmured, wanting to cry and scream at the same time, which intensified when you noticed a hand on your shoulder and the smell of lavender very close to you.

“(Y/N), you've been a little distracted lately, is there something worrying you?” Donna asked, with that softness that made you lose your mind again.

As expected, your body saved you again, shaking your head.

“No, I... I guess, I guess it's a rough patch... I'm so sorry, Donna, I'll prepare something else for you right away,” you said, suppressing the urge you had to kick the oven. The woman in black laughed amused at your erratic attitude and her grip on your shoulder intensified.

“Don't worry, we all have bad days. Let me cook today,” she said, amused, with that shyness that her smile always revealed. In a movement too quick for you to enjoy, she untied your apron, putting it on herself.

“Oh, no, no, no. This… No, that's not right,” you said, grabbing her arms, nervous and embarrassed. She looked at you curiously. “I mean, no, you don't have to cook... That, that's my job.”

“Tell me, (Y/N), who am I?” She asked with her eye shining with amusement.

“You? Well…”

“Who are you to me?” She asked again, taking a frying pan from its hook.

You would have liked to say so many things... But, unfortunately, there was only one possible answer.

“Your, your maid...” You sighed, unable to hide the tone of disappointment implicit in your words.

“Correct, (Y/N), and what do maids do when their mistress asks them for something?”

“Obey...” You murmured, looking away from her, confused, nervous, and madly in love.

“Exactly, so obey me and bring me some tomatoes. Then, go to rest,” she ordered you.

Again, again your mind playing tricks on you. In your progressive madness, you had gotten used to imagining gestures of affection, caresses, kisses on the cheek… But, that time, when her hand went up to your face, passing over it quickly, but noticeably, you began to doubt whether it had really happened, or whether you were beginning to have difficulty distinguishing reality from fantasies.

“Come on, (Y/N), you have to forget about that. It's never going to happen. You are the only girl in the village who is attracted to women, what makes you think that she...? Oh, I think, I think I’m going to have a heart attack...” You mumbled, walking from one side of the house to the other as you eagerly awaited lunch.

The noise of the elevator made you stop talking to yourself. You were starting to do dangerous things. You didn't know when the Angie doll was stalking you, if she had heard your words. You were so, so in love.

“Here, buon appetito,” the woman in black said, placing a steaming plate in front of you. The smell of that pasta made you close your eyes. Maybe it was because of hunger, or maybe it was because you were going to eat something she had made.

“Wow, that's...” You murmured, contemplating the unknown mastery your mistress had in the kitchen as she poured you a glass of wine. “It looks excellent.”

“I hope you like it, (Y/N),” she said, smiling at your amazement.

“I didn't know you knew how to cook. I mean, I… Well, I have friends in the castle and according to them anything resembling a kitchen is unknown to the Dimitrescu family,” you said, dipping your fork into the food, to see if it was as good as it looked.

Donna laughed with a blush on her cheek due to your compliment. That shy giggle was going to finish you off.

“I can confirm that it’s true,” she said amused, watching how you devoured what she had prepared for you.

“It's... I don't know how to describe it... It's delicious,” you sighed, with a mixture of satisfaction and shame. “You are very good at cooking.”

“I learned when I was very young. I guess when you're so alone it's a good way to spend the time,” she explained, now in a more normal tone.

“Compared to this, my cooking is mediocre,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don't say that. I like the things you cook,” she said, interrupting your self-pity. “Believe me, if I didn't like them, I wouldn't have let you set a foot in my kitchen.”

“I guess that's good...” You said, smiling at those kind words.

“Of course,” she said, nodding.

The meal passed calmly, too calmly.

Your feelings were already burning in your chest, dying to come out or disappear. Your clumsiness was still the protagonist in your life and your nervousness at being so close to her worsened to such a point that you were unable to stop shaking in her presence. Luckily, Donna didn't seem to notice that.

“Would you like to take a walk with me? It's a wonderful day” That phrase, that proposition, was the last straw.

You, who were clearing the table, froze, rooted to the ground with trembling hands.

“A walk?” You asked, sounding too calm, having learned to hide your feelings with your voice. A shame you couldn't do it with your body.

The woman in black nodded, helping you with the plates.

“Yes, I would like to show you the grounds,” she said in an indifferent tone. Donna was oblivious to what that proposal meant to you, unfortunately.

Your body trembled before that smiling gaze and your hands became weak, causing, with a loud and unpleasant crash, the plates you were carrying in your hand to fall to the floor breaking into a thousand pieces.

“Ah!” You shouted, scared and of course, embarrassed again. “I, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” you said hastily, bending down to pick up the pieces.

Donna approached worried. You didn't know if it was because of the dishes, or because of the nervous breakdown you were about to have.

“(Y/N)...” She murmured with a soft voice, a hand on your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” You repeated over and over again, unable to control your nerves. You spent too much time being clumsy, doing things wrong. Just thinking that at any moment Donna would fire you made your heart and stomach clench.

“Wait, (Y/N),” she said, grabbing your wrist as you stood up to disappear from the room as soon as possible.

“Don’t, don't fire me, please... I'm sorry, I'm really sorry...” You sobbed, not being able to control your emotions.

“What are you taking about? Your arm, you're hurt...” Donna whispered, forcing you not to pull her grip and showing you the reason for her concern.

You hadn't realized it, but one of the pieces cut your arm. The wetness of the blood on your dress and the sting of the wound had gone completely unnoticed by you.

“Angie, bring the first aid kit,” the lady in black said, taking the pieces that you were carrying in your hand and leaving them on the table, dragging you to a sofa.

“No, it's okay. I'm fine,” you said, wiping away your tears as your mistress lifted the sleeve of your dress, revealing the terrible cut.

“No, (Y/N), I'm going to heal you,” she said sternly, turning to the small briefcase her doll brought.

“I'm, I'm useless...” You sobbed, repressing the sting of the alcohol on your wound, crying, not because of the pain, but because of your attitude, for letting your feelings turn you into clumsiness personified.

“Don't say that,” Donna whispered, gently cleaning your wound.

“Yes, I am... Lately I've been doing nothing but... Screwing things up,” you said, now letting out a bit of your frustration. “You must think I'm stupid...”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” she said dryly, without looking away from your wound.

Silence reigned again, reminding you of those early days when Donna, your Donna, was nothing but a ghost to you.

Your wound, now clean and disinfected, was no longer the center of attention of the brunette, who, with her caresses, walked around it, with a lost gaze, as if she had disconnected her mind and was wandering freely, letting herself go. .

“Forgive me, Donna...” You said, calmer. “I’m not fit to be your maid.”

She didn't respond, just shook her head. Her expression was different, sad but curious at the same time. Her hand left your skin to lift your chin slightly, making your gazes coincide.

You didn't say, you didn't do anything, you just got lost in her gaze, in her bright eye, in the warmth of her skin against yours. It was a moment like those you had dreamed of. You even thought that at any moment you were going to wake up.

“I don't want you to go,” she whispered, abandoning your chin and cupping your cheek with her hand.

You were left breathless, enjoying that sensation, that affection that you longed for so much. They were still fantasies, but, for some reason, that seemed very real to you, too real.

“I don't know why you would want to have a maid like me...” You said shaking your head, letting your hand join hers, causing a timid gasp from the woman in black, but that didn't stop her from continuing her caresses.

“Why would you want to be my maid?” She asked back. It seemed like an innocent, reassuring question, but it wasn't at all. You knew her expressions. Something, there was something that was tormenting her.

“Because I...” You said, closing your eyes again, losing yourself in her soft caresses, in her lavender scent. “I wouldn't know what to do if I'm not with you.”

“Do you like being here with me?” She asked again, this time, removing her hand.

You had already begun an inevitable descent to your doom. At least you could say that you wouldn't lose without trying. Simply taking a breath, you nodded.

“I always wait to see you appear through the door, to see you smile. I think of absurd questions or conversations just so I can hear your voice, Donna...” You confessed, feeling an intoxicating relief at expressing what you felt, or trying to.

Lady Beneviento sighed in confusion, looking at you curiously, as if an undeniable truth had fallen right on her shoulders.

“Do I make you feel those things?” She asked, like a little girl curious about the world around her. She couldn't be that naive, could she?

“Just look at you,” you said, angry for being unable to confess your love clearly, for being unable to make her understand that you loved her in a subtle way. No, with Donna that would never work. She blinked in confusion. “You are, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and… I… I…”

“Do you think I'm beautiful?” She asked with a shy smile crossing her face.

You simply nodded. She looked at you again, with a strange expression, as if she were scared of something.

“Stop...looking at me like that,” you said, feeling how your chest was burning with rage, how you had complicated that situation on your own, waiting for rejection, the final blow to your little maid adventure.

“I like looking at you,” she said, frowning, defensively. “You are beautiful too.”

“What?” You asked confused, startled by that unexpected statement.

“You know what? When, when I saw that you were hurt, I... I, I felt bad,” Donna said, stammering, lowering her hand to take yours, to play with it on her nervousness. “Just imagining that something bad could happen to you... I, I've gotten very nervous.”

“Donna...” You whispered, not understanding her words, not understanding why she had not left you when you confessed your love, well, when you tried to confess it to her.

“I thought it was just... Just a strange feeling for being so alone but... When, when you told me what you felt... I realized that I feel the same way about you.”

“The same? I don't believe it,” you said sobbing, wanting to end that torture, wanting to leave the estate and never return.

“Sometimes I imagine how... What it would be like... to kiss you,” she whispered in a low voice, with her sweaty hand still playing with yours. That made you open your eyes suddenly.

“I imagine it too,” you said, with an involuntary smile crossing your face.

“I'd like to stop imagining it,” she said, leaning towards you, fear still shining in her eye.

“Please...” You said, unable to hold back your tears.

The distance between you slowly closed. Your lips rested on hers, staying there, without moving, enjoying the wet contact, the sensations that you imagined so much, that you fantasized about so much. It wasn't a romantic or passionate kiss. It was a chaste and simple kiss that didn't last long, but it was enough to make your body want more, many more.

“I'm in love with you, Donna...” You confessed, still very close to her lips, caressing her hair lovingly, like that time you helped her when she lost her nerve.

“I've never felt this way about anyone...” She whispered, inadvertently ignoring your confession. “I couldn't tell you if I'm in love with you.”

That was enough for you to relax, to think that maybe you were wrong and that your fantasies would soon come true.

“Kiss me again, please...” You begged, pulling your head so that your lips collided again, this time more intensely, moving, caressing each other.

Donna pulled away slowly, squeezing her eye shut tightly, staying close to you, but not kissing you, as if she had just had a revelation.

“What's wrong?” You asked, worried that you had made the biggest mistake of your life.

“If it is love what I’m feeling, I want it to never end.”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #oneshot #re8 donna #re8 village #requests

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mellowwillowy · 11 months ago

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Alright, let's get this straight. You are praying for the Great Seven, or whatever it is in this TWISTED wonderland, to be transferred away from Pomefiore! (Pure crack content with a lil bit of yan spice~)

No, it's not fun having to do these damn skincare, especially with Vil around you, ready to reprimand you for slacking off! Posture check, outfit check, hairstyle check, fragrance check, dialect check! Rook is sure as hell happy to assist Vil in checking on you! He really should have just let Azul and Kalim fight about who gets to keep you in their dorm.

It feels like Vil is just living beneath your skin like the beautiful parasite he is now, so by all might after punching Crowley right in the guts, he hands you a phone. Well, technically, he's only lending you his spare phone, stingy.

"Aren't I very kin-" Another punch right on his jaw because his beak ass mask will hurt your fist.

Alright, an admission for NRC's dorm, this is it. This is your one and only chance to actually make Crowley agree to transfer you to another dorm.

He sure took his sweet ass time in introducing everything in that stupid voice of his but here comes the moment of truth! Just tap the screen and pray for the best. It's a 1/7 odd and you sure as hell wish you won't be transferred to Heartslabyul. Riddle's name alone is enough to make you think Vil might actually be a better choice here.

Savanaclaw sounds peaceful enough, Leona got that lil Ruggie around after all. Ignihyde is great, you can just be the little introverted ass you are and send some game invitations to Idia and Ortho every now and then.

But of course, Octavinelle is a great option to start. You have a high affinity with those sea mafia and you just have to be careful not getting tricked by their scheming nature.

Scarabia? Great. You got Kalim. He will spoil you rotten and squeal in joy the moment he knows you are transferring. You are not sure about Jamil though, seeing how he has to take care of 2 babies now but he will manage.

Last but not least, Diasomnia. While you do have a great relationship with Malleus and co, Lilia is the real highlight here. You get a friend whom you can actually drag into a fistfight like the good ol'days Lilia misses (does he?). You two are old old, it'll be nice being able to vibe with him more in pulling stunts plus your life there will be made easy by Lilia and Malleus.

So COME NOW! Do not shoot me into Hearslabyul by all means!

A hand takes away your phone before you can see the 2D character appears on the screen. You know damn well which dorm's uniform this is because well, you are wearing it right now.

""I am Pomefiore's dorm leader, Vil Schoenheit."" Uh-oh, not only are you shitting yourself over the 1/7 odd, why are you hearing double? (This really happened. I got Vil's despite trying to transfer them away in my first go.)

""Are you the new student?"" By all means, yes. Ignorance is bliss.

""Hmm? Well, you may have been sorted into Pomefiore in the first one go."" Oh great Seven, in TWO go. Don't look up, don't look up.

""But, you are still very naive."" You admit it, you are naive enough to not include Pomefiore in the 'Do not shoot me into Heartslabyul and Pomefiore by all means!'

Like the brat you are, you close your face with both hands and look up, "Oh my, housewarden Schoenheit, what are you doing here?" If you can't see him, he can't see you.

Well, that is until Rook pulls both your hands away from your face, "My, my, mon chèri, you shouldn't hide your beautiful face from us, do never shy your beauty away as you exist to enchant everyone."

Now you see Vil's feature being graced with a smile yet you can feel just how threatening his aura is right now. You are in a BIG trouble. Not only did the Great Seven grace your prayer of not getting transferred to Heartslabyul, but they also grace you back in this stupid 1/7 odd!

"Let's have a pleasant chat about this, shall we?" And with that, Vil drags you by the collar of your uniform like a stray cat you are, ready to be starved and drenched in cold water.

"Don't worry, I'll share my dinner with you later~" "Really-" "Rook, no."

PS: Turns out the person who alarmed Vil was Rook himself because well, he sees everything that you are doing, whether creepily or thoughtfully? Who knows~ Now you'll just have to hear Vil lecture you again.

PS 2: Epel thoughtfully shared 1/3 of his dinner in exchange for you teaching him how to fight bare-handed like a Savanaclaw.

Reference to the said event

#I really wanna tag this as #Yandere Rook Hunt #and #Yandere Vil Schoenheit #but #we will have #TWST #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Rook Hunt x Reader #x GN Reader

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34saveme34 · 2 months ago

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l. look at the channel banner,,. NICC LOOK AT THE CHANNEL BANNER AAAAKDFJHSDGLHKFLJ

yuuuuuh it's looking very Puzzly!!

hey

hey....

what..... is that

if that's just cables for stuff oh my GOD Puzzles, get a better technician for this shit, it can't stay like this, this is a fire hazard

but

if that's a part of him........ which it could be...........

and with what was said about the engine room.......... it'd make sense

Puzzles really might have become the park itself

he is his OWN creative vision

but also am I the only one who had been thinking about how he still kinda has none? He only got here because he stole it. It isn't his OWN

most of his successful stuff was never his own, he just took it and pretended it was

and now it got to such a painful degree

he wants to play less and less fair games

like genuinely it feels that way

first he warmed up the crew at the idea of a threat but took so long with his ideas that while they were successful, they must have been.... exhausting for him

like IGBP, besides the genre of it being an existing one which is impossible for a movie to avoid, it was original

Western maybe a little less. he had help, it took a lot of inspiration from western movies, it started his.... nonsense

and then he took a wotfi for himself

then he came in and literally started doing parodies where he got more and more unhinged

and indeed, none of them were quite his nor were they hits

and the whole brainwashing people to be his actors thing also came into picture, playing less fair

but still giving a chance to get that 5 stars naturally since he was SO sure of his creative genius

and then THAT stopped being the case after he had his mental breakdown

then PV happened where he was SO sure he did everything right and perfect but he didn't! His plan was ruined and it was all his fault!

And then not even that much later on, like bro didn't even try to reflect he tried to approach them different and Mario gladly helped him on accident

and then when that didn't work out, the whole "miniarc" thing where he was betrayed again, and this time by a person too and not just his imperfect plans

especially with the moustache stealing thing. To him, I think he feels like he spent all that time for spying on Mario in vain and ALSO his own creation was stolen from him by the EXACT person he was trying to to sabotage. WHAT I DON'T GET THO........ HE WAS TRYING TO PLAY FAIR THAT EPISODE

it's like his sanity is directly connected to how fair he is and how easy it is to deal with him

by which I mean yea, he's ABSOLUTELY at his lowest point, that episode was lying cuz yeah he got even LOWER

but I wonder if he'll at all do it at least a little bit fairly or not

imagine he gets called out for cheating and he's like hmmmm I don't know what you mean :) and Leggy nods along like yes Puzzles riiight and everyone else is powerless to do anything about it

like genuinely, if he's like that fuckin. fnaf tree and he also has roots everywhere within the park, they're SO cooked

like HOW would you even begin to stop him

he has power stronger than Melony

what's more interesting to me is that he...... really knows how to use it, and he like, had a fool proof plan

he knew he could trust Mario and Leggy to get the crew to stay

he knew he could trust 4 wanting that Kermit hand puppet

he's seen Kermit enough, especially in IGBP to know that, almost felt like a vague reference to it

he felt it that the crew would split up and used Leggy to make sure they really do

3 being the one last taken before the other 2 go and see Puzzles bodyhorror also feels intentional

VERY intentional, it's like, a trope to take out the person you care about the most last..... cough cough mar34 cough cough

what I'm saying is that it's probably a type of power he knows, like the star rating he had but make many many times more powerful

since it WAS a star there as well. I think bro put it in his body

I'm just still trying to understand what kinda head space Puzzles was in when IGBP happened. Like it bothers me so much that we never learned

also WS

you're like "but we did! we learned he liked the shows!" of course but that's not what I mean

I meant that HOW he was able to get there, he needed to be in his prime or something

though that might just remain a plot hole for all eternity if they don't explain it this wotfi, which Idk if they'll be shedding light on that

like after he starts doing parodies I kinda get it

but before? How did he have the resources? the creative vision, especially for Perfect? The.... the showgrounds too? Who.... who was he really? What is his.. FULL backstory? I hope we get hints at least

sorry I turned this into a rant but I've been thinking about this stuff for quite a bit

#asks #smg4 #nicc-thinks

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seaofreverie · 2 months ago

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Sparkstember Day 19: Lil' Beethoven (Ride 'Em Cowboy)

First of all, let this very important fact be known: the love I have for all three albums in the Lil' Beethoven trilogy cannot be overstated. I think I can safely call them my favourite pieces of art ever made. You know, when you look forward to something and it not only lives up to all your expectations but it's also just SO SO much more? Something about this neoclassical / dada / deconstruction of pop music / whatever-you-should-even-call-it approach is absolutely PERFECTLY suited for my tastes, and I didn't even know I was looking for something EXACTLY like this until I found it.

I think the circumstances of my first hearing of this album are pretty funny and something I got pretty lucky with actually (I often think about this with Sparks in general, as much as I wish I've known about them sooner I also do feel like they appeared in my life when I needed that the most. But anyway.) I was very eagerly looking forward to hearing it and finally seeing for myself what the genius of this album is all about. But I insisted that I can only do it through a physical format because yesss, let's make it even more *special*! The moment I've been waiting for! So yeah let's gooo, I need to wait until my CD arrives in the mail (that was one of the longest weeks of my life). And then I started to wonder, well, maybe I actually won't like it that much. To hype myself up to this extent and then be severly dissapointed - would have sucked!

Well, I was NOT dissapointed. Instead I was perplexed, confused, but also very intrigued and quite, ok not just quite, *completely* amazed already. That was the initial reaction and I think it's a rare but very beautiful moment when this happens - no need to *fully* grasp it right away, but enough to be all like "oh that was SOMETHING. I need more." As I said after that first listen (and I actually have my whole LIVE reaction to hearing LB written down lmao, that's how much of a big deal this was for me), I felt like it actually has to grow on me a bit still, gradually but surely with each next listen, rather than the 1st listen being THE prime listening experience. And that was very true! But it wasn't even gradual, it was very fast, seriously. And something very important that stood out to me right away too were the melodies - something about them, and that continues into HYL and ECOTD too. It's this classic feeling of: this always existed, or at least it feels like I've known it for years already. And as I listen more and become more familiar with them the magic still grows.

It's of course no coincidence to me that an album that relies so much on extreme levels of repetition is so addicting, even hypnotising. And once upon a time I thought that I couldn't like something that's too repetitive and therefore could be considered monotonous or "predictable". But nothing is predictable about LB actually. (Besides... ok, I'll get to that one bit later). But yeah, it's good for the brain. And it's been said before by others but this music definitely has this certain neurodivergent appeal thanks to all this, and, well, I love that aspect of it so much and I definitely relate to it on some level that goes even deeper than just song topics and instrumentation choices. It's in the structure and the fundaments of it all too.

I legally can't finish this without a dedicated paragraph to the 2004 Live In Stockholm performance because HOLY SHIT. Feeling so lucky again that all three of these albums got this treatment and we have recordings of these half-concert-half-performance-art pieces that we can now marvel at. I will say that like, a pretty big part of the sum of the appeal that LB has as an album is stored in this show and its visual and narrative elaboration on its themes. And also it's just so fun to watch! Sometimes I thought about how this might be an even better introduction to LB / this era of Sparks / Sparks in general than the actual album but well, never had a chance to test that and you know. Maybe shouldn't recommend Sparks with one of the most leftfield things there is to be found from them. Either way, very good, very important, felt like experiencing the power of LB for the first time all over again.

So now, please hear my exact reasonings for why I so deeply love (almost) every single one of these songs......

The Rhythm Thief

NO song made such a big impression on me the first time I heard it as this. I might have gotten more used to it after all this time but man, The Rhythm Thief, you will always be the realest one to me. This is what made me look forward to the whole album so much and convinced me that it would be like nothing else I've heard before. And that turned out to be so very beautifully true!

How Do I Get To Carnegie Hall?

I could listen to this one a hundred times in a row over and over and not get sick of it one bit. That's it, idk what else to add, beautiful and ethereal in every way

What Are All These Bands So Angry About?

Mostly I just want to direct everyone's attention to the bridge section, at the 2:26-2:52 time mark, which as far as I can say is the most heavenly piece of music ever made. Feeling like that Winnie The Pooh soul leaving his body gif each time I hear this

I Married Myself

Aromantic anthem, to me. Not that much to say actually but it's just, a very sweet and pretty song even when it might be taken as just this sort of ironic piece, I think it's this situation where a song can be taken more or less literally and it doesn't lose anything, rather the sincerity takes on a new sort of meaning? Because yes, maybe this hyperbolic situation (marrying yourself) COULD be the solution to the heartbreak of failed relationships. Ever thought about that??? Ok, stopping right here and leaving my I Married Myself analysis for another day

Ride 'Em Cowboy

My mind is blank on this one suddenly. But it's so good believe me. I love it a lot. It just has this LB spirit that makes it very addicting to listen to

My Baby's Taking Me Home

This was sort of the first Sparks song I've ever heard, or maybe that I quote-unquote purposefully listened to, and I think that's pretty important considering that it was the moment that ultimately lead to... all this. This song has always been incredibly beautiful and powerful to me, but lately it just makes me emotional to an extent that makes it hard to listen to most of the time. I WOULD sell all my material possessions for even one chance to experience this song live by the way

Your Call Is Very Important To Us. Please Hold

Earns soooo much as a live version, but even without that I think it's genius in the same way as The Rhythm Thief, and maybe the most disquieting piece here overall... If we ignore the next one maybe

Ugly Guys With Beautiful Girls

Sitting there hearing the intro of this song all like "huh, this is so chill and calm... too calm..." and then being hit with, well, everything that's going on in this song afterwards was truly THE MOMENT back in the day (and re: the predictability thing. idk though, it's not like, really an issue). Later on I decided that this sort of narrative nature of the song makes it have less replayability value than the rest (???) but I abandoned that opinion soon enough, thank god. I love it how long it took me to realize that this song and the ending of MBTMH are the only times when drums appear on this entire album (I mean no, I'm not very proud of that fact actually, as the self-proclaimed biggest LB fan in my area. And The Rhythm Thief literally saying "say goodbye to the beat"... come on man). So yes, sometimes less is more! I adore this song now it's such a treat I would gladly terrorize my neighbours with it

Suburban Homeboy

Ok, I'm sorry Suburban Homeboy fans but this is the only song here that I'm not a HUGE fan of. I still think it's brilliant and an incredibly fitting ending for the whole thing - the mood whiplash is amazing as this is the only "vaguely happy sounding" song on here, per my words from months back. And what's better than yelling WE ARE THE SUBURBAN HOMEBOYS! (I'm actually awaiting today's Sparks karaoke rating reveal very impatiently lol the reveal happened before I posted this and I'm very happy about it)

One more actually, a quick word on Wunderbar because it gave us two things that we might have not been able to do without: 1) this whole album actually (the fact that LB exists because of Wunderbar giving the Maels the idea to continue meddling with this style. Up there as one of my fav pieces of Sparks trivia) 2) anddddd the 21×21 performance of it of course

#god these are getting harder and harder to write instead of easier this one took me like 3 hours #but it also is long as heck so. idk it turned out pretty good though. i'm happy with it #i don't know why i feel so silly still writing these #maybe i really went a little bit overambitious with preparing two separate things for each day #but if there's even one or two people who enjoy these i can rest knowing that i have succeeded on this front #also i wish i could have come up with a cool dynamic pose like this for the drawing but no #it's based on the poster of a movie of the same name as the featured song #and honestly now i feel like it's extra fitting for spars and their love for referencing cinema and other pop culture things #and thank god i had an excuse to go completely minimalistic for once. all in all i'm quite happy with the result #cool to do something slightly different sometimes and it also just fits the spirit of the album i think!#anyway LB my beloved. seriously never getting over how good the 00s era albums are #lifechanging outstanding mesmerizing exceptional etc #sparkstember 2024 #my art #goose monologues

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kitthepurplepotato · 1 year ago

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Chapter 11 - Katsuki has shitty feelings.

Summary: Katsuki has a crisis. That’s the chapter. Oh, and some Kirishima POV, because Katsuki’s best bro deserves some screen time.

⚠️: Swear words, Katsuki talks about his third leg.

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“I want to stay here forever…”

Bakugou Katsuki is a lone wolf. He doesn’t need another human being to be able to exist; he lives for his job, for the role of the Number Two Hero and that’s all Katsuki has ever wanted to achieve in his life (Well, he wanted to be the number one hero not the second, but that ain’t gonna change until Deku is alive), so honestly, he should be content with what he’s got.

Young Katsuki would be thrilled to hear about his current life; he’s loaded enough to buy a fancy ass apartment; actually, scratch that, he’s loaded enough to fucking build his own agency and his own motherfucking apartment. Katsuki saved Japan from extinction at least 500 times in the last ten years, he gained the respect of the public at the humble age of 16 and he’s also really fucking good looking, just ask the public. And the photographers of Vogue. Sure, he has a bunch of scars all over his body, but Katsuki is proud of every single one of them; he thinks they look sick, hot and sexy.

He also managed to grow a decent-sized… third leg. It’s not the biggest in the whole world but it has a pretty shape. It’s really sophisticated and while Katsuki has no idea about what the other gender likes, he’s quite sure he could get at least a million followers on a certain website with his neat little brother.

Wait, where was he going with this shit?

Oh yeah.

Bakugou Katsuki does not give a single flying fuck about other people. He doesn’t need them, he doesn’t want anyone in his personal space. Steven is enough of a bother already with his constant tapping on his window at 5 fucking AM, begging for food or just in need of attention or some shit. Katsuki might be perfect, but he can’t speak pigeonese. He’s not proud of this fact and trust him if he says he’d tried.

So if this Katsuki guy is the perfect example of a successful bachelor… THEN WHY THE FUCK DOES HE FEEL LIKE THE WORLD IS ENDING WHEN HE THINKS ABOUT THE BLOODY WOMAN LEAVING HIS FUCKING HOUSE?!

Katsuki is literally thinking about breaking both of her legs right now just to keep her in his flat for a bit longer. A few more days… weeks… months… years…

Okay, this is just ridiculous. This isn’t him. This guy must be a pathetic excuse of a doppelgänger.

Katsuki stares at his own reflection in the mirror angrily, hoping to scare the guy on the other side, but he doesn’t budge.

Fuck.

“Uhm… are you practicing your intimidating stare?” The woman of his fucking nightmares waltzes into the room.

Y/N has been almost perfectly healthy for three fucking days now. She’s dead tired by the end of the day but everything is perfectly fine with her otherwise.

Why the fuck can’t she be a normal fucking person and take her sweet time getting better?

To be honest, it’s probably Katsuki’s fault for spoiling his woman to death from day one.

This whole crisis is also her motherfucking fault by the way; the way she mumbled that fucking sentence to Katsuki, planted the seed in his heart then watered it with kisses and sweet, soft touches, then the fucking flower bloomed in Katsuki’s chest and he hates the way it suffocates him right now, two days before the day of doom.

“I was daydreaming about breaking some bones.” Katsuki admits as he moves away from the damned mirror nonchalantly.

“If you miss breaking bones that much I can go home now and then you can go back to work. I’ll be fine.” Y/N gives Katsuki that damned smile he hates so much; she’s clearly missing the point here which isn’t a surprise considering he haven’t said a single fucking word about his stupid-ass feelings, but it still makes Katsuki mad that Y/N can not read his fucking mind.

Well… technically, she probably can but it would be considered an invasion of privacy and Katsuki would hate that.

But just this once… can’t she just… like… understand his feelings without actually understanding them? Just this once? Pretty fucking please?

“Fuck no.” Katsuki answers without hesitation. “Put your ass back down on the sofa, you are supposed be resting!”

“I’ve been sitting on my ass for 5 fucking days, Katsuki!” Y/N whines, of course she does, and for some fucking reason even her annoying whining is fucking cute. Katsuki hates it.

“You wanna do something? Yeah?” Katsuki pushes Y/N right through the door and he doesn’t stop until her back hits the wall. Katsuki takes her hands in a quick motion, pulls them both up and pushes them into the wall; not hard enough to leave a dent or injure anyone but just enough for Y/N to not be able to do jack shit about it. “Get out of this then.”

Y/N is otherworldly as she licks her lips with an evil smirk on her face; she looks menacing and evil but also really fucking hot.

“Challenge accepted.” She goes for the grand prize right away; his dick. And not in a good way. Call Katsuki a genius because he saw that move coming; he moves his crotch out the way and pushes Y/N’s shins into the wall with only one leg. “Are you impressed with yourself by winning against someone who hasn’t trained for more than a year?” Y/N is a sore loser. Katsuki’s kinda into that.

“Wow, mind your fucking attitude, weakling.” Katsuki smirks; he pushes closer and leaves a chaste kiss on Y/N’s lips. Apparently, he pushed the big red button somewhere inside her with this because Y/N’s hand becomes transparent for a few moments then it’s Katsuki’s back that hits the wall next.

From this point… things happen really quickly.

The hallway becomes an impromptu training room, then they move towards the living room and that’s when shit gets real; having two stubborn bitches in a room without any way to burn some energy was probably not the best idea, or at least that’s what the poor coffee table thinks when it gets broken in half by Katsuki’s massive back as Y/N sends another cotton candy colored explosion towards him.

“You are dead meat, bitch!” Katsuki yells and he really hopes his beautiful sofa will be able to take his next hit, otherwise he might start crying.

It takes them a several minutes or maybe even hours to stop their shenanigans; Katsuki and Y/N ends up sprawled out on the feather covered sofa, fighting for their lives with every single breath. They can’t help but stare at the mess they’ve made; there are random books on the floor as few of the shelves gave up on life after Y/N threw him into the bookshelf, there’s broken mug shattered into pieces right on top of Katsuki’s favorite white rug, the walls are singed all over and he’s quite sure they broke one of the doors on their way to the living room. Hopefully, it wasn’t the toilet one.

“What have we done.” Y/N mutters quietly, still half dead.

“We are going shopping tomorrow.” Katsuki mutters back with a content hum.

Fuck, Katsuki swears this was better than sex; he has a hunch he will change his mind about that when he gets to that point with his girlfriend though.

~•💥•~

A few hours earlier…

Kirishima is a cool bro when it comes to his best bro, Katsuki.

It doesn’t mean he’s not concerned for his well-being after not seeing him for a several days; he knows his best buddy is only a hallway away but Kirishima didn’t feel too welcome in his lair last time he’s been over as he’s almost fucking died by the hands of a jealous Katsuki so he decided to give his bro some space.

It’s absolutely fine. They are both adults, they have their own lives and all that jazz but…

Fuck it, Kirishima is not a chill bro right now, not at all. Honestly? He’s never been chill. You remember when Eijirou ruined Katsuki’s first kiss at the wedding? Yeah. Eijirou is an absolute mama bear when it comes to his favorite people, but he really did try his best until today.

Why today, you ask?

There are extremely weird sounds coming out of Katsuki’s flat. His best bro doesn’t know about this but every time he leaves his kitchen window open, he can hear basically everything from his office.

Don’t ask him what kind of things has he heard before. He will take that information to the grave with him.

First, he hears grumbling; that’s normal, just Katsuki being his good old grumpy self. Then he hears a bunch of loud knocks. Then something breaks. Only a few minutes after that, something shatters on the floor.

Needless to say, Kirishima is extremely concerned. What if he’s in danger? What if he’s hurt?

Well, technically, there is no way anyone can attack Katsuki in his home; there is a CCTV all over the place as Katsuki’s flat is a part of the agency building and they even put one on Katsuki’s window in case someone tries to break in from there.

Eijirou is also concerned that maybe… maybe he’s doing something with his missus that Eijirou is definitely not supposed to see, hear or be a part of.

He already ruined their first kiss, he doesn’t want to ruin their first… well… that.

So Eijirou waits.

He’s a patient man.

When the weird sounds subdue, Eijirou takes a deep breath and makes his way to Katsuki’s front door; whatever they were doing, it must be over and he was even nice enough to give them some time to take a breather, or to cuddle, depends on the actual situation.

He knocks. Three times.

He waits. Patiently. Like a gentleman.

He waits for an eternity or to be exact, five whole excruciating seconds before he barges into his best bro’s flat without any hesitation.

“What the fuck?!”

That’s all Kirishima’s able to say. The room is a mess; 90% of the furniture is broken or singed, there is a dent in the wall, Steven somehow ended up inside the flat and he’s happily munching on a spilled bag of nuts on top of the broken coffee table. The only piece of furniture that’s in tact is Katsuki’s fancy ass sofa on which Katsuki currently lies on, his skin shining with sweat as he tries to wiggle into a more decent-looking position.

Katsuki doesn’t like to be stared at so it doesn’t take him long to get out of his weird, half dead state and start yelling.

“The fuck are you staring at?!”

Kirishima doesn’t answer that question. He’s a really pliant man and usually lets Katsuki get away with making him feel stupid even if he’s right, but not today.

So Kirishima stares. He just stares and says nothing. There is a sound coming from the bathroom; Y/N is probably taking a shower which means she is NOT FUCKING DEAD, thank god.

“Stop fucking staring, we were sparring and things got out of hand. No fucking biggie.” The blonde even rolls his eyes, probably thinking this whole situation is ridiculous; which it is, but not in the way his best bro thinks so.

“You are a pro hero.” Kirishima mutters with a deadpan face. “You live in your agency’s building. You own a fucking gym. A gym that’s 2 minutes away from your flat, just at the end of the hallway.” Katsuki looks at Kirishima with an unfamiliar look, like he’s been caught even though Kirishima has no fucking idea what did he say that made his friend feel so cornered. “You look constipated.” Eijirou decides to change tactics and ignore the mess around the living room; he sits down next to his best bro, ears open and ready to listen to whatever is bothering him right now. Katsuki sighs then looks at the bathroom door; the constant flowing of the water inside is enough for him to finally speak up.

“I tried to prove that she needs more time off but I only managed to prove that I’m really fucking wrong.”

For some reason, there is pain in his best bro’s eyes and Kirishima hates that; he hates to see his loved ones in agony, he hates when things are not going right for them, he would give up on all his happiness for the sake of his best buddies even though he doesn’t have too much to give up on.

Fuck, that was a really uncharacteristic thought, wasn’t it? Oh well, welcome to Kirishima’s real life. He’s really lonely, goddamnit.

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing, bro.” He looks at his best friend questioningly, not really understanding the pain behind his crimson eyes. Katsuki makes that constipated face again, and that’s when it clicks. “You don’t want her to get better.” Kirishima says and he swears Katsuki’s soul leaves his body for a second then it barges back into to him, now fueled with anger, so he decides to continue with his train of thought. “You are scared shitless that she’s gonna leave you once she’s back in business.”

“She’s not gonna dump me because of that you shitwit.” Katsuki grumbles but by the look on his face, Eijirou is really close to the truth. Ahh, okay, Eijirou understands now.

“It’s really fucking hard to be alone once you get used to the company, trust me, I know.” Kirishima gives Katsuki a knowing, sad smile. “But it’s only a matter of time before this becomes your new normal. Just give it some time, bro. I know you want to get down on one knee and seal the deal but don’t rush this; enjoy the small things and keep the big ones for later, buddy.” Kirishima grins and this time, his grin is real; it doesn’t mean he’s not dying from loneliness still, but that’s his own problem, not Katsuki’s.

“Do not fucking patronize me, Shitty Hair!” Katsuki yells but Kirishima can see how thankful his bro is.

“Come on now, I actually managed to say something smart this time, let me have my moment!” Kirishima retorts, fake-offended.

“Stop talking about yourself like you are just an idiot extra. This is why no one takes you seriously.”

Damn, that arrow went right through his heart. Thankfully, Y/N chooses the right time to get out of the shower; she looks at the two men with a fond smile before her eyes wander to take in their environment; Kirishima can see the exact moment when Y/N realizes how much they fucked up by sparring in their own home.

“Need a hand with cleaning this shit up?” Kirishima grins happily, extremely excited to see Y/N so happy and healthy again.

“I would like to be nice and say it’s fine but bro…” she giggles and looks at Kirishima like he’s the savior of the century.

Kirishima might not have any self-confidence but there is one thing that makes him feel like his existence wasn’t just a waste of time and space and that’s the fact that he is the reason his best bro found the love of his life; it all started with a prank and ended up changing their whole lives completely and none of this would have been possible if Kirishima doesn’t hire “the Menace” all those months ago. Kirishima can’t be happier to experience this beautiful love, even if he’s not the one actually experiencing it.

Maybe one day… he’ll find his own soulmate, but for now… he’s just glad to be surrounded with all this happiness. It kinda lifts his spirits up, you know? Seeing his friends happy like that. That’s enough for him to be able to keep smiling, even when the world crumbles in front of him. If you can’t enjoy the small things you don’t deserve the big ones - is what his mother said to him when he was 13 and depressed. He needs to make sure to thank her for that advice the next time they video chat.

…Next chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Almost on time, yay!

- Do you ever feel like you love someone so much you want to beat them to pulp? Bro, mood. (IN A SPAR NOT IN AN ABUSIVE WAY DON’T CANCEL ME)

- Yes, I’m sleep deprived again. Waking up at 5 am for 3 days in a row is my own personal nightmare but at least I had time after work to write this chapter and 2 Deku chapters so… worth it, man. (Btw, the next Deku chapter is coming on Saturday on Sunday!)

- I work in retail and it’s Christmas season so if the chapters won’t come out as quick in December, I’m sorry. I’m doing more late shifts which means I won’t have time to write in the afternoon so… we will see how it goes.

- I wanted to show Kirishima’s POV in this chapter because I really want him to have a spin-off in the future with his own reader! I actually have 2 chapters ready but I won’t post it until I finish the whole thing because I definitely can’t write and post 3 different stories weekly haha.

- I hope you guys are okay and still enjoying this series! Please send me your thoughts so I know it’s worth it to push myself and do this weekly! Cheers 💜

TL: @sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs @p4ndawrites @yao-ai

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugo x you #shenanigansbypurplepotato #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #pro hero dynamight x reader

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merlot-and-chardonnay · 3 months ago

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 65

Masterlist

Chapter 64

Quick A/N: I know in the book, there was contention between the historians about whether or not Cregan Stark had a half-sister by the name of Sara Snow (if you read Fire and Blood, you know what I'm talking about), but for the sake of this story, I'm going to say Sara does exist in this universe.

-----------King's Landing: Maegor's Holdfast--------

Jaskier had never felt such relief in his life the moment he was led out of the dungeons and freed from his bonds. The Bard rubbed his wrists where the chains previously were, part of him wondering if his sister had managed to escape or not. He hadn't been given any recent updates on your whereabouts, so he was understandably concerned.

Although, if the fact he was released from the dungeons so suddenly without so much as an interrogation, the chances that you had escaped didn't seem all that likely.

Actually, right now, panic may have begun to settle when it occurred to Jaskier of the possibility that he might be led to an execution with no trial.

"Greetings, Viscount," a male voice caught Jaskier's attention, making the man yelp and almost jump back in surprise. Larys Strong leaned against the wall, an undecipherable look on his face. "You really should not be sneaking up on people like that," Jaskier scolds, "you'll give someone a heart attack one of these days. You look familiar, have we met before?"

"Not exactly," Larys admits, "but I believe we share a mutual acquaintance in your sister." Jaskier put two and two together when he remembered his last visit to King's Landing, "You're that one fellow who helped bring Geralt here when he got lost somewhere up North. Lord Strange." "It's Strong, actually," Larys corrects, "Larys Strong, Lord of Harenhal at your service."

"Right," Jaskier says, "Larys Strong. I don't supposed you were the one who pulled strings to release me from my former lodgings." "Much as I would like to take credit for such, I'm afraid that was not my doing," Larys admits, "That was accomplished by the Lady of Larks. It seems she has found a place in court once again. His Grace, the king has appointed her personal troubaritz to his children."

"Oh...ah, deja vu," Jaskier said, realizing the cycle was repeating itself, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say we've both gone back in time." "There is more," Larys continues, "the king has also seen fit to appoint you a position in his court, Viscount...as the court jester."

"What now?" Jaskier says, dumbfounded, "Court jest- are you shitting me?! I am not...I am a lot of things, a lover of people from lowborn and high, a composer of many famous songs and ballads, a member of a spy network for at least two different kingdoms, and an occasional drag performer. But this?!"

"If you allow me to further speak, I believe I can offer some reprieve from your new demeaning position," Larys offers. "What kind of reprieve, dare I ask?" Jaskier frowns a bit. "You mentioned you had experience in spy work," Larys explains, "and what better way to spy on the court inconspicuously then when you play the role of the royal fool?"

-------------meanwhile in the nursery-----------------

"What song would you like me to play for you, sweet prince?" you inquire of Jaehaerys as soon as you stepped into the nursery with Alicent following behind. "Wait one moment please," Jaehaerys says as he runs up the stairs.

You stand there waiting expectedly for the prince to return.

"Lady (y/n)," Alicent speaks up, gaining your attention. "Your Grace," you address back. "It is...good to see you again. I couldn't believe my own eyes seeing you, being back here of all places." You were silent for a bit before you answered the queen, "it is good to see you as well, Alicent, if we can be familiar with each other for the moment."

Alicent nods, giving permission.

"What is this I hear about my daughter turning traitor?" you ask, those words Otto spoke still ringing in your head. "You...don't know?" Alicent frowns a bit, to which you shake your head. "I haven't seen Aemma since she returned to Westeros from the Continent," you admit. "She did tell me you were alive," Alicent admits, "but I must confess, I...had trouble believing it was so. I heard what befell you six years ago. I was sadden when that news reached my ears when it happened...and to hear you survived..." "To be fair, a lot of my friends and loved ones on the Continent had a hard time believing it as well," you say with some humor, "even my own brother couldn't believe his eyes."

Alicent made a small smile at that. She then proceeded to catch you up on the most recent events, from the passing of King Viserys, to the crowning of her son, which if you weren't already aware that Aegon was now king, you would've gone wide eyed from hearing that particular news. "So...Viserys saw fit to name his eldest son heir then?"

"It came as a shock to me as well," Alicent admits, "he spoke those words to me in the night before the Stranger came for him. It was what he wanted."

You fought the urge to give Alicent a rather incredulous look. For as long as you could remember, Rhaenyra was the uncontested heir, even when Viserys had more children, at least two of them being sons, and this was something Aemma had confirmed to you before the two of you parted ways. The fact that Viserys never changed the line of succession even after all this time- after two decades have past- and then for him to suddenly change his mind at the very last minute on his deathbed didn't make any sense to you.

But you keep those thoughts to yourself. You've seen first hand the lengths Otto was willing to go to use you as a hostage against Aemma for apparently saying similar thoughts out loud.

"And Aemma doesn't believe otherwise?" "I tried to reason with her," Alicent assures, "but she wouldn't listen. She still has it in her head that Rhaenyra is meant to sit the Iron Throne." "Where is Rhaenyra?" you ask. "Probably still on Dragonstone I wager," Alicent answers, "Along with...Prince Daemon." Alicent noted the way you went rigid at the mention of that name, "So it is true..." you heard her mutter.

Before you could ask her what that meant, Jaehaerys came down the steps with Jaehaera behind him, "it's the Lady of Larks," the boy whispers to his sister with excitement, "I told you she was here."

"Who is this?" you inquire of the prince, "this is my sister, Jaehaera," Jaehaerys introduces. Jaehaera first approached her grandmother, while still keeping her focus on you. "Go ahead, sweet girl," Alicent encourages. Jaehaera approached you, making a small, shy smile as she reached a hand to you, which you accept.

"So these are His Grace's children," you state, "who is their mother, if I may ask?"

"Lady Lark," a strange voice catches your attention. A young woman with long blonde hair walks in the room, a baby in her arms, "you came back to us." "Helaena," Alicent tells you, which made you look at the woman in shock. "Helaena," you say back, "you really have grown. You were just a child last I saw you." "And now I have a children of my own," Helaena says with some pride in her voice, "you've met the twins. This here is Maelor, the youngest. Look, Maelor, it's the Lady of Larks." Maelor reached a tiny hand out to you, which made you smile.

"Will you sing to us now, Lady Lark?" Jaehaerys asks with glee.

"Alright," you nod. You take a seat nearby. Jaehaerys was quick to climb up onto your lap, clearly eager to hear you sing up close. You go along with it and begin to sing, hoping it wouldn't take long for the children to fall back to sleep. You decide to go with a simple ballad composed from a troubaritz whom you know resides in Novigrad (not exactly a song you overly enjoy given who the song was about, but you had hope it would get the job done).

youtube

As you hoped, the children slowing started nodding off, their eyes growing heavy as they began to fall asleep. Alicent surprisingly felt her own eyes become moist as you serenaded her grandchildren; it brought the dowager queen back to a time when she was still a girl, younger than Helaena, when she would sit beside Rhaenyra when you entertained the two with your songs. It brought her back to a time before she was queen, when she was still young and innocent. When she was still known as the Lady Alicent.

Things were so much simpler back then, and a considerable part of her wished it was that way once again.

What nobody in that room knew was that outside the nursery, Aegon stood by the door, listening to you sing to his children. Through the crack in the door, he could see the way you held his son while you sang, how your voice, sweet and gentle, brought great comfort to Jaehaerys and his siblings. He saw the way Maelor fell back to sleep in his mother's arms, comforted by your song, how Jaehaera leaned into her grandmother from feeling the same comfort. Even Helaena and Alicent looked much relaxed as your song filled the air, as if they could forget everything else that was going on right now.

He wondered if this was how you acquired your sobriquet as the Lady of Larks.

Aegon leaned against the door frame, careful not to put too much weight into it, also feeling like he could lose himself in your soothing siren's call, and he began to wonder if you sang similar songs to him back when you held residence in this place 16 years ago. Aegon felt an odd sense of peace in this moment...something he couldn't even remember the last time he ever felt, if indeed, there even was a last time.

At last, the children were sound asleep. Once the same children were placed back into their beds, you deigned to speak to Alicent once more.

"If you would indulge me my curiosity, your Grace, where is your other son Prince Aemond?" "You met him?" Alicent asks with shock. "Back on the Continent," you confirm, "Aemma introduced me. He seemed...quite a studious young man. And though he tried to hide it, he seemed quite taken with Aemma, almost like he were smitten with her." "More than just smitten," Alicent admits, "Aemond was in love with her. He...he wanted to marry her." "What?" "He wanted to take Aemma to wife," Alicent repeats, "and I had given my blessing as I had once before...but that was before Aemma left for Dragonstone."

"Where is Aemond now?" "He should be in Storm's End by now," Alicent tells you, "treating with Lord Borros Baratheon to assure the man's loyalty and support for Aegon as king. And...Aemond was given explicit orders by my father to offer himself to take one of Borros' daughters to wife, whomever he will choose."

---------Winterfell--------------

"I trust you are enjoying the tour so far, princess," Sara Snow inquires, getting Aemma's attention off the cold momentarily.

Aemma pulled the fur cloak closer to her body, doing her best to retain whatever warmth was left as she was given a tour around the grounds of Winterfell, courtesy of Lord Stark's half-sister, while Jace and Cregan were off hunting in the nearby woods.

After receiving a proper welcome the day before, by the Lord of Winterfell, Jace and Aemma were shown to the guests chambers, which to Aemma's relief, were warmed up with a roaring fire going in the hearth and hot food and tea had already been brought to the tables by the servants. And also to Aemma's gratefulness, a hot bath was being prepared while she partook in her meal.

Definitely a luxurious upgrade compared to her winter lodgings in Kaer Morhen. Despite the cold exterior of the North, it seemed the halls of Winterfell were designed to be the complete opposite: warm and inviting.

The company was a bit of a mixed bag in that regards; some were warm and accepting to have a Targaryen prince and princess grace these halls, while others were a little more standoff-ish, only giving the bare minimum of courtesy. Cregan was surprisingly the most inviting of the welcoming committee, seeming to have found a kindred spirit in Jace of all people. Aemma, however, wasn't sure what Cregan thought of her. The Lord Stark had saw fit to observe the social courtesies and place a chaste kiss on Aemma's wrist after Jace introduced her to the man, as was expected. Apart from that, there wasn't much further interaction between her and the man whom she was to consider as her potential betrothed.

Once inside the halls of Winterfell, Cregan then introduced Jace and Aemma to his half-sister Sara Snow, who seemed to take an instant liking to Aemma. Aemma was a little put off by this initially, but she found herself warming up to Sara, especially when the woman volunteered to offer Aemma a tour of Winterfell itself and around the grounds while the men went off hunting the next day. The two had much to bond over, one of the big ones that they were both base born, though Aemma found herself privileged in that she was declared true-born by the king, an opportunity that has yet to be presented to Sara. "I like it so far," Aemma assures, still shivering a little as she pulled her fur cloak closer, grateful this part of the Northern ensemble was offered to keep warm, "I am, however, not so overly fond of the weather, if I am being honest." That statement had Sara giggling in response, "typical Southerner can't handle a little late summer weather." "I'm actually not a complete stranger to the cold but...this is summer weather?" Aemma frowns a bit, "I dare not even begin to imagine what winter is like in this part of the world."

"Let's just say that once the winter does arrive, which it will, it will cover all you see," Sara tells her, "and all memories of warmth will be long forgotten."

"Is this a warning for if and when your Lord brother does consider Her Grace's offer to take me to wife?" Aemma ponder out loud, which she took note of the way Sara frowned at that statement. "Oh forgive me, I didn't mean to cause offense," Aemma hastily apologizes. "You do not wish to marry my brother?" "To be candid, your brother is as of now, one in a long line of men who have been considered as a potential marriage prospect," Aemma admits with some humor, "At this point, I'm just starting to make bets with myself with how long this betrothal would last. Also, to be even more honest, I'm not so sure Lord Stark even wants to marry me. He hasn't exactly made it known if he even desires such a prospect." Sara was silent for a bit before she spoke up, a somber tone present, "Try not to take it so personally, princess. You have to understand. Cregan he...the loss of his lady wife, the late Arra Norrey, it still weighs heavily on him at times. Despite increasing pressure from his counsel to wed again, he has been reluctant." "He loved his lady wife," Aemma says in realization. "They were childhood friends," Sara tells her, "they grew up together. It was practically a match made in the Seven Heavens, as you Southerners would say." "I see," Aemma nods in understanding. It was similar to how she felt about Aemond. The two had also grown up together, were close friends, and if Destiny had been kinder, the two could also wed...if only certain recent events hadn't happen.

"If it's any consolation, princess, it did come as a surprise to Cregan that the Queen would offer you as a potential match," Sara changes the subject, "you...have garnered a reputation of sorts even as far as Winterfell." "Oh?" "The daughter of the Rogue Prince by a Continental troubaritz, the famed Lady of Larks," Sara explains, "And then the same princess disappeared for the last six years without so much as an explanation, only to reappear so suddenly. Princess Aemma the Wayward, is what I have some of the Northern lords refer to you as."

"I see," Aemma felt her face grow hot for some reason, not realizing her disappearance to the Continent would garner so much interest even all the way up North. "I don't suppose...you would like to indulge me of your little adventures," Sara asks. Aemma made a small smile, "Well, if you must know, I spent those lost years on the Continent, my mother's homelands." "Well you tell me more?" Sara presses, "I've heard some tales of those lands. That they are full of monsters...and witches." "I suppose I could tell you more of their lore," Aemma offers, "provided you can tell me more of the North. I do hear this place is...quite different from much of Westeros. A place filled with ancient magic, and of course I've...I've always wanted to know more about the Wall."

So the two women exchanged stories and bonded further during their walk. Aemma had also deigned to introduce Sara to Cirillia, and also taught the Snow woman how to play Gwent inside the hall, which admittedly took Sara some time to figure it out, but with enough practice, she soon became well versed in the game.

Right around the time the sun was setting, Jace and Cregan had returned from their long day of hunting, and having brought in a bounty of birds and a couple deer, one for each presumably. Both men had smiles on their faces, even Cregan who still held an air of stoicism as he approached Aemma and Sara.

This time, Aemma took note of the way Cregan eyed her medallion. For a brief moment, he seemed fascinated by her memento, and she was wondering why this was so. Had Cregan seen something similar at one point in his life perhaps?

Aemma brushed it off when she and Jace returned to the guest quarters to ready themselves for tonight's supper of fresh venison stew and fire roasted birds. "So, I take it you enjoyed your little hunting excursion then," Aemma comments. "More or less," Jace nods, "Lord Stark allowed me the honor of making the first kill when we spotted the first stag." "How nice," Aemma nods, "sounds like you and Lord Stark have gotten on quite well. Mayhap you should be the one to be betrothed to him instead."

Jace laughed a little at that statement. "No seriously," Aemma deadpans, "I have yet to break Lord Stark's icy exterior. Has he even taken an interest in me? Actually, is he even interested in marrying again?" "Well...I can't say for certain," Jace admits, "but he may have asked a question or two concerning you. I made sure to put in a good word for you where I could." "Gee, thanks," Aemma deadpans again to which Jace had to stifle a laugh.

Jace noted the look on Aemma's face. Thinking back to what his mother told him, he spoke to his stepsister once more. "....mother did express a sense of urgency of securing an alliance with House Stark. We shouldn't lose sight of that." "I'm well aware of that, Jace," Aemma says through slight gritted teeth, which took Jace off guard. "Sorry," she says.

"Aemma...is there something you want to say?" "What makes you ask that?" "Well...you haven't exactly been yourself since coming back to Dragonstone...after speaking to your father when he dismissed everyone back in the council chambers." Aemma looked at Jace, wondering if Baela or Rhaena had said anything to him or Luke, if they deigned to disclose what she told her sisters. Additionally, she wasn't exactly looking forward to marrying anyone apart from the one she loved with all her heart, but she couldn't tell Jace that due in part to the fact the two of them were on one side of the conflict, the one man she loves is on the other side. If she were to say something, if she were to proclaim her love for Aemond, would Jace accuse her of treason?

"It's nothing," she assures her, "I'm aware of our objective, brother. I'm just not sure how to get to Lord Stark as easily as you have." Jace nods in understanding, having some idea of what he could- or more specifically what Aemma could do- to persuade Lord Stark to form a marriage pact with her.

The two part ways so as to get ready for supper tonight.

--------------- Meanwhile, elsewhere in Winterfell, Cregan had deigned to visit his son before readying himself for tonight's supper. He held little Rickon in his arms, the tot currently pulling strands of Cregan's dark hair, and then proceeding to poke at his father's face. Cregan playfully snapped his teeth at the intrusive fingers, causing Rickon to giggle in the process.

Looking at his son, Cregan could still bit and pieces of his late wife in Rickon, from his eyes to his smile. It still felt like only yesterday sometimes that Arra Norrey lost the fight to bring her child into this world. It was a wound that would never fully heal, no matter how much time has passed.

When he had received word from Queen Rhaenyra that her eldest son and stepdaughter were making their way to Winterfell to treat with him, Cregan had been taken aback that Her Grace had offered Princess Aemma for a potential marriage pact should he make it official to uphold the oath his father made 20 years ago. While Cregan had every intention of upholding that same oath, regardless if a betrothal would be brokered or not, some on his counsel had seen it as a sign from the Old gods that he was meant to remarry, as this was around the same time said counsel was 'lightly' suggesting that Cregan considering marrying again so as to further secure his bloodline with more potential heirs. Sure, proposals from Northern ladies had been offered every now and again...but the fact he was given an offer for a Targaryen princess right around this time could not be seen as a sheer coincidence.

He didn't know Aemma all that well, and even among the Northerners, the wayward princess was considered something of an enigma. He knew she was the daughter of Prince Daemon with the Lady of Larks, whom the late Lord Stark had once said was the only good thing about coming to King's Landing, when he was summoned to swear obeisance to acknowledge Rhaenyra as the late king's true heir. Cregan had heard his father speak many good things of the Lady (y/n) and her singing which truly lived up to her moniker. And Princess Aemma had reportedly possessed her mother's singing talent as well.

And, of course, there was the rumors that had spread to the North when Aemma disappeared without a trace, only to suddenly reappear six years later.

Still, Cregan wasn't sure what to make of Aemma. When the princess landed and dismounted her dragon, the first thing he took note of was her sword...and her medallion. The moment he caught sight of the silver necklace, Cregan felt himself flashing back to a moment in his childhood when he saw a similar trinket around the neck of a strange man he discovered in the woods. A wounded man with hair, white as snow, and eyes like those of a wolf, and one who saved Cregan's life despite the strange man's injuries. From what little interaction they had, Aemma seemed like a honorable woman, and Jacaerys had nothing but good things to say of his stepsister despite her six year disappearance. Cregan found a kindred spirit in Jace, as the young prince reminded him much of his late younger brother, and Cregan was surprised he enjoyed himself hunting in the woods with Jace, forming something of a brotherhood between the two.

Cregan's contemplation was brought to a halt when the doors opened and his sister stepped in. "Am I interrupting?" Sara inquires, starting to make faces at Rickon as he made grabby hands towards his aunt. "Not at all," Cregan humors, "if anything, you saved me from this little pup's intrusive hands ripping loose strands from my scalp." Sara laughed and took Rickon from Cregan's arms. "I take you enjoyed the princess's company while I was away with the prince." "More or less," Sara nods, keeping her focus on her nephew before she turned to give Cregan a serious look, "I know you're not ready just yet...but I think if you were to cave into the pressure from your counsel...princess Aemma may not be the worst possible outcome."

Cregan was silent on that so Sara continued, "Well, if anything, I hear the princess has a talented singing voice. She could sing you to sleep every night. And to Rickon too." She boops Rickon on the nose, causing the boy to giggle. Cregan made a small smile at the interaction. His sister appears to approve of the princess...perhaps he should give her a chance as well.

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

The fire roared with life in the great hall as the food was served. Aemma and Jace sat at one side of the table with Cregan and Sara sitting on the other.

Much conversation was had, particularly between Jace and Cregan. Aemma had some conversation with Sara in between savoring the venison stew, made from the bounty of today's hunt. The mead and ale was served generously in between courses, which Aemma was grateful for, as it helped to warm her bones and would also aid in allowing her to sleep tonight.

"Princess Aemma," Cregan speaks up, getting Aemma's attention from her food for a brief moment, "your stepbrother tells me you have a gift for singing."

Aemma saw that certain look on Jace's face before she answered, "I have, on more than one occasion, been told that I have inherited my mother's gift for song, my Lord." "Your mother was the Lady of Larks, was she not?" "She was my mother, yes," Aemma confirms, "you heard of her?" "My father was once summoned to King's Landing many years ago," Cregan explains, "he had the honor of listening to the Lady Lark's mysterious ballads and epics from her homelands across the eastern Continent. He said it was the only thing that made the journey to King's Landing all the worth while." "There are instruments here at your disposal," Cregan gestures to the musicians playing to entertain, "would you care to grace these halls with your voice, princess?"

Aemma noted a lute one musician was playing and thought of a Skellige based song she once learned during her time in Cidaris. So she stands and approaches, intending to oblige the Lord and his courtiers.

Aemma took the lute and tuned it some before she began her song:

youtube

As Aemma continued to sing, she kept her attention to the instrument in her hand, filtering out the stares that were she was surely receiving the moment she hummed the first note.

She didn't notice the way Cregan was looking at her at this moment.

Once Aemma finished, there was a brief moment of silence before the hall erupted with thunderous applause for her performance.

Aemma resumed her seat at the table and finished what was left of her food and drink.

Conversation continued even after the meal was concluded, and Aemma found herself start to nod off a little, feeling tired from the long day she's had added with the amount of mead she's consumed with her meal tonight. "Princess," Cregan gains her attention, "are you well? You look as if you are about to pass out." "I'm fine, my lord," Aemma assures, "I may have overindulged with the ale tonight." Jace and Cregan both had humorous smiles on their faces from that explanation.

"Allow me to escort you back to the guest chambers then," Cregan offers. "I can do that," Jace says, "I don't wish to trouble you, my lord." "No trouble at all, my prince," Cregan assures, "you are my guests after all." "Much appreciated," Aemma says, allowing Cregan to lead her back to her rooms.

"You sang beautifully tonight, princess," Cregan complements as he led Aemma down the corridor, "I've never heard anything like it before." "Oh, it's nothing exceptional," Aemma says with modesty, "you should've heard my mother sing...my father once said hers was a voice so beautiful that the larks would stand silent to listen." "After what I heard tonight, I have some trouble believing your talent is nothing," Cregan lightly scoffs, to which Aemma smiled at the complement.

"You flatter me, my lord." "Not at all," Cregan assures, "...perhaps you would honor us further and grace these halls with your honeyed voice once again, and perhaps many more times after." Aemma looks up to Cregan, wondering if this was his way of implying he would consider the offer to take her to wife.

Aemma stopped in her tracks, which took Cregan by surprise. "Lord Stark," Aemma addresses, "I know...we have only met just each other. We are only strangers. Any marriage pact my stepmother the queen has offered would be nothing more than a political alliance should anything come of it." "Princess-" "I know about you and your late lady wife," Aemma blurts out, "uh, your sister told me. That the two of you grew up together, that you loved her, and...how much her death affected you so. I'll understand if this is not what you want, if you are not ready. I...I know something of what that feeling is like. There is someone I grew up with as well, that I love very much, and it would've been the greatest luck if we could've engaged in a similar union."

"...Are you referring to prince Jacaerys?" Cregan asks, tilting his head a little at Aemma's vague statement. "No, it's not Jace it's...someone else," Aemma tells him, "I would request that you don't ask me to elucidate any further." Cregan silently nods in understanding, "you are right, princess," he admits, "I am not yet ready to wed again. I loved Arra very much, we were nearly inseparable as children. She made a man of me. Her loss is a wound that will never fully heal."

There was another moment of silence before Cregan spoke again, "I had already intended to uphold the oath my father made to King Viserys 20 years ago, marriage pact, or none. Starks do not forget their oaths after all, no matter how much time has passed. But as Warden of the North, I still have other duties to oversee...Winter is Coming."

Hearing the words of House Stark uttered by the Lord of Winterfell, Aemma knew how serious those aspects of his life were at this point in time. "I understand," she says, looking to see she was now at the door to her chambers, "thank you for the escort, Lord Cregan. Goodnight."

"Princess, a moment," Cregan speaks, getting Aemma's attention, "I meant to ask earlier...that necklace of yours. Wherever did you get it?" Aemma was taken aback by Cregan's seemingly sudden curiosity for her medallion. She touched a finger to it before she answered, "it was a memento I acquired during my travels on the Continent. Why do you ask?"

"It...it looks familiar to a trinket I saw once when I was a boy," Cregan explains, "instead of a dragon, there was an engraving of a wolf." Now that peaked Aemma's interest, "where did you see such a trinket?" "Around the neck of a strange man I once saw in the woods," Cregan tells her, "at first I thought perhaps it was a daydream, but he was real."

"What made you think it was a daydream?" "I've never seen a man like him before," Cregan admits, "he...I wasn't entirely sure if he was human...or if he was a wolf wrapped in a human's skin. His eyes were an unnatural gold color...and his hair was white as snow."

Upon hearing those words, it took a great deal of restraint on Aemma's part to conceal the shock she felt. Right on cue, she saw a moment into Cregan's past, back to when he was boy running in the woods. Cregan saw strange tracks, which he followed, and saw the strange man in question. To Aemma's shock and confirmation...that strange man was the White Wolf himself.

"Princess Aemma?" Cregan's voice brings Aemma back to the present, "Are you alright, princess, it looked as if you were going into some kind of trance."

"I'm...I appear to be more exhausted than I thought," Aemma offers for an excuse, "Again, I appreciate the escort, Lord Stark. And I am also grateful for the hospitality you have shown to me and Jacaerys. I must bid you good night now."

Aemma hastily enters her chambers and closes the door before Cregan could have a chance to ask anymore questions.

Chapter 66

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tashacee · 6 months ago

Note

Thought randomly popped in my head after you mentioned you ised to be in The Witcher fandom: how would Geralt react to the Hero's Aspect AU?

Oh man writing this was so much fun

School of the Cat

Geralt sighed as he made his way through the forest. This was ridiculous. He had no idea why he was doing this. He was wasting his time and he’d be the laughing stock of Kaer Morhen if his brothers knew.

Jaskier had come running up to him in a fit of panic, having gone to take a whiz in the night.

“GERALT!” He’d shouted. “There’s a giant cat man monster in the woods!”

Geralt had… not really known what to say about that. Except that giant cat man monsters categorically did not exist. But Jaskier didn’t seem very pleased by this response.

Which was why he was now walking away from their camp and into the woods, in search of a

He sighed. Was he really doing this?

…in search of a giant cat man monster.

For fucks sake. Jaskier probably startled a badger or something. This was ridiculous.

But here he was regardless.

He rolled his eyes. Five more minutes and he was heading back to camp. Back to his nice warm bedroll and a bit of blessed sleep.

To his left, something cracked. Geralt whirled around, his pupils dilating to see better in the darkness and-

Well shit.

That was a giant cat man.

Huh.

Geralt wasn’t too sure about the ‘monster’ part. The guy was big, sure, but he was also well dressed with some nice jewellery and his hair was brushed and tied back.

The cat man was holding up his hands as if to show that he wasn’t dangerous, his eyes wide and blue as he looked at the Witcher.

“Uh.” Geralt said. Shit, he was no good with people. “Hello.”

The cat man looked relieved, his tail - wow okay yes he had a tail - coming out from where it had been tucked between his legs.

And he… started gesturing.

Fuck.

Geralt was pretty good at languages. He was pretty good at sign. He understood common sign, both varieties of hen llinge sign, he even had a pretty strong understanding of dwarven sign.

This was none of those.

Uuuuh…

Geralt tried common and then both variants of elvish to see if the cat guy understood him. But he only looked confused and gave a frustrated meow - and fuck, THAT was not the sound he expected to come from this seven foot tall cat man.

Catboy tried what was clearly a different variant of sign. Then another. Then- FUCK!

Geralt barely rolled out of the way in time as the cat man made the sign for Igni and a jet of flame shot out from his hands.

In fairness, though, he seemed fairly horrified by it himself, letting out a screeching yowl and scrambling backwards and tumbling to the ground. Well, at least it hadn’t been intentional. Clearly. Though Geralt had NO idea what language he was trying to use if he’d accidentally signed Igni.

The cat man was doing something else- fumbling at the offending arm and -

What the FUCK?

He literally. He. He ripped his arm off. And threw it into the underbrush, yowling.

“Hmm.” Said Geralt, slowly standing.

The he cat man was still sitting in the undergrowth and looking suitably freaked out, which was fair. He was clutching at his shoulder where he had pulled his arm off and - ah. Yes. There was a stump there with an old scar cutting through the fur. The arm must have been a prosthetic.

Geralt stooped and picked it up from where it had been thrown, and immediately his pendant began to hum. Hmm. A magical prosthetic then - that would explain how it moved so well at least. L

He turned to the cat man and held it out.

“I’m Geralt.” He said “want your hand back?”

The cat man nodded meekly and took the arm back, purring in thanks as he slotted it back into place. Fuck. How on earth had Jaskier ever mistaken this guy for a monster? He was quite literally a pussy cat!

“Fuck.” Geralt said, because that was essentially his version of ‘hello’. Looked like he’d made a new friend. “You can… come back to our camp if you want? Till you find… whoever you’re looking for?”

The cat man perked up and nodded. This was going to be fun.

Jaskier at least had the good graces to be embarrassed by his earlier reaction and began to dedicate himself to trying to figure out what their new friend was saying.

They were more successful than Geralt expected. Jaskier managed to figure out that the catman was called Wild and that he was looking for his brothers. And Wild, as an apology for startling him, began to cook.

And DAMN he could cook. Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever had food this good.

Wild could stay. It was official. He was wonderful. If his brothers never showed up Geralt wouldn’t be too mad, as long as he got to eat like this again.

But of course, all good things must come to an end. Wild’s brothers showed up and were categorically NOT cat people. As it turned out, neither was Wild, normally, apparently he just fucked around with a cursed object and found out.

Still, the week they’d spent travelling with Wild had been a fun one, and he’d been sad to see the big guy go. Not just because of the food, though that had definitely been a bonus, but because he’d actually been a fairly chill guy.

Geralt smiled as he rode off. At least Wild had managed to leave something with him. The strange slate at his hip had been able to create pictures more detailed than the finest oil painting and he had taken one of him, Geralt, and Jaskier one night. They’d been halfway through eating and both the Witcher and the Bard looked fairly surprised, but it was a fantastic picture. And Wild had managed to materialise a copy and gift it to him.

And Geralt knew that while all things must end and everyone eventually parts ways, he’d treasure that picture forever.

#it me #replies #hero’s aspect au #hero's aspect #linked universe #lu #witcher fanfiction #the Witcher #Witcher #geralt of rivia #my writing

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arkhamabyssfiles · 6 months ago

Text

Arkham Abyss Files: Red Hood Memory II

LOADING FILE...

“I nearly flunked arts. Music I was fine, mostly because I was part of the choir,” Helena said.

“Seriously?” Jason asked incredulously. “How do you flunk arts?”

“It doesn’t interest me.” She shrugged. “I have better things to do and learn. It’s a waste of time–in my opinion.”

“You think beauty is a waste of time?” Jason asked, almost scandalized.

Helena turned bored eyes at him, “Yes. So what?”

“What—? How can you think that when you live surrounded by beautiful things?”

“They’re objects, what does it matter how they look if they accomplish a function?”

Jason couldn’t believe he of all people had to explain to this sinic Princess why beauty was important. Because he was sure she had all her life lived seeing places full of wonderful beautiful things, using pretty clothes, riding gorgeous cars—

Then he laughed a bit snidely. Of course, she had never known what it was to live without it.

“Maybe you should try wearing cheap used clothes or a deadbeat car. Or perhaps returning home to a place with no windows, no sunlight, and when you get out–there’s nothing green, no flowers, no color beyond the faded ad in a pan card selling you some brand that doesn't even exist anymore.”

Helena's expression didn't change much, the only thing he could note at least was a glint in her eyes that made her look far off, and he wondered at that. So far, she'd been amicable and annoyingly teasing.

“Are flowers and trees beautiful?” She asked.

Jason frowned, “Of course!”

“Well, I don’t like flowers. I do like trees, but I don't think of them as beautiful.”

“You don’t like flowers? What kind of Princess are you?”

At this, Helena laughed. And how could she not understand how a beautiful smile soothed some of the world’s darkness? Or maybe she didn’t want to see it for some reason…

“Princess? You think I’m a princess?” She asked.

Jason flushed a little, “Well—you are. Even Bruce is called ‘Prince of Gotham’.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Maybe I do am one. A princess who doesn’t like flowers nor cares for pretty things. I guess I’m a lousy princess then.”

“What about sunrises and sunsets? Everyone gets inspired by that.” Jason tried.

“They mark part of the day.” Helena turned her hand, indicating the passing of time.

“Dresses and shoes?” Girls liked those, right?

“Only if I need to use them and I prefer comfortable shoes.” She shot back, bored.

“How about music? Didn't you say you were in a choir?”

“I did. Out of—a promise of sorts. I have a good voice and others like to listen to it.”

“See? That inspires people because it's beautiful and soothing—assuming you do have a pretty voice,” Jason probed at her.

Helena shot him a mocking glance, “I’m not that lousy of a princess. I do have a nice enough voice.”

“Right,” Jason said dryly.

“But I wouldn’t care if I didn't.”

“What if you were ugly?”

“Oh, you think I'm beautiful?” She asked very pleased and walked towards him. Jason immediately put his arms up and stepped back.

“You are beautiful by human standards. It’s not a matter of opinion.”

“Pooh!” Pooh? Who talked like that in modern times? “So boring. So what if I was ugly? As long as I could still help others, who cares?”

“Believe me, many people care about not being beautiful enough.”

“Then they should make up by working on making their insides better.”

Jason rolled his eyes, “Only a pretty person would say that.”

“Too many people care too much for appearances,” She countered.

“Well, yes. But that's not the point. Beautiful and true things that transcend this world are what make it worth living if it was all ugly and depressing humans would’ve disappeared long ago.”

“You’re talking now about immaterial things—”

“No,” Jason paused and amended, “Not only about those—I really don’t understand that deep shit that much. I’m talking about sunsets, flowers, a good book, calligraphy, music—even if there’s a lot of trash music nowadays.”

Helena laughed again and stepped close to him again, her hands entwined behind her back. This time, Jason didn't step back, knowing full well that this was a tactic of hers to make him fumble or lose the line of reasoning he was on. Once she was nearly on his face, and her dark blue slanted eyes shining with mischief were so close he could count her long eyelashes if he wanted, she said softly.

“You aren’t convincing me.”

Jason huffed and ignored his slightly accelerated heartbeat. He looked up at the clock. It wasn’t that late, so if they went to sleep now, they could get up early in the morning before sunrise.

“Fine. Meet me in the garden at six a.m.”

“Ah! Are you asking me on a date already? And here I thought you didn’t even like me!”

Jason narrowed his eyes, put his index finger on her forehead, and pushed her back.

“It just annoys me to see someone so blind,” He said and then flickered her forehead.

“Ow!” She hissed and rubbed her forehead then glared a bit at him. “Fine, I’ll see you there, Knight of beautiful things!” Helena said, then stuck out her tongue, turned around, and ran out of the library.

Jason sighed and shook his head. She was a handful.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sunrise still was thirty minutes away, so it was plenty dark to still see the stars—at least in the opposite direction of Gotham with its perpetual shining. Luckily it was a rare February sky that was devoid of clouds. Helena wasn’t that happy of following, even if she had shown on her own. They were both sitting on one of the brick planters that held some rosebushes.

“It’s cold,” She complained and buried herself deeper in her thick purple coat.

Jason rolled his eyes, “You won’t die, Princess.”

Helena humphed and scooted closer to him until she was stuck to his side, “Share your warmth then.”

As she had made the effort to be out here in the cold early dawn, he complied and didn’t move away from her. She sniffled and asked, “So what’s the great thing that will change my mind?”

Jason sighed and pointed toward the starry sky.

“Stars?”

“Just be quiet for a moment. Imagine there’s nothing else but what it’s in front of you right now. It’s just you and the sky.”

Minutes passed in silence then Helena broke it again, “I still don’t see it.”

Jason sighed, “I guess you’re a lost case then. You’ll live the rest of your days in a very dull way.”

“It doesn’t matter as long as I do what I can to help others to the best of my ability,” Helena defended. “As dull as my free time may seem to you.”

“That’s fine. Just don’t talk to me in public.”

Helena laughed, “You’re horrible! At least do you know some constellations?”

Oh well, even if he’d failed to prove his point, he was having fun at least. Then Jason proceeded to point out the few ones that could be made out, it wasn’t long before the first rays of the sun gently erased them from the sky. Helena said some stupid joke about shooting stars getting arrested and Jason laughed despite himself. His eyes turned to Helena, now that there was some light he could make out her expressions more clearly, and right now she was staring at him—with attentive eyes, and her lips were slightly parted. Then she blinked and looked ahead, towards the sunrise and all its colorful hues.

Then Jason saw a shine in her eyes and knew she was admiring the view now.

“Not so bad, huh?” He said.

“I guess—” Helena sent a quick look his way then back in front– “it’s not so bad,” She reluctantly admitted. Then she added quietly, “My Mom was beautiful. Even when she died.”

END OF MEMORY... For more FILES check previous entries...

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