#the other take i have is about cottage core but let's save that for another day

[pollen-warden]

Place: A farm on Gatlin Fields Time: Present time With: @pollen-warden & @debauchfairy Summary: When Vishal arrives at the party held by a childhood friend and neighbor, he doesn't expect to run once again into Kieran. The faun decides to be a menace but his plan takes a wrong turn.

Colder days had meant that he had perfectly good excuses to stay home by the fire. Colder days had meant that his social life was reduced to his family, the customers they had on the farm or the farmer’s market, and his guinea pig, who did not respect his sleep schedule but served as a remarkable conversational buddy. 

But they were well into spring and Vishal was out of excuses. It wasn’t like this was going to be awful. His neighbors, who had taken over their parents’ dairy farm, were people he had grown up with, and he actually looked forward to seeing them. They were perfectly normal people too, and thanks to their proximity with the Vishals, they had barely suffered from Wicked’s Rest harsh realities. They were absolutely unaware of that, obviously, but Vishal didn’t mind. If they had been doing this for fame and money, he probably wouldn’t have done it at all anyway. 

And yet, tonight, he could feel a prickling running along the surface of his forearms, crawling up his spine like a shiver. Somewhere among the guests, there was a monster, lurking, waiting, and, Vishal was sure of it, about to make a victim out of an innocent human being. 

—--

Kieran wasn’t a snob per say. Did he like the finer things in life? Yes, why wouldn’t he. Did that mean that he wouldn’t attend a cozy little cottage-core soiree if invited? Of course not. Besides, it was almost a given that he’d be the best dressed guest which was always a fun and coveted title. The hostess wouldn’t look too bad, though, seeing as Kieran had been the one to dress her, hence this adorable invitation. Truly, an innovative young woman, making sure to have someone of Kieran’s caliber at this little get together. 

Granted, after the first round of snacks and drinks, his interest had definitely dwindled. There was only so much small talk you could make about the town and businesses and dairy farming. Just as he’d made the decision to finish his fresh drink and bounce, the back of a familiar head caught his attention and instantly revved up a cure for the blossoming boredom. 

“Now, isn’t this a hoot,” Kieran sighed, sidling up beside the warden with a self satisfied grin on his face, sipping from the champagne flute and letting out a content sigh. 

—--

Even if he had tried his best not to appear irritated upon hearing that voice in particular, Vishal knew he would have never managed to save appearances. It was no surprise, then, that the warden’s usually blank features felt more somber now. 

He slipped his hands in his pockets, grateful then for his sobriety. It was probably for the best that no one saw him clench his fists, although he was too polite, in the first place, to cause any sort of scene tonight. He liked his neighbors, and he knew of the importance of being on good speaking terms with the rest of the community. “I didn’t expect this to be your scene,” he commented. You would expect to find his kind at those sorts of happy gatherings, of course. There was music playing, people drinking more than they should have, and of course, people would get excited. He didn’t get it, but understood that even though this all felt strange and unlikely, it was unlikely that anyone would pretend to have a good time for so long. Vishal, who could definitely not manage to smile now, gave the other a look. That fucking smug piece of shit. How many times had he failed to get rid of that goat. 

—-

The smugness of his grin only doubled when he saw the warden bristle, dark eyes glistening with barely contained glee. This was the calmest circumstance he’d found himself in with the man, every other rendezvous distinctly more tense and focused on murder. It wasn’t personal, just another headstrong hunter filling their holy mission or whatever the fuck and unlucky for Kieran, he kept running into the guy. More lucky, he also kept escaping him. 

“I am a man of many interests,” Kieran replied matter-of-factly, amusement oh-so obvious in his voice. “You almost dress up nice,” he added, taking in what was probably supposed to be an attempt at a formal outfit. The withering glare earned the warden a wink and an air kiss and Kieran really was having a wonderful time. Sure, the smart thing would have been to make his exit unnoticed but this was just too good. 

“So, still set on trying to stab me simply for existing?” he asked casually, still facing the crowd of the party but attention fully on the warden. Just in case. Kieran was certain he wouldn’t cause a scene, not with this many normies hanging around, but life was always full of uncertainties.

—

 “Everyone has many interests. I still didn’t expect this to be your scene,” Vishal retorted. His dull gaze was lost in the campfire set up further away. He wouldn't go after that animal tonight. There were too many people around them, and most of them were people he had in high esteem. It was preferable, for the common good, that the eradication of the fae was done out of sight. One of the primary missions of his family, long before the use of force against these monsters, was to guarantee the safety of men. That meant keeping them in the dark. 

“Aren’t you charming,” the warden replied.  Compliments, coming from the fae, were only meant to draw a thank you out of their victim’s lips. Vishal must have been 3 or 4 years old when he was first told that very simple truth and it had never left his mind. Of course, his teachers found him odd when he refused to say thanks, but since he was generally a good kid and student, they tended to let it go. The same had been true for his sister. She had been a good kid, and grown into a good person. If only they hadn’t chosen to trust monsters, she’d have been here with him tonight, and together, they’d have gotten rid of this one with ease. 

“Yes.” Vishal looked at him then. He didn’t have to justify what he did. He knew it was the right thing to do, and he certainly was not going to let him persuade him that it wasn’t. “Though stabbing is imprecise,” it came with yet another chance at surviving that Vishal was growing tired of. 

–

Kieran shrugged carelessly, finishing off his drink yet now having no intentions of actually leaving. “That’s just because you haven’t taken the time to get to know me, darling,” he sighed, ridding himself off his glass and picking up a mini-quiche instead, enjoying it like his current company wasn’t someone who wanted him dead so bad. “Which is really your loss, I’m even more fun when you get to know me.” The grin was permanently in place now, even as he licked off his fingers and accepted the warden’s dry remarks. 

“I like to think I am, yeah.” Charm that obviously had no effect on the warden whatsoever but that didn’t stop Kieran from reaching out the metaphorical tendrils, pushing at what he knew was an impressive resolve against his hypnosis. Just because he knew the warden would feel it and it would piss him off. And boy was he pissed off, dark eyes shooting daggers his way. It did little to dampen Kieran’s mood, giddy with the chance of a bit of payback, petty and insignificant as it was. 

His head cocked to the side, genuine curiosity mingling in with the schadenfreude of this moment. “Oh? Please, do tell me what I have to look forward to next time we meet.” Before the warden could answer his question, or more realistically, not provide an answer, the host and second best dressed person here fluttered up to the unlikely duo. 

“Vishal! How lovely that my last minute guest already seems to know someone here.” She beamed at Kieran who smiled back, finally in possession (though not literally) of the man’s name. Not that he would do much with that knowledge except have it and know that Vishal most likely loathed the fact. 

Without hesitation, Kieran had an arm wrapped around the warden’s shoulders, giving them a small squeeze. “Such a happy coincidence,” he chuckled, for a moment blissfully unaware of the possibility that information on anyone else might come to light during this conversation. 

—

“I have this feeling that knowing you would only make your situation a lot worse,” which was Vishal’s courteous way of letting his old pal here know that nothing could possibly save his life, and certainly not becoming well acquainted with the hunter. He had no doubt that the faun had a life outside of driving humans straight to a place where they couldn’t return from, but that didn’t alter reality. In the end, that guy was a monster and there was nothing he could do to change that. 

“And here I thought your kind was good at reading between the lines,” the warden finally allowed himself to take a sip of apple cider. It wouldn’t do him much but perhaps the taste alone would reconcile his mood with a happier state of mind. 

He was about to let him know that he couldn’t spoil the surprise like that, but their host interrupted them then and he had to refrain from cringing. His crispation was hardly discrete however, even as he found it in himself to respond. “Well, he was just about to give me his name,” and just like that, his shoulders dropped and his hand returned to his pocket, a rare, smug smile appearing on his lips as if to dare him to deny him this much. It needn’t be said that he wasn’t delighted at the idea of being on a first name basis with him, but fate had decided that this would be the norm for tonight. 

He regretted wearing long sleeves now, this much was for sure, but he wondered if, though he couldn’t feel the iron prickling on his skin, the faun could tell how tense he was now, or how brutal the sensation of having fae nearby had grown just then.

—

That… was probably the truth. Whether by luck or shoddy work on the warden’s end, each previous meet up had been by coincidence. Kieran wasn’t being actively hunted by this man, not yet, and things would probably be easier if they stayed that way. Of course, he didn’t share any of that with the hunter. “You, my dear, have a very negative outlook on life.” 

Negative outlook or not, Vishal did manage to seem pleased with himself at his choice of words, clearly picked in mockery and honestly, kudos. Even if Kieran blanched for a fraction of a second, mouth open in mild shock before the easy grin returned, he doubted their hostess had noticed. The warden definitely would have. “This guy,” he scolded playfully, giving the very tense shoulders under his arm a friendly shake. Wondering if there was a way to slip out of this that didn’t involve the physical pain of lying. “You know it’s very rude, making people repeat themselves just because of a shoddy memory.” A blanket statement, one not applicable to their current situation but not a lie. 

“Oh, go easy on him, dear,” the hostess chided before turning to the hunter. “Don’t mind Kieran, he’s actually a sweetheart. Helped me find this dress, spent a good hour just making sure we found the right thing.” Yeah, Kieran’s face definitely twitched that time - his name was one thing but she was awfully close to revealing his line of work as well. His arm relinquished Vishal as Kieran instead moved closer to Miss Blabbermouth, with the pretense of fixing the collar of her dress (it was fine) in order to shut her up. 

“And you’re an absolute vision. Now, you may be hosting but it is a travesty that you don’t have a drink. Come along.” Not giving her room to argue, Kieran led her away from the warden, sparing a glance back over his shoulder. Fine, maybe initiating contact had been a bad idea. 

—

Much like today, Vish had always run into the guy at the bend of a path, so to speak. One moment, he was enjoying either a stroll in the countryside, washing his hands in the bathroom of a bar or even buying a bloody danish, the next, he either cursed himself for not being swift enough, hesitating just enough for a third party to put an end to the ball, or simply running out of luck. 

And here they went again, running into one another in a place that just would not let Vishal do his job. And yet, this time, perhaps he wouldn’t go home empty ended. Eyes full of warmth welcomed their host’s words : perks of being neighbors with people you’d grown up with. That certainly gave one the upper hand. “That’s alright Val, I have thick skin, don’t I,” and Vishal, who didn’t know a thing about fashion, and quite frankly didn’t have time to care too much about it either, actually took the time to look at her. She looked good, this much was true, but he was the sort of person that didn’t pay much attention to these things, so perhaps that was lost on him. “Is that so?” He began. 

The faun didn’t give him the satisfaction of winning this one too, but the smile Vishal bore as Kieran turned around and looked back at him was one of a world champion. Not so clever now, hmm? But now that he knew that there was a faun among the guests, the warden also knew that he’d have to stick around to make sure nothing happened to anyone. If that meant suffering in the other’s company some more, so be it. Like he said, getting acquainted could only be bad news for dear Kieran.

He gave him a head start, a sliver of hope but never got him out of his sight. At the first sign of nonsense (any seasoned warden was familiar with the term fae nonsense because it was quite remarkably applicable to their brand of chaos), he would be there. But a couple minutes passed, without the faun attempting anything. Vishal, who never walked out of his house without a few blades on his person, wondered if tonight was not going to be another one of those stab the water moments, another missed opportunity. Valerie chose this moment to leave her stylist behind, and of course, he had to make sure the poor thing didn’t suffer for too long. “Miss me?” 

—

Oh, the warden was much too pleased. The tables had turned far too quickly for Kieran’s liking and he was suddenly very aware of every exit’s location. Damn it. Even if his friend Vishal couldn’t fully know that Kieran didn’t have a disposition for offense (at least not in the literal fighting sense), there was the unspoken fact that the fae’s information was much more valuable. And Kieran had walked right into that, hadn’t he? 

Making small talk with Val was torture, his mind on the warden who, every time Kieran checked, was still watching. Motherfucker. “I really hope you’re enjoying yourself, it’s the least I can do for all your help,” she prattled on and Kieran’s smile, to its credit, stayed perfectly plastered on. “You sure know how to throw them,” was the best he could manage, aside from straight up telling her that he was currently having a bad time and that her friend was a murderer. 

Suddenly, someone else caught her attention, leaving Kieran stranded next to the drinks table but not for long. He exhaled heavily through his nose as the warden sidled up, smile still in place but speaking volumes of sarcasm now. “Obsessed much? It’s not a good look, sweetheart,” Kieran spoke around the rim of his glass, even though more champagne was perhaps not the brightest idea. Add it to the fucking list, I guess. “How do you think I’m going to slip away this time, then?”

—

“You really spent an hour picking a dress for her?” Vishal didn’t want to know what the price tag was for such thorough service. He couldn’t imagine spending a full hour in a shop either. Most of his purchases were tried on at home and since he had had the same figure for the past 10 years or so, he rarely made a mistake. This being said, his shirts were always a bit too big for him which is why he often wore them open, and his trousers a bit too short, the hem falling barely below the ankle. 

If he had taken note of the other’s potential job, the word sweetheart was something that certainly was bound to slip out of his ears right away. “I wouldn’t say obsessed. Thorough, perhaps. It’s important to know who you are dealing with, isn’t it?” His eyes flickered to Valerie’s brother, who passed by and gave him a pat on the arm, as a sign of acknowledgment. Must have been some sort of shock for him to finally see the Kumar son out of his brooding. Perhaps it was a bit weird, seeing a smile on his face after so many months without even the trace of a simple grin… It really didn’t take much to bring him back to those thoughts, did it? 

“This time? I suppose you’ll wait for me to leave,” which meant this was precisely what Vishal planned on doing too. “You do know I’ll ask her where she bought her dress,” he added, with a less amused tone, this time. He was all for having a nice time, in different circumstances, but under no condition was he going to allow for the other to get chummy with him. “And if something happens to her, I won’t be pleased,” so if Kieran had any sense of preservation, this would be his ticket out for today : a promise that nothing would happen to their hosts.

—-

Kieran raised an eyebrow, as if that was the strangest thing one could do and not, say, spend your life running around and playing with knives. “I’m meticulous,” he replied simply, careful with the information he gave out, even if it most likely wouldn’t matter in the end. Crucial knowledge had already been leaked. His eyes narrowed slightly as Vishal continued, making his intentions of finding out more very clear and wasn’t that just great. An easy smile instantly replaced his frustration as another guest walked up - it would have been hard to fully grasp the tension between the two looking from the outside. 

His smile fell the second they were left alone, weight shifting as he continued to mask his growing discomfort. Yeah, that had indeed been the idea. Leaving now would definitely mean getting followed. “Any chance you’re getting tired?” Kieran asked, downing the rest of his flute because why the hell not - he was in for the long haul anyway. Of course he’d ask Val, that possibility had already registered in his mind. Now all he needed to do was make sure Val didn’t have that information to give since Vishal definitely wouldn’t be falling for any of his tricks. “Really? I don’t think it’s your color but who knows, maybe you’ll pull it off.”

His expression shifted into one of distaste at the prospect of harming Valerie. It wasn’t like his heart would bleed if something happened to her but he had no intention of ruining her life, either. There had been… instances, accidents even, but Kieran didn’t get a kick out draining people. “I’m not planning on hurting her. Or anyone,” he deadpanned, turning his head so that the warden could fully grasp the truth of his statement. Not that it would matter nor that Kieran cared what this mindless hunter thought of him. 

—

The warden, with a chortle, shook his head. Well that was a rather silly question to ask. Not that he couldn’t get tired. He was able to spend a whole afternoon in the hammock on his best, or worst days. Falling asleep, or feeling sleepy when his entire being was warning him of fae being around, was however not something he believed he could do. Like some kind of adrenaline rush, that was bound to keep him alert. 

If he caught the air on the faun’s face at his unkind suggestion, Vishal was not precisely thinking much of it. These people always felt like what they did was normal, natural. They always felt like humans were beneath them. There was a chance he felt insulted at being denied a proper meal for all he knew. That sounded more likely than outrage at the idea of harming someone innocent. “Now’s not the time to give me that look,” these folks could never be trusted, and he had lost enough trusting monsters. “You’re going to promise you’re not going to hurt or endanger her life in any way.” In which case, the warden would agree to leave earlier than he initially had planned to, offering the faun a sizable chance to escape.

—

Of course the possibility of a hunter forming their own, informed opinion was ridiculous. Now’s not the time, he said, as if there would ever be a time where Kieran would be allowed to make his case for not being brutally murdered. But apparently, there was some possibility of bargaining. “Is that so?” he scoffed, not because he had a problem with that specific promise - the plan was to stay as far away from that woman as possible now that he knew the kind of company she kept - but the idea of being strong armed into a bind by a warden of all people…

“You gonna leave me be if I do?” he pushed, even if he knew the answer beforehand. Vishal could deny being obsessive until he turned blue in the face but Kieran wasn’t naive enough to think a warden would simply let a fae slide by. Maybe it would mean safe passage for tonight, at least give Kieran time to untangle the mess made by the stupid urge to toy with a warden. 

—

“Are you under the impression that you have a choice?” The hunter seemed more than amicable right now, with all these people around, but he didn’t need much more than the iron in his body to cause the other pain and Kieran must have known by now that if there was something Vishal wouldn’t hesitate to do if given the opportunity, it was to hurt him. “For someone immortal, you don’t seem to understand patience very much,” he commented next. “I can wait til tomorrow to get my hands on you, somewhere without a dozen witnesses. You can try to hide, I suppose. That could be fun,” it would not be fun. Vishal didn’t like to play games with fae even if he often ended up doing so (very much against his will). 

“I won’t harm you til tomorrow at 6am,” he paused again, this time to look him in the eyes. He won’t promise him anything. Unlike fae, he didn’t need that to be true to his word. Their use of trickery to get their way told you all you needed to know about them. “If that works for you, then I’ll be on my way home in a few.” But no amount of good behavior would buy the faun much more time. 

—-

Another scoff, this one filled with even more disdain, laced with years of gathered offense at things like wardens and empathy and cotton blends. Of course he had a choice. Granted, the options to choose from weren’t the most fabulous but it was a fucking choice all the same. No one, human, warden or fae, told him what to do. “Instant gratification is much more pleasurable.” Well, maybe not for Kieran in this particular case, the gratification being his death but whatever. 

Despite all of it, he couldn’t help the amusement at that dry delivery. Vishal would most assuredly not find that fun. The faun had to wonder if the man found anything fun. “Tomorrow, huh? I’ll have to check my schedule,” he said with disinterest, raising one hand to focus on his fingernails as if they weren’t discussing future plans of mutilation. Being obtuse was the only card he currently held. 

Head barely turned, Kieran spared the warden but a second of eye contact before taking a step away from him, straightening his jacket. “Fine. You have my word that I won’t endanger or harm Valerie.” Making sure that Vishal wouldn’t catch even a glimpse of the discomfort felt by the bind, Kieran kept his focus on the woman in question. “I do, however, need to go top off her glass, because I’m charming and an absolute delight.” 

And without sparing a second glance, Kieran sauntered off, all smiles and the perfect image of someone totally not making sure a certain someone took their leave. He’d stay for now, probably even try to find some company for tonight in case the warden decided to go back on his word, so there would at least be a witness. Most importantly, Kieran would make tonight’s hostess promise to never share the secret of her dress - it didn’t harm her but it just might put the smallest of dents into grumpy old Vishal’s plan. 

[this-curiouscat]

🌠 and 📖

🌠 A game with a mechanic I love.

I really love the Unscene and Echoes in the Night mechanic from The Between by Jason Cordova (a game about Victorian monster hunters in London, inspired by Penny Dreadful).

The Unscene describes a different scene in the same night that is completely unrelated to the main plot and unseen (get it?) by any of the PCs or NPCs. Each Unscene takes place at a different location and is guided by prompts (answered by the players taking turns) and intends to show that a lot more than the PCs plot is going on in London. (It's also a timer for the Night phase but I'm not a huge fan of the strict separation of the Day and Night phases of the game, so we'll ignore that here.)

It ties in with the Echoes in the Night mechanic, which grants you XP when you manage to nevertheless tie the Unscene together with the main plot by echoing an element from one in the other (either way around).

For example, if you first mention the blood-red gloves your character is wearing and then, a little later, describe a theatrical performance that ends with a murderer having blood all over their hands, that's an Echo in the Night.

It incentivizes you to connect images and vibes and not just plotlines, and I think that's a fantastic and very effective idea that I'm just waiting to use in one of my own games eventually.

📖 My favorite class or playbook from a game.

I recently played Dream Apart (a Jewish fantasy of the shtetl) by Benjamin Rosenbaum for the first time, so let's talk about The Midwife.

The Midwife is, well, a midwife. You get to choose a name, a type of hands, an outlook, two advantages, a thing you've seen, someone who you've angered, and 2 shtetl relationships. (Each playbook has different categories in this game.) And that's your Midwife.

You can play Tovah, for example, with stubborn hands and a pantheist outlook (because of course everything is alive in its own way), who has a remarkable sense of smell and the advantage of humility. She may have seen a cottage deep in the forest and have angered the market women by defending the prostitutes (using the game's term her). She may be a young bride's only hope and her lover may have broken her heart.

(Do you see her? Finely attuned to smell the slightest scent of death and disease? Working tirelessly to save as many lives as she can? Being the one the shtetl women go to for contraceptive or abortifacient or soothing herbs and brews? The one who knows about the horse urine and wild licorice? Heart-broken by the woman who left her for a marriage to a man? And always feeling responsible for fixing everyone else's problems and guilty if she can't.)

You can also play Binyamin, for another example, with gentle hands and an idealist outlook, who has perfect memory, and an unflappable sense of humor, despite everything. He may have seen the abbey's catacombs and angered the rabbinical council by defying a ban. He may be resented by the city-educated doctor and suspected by the goyish priest.

(Do you see him? Ever-curious and willing to defy any authority trying to keep him from learning more? Never speaking about what haunts him except in jest? And yet hopeful, steadfast in his belief that a more just world is possible? And lonely, probably a lot more lonely than you'd think.)

The Midwife is blood and birth and death and earthy magic. They're justice and sacrifice and the constant search for balance, within and without themself. Melancholic hope, caring anger, and an awareness of monstrosity, both human and otherwise.

The Midwife makes me think of Granny Weatherwax and Tiffany Aching, of duty and severity, of a plain, practical shell with a core of fiery-soft anger necessary to Do The Work.

It has been a delight to play a Midwife for a few hours, and I hope I'll get to do so again!

[letsgetthisblog]

What was the tAke

My most recent hot take was about lolis and how it's important to keep the history of the word in perspective. Here's a verbatim copy of my rant to one of my friends:

"Im on tumblr and I see a shit braindead post thts like, 'loli/lolita fashion is completely separate from pedophilia there's No Relation it was a randomly chosen name in the 70s'

and I was like,,, fellas,,,,,

Nabokov, 1953

53!

THAT'S THE ORIGIN OF THE NAME

Lolita isn't some niche little book that was rediscovered decades later, it had IMMEDIATE cultural impact across the world.

It's not a coincidence that loli fashion has a namesake, it's deliberate."

It's a reclamation of the word used to give agency to people fighting against the rigidity of Japanese culture. Lolita has grown beyond its roots but you can't escape the history it's tied to and it's ridiculous to say that loli fashion could ever be completely removed from Humbert Humbert's predatory influence.

[dreamsclock]

c!rivals getting a cottage core life they deserved

just the two of us au :’) this is the first time i’ve written techno since everything, and this made me pretty emotional to write. sorry if it’s not the best!! i really wanna turn this into a mini series where it’s just hurt/comfort for c!rivalsduo, because they really were one of my favourite duos and probably always will be. this was strange to write, but i don’t wanna stop writing c!techno — i think cc!techno would like it :’]

okay let’s get to c!rivals + this au !! premise: c!rivals are forced to flee to another server after breaking out of prison to find everyone egg-ified and chasing them down. they’ve got to survive and heal together while finding a way to take down the egg and save the smp while ALSO dealing with their own issues (and each other)!!!

It starts off simple, after they make their grand escape. It starts off with a drink.

Dream grunts when Techno slides a steaming cup over to him, twitching at the close contact to another person, but ultimately not budging. His face remains firmly planted on the surface of the poorly-crafted table, and his hands remain stubbornly fidgety and away from the mug. “You know I hate coffee,” he grumbles, “this is, like, the last thing I need.”

He’s tired, he’s sore, everything hurts to think about, and he just wants some quiet. But Techno is a welcome presence as ever, and snorts in amusement.

“Not coffee, though I’m gonna pretend like you didn’t insult my favourite drink to avoid issues between us.” His rival drawls. “Try it. Trust me.”

There are a lot of things Dream feels about Techno. Indebted is one of those things, begrudgingly wary is another, but… over the weeks and months they’ve been stuck together in prison, he reluctantly admits that he does trust Techno, more than he trusts anyone else on his server. Well. Maybe not more than Punz, but he doesn’t have Punz, whose eyes had been red and limbs had been vines when Dream had last seen him, he doesn’t have anyone that isn’t Egg-ified other than Techno.

Techno and Dream against everyone else. The prison has only gotten bigger, more habitable. The new server they’re in is Techno’s, big enough and hidden enough that they can live in comfort and in safety, though for how long that will last they can’t say. But there’s still the outside world, his SMP, the one invaded entirely by the Egg, that seeks to destroy them.

Just like the prison, Techno had sighed when they’d broken out, man, I was kinda hopin’ there wouldn’t be a part two to the prison.

…But long story short, he trusts Techno. He has to. So, with a sceptical look and long-suffering sigh, Dream lifts his head, gives his friend a scowl, and takes a sip.

He instantly blinks in surprise.

“This isn’t coffee.”

“Why would I make you coffee if you didn’t like it?” Techno grumbles. “‘Techno, we gotta run away to gather strength and figure out how to beat this Egg,’ he says. ‘I trust you to keep me alive, but not to give me drinks I actually like,’ he says. Dream, I feel hurt.”

“Okay, well— Listen. You can’t blame me.” Dream flushes, a furious shade of red he covers by taking another drink. “This is— This is actually good. Like really good.”

He hasn’t had hot chocolate in years. Not since before the SMP. The milky warmth is enough to strum a nostalgic string inside him, and soften some of the edges prison had harshened. Seeing this, Techno offers him a chuckle, sipping from his own cup smugly.

“Told you. Listen, it’s like I said in that cell. Things seem bad right now. In fact, they seem worse. We’ve escaped from the prison and from the server, but we have… immortal Egg servants huntin’ us down and no way to return unless we find a way to stop that thing at its source. All in all, it’s not lookin’ great for us. But,” he continues cheerfully, “I can make hot chocolate, and word on the street—”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“—Word on the street is, you can make some mean cookies.” Techno raises an eyebrow. Dream contemplates denying it, but knows his scowl says it all. “I think the next couple of weeks are gonna be fun. Here,” he says, sliding his own mug over to Dream in solidarity, “it’s like a blood oath, except it’s hot chocolate. Because that’s absolutely what’s in my mug. And you should trust me on that. One hundred percent hot chocolate.”

Maybe if he hadn’t been so tired, maybe if he hadn’t been so run down, Dream would have picked up on the sarcasm. As it is, he takes a mouthful of Techno’s drink, grimaces when the coffee hits his tongue, and immediately spits it back out, gagging and spluttering.

“You— What the hell is wrong with you, Techno?!”

Techno gasps for air, cackling madly. “Oh my god, chat, his face. His face, chat. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he fell for it. Oh, it’s a good day for Technoblade. It is a good day, chat. That’s one point to me, none to the homeless coffee-anti.”

Preoccupied with washing his mouth out and contemplating all the nasty insults and threats he could hit his rival with, Dream buries his head in his hands with a pathetic noise.

“This was the worst decision of our lives,” he bemoans, “I’m already regretting coming here with you.”

Techno grins, and pats him on the arm none-too-sympathetically.

“You got used to me in prison. You’ll manage again. I have every faith in you, even if chat doesn’t.”

But under his distressed front, Dream is smiling reluctantly, and despite the abuse and the torture and the exhaustion and the paranoia, he doesn’t once pull away from Techno’s hand.

[chaotic-beautiful]

There are two separate issues.

When Porsche found out through his spying that Kinn had been hiding a big truth bomb all along and faced him. There is one thing I liked and one thing I disliked.

One thing I liked about Porsche is , as soon as he found out about the fact that Kinn was actually strongarming or manipulating the situation to corner Porsche to work for him , he directly confronted him. He didn’t try to do further investigations or any other unhanded technique to harm or take revenge from Kinn , or even try to leave the house with out facing his then-boss-now-boyfriend first.

One thing I disliked that Porsche as usual forgave Kinn too soon , or rather he fell under the manipulation that it was all Korn’s doing and Kinn is basically the innocent party.

Let me explore that.

One thing I absolutely hated in the situation is that , Kinn chose to avoid one of the two issues here. The 1st issue is , of course, cornering a person to work for you , leaving him no choice but to sign up for high risk slavery practically , where his life will be yours to do what you want ( Kinn literally said it multiple times in the show ) , making him helpless, making him risk his life on a daily basis to save yours. 

And that is not much different from what he tried to do at first , in his own way , kidnapping Porsche , beating him up and then holding him at gunpoint , threatening to kill him if he doesn’t agree to bend the knee. He’s the mafia boss. Such dirty tricks, such underhanded tactics are part of what makes them Mafioso. They don’t play. They kill. Had it been Vegas, who was interesting in roping in Porsche before Kinn , he’s have tortured him the way he tortured that guy in Episode 7. Kinn is actually tame in comparison. 

But Kinn hid his tactics.

And that’s where we come to the second , more important and bigger issue here. Kinn hiding this fact from Porsche when he was just another random guy for him was understandable ( which is what he tried to excuse himself with. That and his , “ Papa made me do it. “ } But what excuse does he have for continuing to hide it from Porsche AFTER they fell for each other and they even entered in an official relationship as romantic partners ?? Why didn’t he make a clean breast of it before Porsche and ask forgiveness from him ?? That’d have been the right thing to do.

Not only that . He had been continuing to meet with those pawn brokers paying them off by whatever favors they keep on asking him , so that they keep their mouths shut and he can continue to keep Porsche in the dark , while playing the role of the perfect boyfriend to him. He had full intention to keep the secret so that he didn’t even take his own bodyguards with him.

This is wrong on so many levels.

I’m ready to give Kinn the benefit of doubt here , that his reason was he was terrified of losing Porsche. He didn’t have the guts to face to truth because he knew what he did was wrong and there’s a chance Porsche can leave him after finding the truth . He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t even bear the thought of losing Porsche, the light and love of his life. It’s not noble, but rather a selfish reason , but I can live with it.

The alternative reason is, he’s a sneaky , manipulative person. Who screws with people he claims to care about . I don’t want to think that of him.

But Kinn... ohh Kinn.. You disappointed me so much the way you shoved the second issue under the carpet , instead of accepting it and apologizing for it. Please note, he only apologized for the manipulation , which he tried to explain as something he’d done as per Korn’s order . But what made you not come out clean after entering a relationship with Porsche, Kinn ?? What made you not apologize for it ?? 

Also, the script didn’t allow this point to be highlighted and after a face off with Korn , painting him as the solo villain responsible, we cut to the cutesy cottage core Kinn scene , literally absolving him from his own share of the faults, likely never to be addressed again.

But viewers play a lot of attention to the show , they won’t forget or forgive so easily. Specially since it’s not addressed in the show properly.

The last scene where Kinn once again sort of apologized and asked for a redo, he did admit that he told many lies and did many wrongs towards Porsche. Which to certain extent do make up for that . But Kinn is now on thin-fucking-ice for the next two episodes. One more mistake, one more secret , one more trying to pass off his own faults to someone else, one more gaslighting and even the protagonist’s halo can’t save him.

Yes , I get it he’s a mafia boss, they’ve gray morality etc. etc. But Kinn has been painted as one with quite a halo, he’s kinder , gentler, so called better person than your average mafia boss. He’s too good to be in this business. He’s an unwilling victim of circumstances who had to sacrifice his own individual dreams to embrace the mafia heir role , embrace a life he hates. 

So, Kinn, now that you got your fresh chance, you better not screw it up ! Be the man Porsche expects you to be. Be the man he deserves. Keep up your promises . 

[cookiesnt]

Rantaro, Nagito and Kazuichi saving their little sister from being killed!

...I’m gonna end up writing this for everyone I write for, aren’t I?

Welp, I’m not complaining! They may take awhile, but they’re fun!

Rantaro:

Usually, he was with you 24/7.

“We can’t trust everyone here, Y/n. I can’t lose you too.”

Today, however, he said he needed to check something and left you alone.

“Stay here. Only run if you’re in danger.”

With that, he left you in one of the classrooms.

“I’m bored,” you whined, fiddling with a pencil.

He was taking awhile and you were starting to worry.

You heard the door open.

“Ranta- Oh, hi Tenko...”

Disappointed, you went back to fiddling.

“Y/n, why do you care so much for that degenerate?”

You sighed, tired of this argument with her.

“He’s my brother, Tenko.”

She hated that answer.

“You don’t owe him anything!”

“Please just go. I have to stay and wait for him to get back.”

She sighed, frowning.

“I was hoping someone else was here... but you’ll have to do, I guess...”

“What are you talking- urk!”

She grabbed your throat and pinned you to the ground.

“I’m sorry, Y/n... The world needs me.”

You began to kick and cry, but Tenko was strong.

Somehow, you kicked her in the knee.

“Ah!”

She loosened her grip and you ran out of the room as fast as you could.

“HELP! SOMEBODY! RANTARO!”

Teko was chasing you. The school was big and you were in a weird spot, so there weren’t many other people nearby.

You were about to run down the stairs when you suddenly tripped and fell down the whole flight.

You landed on the ground crying in pain.

Tenko caught up and pinned you down again.

“I’ll make it quick, okay?!”

You shook your head, terrified.

Just as she was about to snap your neck, you heard a voice...

“GET AWAY FROM HER!”

Tenko got off of you just as Rantaro pulled you close.

He glared at her, furious.

“Leave. Now.” 

Tenko ran off to who knows where and Rantaro took a look at your injuries.

“Oh my god... You fell so hard, baby...”

He gently picked you up, holding you bridal style.

“Let’s go get you patched up, okay?”

“O-Okay...”

You nuzzled into his chest, crying quietly.

“It’s okay now, little one... Big brother’s here...”

Nagito:

The 1st class trial shook you to your core.

You had never seen your big brother like that.

You chose to stay away from him for a bit to get yourself together.

So, you grabbed some snacks and has a picnic on the beach.

It was peaceful. You loved going to the beach when you were little.

Nagito was the one who taught you to swim. You were only three.

You smiled softly, listening to the waves.

However, your spell was broken when someone kicked sand at you.

You sighed and looked over.

“Ugh... Hiyoko, what was that for?!”

She had been bullying you since your first met.

She wasn’t as mean to you as she was to Mikan, but you were her target when she couldn’t find her.

“Duh! It’s cuz you and your dumb brother smell like pig barf!”

You sighed and stood up, gathering your garbage.

“I’m going to my cottage...”

You threw your garbage in the trash and started walking as Hiyoko followed you, mocking you.

You were a lot more sensitive than your brother, you it was starting to get to you.

“Please stop...”

She snickered and grabbed your wrist.

Hiyoko was small, but you were slightly smaller.

That’s one of the issues that came with being the youngest in the group.

“P-Please let me go...”

She laughed quietly.

“You know what is good about you Y/n?”

“W-What?”

She reached into her pocket.

“You’re smaller than me... So I’m able to get rid of you easily!”

“W-What does t-that-”

You finally saw what she pulled out of her pocket.

It was a knife.

“H-Huh?!”

She smirked evilly.

“Just take a big breath and it will all be- hurgh!”

One advantage to having a very overprotective big brother is that he insisted you take self defense classes.

You managed to get out of her grip and run.

“GET BACK HERE!”

She was fast.

Very fast.

You were running with every ounce of strength you had, crying.

“N-NAGITO! HELP ME! NAGITO!”

You didn’t know where he was. That was the worst part.

You couldn’t run to your big brother for protection.

You kept running. Tears were blurring your vision and all you heard was-

“Y/n?”

“NAGITO!”

You ran towards his voice and threw your arms around him, shaking.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

You clung to his jacket with shaking fists.

“H-Hiyoko... K-Knife... T-Tried to-”

“I see... Well, come with me.” “O-Okay...”

He picked you up and held you against his chest, carrying you to his cottage.

Once there, he sat on his bed and cradled you like a baby.

“Everything’s alright now, my hope... Everything is alright...”

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

Maybe your big brother wasn’t such a freak after all...

Kazuichi:

You were playing in the beach house.

There were some playing cards there, and Kazuichi taught you how to play solitaire when you were younger for days when he was too busy to play with you.

Right now, he was talking with some of the big kids to try and figure out a way to escape.

The killing game was scary, and you saw Byakuya’s body...

You shook your head and went back to playing your game.

Just as you finished and started shuffling the cards to play again, you heard the door open.

You looked and saw Sonia walk in.

“Hi Sonia!”

“Hello there, Y/n!”

You usually didn’t see Sonia, since she avoided Kazuichi.

She sat at the table across from you.

“Solitaire, I see...”

“Yup! Kaz taught me!”

She seemed surprised.

“I see... You two must be very close.”

“You betcha! Kaz is my best friend! He always protects me and plays with me!”

She smiled again, watching as you got ready to play another game.

“Y/n, I need to ask a favor of you...”

“What is it? I wanna help!”

She stood up and reached into her pocket.

“Y/n, as you know, I have a kingdom... And I cannot die here, as I am the only heir of Novoselic...”

You started to get nervous as she reached into her pocket...

...and pulled out an ice pick.

“W...What’s that?”

“It’s called an ice pick... Do you remember how Byakuya died?”

Your eyes widened in fear.

“I-I don’t wanna... I-I want Kaz!”

She laughed quietly.

“That’s another reason to get rid of you... Revenge for him harassing me!”

Terrified, you backed against the wall.

“S-Sonia p-please don’t! I-I’ll tell him to s-stop! We can all w-work together! No one else has to d-die!”

She shook her head no.

“I need to live... I NEED TO ESCAPE!”

She raised her weapon and you screamed-

-and then she was on the ground.

“H-Huh?!”

You looked up and saw Kazuichi with a clenched fist. He was shaking, too.

“K-Kazuichi! This isn’t what it looks like!”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you close.

“Leave.”

You had never seen your brother so angry.

Sonia was shocked.

“How dare you-”

“I SAID LEAVE!”

She growled and stormed out of the beach house.

Once she was gone, Kazuichi knelt down.

“Are you okay?! Did you get hurt?! I-I’ll go find- Y/n?”

You started to cry.

“H-Hey! Uhh... I-It’s okay! You’re safe now.”

He pulled you close and kissed your head.

“Let’s go find some help, alright?”

[megsironthrone]

Cottage By the Sea

Based on this request:  Hi Meg! Can I request a Sandor x reader where it’s like 5 years after the end of the show and he and the reader live in a nice little cottage with a few little tiny children. Sandor has a nightmare about how terrible his life would be had he gone after Gregor and when reader wakes him up he just is so thankful for the reader for “saving” him and giving him a chance at a happy life? Sorry if it’s a little specific lol

Here you are! *Sandor is NOT mine!*

Warnings: A little angst, mentions of nightmares, fluff AU-ish. and it’s a little short

Pairings/Characters: Sandor Clegane x reader

Sandor shot up from a dead sleep, drenched in sweat. Another nightmare. He'd been having them for as long as he could remember, but the last five years had been the worst. Since the Great War between Cersei and Daenerys and Sandor's near confrontation with his brother, the nightmares had plagued him more and more.

         It took Sandor a moment to realize exactly why he had woken up. He usually slept until the nightmares played through. Then, he felt something moving between his bare shoulder and back. A hand that he knew very well. He glanced back at you and you gave him a soft smile. "Was it bad?" you asked. Sandor simply huffed in response, but you didn't let that bother you. You knew him better than anyone by now.

         "Go take a walk. Peek in on the children. Take a ride. Then come back to me and we'll talk. Okay?" Sandor nodded and rose from the bed you shared. He did as you suggested and peeked in on the children you'd adopted together before he left your little cottage to walk for bit. Sandor went down to shore and walked along the shoreline, letting his thoughts wander.

         The dream had really shaken him to the core. There wasn't much Sandor was truly scared of in life, but losing you was one of those things. It was thanks to you that he was even still alive. He knew that. You had convinced him that going after Gregor wasn't worth it, even after all the years of waiting. It was you who had given him a chance to live a simple, quiet life. It was you who had made that little cottage a home and helped him fill it with children and laughter. Sandor had everything he hadn't known he wanted and he would have missed it all if not for you. You had saved him.

         Sandor glanced back at the cottage just as the sun began to rise. He quietly walked back inside and toward your room. As Sandor expected, you were waiting up for him. You gave him a tired smile and opened up your arms. Sandor wasted no time in climbing back into bed, eager to enjoy a few more minutes alone with you before the children began waking.

         "Will you tell what it was about?" you asked after a moment. Sandor hummed a bit before sighing heavily. "I lost you. I went after Gregor and I lost you." You tightened your arms around him and he continued, "You saved me. You know that? You kept me alive with your stubbornness." You let out a soft chuckle.

         "I think we saved each other," you stated but Sandor shook his head. "We wouldn't have this if I had gone after Gregor that day. I would be dead and you would married off to someone else." You shrugged and mentioned something about the gods. "The gods didn't give me this, Y/N. You did." You blinked in surprise. Sandor wasn't normally this open, even with you. That was when you knew exactly how much that dream had frightened him. You placed a soft kiss to his unscarred cheek.

         "If you're happy now, that's all that matters," you told him, "Gregor is gone. He can't cast a shadow over us any longer. You, my love, are a free man. You have your life, me, our children. And nothing, not war, not the gods, nothing will take that from you as long as I have anything to say about it. Alright?"

         Your words seemed to do the trick. Sandor let out a happy sigh and pulled you down to lay with him again. In a few moments, the sun would begin shining through the children's windows and they would be awake. But for now, the two of you could enjoy your time together. You continued to hold him close, whispering how much you loved him and Sandor felt himself drifting back to sleep in your arms.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @etherealpotter​ @line-viper​ @frozenhuntress67​ @gruffle1​ @smalltownbigheart​ @igotmadskills​ @cd1242​

Sandor Clegane Tags: @songoficecreamandfireworks​ @silversprings98​ @nkjktk​

[writinglizards]

Make me Happy

Summary: "I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous." - Mary Shelley's Frankenstein He is created. He is abandoned. He is found.

Read on Ao3

The first thing he knows is agony.

He feels set on fire from the inside, bright white pain arcing through his veins. He cries out, voice hoarse. The sharpness of it ceases as quickly as it came, but the ache persists.

A clatter to his left draws his attention. He shifts. Distantly, he’s aware of the scratch and shift of the rough-hewn shirt and trousers he’s dressed in, but there are larger concerns, at the moment. His limbs feel awkward but otherwise cooperative, so sits up.

There is a man across the room with his back pressed against the counter. White hair, a beard. The man’s face is drawn in an expression he can’t parse. Beneath the man’s feet are shards of glass.

He doesn't understand where he is or what's going on. He opens his mouth to speak--and finds he doesn't know the words to communicate this. He makes a quiet, wordless sound, questioning. He hopes it's enough for the man to understand. He so wants answers.

In response, the man jolts for the door.

He starts at the abrupt movement, makes another quiet noise of surprise, reaches out a hand toward him, wait, please--

The man makes a shrill noise, "Stay away, you, you--" he flings the door open after a brief scrabbling with the lock and bolts, a high pitched terrified noise leaving his throat. He throws the door closed behind him, but it hits the doorframe and bounces back, hard.

He follows because he doesn't know what else to do. The other man is scared. Should he be scared?

He lets the smell of terror, sickly and awful, lead him down a spiral staircase and out a partly concealed door onto the street where he's abruptly hit with an overwhelming wave of scents and sounds. It's too much for him to understand; all he knows is he needs to find the man again. He hopes he can help.

He sees someone, not the man from the room, on the street a few feet away. He approaches, timid. He's trying to work out how to ask what he wants to know--where did the man from the room go?--when he catches the other's attention.

"What the--what the fuck?" He doesn't understand the words, but the tone--the man spins on his heel and sprints away, terrified. It catches the attention of several people up the street. The first man was scared, but these men--help, maybe?

He takes a few slow steps in their direction, still trying to figure out how to ask what he wants to know when he catches the glint of steel. He freezes. He takes quick stock of their expressions, the naked weapons in their grips, and hesitates.

"You'll get the fuck out of here if you know what's good for you, monster." He doesn't understand, doesn't know how to respond in a way that will ease the aggression of their posture. He just wants help.

"Well? Get," one of the men shouts, rapping the flat of his blades together. It makes a harsh sound, makes him whine with how the sharp noise hurts. He ducks his head, cups his hands over his ears to try and make the hurt stop. "I said get," the man shouts again, repeats the movement of his weapons. He keens, a low, quiet sound full of pain. He doesn't understand--

"You got to the count of fucking three," another says, and he doesn't wait for them to make the noise again. He runs.

Every person he sees in his mad dash down the street and away from the pain reacts similarly. Either they flee or they bare steel and make threats, loud and angry. The mixing scents, the noises, his own fear, it's all too much. He doesn't know where he is or where he's going. He just runs.

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

By the time the sun is beginning to rise, he's finally broken out of the rows and rows of buildings and into the trees, where he runs until his lungs burn and his feet hurt before he collapses in the shade at the base of a tree. He doesn't know where he is or what's going on, doesn't understand the fear and hostility of the people he'd seen. He sits there, somewhere in the middle of the forest, and finally feels it hit him. He doesn't know, he doesn't understand. He sits and he cries, deep chest wracking sobs, until he's too tired to keep his eyes open. He curls himself up small and tight in the roots of the tree, and sleeps.

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

He's woken some indeterminate time later, to the sound of footsteps. Lots of them. The sky is going grey at the edges, so he knows he must have slept a while. There's shouting coming from the direction he came from yesterday, words he can't understand in a tone he can--they sound like the men who made the awful noise.

"If you see that fuckin beast, just kill 'em. No need to leave him loose to terrorize the city again."

“Nah, the mage wants ‘em. Said--”

“I know what he said and I’m saying just kill ‘em.”

They're not that far. He knows enough now that he doesn't want to run into these people, doesn't want a repeat of last night. He rises very quietly, and treks farther into the forest, away from the sounds of the approaching men. He'll walk all night if he has to.

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

He walks until he can't hear them any longer, and then he keeps walking, for good measure. He walks until he stumbles across another group of buildings, much smaller than the one he'd fled last night. He lingers at the edge of the trees, watching a trio of young women leaning against a wooden fence not far, talking. One of the women has something she appears to be eating in her hand, and his own stomach growls loudly in reminder that he has eaten nothing since...he doesn't know when.

These women look nothing like the men with their weapons, which is the only reason he steps out of his hiding spot in the trees, starts towards them.

"Sara, look--" one of the women catches sight of him and goes pale. She steps backward, hands shaking, and he freezes. He doesn't want them to be afraid. He only wants--

The one eating turns to look back over her shoulder and their eyes meet. She drops the thing she'd been eating. There's a shriek--the third woman--and then all three of them are running pell-mell back towards the rest of the buildings.

He tamps down on his hurt and darts forward to scoop the food off the ground--an...apple?--and then he's running again, farther into the forest. He knows better than to stick around for the angry men and their weapons.

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

He doesn't pause until he feels he's far enough away he'll be able to hear anyone coming with enough warning to escape. He settles at the base of a tree and gnaws on the apple slowly, trying to savor the small thing. It's a little better than nothing, but it reminds him he's hungry, sets his stomach to rolling uncomfortably. When he's gnawed the thing down to its core he finally sets it aside, disappointed.

He’ll have to see if he can find more food, or venture back towards the buildings to see if there’s anything he might be able to take that won’t be missed. But not tonight.

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

In the end, he ends up doing quite a bit of stealing from the village at night while he hides in the trees during the day, watching the way the people interact with one another. He feels bad about just taking, but there’s nothing much that can be done for it--there’s no easily accessible food in the forest and the people still spook and run at the sight of him.

So that’s the way he survives, for a bit. It's not a comfortable existence and he knows the people of the little town both know he's there and are upset by it. He tries not to scare them, only slips down into their fields at night, when most are asleep, only takes as much food as he needs to quell the emptiness in his stomach.

Watching the people interact with one another is helpful, though, even if he can’t approach them. The field workers do a lot of talking to one another as they work, and over time he starts to pick up what the words mean, in a roundabout kind of way. So he lingers and he watches and he hopes for...something he can't put a name to.

He's finally forced to move on when he tries to slip down into the town about three weeks later and there are men with swords again, lining the outskirts of the village. He knows enough about people at this point from what he's observed and he doesn't want problems. He moves on, just picks a direction and starts walking.

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

When he stumbles across a tiny cottage out in the woods all on its own, he assumes it must be abandoned--people don't live alone, after all. He would investigate further, but the sun is already peeking over the horizon, sky dusting pink, and he knows he needs to find somewhere to settle before daybreak.

There are several little shacks sprinkled around the clearing that he doesn’t know the purpose of so he picks one--the shack behind the cottage--to test the door and finds it unlocked. It's a storage shed and moderately well-stocked, despite how the little room seems to be on the verge of collapse. He settles to the ground on the far side of a crate and tucks himself into a tight little ball. He'll stay here today and investigate more closely tonight.

Shortly, he dozes.

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

He wakes much too soon to the sound of...something. He's never heard it before, this softly twanging noise. It's good. Nice.

He knows it must be well past mid-day from the way the light slants in through the chinks in the walls. He's just thinking it's too early to try venturing out when the singing starts, soft and lovely and he thinks, oh, It's a person.

He rises very slowly and quietly and crosses the tiny storeroom to the wall that's shared with the cottage. The music is a little louder here, and he can make out the words, a story of a knight saving a fair maiden and true love's kiss. He can understand what those words mean a bit now--language has come slowly, but he's getting better at piecing together bits and pieces from the things he's heard, although not all of it makes sense all the time. And well, some things just feel right, like he's known them all his life. Language has been a little like that, even if speaking is a challenge.

So he can follow the story, vaguely, even as the song ends and another quickly takes its place. He hears no other voices or movement in the adjoining room, just that smooth tenor singing of heroics and heartbreak. He settles down beside the wall, rests his temple against the rough wood grain, and listens.

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

He wakes again an indeterminate time later. It's late, the sun is down and the man in the cottage sounds as if he's retired for the night. It's quiet. He...probably shouldn't stay here, but it's warm and quiet and the man sings so beautifully. He borrows a small meal of hard bread from the stores and tells himself he won't be back when he slips out of the storeroom to stretch his legs.

By the time the sun rises, he's tucked back into the storeroom anyway, curled up against the wall that joins the cottage. What's one more day?

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

One day becomes two days becomes a whole week. He's reluctant to leave the security of the little storeroom, the pleasant singing. A few days in, he finds a chink in the wall that lets him see into the cottage room and he now spends his daylight hours pressed to that wall, watching, listening. The man is...beautiful. He looks like they would be of a height, even if the man is a little leaner than he himself is. Despite that, the man is still broad-shouldered and strong looking, with brilliant blue eyes and a sweep of brown hair he can only think of as pretty. And he can tell the man is not just beautiful; he’s also intelligent, witty. He talks to himself constantly, sings, reads, dances his way around the room. The man moves through life as if he has not a care in the world. He wants so badly to be a part of that.

Despite how much he yearns to join the man, he still won't reveal himself, too afraid of the potential reaction to him. He finds himself growing attached, despite how much he shouldn’t. If this soft and delightful man is as afraid as the village people were, it will break him.

So he watches and he dreams and he tries to help around the cottage, at night. It starts with some chopped wood when the woodpile gets a little too low, which the man reacts to with delighted confusion. Then it's a few rabbits and other small animals, here and there, to replenish some of the food stores he's been dipping into to feed himself.

"Well, looks like we've got ourselves an admirer," the man says softly the morning he finds the first rabbit. He'd been...nervous about leaving the little thing. Nervous it might upset or scare the man. Instead, he looks...pleased. He smiles all day, even when he comes back in from caring for the chickens, which he knows the man dislikes. It's nice, kindles a warm feeling in his chest.

He wants to be the cause of that smile more often.

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

A few days later, he wakes to the sound of more than just the man in the yard out front. There are several people he can't see but he can hear them, carrying things to and fro.

"Jaskier, where do you want this?" one of them asks.

"Oh, that's fine there," the man says. Something flutters in his chest. Jaskier.

There's a few more crates the other men bring into the cottage that he can see through his chink in the wall. The man, Jaskier, watches the stacking of these crates on the far side of the cottage along with another man who stands at his elbow. Compared to Jaskier, the man is very broad and well built with short cropped dark hair. He carries a sword on his hip and stands like he'd be ready to draw it at a moment's notice. He reminds him of the men who'd threatened him the first night.

"I should also warn you there's been sightings of some kind of monster lately." Jaskier turns to the man with the sword, effectively presenting his back to the chink in the wall. He wishes he could see his face.

"What kind of monster? Monsters have been gone for almost a hundred years."

The other man is already shaking his head, "not a monster, monster, no. This is some kind of abomination. Looks like a man but...not. Wrong. He's been spotted at one of the nearby villages as little as a few weeks ago."

"And? How do they know he's a monster then?"

The man puffs out a tired sounding breath, "I'm just relating what I heard, Jaskier. I don't know."

"Of course not," he says, tetchy. There's something beyond the words that have upset him.

"Look, I--"

Jaskier pulls away from the hand hovering over his shoulder. "I don't care, Vincent."

"Jask, you know I didn't--"

"We're not talking about us," Jaskier says, tone sharp in a way he's never heard, "just...let the men finish and then you can run on home to father and tell him what a good little disowned son I've been, hm?"

Jaskier doesn't give him a chance to respond, just steps over to watch the men bringing in the crates more closely, steps just a little too heavy.

When they're gone, he watches Jaskier cry, head in his hands. It makes his chest uncomfortably tight but there's nothing he can do.

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

When night falls and he's sure Jaskier is asleep (and he feels a little flutter of delight in his gut when he thinks the man's name, elated that he knows it after all this time), he slips out of the storeroom and into the pooling moonlight of the little clearing, stretching his legs. His goal tonight is to chop some more wood so Jaskier will have enough to stay warm tomorrow. Then...maybe a walk. He'd seen some blackberry bushes a few nights ago. Maybe he'd pick some, leave them for him in the morning.

The wood chopping goes quickly and he stacks the split logs nicely with the other chopped wood against the wall by the front door. He does so quietly, not wanting to rouse his sleeping friend. Not that he thinks it likely the man will rouse tonight. He'd been somber the rest of the day and he'd cried again, curled in his bed when he should have been sleeping. He finds he wants to do something to ease the unhappiness that's settled over him since the men had come by.

It's with that thought he wanders off in search of those blackberries. He takes one of the wooden buckets Jaskier usually uses for gathering eggs and sets off to find the blackberry bushes.

They're right where he remembered them, just a short walk from the little pond where the ducks gather from time to time. He goes about picking them to fill the bucket, careful of their little thorns. He gets the bucket three-fourths or so full before he calls it good. By then, he's covered in sticky juice and the sun should be up soon. He's got just enough time to visit the pond, wash off his hands and leave the bucket out front before he’ll settle back in the storage room.

The pond is silent and still when he wanders up, the bucket dangling from one hand. He sets it aside on the shore and kneels at the edge of the pond. He tries not to peer into his reflection in the water, even as the moonlight reflects back off its surface.

Unbidden, then man's words resurface in his mind. Like a man but not. Wrong. He knows he looks...different. There are harsh scars scattering his face, his temples, his arms, his torso. His eyes are wrong, too bright, too strange a color. His hair is unnatural, too pale, too wild. He understands why the villagers are startled by him, understands why they react with fear. He's...wrong. He just doesn't know what to do about it.

He pushes the thoughts from his mind and doesn't let himself linger. Instead, he washes up quickly and treks back over to the cottage. He leaves the bucket of berries on the doorstep and retreats to the storeroom.

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

He rouses just a little when Jaskier rises. He listens to him sing and go about his morning routine with half an ear, still mostly asleep. The sound of his friend awake and back to normal is a comfort, so it's disturbing the way he abruptly goes silent when the door creaks open.

"Oh--" he's obviously found the berries. The quiet stretches out for a beat too long and then there's a sniffling noise. "Shit," Jaskier mutters. The door clunks back shut. He hears the noise of the bucket being sat down somewhere in the cottage. "'s stupid to fucking cry over berries, Jask, pull it together," he tells himself, voice thick with tears.

He can't help the surge of alarm that rolls through him--he didn't mean to make Jaskier cry. He presses his face to the wood, eye at the chink in the wall, and is surprised to find him smiling despite the tears, gazing down into the bucket of berries as if they are something far more precious as he wipes aggressively at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Blackberries," he repeats, once his breathing is a little more under control, "I'll have to make a pie." He's still smiling. Maybe they weren't such a bad idea, after all.

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

Jaskier continues with his daily routine after that, and he lets himself sleep again, after a time. He's fairly attuned with the noises of Jaskier going about his day, so he doesn't startle when Jaskier begins going through the crates of supplies the men brought yesterday. By the time he realizes what that means, Jaskier's already at the door of the storage shed, dried goods tucked under his arm.

He lays very, very still where he's curled in the corner, pressed against the wall of the cottage, eyes squeezed shut, and waits for the inevitable.

The gasp is expected. The sound of the bundle Jaskier is carrying hitting the ground is as well. What is not expected is the hands that land on his shoulder, tug him over gently. He blinks up at the face of the man he's only watched from a distance, startled. He expected revulsion, fear, the sound of footsteps fleeing. Instead, he's peering down at him with concern.

"Oh, thank the gods you're alive," he sighs out on a breath, patting reassuringly at his shoulder where his hands still rest. "What are you doing in my storage shed, darling?"

And oh, this is...not something he'd been prepared for. He swallows hard and can't seem to force words out.

"You don't have to tell me," Jaskier says softly, "but let's get you inside, alright? It can't be comfortable out here."

He follows in a daze when Jaskier tugs him gently upright and leads him into the cottage. This doesn't feel real. He must be dreaming. Why else would Jaskier be looking at him like that?

"Have you had anything to eat? Are you hungry?" Jaskier asks once he's settled at the table. He at least can follow that much so he shakes his head, still afraid to speak. Jaskier jumps to preparing him a small meal of hard cheese and fresh bread. “Sorry, I haven’t had the chance to make that pie yet,” he says as he sets the little plate before him and settles across the table from him, smiling. "Go on, eat," he says, and he doesn't have to be told twice.

The food is the best thing he's ever tasted. The pleased look never falls off Jaskier's face. "Thank you," he whispers once the plate is empty, wincing when the words fall rough like gravel from his disused throat.

"Oh," Jaskier breathes, freezing with his hand outstretched to take the empty plate. He thinks maybe he's made a mistake, but Jaskier's smile stretches impossibly wider, eyes sparkling, "you're very welcome, dear heart." The look on Jaskier’s face, that tone, settles something warm in his chest.

Jaskier puts the plate on the counter and resumes his seat. He doesn't know what to do with himself in the face of Jaskier's kindness and keeps his eyes averted. Jaskier doesn't give him time to start feeling self-conscious, though.

"I'm Jaskier. Do you have a name, darling? Something I can call you?" And he knows Jaskier’s asking a question but--

Jaskier can tell his mistake almost immediately. “Oh! Um,” he fumbles to press his hand to his chest, “Jaskier,” he repeats, and he nods. Then, tentatively, Jaskier holds out his hand to him. He doesn’t move, not quite sure what Jaskier means until his palm makes careful contact with his chest. His breath catches. “You?”

He shakes his head, understanding that Jaskier is asking for his name. He feels a bubble of shame rise in him. It's not his fault he doesn't have something to go by like everyone else, he knows, but that doesn't lessen the feeling he's let his friend down.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jaskier breathes, and he doesn't sound upset. Or at least, not at him. "What should we call you then?” He looks thoughtful for a minute before, “Hold on, I’ve an idea.”

Jaskier rises and crosses the room, bringing back something from one of the shelves. “I’ve got a book here,” Jaskier says, settling it on the table in front of him, “It’s a storybook, but I could read you the names of the characters here until you find one you like?” and that was a lot of words but…“Just nod if you hear one you like, yes?” He can do that.

So Jaskier flips through the book, stopping periodically to read out the names as he finds them. And they’re...fine. But none of the names sound right to him.

“Hm, Eric?” He shakes his head, “No, I agree, too bland. Jakob? No? Alright then, Alice? That’s typically a lady’s name but--nope okay, um, Geralt?”

And that’s--“Yes,” he says softly. Something about that feels right.

The smile on Jaskier's face is small and delighted. "You want to be called Geralt?"

"Mm." And something about choosing the name makes his face hot. He ducks his head.

The grin that stretches Jaskier’s face looks like it hurts it's so wide. "A good name. Heroic. Kind." His gaze softens as he reaches across the table to rest his palm on Geralt's forearm. The touch is reassuring, even as he burns hot under Jaskier's fingertips. "It suits you."

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

He doesn't pressure Geralt for an explanation of anything, but he reassures him several times that he can stay, that it's no trouble. He even sets him up with new clothes, soft cotton that isn’t as scratchy as what he’d been wearing.

"Really Geralt, I have to insist. I won't be able to rest knowing you're out there somewhere with nowhere to stay. And," he continues, “if you stay long enough, I’ll even send for some clothes of your own, if you’d like.” And well. He can't let Jaskier worry (and the new clothes would be nice, too).

He sleeps on the little divan and marvels at how quickly Jaskier drifts off, breaths evening into sleep. The trust inherent in the action shakes him to his core. He follows a while later, chest overly tight.

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

They settle into a habit surprisingly quickly in the weeks that follow. Geralt picks up many of the tasks he'd already been performing for Jaskier in the twilight hours and Jaskier provides excellent company. He still sings and plays his lute in the evenings, preening to have an audience that Geralt is happy to provide.

He's thankful Jaskier asks no questions, although it's obvious Jaskier would like to know more about him, about what happened. He catches him staring at the scars when he thinks Geralt isn't looking, but it's not with revulsion. Geralt can't name the emotion on his face, but it's not a bad one necessarily.

There's only one question he does ask.

"So, do you know who my admirer is?" he says finally. Geralt’s just starting to feel truly comfortable here with Jaskier and is less worried about Jaskier changing his mind about keeping Geralt around. He’s proven he’s helpful and he’s trying very, very hard not to scare him (he’s beginning to think Jaskier can’t be scared, actually).

Geralt's in the middle of chopping wood when he asks. "Because you know, it was really very sweet of them." He's grinning.

"Uh," is the very elegant response Geralt comes up with, cheeks hot. He’s not sure why he’s embarrassed. Jaskier obviously knows it was him. He chops the next piece of wood with a singular focus, doesn't shift his gaze back over to Jaskier.

"He must have very fine arms. He chopped all my wood for weeks, you know," Jaskier says offhand, and oh. He's teasing. His tone is friendly. Geralt only flushes harder. He’s not sure why Jaskier can fluster him so quickly. "Not as good as yours, I'm sure," he continues, and Geralt nearly jumps when Jaskier's hand settles on his bicep, squeezing. "Mm, not sure anyone's as deliciously built as you are, darling."

"Jaskier," he finally bites out, mortified. He feels--he feels--he doesn’t know the word for it, but he’s pretty sure it’s not appropriate. Jaskier laughs.

"It's alright sweetheart," he grins and shoots him a wink, "your secret's safe with me." And Geralt doesn't know what to do with himself, but he likes the way his stomach clenches when Jaskier touches him, the soft way he speaks. And he does trust that he's safe with him. It's...reassuring.

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

Despite how safe Geralt feels, he still can't bring himself to tell Jaskier how he ended up hiding in his storeroom. He's fairly certain Jaskier won't care at this point, but every time he tries to say something, he finds the words have abandoned him. Unlike Jaskier, he struggles to voice his thoughts, even when he has the words neatly arranged in his head. Jaskier reassures him that it's fine, not everyone is gifted with their speech and it's normal for words not to work the way you'd like, but it frustrates him anyway. He...cares...about Jaskier. He’s…different. He wants to share this part of himself with him. He just doesn't know how.

His efforts are further complicated by the way his stomach flips uncomfortably every time Jaskier is close. He's not an idiot, he knows what it means (Jaskier is a big fan of love ballads, the raunchier the better, he says and it’s…that) but it feels...dishonest to entertain Jaskier's subtle flirting, especially when Jaskier knows nothing about who he really is, how he came to be. After all, who could love a monster?

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

"Geralt," Jaskier calls from his mound of blankets as Geralt stokes the fire for the last time that night, "come to bed with me, darling."

Geralt can feel himself flush. "Jaskier," he admonishes, but Jaskier only laughs, lifts the corner of the blanket invitingly.

"It's been cold at night and it will only get colder. Come on, Geralt." He bats his eyes enticingly, pats the corner of the mattress again.

"I can't," he says, quiet, and something in Jaskier's expression softens.

"Alright, darling," he says, letting the blankets fall closed around him, "but that's a standing invitation."

"Hm."

Jaskier doesn't press further, but Geralt lays awake thinking about it for far longer than he should.

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

"I'm a viscount," Jaskier says apropos of nothing a few days later. It's early morning and they're outside, returning from the chicken coop. Geralt turns to where Jaskier's stopped in the middle of the yard, bucket of chicken eggs forgotten on the ground beside him. "Or at least, I used to be. My father disowned me about a year ago now."

"Why?" Geralt asks, because Jaskier seems to need the encouragement. He wouldn't have brought it up if he hadn't wanted Geralt to know.

"I...embarrassed him. With who I chose to take to my bed." He's staring hard at the tree line opposite the cottage. He's not even facing Geralt. "My father's head of the guard. Vincent."

The name brings to mind the day the crates were delivered. The man with the sword who stood too close.

"I was disowned either way and I knew that, but Vincent..." he trails off.

"Thank you, Jaskier. You don't have to tell me." His eyes meet Geralt's finally and he smiles. It's a tiny, watery thing.

"No I--he chose to stay. With my father. And I'm...here. It bothered me. For a long time." He's quiet so long Geralt thinks maybe that's the end of it, but when he steps forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jaskier, he keeps talking. "I thought...who would want a disowned viscount? Vincent certainly didn't. I'm damaged goods."

"Jaskier, you're not damaged," Geralt says, horrified at the prospect. Jaskier is...wonderful (even if he talks a little too much for Geralt's taste, sometimes). How could anyone think him lesser for loving who he loved?

Jaskier extends his hand to catch Geralt's and squeezes tightly. Geralt squeezes back, stomach fluttering when Jaskier smiles at him. "I know," he says softly, "and I know you’re not ready to talk about yourself yet, but whatever it is, it’s okay, okay?" And when Jaskier says that, looking at him the way he is, Geralt can almost believe him.

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

They settle deeper into their routine, something Jaskier calls "disgustingly domestic" with a smile that nearly splits his face, so Geralt's pretty sure he doesn't think it's a bad thing, actually. Geralt certainly enjoys it.

Jaskier talks incessantly about anything and everything and Geralt likes listening.

“You know,” Jaskier says one night, after he’s wound down his playing and put the lute away, “I haven’t had many guests out here since I was disowned. It’s been...nice.”

“Why not?” Geralt asks, stoking the fire before settling back on the fur rug. Geralt can’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to spend time with Jaskier.

“Being disowned is…” he pauses, obviously searching for the right words, “it’s not something that’s done lightly. It means the people I grew up with, the people who were close to me, they can’t see me anymore, or risk having their own reputation tarnished.”

Geralt feels his lips twitch in a frown. Jaskier laughs.

“Oh, don’t make that face, I know. But that’s how it is. I’ve spent some time with the village locals, but it’s...not the same. I’m still nobility to them and I’m no longer nobility to the actual nobles.” He shrugs, but Geralt can see the thought still bothers him.

“You were lonely,” Geralt says. He’s not sure he should have pointed it out, but Jaskier doesn’t seem angry.

“I was,” he agrees softly. Something in his eyes pins Geralt to the spot, “until you.”

And that’s...too much to think about. “Hm.”

The smile that creeps over Jaskier’s face is blinding. “Yes,” he agrees, “hm, indeed.”

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

"My father's men should be stopping by in the next few weeks," Jaskier says on a morning like any other.

"Did you want me--"

"No," Jaskier corrects hastily before Geralt can offer to hide, "No, I want you here. I just--wanted to give you a heads up."

"Oh."

They don't talk about it again. They probably should have.

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

"Jaskier?" Geralt calls across the small space of the cottage, sitting up.

There's banging outside. People. Jaskier shifts in his cocoon of blankets that is his bed, only the top of his head visible. "No," he mumbles fuzzily, "don't wanna." He's...not really awake.

"Jaskier," Geralt rumbles, voice still thick with sleep himself, "we should--"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before the door is swinging open and a man is striding through. When he sees Geralt, his hand lands on his sword.

"Jaskier, what the fuck--"

"Vincent," Jaskier gasps, nearly tripping in his haste to extract himself from the blankets. He’s eyeing the space between Vincent and Geralt with panic, "ever heard of fucking knocking?" he bites out, shifting to put himself between them as much as possible.

"Jaskier, you've got a--"

"Don't finish that sentence," he says, tone flat and threatening, "and I'd appreciate it if you'd give my companion and I some fucking privacy. I'll meet you in the yard in a moment."

Vincent's hand tightens around the pommel of his sword, "I don't think--" he starts, but the look Jaskier pins him with is cutting. He hesitates, but he leaves without another word, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Fucking prick," Jaskier growls, stalking over to his wardrobe to put on some clothes before facing their company.

"I should--" Geralt starts, but Jaskier cuts him off.

"You should get dressed and let me drag you around the yard to hang off of while I make sure my father hasn't fucking shorted me on supplies. I'm already disowned, what more can he do to me?" The grin on Jaskier's face is brittle.

When they exit the cottage, Vincent is hovering by the door, obviously nervous. He's still got his hand wrapped around the pommel of his sword like a lifeline. Jaskier scoffs at it, but Geralt stays carefully back and works to make his posture non-threatening.

"Jaskier," Vincent says the minute he's out the door, "what is--"

"This is Geralt," Jaskier cuts in smoothly, "my companion." Vincent winces.

"He's--"

"My companion," Jaskier reinforces.

"The mage in Novigrad is looking for him." Geralt stiffens.

"I assure you we have no idea what you mean," Jaskier bites out, even as Geralt feels his stomach drop uncomfortably. The mage. The man from the room. He no longer cares one way or the other who the man is or what he wanted from Geralt. He’s happy here, he doesn’t want to leave. Vincent opens his mouth to respond, but he snaps his jaw shut a moment later with no protest.

"Okay," he sighs. Then-- "Where do you want the supplies?"

The men don't stay any longer than they need to, but it's a tense affair for everyone involved. Jaskier takes Geralt's hand in his and doesn't let go until long after Vincent and his underlings have left.

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

The rest of the day, Jaskier’s filled with a frantic sort of energy. He breezes through chores, drags Geralt on a walk with him out to the pond where he paces the water’s edge for near an hour before they head back. And it doesn’t dissipate even after they’ve returned to the cottage and had dinner.

The fire’s lit and Geralt is settled on the fur rug before it the way he normally does. Usually, this is about the time Jaskier would fetch his lute, or perhaps a book to read from. Instead, he’s still pacing.

“Jaskier,” Geralt finally says, breaking his focus as he comes up short in another circuit of the room, “come sit. Your pacing makes my head hurt.”

“Sorry,” he huffs, flopping down beside him with a heavy sigh. He leans against Geralt’s side for a bit, but he’s still restless, still shifting.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again and Jaskier sighs hard. He pulls away only to lay beside him, pillowing his head on Geralt’s thigh. Immediately, Geralt slips his fingers into Jaskier’s hair, soothing.

"So that was awful," Jaskier mutters.

"Mm."

He rolls so his face is pressed to Geralt's stomach. Geralt's fingers stay tangled in his hair, gently petting.

"I don’t want you to go," Jaskier says into the silence, muffled against Geralt's bulk.

Geralt’s chest siezes.

“I know you aren’t ready to tell me anything and that’s okay, but I--” his breath is warm against the thin cloth of Geralt’s shirt, “If that mage really is looking for you, I don’t want you to go,” he repeats, voice small.

Geralt feels as if his throat has closed. "I'm--I want to stay here,” he forces out, swallowing roughly. He should explain because Jaskier doesn’t know, but Jaskier sags with relief, presses his face closer to Geralt's stomach, fingers digging into his side and Geralt doesn’t want to take that relief from him, not now.

"That's--I'm glad." They don't say anything else for a long time as the fire burns down.

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

Geralt can’t stop thinking about the fact Jaskier doesn’t know, though. He needs to tell him. So that he’ll understand. Geralt owes it to him to tell him, whether he wants to or not. And if Jaskier wants him gone after? It will hurt, but he’ll go.

"Jaskier, do you have a minute?" he asks while Jaskier's tuning his lute that evening. He'd been getting ready to play, as he usually does.

"Of course, sweetheart. What is it?" he asks, strumming through a simple, uncomplicated tune. He meets Geralt's eyes with a playful smile, but his expression sobers when he sees the seriousness in Geralt's gaze.

"You asked me," he says carefully, "about before."

"Only if you're comfortable, dear. You don't have to--"

"No," he says, "I do." He needs to understand. He drops his gaze to his lap where he's wringing his hands together nervously. He stills them with effort, but that only makes the scars there stand out more starkly. He startles when Jaskier catches his hands in his own, traces those scars tenderly with lute-calloused fingertips.

"Well then, I'm listening," he says and smiles, small and encouraging when Geralt's gaze flickers back up to his face. It makes his chest tight. He doesn't deserve this. Jaskier. He tries to take in his face now, that tender care, that concern. Just in case it’s gone, after. So he knows. So he can remember.

Despite the fear churning in his gut, he takes a deep breath and starts talking, gaze glued to their still joined hands.

"My earliest memory is--uh. I. I woke up in a...room. I didn't know where I was. There was...a man. The mage, I guess." Jaskier is very, very still but his thumbs rub soothing circles against the back of his hands, a grounding point of contact.

"I tried to ask him what was going on, but I--" he trails off, unsure how to phrase what he means. He shakes his head. "--I didn't know how. I didn't have the words. And I--scared him. I think. He ran."

Jaskier sucks in a noisy breath and squeezes his hands briefly. "Go on," he encourages when Geralt glances back up.

"I followed him. I didn't know what else to do. I was in a town, I think."

"Novigrad," Jaskier interrupts before wincing. "Sorry, go on."

"The people there--I tried to ask for help but they--" he can feel the tears burning in his throat and tries to breathe through it, keep going, "they either ran or they threatened me. I didn't know what was going on." He feels the tears spill and ducks his head. If he stops now, he won't be able to continue. "I ran."

"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier whispers. He lets go of one hand to bring his palm up to Geralt's face. His fingertips brush the corner of his eye, wipe the tears away gently.

"I ended up in the forest. There's a village not too far from here," Jaskier makes a quiet noise of acknowledgment. It’s the village Jaskier goes to sometimes when he needs things his father won’t or doesn’t send. "I stayed around there for a few weeks. Until the men with the swords showed up." Jaskier makes another small noise, rubbing his thumb along Geralt's cheekbone. Geralt closes his eyes. "So I picked a direction and started walking. And I found you."

"And I'm glad you found me, love. Sounds like you've had quite the rough go of it."

The calm acceptance is...too much. Does he not understand? He's a monster. Not natural. The mage wants back his creature. "Jaskier, I'm--"

"Shh," he cuts him off, grip still tight on his hand as he caresses his face, slips his fingers back into his hair, "I'm glad you told me, darling, but it doesn't change how I feel about you. You're a good person." He tugs him into his arms, gentle. Geralt goes, feeling like he did when he woke--unmoored, lost. He feels the tears slip down his cheeks, feels the way his breath catches on a sob. "I love you."

"Jask--" he can't get the words out past the lump in his throat so he just tucks himself a little closer, presses his face into Jaskier's neck. His lute sits forgotten beside them.

"You don't have to say it back, sweetling. It's okay," he says, stroking his free hand through Geralt's hair, the other tucked around his waist.

"I do, though," he whispers, lips brushing his throat, "I do." Jaskier sucks in a shuddering breath and holds him tighter, presses his lips to Geralt's temple, right over the mass of scars there. It's gentle, reverent.

That night, Geralt sleeps in Jaskier's bed, curled against his chest. He’s nearly asleep when the gentle tenor of Jaskier’s voice cuts through the soft haze of near-sleep. “--don’t know where I’d be,” Jaskier is saying softly, lips pressing intermittently to the top of his head, “gets hard being alone out here. And you’re so--” he cuts off, presses a kiss to Geralt’s hair again. He obviously thinks he’s already asleep. “You keep me grounded,” he says. “This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” He breathes it like a secret.

As Geralt lets sleep finally pull him under, swimming in Jaskier’s quiet confession, it's the most cared for he's ever felt.

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

And that’s how things continue, for a long time. Jaskier frets over who may or may not be looking for Geralt and vacillates wildly between stressing himself out about it and pretending it’s not a problem. Vincent and his men show up about every eight or so weeks with supplies from Jaskier’s father and Jaskier drags Geralt out with him to watch every time. Vincent eyes Geralt skeptically still, but he no longer comments or reaches for his sword. And as Geralt begins to experience what contact with other people is like when they’re not running from him or threatening him, he’s further convinced that Jaskier is special. He doesn’t feel this way about Vincent or the other men who deliver their supplies, or the people in the village who Jaskier’s taken him down to meet a few times now (they still won’t come anywhere near him without Jaskier around, but Jaskier is insistent they treat him like anyone else and it’s...it helps).

But Geralt doesn’t know how to make it clear to Jaskier that he’s interested in more. They share Jaskier’s bed, they touch frequently, but things are...remarkably tame. They already say “I love you.” At some point, Jaskier’s flirting had tapered off and now he’s just...sweet. And Geralt loves it, but he also wants...that. The raunchy flirting and the...the things that come after. And the happy ending, like the ones from the fairytales Jaskier readers, sometimes. He just doesn’t know how to let Jaskier know that he wants everything.

It turns out he doesn’t have to ask at all.

"So I know this is a dumb question but," Jaskier's paused over making their eggs one morning, gaze downturned and intense, "I'm--uh. I mean, you--fuck. I have no idea how to say this," he huffs, taking the pan off the open flame and tipping the egg onto a plate. "You want to stay. Here. With me." It's obviously supposed to be a statement, but it sounds like a question.

They’ve already talked about this, haven’t they? "Yes, Jaskier," he says softly, "as long as you'll have me."

Jaskier lets out of a gust of breath, "Fuck okay, so--" he turns to face Geralt, egg abandoned, to take his hands in his, crouching at Geralt’s knees, "I want you here with me, too. More than I, uh, probably should."

Geralt makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat. This sounds like--

"And I know there's no real practical purpose for it since I have nothing but this--" he gestures around them at the cottage, "--to give, but, um. I'd--If you'd be so inclined I'd like to marry you, Geralt." He pauses, eyes downcast and face flushed. Geralt for his part can't seem to put words in any order that might allow them to come out of his mouth and communicate just how much Jaskier's offer means to him.

"It's, uh, a little bit of protection. If the mage does come back for you, or something. But," he's rambling now, words falling from his lips so quickly his tongue is almost tripping over them in an effort to get them out faster, "but it's not like I don't want to marry you, or anything like that. I've been thinking about it quite extensively and I--"

"Jaskier," he cuts in, and he shuts up immediately, wide eyes focused on Geralt's face, nerves pouring off him. "Yes," Geralt says simply, and Jaskier gives a giddy little laugh, tips forward to hide his face in Geralt's lap.

"That's--yes. That's good. I'm glad." When he pulls back to look up into Geralt's face again, his eyes are shining. "Thank you, Geralt."

Geralt's not sure why Jaskier is the one thanking him when Geralt's the one who will most benefit from the arrangement, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

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

Jaskier makes a special trip to the village to bring the priest of Melitele back to their cottage to officiate the hand fastening less than a week later. Geralt's nervous the man will balk when he sees him, but other than going a little pale at the sight, he stands fast. Even the temple boy that he brought with him doesn't do more than flinch when Jaskier levels him with a look.

"Are you sure--" the priest begins, but Jaskier cuts him off quickly.

"We are. And we want a small, private affair. No fanfare. I'm disowned, remember?" he says sardonically, and Geralt knows it's a tactic to keep the man from asking too many questions, they'd talked about it beforehand, but it still makes his chest ache. Jaskier is so good, he doesn't understand why everyone isn't as drawn to him as Geralt is.

"Now?" The priest asks, fiddling with the cord he's brought with him.

"Geralt?" and Jaskier's expression is so cautiously guarded--

"Yes," he agrees, stepping forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with him in their little clearing, just outside the door of the home they've already shared for months. The priest heaves a gust of breath.

"You'll need to kneel," he says, "Jaskier, give him your right hand. Uh--"

"Geralt," Jaskier supplies, eyes hard.

"--Geralt, give Jaskier your left." They kneel before the priest, hands clasped and held up in offering. The priest slips the cord around their joined hands, talking all the while. "Now, you don't untie this once it's done. Bad luck and all that. Ready?"

"Yes," Jaskier says, and Geralt nods.

"Alright." The priest waves the boy over to watch and serve as witness, and then he begins.

"As this knot is tied," he says, twisting the cording together in the first of several knots, "so are your lives now bound."

Jaskier squeezes Geralt's hand so tightly he can feel how he trembles.

"Woven into this cord, imbued into its very fibers, are all your hopes for your new life together." Another knot.

"With the fashioning of this knot do I tie all the desires, dreams, love, and happiness wished here in this place to your lives for as long as love shall last." He ties off the third and final knot and leans backward.

"Hold tight to one another through both good times and bad, and watch as your strength grows." The silence that rings out after the priest ceases speaking is deafening. Geralt can hear the blood rushing in his veins. "It is done."

"Geralt," Jaskier whispers as their joined hands fall to rest on Geralt’s thigh. He can't help but follow the movement of those lips with his eyes. "Kiss me, Geralt." And who is he to deny Jaskier anything?

He squeezes their joined hands, free hand rising to cup Jaskier's cheek. The look in Jaskier's eyes, the tenderness, the love, the thinly veiled excitement, twists his chest. How could he have ever feared this man would reject him?

"Geralt," Jaskier says again, and Geralt doesn't make him ask twice. He leans forward and presses their lips together in a tiny, chaste kiss, hardly more than a brushing of lips. It's still electric, especially when Jaskier makes a tiny, wounded noise and presses in closer, nearly in Geralt's lap.

Somewhere behind Jaskier, the priest clears his throat and Jaskier draws away reluctantly.

"You'll make it official in the books?" Jaskier asks without actually moving from where he’s perched on Geralt's knees.

"Of course. Should I send word to your father?"

"No," Jaskier scoffs, "don't bother." Geralt sees the priest nod behind Jaskier's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome, son. May Melitele bless your binding. Come, boy." Before Jaskier or Geralt can say more, the man is hurrying away with the temple boy who's eyes are still wide and fixed on Geralt.

"I'd like to see them take you from me now," Jaskier says once the man's footsteps have faded from hearing, "husband." Something in Geralt trembles at the word.

"Husband," he repeats slowly, testing out the word on his tongue and finding it to his liking. Jaskier grins, wide and bright.

"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He leans forward to kiss Geralt again, as if some dam has broken and he can't help himself. "My beautiful husband," Jaskier breathes against Geralt's lips.

When he pulls back, breathing hard, Geralt brings their still bound hands up to his lips to kiss Jaskier's knuckles, tender and reverent.

"How could anyone not look at you and see how sweet you are," Jaskier breathes, pulling his knuckles away from Geralt's mouth to give Geralt's scarred fingers the same treatment. "So beautiful, so full of love, my husband is."

"Jaskier--"

"Shush, I'm basking," he teases, giving another deliberate kiss to the back of his hand.

"I'm not--"

"No," Jaskier corrects immediately, "you just don't see yourself the way I see you. You're beautiful, Geralt and I love you very, very much."

He feels his face heat, ducks his head so his hair falls in the way, hiding his eyes.

"And I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I love you and I'm not going anywhere. And--" he continues, slipping the fingers of his free hand under Geralt's chin and tilting his head up until their eyes meet, "--I'm not letting anyone else have you. You're mine, husband dearest."

"Yours," Geralt agrees easily. The mage may or may not be looking for him, but it doesn't matter. Geralt wants nothing to do with him anyway.

"And I'm yours, darling. As long as you want me."

"Mine," Geralt echos, "Always."

And that's enough.

[im-a-star-boy]

“Who the fuck are you?”

Goddamn I’m popping off

@panna-pan @princeboo come get yall juice

TW: Blood

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Summary: Tommy hears a creeper blow up in the woods late at night and goes to check it out.

Word Count: 2,644

Date of Completion: Friday, January 8th, 2021

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Tommy stared at the moon silently from his place on the roof. The autumn air was biting,  chilling him to the core and making him shiver. He could go inside, where it was warm, but he didn’t want to. Tubbo had finished building the neat little cottage several days prior and had quickly begun constructing a barn as well. It wasn’t too large or extraordinary, but the cows and horses seemed pleased. 

That day, Tommy had explored and found a village a few hundred meters North. 

“For God’s sake, Tommy! What direction is the village!”

“LEFT, TUBBO! I WENT LEFT!”

“LEFT DOESN’T DESCRIBE ANYTHING!”

It was a long trip, but with Tommy’s horse, aptly named HORSE, it was an hour round trip. It was worth it for the supplies. They could get books, food, and anything else they might need.

Despite this, Tommy couldn’t help the pang in his chest. The villagers hum reminded him of Techno’s village, the sheep reminded him of Friend, the way chickens roamed through the village reminded him of a time before L’Manberg was blown up. He longed to go back to that time, to see his friends, but he knew he couldn’t. 

He took a shuddering breath as his nose burned and dug the heel of his hands into his eyes. He hiccuped softly as his body shook. He missed them. God he missed them so much. He wondered what was happening in L’Manberg. Was Dream still trying to destroy it even though he was gone? Was Techno still planning on destroying it? Was anyone looking for them? 

He didn’t know. He wanted to know. He wanted to know exactly what was happening, so badly that he almost wanted to go back. He’d give anything to know what was happening. He furiously wiped away any tears that spilled before wiping his hands on his pants and his face on his shirt, silently muttering, “I’m fine, I’m okay, it’s okay,” in a weak attempt to comfort himself. 

Before he could continue to his brooding, he heard the sound of a creeper explosion and jolted. Tubbo and Ranboo were asleep, but someone had to trigger the creeper. He stood up, his heart pounding in his chest as fear gripped him for a moment. Did Dream find us? The thought sent an icy chill down his spine. He slid off the roof carefully and ran inside, grabbing a sword and shield, before turning and making his way out shakily. 

He ran into the woods, towards the sound of the explosion. He may not have fought in any wars in a while, but he sure as hell could still fight. He ran until he slammed into a man who was shorter than him, about the same height as Tubbo. He stumbled for a moment before looking down at him. “Uh-”

“Skeletons-” He quickly warned.

Tommy turned to see three skeletons approach, two coming head on and one staying further back. He pulled up his shield quickly, just in time to block two arrows heading towards them, before bringing up his sword and quickly striking one down. The man was quick to grab a branch and start whacking as Tommy killed the one in front of him. 

He quickly drew up his shield and blocked an arrow from hitting the man. The man quickly hit the skeleton over the head with the branch, promptly beheading it, before stomping on it’s skull, slaying it.

Tommy took a breath for a moment before feeling a sharp pain in his side as the third and final skeleton approached. He let out a pained cry and dropped his sword, cupping his side where the arrow had hit and where his shirt was beginning to stain with blood. He trembled as the man cursed in a panic. He looked around frantically or a moment before his eyes landed on Tommy’s netherite sword. He quickly ran forward, grabbing it and striking down the final skeleton. 

He turned to Tommy once he was sure it was dead and hesitated. “Hey, hey kid, come on, get up, are you okay?”

Tommy grunted lightly and lifted his hand to see it bloodied. “Oh I’m doing fucking great,” 

The man cringed for a moment. “Come on, where’s your family? Let’s get you home,” 

He quickly tried to help Tommy walk only to be shoved harshly away. “Fuck off, I can walk on my own.”

The man stared at him for several seconds before nodding, seeming unsure of what to do as Tommy staggered forward, leading him back. The man looked around for a moment before following and speaking. “What’s your name?”

Tommy glanced over at him for a moment before turning. “Tommyinnit. Who the fuck are you?”

“CaptainSparklez. Nice to meet you Tommyinnit, you should really let me help you.”

“Oh shut up,”

“You’re gonna bleed out and lose a life, you might not know this but… losing a life isn’t exactly fun.”

Tommy paused and stared at him for several seconds before his gaze hardened. “I’m on my last life dumbass, I fuckin know it sucks.”

Sparklez startled at that. “You’re on your last life? Already? How?”

“War n’ shit.”

He stared at him for several moments. “How old are you?”

“Old enough apparently,”

Sparklez fell silent as Tommy staggered into the clearing. The pain in his side was becoming unbearable as he gasped weakly before calling out, “Tubbo!”

He stumbled in his step, leaning on the fence that surrounded the pastures where Tubbo’s horse, named Bumble, watched on. “Tubbo!” He yelled again, louder.

Sparklez began helping him towards the house as Tommy began to struggle. “Tubbo!” He yelled once more.

After a few seconds, the doors open. “Christ, Tommy. Do you know how-” Tubbo froze upon seeing Sparklez helping Tommy, who still had an arrow in his side.

He looked between the two in a panic for a moment before getting his bearings. “Ranboo!” He yelled before moving forward. “Jesus Christ, Tommy, why are you going out at night!?”

“This dumbass was blowing up creepers n’ shit! I had to come see what was going on!”

Tubbo cursed as he helped him inside and sat him down on one of their chairs. He grabbed glass bottles from the cupboard and filled them with water in the cauldron, before hooking them up to the brewing stand in the kitchen. “Ranboo!” He yelled again, digging through the cupboards to find the Nether Wart.

After a moment, the Enderman hybrid teleported into the room, looking tired but alarmed. “Wha? What’s happening?”

Tubbo motioned to Tommy wordlessly as he grabbed a glistering melon from a barrel. Ranboo turned and saw the unfamiliar man and Tommy’s injury before cursing lightly and going to one of the chests and grabbing a few pieces of cloth. “Shoot, okay, uh, okay Tommy, I’m gonna try to pull the arrow out.”

Tommy grunted and nodded as Ranboo handed him the towels. “Once I do, push these cloths into the injury, okay?”

“Okay okay, just fucking do it already. Christ.”

Ranboo paused before nodding. He gently grabbed the arrow and put his hand on Tommy’s side, before taking a deep breath and pulling the arrow out. Tommy let out a yelp of pain before gritting his teeth and swallowing down any other pained noises that threatened to come out. He pushed the cloth into his quickly bleeding side as Ranboo handed the man the arrow. “Here, hold this for a minute- Tubbo can you grab a wet cloth?”

Tubbo looked up and opened his mouth to argue before pausing. “Oh right, water. You take over with the potions,”

Ranboo nodded wordlessly as he began rifling through chests for gunpowder. Tubbo grabbed another cloth and dipped it in the cauldron before wringing it out and having Tommy lift his shirt as he started to wipe down around the injury.

Sparklez looked between them for a moment before speaking. “You guys seem awfully practiced in this,”

Ranboo glanced over as Tubbo spoke up. “We’ve fought in a couple wars, I know what to do when this kind of thing happens.”

Sparklez stared at him for a moment as Ranboo grabbed the potions. “Three air-compatible potions,” He said, handing Tubbo a bottle.

Tubbo took it. “Tommy-”

“I know,” He maneuvered, grunting and whimpering, as he laid onto his side, exposing the injury.

Tubbo moved Tommy’s hand and opened the bottle, gently pouring it over the wound. He rubbed around the injury as it began to close. He tossed the bottle aside when it was empty before wordlessly reaching for another bottle, which Ranboo provided. The second was enough to close the wound entirely, though Tommy didn’t move as his side was still painfully sore.

Ranboo and Tubbo watched him anxiously. Tommy cracked open an eye and groaned. “Oh stop looking at me like that,”

“Huh?”

“You look at me like I’m a fuckin’ kicked puppy. I’m fine,”

Tubbo couldn’t help but crack a smile at his remark before ruffling his hair. Tommy smacked his hand away with a scowl and Tubbo couldn’t help but laugh. “What the hell? Don’t touch my hair!” 

“What? Why? It’s fluffy!”

“Fuck off,”

Tubbo laughed again as Tommy smacked him away again. Ranboo handed him a glass of water, careful not to spill it. Tubbo finally turned his attention to Sparklez and sighed. “I’m sorry about him, he’s loud and annoying.”

“Did you just fucking call me annoying?!” 

“Yes,” Ranboo answered for Tubbo, laughing.

“What the hell you dickhead!” Tommy looked offended as Sparklez chuckled lightly. 

“It’s alright, he did save me.”

Tubbo looked up and nodded, staring at Sparklez for several moments. The man shifted with uncertainty before offering him an uncomfortable smile. Tubbo seemed to catch on to his discomfort and straightened. “Have I met you before? You look familiar.”

Sparklez shrugged. “I can’t say I’ve met you before. My name’s CaptainSparklez.”

Tubbo stared for a moment before gasping loudly. “CAPTAIN!”

Tommy and Ranboo both jumped at his sudden shout as Sparklez looked up, alarmed. “Huh?”

“THAT’S WHERE I KNOW YOU FROM! YOU’RE A GODDAMN LEGEND!”

Tommy made a face. “Not much of a legend if I’ve never heard of him,”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to agree with Tommy on this one, Tubbo.”

Tubbo glared at them before turning back to the Captain. “No, I used to travel a lot for a while before I got to- you know- but! But I heard about him a lot! I knew I recognized him from somewhere.”

The shortest of them looked incredibly pleased as he looked at the Captain. Tommy took a breath and sighed. “Alright, whatever. He’s some kind of legend, nice to meet you.”

Sparklez chuckled lightly. “Nice to meet you too, and Tommy, thanks for coming to help me back there. Gods know you didn’t have to.”

Tommy grunted lightly. “Yeah, I know what it’s like to get cornered out there alone.”

Tubbo frowned as a guilty look crossed his face and Tommy met his gaze. “Oh- shit- I’m not blaming you or anything, Tubbo, you really didn’t have a choice.”

“I still feel bad,”

Ranboo hummed softly and returned his gaze to the Captain. “Where are you heading, if I can ask?”

“Nowhere in particular really, just exploring.” 

Tommy hummed as Tubbo sat up. “Do you need a place to sleep?”

Sparklez smiled. “I could use one, if it wouldn’t be an issue,”

Tubbo grinned. “You can stay here, right guys?” He asked hopefully, turning to his friends.

Ranboo and Tommy exchanged looks before shrugging. “I mean, we don’t really have any spare rooms,”

“He could sleep on the couch!”

Ranboo hesitated and sent Tommy an uneasy look. The younger moved so he was sitting up and met Tubbo’s gaze. The shorter’s gaze fell for a moment as he saw the twos’ uneasy expressions. After a moment, he took a breath. “How about the hayloft in our barn?”

Tommy glanced over to Ranboo, who met his gaze and shrugged. After a bit, he sighed. “Alright, that’ll work. But he stays in the hayloft all night,”

The Captain watched the exchange silently before nodding at the verdict. “I can do that, I don’t need anything extravagant, just a safe spot.”

Tommy stood up and stretched. “I’ll go grab you a blanket,”

Tubbo nodded as Tommy walked out of the room. “I’ll show you where you can stay,” 

Sparklez nodded as the shorter lead him out of the house, across the field, hopping over the fence and into the pasture where Bumble was grazing peacefully. The horse looked up at them for a moment before continuing as Tubbo walked to the barn. The Captain hummed as they entered. “This is a nice place, clean.”

Tubbo nodded. “I finished building it a bit ago, we all take turns cleaning and stuff.”

The Captain turned to him in surprise. “You built this place?”

Tubbo nodded. “And the house, but Tommy takes care of the animals and Ranboo takes care of the food supply, our little farm.” He explained, motioning to the small garden on the side of the house.

The Captain nodded approvingly. “You guys seem pretty stable,”

Tubbo shrugged back. “I dunno, we’re trying to get what we can with berries and such, but once winter comes it’s gonna be a lot harder. We got here pretty late in the season, but we have good trade with a village north from here so we should be okay. Spread a bit thin, but we’ll be okay.”

The Captain nodded slowly, an unreadable expression on his face. The two got to the back of the barn, passing Haley who was sleeping in her little stable and passing HORSE who was also in his little stable. “Up here,” Tubbo said, motioning to a ladder.

The two pulled themselves up and Tubbo shrugged. “It’s not much, but with a couple blankets it’ll be quite cozy!”

The Captain chuckled. “Thank you, it’s more than enough considering you didn’t have to help me in the first place.”

Tubbo grinned at the praise when they heard Tommy shout from below. “I got blankets!”

Tubbo looked down the ladder before putting his hand up. “Wait here,”

He climbed down and greeted his best friend. “Thanks, Tommy.”

“Whatever, take this up and head back to the house, I’m tired as shit.”

Tubbo chuckled softly before turning to the ladder. “I’ll be back in just a second,”

Tommy made a curt noise and returned to the cabin as Tubbo climbed up the ladder. “Here you go, Captain!” He chirped, handing the man two blankets. “One blanket to lay on, and one to cover up with.”

The older man smiled. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“Now remember, Tommy’ll freak out if you leave in the middle of the night, so try to stay up here until one of us comes to get you tomorrow. Ranboo and I get up before sunrise usually so we’ll be up shortly,”

The captain nodded. “Alright, thank you. I mean it,”

“It’s an honor, Captain!” Tubbo replied excitedly, saluting him.

The older man chuckled again as Tubbo turned to descend the ladder.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Tubbo entered the cabin to see Tommy still awake and leaning on the kitchen counter. The taller looked up when he entered and his figure relaxed a bit. “Hey, Tubbo.”

“Hey, Tommy. Did you stay up for me?”

Tommy scowled. “No. I was just making sure you didn’t get murdered or some shit.”

Tubbo chuckled lightly before grinning. “Let’s get back to bed,”

The blond nodded mutely.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The next morning, as promised, Tubbo and Ranboo had greeted the Captain. They’d given him some breakfast and a few potions before he left.

And if during that winter, the older man would occasionally visit with a bag of food, then it was just a coincidence. 

[kirishwima]

Your prompts are amazing, may I have a MC, who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale-like cottage surrounded by nature, they are even saving money, however they are willing to give up this dream if it means they can be with RFA+V?

awe, sure! though not my style, i find the cottage-core aesthetic so sweet, and can really see the appeal of this kind of lifestyle ^^

RFA + MC who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale like cottage:

Yoosung:

* Let's be real, when MC describes their dream to him he...doesn't see the appeal

* He loves the city, the amenities that come with living here-most of all the wi-fi, lol, but also the comforts of walking down the street to a convenience store, everything he needs within reach

* Yet...when he sees the way MC's eyes light up at the thought of living this way, how they keep bringing leafy plants and vibrant flowers into their shared apartment, making it into their own little magical place, he can't help but indulge. Would it really be so bad, to live a little further away from the city?

* He's cuddling with MC one day on the couch, when he brings up the topic

* "I was thinking...if we start saving up now, get a fixer-upper cottage for cheap and work on it, I can get a car to drive to and from work-I think we can make it work. Your-your dream, I mean."

* And the smile MC gives him? Makes all the effort they put into this plan worth it.

Zen:

* Oof, Zen..he'd be so split when thinking of MC's cottage dream.

* He wants to give them the world, and for him, these aren't just empty words. If MC asked him for the moon he'd find a way to bring it to them.

* Besides, he sees the appeal of this kind of a life. Being able to wake up every morning, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, no more sounds of motorcycles outside waking him up in the middle of the night, the view of a beautiful garden, grown and tended to by MC greeting him each morning...yeah, he sees the appeal.

* On the other hand, it's not so easy to just pack up their life and move into a cottage. He still has to be in the city every day for filming and practice, has to attend meetings and meet + greets...he could use the motorcycle to travel, but that'd hardly be convenient for them both.

* So he makes a decision.

* One day he comes home, twirling a set of keys between his fingers.

* He'd sold his motorcycle, bought a car-big enough to be able to fit a bunch of their belongings in the back, since a lot they'd be selling, buying new ones together to furnish their new home.

* It's not that he ever felt forced to do this-he just...knew it was time to take the next step.

* And lo and behold, only a year later, he wakes up every morning, the view outside the bedroom window-his and MC's bedroom, being the sight of the garden MC has been tending, MC sleeping quietly besides him. He wouldn't trade this for the world.

* ((Also I can definitely see him having a dog?? It'd be so cute, him coming back home from work to be greeted by his beloved MC and a big fluffy doggo jumping on him with joy ;u;))

Jaehee:

* YES YES YES

* At first she's hesitant-living in the city's all she's ever known, and what MC dreams of sounds...well, just like a dream. Too good to be true.

* Where would they find a cottage? How far from the city would it be? What's even the price range for one?!

* Yet she's so open to the idea-they've already pretty much made Jaehee's balcony a mini-garden, and she loves tending to it as much as MC so...if they were to have a garden, perhaps a vegetable patch in the back, MC's favorite flowers at the front of the house...being able to cuddle in front of a fireplace, living in nature, away from the hectic life in the city...would it be so bad?

* It doesn't take long for her to start looking up houses they could move into, imagining how the shared space between her and MC would be like, smiling at the thought of it-their space, not 'Jaehee's aparmtent that MC now lives in too'-she loves the sound of it much better than this.

* Soon they find the perfect space-a cozy home, further away from the city-in fact they move besides a smaller city, something between a city and a village, really, just far away enough to feel secluded, yet close enough to be able to walk to town each morning.

* They're quick to open up a coffee shop in town, a small cozy space usually frequented by locals, and the occasional passer-by who's travelling through the town. Oftentimes the rest of the RFA will visit them, and well-it's everything both MC and Jaehee could've dreamt of.

Jumin:

* Jumin...he's a little confused, but he's got the spirit

* When MC opens up to him, describes their dream home, he hums. "We can buy a cottage, visit it whenever you want-have someone tending the garden when we're not there so it doesn't wither"

* MC appreciates the sentiment but...it's not what they want. They explain to him that it's not the home that matters, so much as the lifestyle. They want to tend to the garden, want to grow their own vegetables and produce, want to be able to live off the land, keep the busy city lifestyle at bay-not to bar it completely, obviously, just...distance themselves from it.

* Jumin tries to understand, he really does, but for someone who only occasionally goes to a grape farm to relax and then come back to his usual routine it's not easy. It sounds far too idealistic...and in Jumin's case, it is. He would love nothing more than to live in a cottage with MC, but they both know with his work, that's far from feasible.

* He hates how easily MC agrees, how they seem so okay with letting go of their dream-all for Jumin, he...he certaintly doesn't feel like he deserves it. They reassure him that he does, that they love him and just want to be with him, regardless of the where, but still, he can't help but feel bad, wanting to offer to MC everything they could ever ask for.

* Eventually they come to a compromise; they buy a cottage together, with plenty of garden space for MC to work their magic on, where they'll spend all of their free time together. MC refuses to go there when Jumin won't be able to join them, and it warms his heart, to know they want to share this dream, this joy with him...so he does his best to get as much free time as possible (even when poor Jaehee begs him not to lmao)

Seven:

* Um??? Y'all I think that'd be his dream too???

* I know we talk about Saeran a lot and obviously, with Saeran there's no question that he'd be 100% down for this, but Seven...he wants a place to call home, a cozy place for him and MC where he can lay down roots, and I feel like, after getting away from his line of work, he'll want less to do with technology, probably will want to keep his home a little 'smart-less'. No need for talking doors and fancy security systems, not anymore.

* Not to say he'd go completely off the grid-I'm sure that even if the two move into a secluded cottage, he'll still find a way to secure the perimeter, still wary from his past, still afraid of what might come to catch up to him. Plus...he'd definitely have an office/gaming room in there lol, definitely would find a way to get the fastest Wi-fi available even in the countryside.

* But he'd love to learn about gardening, would create fun gadgets to help MC with watering and caring for their plants. I can absolutely picture it, him crouched down over a small growing bud in the dirt, pure joy on his face as he turns to face MC with a proud grin saying 'Look! I planted this one and it's growing!'

* Just. A homey life with Seven. AAAAA :')

V/Jihyun:

* Listen. Listen I know I'm biased towards him, BUT picture this:

* MC and V buy a fixer-upper of a cottage; it's in a state of disrepair, the wood moulded in places, no electricity nor running water connected to it, what was once a garden is now a dry mess of twigs and dirt-

* But they both look at each other, smile, and know-this is the one for them.

* Each venture into the cottage is like a date, laughing as they pull out planks of wood, replacing them with new ones, trying their hand at working out the electric panel themselves-poor Jihyun tries his best but eventually gives up, sighs, and with slumped shoulders calls Seven-who needs an electrical company when you got a tech genius of a friend?

* It's a slow run, but soon the fundamentals are fixed, the walls are painted, the wood is clean and solid-MC takes care of the most work concerning the garden, reviving it back to life. While at first they just clean the mess and lay new dirt, they soon see the fruit of their labor grow as buds spring to life, as flowers they planted bud, a climbing rose latching onto the side of the house.

* Eventually it's not a house, but a home, the way the sunrays hit through the window-panes, how little dust particles dance in the sunlight; it's the exact opossite of a minimalistic house, there's trinkets in every available surface, the top of the fireplace is littered with things the two of them have collected during trips and travels-ranging from weird-looking sea shells to gorgeously crafted souveneirs, photos of them and their loved ones adorning the walls. There's always a messy blanket or two draped over the couch, from the late nights they spend cuddling and reading or just chatting with one another. The kitchenette has a whole rack full of spices, a myriad of plants on the windowsill-most are herbs used for cooking, ones that Jihyun still has a hard time differentiating between-it's not uncommon that he'll put mint instead of thyme into his cooking, still...it tastes good, because it's cooked with love, and care.

*It's everything they both could ever dream of.

-masterpost-

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Lost Objects - 1

Lost Objects:  A Thor Fanfic

Lost Objects Masterlist | More Small Gods

Buy me a ☕  Character Pairing:  Thor x F!Reader

Rating:  E

Word Count:  1831

Warnings: Angst, PTSD, Grief (smut on series)

Synopsis: Thor has lost a lot in a very short period of time and he’s worried about losing himself too.  He goes to the one person who understands loss.

A/N: Reader is a minor god. 

Chapter 1

Thor was lost.

He had been for a while now, though it was hard to measure.  Partially because he had lived such a long, long time and most of it had gone by without much disrupting his enjoyment or general world view and then all at once it was just one thing after another and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath.

Perhaps it had begun to lose himself back when his father had first banished him to Midgard.  He had certainly felt lost for a while there, but usually, he looked back at that as the start of finding who he truly was.  Becoming worthy of Mjolnir and meeting Jane had been so significant, even when he had been forced to destroy the Bifrost and watched his brother fall to what he had thought was his death, Thor has still felt himself.

After that, it was one thing after another.  A barrage of pain and loss and he couldn’t keep up with it.  His mother, his brother, his relationship, his father, Mjolnir, his friends, his planet, his brother again, half of the universe, more of his friends.  Somewhere in all that loss and grief and guilt, he’d lost his direction and that core feeling of who he was, and he didn’t know what to do so he could stop feeling all this pain.

Then, in one single moment of clarity, he thought of you.

Midgard was not a world of gods.  Gods would visit, of course, Thor himself favored the small blue planet, but the line between science and magic was large, and rarely were gods born on the planet.

Yet sometimes the magic would seep through.  Maidardians liked to pray even when they didn’t know they were.  They would wish for certain things or give worship to them.  If enough did, then a god would be born.  They were minor deities and rarely held much power.  Yet they served their function and grew with the population's devotion.

None were prayed to quite as often as you.

You were not an easy person to track down.  Thor knew that he had to find you in the last place he looked or else it would be not at all.

So he started at the finish.  Going to the last conceivable place on the planet you might find a minor deity and announcing loudly that he would give up looking after trying the small cabin on the side of the hill.  Just as he put his hand on the door handle it swung open and he was greeted by you.

Along with the cable knit sweater that was three sizes too big, spotted with holes, and frayed at the hems, you wore a pair of jeans that were obviously someone’s favorite but based on the fit, that someone was not you.  You had a pair of mismatched socks on your feet, a single fingerless glove on your left hand, and a ring on every finger on your right, most of them the engagement variety.

You looked up at him and smiled.  “Thor,” you said warmly.  “Are you lost?”

He smiled, trying to put on the brave face he wore for everyone.  He was strong after all.  The strongest Avengers.  If he showed weakness, then he’d be someone who wasn’t Thor, the god of thunder.

“Yes,” he said.  “No.  That is… maybe.”

You stepped aside and he ducked his head under the door frame and entered your cottage.  It was impossibly large inside what had seemed like a tiny building.  It was cluttered in the sense that a hoarder who hadn’t left the house for fifty years except to bring more things in, is cluttered.  There were stacks of parcels that were addressed to other people, baskets full of socks that lacked a pair, toys, and pacifiers that looked sad and weathered, bowls sat on top of every flat surface full of jewelry in many shapes, sizes, and styles.

Thor wound his way through until he found a couch.  It had seen better days and he had to move a one-eyed teddy bear to take a seat.

“Can I get you a drink?  I have tea or coffee?  Not much else I’m afraid,” you offered.

“Coffee,” Thor said.  He wasn’t sure he really wanted it, but he was grateful for the opportunity to get his thoughts in order.

The sound of you puttering around in the kitchen was the only sound at all.  Thor thought of all the things he had lost and exactly why he had come here.  When you returned he still wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say.  You handed Thor a mug.  It was black with the silhouette of a penguin on it with the words ‘LINUX, open mind, open-source’ written on it.  You had a teacup, it was floral and had gold around the rim.

“The coffee is Kopi Luak,” you said as he took the mug from you.  “It was confiscated in New Zealand customs and ended up here.”

“Kopi Luak?”  Thor asked.

You shook your head and sat down beside him.  “The beans are passed through the stomach of an animal called a Civit before being harvested and roasted.  I can’t say I approve of the process, but I am limited to what passes through here,” you explained.  “Now, what is it you’ve lost?”

“My brother…”  Thor said, the word coming out quickly like it was determined to jump its place in his mental queue.

“Oh, Thor,” you said, putting your hand on his.  “I deal with lost things.  People?  They are above my jurisdiction.  The prayers for lost people are more for your realm than this one.”

Thor sagged and put his cup down.  He ran his hands through his hair the pain and frustration he felt almost overwhelming him.  “There’s been so much.  Too much.  My whole family.  My friends.  Asgard is gone.  I don’t know where to go or what to do.  I feel lost and I don’t know how to find my way back out.”

You took his hand.  His large palms dwarfed yours.  “Thor, I am a minor god,” you said.  “What you have been through is awful and if I could help I would, but I deal in socks and loose change.  Your identity is yours.  You still have it.  It’s here -“ you touched his forehead and moved your hand to his chest just above his heart.  “- and here.”

Tears pricked Thor’s eyes and he wiped them away in frustration. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

“That I can understand too well,” you said.  You wrapped your arms around him and very gradually he let himself sag into your arms.  “You are very young,” you said quietly.  “It is a large burden to carry.  Can I give you some advice?  I can’t promise it will be good.”

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking with the desperation he felt.

“Grieve, Thor,” you said.  “It isn’t weak to love people.  It isn’t weak to feel pain at their loss.  Let yourself have your sorrow.  Feel it.  Let it out.  I am a god on a planet of mortals.  I have lost more than has ever come to me.  They were your parents and your brother.  Your friends.  Your home.  You loved them all and now they are gone.  That is terrible.  It’s terrible, Thor.  They didn’t deserve that and neither did you.  Grieve.  Feel sad.  Cry.  Wail.  Scream.  If you don’t experience your grief, you lose more of yourself than you can possibly know.”

“I am the strong one,” Thor said.  “I can’t show such weakness.”

“There is nothing weak about experiencing your emotions,” you said gently, your fingers tangling into his hair and massaging his scalp.  “Besides, who do you need to be strong for now.  It is just me here, everyone else is gone.”

He wrapped a large arm around your lap and he started to cry.  It started small and silent, his tears just running down his cheek as he pressed his face into your lap.  Soon he was crying in big wracking sobs.  He cried for his mother and his father.  He cried for Loki.  For Jane.  He cried for Heimdal and Fandral and Volstagg.  For Asgard, the home where he grew up and had so many happy memories.  He cried for the people he couldn’t save and for the ones he did that he let down when he didn’t have the strength to lead them.  He cried for dwarves on Nidavellir and for Mjolnir the weapon they had forged him and was like a friend in of itself.  He cried for Natasha and Tony.  And for the fact that one day he would lose all the rest too.

You held him, never once telling him to quiet.  You just let him cry in your arms, your fingers moving over his scalp and caressing his hair.

As the tears slowed and then stopped he felt a strange sense of relief.  He didn’t feel better, but lighter perhaps.  He sat up and wiped his eyes.  “Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for,” you assured him.  “Come; there is something I have which might interest you.”

You got up and he followed after you.  You led him past more parcels and piles of letters.  They started to appear yellowed with age and as he wound through the room the artifacts got older too.  Barrels of spice and coins from countries that no longer existed.  Looms of silks that had been damaged by saltwater.  You stopped at a table.  It was remarkably bare except for a piece of velvet draped over a small pile in the middle.  You lifted the plush fabric and revealed a pile of broken metal and what was clearly the handle of Mjolnir.  He knew it better than he knew himself. The length that was too short due to Loki’s meddling.  The intricate scrollwork on the cap that held the leather strap he used to keep hold of it.  The dark wood with the silver swirling up its length.  It was his hammer, broken but his.

“Each time you prayed that it could be returned more of it came to me.  There is still some missing but if you want you can stay.  Pray for it at night and I think together we can repair it,” you explained.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”  Thor asked as he ran his hand over Mjolnir’s handle.

“It would be an honor,” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had company and it’s never been from someone of your status.”

He turned and looked at you, a frown forming on his face as you smiled up at him.  “I am not a king.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” you said.  “But if you believe it is, then you are one step closer to finding what you’ve lost and I guess I can help after all.”

// NEXT

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 5 ~The Tethered Ties~

Picture Source

WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL & LANGUAGE CONTENT

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE PROCEEDING

For this chapter, you might need to refresh your memory on the history of Harry's connection to the Fraser family and Murtagh, if so you can reread the chapter Who the Hell is Harry? from Series 1 (AIWFCIY). On this Tumblr link or on this AO3 link.

Previously in Reunited ...

"Are you working today?" 

He grinned. "No. I took a day off." And he'd arranged with Willie he wouldn't be starting work until ten tomorrow morning.

"Well, ..."

"Weel what?"

"I think I'd like to go to bed."

To bed?  He searched her face looking for any evidence indicating she was unwell or fatigued. After all, she'd been working a lot these past few days. But he found none. Instead, her eyes betrayed what she had in mind. Still, he could be mistaken and wanted to be sure. "To bed or to sleep?" he asked slowly and cautiously.

She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, making his stomach flipped. "What do you think?" she whispered against his mouth.

There was an awareness on Claire's face that revealed she felt the wild rapping against his rib cage. Both of their breathing changed, and in an instant, the closeness of their bodies was no longer means to keep anxiety at bay.

His heart rate suddenly became an equivalent of a man running from a bull in Pamplona. "Ach, Sassenach, couldnae ye wait until we were nearer to home to tell me that?" 

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

 Claire watched Jamie in her periphery as he slowed the car and rolled into the cottage's driveway. It started to rain heavily, a stark contrast to the sunnier weather that had greeted her in Inverness. But she was too preoccupied focusing on him to notice anything else. 

"It's nice to be back," she whispered, smothering a smile as she unfastened her seatbelt.

He grunted something incoherent. Claire could tell he was trying his hardest to keep himself together by the way his jaw ticked. Given she was operating on adrenaline ever since that kiss upon her arrival, she realised she shouldn't have teased him with that naughty innuendo before they'd left the airport. 

"I think I'd like to go to bed," she'd said. Jamie's expression had changed when he read the meaning in her eyes. She'd thought his reaction was adorable, but now, with her skin feeling too tight for her body, she understood his predicament. With two and a half weeks of sexual frustration swirling in the air between them, she suddenly felt sympathetic. She'd even gone as far as doing as she was told after he'd ordered her not to speak another word on their drive back to Broch Mordha, even when he drove above the speed limit. But the silence between them only served to intensify the atmosphere more. 

"We'll get yer bags later ..." He turned off the ignition and briefly glanced at her. "...when it stops raining."

Claire made a move to get out but was surprised at how quick Jamie clambered out of the car and skirted to her side. He opened the door, their eyes meeting when he offered his hand. Feeling the intensity of his regard, she allowed him to help her out and pull her towards the house, squealing when she was blasted by an icy torrent.

Once inside, he booted the cottage door shut behind him, shrugging his jacket off and shaking the rain from his hair, propelling driblets everywhere and making her laugh as she did the same. But her laughter was soon cut off by the low sound he made in his throat, his slow, deliberate advance, the muscular chest he exposed when he peeled off his sodden top. The wind pelted rain on the windows, thunder reverberating, lightning flashing and illuminating the semi-dark living room in irregular intervals.

She shivered, but she knew it wasn't from the cold. "Where's Rollo and Adso?" she asked, her bottom hitting the back of the sofa as she walked back.

He unbuckled his belt. "At Willie's. I wasnae sure if we were gonnae be out the whole day or no'."

When he dragged his zipper down, she hissed on a gasp, watching his shoes come off and jeans sloughing onto the floor in record time. She swallowed audibly. "Oh, so no distractions then," she squeaked. He didn't reply. Instead, he reached out to tug her top off. When his eyes landed on her white lacy bra, he swore harshly under his breath. "Perhaps some tea first, to warm us up?" she suggested, feeling shy all of a sudden, her arms coming up to cover herself. It was clear their time apart, though not really that long, made her a tad bit bashful.

"Tea?" he said in a low voice, his hands prying hers. "Dinnae fash, Sassenach ..." He unclasped her bra and let it drop to the floor. "I'll keep ye warm."

He undid her jeans and slid his hands inside to cup her buttocks, pulling her in and dipping his head forward to lock their mouths together, obliterating all thoughts and reason with each expert sensual slide of his tongue. He groaned into her mouth, and she could barely remain upright from the onslaught of feeling and need, an intoxicating, heart-stopping desire that made every part of her body scream. 

When they broke apart, she shakily toed off her shoes as he impatiently tugged at her waistband, sliding down her panties along to expose her most intimate part, glad she'd made time for a bit of body pampering. It was a decision she'd made on a whim, thanks to Annalise's cajoling to accompany her to the beauty salon. In all her life, she'd never once considered doing it since she'd always been the type to keep the 70s vibe alive in her pants. The loose string of curses he uttered and the shudder that passed through his body told her the pain, and the effort had not been in vain. "Ah, Christ, Sassenach, nae wonder ye're cold, ye're all bare down there." 

She didn't know whether to die of embarrassment, laugh, or hit him on the head for that remark. But those feelings were only fleeting when he shoved down his boxer briefs and fisted his heavy erection, his head dropping down to her neck to rain kisses on a sensitive spot he knew so well. "I don't want a condom between us, Sassenach," he said hoarsely. "I want ye to know I'm clean, and I'm serious about us. But if ye're not on a pill, I'll put one on for ye."

Her head lolled to the side, his hot breath on her skin making her breathless and unable to think straight. "It's alright. I'm on a pill. I want to feel all of ye. There's only been you ...you know that."

"Sweet, Jesus." With one swift motion, he lifted her, her legs automatically encircling around his waist. He crushed her against the wall, the force of it causing a hanging art to drop to the floor. Both of them vaguely noticed, only focused on getting as close to one another as possible. She palmed the wall behind her with one hand for balance as he lifted her higher to take her nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking and teasing at the sensitive bud, making her moan. She threw her head back and arched, her fingers tangling into his hair.

"C-can't wait. Please. Now. Jamie!" she commanded, clawing his back.

He hauled her from the wall and strode over to the sofa, almost toppling over Rollo's rope toy. Then he shoved the box seat with his knee, and a pile of books with his game consoles spilt onto the rug. 

His laughter blew out on a puff of warm breath, stirring strands of curls that rested on her cheek. "Sorry, Sassenach," he mumbled, carefully stepping over the scattered heaps. 

"Don't care ...just want you."

He dropped onto the sofa and eased her on his lap to straddle him. Every inch of her skin prickled and thrummed as his fingers traced the curves of her breasts and hips.

"Jesus, I've missed this ...us like this," he murmured into her ears. "Look at ye, so bloody beautiful, and ye're mine."

His words rang in her ears. She had to force herself to stop fidgeting as he skated his hands along her thighs to her backside, drawing her nearer to his hardness. She could feel the heat of his erection against the softness of her belly and his fingertips igniting her skin anywhere he touched. Her reserve vanished when he gently pulled her in for another deep kiss, their simultaneous moan rending the atmosphere and every neuron in her brain shorting out. 

She broke their kiss, gasping for air, and he stared at her with barely constrained desperation, lifting her by the waist as she held on to his shoulders. Guided by his strong hands, she slowly lowered herself onto his thick length, inch by inch, their mouths dropping open and exchanging breaths. When their bodies locked together like two halves of a whole, they stared at each other in wonderment, sharing a mutual appreciation of the fact that their lust-filled late-night phone conversations paled in comparison to the reality of blinding pleasure.

Unable to take her eyes away from his face - the face of a man who bore so much weight on his shoulders, she tightened her muscles around him, extracting a broken groan to pass his lips. She wanted to be the one who eased his burden, take away all his guilt and anxiety and rid him of his nightmares. He'd been through a lot and, while she had a vague idea of the extent of it, a man who's about honour and duty was good to the core. Looking at his tortured expression, an intense ache bloomed to life again.

"I love you, James Fraser," she whispered, digging her fingernails on his shoulders and working her hips in rhythm to his upward drive.

Jamie made a hoarse sound and pulled her down to brush his lips against hers. "I love ye too, Sassenach. Not being with ye, even for a day …it hurts so much." Lightning slashed through the room, and she saw his handsome face shadowed, his hair dishevelled from her desperate fingers. "Christ, a man like me should have to barter his soul to the devil to have someone like ye. But ye love me. Yer love is everything, and ye're saving this dark soul. What have I done to deserve ye?" he rasped on a harsh exhale.

Claire wanted to tell him he didn't have to change anything to deserve her. She loved everything about him, even that dark side he harboured. Together they could work things out. She hoped she communicated that with her eyes before he lowered his face into the crook of her neck and started bucking into her in rough strokes, his broken versions of her name on his lips.

The rain continued to drum against the windows, turning Jamie's cottage into their own private world where they were the only two people who existed. "Jamie," she whimpered, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck. He squeezed her bottom before lightly smacking it, grunting deep in his throat as she rocked against him at a faster pace. "Oh, God, I'm going to come. It feels so good."

Jamie reared with sharper and faster thrusts, answering every grind of her hips, and she sobbed, bracing herself on his shoulders. "Christ, Sassenach. Ah, fuck!" He lowered his head to suck her nipples, making her seized up around him.

Her pleasure exploded, vivid and bright, and when her thigh muscles slackened, Jamie surged up into her heat for the final time and roared, their peak vibrating between them with such force, her lungs were robbed of air, and her vision dimmed. There was nothing but their love spilling from their hearts. They clung to each other for a long while as the sound of rain switched from loud drumming to a pitter-patter, their mouths engaging in a slow, mating dance, their hearts beating closely together as if it sought to merge into one.

As their hearts calmed and their breathing slowed down, Jamie wrapped his arms around her to nestle his head in her neck. The sound of rain against the roof echoed through the cottage, and they remained motionless for a long time. When they did move, it's only because Jamie was aroused again, and their second time around ended up leaving trails of shambles and mess. A floor lamp and a vase were knocked over, and Rollo's basket bed accidentally kicked to the other side of the room. By the time they made it into his bedroom, a curtain had been yanked down, and apples rolled off the bowl on the dining table, leaving the living room in a state of disarray.

After another rigorous bout of lovemaking, they both collapsed into each other's arms. As they regained their breaths, Jamie released a satisfied sigh before closing his eyes with a smile. There was enough time for a talk later. But right now, all she wanted was to relish being cocooned in the warmth and safety of his arms. 

"Jamie?" she murmured as his breathing evened out. 

"Aye?" He was barely conscious, and she couldn't help but grin as she listened to the soothing beat of his heart beneath her ear. 

"You're definitely a keeper."

She watched as the sweetest smile formed on his tired but handsome face until sleep finally claimed him.

..........

Jamie had awoken earlier with Claire snuggled into him, their skin a wee bit sticky and damp from their body heat and yesterday's marathon sex. Coming out of a deep slumber had more to do with his thickening arousal than the internal body clock and the birds' chirping outside. It had made him wonder if his desire for Claire would ever wane, but it was quite apparent, after last night, he was still left with wanting more. But he'd let her sleep, knowing they both had jobs to attend to.

After they had awoken sometime during the night, they'd raided the fridge for something to eat and then went straight back to bed to talk about their work and their plans for today. Their energetic bed activity had left them depleted, but the intimacy of holding each other while conversing in the dark had restored his soul, resulting in a deep, restful sleep.

Although he'd told Willie he would come late to work, Jamie felt so well-rested, he'd decided to start early and let Claire do her own thing. It was a good idea, too, because after the freak storm yesterday, there were quite a few trees that had been damaged and needed to be cut down or remove for safety purposes. And Claire had many things to sort out, like getting in touch with some bloke for her boss' publishing company. 

He was working behind the village church, the area bordered with hawthorn, rowan and alder trees. He and Willie had already safely removed one of the damaged trees threatening to collapse on the church's roof and was just about to start uprooting a rotted tree stump when his godfather, Murtagh, came out of nowhere. It wasn't unusual seeing him there. It was part of his godfather's duty, as he called it, to pop up once in a while to check up on any of the Frasers.

"Ach, there ye are," Murtagh greeted with a half-smile. "Willie told me I'd find ye here." He took out a thermos flask from his rucksack and began to unscrew the top. "I thought I'd stop by and see what ye're up to. Heard the Beauchamp lass is back."

He wiped the sweat off his brows. "Aye, Claire's back. Picked her up yesterday."

Murtagh poured some tea into the thermos' cup and handed it to him. "Sounds like it's serious between the two of ye." He winked as Jamie gratefully took the cup and sipped the hot brew. "If she's anything like her mother, I'd be careful not to let her slip away. I made that mistake once, lad ...dinnae let that happen to ye too."

He frowned as he recalled seeing Harry at Inverness airport yesterday. "About that ...ye mentioned once over dinner that ye knew Claire's father, Harry ...I mean, Henry."

"Aye ...Henry, that prick, bless his soul," Murtagh muttered before making a sign of the cross. "I thought he was my mate. Did ye ken that pillock stole my burd from right under my nose?"

"I remember ye saying that. But tell me more about Henry."

"Ye were probably too young to remember." Murtagh shifted on his feet and shoved his hands into his jeans' pockets. "Before he met and married Jules ... Claire's mother, that is, we were the best of mates and hanged out a lot in the pub whenever he was here. Sometimes we'd take ye and Willie along when we went fishing or hiking. While I concentrated on teaching Willie how to hook a worm, Henry would be showing ye how to throw a pebble on the surface of the water. Or how to start a fire with sticks. Stuff like that. I could see from early on he was fond of ye."

Jamie searched his memory bank for that particular image, but he found none. "I have vague memories about fishing ..aye, but ye've taken Willie and me out with a lot of yer mates, especially summer when school was out." He wiped his dirt streak hands down the thighs of his jeans. "But I cannae seem to recall Henry."

"Hmmm ...nae wonder." Murtagh dragged a booted foot back and forth on the dirt. "It wasnae a pleasant memory the last time ye saw him." He swallowed hard as he looked into the distance. "After Henry married Jules, I didnae hear from them again. And it was a good thing too, because I think I would have given him a right good pounding after what he did. I dinnae think they would ever return, and I was surprised because they both loved this place and had made quite a few friends here ...even before they met."

Feeling the cold chill on his neck, Jamie turned up his sleeveless jacket's collar and zipped up his front. "So what happened the last time I saw him?"

Murtagh puffed out a breath. "The last time ye saw Henry, he was in a car accident ...with his family."

"What?" he choked.

Murtagh turned tired-looking eyes on him, and there was a deep sadness in them that startled him. "It was the day they were coming back to Broch Mordha for the first time in years. I heard talks around the village that they've rented a wee cottage from Mrs Baird. And also heard words about a wean. I didnae want to stick around to find out. I thought I'd take a wee trip to Skye and stay there until Henry and his family were gone. I was just packing when ye came barging into my hoose tellin me that a car had smashed to a tree. I came running oot like a gudgeon with ye right behind me. Ye must have been nine or ten. It wasnae far from where I lived then. By the time I got there, Henry was still alive, and Jules was unconscious. He ordered me to get the bairn first and then Jules. My first thoughts were to save Jules, but the wee child was screaming, and Henry was begging me to save her. Between the two of us, we managed to get wee Claire oot, and I ordered ye to take her as far as possible from the site. And that ye did. But I couldnae save Harry and Jules because the car caught fire and Henry lost consciousness. When I smelt gasoline, I had to run, and that's when the car exploded."

"Oh dear Lord." Jamie fell a step back as faint memories flying about like bits of a jigsaw puzzle flooded his brain, his mind struggling to fit the pieces together. Every time he managed to recall something, he couldn't hold on to it long enough to construct that day's event. 

He had so many questions and wanted to ask Murtagh more but drew up short when the crew of workmen, working for him and Willie rounded the church. Four sets of eyes landed on them, greeting them with a nod and grunt. Thinking this was not the place to discuss such things, Jamie cleared his throat and shook his head, his way of telling Murtagh they'll discuss this another time.

Murtagh grabbed his shoulder as he turned to pick up his equipment. "Look, lad," Murtagh began in a low voice. "Ye probably cannae remember because ye were so traumatised that day that ye're ma made ye attend some counselling. It took a year for ye to get over it. For as long as I've known ye, ye have this tendency to bury pain and grief. Just do me a favour, alright. Leave the past in the past. Talk to Claire about it by all means, but for fuck sake, dinnae tell yer ma I told ye. She'd be on my case like a rash. She thinks ye got enough on yer plate ever since ye came back from the Middle East without me dumping this on ye. Are we clear?"

Jamie nodded and watched his godfather turn around and leave. Claire's parents' accident wasn't news to him, but the fact that he had apparently been a witness, it was just too mind-boggling beyond words. It's hard enough to reconcile that there's a possibility he'd been communicating with a ghost for the past year and a half, and now, with Murtagh's latest revelation, he felt like he's going to implode with bafflement.

Mentally shaking himself, he banished any further thoughts about Harry and concentrated on doing as much job as possible to be with Claire sooner. Operating heavy machinery while his mind was elsewhere was dangerous. So he poured his concentration onto work.

Later that day, when he returned to the cottage, Jamie found Claire sat at the dining table with her laptop on, her dark curls tied loosely in a bun. There was a fire going already in the hearth and his home smelled of cooking. She sat cross-legged on the chair, and he realised she was talking to someone via video conference. Not wanting to disturb her, he quietly shut the door. But Claire had already seen him and beckoned him over with a motion of her hand.

She got up from the chair and stood on tiptoes to give him a kiss. "You're just in time," Claire smiled. "I'd like you to meet someone."

He returned the kiss and pulled her in close, inhaling her sweet clean smell. "I hope it's not yer boss."

She tugged his hand and laughed. "No, don't be silly."

He leaned down to look at her laptop, but there was no one there. Instead, a little rectangle showed him in the corner of the screen, making him winced when he saw his own image. He looked like he'd been hauled through a thicket in the rain and his hair laid around his face in thick, damp clumps. It was definitely not the first impression he would have chosen for meeting anyone associated with Claire. 

"Umm, Sassenach, naebody's there," he said, looking at her.

"Just hang fire," she replied, stealing another kiss from him.

He smiled. And when he finally glanced back down at the laptop, he nearly choked. Right there on the screen, peering up at him, was a cantankerous-looking, crocodile Dundee version of Harry. Same eyes, the same face, and though a handsome fellow, this man's skin looked weather-beaten, and he had a scary scowl on his face.

"Jamie," Claire giggled. "I'd like you to meet my uncle ...Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, also known as uncle Lamb. Uncle Lamb, this is Jamie, James Fraser ...my boyfriend. I'm staying with him at his place for at least a week."

"Is that right?" the man on the screen harumphed with a growl as he stuck a thick cigar between his teeth. "Not what I was expecting."

Ah, holy fuck! Though uncle Lamb looked like Harry, Jamie knew this man was nothing like Harry. Harry was ...or had been a polite, refined and jolly ol' chap with a very posh accent. This man was far from the polished look Harry presented. This man looked like he'd seen the world and confronted danger and probably wrestled crocodiles as a hobby. Convincing uncle Lamb that he's good enough for Claire was not going to be a walk in a park. Jamie knew he had a long evening ahead as he gingerly sat down in front of Claire's laptop and braced himself.

Jamie cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Good evening, sir ..."

    Dear Readers,

This took a bit of time to write, usually the case with me when I'm writing a sex scene. But here it is, and I hope you've enjoyed this latest instalment. As always, I'm grateful for your feedback, so thank you very much for taking the time to comment. I may not always comment back, but you can rest assured I read your observations and answer any questions you may have, including constructive criticism. Until the next chapter, take care of yourselves, stay safe and keep the positive and love vibes going. Kudos to you all, my friends. 😀❤️

[luescris]

Yakko's Journey

SO THANKS TO @suavebiscuitsaregood I FIGURED OUT HOW TO DO THE READ MORE THING ON MOBILE. ENJOY EVERYONE! :D

Tw: Mentioned death, minor injuries

The story begins a year after Wakko’s Wish.

The Warners have just begun to settle themselves in as the rulers of their village, and ever since they had taken the throne peace and prosperity prospered all throughout the land. Yakko was the king, and was the one that people went to the most since he was the oldest. Wakko and Dot were the prince and princess, sitting at Yakko’s side in the throne room. Their home had gradually became a lush, wonderful place thanks to these three (Even though half of their citizens were surprised at how well they were doing considering they were just kids, and chaotic ones at that). But even so, there were still many hardships not even Wakko and Dot knew about.

Being the main ruler, Yakko had done the hardest of the work, and by his choice. He let Dot and Wakko be kids since half their lives they had to suffer. He filled out paperwork, did the task of putting people in their place, attended to their citizens' needs. The “king” before them was still at large as well, and he had been sending out people to look for him ever since they took charge. No one found him yet, but he was determined to bring the man to justice. But it was a tiring task, and it was beginning to weigh him down; though he never let his siblings see. Yakko would often wander through the halls of the castle until he found the portrait of his parents, and would stare up at it solemnly until he was needed. He barely remembered his parents, but knew that they made him feel safe, happy and warm. He wondered often if they would be proud, but he also couldn’t help but wonder why they left without them. Yakko knew they were exiled, but he and his siblings could have been with them instead of being left to fend for themselves. How did no one else know their heritage? Why were they just left here? 

It was about midnight when he had yet again found himself looking up at his parents, running these questions through his head when a soldier bursted through the hallway, looking as if he had seen a ghost. Yakko was immediately alert, and asked the man what was wrong. It took him a second to catch his breath, but when he met the young king’s eyes, his own was full of fear.

“Your Majesty,” The guard gasped. “The prince and princess.. They’re gone..”

Fear immediately gripped Yakko's heart, and the two ran through the halls until they reached his siblings room. It was a mess. Books and papers were scattered all over the floor, the window shattered. Dot’s and Wakko’s beds were unmade; signs of a struggle were everywhere. A few soldiers had already reached the room, looking around and moving things aside for clues. The oldest Warner went up to the beds slowly, despair creeping up on him as he gently touched the sheets.

His siblings.. Were gone.

He was about ready to fall to his knees before a guard called for his attention, and was given a note with a dagger stuck to the top. It did not have a name, but it did threaten the very lives of his beloved brother and sister if he did not surrender the crown within twenty days. There was no address, no name, nothing. Yakko crumpled the paper in his hand, holding the dagger tightly as anger burned in his eyes. He declared he was going to go out there to find them, but his advisor--who had shown up a few seconds after he had--immediately denied him. He told him that he must stay in the castle for his own safety, that someone had to stay behind and run the village. If he left, no one else would be able to fill in for him. Yakko wanted to argue back, wanted to say that Dot and Wakko were a heck of a lot more valuable than some stupid crown, but was eventually convinced to stay. He was then led to his room for the night so he could try to get some sleep, and the situation would be handled in the morning. But he couldn’t sleep. The rest of the night he stayed awake, hoping that his siblings were okay. The castle felt much more lonely and cold in the morning, and he skipped breakfast much to his advisor's distaste. 

Yakko called for a meeting in town square with the subjects, and brought a chest full of precious jewels and coins along--yet again to his advisor’s disagreement. He told the village what had happened last night, much to their shock. He then showed them the chest, opening it and telling them that if anyone is willing to find his siblings and bring them back home safe and sound, he would reward them with the treasure inside the chest. And off went the entire village, save for a few mothers and children, while Yakko stayed behind. A week passed afterwards, one that was long and lonely for the oldest Warner. He was told to be patient, was reassured by many that they were okay, but his worry did not grow any less. Eventually, he finally decided it was time to take action and go find them himself.

He snuck himself out in the middle of the night, securing the dagger from the note to his waist, along with a few other belongings. He snuck into the stables and took a horse, and rode out into the night, leaving behind his crown and a letter to anyone who found it. 

Yakko had nothing but a compass and his gut to lead him through his journey. He overcame many obstacles--one of them having lost his horse--traveling through dense forests and abandoned villages. He was also occasionally attacked by strange men, and after having defeated a few took one of them hostage. He asked the man questions about where his siblings were taken, knowing these men and their captor were connected, and for a while the archer didn’t speak. When Yakko threatened him, however, the man simply laughed, thoroughly confusing the kid.

“I know you can’t do it,” The man chuckled darkly, raising his head and meeting Yakko’s eyes with an evil grin. “You’re too soft. You couldn’t even hurt a fly even if you tried.”

Yakko had scowled, trying to hide his confusion, and held the dagger just an inch closer to the man’s throat. But his hand was shaking; the archer was right. “Wanna bet?”

The man simply laughed again, and told Yakko something sinister. Something awful. There was a mad look in his eyes as he told him that the person who took his siblings had taken the lives of his parents. That his master would also take his siblings lives if he didn’t do as he was told. 

“You only have a week left before it’s too late,” He had sneered.

“But… But I thought I was given twenty days??” Yakko whispered. He was shaken to his core, eyes wide and full of fear and denial.

“Oh, were you?” The man tilted his head. “Well then, I guess you were lied to.”

Again, he laughed as Yakko tripped over his own feet, scurrying away with fear as he picked up the dagger that he had dropped as the archer talked. The laughter followed him all the way through the night as he left behind the glow of the fire.

It had been days since he had a proper night’s sleep. He hadn’t stopped running through the forest all night long, not until his lungs burned from gasping for air, until all his fear had burnt out. He clung onto the hope that the archer was lying, that his siblings were okay still. He trudged through another seemingly empty village, holding back tears while trying to stay awake. But he tripped over something, and didn’t get back up, finally going unconscious. When he had woken, he found that he was not on the ground, but in a bed, and upon realizing he had fallen asleep sat up frantically and looked around. A hand was placed on his shoulder and a woman gently calmed him down. He asked her who she was and where she had taken him. She told him that he was still in the village and she had found him asleep in the middle of the road. 

“As for who I am,” She smiled, showing an array of discolored teeth. “I am Saeela, and I am a witch.”

She told him that he had been asleep for a good portion of the afternoon, and when he panicked and told her he needed to go, she interrupted and said, “I know. You need to find your family.” 

Yakko simply blinked at her. She chuckled and told him that she cast a spell on him to see if he was a friend or foe and knew all about his story. 

“You can cast spells?” Yakko asked after a moment.

Saeela scoffed playfully and waved a hand at him. “Well of course, son. I’m a witch. I can do many things.”

“.. Then, can you help me?” The Warner looked down and rubbed his arm. “I know you’ve done a lot already and I appreciate it, but I’m afraid I don’t have much time left and I don’t know where I’m going. Or what I’m doing.” 

The witch thinks about this for a moment, then tells him she’ll help, but for a price. He asks her what that price is and she tells him she’ll tell him when she figures it out. She then stands and tells him to follow her, and the two walk into a room with a crystal ball sitting on a table. A tray of food sits on the other side and she tells him to eat, since he hasn’t had a good meal in a while. Yakko does so gratefully, regretting skipping all those meals the minute he digs in, and Saeela uses the ball to see where his siblings have been taken. They find out that they were being held captive in a cave a few miles from the village, and they also find out that they were taken by Salazar. This makes the Warner angry, having been looking for the man for a whole year, and Saeela urges him to eat quickly before time runs out for his siblings.

Yakko asks what she means by that and she only shakes her head, ushering him out of the room. Saeela gives him her own horse and a bag that she tells him not to use until he knows when to, and before he can ask any more questions she sends him off, watching his figure disappear in the distance.

“Good luck, young King,” She murmurs, and heads back into the cottage.

For the rest of his journey, Yakko bends over the horse, urging the animal to go faster with a flick of the reins. When he arrives at the mouth of the cave, he slips off the horse slowly, taking out his dagger and entering. It wasn’t long before he was greeted with at least ten different archers and swordsmen, all pointing their weapons at the Warner. Yakko scowled, but perked up when he heard the sound of someone clapping slowly. From his left came Salazar, former ruler of Warnerstock, wearing a large, triumphant smirk across his face.

“Ahh, young Yakko Warner,” He sneered. “About time you showed your face. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Yakko’s scowl deepened. “Salazar. Where are my siblings?! You better not have hurt them or I swear I’ll-!”

“You’ll what, your majesty? Take me to prison?? Kill me? Last time you had the chance to kill someone you didn’t take it, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the same.” Salazar’s grin never faded as he spread his arms. “Besides, you’re the one that’s surrounded! It wasn’t very smart to come by yourself, young Warner.” Finally he too scowled, dropping his arms. “Now, where is my crown?”

Yakko looked around him at the weapons and men surrounding him, and once again knew that the enemy was right. He couldn’t take them all out at once, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t even come up with his usual witty banter; emotions were the only thing that had kept him going this entire time. He had no room for fun and games when his siblings were in danger.

“.. Show me my sibs first.” He finally grumbled.

Salazar snapped his fingers, and some more men came out with two small figures Yakko immediately recognized: Wakko and Dot. They looked a little dirty and tired, but they seemed fine either way. They looked up and their eyes widened when they saw their brother.

“Yakko!!” They cried.

The oldest took a step forward and reached out a hand, but the men around him drew their weapons closer to him. “Sibs!” He cried in return, unable to do much else.

But then something unexpected happened. More men came out, dragging along two other figures that stood beside Wakko and Dot. At first Yakko couldn’t recognize them, but then they rose their heads to meet his eyes, and they widened in realization.

… Mom? D-dad?? Yakko thought in disbelief.

“Now, the crown.” Salazar growled, forcing Yakko’s attention to him. “Give it to me, and I’ll let them all go free. So long as you never step foot onto Warnerstock.”

Yakko looked back at his long lost parents, who stared at him solemnly. He wanted to cry, jump into their arms, and yell at them all at the same time. He thought that they were gone. But they were right there and..!

“Don’t listen to him son.” His father suddenly spoke. “It’s a trap, he won’t let any of us go. He’s going to make our village suffer again, you can’t let that happen!”

He stared at them for a moment, lost in both thought and words for the first time. 

“Well boy?! We don’t have all day! Give it to me, now!” Salazar commanded.

“... I..” Yakko gulped, and finally turned to the evil man. “I don’t have it..”

That’s when things take a turn for the worst. Salazar’s face falls, then it scrunches in rage, and he commands his men to take Yakko captive as well. But before he was grabbed, a rock was thrown over the Warner’s head, and he turned to see the village people and the castle guards--along with their advisor--standing at the mouth of the cave. The former king, bewildered, demands how they managed to find him here and Rita immediately responds cockily, “It’s a cartoon, man. Wild things happen.”

Then they charge forward, and a fight between Salazar’s men and the citizens of Warnerstock breaks out. This gives Yakko time to make his way towards his family, but is stopped when a sword is shoved inches away from his nose. Yakko looks up to see that the sword belongs to Salazar, who has a mad glint in his eyes, and he unsheathes his own dagger. The two spar as the battle happens around them, and it lasts for a good while. Somehow Yakko’s tiny dagger manages to block and parry it’s opponent well, and fueled by his newly found courage Yakko is able to send some quips that really boils the former king’s blood. This gives the oldest Warner an advantage, and he finally wins, sending Salazar down to the ground. He lets his smirk finally drop, pointing the dagger at the man’s nose.

“You’re beat. Stay.” He growls, backing up towards where his family was currently cheering him on.

When he turns his back, however, Salazar growls and rises back up onto his feet, raising his sword in the air. Yakko’s father shouts for him to watch out, running forward as his son turns around in slow motion, eyes widening with fear. But the sword doesn’t strike Yakko. Instead, it strikes his father, who held his son close. Dot, Wakko, and their mother cry out as his father falls to his knees, Yakko frozen in place. As his father’s form slips from his vision, in place of it was Salazar, who had a wicked grin on his face.

And Yakko saw red.

He didn’t know what sword he had taken from the ground, and didn’t care. He cried out with rage, and again the two fought. Each strike of his sword brought Salazar back further and further, and slowly the former king’s face fell as they backed into the cave, where a gaping, seemingly bottomless hole awaited. There was no way for him to win, and he knew this. One last strike from Yakko, and his foot slipped, sending him down with a cry. His hand caught the edge as his weapon fell down the hole, and he looked up to see Yakko, rage twisting his face as angry tears built at the corner of his eyes. His sword pointed down at the king, who pleaded for mercy as he tried to regain his grip, begging to be saved. But Yakko did not hear him, raising his own sword and readying to give the final blow. But his mother cried his name, and her voice ripped through the red.

He looked back to see her cradling his father’s head in her lap, Wakko and Dot beside her and watching with wide, fearful eyes.

“Son, please,” She murmured softly. “Don’t. He may be an awful man, but you are not a killer.”

Yakko breathed heavily, lowering the weapon just a bit as she continued. “He will get what is due. But his fate is not yours to decide.”

Finally, he looked down at Salazar, and upon seeing the look he gave, he dropped the sword. Yakko kneeled and reached out his hand to the king, and for a moment it seemed as if he could reach it. But at the last moment his hand slipped, and Salazar fell into the depths of the gaping hole below with a cry. Yakko cried out as well, hand reaching out even if he could do nothing else, and shut his eyes as Salazar disappeared in it’s shadows. He stayed kneeled there for a moment, but then a pained cough brought him out of his sorrow, and he looked back to see his father once again.

He rose and quickly made his way to where his family was as the others gathered around them, kneeling beside his father. They exchanged a few words, Wakko gripping on his mother’s arm and Dot wiping at her eyes to stop the tears. Then Yakko remembered the bag that Saeela had given him before he had left, and rushed to his horse to get it, knowing what it was for now. When he returned he handed his mother the potion, telling her it may be able to save his life. She doesn’t ask any questions, but does as he says, and for a moment nothing seemed to happen. But then his father blinked open his eyes, and rose. The injury on his backside had healed, and the Warner family shared a hug while the onlookers cheered and celebrated.

Together they made their way back to Warnerstock happily. When they reach Saeela’s village once again, Yakko greets the witch and tells them it was her potion that saved their father’s life. Their father graciously thanks her, and offers for her to come with them to the castle to be rewarded. She respectfully declines, and when told that if she needs anything she can simply ask, she looks down at Yakko with a wink and says, “Oh don’t worry. I’ll reach out soon.” The oldest Warner blinks, and though he knows she’s referring to the price that she mentioned when he had asked for her help, he is still unsure on what she means. Nevertheless, they continue on their way home, Saeela waving after them with a twinkle in her eye.

A week passes by and once again the family is reunited. In that time, Yakko gets all the answers he needs about why they left without their children. Their father and mother regain the crown, though Dot, Wakko, and Yakko sit proudly by their side. He tells them that he is proud of how well they had run the kingdom while they were away, glad to see that Salazar’s tyranny had all but disappeared. From that moment on, Warnerstock is at peace and prospers under the Warner’s rule.

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

And that's the end! :D Sorry if it seems too dark or out of character, or if something doesn't follow with the movie. ^~^" I haven't seen Wakko's Wish in a bit so if I made any mistakes someone please tell me! Hope you all enjoyed though! :D

If y'all have any questions or want to do anything with this don't be afraid to do so/ask! ^3^

[expensiveglasses]

Charming chapter 6

Summary: Prince Jungkook was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal…to Snow White

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4590

Warnings: This is the chapter the warnings have been about. It’s a heavier chapter in the second half dealing with “death” and attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described, but if you are sensitive to that subject matter, you may want to avoid the last few paragraphs.  

Trigger warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide.  

. .

A month had passed since Else’s wedding and the summer was slowly coming to an end. It made it easier to do chores when the air was cooler; more pleasant to sit outside and do the washing. Though you’d mostly neglected that for the last few weeks.

You hadn’t seen your friend as much since her marriage and so you’d spent even more time with the dwarfs and Snow in their cottage. The prince joined most nights, bringing food and humor with him. You’d quickly learned he was a master of terrible jokes and couldn’t help but like him all the more for it.

This morning your mother had sent you in search of berries. She claimed to want to make preserves, but you were wise enough to know she just wanted to go see a friend and gossip. You didn’t mind so much as you chose to dawdle around the edge of the forest, plucking blueberries from bushes and placing them in your basket.

You saw the prince making his way towards you long before he reached you. The sight of him made your insides feel funny, like little wings sweeping delicately against your ribcage and you bent down to survey a raspberry bush, plucking eagerly at the juicy red fruit.

“Good morning.” The prince greeted as he reached your side and you stood straight to gaze up at him.

“Good morning, Jungkook. You’re out very early today; normally I don’t see you until evening.”

“I finished my lessons early today.” He grinned, something mischievous in his twinkling eyes, and you felt that perhaps he’d snuck out before actually finishing his training.

“I hope you won’t get a tongue lashing for this.” You teased, moving further up the path towards a strawberry bush and plucking one to try. “Mmm, they’re amazing right now. Would you like to try one?”

You moved to take another bite of yours, but the prince was faster, grabbing your wrist and pulling the berry towards his mouth, allowing plump lips to encircle the rest of the berry and separate it from its calyx.

For a moment, everything stilled, your heart thumping wildly in your chest as his fingers remained delicately around your wrist. His gaze was wild; heated on yours as he stepped towards you. Heart racing, you let the end of the strawberry fall from your finger tips and onto the ground.

“Sweet.” He murmured, licking the juice from the corner of his mouth and your vision was pulled toward the sight before you quickly looked away.

The prince paused before stepping back, staring down at the strawberry bush and into your own basket. “You’re picking berries this morning? May I help?”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded, turning back to the strawberry bush and plucking fresh fruit to drop into your basket. “There’s more in the forest.” You signaled, beginning to walk and he followed after you.

“What were you studying today?” You asked as you began to pick from new bushes. Jungkook stood nearby, loading his hand with blueberries.

“Foreign politics and language specifically. These are topics that I studied in school as well, but my father wants me polished in the policies of our own kingdom, of course.”

“Are foreign policies of other lands so different from our own?” You asked, walking closer to him so he could drop the berries in his hands into your basket.

“It depends on the country.” He mused, crouching low to pick from more difficult spots. “The ones nearby are very similar, but across waters it begins to diversify greatly. Of course, all people are human at their core, intrinsically the same if we’re all torn down to the beginnings, but traditions and belief systems vary. It’s good to have a working knowledge of any land we may come to have dealings with.”

“Ah, the duties of a king.” You smiled softly as he stood to his full height beside you. The prince drifted closer to you as you weaved your way deeper into the forest. Close enough that you could feel the graze of his sleeve against yours, smell the fresh saffron against his tunic.

“Duty, I find, is a very inconvenient thing.” He looked at you and you pondered his words curiously.

“What do you mean?” You inquired gently, slowing your pace to match his.

“Always to be bound to one’s duty, never to allow the heart to decide.”

You paused a moment. “And what does the heart wish for?” You whispered, looking up at him. He’d come to a stop and you stilled as well, turning to face him.

“I think you know.” He returned just as softly. The weight of his words was heavy to bear; it brought with it a joy you’d felt was impossible. You had hoped he would say something like that; that he’d been feeling what you were feeling. You were flush with warmth at the admission. 

“But your heart cannot have its desires?”

He smiled sadly, eyes softening as he looked at you. “Duty, you see. It seems it bends for no one.”

“I wish it would.” You admit timidly and he sighed, taking your hand carefully in his own.

“As do I.”

“Snow says we mustn’t worry now, after all, the future continues and we do not know what it holds.” You smiled, feigning an optimism you didn’t really feel. If even a prince could not choose for himself, why should you feel things could be any different for you?

At least you knew you weren’t the only one wishing.

“Should we go see her?” Jungkook smiled and you nodded. He released your hand and you strode ahead of him, leading him further into the forest and eventually into the clearing that held the dwarf’s cottage.

Snow was not alone when you arrived; however, and the two of you stood startled in the doorway as you took notice of her with a young man by the hearth of the fire. They looked up at the two of you as the door swung open and Snow smiled, coming to pull you into a hug.

“You’ve come!” She cried happily. “I was so hoping you would. I wanted to introduce you both to my friend, Diterich. He’s the one I told you of, who saved me.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your majesty.” Diterich said, bowing low. “Ma’am.” He said, inclining his head towards you and you smiled in return.

He was a handsome young man, dark, shaggy blonde hair and bright green eyes. He was well built and had a bow strapped to his back; you wondered if that was his profession. He was certainly not close to Snow in rank, but he held himself as though he were made for something more than his station in life and you liked that quiet confidence. You supposed Snow did too, based on the way she looked at him.

Love sick. It made your heart ache for her and you looked carefully over at Jungkook. Destiny had not been kind to any of you.

“I’ve heard of your kindness to my friend.” Jungkook said, “When everything is well again, you should be rewarded.”

Diterich shook his head, staring down at Snow, the same look of love she’d bestowed on him, and smiled. “With all due respect, your majesty, I didn’t do it for reward.”

“I like you all the better for it.” Jungkook smiled. “How did you come to find her, though?”

“Snow sent me a communication through letter. One of the dwarfs found me in Snow’s kingdom, at her direction, and delivered it personally. I am indebted to him. It has given me much comfort to see her safe and well. I am only sorry I could not bring her some of her clothes.”

Snow waved his comment away. “It is a small inconvenience. Besides, I am far happier to have your company than to have all my dresses back. All three of you. Will you be staying for supper?”

She looked to both Jungkook and yourself and you smiled with a shrug. “It’s still so early in the day so it’s hard to say, but I imagine I’ll be able to spare some time this evening.”

“I should hope so! By the way, did you happen to notice if there are any gooseberry bushes nearby? I want to make a pie tomorrow.”

You nodded, pointing out the window. “Yes, in fact, there are some just before the tree line. Over there.”

“Wonderful!” Snow cried, clapping her hands together. “Then tomorrow you can expect some pie.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” You said.

“Snow has said you’ve been friends since childhood.” Jungkook said suddenly, “but I never did ask how the two of you had met.”

He inspected them with the same interest you had and you wondered if he could see what you could. The prince was intelligent, so you imagined the shared looks of longing had not been missed. Diterich looked to Snow before answering.

“We met as children. My father was a huntsman in their court and I was raised to take his place. As children, we would play in the castle together. We got into trouble a lot,” he grinned, “a princess wasn’t meant to be wrestling with a common boy. Kindred spirits, my mother would say. When my father passed, I took his place as a huntsman in the royal court. Youngest in Vildüngan history.”

His chest puffed as he said it and you smiled. “Your family must be very proud.”

He nodded, expression dropping suddenly. “My mother and sister are all I have left. They’re in hiding, though. As am I. The queen found out about the pig’s heart and ordered my head. It’s why I came here; to warn Snow.”

You looked to the princess in alarm, but she smiled at you with all the serenity of one whose life isn’t in perpetual danger. “She doesn’t know I’m here.” Snow assured, squeezing your arm. “All is well.”

“We need to start thinking of ways to get you back to your kingdom. You’re its rightful heir!” Jungkook insisted and she tutted, moving away from the hearth of the fire and towards the kitchen to keep her hands busy.

“It will all work out somehow, I have faith.” She replied flippantly and Jungkook looked angry.

“Why won’t you take this seriously?” He chastised. “She wants you dead and is actively seeking your heart. Let my father help, we can do something; go against her.”

“No.” She insisted, turning sharply to look at him. “I don’t want anyone else to be pulled into this. No one need inconvenience or injure themselves on my behalf. I’m already uneasy with how many people are involved; how many lives are directly affected because of this…I won’t have anymore.”

“But,” Jungkook began once more but was silenced as she frowned at him.

“I said no, Jungkook.”

The prince sighed, rubbing at his forehead in frustration. “Fine, I can’t make you take your safety more seriously. I must return home.” He bowed before turning towards the door and you looked from Snow back to Jungkook before following him out into the clearing, basket full of berries swinging from your arm.

“Jungkook!” You called, rushing to his side. He didn’t slow so you walked with him through the forest in silence. Just as the trees were thinning, Jungkook slowed his pace, sighing loudly.

“I’m afraid I won’t be seeing you again until the day after next.” At your questioning look, he proceeded. “My father and I are expecting foreign dignitaries this evening and we will play host until tomorrow evening as well. I won’t have time to spare while they’re here.”

“Duty, as you say.” You smiled. He returned your soft smile, nodding and reaching for your hand.

“I will be seeing you.” He said, leaving a soft kiss on the back of your hand before making his way back up to the castle. . .

Your mother was in the garden when you returned, cutting cucumbers from their stalks. She looked up as you came through the gate, waving you over.

“Why did it take so long to pick berries?” Your mother asked with a frown, taking the basket from your arms.

“I went to say hello to the dwarfs while I was in the area.”  You said, bending down beside her and helping to dig up carrots at her direction.

“You’re there too often these days; what business does a young woman have visiting 7 old men so often? Aren’t they in the mines at this time of day anyway?”

You sighed, brushing hair from your face as you dropped a couple carrots into the basket beside your mother. “Well, now that Else is married I don’t always have anyone to visit.”

Your mother frowned. “Perhaps you should think of getting married soon.” She said and you looked up at her startled.

“Get married? It’s not that easy, mother. I’m not even being courted.”

She gave you a look, eyes shifting over to the house. “If you gave a little more effort where prudent, perhaps that wouldn’t be a problem.”

You sighed, shaking your head and pulling another carrot from the dirt. “I’m not in love with Peter.” You whispered.

Your mother laughed, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Love? We don’t have that luxury, my dear. You know that.” She stood, hands extended for the basket full of vegetables and you handed it up to her before standing and grabbing your own basket with berries. “I expect you here all day tomorrow. You’ve been neglecting your duties and it’s time you start preparing to run a house of your own. Time waits for no one, you know.”

She walked into the house and you watched after her, chewing on your bottom lip as you willed the tears of frustration back. You wiped your hands on the apron over your dress before walking into the house and out of the sun.

Peter and your father were in the corner, both working with new fabrics. Peter looked up at you, offering you a small smile before returning to his work and you sighed softly to yourself. Why couldn’t you just love him? . .

Your hands were sore. You’d been at the river all morning with your mother washing linen. It had been your job to beat the linen with a poss-stick as your mother insisted that’s what youth was for. You wondered if you’d ever be able to move again. What good was youth if it was wasted away on chores?

Hands feeling like they might just fall off, you wrung out the last of the fabrics before dropping it in your basket and heaving this onto your hip. Your mother chatted aimlessly as you walked from the riverside and around the edge of the forest towards your home.

You cast your eyes up towards the castle as it came into view around the bend of the trees and wondered idly what Jungkook was doing today. You knew he was entertaining foreign dignitaries, of course, but you couldn’t even imagine what that entailed. Perhaps they were holed up in some room discussing trade.

“Can you imagine living there?” Your mother asked, taking note of your gaze. You sighed, looking from her and back to the castle.

“Only in our dreams, mother.”

She hummed, shifting her own laundry basket in her arms. “If we lived in a place like that, I imagine we could have someone else tend to our washing. Our cooking, too. What must their food be like, hmm?”

You chuckled, kicking a pebble across the dirt path. “I suppose we’ll never know. Grand, I imagine, though. Warm potatoes and bread, sweet dessert’s whenever we ask for them. I would eat everything and die happy if I were them.”

“Thanks to the prince, we can have some share in their prosperity.” Your mother commented and you could see her looking at you from the corner of her eye. “He’s been very generous, as of late.”

You nodded; eyes trained on the dirt path beneath your feet. “Yes, he has been very kind.”

“He was never so kind when he was a boy. I wonder at the change.” She remarked and you wondered if she suspected more than she let on. She’d never seen the two of you together; aside from when he and his father had visited your home a few months ago.

“Perhaps he had a very good education.” You said as the roof of your home came into view. “Rumor has it he went to a school for training.”

“Rumor, you say?” She asked and you nodded, pushing through the gate in front of your house.

Conversation stopped then as the two of you went about hanging the laundry from the lines and working in the garden. Peter and your father were working on mending clothing in the home, so you didn’t feel like discussing the king and his son in their presence. It seemed your mother was also of the same mind set.

As the sun waned and the evening became cooler, Peter left your home with goodbyes and well wishes. You were only just finishing supper when the wind outside began to howl. Your father peaked his head outside the door and you watched as you ladled stew into bowls.

“A storm is approaching.” He commented softly. “I must make sure the animals are secured.” He left the home to the small stable behind your house and you listened as the wind whistled loudly from outside the walls.

“We’ve not had rain in a while.” Your mother said, helping you to bring the food to the small table. “It will be good for the crops.”

The storm raged loudly through the night, rain pounding against the timber frame of your home. It was difficult to sleep with all the noise; thunder and lightning bursting loudly across the sky. You could hear your father snoring from the small room next to yours and it soon lulled you into a fitful sleep. . .

Mornings after a storm were your favorite. The calm as opposition to the fierce raging of wind the night before a reminder that brighter days always followed the rain. You’d managed to convince your mother to allow you to check on the dwarfs this morning. You imagined they were mostly protected from the elements in their place among the trees. Even so.

After a quick breakfast of pottage, you dressed and made your way towards the forest. The sun was already sitting comfortably in the sky, illuminating the crystal blue sky and you listened happily to the sounds of birds singing as you walked through the fields.

You found, to your surprise, the prince already waiting by the forests edge. He sat upon a boulder; legs draped out in front of him as he pulled blades of grass apart as distraction. He looked up as your footsteps roused his attention, smile spreading across his lips.

“Y/N.” He beamed, standing and coming to meet you.

“I’m surprised to see you so early!” You exclaimed. “Won’t your father be missing you?”

“Actually, he and our guests drank well into the evening. They will be spending the next few hours recovering in bed.” He said with a roguish grin and you chuckled, making your way into the forest.

The prince followed quickly. “Did you not drink yourself, your majesty?” You teased and he smiled at you.

“I did, but only a little. I knew I wanted to use the opportunity to see you.”

You looked away with a small chuckle, smoothing hair away from your face.

“Well, here I am.” You smiled. Before you could continue, there was a heavy rustling in the trees and both you and Jungkook stopped, watching with unease as something came crashing through the branches.

To your surprise; it was the dwarfs who came rushing into sight and they stopped suddenly, panting before you.

“Y/N, your majesty!” Doc gasped, clutching at his rounded belly as he took deep steadying breaths. The panic in his tone was palpable and your back straightened in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. Jungkook seemed just as tense from their unusual greeting and you waited with baited breath for your friends to continue.

“It’s Snow.” Doc finally said and your alarm rose.

“What of her?” The prince asked sharply and all eyes turned to him. The dwarfs were still breathing heavily from their run; disrupting the usual quiet of the forest.

“Your majesty!” Sleepy blubbered, hardly able to contain himself. “Snow has died.”

“What?!” You gasped, eyes swiveling desperately to each face, each as stricken as the next.

“How?!” The prince demanded and Doc was quick to try and calm the atmosphere.

“She has not died.” He pacified. Your chest was so tight you thought it might burst. How could someone possibly die and not die all at the same time? “She’s been put under a spell; a sleeping spell.”

“I don’t understand.” Jungkook said tersely. You’d never seen him look so distraught.

“Allow me to explain.” Doc continued, “An old hag came to the cottage when we were away. She had a basket of apples. I’m unsure how, but Snow came to acquire one.”

“It was poisoned and that foolish girl took a bite.” Grumpy cried furiously.

Doc tried once more to continue, but Happy spoke first. “We chased the hag, but it was difficult in the storm. Chased her up the mountain but she slipped and fell off. It was the queen, your majesty. It was her stepmother.”

“Did you capture her?” Jungkook asked angrily, back ramrod straight as he paced back and forth. “Did you tie her up to be tried for her crimes?”

“No need,” Bashful said, shaking his head. “The queen is dead. She died from the fall.”

“What of Snow?” You rasped, “where is she?”

“That’s why we were coming for you, your majesty.” Doc said once again. “It was old magic the queen used; ancient. Unless she can find true loves kiss, she’ll remain asleep forever. We can take you to her.”

“True loves kiss?” Jungkook asked, voice cracking in his grief.

The dwarfs nodded. “It’s the only cure.” Sneezy bemoaned. “That’s why we came to find you, your majesty.”

“Me?” Jungkook asked, looking to you and back to the dwarfs.

They looked to you; gazes filled with pity before Doc spoke once more. “You are her betrothed, your majesty. If not you, then who?”

The pain in your chest was severe. Fracturing from the loss of a friend; ripping apart as the prospect of losing the one man you truly loved loomed like a shadow over you.

“What do I have to do?” He whispered and you looked up at him.

“True loves kiss.” Dopey murmured, eyes shifting over to you sadly and then back to the prince.

It was silent for what felt like eternity, the gravity of the situation sinking in and you felt buried under the weight of it; the forest floor waiting to accept you. The prince looked to you, tears already in his eyes, but your own vision of him quickly blurred.

“I have to try.” Jungkook choked and you could feel your heart break a little more, “she’s one of my closest friends. I can’t sit back and do nothing; I couldn’t live with myself. I have to try.”

“I understand.” You murmured. “What if you’re able to wake her?”

Jungkook paused, his eyelashes fluttering closed, a line drawing between his eyes. “Let’s not think about it right now. I have to go.” He gave you one last glance before darting further into the forest with the dwarfs and out of sight. Was it possible to die from a broken heart? You were sure the question had been asked before…you were also sure the answer was yes. Your heart ached in a way you’d never imagined it could.

The love of your life was running to the side of another woman, and though you knew his reasoning was righteous and sound, you ached for the inevitable outcome. A prince was meant to be with a princess. This was no fairy tale, not for you, at least. You can’t always have what you want.

But as you stood there in the grass, surrounded by your broken dreams, you mourned what you could never have had. Even if Snow had not eaten the apple, even had she not been born at all, you would never have been given your heart’s desire; your class was decided before you were born and you would do well to remember it.

When Snow awoke, as she inevitably would, you would be left to watch them marry. Worse still, your father would likely be commissioned to make Jungkook’s wedding clothes and you would be expected to help. That was a bitter truth you could not swallow. To carry the wedding clothing of the man you were desperately in love with…only for him to wear them with someone else.  

You could not do it.

Your feet began to take you before your mind could catch up. The dwarves’ home, tucked delicately between the trees and the stream. The lighting surrounding the cottage was dim despite the morning hour, the house dark in the absence of the once warm lighting; filled with the dwarfs and Snow’s laughter and song.

Now it felt as empty as your heart. The evening turned chilly, the storm from yesterday taking with it the sun from the late summer and you shivered at the thresh hold, lifting your hand carefully to push against the door.

With a soft creak, the door swung open and you glanced inside. In their haste, everything had been left exactly as it was. An uncooked gooseberry pie sat on the counter top, flour strewn across. The fire in the fire place had long gone out. And there, by the table, an apple with one bite.

You stood in the door way a moment, staring down at the beautiful red skin of the nearly pristine apple. Contemplating. You could not bear to face a future without him in it.

With three quick strides, you picked up the apple and ran from the house, seeking out the privacy the trees afforded you. Not far from the home, in a particularly dense part of the forest, you stood staring down at the beautiful, red fruit.

A choice, so simple yet so difficult. One bite; you knew that’s all it would take…but was it really worth it? The light was fading fast this deep in the forest and you shivered, looking around in the darkness.

You thought of Jungkook again, of his handsome, smiling face. His kind and gentle heart, his loyalty and good nature. Was he with Snow White now? Had she already woken up? He was no longer your Jungkook; forever the kingdoms Jungkook and your heart wept.

You wouldn’t even be missed.

Staring down at the apple you closed your eyes, breathing slowly out of your nose before bringing it to your lips and taking a bite. It was bitter, acidic, and it burned. You coughed, dropping the apple to the ground and fell to your knees, spluttering, eyes watering as your tongue swelled and you felt your blood turn to ice in your veins.

Everything hurt, your limbs felt like they were made of fire, burning, burning, burning and then black.

.

.

Here’s the second to last chapter! The 7th is already finished and in editing. I hope you loved this chapter as much as I loved writing it and I can’t wait to hear from you! <3

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Copyright © 2019 by Taeken-My-Heart. All rights reserved.

[cherrytsukkis]

streaming minecraft with the first years

- word count: 1.4k

- characters: hinata, kageyama, tsukishima, yamaguchi, yachi

- a/n: i made half of this on mobile and half on my laptop so,,, also i got way too immersed in this bc all i do is play minecraft (even tho i suck) anyways, enjoy this mess!! also ty to ppl on the rircus rerver for helping me with minecraft usernames!!

tsukishima made a server for y'all after you bribed him (also some of his viewers begged him to)

kageyama and hinata teamed up and killed tsukishima, not even a minute in

and you were just there like “:o chat yall seeing this shit”

yall spawned in near a birch flower forest biome thingy and you and yachi bolted over there

you asked yachi to be your minecraft gf and she accepted

as soon as she said yes, kageyama and hinata killed tsukki again lmao

you and yachi moved to a different voice call bc hinata kept screaming about how tsukki was after him now

you guys began planning on having a cute little cottage core home together

you go mining while yachi makes a farm + gathers animals

yachi screamed of joy when she found a chicken family

she also screamed when she happened to find a pink sheep

you guys are just talking about random stuff and were just vibing for the rest of the stream

the next time you stream on the server, you see that yams made a cute little spawn place and yams took you on an adventure to go see his home in the snowy mountains

tsukki logged on and you and yams proceeded to go try to find his home despite tsukki tell you to fuck off

for some reason, he starts giving you guys clues on where he’s at

you’re all like “omg friendship 🥰″

but in reality, someone donated like 50 bucks for him to kill you and he’s taking this opportunity to lure you guys

 it turns night really fast and then a group of zombies gang up on you

you end up dying like four times before you baby rage and give up 

you leave the voice chat and go back to being a wee farmer waiting for your lover, yachi, to log on

instead of yachi, you get hinata </3

hinata logs on and he immediately calls you

“hinata-”

“y/n!!! do you wanna go to the nether with me!!”

“no ❤️″

you hang up but then he calls you again

“i’ll give you a two pigs, i know you and yachi are looking for some”

thirty minutes later, hinata has gotten you lost in a soul sand biome

only plus from this trip is that you got a lot of glowstone

you ended up having to call kageyama and ask him to come save you bc yams was mining god knows where and tsukishima would never help you bc he’s a bully <3

kageyama was calling both of you dumbasses in the vc

hinata bc hinata is hinata and you for following hinata blindly

then he got lost somewhere else in the nether <3

and now the three of you were fighting as you ran away from ghasts and skele bois

“it’s the short height for me”

“it’s the abandonment issues for me”

“it’s the need to one up each other in every situation because y’all insecure for me”

this whole time your chats were telling yall to just look at coords so you could find each other but you guys are illiterate </3

yachi finally logged on and joined your call and she saved yall bc she was watching your stream this whole time and was like wtf

the vc was SILENT as yachi led y’all to the nether portal

you muted yourself in shame and starting thanking recent subs and just the chat in general

everyone in chat: ugh we stan a dumb queen 🤩

another time you go on the server, hinata has accidentally started a war against tsukishima and so like every five minutes you would see smth like “tinysun was blown up by moonshima” or “moonshima was shot by tinysun using schlong” (yes hinata is that guy)

speaking of names

yall clown kageyama every five seconds bc he made his ign ‘Setter_soul_x’ (bc his streamer name was taken </3)

he gets pissed off a lot and leaves the server bc everytime you guys start a fight, someone will be like “okay Setter_soul_x”

yachi has “yacchan” meanwhile yams had “yamagucci” and you can can decide whether you have a clapped ign or not

now to just talk about general stuff

i feel like yams and tsukki would be those bitches who make exp farms and shit

like one day you’ll log on and you’ll ask them where they’re at and they’ll be like “oh we’re making an enderman farm in the end” or “we just finished a villager breeder” or some shit like that

yachi would stick to farming and being a cottagecore gay and you would be the one to do most of the mining and shit

sometimes she’d follow you when you go to fight someone or just bother them

hinata made a giant netherrack meatball at spawn and inside of it is just pure hell

everytime someone tries to go in it, they get blown up by a creeper or smth bc its so fucking dark in there bc the dumbass forgot to put some type of light source in there

kageyama’s house is just a cube-shaped hole he mined somewhere and everytime he wants more space he’ll just expand the cube

you and tsukki end up teaming up together at one point and made a railroad to everyone’s homes and to different biomes

when everyone fought the wither, tsukki, yamaguchi, and hinata did most of the work you and kageyama were far away watching like “damn thats crazy” (yachi wasnt streaming at the time and just told you guys she didnt care if you did it without her)

when it was time for the ender dragon, it was a whole different story

tsukishima and yamaguchi were hella prepared and were calmly going around destroying the end crystals while you, hinata and kageyama were just trying to get away from all the angry endermen

yachi was just placing water down and making cobblestone huts y’all could hide under

once tsukki and yams finished destroying the end crystals, you joined them in shooting down the ender dragon

kags and hinata were still fighting endermen 

like all you’d see is “ __ was slained by Enderman” messages as you listened to tsukki and yams talk to each other calmly

yachi said she wasnt fighting no dragon bc fuck that shit

one y’all did kill the dragon, hinata tried to claim the dragon egg and tsukishima yelled at him for like ten minutes bc hinata didnt do shit

and while tsukki fought with hinata and kageyama, you and yachi followed yamaguchi into an end gateway

you found an end city but then you fell outta the world </3 dont ask how, you just did

you decided to log off and that was that

another time you logged on, tsukki invited you to go with him to a woodland mansion bc he got a map

you thought he was being fishy but you went anyways bc content

everything was going well, you guys traveled there together, found a desert temple along the way, you tamed a cat, tsukki talked about conspiracy theories with you

but then you got to the mansion and you lost him

you were like tsukki where tf you’d go and he would tell you a place and you would go and he wasnt there

you were about to cry bc so many mobs were after you and u just boxed yourself into a little dirt hut in the corner and you kept yelling at tsukki in vc

he muted himself bc he was laughing his ass off at your pain heart been broke so many times

he finally came to get you bc apparently he already moved upstairs and just as you calmed down, tsukki betrayed you

you walked in front of him in fear of mobs hitting you from behind but tsukki ended up hitting you with a sword to death </3

you immediately logged off and then cried to your stream about fake friends for like ten minutes while listening to the inside out soundtrack

your chat convinced you to log back on and hesitantly joined the vc again and tsukishima apologized while trying to hold back laughter and told you that he put your stuff in your chest and you were like 🥺🥺🥺

overall the server is very chaotic but kinda nice bc family bonding ❤️ and even tho tsukki is a dick he along, with yams, help you and yachi out sometimes so your cottagecore aesthetic thrived

UNEDITED.

tag list: @kaoyuuuuu​ @macaronnv < it wont let me tag you :((

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Feelings To Write About

Author: @magioftheseas

For: @spaghetti4u

Pairings/Characters: KomaHina + mentioned KamuKoma

Rating/Warnings: G

Prompt: “Hinata or someone else trying to encourage Komaeda into doing something funny to spend the time (going to the beach, playing some game or anything really!)” + “Sharing a bed”

Author’s notes: It’s a pretty lowkey fic, and I ended up having them talk about the WoH because I have fluffy feelings when it comes to them. Cakeland is obviously based off Candyland which I have a lot of nostalgia for. I hope it’s cutesy enough for you!

The weather on Jabberwock wasn’t the perfect, eternal sunshine it had been in the simulation. There were storms and quite harsh ones at that. Hence why when him and Komaeda got caught up in one, he brought Komaeda with him to the hotel for studier shelter rather than just relying on one of their cottages. It was one of those weeks where the others were out trying to fix other parts of the world or meeting with the other sections of the Future Foundation, so the hotel was as vast as it was vacant. Hinata doesn’t try to think about how this scenario is like a million haunted movies and games—he especially doesn’t want to think about games—and instead, he focuses on drying Komaeda’s hair off with several towels.

Komaeda is docile when being fussed over, but he’s still shaking like a leaf. Hinata wraps him in some blankets for good measure, trying to keep a straight face when Komaeda sneezes.

“If we get enough blankets and pillows, this won’t be too bad a place to sleep for the night,” he says, tearing open a tissue packet pulled from Komaeda’s pocket for the other to blow his nose on. Hinata does flash him a smile, playing idly with the wet but still springy curls on his boyfriend’s head. “Do you need anything else to make yourself comfortable?”

“Mm.” A noncommittal hum and a meek shrug. Komaeda’s been in a low mood all day and the storm hadn’t seemed to help measures. Hinata tries to retain a reassuring smile as he tucks silvery strands behind the other’s ear. “It doesn’t really matter.”

I wouldn’t ask if that were true. Hinata bites his tongue. You know I would’ve just decided what to do without you. You probably wouldn’t even care in this state.

“There might be board games,” he found himself saying. “How about we play something to pass the time? You like Go, right?”

Komaeda shrugs again, as if he didn’t carry around go jars all throughout high school and even had them stored in his cottage at that exact moment. Hinata can only sigh and go along with Komaeda’s unstated hesitance.

“Maybe something new,” he said as we went to the closet where the board games were stored. “Variety is the spice of life.”

Komaeda sneezes behind him and makes no further comments. Fine. That’s fine. Hinata should just focus on deciding—or just grab the first thing that catches his eye and settle with that. Which is what he does. Either the dormant Kamukura Izuru’s kicking him in the mental balls right now or Komaeda’s momentary apathy is contagious.

He could figure out which if he thought about it. He elects not to think as to conserve energy. This is how he lives his life now.

Although the board game he grabbed is—not really to his or to Komaeda’s tastes. He still commits and takes it with him before setting it in front of Komaeda. Komaeda does look at the cover, his mouth twitching.

“Cakeland,” Hinata read aloud. “For ages 4 and up. If I didn’t know any better I’d say this is Usami’s doing.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it before,” Komaeda said, soft and low. “Utsugi-san was fond of it. She always forced me to be Donatsuo. She hated that character most.”

Even without a genius brain, Hinata can tell who that is. The donuts-themed boy with short choppy hair and absurdly large, caramel-colored eyes.

“This was Utsugi-san’s character of choice,” Komaeda recalled, tapping his finger against a happy girl in pink. “Ichigo-hime.”

“So,” Hinata said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Was this game any good?”

“It’s not very complicated because it’s for kids, ages four and up,” was Komaeda’s dull response.

“We’re not kids but we’re older than four, so we should be fine.”

With all that said, it looked like they were playing Cakeland. Hinata sets up the board—which is even kitschier in design than the box and he picks the character that looked the most normal-ish save for a strange hairstyle—identified by Komaeda as the Baron Maron. Komaeda does look between them and muffle a small snort, and Hinata doesn’t care to ask.

Komaeda picks Donatsuo, although he very lovingly places other pieces aside. Ichigo-hime and a few others who mysteriously had similar color schemes to those troubled kids he babysat all that time ago. As Servant. In Towa. After Enoshima Junko died but they were still all in despair.

That he can even have fond memories at all—

Hinata feels his throat burn with questions, but swallows back and just rolls the dice.

“We’re just both going to get six,” Komaeda said. “What to do?”

Hinata doesn’t say that he could probably get any roll he so wanted, so he just grumbles.

“I’ll go first because it’s in my name. Sound enough logic?”

Komaeda giggled warmly. It strikes a soft chord within him, and his heart may or may not do a flip in appreciation of such a sound.

“Whatever,” Hinata says, drawing a card. “What’s important are these, anyway. Wow, I drew you.” He does flash the card, showcasing Donatsuo with a dorky grin and dual peace signs. “Guess that means I go to your character space. It’s the first one on the map though so it’s not that far ahead.”

“It’s good luck to get that at the beginning of the game but bad luck to get that at the end,” Komaeda said, drawing his own card. He just gets a plain color so he only moves ahead four spaces. “Since your luck is better than mine, I wonder if this is even a fair game…”

“Your luck is still formidable,” Hinata pointed out as he drew. It was green. That was five spaces. “I’d say it breaks to about even.”

“Oh, no,” Komaeda breathed, shaking his head. “No, that’s wrong. Comparing my luck to yours is like comparing a gnat to a swan because both can fly.”

“It’s not…” Hinata sputtered a bit, unsure of what the hell to make of that. “What does that even mean? Komaeda, your—your luck’s on a whole other level. You should know that more than anyone.”

Komaeda just draws. He still hasn’t selected a special card. Hinata ends up drawing the next one, a strange angelic figure named Enjunji, who he just didn’t get good vibes from.

“Kemuri-kun’s favorite,” Komaeda said quietly and Hinata moved further ahead. It was the closest character space in reality, so it still wasn’t impressive.

I have a feeling I know how this is gonna go.

Still, they kept playing.

“You’re still like that, huh,” Hinata mused quietly. “You’re still—really harsh on yourself. That hasn’t changed, but I suppose other things have.”

“Other things?” Komaeda echoed before laughing. “Like what, per say?”

“You’re not as reckless as you used to be,” was the immediate answer. Another draw. Another several steps ahead. Komaeda’s piece was struggling to keep up. “You’re much calmer. You don’t talk about hope and talent all the time.”

“Because,” Komaeda said. “Hope’s Peak—the encapsulation of all of that—was in reality a breeding ground for despair. It was poisoned to the core and I was just too blind to notice.”

We all were, myself especially, Hinata thought, reaching up to touch his temple. He knew Komaeda noticed, but his eyes screwed shut so that he wouldn’t have to see whatever warp Komaeda’s face. I wasn’t just blind, I was so, so fucking stupid.

“You agreed to be with me,” he forced out so that he wouldn’t have to keep thinking about his own failures. “Your old self never would’ve let yourself have any real sense of happiness. At least not something you’d have to maintain, like a relationship.”

Komaeda chuckled. “You mean you would’ve let me reject you?”

“You did reject me,” Hinata reminded him dryly. “Several times. And then you demanded Tsumiki make sure I didn’t have brain damage.”

“Oh, did I?” Komaeda tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I still find your attachment to me nonsensical, especially when I more or less stated I wanted nothing to do with you in the past. But—I suppose you knew that was a lie, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, you’re a liar.” Hinata cracked a smile. “At least when it comes to your feelings. You’re sincere most of the time.”

“The proper word is stupid,” Komaeda said, moving his piece a single space with a nudge from a metallic finger. “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Don’t say that. You shouldn’t even think it.”

Hinata’s tone was as serious as it was grim. Komaeda’s self-effacing expression twitched, but he simply ducked his head reservedly.

“It’s in moments like this where you most resemble Kamukura-kun,” he murmured, fringe falling before his eyes and obscuring his gaze. “He’d speak up like this in the past despite being so quiet most of the time.”

Hinata felt a stirring in the back of his head. He held his breath until it went away and all that was left was the pounding in his ears. Even with that, he still knew.

“He cared about you.”

Kamukura doesn’t let him see into those memories often, although he still sometimes imagined it—maybe even dreamed it. Komaeda Nagito, eyes murky with despair and shoulders trembling under the weight of it, smiling up at him.

“He didn’t think to acknowledge it, much less accept it,” he went on, rubbing his digits into his scalp and catching skin flakes and rain droplets under his nails. “I was the same way in the simulation.”

“You both had strong reasoning to be that way, my inherent worthlessness none withstanding.” Komaeda laughed. “I wasn’t exactly in my best frame of mind at either time, although that’s not saying much.”

“Nor was I,” Hinata retorted. “I even denied part of my identity. I was—pathetic. You were right about that.”

Komaeda is quiet, lips twisting. His shoulders shake briefly under a certain kind of weight. Hinata draws his next card, and it’s another character, a studious blue one named Chouchoux.

“You were an ass about it,” he said. “Like, an absolute ass. But, hey, definitely not the worst thing about you at the time. By the way, this one was used for Shingetsu Nagisa, wasn’t it?”

Komaeda nodded, fiddling with his mechanical hand and making a loud series of whirly noises. He drew his card as well. Another plain one, with his piece moving only two spaces ahead.

Hinata draws and it’s a card of a boy in stripes and red, looking fierce and fiery. Torayaki—obviously the favored character of one Daimon Masaru.

“Do you miss them?” he found himself asking. “If so, we can contact Towa City and ask Naegi’s sister how they’re doing. They might even be curious about you.”

“I doubt it,” Komaeda laughed mirthlessly. “And it’s fine. As long as they’re doing well.”

“I don’t think they hated you,” Hinata said. “You took care of them after all.”

“I was a wretched despair.” Komaeda shook his head. “And they were perfectly self-sufficient. I doubt they even think of me anymore—and rightfully so. I only approached them in the first place out of curiosity, not because I saw children who needed protection and guidance.”

“They would’ve killed you if you had,” Hinata can’t help but remind him. “Probably would’ve found that sentiment insulting with all that they’ve been through. They were children and angry ones at that. I don’t blame them, of course…” He trails off. “I don’t think it’d be bad to send a letter now that things have calmed down a little.”

Not to mention—you lit up when talking about them. You’ve been listless lately, and I know. I get it. There’s no particular reason for it, that’s just how depression works sometimes. I still missed your smile, Nagito.

“Just a letter shouldn’t be too bad,” he insisted. “You’ve been practicing your calligraphy with that hand after all.”

The hand in question flexes. No joints pop, it’s just more whirls. Komaeda does smile, but it’s one that is curled up on his face, like a body trying to keep itself warm in the cold.

Hinata draws Ichigo-hime next. At this rate, Komaeda has no chance of winning. But the funny thing about a game like this was that luck of the draw could flip things so easily. There was one last character space, furthest ahead and closest to the end.

“Maybe,” Komaeda says and—as expected, he draws the card.

It’s a young woman dressed in green named Monaka-jou-sama.

Komaeda wins the games just a few turns later.

Outside, it was still storming.

“It’s pretty late, so let’s get ready for bed, Nagito.”

“Okay.”

Hinata goes to find futons while Komaeda puts away the board game. Hinata sets up a couple of makeshift beds and he presses them together. He does pause afterward, wondering if this was right. He heard Komaeda shuffling about, the whirling of his arm, and then, he felt Komaeda sliding the board game back onto the shelf. Thunder rumbles, the trees are being rustled by the wind, and Komaeda lets out a soft whew.

Hinata is still up until the moment he hears the padding of Komaeda’s soft footsteps, and he only truly relaxes when Komaeda’s slim arms encircle his waist, with Komaeda pressing his face into Hinata’s back. He pets Komaeda’s hair with a lop-sided smile, and Komaeda’s cheeks puff.

“You don’t just remember the simulation, right,” he murmured. “You have Kamukura-kun’s memories, too.”

“Technically,” Hinata replied. “Kamukura Izuru has to share them with me first. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn’t.”

Komaeda huffed.

“It’s so complicated, keeping you two separate yet also together. Sometimes I wonder who I’m with.”

I wonder that, too. But what matters is…

“Regardless of who I am, I still love you.” He pats Komaeda’s head. “That much is and always will be clear.”

“Regardless of who you are, I love you, too,” is mumbled into his back.

It’s so soft a sound that Hinata wouldn’t have even heard him if not for the vibrations, but that’s fine. It’s not like he’s ignorant to Komaeda’s feelings. Not anymore.

He ushers Komaeda under the blankets, Komaeda still clinging to his wrist all the while. Chuckling softly, Hinata slips in after him and squeezes Komaeda’s hand. He rubs his thumb against the other’s pulse, only pausing because Komaeda grips him with the mechanical hand. His grip only tightens when Hinata kisses his forehead and then down his face.

“When the storm passes,” Hinata says, nuzzling along Komaeda’s jawline and pressing another kiss to his cheek where ensuing the blush tinted it pink. “We should send out letters.”

Komaeda ducks his head, but he still accepts the affection that he’s showered with.

“We should also walk along the beach, maybe,” Hinata teases. “See what gets washed up. It might be treasure.”

“You’re a treasure,” Komaeda retorted, flustered. Shoving Hinata’s hands off and his face away, he buried his face into Hinata’s chest, hiding it from further embarrassment. “You’re the worst thing to have ever washed up on that beach.”

Hinata hummed, stroking his hair.

I didn’t technically wash up, but…

“And yet you stayed behind for me.” Hinata hides his smile in those wild white curls. “You’re still here right now.”

Komaeda grumbled but gave no further response. That was fine. Perfectly fine.

Stay with me, alright? Please keep staying with me. He decided against asking that for now for now. Opting instead for, “Sweet dreams, Nagito. I love you.”