#when it was supposed to be a meme and yet I rendered the entire thing LOL

[jokest3r]

OG(Left) Reboot(Right)

Here is that meme picture I was gonna make for them haha. OG Matvey's design was mostly inspired from Samantha Maxis and the video game trope of creepy kids haunting the narrative like Alma in F.E.A.R. or just in general like Alessa Gillespie. Clothing inspiration was also just from Russian-Orthodox Dress. In the OG timeline I decided that Matvey is mostly doomed by the narrative, just as much as he is in the Reboot. In the OG timeline by the end of the game, and dies off-screen that only perpetuates his father Makarov's general insanity and violence. But I do like to think... that given the OG ending with both Yuri and Makarov dead, and Price the only one left that he would find Matvey freshly crying over her parent's bodies with no one to take care of her that it in daunting horror that he just orphaned a young child and takes her in, Harry Mason style from Silent Hill 1.

If I had to give Matvey a superpower it'd probably be something psychic, like remembering all his past lives.

If anyone decides to pick her up just make sure to hand her back to Price afterwards (⌒‐⌒)

Art Without Text Under Tab !

[tiny-cloud-of-flowers]

1 and 2 with Zero perhaps?

I can certainly do that for you!! Thank you so much for sending these in, friend!!

(question source: "F/O Voice Ask Meme" by thearchivesofforeveryoursmouse)

1. Recall how long I’ve known my F/O and how I discovered them/their source material. - My answer can hopefully be heard at this link!

2. Tell a story about how my self-insert and my F/O met. - I GOT HORRENDOUSLY DISTRACTED AND PEOPLE CAME HOME BEFORE I COULD RECORD THIS ONE I AM SO SORRY

TO MAKE IT UP TO YOU: HAVE A CLEANED-UP VERSION OF THE FULL MESSAGE I SENT TO A CLOSE FRIEND ABOUT THIS

When Zero was born, the Thirteenth had not yet become the Void - however, her mother was afflicted by dark aether before her birth. This caused Zero to be born as, essentially, a hybrid of voidsent and human, though she fought to prevent the oncoming darkness throughout her life. When the Flood of Darkness did finally fully take place, Zero was thrown into a rift, and got stuck there for what - to her - felt like absolutely ages. When she finally emerged, the Thirteenth had fully become the void as it is presently known, and the excess darkness rendered her more voidsent than human (though she still retained more of her sense of self than most voidsent would, due to still being partially human).

It is a short time after escaping that rift that she meets Lorenza, who technically at this point would instead be known as Colombina ("little dove"). Colombina is known to be a very intelligent voidsent who is much stronger than she looks at first glance, and she came into being out of the darkness sometime after the Flood, just like many other voidsent. The two happen to encounter each other at a time where both are sated, so they do not initially need to fight for feeding's sake (since the voidsent are almost always aether-starved, and devour other voidsent to stave off their hunger). Zero's unique nature intrigues Colombina, and I like to think that Colombina might have been the first other voidsent Zero came across - that she was able to hold a conversation with, at least - so she ends up explaining the new way of the world to her, and so the two of them end up "teaming up" to as much of an extent as voidsent can.

Zero - though she technically would also not be known by that name at this point in time - is inspired by Colombina's more peaceable (though still cunning) way of doing things; she won't hesitate to retaliate against voidsent that try to devour her, but she also won't lash out at them purely for getting too close to her, unless they try and take advantage of her supposed docility. Together, the two end up establishing a domain that takes the form of a silent village, which becomes somewhat known as a refuge for weaker voidsent fleeing cruel masters.

The pair become close over time, but do not always spend all of their time together - one often stays in the domain to keep watch while the other hunts for aether for them both. Eventually, while Colombina is out doing this for Zero at one point, she inadvertently stumbles across the opening of a very very large voidgate, sensing vast amounts of aether on its other side. So, she decides to reach through it as myriad others do the same, including the Cloud of Darkness itself towering above her head that she honestly really doesn't care about in this moment, finding the voidgate large enough to admit her entire form rather than just her essence -

and then once she goes through it, it closes behind her.

I hope that all of this is alright! Sorry that I couldn't fully record both questions' answers due to bad timing, but thank you very much again for asking them, it really does mean a lot!!!

[vegalocity]

Spicynoodleshipping 2 and 3, please? (Maybe at the beginning of The Arrangement?)

prompt meme

2. A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss. // 3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

Oh god people are asking for it in specific i need a continuity tag now-

--

This was a mistake. This was a huge mistake. He had to end it the second it began or else... or else... he didn't know what would happen if he didn't end it as quick as he could, but Red Son knew it would be bad. So he had to drop the whole 'enemies and nemesis' thing and like... actually TALK with the damn Noodle Boy.

But of course when he came to this conclusion he didn't actually know where Noodle Boy even was, whether he was still working in that greasy trash restaurant below or if his shift was over and he was just out on the town doing normal peasant things. The only location he could be sure he'd even show up would be his shitty flat, so that was where he had to wait. The window was almost pathetically easy to jimmy open...again....Noodle Boy needed better home security. And he found himself waiting, thinking maybe a bit too hard about this whole thing and how it could never happen again. But unlike the last time he'd seen the inside of his nemesis' apartment, this time he was... aware. Aware of what exactly? Who could tell, but he was aware of it.

The mountain of Monkey King related merchandise scattered about the area, the pile of sketchbooks he ended up idly paging through which.. weren't too bad. Actually there were some really well rendered action poses in there. The frankly obscene amount of dirty clothes that made him cringe in disgust when he'd first been made aware of them, something not resembling pity when he realized the little pile of pillows was supposed to be something like a couch, the overall sense he got from the little apartment was 'too small for anyone to be comfortable' the second was processing the distinct odor of the room and-

He'd known it was a mistake a second too late, but it was too late to play it off, the Noodle Boy's mortal scent was all around him, stoking a passion in the pit of his gut he hadn't felt in so long he didn't even remember the last time it had happened.

-unfortunately, it was familiar. The memory alone bringing that... that desire back into the fray. He did his best to push it aside and decided to flip through one of the Noodle Boy's Sketchbooks again to distract himself from it. But soon enough the point was made moot as he heard the lock undo itself in the front door. Quickly, Red Son stood and put the sketchbook away, sliding one of his hands into his pocket and made it seem like he'd just gotten there. No need to let the Noodle Boy think he'd been waiting for him, even if he had.

A stupid thrill went through him when the door opened and the Noodle Boy had walked into the apartment without noticing him yet, gaze a thousand miles away and expression pensive with his headphones over his ears.

Red Son stood still and waited for Noodle Boy to notice him, and when he did he of course jumped in place, yelped, and scrambled to get his staff out of hiding. Those hands—that apparently could do so much more than lift the staff and drive that dinky noodle cart—fidgeted nervously across the body of the staff as Red Son walked closer.

“Red Son!? What are you doing in my house?!” He was mostly on edge, but when he spoke next an edge of... anticipation? Came out and made Red Son's brain stutter. “Wait, why haven't you already set anything on fire?”

He strode a few steps forward, hands behind his back, and Red Son didn't speak until he was within arms reach of the Noodle Boy. “I would like to speak with you not as nemesis tonight. In regards to my... unsightly behavior when we saw eachother last. Feel free to kick me out and we'll never speak of what went on again and return to trying to kill eachother as though it never happened.” Wait... that came out wrong, the goal was to never speak of what went on again and go on as if it never happened. Before he could correct himself Noodle Boy nodded and locked the front door behind him.

“Alright... that was a little out of left field when it happened. What have you had a secret crush on me or something?” The Noodle Boy smirked and it did... something to Red Son...

“If memory serves you kissed me back, perhaps I simply did something impulsive and YOU'VE been harboring secret affections.”

Noodle Boy shrugged, and when he walked further into his apartment to sit on the edge of his bed, Red Son found himself following him, until they were side by side.

“So it was just impulse? You were just mad that I was talking while you were crazy ranting-”

“Monologuing”

“-Same thing, and your first impulse was to put your tongue in my mouth to get me to stop?”

“And you're what, hard wired to respond positively to every act of that nature? I pity whomever you decide to start dating if that's the case.”

Red Son might not be the best at reading a room, but even he could tell they were both kind of... dancing around it.

“We should test it out”“This can't keep going.”

They both spoke at once, eithers words becoming blended together, and they shared a confused look as they pieced together what the other said.

“Wait, did you just imply we should...?”

Noodle Boy blushed a bit and he wasn't meeting Red Son's eye anymore. “Well yeah, if it was just an impulse thing then we should make sure of it so neither of us gets fucked up later on in battles, you know? Since it meant nothing to both of us then neither of us have to worry about being unsure during battles because we tried again without all the passion and stuff and there was nothing.”

….Dammit that made sense.

“Fine. I certainly have nothing to worry about, and it would be dishonorable to allow you to worry that you may have fallen in love with me so much that it affects our future battles.” he puffed up his chest haughtily, and tried to sound as confident as he could. Infuriatingly, Noodle Boy just rolled his eyes at him.

“Okay, then Kiss me.”

“What?! It was your idea! You should kiss me!”

“Well you kissed me last time so what's the issue?”

“Exactly! So it's your turn!”

“Oh we're doing turns now?”

“FINE! If you're going to be so stubborn about this, let's simply kiss eachother! At once! Is that agreeable?”

“Sure, Perfect!” Noodle Boy out his hands on Red Son's upper arms to turn his upper body, “Let's just kiss eachother and be done with it so we never have to speak about this again!”

“Wonderful.” Though he had to shift Noodle Boy's arms to slide onto his shoulders so he could grip the peasant by the collar of his jacket. “Exactly what I wanted from this situation!”

“Great!”

“Delightful!”

“Awesome!”

“Phenomenal!”

and suddenly they were nose to nose and Red Son realized once again far too late that this was a mistake. Noodle Boy went quiet so quickly, suddenly nervous, he leaned in and Red Son closed the gap. It was gentle, sweet. Natural....it was only held for a moment but Red Son felt his gut lurch in desire for the entire time. Almost nauseous with the force of it.

When the Noodle Boy began to pull away he found himself overwhelmed and gripped the jacket tighter, bringing him in for another, fiercer kiss. This time it was delicious, like lightning down his spine as their mouths slid against eachother, Noodle Boy shifted slightly and the kiss deepened and Red Son decided he had to have been some sort of fool for almost trying to end this... whatever it was... Before it started.  He heard Noodle Boy hum appreciatively before Red Son felt the swipe of a tongue against his mouth, feather light and a moan he didn't even know he had in him escaped as he allowed entrance.

It could have been minutes or eons that this kiss went on, Red Son wouldn't have noticed, but when Noodle Boy finally pulled away and Red Son still didn't feel his brain beginning to re-engage until he spoke.

“Well...That's probably not good.”

“Most likely.”

--

Send me stuff!

[astyle-alex]

[FANFIC - Destiel & JayTim] 

Multiverse Mishap | DCU Bat Family x Supernatural

Fandom: DCU Bat Family x Supernatrual Pairings: Destiel, Jay x Tim Rating: Teen Warnings: Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Heavy Angst (with a happy ending), Implied Underage Prostitution Total Word Count: ~156k | SPN vers = 76k / Bat vers = 80k

Summary:

One slip up in the lab has Tim Drake careening into a new world where things are rather dramatically different from the world he’s used to. Fortunately, this is not his first rodeo. He knows how to handle this nonsense, more or less at least. Unfortunately, the people of the world he’s wound up in see things a little differently. And when Dick Grayson and Jason Todd mount an ill-conceived rescue mission, things get complicated very quickly.

When Team Free Will is at their lowest (well, their lowest as of YET, at least) with Castiel missing (and probably human), they get thrown a lifeline. Charlie calls with a lead on a strange young-man who bears a stunning resemblance to their MIA angel. Even with the world on a precipice around them, Sam and Dean won’t leave their angel out to dry—Dean especially has a few missteps he’d like to make up for… If only he could find some way to get through to one hella conked out Angel of the Lord.

This project started as a distraction and got WAY out of hand, but I’m actually really excited about it. I’ll be posting it as two separate stories on Ao3 (one form the Bat Family PoV and one from the SPN family PoV, both of which will be updating HERE...) with new chapters going up weekly, but only one chapter from each version.

As excited as I am about it, my schedule is currently in shambles because I got an opportunity to get the COVID Vaccine and it’s thrown my whole schedule into utter chaos. I’m hopeful that I’ll get back on track soon, but I can’t guarantee when I’ll be able to post here or on Ao3.

Since I can schedule posts on Patreon, that updating schedule will be much more definitively regular. The second chapters of each version are already available to Patrons and should open up to all viewers by Monday!

- Multiverse Mishap | SPN Vers - Chapter 2 

- Multiverse Mishap | SPN Vers - Chapter 3

&

- Multiverse Mishap | Bat Vers - Chapter 2

Read the first chapter of the SPN version below (with Charlie playing a super spy and getting Sam & Dean a lead on a maybe-Castiel / maybe-alien-infiltrator) and I hope you all have a fabulous Easter Weekend (whether or not you celebrate religiously, you gotta admit the season-exclusive candy is pretty dang great!)! ^_~

           A bit of fiddling, that’s all it was.

           Well, that’s all it was supposed to be.

           A device that plays with space-time and the very weave of whatever it was that spanned the gap between dimensions?

           How could anyone just let something like that gather dust in an archive?

           It functioned how it was meant to, it was only that what it was meant to do was cause harm… If they just tweaked it a bit, just a little, gave it an anchor point and limited the scale of possibilities… If they yanked down the juice that kept it powered to a more moderated level…

           It could save lives.

           So… fiddling.

           Just a bit, here and there and on weekends when there wasn’t anything big going on.

           The stupid thing wasn’t even turned on most of the time.

           It was inert and dead as fricken paperweight (which honestly is what the fiddler in question had mostly been using it for)…

           And then… it wasn’t.

           One button, a loose screw, the slip of a paperclip…

           A big flash of blinding light.

           Silence, like the absolute nothing right before the tidal wave hits.

           And in that silence, a tiny, over-caffeinated little voice:

“… Oops…”

_     _     _

Chapter 1 – MIA Angel or Alien Infiltrator?

           Charlie Bradbury knows she’s awesome.

           But there’s the standard awesome that any Queen of Moondoor is simply by nature of being epic enough to have achieved the throne to start with...

           And then there’s the awesome that is having created a automated dark web trawling  program to track the world’s Big Weirds (and only the very BIGGEST of the Big Weirds) and having that super secret extra level deep vault program actually work.

           Well, of course it worked, but it like worked.

           It found an Angel.

           Sorta.

           It found a something.

           And an MIA angel, who was not exactly an angel anymore, but also couldn’t really pass as truly human, and who was still on like every watchlist ever (magical, criminal, meme-spirational, etc), but is somehow still entirely off the fricken radar?

           Yeah. BIG Weird.

           Said angel-not-angel popping up at a Biggerson’s in Ohio with no shoes, more money than god, an insane caffeine tolerance and absolutely no idea how to function inside a Walmart?

           HELLA Big Weird.

           So Charlie, being the awesome Queen that she is (and being acutely aware of what false hope here could do to the people in particular question with this) went to check it out herself.

           Personally.

           And, personally, she can say that this kid is the weirdest thing she’s ever seen, and after having day-tripped out to the literal Land of Oz a few times over… well, that’s sayin’ something.

           Charlie’s met Castiel.

           Not exactly her type, but she could see how that divine slice of puppy in a trench coat could be seen as something of a serious snack.

           Though… If he weren’t an angel, she’d swear he was an alien.

           But, like, a cool alien.

           Much less spy-trained infiltrator than innocent human-admirer who wants to experience the local flavor on his little vacation out to the Milky Way’s most interesting backwater, Sol-3.

           And the kid she finds in Ohio… is not that guy.

           Not really.

           For starters, she’s not entirely sure he’s old enough to drink alcohol.

           And he’s… not looking for Sam and Dean ( which is seriously a BIG red flag for deciding whether this particular angel-not-angel is the right angel-not-angel).

           He is looking for something, though.

           Something he seems to think is in Kansas, near-ish enough to the Bunker’s coordinates to make her question the ‘not looking for Sam and Dean thing’ (but the absolute dinosaur of a smartphone he’s working on to pull up maps could totally just call the bunker, if he wanted to… or any of the plethora of emergency numbers the Boys have set up…).

           Charlie’s looking on from a Very Inconspicuous post in the booth two tables away from the kid in the red hoodie and she can feel his frustration with the device radiating off him like physical Force pulses. Fortunately, proto-Sith this kid is not, and all the tables remain table-y.

           She’s watching him fight with the internet to find something and his device’s crappy security means she didn’t even have to work hard to get her own screen to show what’s happening on his. He’s definitely looking at Kansas, at going to Kansas— Lebanon in particular.

           Messy black hair, big blue eyes, grumpy face to rival any Netscape feline…

           Looking for Lebanon and totally out of sync with humanity…

           And… his oversized red hoodie just happens to have the 2-D rendering of a big black pair of wings stitched into its backside— stemming right from where they should on the kid’s shoulder blades if the wings were real.

           Charlie’s not really gullible enough to believe in signs from God anymore…

           But if she were… well, that would be pretty convincingly Divine Sign-like.

           So, she makes the call.

           Sam picks up on the third ring.

           “So, you know how like the main character always has dramatically weird colored hair and sits in the second to last desk by the window?”

           With a heavy sigh filled with enough affection to make Charlie’s insides feel all squiggly and warm, Sam says, “No, Charlie, I have absolutely no idea.”

           “Well, they do.”

           “Okay. And?”

           “They are Narrative Significant, they stick out from the background in like a big way, but not just in like a ‘doing main character things’ kinda way,” Charlie rambles, trying to find her point buried under the spiraling metaphor.

           “Charlie, do you know what time it is?”

           “Uh, 2, maybe, 3am. I think. But that may have been like three coffees ago,” Charlie prattles off automatically before veering back on track, “Anyway. The point is that I think I found a main character. He’s not the character I thought he should be, though. He doesn’t look right. He’s too young. And no trench coat. But he is hella out of sync… and the blue eyes and black hair and everything else…”

           There’s a pause as Sam’s non-caffeinated brain tries to keep up with Charlie’s infodump.

           “Trench coat?”

           “I think I found him, Sam,” Charlie whispers. “I think I found Castiel. Well, I found someone weird enough to maybe be Castiel, in the Castiel kind of way, and he’s looking for a way to get to Lebanon, so…”

           Much more alert, Sam asks, “Where are you?”

           “Ohio. Quaint little place called Granville,” Charlie reports. “It’s a pretty straight shot to the Bunker, but it’s like 14 hours on the road and I’m not sure the gods of caffeine consumption will really be cool with me pushing their bounty that hard…”

           “Don’t try too hard to get him to go anywhere with you, see if you can just offer to pay for a motel room for the night,” Sam instructs, the sounds of a pack being prepped with one hand clanging about in the background. “We’ll be in Granville before noon.”

           “What if he really wants to head out?”

           “Take it slow and text us when you get gas, we’ll meet you in Indianapolis.”

           He’s using ‘Serious Sam’ voice.

           It’s the voice that makes panicking bunny rabbits being chased by wendigos settle down for half a second so Dean can frickin torch those ghost-y cannibal creepers.

           Only, in this case, the wendigos aren’t cannibal forest ghosts chomping down on campers. This time, the Big Bad that Dean is unequivocally about to destroy is approximately 909 miles of US Highway 36.

           It makes Charlie feel a little bit better about nearly everything that’s wrong.

           She hangs up with Sam after promising to keep the updates coming, and looks back at the kid who could be Castiel.

           Only to find him looking back.

           For a minute, she’s worried that he heard her talking to Sam about him.

           But he seems kinda zonked.

           And he doesn’t look upset or embarrassed or angry, so…

           She is the only other person on this side of the Biggerson’s, (and really she’s the only non-staff member in this Biggerson’s all told besides the kid himself), so it’s really not that strange for her to be the dust mote in motion that’s wound up drawing the kid’s eye.

           He’s not really expressing anything.

           He’s just looking.

           It’s weird.

           Whelp, he’s got that creepy unblinking stare down pat, bird-like head-tip and all.

           The kind of stare that’s not angry or judgmental but feels more clinical than anything else, like he’s seeing through the bones and skin and sinew to the soul that’s underneath.

           Dissecting it and diagnosing it…

           It makes her shiver.

           But she plasters on a smile and says, “Hey. You wanna refill?”

           The kid looks down at his empty coffee cup.

           He blinks, real slow like.

           Then he nods.

           Relief floods Charlie.

           Step One, making with the contact with the Target. Check.

           In her experience that’s usually been the hardest part of these things.

           Not that she really has much experience in ‘these things’…

           But still, Score 1 for the Queen, yeah?

           She signals to a waitress for two more cups of coffee, shots of espresso boosting both of them. It’s like a weird AU of a sleezy bar beat, a remixed mark meets con-woman kinda thing.

           “So, kid, what’s your name?”

           “Shouldn’t you tell me yours first?”

           Charlie shrugs. “Well, generally yeah, that is the convention. But I like being unconventional, I guess.”

           Really, it’s that she hasn’t quite decided what name to give him.

           He blinks expectantly, head tipping over again.

           Realizing that she’s already giving up ground in this pseudo-battle of wills and whatnot, Charlie sighs heavily and says, “I’m Charlie, Charlie Bradbury. Geek extraordinaire.”

           The kid nods, visibly internalizing the information.

           Trying really hard not to be perturbed by that, Charlie barrels on to say, “I see that tablet of yours is gone a bit wonky. You looking for something in Kansas? I might be able to fix your tech or find what you’re looking for with mine.”

           “My tablet…” With big owl eyes, the kid glances down at the piece of crap barely smart enough to call a screen and gives a plaintive little huff. “It is… insufficient.”

           Charlie gives a laugh that only sounds two-thirds forced and says, “Understatement, buddy. You’re grand at it.”

           The kid simply frowns.

           “So,” she says, drum-rolling her fingers on the plastic tabletop as she leans into the leading questions. “Tell me what’s your name and what you’re looking for in Kansas and we’ll see if I can work my magic, huh?”

           The kid’s eyes narrow suspiciously on the word ‘magic’, but he gives no other reaction.

           For a solid minute, easy, they just kinda sit there.

           And then the kid downs a full cup of espresso-boosted coffee like it’s a bottle of watered down Gatorade and flashes Charlie the stiffest stretch of smile she’s ever seen on any face that still looks mostly-human.

           “My name’s Alvin,” he tells her with all the bland panache of a used car salesman. “Alvin Draper. And honestly? I’m looking for a hole in the universe.”

           Charlie almost bursts out laughing.

           The kid— Alvin— spots the reaction. He glowers, quite impressively, to be honest.

           “Well, Alvin, that’s the fakest fake-name I’ve ever heard, but I think I can help with the ‘hole in the universe’ thing,” she tells him.

           Alvin’s frowning again, it’s adorable and endearing in ways it really shouldn’t be.

           “One problem, though,” she lays out. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific about which hole in the universe or tear in the fabric of reality your talking about.”

           Taken entirely aback, Alvin huffs, “Is it a commonplace occurrence to have your universe ripped open, then?”

           “Well, not exactly. It’s more like our universe is the knit-scarf version of a life-raft,” Charlie explains, wheezing a bit as the metaphor sinks perfectly into a crack she didn’t quite realize she still needed to find a way to fill. “Things here aren’t… Well, uh, how many apocalypses have you fended off this week?”

           “You’re really just gonna roll with the implicit declaration that I’m from another universe and you’re not going to question my sanity?”

           Alvin looks like he’s suddenly questioning her sanity.

           For a beat, Charlie feels insulted.

           But really, his reaction is the more logical one.

           Maybe Charlie should start trying to talk to more normies here soon, she’s totally lost touch with what constitutes a ‘reasonable reaction to weird shit’.

           “Whelp, I’m not a Time Lord or anything,” she confesses, “but I’ve had enough contact with the Supernatural to know how to spot someone who’s brushed up against something ugly in the dark and is kinda freaking out about it. You fit the bill, Alvin.”

           The kid rolls his eyes.

           It could be an angel-learned-it-from-Dean thing, it really could be.

           The weight of the sarcasm is just that strong.

           “Fine, yes. ‘Alvin’ is not my real name,” he admits.

           Then he casts a wicked smile her way that almost makes her rethink the ‘learned it from Dean’ idea, because this is… creepy in an almost Demon kinda way… in an almost Leviathan way. The grin is so unnerving that Charlie almost misses his next words:

           “But you know, I’m pretty damn sure that ‘Charlie’ isn’t yours.”

           “Yeah? Well, darn. Ya got me,” she breathes, trying to make herself remember that the Leviathan are gone, that she didn’t even see Cas when he was one of them.

           In any other circumstance, Charlie would be reaching for the Borax.

           But this angel-not-angel (and maybe-but-probably-not-demon-or-leviathan) kid whose name is definitely not Alvin, notices her sudden stiffness.

           Immediately, he softens.

           “Hey, what happened? You okay?”

           Charlie shrugs. “You wouldn’t happen to be allergic to a certain 19th century boron-containing sodium compound, would ya?”

           “Sodium borate? Like Borax? Can’t say I am,” the kid assures. “Any particular reason?”

           “Uh, the word ‘Leviathan’ mean anything to you? Like specific, human-livestock-eating, double-tongued with lots of teeth lizard-men people-imitators specific? ‘Cause you just really reminded me of one there. And like I had a friend go Darkside… well, a lotta my friends have actually gone Darkside, but there was one and he… he’s missing still and well, bad things happen to my friends when they go missing.”

           “Like apocalypses?”

           “Yeah, kinda.”

           “Really? Literal apocalypses? How exactly literal?”

           “Um, pick a holy book at random? We’ve probably hit most of them by now,” Charlie admits, with a discomfited shrug as she vaguely wonders how she ended up on this side of the metaphorical interrogation table. “I think the first one was the Judeo-Christian one, they took things pretty literal. Michael-Lucifer prize fight and all…”

           “Okay…” the kid says, finally sounding a little thrown, “but you stopped that one?”

           “Yeah,” she tells him.

           “So where are you now?”

           “Somewhere between God’s little sister throwing a world-ending temper tantrum and you know a Luci-spawn antichrist accidentally poof-ing up new laws of physics?”

           “Sounds plausible,” the kid tells her, his tone both entirely accepting of it as the gospel truth and sounding like he thinks she’s totally bonkers.

           “No, it really doesn’t,” Charlie sighs. “Doesn’t change the fact it’s true. But enough about me and my world-ending escapades. How about your hole in the universe?”

           “That’s the thing… See, I don’t remember.”

           “What?”

           “I don’t remember how I got here, I just remember that I don’t belong,” the kid confesses, sounding a lot more like he’s being honest than before. “I’m not supposed to be here, but I can’t explain what might be able to bring me back.”

           “So, Lebanon, Kansas?”

           “Has a safehouse I remember, or I think I do,” he lays out. “And it has a power source I think I need. And…”

           “And..?”

           Charlie’s hoping for something about the people waiting for him there, something about the ‘profound bond’ doing something to clue him in.

           She can’t tell if this is just a spell or something, or if it’s a consequence of having Fallen, regained Angel status, and then seemingly kicked it again in the fastest repeat of the cycle yet.

           “I dunno,” he sighs. “I just have to be there.”

           Well, it’s not what she was hoping for.

           But it’s still closer than she thought she’d get…

           So, she’s still not 100% certain this kid is a whammied Castiel.

           But she’s definitely like 85% certain, maybe 87%.

           And in Winchester World? That there’s some pretty damn good lookin’ odds. So, Charlie will take what she can get and will roll with the rest.

           Sam and Dean will be here in a few more hours. All she has to do ‘till then is keep this kid in arm’s reach and keep them both from being buckled up for the looney bin.

           Sounds totally doable, right?

           In retrospect, Charlie may have to adjust her definition of ‘doable’…

_     _     _

Keep up with everything I’m getting up to HERE!

Have a great week!

[penny-anna]

@abluescarfonwaston​ as I said I got like 4 stars for this meme and no specific requests, so I’m just going to talk at length about the fic I have the most to say about, which is sandstorms and hazy dawns

hooray!!

She comes to him in the night, breath hot against his ear, and says, “can we keep them?”

This opening scene takes place between the 2nd and 3rd scenes of the story... this is probably needlessly confusing as the rest of the story is in chronological order but, this is where I wanted to start & I can do what I want.

“No,” he says.

He feels her weight shift as she lies down beside him. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

She noses at his neck, at the side of his head, nuzzling him. He feels the beginnings of a purr down in her chest, feels it in her and inside himself. “I like them.”

He touches her head, burying his fingers in her coarse fur the way he hasn’t for years. It’s been a long time, since they were as close as this. When they are together she sleeps an arm’s length from him. For days at a time they’re apart. He knows her only as a flash of white on the edge of his vision, a scent in the air. She wanders for miles, for weeks, following her own path, and he sees her not at all.

so let’s talk about the break up!!

Geralt & Dag used to have a more ‘normal’ person + separated daemon relationship (like most witchers), in which they would only split up for long periods out of practical necessity. they broke up for several years following events in blaviken. here is my extremely rough rendering of how that went

geralt: why you let this happen. you’re supposed to be my conscience :(

dag: umm how is this my fault? you asshole?

geralt: fuck off

dag: fine i will!! *fucks off*

geralt: wait no i didnt mean it :(

i have no intention of ever writing this scene as i don’t think i could do it justice. in my head he also throws a rock at her tho. bcos he’s an angry boy & an asshole.

however!! the strain in their relationship would not have started there. when i was writing this fic i was imagining that the fact of being separated would in itself put a strain on any person/daemon relationship, which i felt was implied by the HDM books. & then since writing it I read The Secret Commonwealth which more or less confirms that separating does just cause people’s relationships with their daemons to break down sometimes.

I think I said this in another post but, I imagine that the newly acquired ability to have separate experiences would make them more and more able to seriously disagree on things. and physically separating for long periods (even if only for practical reasons) would force them to get better at functioning alone which could in turn make them more and more emotionally distant from each other.

He scratches at the join of her neck and jaw, and that purr grows, long and deep and contented. She lays her head down beside his, and he holds her. He’s aware of her tail flicking, restless. She’ll be awake a while yet and so will she. They always sleep and wake at the same times, no matter how many miles separate them.

Geralt loves her, his lion, his dæmon. He loves her with every fibre of his being. He loves her strength, her grace. He loves that she can take any shape she pleases, be a bird or a fish or a snake when the moment calls for it. He loves the distance she can walk from him. He would not have her any other way. He cannot imagine her any other way.

i was always going to have witchers w separating daemons for this fic. however i got talked into the idea of witchers w mutable daemons by someone in a witcher discord I’m in... whoever you are I have forgotten your tumblr so can’t credit you for your idea properly sorry!!

i was originally reluctant bcos it seemed to me that mutable daemons implied innocence & youthfulness, which is kind of at odds with how witchers seem to be perceived. however following the above discord conversation i realised it can also imply 1) that witchers don’t really have ‘fixed’ personalities, which ties in with their supposedly not having feelings; 2) ‘innocence’ but in a negative way, in the sense of immaturity & not having a properly developed mind and sense of morality. 

obviously none of the above is actually true and witcher daemons are just shapeshifting adult daemons but, that is how people perceive it.

additionally, given how superpowered witchers are it seemed to fit that they would have found a way around all the weaknesses that having a daemon bring.

He knows that she loves him too. He understand why sometimes she despises him. He has cursed her, with his words and his thoughts, and she hates him for it. She has left him alone, and he hates her for it.

They say witchers feel nothing and they are not wrong. It doesn’t pain him when they are apart. He hasn’t felt that pain since he was a child. He barely remembers what it feels like.

She stops purring. Her breath puffs against his skin. “Stop thinking so hard,” she says. “Go to sleep.” Her tail has stopped twitching. “Go to sleep.”

*

“I think you and I might have got off on the wrong foot – as they say.”

this scene is supposed to take place offscreen shortly following the gutpunch haha

“White hair – no visible dæmon – two very – very scary looking swords – I know who you are.”

I don’t like when daemon fics recap entire scenes w the addition of daemons but I wanted to get this 1 change in so. here it is in a brief flashback. i elected to take out ‘big old loner’ bcos 1) listing 3 things is neater 2) I felt that not having a visible daemon would be a more notable characteristic for jaskier to point out.

not having a visible daemon is not necessarily a ‘tell’ that someone is a witcher or part of another demographic that can separate as people’s daemons are just out of sight sometimes.

It had surprised him, the ease with which that word visible had tripped off the bard’s tongue; that unhesitating acknowledgement that just because he couldn’t see something did not mean it didn’t exist.

He says, “hm.”

“Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

“No,” he says.”

“You can call me Jaskier,” says the bard. With a jerk of his shoulder he indicates the songbird-dæmon perched atop his lute. “This is Tansy.” The dæmon peeps a greeting. Receiving no response the bard goes on, “she’s a nightingale which I think is very sexy of her. You know,” he adds. “Because I’m a singer. And she’s a – a songbird.”

i realised while i was writing this that jaskier never actually introduces himself on screen. which seems like an oversight on the part of the writers tbh. means we can do what we want tho.

as i said in the a/n on the fic itself, I got the idea of giving Jaskier a nightingale daemon from two halves of a whole. usually I try and avoid just straight up copying other people’s form ideas but i just. fell in love with nightingale.

other forms I’ve seen for jaskier seem to tend VERY strongly towards birds which I find interesting! i’ve think I’ve seen maybe 1 daemon fic where he doesn’t have a bird daemon.

moving on to the name! this is tansy:

I do intend to get into this in potential future installments of the series, but Tansy is not her birth name (none of the main daemons in this AU use their birth names, completely independently of each other). she started going by Tansy relatively young and when he later changed his to match.

I think Jaskier settled relatively young - maybe 2 years before the time this fic is set - and being the overdramatic little punk he is hasn’t quite got over the ‘have i mentioned how cool my daemon’s settled form is today’ phase yet.

& finally before moving on, p much the first thing we learn about Jaskier & Tansy is that he is very happy and at ease with her and the form that she takes. this is important.

He grunts an acknowledgement – if only to get the bard to stop explaining.

“You’re not the best conversationalist, are you?”

A sudden tension, inside his chest. She’s close. He looks up and there she is, slipping into view on the clifftop.

“It’s just usually when you have a conversation you take it in turns to speak,” says the bard. “Rather than one person doing all the – oh.”

Dag makes her way down the ragged cliff, leaping from perch to perch in languid motions till her white paws touch the earth and she’s beside him. Stooping Geralt runs his hand over her head in greeting. Her eyes narrow.

this is another thing I have mentioned Elsewhere but i did fall in love w geralt’s daemon’s name in two halves of a whole (linked above) and went looking for something which had a similar feel to it. sorry.

i’m aware that Dag is technically a man’s name but given the kind of, inherent gender-bending nature of opposite sex daemons it seemed appropriate.

i confess i was also thinking of the dag in fury road.

seen a lot more variety in daemon forms for Geralt than jaskier! most common choices seem to be 1) wolf and 2) roach is his daemon. I’m really not into ‘existing animal companion as daemon’ bcos I’m firmly in the camp of ‘daemons as a manifestation of a person’s inner voice’ rather than ‘daemons as Companions’ so I can’t get behind daemon!roach (I actually find it actively offputting gfdlkjfskdh)

wolf is a p good fit imo but I find it a bit on the nose and I wanted to do something different. so. he is a giant kitty cat. & as someone (I forget who sorry) correctly identified she is leucistic rather than albino.

white mountain lions do exist but best as i can tell there’s like 1 photo on the entire internet. bummer.

He’s aware of the restlessly silent presence of the bard behind them shifting his weight, his dæmon fluttering about his head, aware perhaps that he’s intruding on something intimate.

Geralt straightens, and the bard takes that as his cue to begin again. He clears his throat and says, “what can I call her?”

It’s been a long time, since anyone has asked for her name so brazenly; in fact he isn’t sure anyone ever has. Geralt shoots the bard a look.

“Well, you must call her something,” he says, unintimidated.

“I do,” says Geralt. “You don’t.”

The nightingale-dæmon, now resting upon her bard’s shoulder, is eying Dag curiously, but she’s cautious enough not to approach.

one thing I’ve noticed when re-reading HDM is that characters very rarely refer to other people’s daemons by names, even when they know them. generally i’ve loosely kept to this in my own daemon AUs bcos 1) i find that when fics us each daemon’s name every time i get a bit lost as to whose daemon is whose and 2) I like the idea that using someone else’s daemon name is a very hm. intimate thing. hence geralt is reluctant to call tansy by her name, even though he knows it.

“Right,” says the bard. “Well, then.”

*

Come morning, Dag is gone, but not gone far. Out of sight, but not so far away he can’t feel her. She’ll come back when it pleases her.

He readies Roach for the path ahead, half-listening to the lilt of conversation that carries from the bushes; Jaskier’s voice, and the pretty voice of his dæmon.

The bard stumbles out into view, tousled and bleary from a night on the ground. “G’morning.” He ambles over to join Geralt.

i genuinely wanted to specify here that jaskier was having a piss in the bushes but i couldn’t find a way to get it in that didn’t seem kind of tasteless. that is what is happening here tho.

“What will it take to get rid of you?” says Geralt.

“My, someone woke up on the wrong side of the – ground,” says Jaskier. “More than yesterday. Where are we off to next?” He puts his hand on Roach’s saddle. Geralt swats it away.

“I’m going north,” he says. “You go wherever you want.”

“Maybe I want to go with you,” says Jaskier. In a flutter of wings his dæmon comes to rest on the pommel of Roach’s saddle, and he can’t shoo her away. He wouldn’t dare put his hands near her.

They say of witchers that they have no souls. They say their dæmons are something else, something monstrous. They say they have no respect for the great taboo. When they see him mothers’ dæmons snatch their children away.

“You don’t,” says Geralt.

“You sound awfully sure,” says Jaskier.

You don’t know what you’re asking for, Geralt wants to say. He doesn’t know how to say it in a way the bard would understand. He glowers at the nightingale-dæmon until she takes the hint and flies back to Jaskier’s shoulder.

He feels Dag before he hears her, the padding of her feet on the ground as she emerges from the bushes, the soft sound of her breathing.

Jaskier nudges him. “You don’t fool me,” he says. “You’re a big pussycat really. Don’t think I didn’t hear her purring all last night.”

did u know that mountain lions are the largest cat than can purr! here is a video of one purring. it’s very cute but also a little scary.

“You’re imagining things,” says Geralt.

“I absolutely am not,” says Jaskier. “She was practically shaking the ground.”

At that Dag actually laughs, a short and bubbling laugh of real amusement. Geralt shoots her a look. Jaskier is looking at her too, looking at her curiously, startled by this, the first human sound he’s heard her make.

Looking away from them Dag stretches out on the ground, lounging as if she has nowhere to be. Jaskier tears his eyes away from her and says, “is she always a lion? It’s just –” His dæmon pecks him hard on the neck. “Ow – it’s just I heard witchers’ dæmons don’t settle.”

He fastens the straps on Roach’s saddle bag, and his hands still. “They aren’t unsettled,” he says. “They’re mutable.”

“I don’t follow,” says Jaskier.

“They settle,” he says. “But they keep the ability to change, after settling.”

“Ah, I see,” says Jaskier, nodding. “But is she –” His dæmon fastens her beak around his ear lobe and tugs. “Ow – ow – alright – there’s no need to be like that,” he mutters to her.

“I’m leaving,” Geralt says. “As I said. Go where you please.”

The bard and his dæmon follow him north.

*

Chimney smoke rises down in the valley. He doesn’t know the name of the town.

Dag is waiting for him, draped in the branches of a tree. She’s been scouting ahead, or perhaps she’s restless, or perhaps both.

She yawns, showing off her teeth. “Did you lose them?”

“You know I didn’t,” says Geralt. He can hear Jaskier’s voice behind them in the woods, and so can she.

Her tail swishes. “Why not?” she says, and he knows at once what she means.

bouncing off what I was saying above re ‘manifestation of a person’s inner voice’. I like taking opportunities to show that a person & their daemon are 2 halves of the same mind.

“You know why,” he says.

“Tell me.”

And she says it in that particular tone, a tone with steel in it, and he has to answer. “He’s soft,” he says. “He’s young. What he’s asking for will break him. He doesn’t understand.”

“Hm,” she says.

“It’s best he realises sooner,” he says.

“You don’t know how soft he is,” she says. “You don’t know him at all.”

“You’ve seen her,” he says. “That’s what he is.”

Tansy is delicate – pretty – fragile. She weighs almost nothing. She comes close by him as few dæmons will and every time he tenses for fear that he might touch her, without meaning to – hurt her – break her.

u know that post about the person whose boyfriend was afraid of holding babies in case he didn’t know his own strength and accidentally hurt them? thats geralt.

Dag’s tail is moving in the air, no longer swishing, flicking in sharp, angry jerks. “We both know that’s not how it works.”

He knows what she’s thinking. It hangs between them, unspoken. Another little bird dæmon they had once known, a pretty, charming robin-dæmon who had melted away like smoke before his eyes.

I’ve only seen 1 daemon fic featuring renfri (and I don’t think it was strictly a conventional daemon au) and it gave her a shrike daemon, which i do think is fitting. however as w wolf for geralt I find it a bit on the nose.

additionally, giving renfri a daemon has the potential to kind of, shift things wrt the ambiguity of her character, so you have a choice to make wrt whether you want to shift it more towards ‘she’s outwardly scary’ or ‘she’s outwardly innocent’ and I went for ‘outwardly innocent’, in part so I could do this specific parallel but also bcos I just preferred that vibe.

i went for european robin bcos it’s a very nice match for renfri’s aesthetic, and 1) I’m a slut for aesthetics and 2) helps to make sure readers will know who this is about.

He might say don’t. Don’t make me think of it. But he doesn’t. This thing has been unspoken between them for so many years. He doesn’t know what will happen if he breaks the silence.

They’ve been on the road for five – almost six weeks. He’s growing used to the chatter and the birdsong. Jaskier hasn’t complained – hasn’t complained much – hasn’t complained as much as he’d expected, not even when his feet bled in his fancy shoes. He’s generous enough to share the coin he gets from playing. Geralt’s had worse travelling companions.

Jaskier blunders out of the trees. “There you are,” he says. “Trying to shake us?”

“Yes,” says Geralt.

Jaskier snorts, as if that’s a joke. He looks out over the valley, the distant strings of smoke hazy in the twilight. “Do you think they have an inn?”

“I don’t care,” says Geralt.

“I want to sleep in a real bed,” says Jaskier. “And I want a bath.”

“I’m not stopping you,” says Geralt.

“It’s going to be freezing tonight,” says Jaskier.

“I’m used to it,” says Geralt.

Jaskier nudges him. “C’mon,” he says. “You could use a bath yourself. I don’t like to say so, but you are a very – unusual smelling person.”

“You’ve said so several times,” says Geralt.

“Have I?” says Jaskier innocently.

“Yes,” says his dæmon.

“So I have,” he says.

“Go and find an inn if you want,” says Geralt. “I’m not stopping you.”

“Stop being ridiculous,” says Jaskier.

“I’m being ridiculous?” says Geralt.

“Yes,” says Jaskier. “Alright, how about this. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I can buy my own drinks,” says Geralt.

“But I’m offering,” says Jaskier. “A kind and magnanimous offer, out of the goodness of my heart. And also I think it’s going to rain and I want to get in doors, so stop being ridiculous.”

“Hm,” says Geralt.

They go to the inn. It’s begun to rain by the time they reach the town. Tansy hides herself away within Jaskier’s cloak. Dag doesn’t follow them down the valley, preferring to find a dry spot in the woods, preferring to avoid prying eyes.

The inn is crowded with people sheltering from the rain; two more strangers with hidden dæmons don’t get a second look. The rafters are lined with bird-dæmons, safely away from the crowd. Sitting alone in his corner he watches their movements, the beating of their wings. There was a time Dag might have changed her shape and joined them. A space like this is never comfortable for a large dæmon.

reading back over this story I think it’s hm easy to think of Dag as the Emotionally Mature one of them but she’s the one whose making a choice to like... hide from Regular People and has been doing it habitually for a long time, either by changing her form or just leaving him alone. 

Geralt & his daemon do this for a number of reasons I think, in part for practical reasons, but also because he doesn’t want people go be able to get a fix on what kind of person that he is, and on some level wants people to see him and be immediately repulsed by his not having a daemon... this is a self-destructive behaviour that Dag is an active participant in. stop it Dag you’re supposed to be the smart one.

There’s a bard playing, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. He doesn’t sing as nicely as Jaskier. He’s made a poor choice of song, too, a quiet ballad, one of many about the beauty of the touch.

“Her hand upon my dæmon, the first in my life – it was like roses in the summer and I knew then she’d be my wife –”

1) i hate writing rhyming poetry and i am very bad at it. got away with it this time i hope bcos this is supposed to be kind of trite.

2) this is is what we call Planting. lol.

Jaskier pushes his way through the press back to their table. “As promised,” he says, sliding Geralt a mug of ale. Geralt grunts a thank you.

Jaskier sits, and regards him. Tansy flutters down to perch on the rim of his mug, dipping in her beak. Absently Jaskier strokes her downy back and Geralt tracks the tiny, intimate motion with his eyes. “Is this it, then?” says Jaskier.

one thing I was trying to convey throughout this fic is that spending time with Jaskier & Tansy is the first time Geralt has been around someone who has a Normal relationship with their daemon (as opposed to the ‘it’s complicated’ that geralt & dag have) for a long time and he’s very aware of the contrast. 

“Is this what?” says Geralt.

“Is this how it goes?” says Jaskier. “It’s just that I can’t help but notice there hasn’t been a lot of witchering.”

“That’s not a word,” says Geralt, and takes a draft of ale.

“What?” says Jaskier. “Witchering?” Geralt grunts. “Maybe I’ll put it in a song and get people saying it.”

“Don’t you dare,” says Geralt, and Jaskier laughs a little.

“Really, though,” he says. “Is this it?”

“How many monsters do you think there are in the world?” says Geralt.

“How should I know?” says Jaskier. Still perched on his mug Tansy whistles along with the ballad. A moment later Jaskier’s fingers begin to tap along. “What d’you do when you can’t get any work?”

“I make do,” says Geralt.

“Hmm,” says Jaskier. Sensing he isn’t going to get any meaningful answers – or perhaps just bored – his gaze wanders to the bard. For a few moments he listens quietly. “Have you ever done it?”

“What?” says Geralt.

“You know.” Jaskier ducks his head in the direction of the bard.

“Been a bard?” says Geralt.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” says Jaskier, mock-stern.

“No,” says Geralt. “Not like that.”

He’s had another’s hands on his dæmon, more than once. He and Dag have sworn to themselves: never again.

“Hm,” says Jaskier. “No. Me neither.” Again he strokes Tansy, perhaps imagining it.

Tansy is still whistling along with the bard, giving the final notes of the ballad a few extra flourishes, and Geralt catches himself thinking that she and Jaskier would sing it better.

*

“I’ll be having the bath first – if you don’t mind,” says Jaskier.

“Hm,” says Geralt.

“Though don’t think I’m going to let you get away without bathing,” says Jaskier. “I know what you’re like, and, and your aroma is really starting to bother me.”

“Hm!” pipes up Tansy in agreement.

“Find someone else to annoy, then,” says Geralt. He sits on the edge of the bed, still in his armour. Jaskier is meandering about the washstand, unfastening his doublet, restless as ever.

He tosses his doublet onto the bed, and looks Geralt up and down. “You’re not planning on sleeping in that, are you?”

“Maybe,” says Geralt.

“What, do you think the inn’s going to get attacked in the night by – werewolves, or something?” says Jaskier.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” says Geralt.

“I can never tell when you’re joking,” says Jaskier, and unlacing his undershirt as he goes he wanders behind the screen.

“I don’t joke,” says Geralt.

“See?” Jaskier’s undershirt drapes over the top of the screen. Tansy, perched beside it, tugs at it with her beak, neatening it up. “There you go again.”

one of the biggest (& most underrated imo) challenges when writing a daemon au is characterising daemons... they’ve got to be like, recognisably the same person as the character, but at the same time ideally their own entity with their own personality. i found Dag came quite naturally, probably bcos Geralt is a character who definitely hides a lot of aspects of his personality, but Tansy was harder.

i imagined Tansy being very quiet with people who aren’t Jaskier & also very much the ‘put your clothes away don’t leave them all over the floor’ type of daemon.

Alone – or what passes for alone – Geralt begins to divest himself of his armour.

Jaskier’s trousers appear atop the screen. A moment later there’s a gentle splashing of water. A sigh.

geralt is definitely not thinking about the fact that jaskier is undressing. nope. he is not thinking about the fact that jaskier is naked in the same room as him. this is of no interest to him at all. He Does Not Care.

“This soap smells like pig fat,” he remarks.

“That’s because it’s made of pig fat,” says Geralt.

“Well. Yes,” says Jaskier.

Tansy is looking at him curiously from atop the screen. Caught staring, she opens her wings and drops out of sight to join Jaskier.

“Does Dag not come indoors?” says Jaskier.

“Now and then,” Geralt answers, before he has fully processed what Jaskier said. His hands still on his armour. “When did she tell you her name?”

this is something I do intend to cover in a future fic but I also don’t intend for it to be especially dramatic

“A few weeks ago,” says Jaskier. “I didn’t think much of it. Why? Do you mind?”

“Yes,” says Geralt.

Behind the screen water splashes. “Why on earth would you mind?” says Jaskier. Geralt doesn’t answer. “Well – I suppose that’s another one for the list of things I’ll never understand about you – like your sense of humour, and why you spend hours talking to your horse when you’ve a perfectly good dæmon.”

an extra dimension of geralt talking to his horse in this au is that he is used to having his daemon there.

Rising, Geralt begins setting his armour on the chair. “She isn’t always there,” he says.

“Well, yes, but it’s not as if she goes very far,” says Jaskier.

“Sometimes she does,” says Geralt.

In a sudden fluttering of wings, Tansy reappears atop the screen.

“How far does she go?” says Jaskier.

“As far as she pleases,” says Geralt.

A gentle sloshing of water. Tansy turns on her perch, peering down at her bard, something wordless passing between them. “Does it,” says Jaskier. “I mean, do you – I don’t know how to ask.”

“Spit it out,” says Geralt.

“Can you still feel her?”

“Yes.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“No.”

so this scene is (obvs) a kind of a call back to That One Bath Scene in canon. this is the first time they’ve been hm ‘domestic’ together and it’s a little awkward, especially for geralt, who is not used to it. all of which is in contrast with how comfortable they are around each other later.

& this is the most frank (probably) conversation they have over the course of the entire fic and it happens when they are physically screened from each other. and also jaskier is literally naked while geralt is opening up to him. this is all very notable for obvious reasons I hope.

“I see,” says Jaskier, though Geralt doubts he does. It’s difficult for humans to get their heads around the way he and Dag experience the world. Most aren’t interested in trying.

geralt here actively ignoring the fact that jaskier is making an effort to understand

He hears the water moving, and the padding of Jaskier’s bare feet on the floorboards. His clothes are whisked back down from the screen and half a minute later he emerges, his hair towel-damp. “All yours,” he says.

Geralt sits in the still-warm water, and soaks, and listens as Jaskier putters about on the other side of the screen, getting ready to sleep, listens to the steady back and forth of his conversation with Tansy. He hums, and she whistles along.

uh so if you’re an introvert I imagine you’ve probably had the experience of being Alone and Unobserved for the first time in an uncomfortably long time... i have this experience every day when i leave work fjgksfkgjfg

tansy & jaskier talk p much non-stop when they’re (semi)alone

When at last, the water cold, he ventures out from behind the screen, Jaskier is on the bed, scribbling something down in his little book.

“You can have the bed,” says Geralt. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Jaskier shifts over towards the wall. “We’ll both fit. I don’t mind if you don’t.” He glances up from his writing. “Though just to warn you, I’m reliably informed that I kick.”

“He does,” says Tansy from the headboard.

The room smells like candle smoke, and pig fat. The scent of the outdoors still clings to them to their clothes, to Jaskier’s hair. He sleeps facing the wall, the warmth of his body pressed to Geralt’s side. Tansy sleeps with her head tucked beneath her wing. Geralt lies awake, listening to Jaskier’s breathing.

geralt is not affected by this situation at all. he is not even a little bit uncomfortably attracted. nope. nuh-uh.

they don’t ever share a bed in the show but i gather it’s a normal thing to do in the books so for the purposes of this fic, this is a thing that it later becomes normal for them to do.

He mumbles now and then in his sleep. And true to his word, he does kick.

*

Morning comes grey, but dry. They eat breakfast in the tavern. Jaskier chatters, about the weather, the food, the song he was writing in the evening. Geralt tunes him out, and lets his eyes roam over the other patrons. His gaze falls on a pair of old men smoking long pipes. They’re looking at him, at the absence beside him, the empty space he occupies. Caught staring they look away.

Jaskier pokes his arm. “Are you listening to me?” he says.

“Hm?” says Geralt.

“I said you’re even more sullen than usual this morning,” says Jaskier. “What’s got into you? Trouble sleeping?”

Geralt turns his attention to his porridge. “You kick.”

“I’m aware,” says Jaskier. “I did warn you. Well, I dare say –”

A woman is approaching their table, purposefully, stoically. Geralt recognises her attitude. Jaskier is savvy enough to guess.

“You’re the witcher?” she says, as if it’s a question. Her dæmon, a large, horned beetle, clings silently to her sleeve.

always hard w daemon AUs to strike a balance between making it clear to the audience that everyone in this world has a daemon & including superfluous information about daemons who aren’t relevant to the story. originally didn’t include this woman’s but then decided I didn’t have enough background daemons.

this is something i actually paid a lot of attention to while reading the secret commonwealth bcos i wanted to see how pullman handles it.

additionally I think insect daemons are under-represented in daemon au fic so I have been trying to get in as many as I can.

“Well, he’s a witcher,” says Jaskier. Geralt nudges him to be quiet.

She says, “my sister has a job for you.”

*

The wind is picking up. The day is getting thin. Ahead, on the hilltop, the dark outline of a hay barn, stark and flat against the grey sky.

He dismounts, and ties Roach to a tree.

“Is Dag not joining us?” says Jaskier.

“She comes and goes as she pleases,” says Geralt.

“What, did you two have an argument or something?” says Jaskier. Geralt grunts. “Did you? About what?”

“You,” says Geralt truthfully, and Jaskier laughs as if he’s made a joke.

Dag is in the air somewhere above them. Irritated with him as she may be, she hasn’t gone far, this time. She’s watching the valley, her keen hawk’s eyes searching for any untoward movement.

He starts to climb the hill. Jaskier makes to follow. Turning Geralt holds up a hand, halting him in his tracks. “Stay with Roach.”

Jaskier adjusts the strap of his lute. “I can handle it.”

“This won’t be pleasant,” says Geralt.

“Honestly,” says Jaskier. “How do you expect me to write about all this if you never let me see anything?”

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

“Anyone would think you didn’t want me to immortalise your deeds in song,” says Jaskier.

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

“It’s stifling to my creativity, not to mention rude,” says Jaskier. “And wholly unjustified. I have a strong stomach.”

Wavering, Geralt glances at Tansy, on Jaskier’s shoulder. She hms in agreement. He drops his hand. “If you’re sure.”

In the doorway of the hay barn Jaskier turns his face away and retches. “Oh gods,” he moans. “Oh heavens. Fuck me –”

“Go and wait with Roach if you want,” says Geralt.

One hand braced against the door frame, the other over his mouth, Jaskier looks at him. He takes his head from his mouth. He shakes his head. Tansy flutters in the doorway, from the shadow to the light, and resolves. She flies into the barn, up, up to the rafters, and there looks down upon the bodies.

This is where they have brought their dead, this most remote outpost of their village, with the spiders and the rats and the dust. They brought the bodies here, a dozen or more of them, and piled them up, meaning to burn them, meaning to burn this lonely place to the ground.

They’re unmarked. The air is thick with the smell of death. The most recent lies near the door, her eyes open, staring up at the roof. She’s young. Her hair is fair. She’s dressed in an apron, as if she’d just stepped out of her kitchen – to the water pump, perhaps – when she was attacked.

One death such as this, two, they’d bury. This many, in as many days, they know what haunts them, and they fear it like nothing else.

“What killed them?” says Tansy from the rafters.

“Hm,” says Geralt. He crouches to look at the dead girl, to be sure there are no marks on her, as the village healer had said. Taking off his gloves, he touches her face, tilting her head towards the light.

why does geralt take off his gloves. bcos later i had a scene where he’s washing his hands and then it was pointed out to me that he normally wears clothes and so wouldn’t need to. shush.

It isn’t his place to interfere with how these people treat their dead; but this isn’t right. There’s nothing to fear here. They are only dead. The danger, the thing that killed them, has passed. There’s nothing to be gained in consigning their dead to this bleak, anonymous fate.

A scuffling, above. Tansy moving on the rafter.

“Geralt?” says Jaskier. “What killed them?”

“Shh.”

Geralt glances up, at Tansy. She’s perched quivering on the rafter. “What is it?” he says.

“Something moved.”

tansy being a very hm fastidious sort of person translates to being quite perceptive

“I didn’t see anything,” says Jaskier.

“You weren’t looking,” says Tansy.

Geralt rises. He reaches for his sword.

The barn reeks of death. In the semi-darkness he had taken it for one of the bodies piled around it. It’s rising now to its feet, its movements stilted, unnatural. You might take it for a lumbering thing, a slow thing you could outrun. You’d be wrong.

Tansy takes flight, flashing in and out of the light from the doorway, and as she does so it begins to move, crawling forward over the piled bodies with the speed of a darting insect, snatching, grasping at the air above it. Jaskier cries out. “Run!” Geralt barks, raising his sword.

this whole scene was hard for a number of reasons... firstly i don’t know a lot about witcher monsters and spent a while trying to find one that fit the kind of scene I wanted before saying ‘fuck it’ and inventing my own

and secondly I don’t know about anyone else but uhh whenever i want a story to include an action scene in my head it’s just like ‘and then a fight happens!!’

+ w this one as well as planning out the fight i had the extra issue of, how it manages to get hold of Tansy which I. hope i explained satisfactorily. 

The sight of silver gives the dæmophage pause. It halts, its eyes wide and staring, its shoulders heaving. It’s a fluid creature and it no longer needs its human disguise. Its limbs stretch, its spine bends at an unnatural angle, its slit nostrils flaring. It has no mouth. It has no need of one. Frost spreads from its fingers, coating its hands and arms, the bodies beneath it, the packed dirt floor.

He’s aware of laboured breathing behind him. He’s aware, suddenly, that Jaskier has not run. He risks a glance over his shoulder and sees him pressed to the far side of the door frame, gripping the wood with one white-knuckled hand. His other hand is held, clenched, to his chest. The colour has drained from his face.

“Run,” Geralt says. “Run!” Still Jaskier doesn’t move, and stepping back, not taking his eyes off the dæmophage, Geralt reaches blindly behind himself, finds Jaskier and shoves him backwards.

He resists, and in that resistance Geralt feels what has happened, feels it before Jaskier lets out a pained sound, before he says, choked, “Tansy.” For it’s not the resistance of one who doesn’t want to go; it’s the resistance of one tethered, of a tied-up dog trying to run from a fire.

The dæmophage is crawling forward again, one-handed. It’s holding something in its other hand, in a hand thick with ice. He can’t see what it is. He knows what it is. “Geralt –” Jaskier wheezes, and whatever he means to say next he can’t find the breath.

There are many vile ways to die, in the world. Few worse than your dæmon becoming meal to a creature like this, the life crushed from it, your soul slowly, torturously drained away.

He takes off the dæmophage’s arm first, the arm that holds Tansy, and its whole body jerks spraying dark blood across the walls, across the bodies. As its severed arm hits the ground its fingers fall open and he sees her, a fistful of icy brown feathers, but there’s no time to dwell on her, no time to dwell on if he was fast enough, if there is anything left to save. The dæmophage lashes out at him with its other hand, with its sharpening claws; he dodges, swings, and its arm falls to the ground, cut at the elbow.

It takes two strikes to cleave off its head. Its body remains half-upright, swaying, blood bubbling from its neck. He stands over it, sword raised, breathing hard. They’re fluid creatures. Half-shadow. You can never be sure.

It falls. It is still. He lowers his sword.

Behind him Jaskier falls heavily to the ground. Geralt turns to find him on his knees, shuddering all over, gasping, but still conscious, his eyes alert. He slumps forward, catching himself on his hands, and empties his stomach onto the dirt.

“Tansy,” he croaks. “Oh gods, Tansy –” He sees her, still in the dead creature’s hand, melted frost dripping from her feathers. He tries to rise. His legs won’t hold him.

She had been in its grip less than a minute. It must have felt like an age. Geralt is surprised he didn’t faint. Perhaps he’s made of sterner stuff than he looks.

so I don’t imagine this being as much a matter of Inner Strength as much as (as established early) Jaskier & Tansy having a very close and intimate bond, which in turn is a reflection of Jaskier being at ease with himself and the kind of person he is. 

in short this isn’t a matter of jaskier being like, exceptionally brave so much as being like ‘hey! don’t you dare! fuck you!’

Stepping closer Geralt takes his arm and heaves. “I told you to wait with Roach,” he says. But the look Jaskier gives him, of mute, numb disbelief at his coldness, silences any further reproach.

He hauls Jaskier to his feet, but Jaskier tugs his arm from his grip. He wipes his face on his sleeve and staggers forward, falling to his knees once again beside her, reaching for her with shaking hands.

When he picks her up he lets out a gasp of relief – or terror – it’s hard to say which. She doesn’t respond to his touch. She lies limp in his hands.

Jaskier looks up at him, and voice unsteady he says, “she’s cold.”

*

He sets the barn alight. By the time he’s done it’s growing dark, and the wind has died away. He leaves it to burn on its hilltop, to be sure the creature is dead. He’ll tell the villagers to come back when it’s burned to the ground, to take the bones of their dead and bury them properly. They’ll do it, if not for the right reasons.

The barn is a red-orange blaze in the distance. Down in the valley there’s a chill in the air. He can see Jaskier’s breath, though it’s not cold enough for that. He hasn’t stopped shaking. Geralt builds a fire, so he can warm himself, and sets about fastening the dæmophage’s head to Roach’s saddle.

“Geralt, she’s still cold,” says Jaskier. He’s kneeling too close to the fire, Tansy clutched to his chest, hidden in his cupped hands. He’s stripped off his filthy doublet, dark with the creature’s blood. “Geralt. Geralt. She won’t wake up.”

 i don’t know if it actually makes sense for jaskier to have got blood on him but listen i will take any excuse to have him take his doublet off bcos i’m just into it.

“She’ll wake up,” says Geralt.

“Are you sure?” says Jaskier.

“Hm,” says Geralt. He isn’t sure. You can never be sure. But if it had drained enough of the life from her that she was beyond waking, Jaskier’s mind would have broken. She’d be fading away. She was in shock. That was all. She’d wake.

If he’d been fast enough to kill it, but not fast enough to save her – he’d seen it before. He’d seen men and women, their minds broken into icy fragments, spending their last days terrified, in pain, alone. Unable to understand what had happened to them. Sometimes it was more merciful to let the dæmophage finish its meal, and kill them outright.

Not this time. He’d been fast enough.

“She – she won’t wake up, Geralt, she –” Jaskier breaks off in a ragged gasp. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Give her some time,” says Geralt. He fetches a blanket, and tosses it to Jaskier.

Jaskier doesn’t take it. “I can’t wake her up,” he says. “Geralt, what do I do?”

“Stop panicking,” says Geralt.

It’s no good. Jaskier understands what he’s saying, but he can’t keep his thoughts straight long enough to act on it. His mind is clouded. Where his connection to Tansy should be there’s nothing but confusion.

this was a fun opportunity to get a little bit into how the connection between a person and their daemon works :3

“I don’t know what to do,” he says. “I can’t think – Geralt, I can’t –”

His name falls again and again from Jaskier’s lips and it carries a silent plea. Help me. Do something.

He doesn’t know what to do. Or rather he knows what he ought to do, to offer comfort and warmth until this passes, but he doesn’t know how.

If he had seen it sooner. If he hadn’t let Jaskier talk him into taking him into danger. If he’d been quicker, smarter, harsher.

Tansy will get better. Jaskier will walk away from this.

double meaning in ‘walk away from this’ as in ‘survive this’ but also ‘will walk away FROM GERALT because of this’

Tension, behind him. He feels her long before he sees her, long before she ghosts into the firelight on owl-wings. She lands and with a soft rushing of air she’s herself again. Jaskier falls silent, startled at seeing her change, though he knew she cold.

“Jaskier,” she says. “Do you trust me?”

Half-watching, Geralt sees him nod.

“Put her down,” she says.

Jaskier hesitates. “But –”

“I know what I’m doing,” says Dag. “Put her down. Let me see.” Again he refuses, a wordless stammer of protest. “Jaskier. You’re panicking. Breathe deep. Put her down.”

Jaskier lays Tansy down. His hands are still shaking, but his breathing has slowed. That’s something. “What’s happening to her?” he says. “It hurts –”

He’d known it must. But Jaskier hadn’t said so, to him.

Dag noses at Tansy’s tiny, limp body. She licks her, once. “She’s just cold,” she says. “She’s just fainted. She’ll be fine.”

The back of one hand pressed to his mouth, Jaskier sobs.

“Shh,” says Dag. “Jaskier. Be calm.” Then she ducks her head forward, and touches him.

She touches her head to his face, nuzzling him, and at that contact a tremor goes through Geralt like a static shock. It’s only for a moment. Jaskier jerks away from her, as one would if a dæmon came too close by mistake.

this scene was inspired a bit by the part in The Subtle Knife where Pantalaimon physically comforts Will bcos he doesn’t have a daemon to comfort him. Obviously Jaskier does have a daemon, but he’s experiencing her being unconscious while he’s awake for the first time, making him essentially bereft of her.

He turns to look at Geralt, standing by Roach, no longer pretending he isn’t watching this. Their eyes meet. Geralt says nothing. Does nothing.

Jaskier turns back to Dag. Her eyes are lidded. Gingerly, Jaskier raises a hand to touch her. Geralt should cry out stop. He should go over there and drag them apart. He doesn’t.

Jaskier runs his hand over her head, the touch barely-there, just enough pressure to be felt through her fur. Geralt feels that touch like a gentle nudge somewhere within his ribs. It doesn’t feel bad.

He can feel, somehow feel birdsong in that touch. He can feel silk, and music, and laughter. It feels like the smell of perfume and candle smoke. Polished wood beneath his fingers. He’d had another’s hand on Dag before. It did not feel like this.

and THIS description of what touching (or being touched by) a person’s daemon would be like was inspired by how it’s depicted in Disciples of Apollo which is an a+++ daemon AU you should read if you like daemon stuff regardless of whether you’re a fan of M*A*S*H or not... please read it it’s so good.

He wonders what Jaskier feels, touching her.

i do intend to cover this. eventually. if i ever get around to writing more of this series.

Jaskier runs his hand over Dag’s head a second time. She purrs, low and deep in her chest. On the ground, Tansy gasps for breath.

my intention here is that Jaskier’s distress is part of what’s keeping Tansy from waking up, but then as long as she’s unconscious he can’t calm down, so by acting as a kind of stand-in daemon for him Dag is helping him Chill The Fuck Out sufficiently for Tansy to pull herself together.

“Tansy.” Jaskier’s hand falls from Dag’s head, and he reaches for her. “Oh gods, Tansy –” He cradles her in his hands. Her whole body is trembling.

“Jaskier,” she says, and at the sound of her voice all of his breath leaves him, his shoulders shaking, limp, weak with relief. He kisses her, holds her close by his face. Neither of them speak.

Geralt looks away. He meets Dag’s eyes, and she holds his gaze. He understands why she did it. He wouldn’t take it back. He’d do it again, and again. He still doesn’t like it. Dag turns away from him. She lies down beside the fire.

He tucks the blanket around Jaskier’s shoulders, and Jaskier murmurs thanks. He sits. He cleans his sword. The air smells like smoke. They shouldn’t linger here, in the dark. Jaskier’s breath is still fogging the air.

“We should go back to the village,” he says.

“Okay,” says Jaskier. Unsteady on his feet, he levers himself upright with one hand, the other cradling Tansy to his chest. “Okay.”

In the village lights are still burning in the windows. Geralt unties the dæmophage’s mouthless head.

“Should we,” says Jaskier, “talk about this?”

“Hm?” says Geralt.

“You know what I mean,” says Jaskier. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” says Geralt, and taking the creature’s head he marches away.

“I’ve heard of mixed signals,” calls Jaskier in his wake. “But this is ridiculous!”

am not actually 100% happy with this part, i wanted to get this line in but i couldn’t get it to mesh w the tone of the scene

*

The village is too small for an inn, but as well as coin the monster’s head earns them a bed for the night in the alderman’s house, and an invitation to dinner.

The monster’s head, and perhaps Jaskier; Jaskier, whose boyish smile and pretty dæmon had charmed the alderman and his wife at once, Jaskier, who had come back from the hunt pale, and shivering in a way they must recognise.

geralt thinks Tansy is very pretty. that’s just how his tastes run and he genuinely has no idea that most people don’t think nightingales are like, notably pretty.

There’s only one bed in the room they’re given but the alderman’s daughter makes up a cot. He tells Jaskier to take the bed. Jaskier doesn’t argue. Jaskier says nothing at all.

Since his outburst when they reached the village he’s spoken only to say yes and please and thank you. He lies upon the bed, staring at the ceiling, one hand stroking a slow, contemplative circle on his own stomach. Tansy sits on the pillow beside his head, plucking at his hair, grooming at him like a mother cat with a kitten.

Geralt washes the dæmophage’s blood from his hands. It has dried into the creases in his palms, under his fingernails.

“Will you come to dinner?” he says.

“Not very hungry,” says Jaskier.

Stretched out upon the cot, Dag raises her head. “You should eat,” she says.

Geralt sees her indoors so rarely. It takes him off-guard, sometimes, how large she is compared to human things. The alderman and his family must have been startled, to see him go on a hunt without a dæmon and return with one, but they had said nothing about it.

i did not mention that dag is in this scene before she speaks to emphasise that her presence indoors is unusual and unexpected. i am very smart.

She lies alert, tail flicking, watching over Jaskier.

His hands don’t feel clean. He washes them again. “You’re quiet,” he says.

“Hmm?” says Jaskier.

“Are you alright?” says Geralt.

“Since when do you care?” says Jaskier. “I thought you wanted me to shut up.”

“What will it take for you to give me some peace?” he had said, more than once.

“Hell or high water, probably,” Jaskier had answered, sunnily smiling.

If he hadn’t been fast enough. If the creature had taken something that could not be brought back – the light in his eyes. Warmth. A smile he’d never see again. Not like this. He didn’t want it like this.

once again double meaning re geralt thinking that jaskier is going to leave him because of this

He leans heavily upon the washstand. He breathes out. He’d been fast enough. Jaskier was shaken. That was all. He’d be fine.

“I’m just,” says Jaskier. “Thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?” says Geralt.

“What’s it to you?” says Jaskier. A moment’s quiet, and he says, “why don’t elves have dæmons?”

this is my no 1 issue w this fic (which i am otherwise happy with), I really wanted to get this conversation in but wasn’t quite sure where to put it. originally i was going to include it much earlier, and have it be in response to meeting the elves, but i couldn’t get it to work with the pacing and i needed something for them to discuss here so. here it is. i’m not 100% sure it works. i think i understand why jaskier is bringing this up now but i’m not sure how to describe it properly.

The question jars him. It’s like something a child would ask. Why it’s on Jaskier’s mind now, of all times, he can’t imagine. “You know why.”

“I want to hear what you have to say about it,” says Jaskier.

“It’s the way the world is,” says Geralt. “Humans have dæmons. Elves don’t. Others don’t.”

“You’re not human and you have a dæmon,” says Jaskier.

“You know why,” says Geralt again. He can feel Dag’s stare on him, accusing, but he can’t help his frustration. He has the sense that Jaskier is goading him – or trying to catch him out in a lie. He doesn’t know what Jaskier wants from him.

“Do you think it’s lonely?” says Jaskier.

“Being an elf?” says Geralt.

“Mm,” Jaskier agrees.

tbqh it’s just occurred to me now as im re-reading it that part of this is jaskier obliquely asking geralt about his own feelings about having a daemon.

Geralt begins to dry his hands. “You can’t miss what you never had.”

“I don’t know,” says Jaskier. “I miss all sorts of things I’ve never had.”

Geralt waits for him to expand on that thought. But he’s lapsed back into silence. “Elves find dæmons distasteful,” he says. “It bothers them. Like seeing someone with their insides spilling out. They think half-elves born without dæmons are stronger for it.”

At that, mystifyingly, Jaskier laughs a little. “Hear that, Tansy?” he says. “Maybe I would have been stronger if I didn’t have you, like a half-elf. What do you think?”

gjlkghjklghdfj i had so much trouble w this line bcos my beta fully believed that this was jaskier professing that he was half elf so i had to re-write it and somehow at least one reviewer has still thought that was the implication... he’s 100% not half elf in this AU sorry. if i ever get around to writing the sequel it will be evident that he’s not half elf (or like if he is he has no idea) 

Tansy clicks her beak. “I think you’d miss me terribly,” she says. “Even if you’d never had me.”

His hands are dry. He stops running the cloth over them, and sets it aside. “Dag’s right,” he says. “You should eat.”

“If you insist,” says Jaskier. “Where are we going next?”

Geralt turns to look at him. He’s gazing up at Tansy, running a finger over her neck. “After dinner?” he says.

“Tomorrow,” says Jaskier. Geralt says nothing, but his silence must speak for itself, for Jaskier looks at him and says, “don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily.”

“Why?” says Geralt.

“I’m a glutton for punishment, I suppose,” Jaskier says. “Anyway. I’m working on a song and it isn’t finished.”

“Hm?” says Geralt.

Jaskier’s gaze drifts back to Tansy. “Still needs an ending,” he says.

i wasn’t sure how to end this story and this last line is very cheeky eheheh. i can do what i want.

thank you again for requesting!! i hope u enjoy this commentary. it has been a fun diversion. i’m very pleased w this fic and i love talking about daemon AUs. <3

[lazyfox411]

Zombie on the Doorstep

Requested by anon, from an ask meme! Fandom is rvb and it’s tuckington, since you let me choose and i am trash lol. Sort of a modern au, Wash showing up on Tucker’s doorstep with a broken leg and covered in little cuts. Thanks so much for sending in a prompt, I really appreciate it! So sorry it’s taken so long to get out, I’ve had a very busy time having to move out of my dorm because of these coronavirus precautions. If anyone else would like to send in a prompt, feel free!

Length: 1623 words

There’s absolutely nothing on TV. 

Tucker sighs, face half smushed into a couch cushion, arm extended to point the remote, and flicks through the channels one last time. Infomercials, the news, a documentary about gazelles or something, and a dumb zombie movie he’s seen about a thousand times. He settles on the zombies and ambles to the fridge for another beer. 

Spending Friday night by yourself, he decides, is the fucking worst. Ever since moving to this godawful town, leaving his friends behind and working a dumb nine to five office job, he’s felt like all the life is sucked out of the world. But he didn’t do this for him. This neighborhood is safer, schools here are way better, more expensive, but better, and Junior has made new friends and is happier than he’s ever been. 

Okay, so maybe not all the life has been sucked out, Tucker thinks, smiling at the family photos hung on the wall. Junior isn’t here tonight, though, he’s having a sleepover at his new friend’s house, and so Tucker is all alone, with nothing but a shitty beer and a shitty zombie movie to keep him company. He sighs again and turns the volume up, bright screen flashing around the dark living room. 

About halfway through the movie, Tucker is bored out of his mind and also debating whether or not to leave the comfort of the couch for a snack. Before he can choose, there’s a knock at the door, or at least something that sounds like a knock. It’s faint and uneven and makes Tucker wonder if it was just the wind, but no, there’s definitely a shadow swaying in the window.

He slowly makes his way to door, a little voice in the back of his skull telling him to grab something to use as a weapon in case it’s a zombie. 

What the hell? he asks himself. Get ahold of yourself, man, it’s a movie.

Still. He picks up his empty beer bottle. Grips the neck firmly. Just in case. He is a grown ass man and he is not afraid of zombies, he’s just. Being prepared, is all. He can’t believe he’s letting the dumb zombie movie get into his head.

The man behind the door, though he could be mistaken for someone doing his best impression of one, is not a zombie. Tucker blinks in surprise. “Wash?” 

Wash is the only person in this town who hasn’t treated Tucker like a shitty outsider since moving here. It may have something to do with people treating Wash like he is also a shitty outsider. Either way, Wash is about the only person even coming close to the friend territory for Tucker. He is also the last person Tucker expected to find on his doorstep. 

Wash staggers forward and makes a strained sort of moaning sound, and Tucker momentarily reconsiders the zombie theory until he gets a good look at Wash, leaning heavily against the doorframe, breathing hard, and bleeding from a gash on his forehead. He’s not the risen undead, he’s just hurt. Pretty badly.

“Jesus, Wash,” Tucker moves to support him and gently lead him inside, out of the cold. “What the hell happened, man? Are you okay?” 

He’s obviously very much not okay, but after Tucker gets him seated on the couch and he takes a few deep breaths, some of the colour returns to his face.

“I kind of, um…crashed my car.” Wash rubs a hand sheepishly along the back of his neck, a nervous habit Tucker’s noticed in just the short time they’ve known each other. With the other hand, he gestures outside, though the still-open door.

Tucker looks, and, sure enough, sees Wash’s little grey sedan a little farther down the road, rendered useless with its hood bent around a tree. There is a nasty curve in the road right there, and with the strong wind that makes it hard to even pull the door closed, it isn’t difficult to imagine what happened.

Wash is apologizing, talking too fast and moving his hands, embarrassed, saying, “I just knew that you lived here from that one time I dropped you off and I’m really sorry to bother you but I was just hoping that maybe I could borrow your phone because mine sort of got broken and I just need to call a tow truck and then I’ll be out of your hair—”

“Tow truck?” Tucker stares at Wash incredulously, who is still bleeding from a thousand tiny cuts on his face and is avoiding putting any weight on his visibly swollen left leg. “Tow truck?” he repeats, “are you out of your mind? Wash, you need an ambulance.”

“No!” Wash jumps up to put himself between Tucker and his cell phone sitting on the coffee table. He lands on his bad leg and nearly crumples to the floor.

Even as Tucker helps him back onto the couch, Wash is adamant. “No ambulances. I’m not going to the hospital.”

“Well you’re sure as hell not leaving this house, then, because I know for a fact you aren’t going to look after yourself.” 

Wash sighs and crosses his arms. Then he winces and uncrosses them

“You can stay here tonight,” Tucker offers, because he is just a nice person like that and definitely not because of the strange feeling in his gut that says he doesn’t want Wash to leave. For sure, it’s because he’s nice, and not that feeling, at all whatsoever. “Don’t worry about the car, we can deal with that tomorrow.” 

Wash looks up at him, dumbfounded. “A-Are you sure? You don’t have to do that, Tucker, really, I’m okay. I don’t want to impose.” 

I’m okay is possibly the most blatant lie Tucker’s ever heard in his entire life, but he doesn’t call Wash out on it. Instead, he says, “Dude, don’t use big words, I don’t know what they mean.”

Wash opens his mouth, probably to argue that impose is actually a relatively small word, but Tucker is leaving the room. He returns moments later with a first aid kit and a couple ice packs.

Wash tries to protest at that, too, insisting he’s fine.

“Shut up,” Tucker tells him, “I’m a doctor.”

Tucker is most definitely not a doctor, and Wash knows this, but it amuses him enough to listen and shut his mouth. He audibly holds back a groan as Tucker lifts his leg to prop it up on a throw pillow.

“I know, I know,” Tucker says, surprising even himself with how gentle that sounded. He quickly changes tone to, “But you’re supposed to elevate it so it doesn’t get all, like, swollen and shit.”

“You don’t sound like a doctor,” Wash informs him.

“Well, I don’t normally do broken bones. I specialize in love,” Tucker says, waggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly. That earns an eyeroll and a soft smile from Wash, so he counts it as a win. 

He pulls out some band-aids and little antiseptic wipe thingies (okay, yeah, he’s really not a doctor), and gets to work tending the cuts on Wash’s face. The car window must have been smashed. He tries his damnedest not to make awkward eye contact with Wash while staring at his face. Wash does his part by focusing on a very interesting thread coming loose from the couch.

“There.” Tucker leans back and admires his handiwork, and gives Wash the ice packs to distribute them as he pleases. One goes to his leg, and the other, his ribs. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Wash says sincerely. “Thank you Tucker.”

Tucker feels a lot more flustered than he thinks he should feel, and nods, speechless, before retreating to the kitchen.

He roots around the refrigerator for some leftover pizza. He doesn’t have a whole lot of food in the house right now, but it’s better than nothing. He can guess with a fair amount of certainty that Wash hasn’t eaten yet today. Plus, it will be a lot harder for Wash to say things to fluster him when his mouth his pull of pizza.

He snags some pain killers, too. Wash will be too proud to ask for them, but he’ll appreciate them, Tucker is sure.

It occurs to Tucker that maybe Wash is a little farther into friend territory than he thought, since Tucker knows all these things about him. He decides not to dwell on that idea right this second. Or any future seconds.

He returns, hands out the snacks and medicine, and makes himself comfortable next to Wash on the couch. Wash is lying down, tips of his hair brushing against Tucker’s thigh. It tickles, but he doesn’t mind. He reaches over the back of the couch and snags a blanket, pulling it over Wash. Wash freezes, mid-bite of pizza, but doesn’t say anything. Tucker grabs his own slice and turns his attention back to the TV, to the stupid movie.

Wash nitpicks, highlighting details that are left out, and unrealistic stunts the characters are pulling off, tentatively at first, and more enthusiastically when Tucker doesn’t discourage it. Tucker jumps at the jump scare, it is indeed called that for a reason, and he feels Wash chuckle. It’s a nice feeling, even though it’s at his expense, and he thinks maybe the movie isn’t so dumb after all.

By the time it’s over, Tucker doesn’t feel so lonely anymore. He looks down at Wash.

“That,” Wash blinks at the TV as the credits roll past, “that was the worst ending, ever. Of all time.”

Tucker smiles. Wash smiles back. Tucker has seen the movie a thousand times before and hated it, but this time, he thinks the ending seemed pretty good.

[queenlua]

[ tries not to rattle off every PoR character for le meme ] uhhh soren, zihark? :D and/or plus one of the Ashen Wolves you were vibing with the most.

omg haha this is so long!  answers and fun times under the cut~

ZIHARK

how i feel about this character: i mean, he was the main character in the first damn fanfic i ever wrote, if that tells you anything :P  he is great.  he is so great.  i’m always so impressed when FE manages to render characters with nuance/balance, in such a small space, and that’s probably the main thing that comes to mind with him—there’s so much subtlety in the short interactions we see with him, so much depth.  i love chewing on it.

all the people i ship romantically with this character: zihark/[unnamed dead laguz girlfriend], heh.  uh.  i guess i did write that shinon/zihark crackfic once, didn’t i.  but honestly it’s really hard for me to see him in any pairing outside the dead girlfriend; if it existed it’d be of the sad and/or fucked up variety.  hm.  though if you killed off Haar you could maybe get some mileage out of Jill/Zihark, hmmmm…

my non-romantic OTP for this character: he is so!  sweet!  in his supports with brom & muarim!

also i’d love to see him and Soren interact more; i think they’d have some shit to say to each other, if they could get past Soren’s prickliness, but this does drift into fanon territory

my unpopular opinion about this character:  i think there’s like, three people on the planet who care about zihark, heh, not sure what an unpopular opinion would be :P  i do think there’s a fine line with him—i don’t think he’s like, just lying in wait ready to snap & go rampage-y at the right provocation, as he’s sometimes portrayed.  i also don’t think he’s entirely the smiles-and-sweetness that he presents to most people.  tricky to stay consistently in-between those, though!

one thing i wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:  i do wish we’d known his girlfriend got murdered, y’know, before i wrote a fic that assumed otherwise, thanks for nothing Tellius artbook

my OTP: zihark/[unnamed dead laguz girlfriend]

my cross over ship:  nah

a headcanon fact:  honestly i’ve thought about this character enough i’m a little afraid i’ve lost track of where the canon ends and the headcanon begins

SOREN

how i feel about this character: i like him!  uh, i hesitate to say i *love* him, because like, he was *such* a fan favorite in Telliusland for so long that i know none of my love for the character can even remotely compare.  but i’m fond of him.  i like prickly little dead-committed-to-brutal-realism teenyboppers.

all the people i ship romantically with this character: ike/soren is fine; certainly can’t imagine anything else

my non-romantic OTP for this character: …lol.  i just went to look up his list of support conversations, to try and jog my memory, and i’d forgotten he literally only supports with Ike and Stefan.  god.  talk about some ludonarrative resonance; this boy is closed.  off.

i really enjoy writing scenes between Shinon and Soren, and between Zihark and Soren, but that’s just because they bring out the absolute antagonistic worst in each other.  kind of hard to get a warm reaction out of Soren.

though typing this out, there may be some potential for something interesting with him and Nasir, very very postgame.  kid’ll figure out the dragon connection eventually.  kid may reach out at some point.  and i think Nasir may be just the right mixture of cunning/canny/cynical and caring/warm to maybe connect with him a little bit.

o geez am i really getting new tellius fic ideas here in the year of our lord 2020

my unpopular opinion about this character: i think i find uh, codependence, less sexy than the average person.  like a lot of my favorite ships are “two badasses doing their own badass thing and then they catch a quick dinner together,” and this one is.  very much the opposite of that

one thing i wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:  i’m a little torn.  sure, you could add more supports/interactions with other characters, but it’d really cramp the whole thing the game has going with his intense devotion to ike.  honestly i think what we’re given in game is pretty solid

my OTP:  see above

my cross over ship:  eh

a headcanon fact:  eh, struggling to think of something interesting here

YURI (THREE HOUSES)

how i feel about this character: i like him! but not overwhelmingly fond of him like i might’ve been when i was younger; i rambled about him here and here.  but he’s fun, just smug enough to be punchable in an endearing way :P

all the people i ship romantically with this character: i think his supports with Dorothea are great and super-cute with Hapi; i’m amused by the Balthus supports but the man’s a walking meme so it’s a little hard to take him seriously

my non-romantic OTP for this character: ashe, absolutely.  man there’s gotta be A Lot there

my unpopular opinion about this character: he’s not “better Claude” or “what Claude was supposed to be” or anything like that; the two characters are super super fundamentally different

one thing i wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: the boy doesn’t get any supports with ashe?!  ffs?  really?

my OTP: not settled yet

my cross over ship:  nah

a headcanon fact:  i feel like you don’t get that buddy-buddy without catchin’ some of dat religion, son

[popatochisssp]

Hope for the Holidays

Sans is stuck in the past, even a whole year after reaching the surface with no more RESETs.

Maybe he could use a pep talk...or a Pap talk.

AO3 Link

I wrote this for the Undertale Secret Santa 2018! Pure Sans & Papyrus brotherly fluff. :3

It never got any easier.

Sans would’ve thought after about the millionth time it happened, he’d have gotten used to it, jolting awake in a cold sweat, his magic flaring as his soul was crushed by the overwhelming weight of panicked despair—fight-or-flight instincts sharpened by the horrible knowledge that it was all completely, utterly, terribly…

Useless.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, taking deep breaths and trying to quell his own rattling.

This had to stop.

It was over now…wasn’t it?

……His insistent nightmares disagreed.

Sans sighed, checking the clock next to the window—shades open, always open to the sky above the surface and its proof of an intact timeline—and he slumped in disappointment.

4:27 AM.

Too early for Grillby’s, too late to try going back to sleep, even for him.

There was only one thing to do.

-

Nothing calmed the nerves like a good, old-fashioned midnight snack, whether it was midnight or not…or whether any actual nerves were involved.

Sans was used to taking a quick shortcut down to kitchen for leftovers. It was a route he knew all the way down to his bones.

 …heh.

Silently digging through the fridge and cutlery drawer was old-hat, ignoring the lights and the microwave for stealth reasons easy and familiar.

The taste of the cold spaghetti he shoveled into his mouth with shaking hands, though…

That was different.

It was edible, for one thing, with barely any glitter in it. It actually tasted…pretty good, a triumph of all the hours Papyrus had spent up here watching cooking shows and stalking recipe blogs.

Hours that haven’t all been RESET back to nothing by a world-bending power a kid should’ve never had.

Sans was grateful for it.

He was happy for the way things had turned out, really, he was.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about what it took to get it, either.

All the failed attempts, the do-overs, the ‘what would happen if I…’s

(The times Sans had to watch his world fall apart because of a child swinging a little plastic knife.)

Frisk promised.

They swore it was over, all of it, never to happen again.

No more RESETs. This is the best ending.

So…why couldn’t Sans just…believe that?

After a year up top, free of the Underground, it seemed like the truth. Life was finally moving forward, linearly, after stars only knew how long it had looped and weaved and stopped dead before starting over somewhere else.

Everyone else was diving right into surface life, vacations, new jobs, new hobbies, new lives—and it felt like Sans was the only one who couldn’t trust it.

He’d spent so long wanting this exact thing but now that he had it, it didn’t even seem real.

Why bother with anything? It was all just going to…

Sans buried his face in his hands and shuddered.

He hated this. All of it.

He wanted it to be over. He wanted to trust it was over.

But he just felt…hopeless.

He didn’t even notice at first when the kitchen light flicked on.

“SANS?”

That, he noticed.

Sans straightened, scrambling to put an easy grin on his skull for his brother, who was frowning at him in the doorway.

“hey, Pap.” Good, that sounded casual. “what’re you doin’ up?”

Papyrus just scoffed. “YOU KNOW I DON’T SLEEP MUCH. I’M NOT A LAZYBONES LIKE YOU.” He narrowed his eye-sockets, suspiciously demanding, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP? THE SUN HASN’T EVEN RISEN YET!”

Oh, stars, the sun.

Sans was gonna miss that the most when everything got RESET again.

The thought was unexpectedly painful and Sans rushed to cover it.

“ah, y’know, thought maybe the sun had the light idea, gettin’ an early start to the day.”

Expectedly, Papyrus’ frown deepened at the barrage of jokes.

Unexpectedly…he didn’t take the bait.

“YOU LOOK TERRIBLE,” he said instead. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

Sans laughed a little, hoping the nervous edge to it was only so noticeable to him.

He should’ve known a half-assed lie wouldn’t work on his bro—he was just too cool to fall for that.

A whole-assed lie, on the other hand…

Sans sighed, a little dramatically.

“alright,” he said, “alright, ya’ caught me. guess i am a little upset this mornin’…”

Papyrus finally came all the way into the room, browbones knit in concern. “CAN I HELP?”

“don’t worry about it, you already are.”

That just earned Sans a confused look.

Sans grinned, as infuriatingly wide as he could, waggling his forkful of pasta at his brother. “how can i be upsetti when i got your spaghetti?”

Papyrus scowled.

…But instead of throwing his arms up and stomping off in exasperation like he was supposed to, he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY TRYING TO GET RID OF ME,” Papyrus deduced, “SO YOU MUST REALLY BE OUT OF SORTS AND TRYING TO HIDE IT FOR SOME STUPID REASON.”

Sans’ eye-sockets went wide. “what? no, i—”

“AND NOW YOU THINK DOUBLING DOWN IS GOING TO WORK LIKE I HAVEN’T KNOWN YOU LITERALLY MY ENTIRE LIFE AND CAN’T SEE YOU SWEATING.”

Ah, jeez, was he? “look, Pap, seriously, it’s—”

“‘NOT THAT BAD’?” Papyrus guessed, folding his arms over his chest. “IS THAT WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY TO ME, EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE OUT OF BED BEFORE NOON AND I COULD HEAR YOU RATTLING EARLIER ALL THE WAY FROM MY ROOM?”

“……”

 damn.

“i just—”

Papyrus cut him off again. “THIS ISN’T THE FIRST TIME YOU HAD A BAD NIGHT, SANS. WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A CONVERSATION AND JOKES AREN’T GOING TO GET YOU OUT OF IT.”

Sans doesn’t even get his mouth all the way open before yet another warning.

“MEMES AREN’T GOING TO GET YOU OUT OF IT, EITHER.”

 ………damn.

Papyrus was just way too good.

Sans never stood a chance.

He wilted a little in his chair, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.

Pap obviously wasn’t about to be dissuaded now, but…where to even begin with the bullshit plaguing him now? For years at least, if his data on the RESETs had been even marginally accurate.

It was… It was a lot, but…

Well, hell.

Sans had to start somewhere.

“alright. okay. rhetorical question, then.”

“FINE,” Papyrus agreed. “A COMPLETELY RHETORICALLY, DEFINITELY NOT ABOUT YOU AT ALL SORT OF QUESTION.”

“…really not makin’ this easier, bro.”

Papyrus had the grace to look a teensy bit chastened. “YES, OF COURSE. PURELY RHETORICAL.”

Sans took a breath, a long moment to weigh his words.

“have ya’ ever just felt…stuck?” he wondered slowly. “like…like nothin’ matters an’ there’s no point doin’…anything ‘cause it’s just…nothin’s gonna change anyway, no matter what ya’ do?”

“YES. OFTEN.”

Sans’ head shot up in surprise. “wh… for…for real?”

Papyrus just looked at him, like he’d be rolling his eyes if he had any. “STARS, SANS, OF COURSE I HAVE. WE WERE TRAPPED UNDERGROUND FOR THE ENTIRETY OF OUR LIVES WITH MINIMAL HOPE OF ESCAPE, BARRING THE EXTREMELY RANDOM CHANCE THAT THE LAST HUMAN MIGHT FALL SOMETIME BEFORE WE DUSTED OF OLD AGE.”

“……oh. right.”

Funny how easily he’d just…forgotten about that.

…Maybe not easily.

“WE ALL FELT STUCK, SANS,” Papyrus continued, not unempathetically. “PROBABLY BECAUSE WE WERE. IT WAS SO…LIMITING DOWN THERE! I HAD SO MANY THINGS I WANTED TO DO THAT I THOUGHT WERE IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE LONGEST TIME… UNTIL THEY WEREN’T ANYMORE! I CAN LIVE ALL OF MY DREAMS, NOW!”

Sans followed the logic—they were free now, and if Papyrus could live his dreams, he could too!

Except…

Sans remembered some of those dreams Pap had mentioned: getting to drive down an open road for miles with no end in sight, fresh breezes, real sunlight…

Sure, he had all of those things now…but for how long?

“what if…what if you couldn’t, though?” Sans asked, fiddling with his fork. “what if one day, it was all just…gone? we were back underground, trapped all over again, an’…an’ nothin’ we did would make any difference?”

“THAT SOUNDS LIKE IT WOULD BE A HUGE BUMMER.”

The glib delivery startled a laugh out of Sans. For all that he was the comedian of the two of them, he’d never seen a better Straight Man than his brother.

Papyrus knew it, too, if the smug look he wore was any indication.

“WELL, IT’S OBVIOUS TO ME,” he proclaimed, “THAT YOU, DEAR BROTHER, ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF SOME VERY EXISTENTIAL PROFUNDITY.”

Sans couldn’t deny that. “yeah, pretty much.”

“IN THAT CASE! I WOULD LIKE TO OFFER YOU SOME ADVICE!”

“…heheheh…yeah?”

“YES!” Papyrus exclaimed. “I KNOW A THING OR TWO ABOUT KEEPING MY SPIRITS UP, EVEN WHEN PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING ELSE IS TERRIBLE. THERE’S A TRICK TO IT, SO YOU WON’T EVEN HAVE TO WORK VERY HARD—I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU HATE THAT. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR IT?”

Couldn’t hurt…right?

“okay. lay it on me. what’s the trick?”

“MY AMAZING, FOOLPROOF, NEVER-FAIL TRICK TO STAYING POSITIVE……” Sans struggled to hold back a snicker at Papyrus’ suitably dramatic pause. “…IS REMEMBERING THAT NO MATTER WHAT, MY REALLY COOL BROTHER IS GOING TO BE THERE WITH ME! SO EVEN WHEN LIFE ISN’T PERFECT, IT’S STILL PRETTY DARN GOOD!”

Sans’ grin dropped.

“………”

It wasn’t often that he was rendered completely speechless.

But of course, if anyone could do it, it would be Papyrus.

And he wasn’t even done yet.

“YOU’RE ENOUGH, SANS,” he said, brooking no argument. “EVEN IF EVERYTHING SUCKS AND YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING TO FIX IT, YOU STILL MATTER. TO A LOT OF PEOPLE…BUT ESPECIALLY TO ME! SO IF YOU EVER NEED A PEP TALK…OR…OR JUST A REGULAR TALK…I’M HERE.”

……he was.

Papyrus was always there.

Even when the entire timeline uprooted and went back to the start, Papyrus was the very first thing Sans woke up to, kicking down his door for sleeping late instead of being at his sentry-post.

Even through the bad runs, Papyrus was there to hold things together when monsters were being dusted or spared all over the place and Sans drove himself crazy trying to guess a reason for which.

(And even…even when he wasn’t there, on the really bad runs…he kind of was still there, giving Sans something to focus on long enough to reach the Judgment Hall.)

Sans was dumbfounded for a few long moments.

How could he ever have forgotten that there was at least one constant, no matter how many RESETs there were?

Papyrus was always a real star, bright and shining.

Maybe Sans couldn’t believe yet that the RESETs were over, or that this peace on the surface world was something that could actually last.

But maybe…

Maybe he could believe in something else.

Sans shortcutted himself to the other side of the table and tugged Papyrus into a hug. His eye-sockets started to feel suspiciously wet, but he ignored it.

“bro…you’re the coolest.”

“NYEH-HEH-HEH, I KNOW!” Papyrus squeezed him back, standing and pulling him right up off the kitchen tile with the force of his hugging. “YOU RAISED ME THAT WAY! SO BY THE TRANSITIVE PROPERTY OF COOLNESS, YOU’RE PRETTY COOL, TOO!”

“not as cool as you.”

Papyrus scoffed. “OBVIOUSLY, BUT THAT’S AN IMPOSSIBLE STANDARD! OUR INTENSE, COMBINED RADICALNESS IS BLINDING NONETHELESS!”

Sans started to chuckle. “hey, maybe i oughta start sellin’ sunglasses. y’know, for the poor, unsuspecting saps we pass on the street.”

Papyrus pulled back, squinting at him. “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO START THAT UNLICENSED VENDORING STUFF UP AGAIN, ARE YOU?” he asked. “THAT’S ILLEGAL, YOU KNOW!”

“nah, i won’t, you’re right,” Sans relented. “that’d be pretty…shady of me, wouldn’t it?”

“…………”

Sans was unceremoniously dropped to the floor.

“I TAKE IT BACK,” Papyrus said, a surly look on his skull. “YOU’RE NOT COOL AT ALL—YOU’RE ACTUALLY THE WORST AND I’M DISOWNING YOU.”

Sans laughed, louder and more genuine than he had in…

Stars, how long had it been?

He didn’t think he could say for sure, but it felt good.

The kitchen was getting a little brighter, more light coming in from the window as the sun started to come up outside.

It gave Sans an impulsive thought, and for once, he actually felt like chasing it.

“hey, if i’m disowned, can i still hang out on your porch to watch the sunrise?”

Papyrus, already turning on his heel and feigning aloofness, replied, “TAKE A SCARF, IT’S CHILLY—AND NOT A WORD ABOUT THE COLD ‘GOING RIGHT THROUGH YOU,’ SANS, THAT’S NOT EVEN A JOKE, IT’S A FACTUAL STATEMENT! HAVE SOME PRIDE, PUT SOME EFFORT INTO YOUR WITTICISMS FOR ONCE!”

Sans headed to the coat-rack by the front door, tugging down a skull-print scarf—human fashion, go figure—and putting it on.

“pride?” he echoed in disbelief. “effort? jeez, Pap, who do you think you’re havin’ a conversation wit here?”

Sans didn’t have to wonder if Papyrus heard him all the way from the kitchen, because he heard exactly the sound he’d been hoping for in response: distant and begrudging laughter.

“…NYEH-HEH-HEH, DAMN IT, THAT ONE WAS ACTUALLY PRETTY GOOD. GO, ALREADY, OR YOU’RE GOING TO MISS THE PINK CLOUDS! THOSE ARE THE BEST PART!”

-

It wasn’t until Sans was actually outside, watching the winter sky light up like a watercolor painting, that he realized he had to disagree with Papyrus.

The pink clouds were pretty cool…but when his brother came out to bring him a fresh mug of coffee, dressed in his own signature scarf, Sans couldn’t help but think that the scarlet-orange streaks were way cooler.

Seeing that color up there in the sky…Sans was really starting to feel like he could do anything he wanted up here.

Like it might actually stick.

Watching the sun come up with his brother by his side, Sans was filled with hope.

[azurexalacrity]

RULES

DISCLAIMER:

> I do not own this character nor am I affiliated with the company/franchise this character comes from. This character belongs to SEGA and all properties of the canon lore also belongs to them.

> Some of my icons come from Olrassonicicons , Planetwiisp , and Holoska while the majority of them are created by me, along with graphics added to them. Please do not steal these icons, as I take my time out of the day to make dozens of them.

> However, anything of the matter of alternate realities/universes that I have created, headcanons I’ve made, and plots that I have brainstormed all belong to me; the creator of those things. I do not condone any of those to be stolen nor reblogged. The only person who reblogs them is me personally and probably a mutual of mine that’s in regards to our ship or interaction with our characters. Thank you.

ABOUT ME:

> Hello! This is the mun. I am known as Zaynah; female and uses she/her pronouns. However, you are free to refer to me as they/them if you don’t know me personally.

> My age is currently 21 years old. This isn’t a big deal or anything, but this is just me stating out that this is my actual age.

> I am introverted, shy, and reserved. It’s not to say I’m afraid of approaching new people or people I know/care about, but it’s just I’m not the kind of person to jump at the gun when it comes to things. My communication may come small at first, but if we get along really well and known each other for a while, I turn out to be very outspoken, excitable, and ready to talk to.

> I know that this is mentioned in my mun section of my blog, but my sexuality is all platonic (aroace in fact). My feelings towards something is just entirely that: Platonic. I don’t feel any romantic or sexual attraction towards people. When I say “I love you” it’s more familial in that regard.

> Here’s the biggest kicker in regards to me: I have terrible, terrible anxiety. I know that a lot of people have anxiety, but I need to point this out anyway because it’s important. The smallest of things can render me into a full blown panic and honestly, most of it isn’t personal and I don’t wish others to take it personally. I get triggered really easily when it comes to the triggers I have and it makes me prone to anxiety/panic attacks incredibly easily. I do have a list to blacklist these triggers, but I want you guys to be aware of this because this is something I cannot control.

> I don’t like speaking personally about this, but there’s a piece of it that needs to be addressed when it comes to threads: I am born with a condition that makes my emotions go haywire on me and causes me to overstimulate very easily. I usually have to tend at things at my own pace or I immediately freak out and have mental breakdowns. I cannot be rushed. I do apologize if responding to threads is a slow progress when it comes to me, but this is how I can make this hobby fun rather than mentally taxing. Again, don’t take this personally.

ABOUT THE BLOG:

> I am a multi-verse and multi-ship kind of blog. Interactions and ships are their own separate reality unless discussed with the muns in question. I don’t mind any ships that are love triangles or unrequited, but again, they are usually their own universe unless it’s discussed.

> It’s primarily SFW, but I won’t hesitate to darker themes as long as there isn’t grotesque details of gore of any kind. I will accept subtle details of it to an extent, however. This also means I don’t do any smut. With that in mind, I don’t mind at all that you guys do NSFW on your blog, as long as it’s tagged.

> My blog is independent yet selective. I would say private as I interact with mostly mutuals, but most of the time, I’m very lenient to just following a blog whether it’s from interest or if they’re willing to interact.

> Reblog Karma: Listen, I don’t mind if you reblog a meme from me. I get that for the meme, not every meme is going to apply to your muse. That’s understandable. The thing is; I don’t want it to be excessive. I’ll really appreciate memes being sent to me. If you spam reblog memes from me without sending anything in, that bothers me. I don’t like to used as a meme archive. Please don’t use roleplay blogs as meme archives. It’s disrespectful.

> I am lover of crossovers and AUs, so I am fine with all that in my book.

> I also welcome in OCs, whether they’re fandomless or not.

DRAMA:

> This is probably the longest section of the batch but this is severely important to me: If there’s any user out there who is being toxic/manipulative/etc. To a close friend of mine and stirring up drama for whatever reason, I won’t hesitate to block them and even report them if it gets far worse. I like to get healthy relationships with others and I know that not everyone I meet is gonna be a ray of sunshine, but this is something to keep in mind. Drama isn’t good for my health and it’s not good for anyone’s health. It’s something I don’t tolerate and it can spike up my anxiety very badly.

> That said: I don’t get involved into drama unless it’s something in the matter of my friends. I won’t get involved if I’m told not to get involved. If it doesn’t concern me and if the mun doesn’t want me to get involved, then I’ll respect their wishes. I will defend a friend though if necessary.

> Furthermore, do not follow nor interact with me if you’re the type of person that loves to stir drama. It’s fine if you’re calling out someone who’s dangerous to the roleplay community, but if it’s just out of spite and not warning people? Then you’re blocked.

I do not point fingers, but I also don’t like to stand around when people are being harmed by one toxic individual. I know people out there are anti-drama and that’s okay if you want to focus on your mental health; that’s perfectly fine. But if you’re someone who sees drama as one big hullabaloo then, I’m sorry, but there are people out there who cause harm to others and sometimes, they need to be called out.

> However, there are people who are harmful to others in a way that needs to be called out upon. And by that, I mean, please don’t follow nor interact with me if you associate with or follow user Grusel-high. She has been proven to show ableist, homophobic, and transphobic behaviors in such a disgusting way that feels unreal. Here is the callout post here that explains what she has done and is backed up by good evidence. If you see her around, stay safe folks.

> There is also another person (who interacts with the person above still) known as ..astra-hero../.battle.fcrgcd. who’s been causing great anxiety to one of my dearest, closest friends, and I can’t help but get anxiety at the sight of this person’s urls. There is a post here that explains mostly of what he did and why it bothers so many of my friends here. So, please, don’t interact with me if you support this user or any of his supporters; thank you.

> And finally, don’t follow me if you interact with With.out-Worr.ies. They were banned off of Tumblr for a reason. He is disgusting and doesn’t respect people’s boundaries. Here are posts here and here explaining what he’s done. 

THE BARE BASICS:

> No god-modding or info-modding involved. God-modding is a form of controlling another person’s muse in a certain shape or form that makes it hard for that person to control their own muse. Info-modding is when someone’s muse knows about another’s muse, but they aren’t supposed to. For example, Spid.er Man shouldn’t know about Bat.man’s secret or of what happened to his parents unless pre-established by the muns in question. I hope this explains it well enough.

> That said in regards to muses in general, mun doesn’t equal muse. I do not condone the terrible actions my muse can do, and the muse will not be glorified or romanticized for that manner. If there’s anything I’ve written that is uncomfortable to you, please don’t keep me in the dark and let me know.

> Personal blogs: I don’t mind your presence here. I don’t mind it at all. However: Please don’t reblog my threads or spam my likes. I don’t want roleplayers spamming my likes either. It’s not only a hassle, but it clogs up my activity and makes it hard to see any notifications for, well, anything really.

> Guilt-tripping? Is a severe no-no from me. I’ve been a victim of guilt-tripping, and I know people out there who are also victims of that. Guilt-tripping is something I don’t condone and I do not tolerate. Using the victim card? Also a no-no. If you’ve done something wrong, you shouldn’t twist the words to make it seem like you’re the victim. You must take responsibility for your actions.

> All I really ask from followers is to please respect me. I know it shouldn’t be a thing labeled on here, but to me, it’s important that people are respectful to me and those I befriend.

> Even though I don’t do smut, here’s something on the matter of smutting; don’t lie about your age to me. I don’t care if you’re a minor, it’s not right to do. Doing underaged smut is illegal and can get people in jail. So, please, don’t follow me if you’re someone who does that or someone who follows someone who does that.

> We must plot or have chemistry first with our characters before our ship can sail.

> I like to be asked if an ask can be turned into a thread. Most of the time I say yes, so don’t be shy!

> Roleplayers do not have to have icons in their posts, but it’s more preferred in my case.

> Please cut your posts; I beg of you.

> No politics unless it’s something major.

> This should be obvious but: Don’t harass anybody because of their race/sexuality/culture/ etc. We are just people who just want to play our favorite characters. Let’s leave it at that.

TRIGGERS (that need to be tagged):

> Gore

> Incest

> Pedophilia

> Anything that has to do with needles

> Jumpscares

> Child porn

> Spiders

> Epilepsy

> Bright lights/neon colors

ABOUT SONIC:

> This Sonic is Modern Sonic/3D era of Sonic and follows the lore of him throughout Sonic Adventure 1 all the way to Sonic Forces and so on. Sonic Boom, and Sonic Mania/Classic Sonic are all different alternatives universe according to my blog.

> My AUs are most likely lore-heavy with the backstories but with plotting, threads can be worked out.

> While this blog sticks to the canon of the games, there are some hints of canon-divergence due to my headcanons.

> Every now and then I will post drabbles that explain the world of Sonics AUs or where I’m going with Sonic in his canon verse. That includes IC (in-character) updates.

> You have reached the end of my rules! Usually I don’t have any keyword to this, but please, either let me know via IM or inbox. Although, if you like to send a keyword for it to be much easier, put in “Never gonna fear the fall.” I’m sorry if this is incredibly long but it needed to be done. Thanks to those who have read this! <3

[naernon]

for the ask meme (TES, obvs): 3,9, 13 (for naemon), 23!

thank you!! i wrote this all last night and i havent checked for coherency or errors so forgive me if it’s a bit scatterbrained at times (although yall should be used to incoherency coming from me ghhgfg.)

____

3.) Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?

someone said that they didn’t like serana and i was already sitting on the decision to unfollow them for other reasons and that. that was just the Final Straw.

but i think that’s it…? im so petty + impulsive (deadly combo) at times that maybe i did unfollow over a TES opinion another time but i can’t remember hgufuhfhxdfh

____

9.) Most disliked character(s)? Why?

OOF this is a hard one, ill list the ones that come to mind rn;

molag bal. needs no explanation

darren guitar or whatever his name is. im sorry to anyone who likes him but i just.. can’t. he’s so obnoxious. he was toned down in summerset, probably because different people were writing him if i had to guess but in the main and daggerfall covenant questline? awful. his goddamn womanizing jokes at every second of the day was “kim, there’s people that are dying” at its finest.literally one or two “haha ladies amirite fellow man ;)/haha ladies amirite……… lady ;)” jokes can be.. bearable albeit still annoying but there was so much more than that. or they were so obnoxiously written that it seemed to be more frequent than in actuality, either way, darren guitar? 0/10also my view of him hasnt gotten better since someone sent me a rude ask about how darren had more personality than prince naemon in-game due to me joking about how i don’t like him and then subsequently blocked me for being irritated about the rudeness of the ask + the fact that im 99% sure they were the anon that appeared in my fucking inbox defending darren guitar every single time i breathed a single word about him

i completely forgot he existed until you listed him as disliked and now i hate him even more. that fucking. bard from the bannered mare. the one that harassed carlotta until you told him to fuck off. i hate that dude. always have

abnur tharn. mildly obnoxious with some amusing lines until you find out what he did to queen ayrenn like. small dick mannimarco joke is now renounced, little man. Perish.my view on Estre is Complicated because she’s a really neat character and villain and ranks as a favorite in the latter department but from like, a moral standpoint i loathe her.also while it wasn’t like. pelidil levels of shittiness i’m not fond of how she hurt naemon– but then again……. now that i think of it, i really don’t know what’d she COULD do other than keep him in the absolute dark until he inevitably gets caught up in the Shitshow otherwise. i wouldn’t suppose naemon to be 100% willing to join in her efforts or even keep completely quiet about them if she did decide to talk to him about it or let him know; and for all we know, she could’ve planned to do so eventually in some way– but the suddenness of the AD hero’s infiltration of the veiled heritance probably ruined any semblance of a plan she could’ve had. so on second thought, even from a “naemon is a perfect being and i will protect him with my life and loathe all who hurt him” standpoint, i don’t dislike her too much. let’s just reduce estre to like.. honorable mentions on my “disliked characters” list then lmao(also “moral standpoint” as if queen ayrenn is anything close to the pinnacle of absolute morality. estre is objectively worse on that front, though, so i suppose i still stand by that)

speaking of which i really… don’t like pelidil. again, moral standpoint. and “naemon is a perfect being and i will protect him with my life and loathe all who hurt him” standpoint. otherwise, he’s a neat villain and the quest in which you cut him down was one of the more impressive quests in the game IMO, or even in the entire game series. good build-up.

this is getting too long so i’ll cut it there, that’s all the characters that come to mind rn anyways hfhgdhg

____

10.) Unpopular opinion about XXX character?

hmmmmmm

i guess if you view it in such a way, liking him is kind of unpopular– while there’s still a lot of those who even if not actively talking about him as a character, have praised his character/took his side/whatever, there’s also a good amount who don’t. not really in considering him a poorly written character, but rather from a (sorry to bring this phrase up so much so far) moral standpoint.

also, considering him in a semi-unironic “he did nothing wrong” way, which i do, is kind of unpopular– and i can understand that, in some ways. i dont think him snapping at the scene of the orrery was under his 100% control nor was anything subsequent, but there’s still the fact that he still is in an “i deserve the throne, fuck off” mindset in coldharbour, which, unless he’s STILL affected by the mantle and/or the orrery, is obviously a negative change in viewpoint compared to the “i’ll swallow my bitterness and remain loyal to my sister and the dominion, she is the rightful queen and i am just her shadow” you saw prior.

granted, i’d argue that even then, you have to consider the influence that pelidil had over him prior (as some have accurately put it before– whispered poison into his ear). especially with the fact that naemon’s quite young for an elf at… 26? around that age-range. i dont think altmer’s minds work in the way that, say, hobbits do, in that they age slower and this includes their mental capability, decision-making, etc.. (they obviously don’t) BUT, compared to an elf with more experience, there’s a bit of an… imbalance there. pelidil WAS the one who served naemon instead of the other way around so you’d figure the opposite if anything, but again, naemon = impressionable and emotionally vulnerable at the time.

anyways, got off-topic; my point was that naemon, when you consider the influence that pelidil and any other secretly heritance people that interacted with him, even when you use the fact that he still seems “corrupted” in coldharbour to frame him as bad… that ain’t it. there’s also the fact that he is being tortured, at that moment. big part of it. he PROBABLY isn’t in the right state of mind, to put it simply. but then again, i mean, one could still argue a whole “cool motive, still murder” take on it, so whatever. i dont know man ghfghduhbdfg

YIKES i rambled, holy shit. sorry. but otherwise, i dont think i have too many? there’s not much in the prince naemon…. sub-fandom, at least not enough to be able to render one opinion as unpopular compared to the next

(and i. Guess that headcanoning him as trans definitely has the potential to be unpopular. but i dont really talk about it or “enforce” it much other than off-hand comments that might imply such, drawing him with top surgery scars, etc.. so it hasn’t exactly been given any room to be considered remotely unpopular. haven’t gotten anon hate, snide comments, etc.. about any of it at all so it’s cool. but i’ve brought it up because… you know how fandoms are; if there was more to the prince naemon “fandom”, theoretically, it would be and therefore kind of IS an unpopular opinion. “does your arm hurt from reaching cassius” ok look, i just felt like i needed to provide one more unpopular opinion about naemon and i couldn’t figure out any other than that. but yes. yes, hurts a little)

____

23.) Unpopular character you love?

unpopular as in commonly disliked, or unpopular in… amount of people that like them? with the latter, it’s def naemon. i love him with all my heart gfigufhgdugdfh but then again who didn’t know that

with the former… hm. the thing is a lot of characters disliked in this fandom are disliked with good reason IMO– nevermind. almalexia. not to open any #diskhorse wounds but almalexia’s one of them ghdfhguhg jot that down

and i’ve heard some talk that veya is kind of unpopular, what with the recent summerset developments? yeah, fuck that, veya’s one of my favorites. this fandom (or. any fandom lets be real) has an awful tendency to praise any goddamn male character’s flaws or “negative” depth as redeemable character complexity and something that can be looked past, and yet, you see even REMOTELY the same amount if not more character depth in a female character and they’re hated. pointing this out is nothing new but it’s truly just…. something to behold.

and on that note im just going to renounce my prior statement of “a lot of characters disliked in this fandom are disliked with good reason” that’s the dumbest shit i’ve ever said. or perhaps an addendum stating that it’s only applicable to male characters is more in order? or that it’s the opposite for male characters: liked with bad reason. or… liked with over-exaggerated reason disproportionate to the actual amount of depth, complexity, and/or likeability said character actually has, paired with hatred for female characters with the same amount of complexity. “bruh don’t you obsess over prince naemon–” Yeah And What the Fuck Of It

anyways moving on sorry i got distracted hgdfgyfgh. that’s all the characters that come to mind? disregarding characters that are unpopular in an unappreciated sort of way rather than a disliked way, i really dont have a lot

____ 

salty fandom (elder scrolls) opinions

[imnevergonnagiveyouup]

❛   nothing  is   stopping  us  from  being   together   except   you.   ❜

meme / ref / @kissafist

   Perhaps this date is far more than he bargained for. As of just a couple of moments ago he’s been rendered speechless more than one single time. He rests his arms on his knees, looking out to the seas, the ocean usually clear blue visibly by day, color muted out by the night. “You confuse me.” He’s right to the point about it. He’s been lost about many things concerning them since that one night. “I can’t read your mind,” he can’t even keep up with his own so what makes her think he’d catch on to certain things. “I’ve been wantin’ to ask you..but I just didn’t know how.” This was certainly not the way he had in mind but it’s better than the dead end he kept on running right into. She speaks to him like he’s been made aware of where she stands, about how she feels, she hasn’t, and that’s what’s upsetting him at the moment. He’s completely blind sided, when did she decide all of that in the first place? “You don’t tell me what’s goin’ on. You kiss me twice and it’s never spoken of again.” He’s completely oblivious to this entire subject as a whole, in its entirety it isn’t his forte, even if in one of those incidents he gave permission for some of his feelings to glow. Even if he knows he feels something, why he does what he does, why he acts the way he does, a major portion of them from the feelings he has for her. They’ve never yet properly addressed anything. This whole thing is whiplashing him. This date idea of his was supposed to be for the sake of relaxing and maybe in it he’d find a window to actually ask her appropriately of the mess that’s just been growing and growing since.

   “..I just want to know what’s goin’ on.” He’s not even sure if he’s doing any of this right in the first place and that’s such a frightening spot to be in. It makes him far too anxious, it causes him some visible distress; apparent by the guts he finally finds to look at her. “I’m lost, Tifa.” Beyond believing that he’s definitely not good enough for this sort of thing, he just wants a clear picture. He’s still not welcoming of unloading the weight of his emotions, feeling them in general like he has as of late still throws his balance off, so being an open book by choice? That’s another thing he’s not too sure how to get passed. 

[iamthewatcheronthewall]

First Lines Meme

RULES: List the openings of the last ten stories you published. Look to see if there are any patterns that you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any! Then tag some friends.

Thank you for the tag @thesparkles59 & @drakhus

My last 10 fics include all 8 of my GOT Jonerys stories, plus a ‘Humans’ one-shot and my last ‘Merlin’ multi-chapter.  

I’m really bad at any sort of analysis. In most of these recently multi chapters I appear to drop the reader straight into the action but not always.  Some of them open with dialogue or thought. Anyone else got any thoughts?

I’m late to the party as usual so most people I know have done it.  @kiyasama

@sirmatthew1972 @jillcfan & anyone else I’ve missed who wants a go.

All 10 openers under the cut with links to the works if any catch your eye! ;)

1. The Prince Next Door (WIP multi-chapter)

Sword fighting was nowhere near as enjoyable as Jon had expected. Watching the soldiers train in the main courtyard had always been thrilling and so he had assumed it would be the same once he learnt. Perhaps it would be better when he got a proper sword? This small, wooden one had felt light when Ser Rodrik first placed it in his hand and showed him the proper way to grasp it but, as Robb's sword hit his repeatedly, sending vibrations up his arm, Jon’s shoulders had begun to ache and he found himself wishing he was five again and could return to the nursery to play with his toy soldiers instead.

2. Insatiable Dragon Drabbles (only written one, 100 word drabble so far, so a very short opener here)

She’s breathtaking.

Whilst Daenerys was staring at the cave paintings, Jon was gazing at her. The torchlight flickered off the dark stone walls and the queen’s pale features, making her appear even more stunning than usual.

3. Warg Riders (complete multi-chapter)

He was reliving the Battle for the Dawn, the great northern ice war, the final, desperate attempt to stop the Night King and his army from continuing their deadly march south and destroying the realm.

And it was exhausting.

As a Warg Rider with exceptional sword skills, Jon was effectively having to be two soldiers at once; mentally directing Ghost and his huge pack of wolves and direwolves, whilst also physically fighting as himself; his Varyrian steel blade able to destroy wights and White Walkers alike.

"How can we possibly win this?" he wondered for the hundredth time. 

Every living fighter who died - human and animal - instantly became turn-coat and fought on the enemy’s side and most of the living soldiers held ordinary weapons which required them to 'kill' their opponents many time over to render them ineffective.He felt Ghost bite through another wight, and tried to suppress the now familiar nausea as the taste of dead flesh also filled his mouth whilst, at the same time, Longclaw sliced through another in front of his own eyes. Then, to make matters worse, he received a third point of view, Bran choosing that moment to let his brother know what he could see whilst flying high above in a raven.

"Seven Hells!"

4. Charade (pwp one-shot)

Daenerys took another large swig from her goblet, exchanging a glance with Jon who was sitting next to her at the high table at King's Landing. He rolled his eyes and copied her, obviously feeling exactly the same way about this farce as she did. Tonight would be a whole lot easier if the pair of them were seriously drunk by the time they left the Hall.

And so she was married. Again. This time to Prince Aegon, her nephew and her very best friend although, to Daenerys, he had only ever been Jon and to him she was always Dany. This whole marriage idea was ridiculous in more ways than one. What was it with the Targaryens and their insane need to ‘keep it in the family’?

5. Silent Declarations (complete multi-chapter)

“Why?”

Daenerys paces in her cabin, constantly mumbling the word to herself, even though she isn't entirely sure what question she's asking.

'Why did he bend the knee when I'd already agreed to support him?'

'Why did holding his hand feel like the most passionate of love making?'

'Why did it seem as if he meant something else when he called me his queen?'

'Why does it feel like I'm walking through fire every time I'm close to him?'

Ever since their intimate conversation at his bedside, being around Jon Snow has been delightful torture. She had left his room for very good reason then, overwhelmed by the looks he was giving her and her own unexpectedly strong emotions. So many men have desired her, worshipped her and confessed their love to her but this is different. He is different. It makes no sense how thrilling it feels being close to him.

6. Here Be Dragons (complete multi-chapter modern au)

Daenerys was sitting on a tall stool behind the shop counter studying the accounts; a pen in one hand, mug of coffee in the other and one bare foot resting idly on her largest dog's back. Drogon shifted under her, searching for a scratch, and she did her best to oblige with her toes, far too preoccupied to bend down and fuss him properly. The numbers in front of her barely added up but she didn't really care. It wasn’t as if money was an issue for her, after all, and this new, quiet life was her reward for everything she had gone through before this; a modest flat over a shop full of dragons, fairies, jewellery and magical books. Just her and her three large dogs who were far more than pets to her. They were the loving family she'd never had, the security she had always craved and the honest companionship she didn’t dare search for elsewhere.

They had saved her life. They were her life.

7. Servants of Light (dark one-shot)

Jon rode into the Winterfell courtyard next to Daenerys - closer than necessary, perhaps a little closer than advisable - but his queen might as well have been across the Narrow Sea for all the attention she had paid him since they had left White Harbor.

He knew that the idea of them keeping their distance was a logical one but that hadn’t made their separation any easier for him to bear. And, if it had just been that - the pair of them acting disinterested for the sake of appearances - then he could have coped with such cruel separation, but there was something more going on here. Dany was withdrawn, nervous … scared about something and, no matter how gently Jon had tried to ask her, she would not talk to him about what was on her mind. Would not allow herself to be alone with him at all.

‘It’s for the best,’ he thought, trying hard to convince himself. ‘We do have more important things to think about, after all.’

8. This (boatsex 2-shot)

"Jon Snow's not in love with me," Daenerys declared and yet her heart leapt unexpectedly at the thought.

"Oh, my mistake,” Tyrion countered. “I suppose he stares at you longingly because he's hopeful for a successful military alliance."

Did he really stare at her longingly? Dany thought she had caught that look once or twice, but had just as quickly dismissed it as her own fancy. She would turn towards the King in the North and there, just for a heartbeat, imagined she saw something thrilling in his eyes' dark depths, but then the illusion would quickly vanish, replaced with the impenetrable glower she was now so used to seeing on his face.

9. It’s Just a Little Crush (’Humans’ One-shot)

This was not at all how Mattie had envisaged her reunion with Leo. Although, honestly, what had she expected? She had been so single minded recently - focused on one specific goal - that she'd somehow managed to convince herself that there'd been an element of self-discovery to her search for Odi and the development of the mature code. Some higher purpose.

But she now realised she'd been deluding herself and it had all been for one reason. For one person.

10. A Prison Around Our Wrists (’Merlin’ complete multi-chapter)

“Hurry, Morgana!”

The corridor the three of them were hurrying down was narrow, dark and cold, and her heartbeat thumping loudly in her ears did little to drown out the sound of moans and soft sobs around her. She grit her teeth and continued on, trying not to think about all the others in here, focusing instead on the two warm hands she was holding; one large and one very small.

The metal bracelet around her wrist buzzed viciously, a timely reminder to keep her emotions under control. She took a deep breath to calm herself whilst her companions' hands gently squeezed hers, attempting to give reassurance.

“Nearly there.”

[azzandra]

Modern GG AU, please?

(in response to this meme)

I complained about this one on the GG server, but I am still down to moan about it!

So basically, it was the fic that kicked off every other fic in my GG future AU. I was working on this when I decided to expand a throw-away line into a full fic, and that fic became ‘interbellum’. And then I decided I wanted to expand on something from interbellum, and then ‘encore’ happened. And now I am working on yet another fic in this series, but I still have not been making progress on this one that started it all. (It’s actually a hilarious situation.)

Am I ever going to finish it? No clue!

Have the first couple of scenes under the cut:

Six out of seven popes agree,It's the twenty-first century!

--ad jingle for Pipkin Pocket Watches (2001)***

Lori Scripcar's teachers all had a problem, and that problem was Lori Scripcar.The one who had to deal with this issue, then, was Lori Scripcar's mother, who had a full-time job already, and had not factored in the possibility that any of her children would be Sparks when she and Mr. Scripcar decided to have themselves a few. 

That day, at least, Mrs. Scripcar had had a call from Lori's homeroom teacher to prepare her for when Lori arrived home with a medium-sized plastic storage box and a sheepish look on her face. 

"So," Mrs. Scripcar said, meeting her daughter at the door, "what was it that you were supposed to be doing in Biology today?"

"Animal dissection," Lori said, giving the contents of her box a dejected look.

"And what is it that you did in Biology today?" Mrs. Scripcar continued.

"The exact opposite," Lori mumbled.

Mrs. Scripcar tried not to sigh too audibly. The bottom of the box had been filled with fresh wood shavings, perhaps courtesy of the school's workshop. A white rat, its eyes filmy and blind, was snuffling through the shavings. When it raised itself up on its back paws to sniff the air above, it exposed a long, stitched scar down its belly. It also had two tiny neck bolts, apparently made from re-purposed screws. Mrs. Scripcar dearly hoped no desk had been taken apart yet again in the middle of a Spark surge.

"Lori, we talked about performing revivifications on school property," Mrs. Scripcar said.

"Not without a teacher's permission, I know," Lori said, before continuing in a breathless burst: "But Alex was really upset about the dead rat! She was almost crying, and the teacher was going to make her cut it up and she didn't want to."

And sure enough, Mrs. Scripcar knew she was the one Lori had inherited her bleeding heart from, because she couldn't stay upset at the girl.

"I suppose," Mrs. Scripcar sighed, "it's a good thing we kept the weasel enclosure."

Lori's face split into a grin. 

The weasel enclosure had been taking up a quarter of her room ever since their old pet died, three years prior. It was before Lori'd broken through, so no unfortunate revivification incident then, but they'd only taken down the tubes from around the house, and kept the cage. It had been large enough for a weasel, so it would undoubtedly be enough for an undead rat.

"Just remember to go to the petshop and pick up anything you'll need," Mrs. Scripcar added, as Lori skipped to her room.

***Lori knew her mother had a point about going to the petshop. She knew that the basic things, like food and enrichment toys, could be acquired at the one just down the street. But for the fancy stuff, such as safety locks and a Construct Sapience Test Kit, she'd have to go into the Old Town. 

The next day was a Friday, so it was still a school day, and since her classes started at one, she had to make the trip in the morning. It was a pleasant spring day, so tourist traffic would be insufferable, but the quicker she got this over with, the quicker she could get back home and then to school.

She took one of the public tarambulas, staking a seat next to the window. In the outer parts of Mechanicsburg, buses and trams did the job well. But in the old town center, where the more touristy parts were, the tarambulas were the best way to get where you were going quick. Their long, almost delicate-seeming metal stilts could carry an entire carriage of travelers far above the streets and the wheeled vehicles below, rendering them completely impervious to traffic jams.

The tarambula system had been gifted to Mechanicsburg a couple of generations ago, by one of the Sturmvorauses, for the occasion of a Heterodyne's birthday. Eventually Sturmhalten had moved on from the tarambula system, as each sparky Sturmvoraus heir kept tinkering with and improving their public transit system. 

But in Mechanicsburg, the tarambulas were still held in high regard, mostly because they appealed to the Mechanicsburger sense of aesthetic more strongly than the alternatives.  Once in a while, a Heterodyne or one of their friends would tinker and upgrade, bringing the tarambulas in line with new technological breakthroughs, but they'd become such a familiar part of the Mechanicsburg skyline, that no one would do away with them permanently at this point. 

Tourists, as a rule, seemed to regard them as some sort of local eccentricity rather than a valid mode of transport.

But they offered one hell of a view for the passengers. Mechanicsburg was built a bit like a bowl. The outer rings of the city were more recent, and so the buildings were not only newer, but taller and shinier as the city extended outward. What Mechanicsburgers called the city center was not a center, so much as the outspill of skyscrapers at the mouth of the valley. 

The Old Town, though, had remained generally intact over a century of shifting architectural trends. It was what had once been the entirety of Mechanicsburg before the Diesel Wars, surrounded by its old walls and still under the full influence and control of Castle Heterodyne. None of the Heterodynes so far had thought to extend the Castle's influence beyond the Old Town walls and into the new parts of Mechanicsburg. Probably for good reasons, from what Lori knew about the Castle.

As the tarambula scuttled along, Lori checked her watch. She fiddled with the touchscreen, idly sending the wheel of icons spinning once or twice, but as it stopped, she checked on her notifications. The Minions Monthly! app showed updates. Back in the day, when it was still in print, Minions Monthly! was the premiere science tabloid, sharing the hot gossip on the continent's most popular Sparks. 

Nowadays, it and its main competitor, MAD Magazine, were entirely digital, and their output consisted mostly of science memes, listicles, and quizzes. Lori liked their pop culture nostalgia pieces; she'd been a quiz junkie for a while, but had stopped cold turkey when she took the "Which Character from The Heterodyne Boys (1992) TV Series Are You?" quiz and it told her she was Barry. This result offended her deeply in the part of her soul where she was convinced she was Lucrezia, and she never recovered.

She barely got to thumb all the way through a listicle about top five disastrous Spark projects that somehow turned out okay before the tarambula skittered to a halt at Lori's station. She disembarked and cleared away, and the tarambula rose again on its stilt legs and disappeared around a building.

[kingwsly]

"Well I think you look rather handsome."

MEME.   ( randomness )      @wrathcfdragons

         part of ron wanted desperately to stop daenerys right in her tracks. he understood entirely what she was doing. comedy had been something he used as a crutch in situations where he couldn’t quite figure out the best approach. easing the tension of a situation had always felt like something that rested on his shoulders, achieved with a quick comment about the situation to make someone laugh. and that was what he guessed the situation was now - if that was the case, she’d somewhat cracked it when her small comment about his appearance left him huffing a tiny little laugh. it was a lie, of course. ron was entirely aware that he looked wrecked. if it hadn’t been for the large alcohol consumption leaving him a little less put together than when the date had first started, everything after leaving london had certainly left him dishevelled and looking like he hadn’t slept in days. truly, he couldn’t decide what was worse: experiencing such incredible highs where he was genuinely relaxed and happy, followed by these exhausting lows, or remaining in that numb exhausting gloom for years on end. he supposed the latter had hurt less.

          cautiously, ron reached to lace his fingers with the blonde’s while a sad smile fell over his face. ❝ even when i leave half of you in london, you still look better than i do, ❞ he chimed back, although his usual mirth was entirely missing. worry still clung to him as his eyes drifted over her body that was now safely tucked in her bed and on the mend. slowly, ron’s thumb worked over her knuckles in an attempt to portray how sorry he was for what had happened. while he was sure, from his own past experience, that daenerys wouldn’t remember everything in such great detail, ron was positive that he would never forget. and should his memory fail him, he knew that the guilt would never leave him. after all, it was entirely his fault. apparating with someone else had always been a great risk, yet he’d become foolish and sloppy. transporting himself from point a to point b didn’t carry quite the risk - if he splinched himself then it was his own stupid fault for not paying attention to his own self. yet transporting dany, who relied on him to get her home safely, had been a step too far.

          the evening had been going so beautifully, too. in fact, ron would have quite easily called it the best night he’d had in years without too much probing for an answer. while their first date was something he would never forget, being able to go out with daenerys and have a hold on who they were, where they stood and their own sense of togetherness was and entirely new experience. it was comforting and it stopped ron from getting all tense and worked up like he had done in the past. finally getting to introduce daenerys to harry and ginny had been a dream. she’d pulled him out of the worst slump of his life completely unexpectedly and had renewed him into a far less fakely happy person. it had been an absolutely incredible night, getting to pull three of his favourite people together and having them communicate and like each other was everything he could have ever asked for. and, of course, the alcohol had helped the jokes flowing and ron distinctly remembered his cheeks aching from grinning like such a fool for a lot of the evening. 

          parting from his sister and best friend, ron was almost sure that was what people talked about when they were talking about being on cloud nine. then again, the last few rounds of firewhiskey had gone straight to his head and left him walking in a very crooked line, so that was far more likely. however, stumbling along diagon alley with daenerys tucked into his side to ward off the chilly london night air, ron could say without a doubt that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so genuinely happy without anything drastic happening. getting his hands on his chocolate frog card had ellated him greatly, but it had been such a fleeting feeling. this happiness felt like it would never end and he was so entirely ready to accept that after years of pretending he was just okay.

          that in itself should have been a warning flag. as he stepped up to their usual corner, pulling his girlfriend in against him for more physical hold, his mind began to focus among the fogginess of the alcohol. he’d apparated drunk plenty of times. in fact, he became very good at doing so when he was still with hermione. landing with his feet square on their front door step had become something he was excellent at. so, while it was risky, ron had been convinced they would be fine. just as he could start to feel them shift, the solidness of the pavement leaving his shoes, ron’s felt daenerys’ lips against his own. that split second of his concentration shifting from transporting them to the comforting little dragon sanctuary in romania to thinking about them stood there, like a postcard, kissing in the misty london night had been a second too long.

          it terrified him to no end just how much he couldn’t cope with seeing daenerys in danger. while he’d been sure that his demons from the war had been dealt with, he’d been proven wrong on that twice now. the first had been seeing the bright, golden flames leaving a dragon, aimed straight at the silver haired dragon expert. without even thinking of his own safety, ron had apparated right into the midst of everything. his heart had broken the second his brain had registered that she could very much be dead already. he didn’t know much about dragons, but being surrounded by all that fire was definitely going to leave someone more than a little burned. and yet, daenerys had been fine. it still hadn’t stopped that awful feeling from flowing through ron, ripping a soul shattering cry from him and risking his own life just on the off shot that he could help and save her. losing anyone else wasn’t an option.

        while that reaction had been extreme, he had at least been useful. once his feet had landed on the dew dusted grass of romania, ron’s mood had quickly nose dived. the buzz from the alcohol disappeared instantly and left him feeling stone cold sober. all he could do was watch daenerys writhing in pain, blood covering her dress while his mind tried to figure out what had happened. in all his efforts to ensure he didn’t lose anyone else from his life, it felt as though he’d pushed it too far. the universe had dangled his happiness in front of him and then left him to ruin it by being so reckless. he’d never been so grateful for charlie keeping an eye out for dany as much as he had been that evening. without him, ron was entirely sure that things wouldn’t have had a happier ending in the slightest and dany certainly wouldn’t have been trying to get him to laugh now that the sheer shock of hurting her that badly had worn off.

          ❝ you should be getting some rest, ❞ he whispered, afraid to lift his voice in case it ruined this small moment of peace after the soul destroying panic he’d experienced. truly, he didn’t trust his own voice to not give away just how terrified he’d been. whatever he’d experienced in that moment had felt like experiencing seeing fred’s body for the first time all over again on a loop, rendering him entirely useless. softly, ron cleared his throat and forced another small smile onto his face. ❝ it’s about time i got you back for this, ❞ he gestured to the still shiny and pink scar running along his forearm, just under his elbow, from being burnt by the dragon’s flames in his valiant effort to rescue her. ❝ although i might have taken things a little too far… ❞ another squeeze to daenerys’ hand and ron couldn’t help but shift in closer, leaning over her a little more. very slowly and cautiously, he shifted to press a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to try and portray just how sorry he was for putting her through that. having been through splinching himself, he’d been scared. and he’d known what it was. ron almost continually forgot that this wasn’t the world that dany was brought up in and that she had no idea what splinching even was.

          not shifting too far from his position, ron let out a shaky breath - the few remaining panicked breaths leaving him bit by bit. he could apologise endlessly for what had happened. it was his fault and he was happy to take full responsibility for it. and yet, he knew apologising was pointless. it was just a word. to even begin to make this up to her, he had to show her just how guilt ridden and apologetic he was. so, he pulled back just enough that he could glance over at the time, and instantly made up his mind. in one swift motion, ron pulled back and simultaneously slipped off his jacket and his shoes before carefully moving to lay on the other side of the bed. the least he could do after leaving half of daenerys in a different country was stay with her for the night and make sure she wasn’t in any more pain or discomfort than was necessary. 

          ❝ better get yourself to sleep before i start snoring. ❞

[aion-rsa]

20 Best Animal Crossing Villagers Ever

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The legendary Animal Crossing franchise is deserving of its iconic status for many reasons, but it’s hard to deny that part of the series’ longevity can be traced back to the memorable personalities of its villagers.

In a franchise seemingly devoid of many traditional gameplay hooks, the thrill of inviting that one villager you’ve been looking for to your Animal Crossing home regularly ranks high among the best moments in gaming. Anyone who has spent any time with these games will waste no time telling you about their favorite villagers and the way they’ll always remember the time they spent with them.

There’s no way you’ll be able to convince those fans that anyone but their favorite villagers are the best villagers in Animal Crossing, we humbly suggest these 20 icons rank high among the greatest neighbors in franchise history.

20. Ribbot

While often described as one of the few “non-animal” creatures in this series, this longtime Animal Crossing villager challenges society’s expectations by blurring the arbitrary line between frog and robot. 

You may be worried by Ribbot’s decision to never carry an umbrella when it rains much like his frog companions, but the character’s rally cry of “Never rest, never rust” tells you what you need to know about his resiliency. When robots take over our world, we can only hope they have the heart and grace of Ribbot.

19. Mira

With her “big sister” personality, futuristic vibes, and recent insistence on calling everyone “cottontail,” the mysterious Mira has been stealing our hearts since she arrived in Animal Crossing: New Leaf.

Much like Cotton Eye Joe, nobody really knows where Mira comes from or where she’ll go. However, her thought bubble cry of “I want a futuristic space full of futuristic furniture!” will echo through eternity.

18. Lobo

Somewhere between Ernest Hemmingway and the grouchy old guy you lived next to growing up is Lobo: the outdoor-loving wolf with a heart of…well, certainly not gold

I don’t know what it is about this cranky purple wolf that speaks so loudly to my soul, but since Animal Crossing’s earliest days, he’s one of the wolves that I want in my village and by my side.

17. Knox

Maybe it’s because I suffer from a rare case of chicken blindness, but when I look at Knox, I don’t see a chicken; I see a noble knight. 

This “Man of La Mancha’s” adventuring days may be behind him, but Knox’s ability to get medieval on the Animal Crossing series has been appreciated ever since he made his debut in Animal Crossing: City Folk

16. Lionel

Lionel’s passing resemblance to Colonel Sanders of KFC fame earns him some bonus points (as does his gentlemanly demeanor), but when I think of Lionel, I think of class.

After all, Lionel upgraded his tasteful Victorian home in Animal Crossing: New Leaf to a skyscraper penthouse in New Horizons. He’s a lion that isn’t afraid to keep up with the times, and for that, he is our cultural superior in every conceivable way.

15. Chief

With his famous saying “Don’t wish it were easier; wish you were better” and his rally cry of “harrumph,” it’s easy to assume that Chief is just the jerk that his cranky personality seems to suggest he is. 

Yet, Chief’s thrift store decor in New Horizons suggests that Chief is actually an ‘80s dance movie protagonist with the fire of the streets in his soul just waiting to burn down the stuffy world he was born into. 

14. Marina

Some Octopuses use their eight tentacles to take eight times more than they’ll ever need and squeeze the world. Others use them to warm society with a slightly tight and surprisingly squishy embrace. 

Marina is an example of the latter. This ode to joy has been brightening up Animal Crossing village since their debut in New Leaf, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

13. Beau

Beau is an enigma. He’s a lazy villager whose famous sayings include the line “You snooze, you lose.” Is this a defeated deer on the verge of a breakdown over the paths not walked?

No, as it turns out, Beau is just a naturalist whose charming personality and looks have made it easy for him to embrace a simpler lifestyle. He also owns some truly fantastic sweaters.

12. Lucha

Coming off the top rope like the Macho Man on a vengeance quest against the dastardly Hulk Hogan is Lucha: the mysterious masked wrestler who has graced many a lucky Animal Crossing players’ villages.

We don’t know much about the bird behind the mask, but Lucha’s warm personality suggests that wrestling is just his work and he does it for pay. When it’s over, he’d just as soon go on his way.

11. Raymond

It’s tempting to hate Raymond after his explosion in popularity in New Horizons, but since I suspect that Raymond is fuelled by the cries of “haters,” I’ll counter his strategy by welcoming him into the ranks of Animal Crossing’s best villagers.

Somewhere between a business cat and a fashion cat, Raymond would devour Wall Street’s Gordon Gekko in the same way that so many cats before him have devoured so many geckos before them.

10. Zucker

As a fan of the Japanese snack “Takoyaki” from which Zucker’s original Japanese name (Takoya) and elements of the character’s look are derived, I suppose you could say that I’m a bit biased in my admiration for one of Animal Crossing’s few octopus villagers.

However, it’s really the way that Zucker’s entire demeanor flies in the face of the fact that takoyaki consists of fried dough balls stuffed with minced octopus meat that leaves me no choice to respect this king of villagers.

9. Whitney

Whitney may come across as a snooty villager with a better than you attitude, but maybe you should consider the possibility that your real problem with Whitney is that she’s a class act with style to burn.

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As a wolf firmly against the idea of crying wolf, it’s clear that Whitney doesn’t play and very likely dropped out of school because of recess. 

8. Fauna

Look, I’m not saying Fauna ranks this high on this list because she’s a deer who calls everyone “dearie,” but I’m also not going to insult your intelligence by sitting here and pretending that didn’t factor into this decision.

Mostly, though, it’s Fauna’s warm vibes, retro decor, and undeniably cute design that helps her stand out from some truly considerable competition.

7. Beardo

While we’re all more than a little tired of people who base their personalities on their facial hair, we’d probably all be a little more willing to put up with it if their facial hair was nearly as excellent as Beardo’s.

This ladies’ man bear doesn’t actually have a proper beard, but his mutton chops, mustache, and tweed jacket strike a figure that makes it easier than ever to overlook his smug personality and lack of namesake facial hair and just appreciate everything he is.

6. Chevre

In case you couldn’t tell from her bright big eyes that have caused lifelong enemies to end their conflicts, Chevre is a dreamer in the body of a goat.

Chevre is the kind of villager you’d do anything for. While she’d probably never ask you to do anything more than live your best life, I’d have no problem answering a 3 a.m. call from Chevre to meet her in Manhattan and help her steal some diamonds as easily as she stole our hearts. 

5. Merengue

Lots of villagers make it to this prestigious list (some would say the most prestigious list) for lots of reasons, but in the case of Merengue, the reasons are almost all based on her iconic looks.

As the best “food” villager in Animal Crossing history, Merengue embraces her looks by baking up a storm whenever you visit her cafe-themed home. She’s the friend we all want in our lives if for no other reason than she’s always got a sweet roll to spare. 

4. Stitches

Do I have questions about how Stitches (an apparently stuffed animal who regularly takes residency in Animal Crossing’s villages) actually came to life and gained sentience? No, I don’t, because I don’t question the good things in my life.

Stitches is one of the most visually iconic characters in Animal Crossing history as well as one of the characters that still has an element of mystery to them despite the fact that they’ve been in every AC game.

3. Marshal

This squirrel without a cause has long been one of the most desirable villagers in Animal Crossing history. Somewhere behind those “I don’t care eyes” is the insistence of millions of players everywhere who scream into the night their assurances that he does care because they care.

Marshal is one of the coolest characters in AC history as well as one of the characters that made players realize there are certain villagers they want more than any other.

2. Bob

A popular theory suggests that Bob was actually the first Animal Crossing villager the series’ developers ever created. If that is the case, then I have to commend them for having the courage to continue to create despite achieving near perfection.

Bob has long been one of the internet’s favorite Animal Crossing villagers, and the fact that so many elements of his personality seem to cater to the internet’s love for memes hardly makes his iconic status a surprise. He’s a legend that’s legacy has surpassed even his in-game attributes.

1. Lucky

If the best Animal Crossing villagers are defined by the ways they let their personality shine through relatively simple mechanics, then Lucky has to be considered one of the very best Animal Crossing villagers ever at the very least.

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This decidedly unlikely dog who is presumably covered in bandages due to various injuries embraced his new look by adopting a horror theme that makes him a favorite among genre fans everywhere. Any island would be lucky to count this legendary dog among its residents. 

The post 20 Best Animal Crossing Villagers Ever appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[moonprincess92]

Congrats on the follower count! How about rebelcaptain + one is on a blind date that's not going well and the other is the waiter. Bonus points if Jyn is the waitress!

Ok so I have to apologise profusely anon, because Iattempted to write this prompt in like 3 different ways and absolutely none ofit worked. I TRIED I REALLY DID AND IM SO SORRY, but since it wasn’t working I wrote you something else instead and it’s literally completely different but I hope you’ll still like it anyway. x

Please enjoy this ‘you accidentally sent me a booty text butI’m considering saying yes anyway’ au 

His phone buzzed just as he was stumbling in through his frontdoor with his arms full of groceries. Refusing to make the trip up the stairstwice, he was laden down with probably more than he should have carried at once andcursed when he started losing grip on his jacket under his armpit. Kicking thedoor shut behind him, he couldn’t check the message until he had dumped all thebags onto his kitchen counter in relief. The little messenger icon was afamiliar face so he tapped it absently as he started unpacking a bag –

– and promptly choked.

Usually if Jyn messaged him this late at night, it was because shehad found yet another thing to criticise from his latest essay. She apparentlydid all her best reading after 10pm because god forbid he ever get grilled at adecent hour, but he liked their conversations all the same. Used to theirchatting being based about their classes or occasionally straying into memesand their favourite tv shows, he was now quite literally rendered speechless atthe photo he had apparently just been sent. 

Though her face wasn’t visible he had nodoubt it was Jyn just from the sheer muscle definition that he could sure ashell see because the only times he’d ever seen her this de-clothed before was whenthey’d occasionally hit up the gym together. She was almost naked in the mirror selfie she’d sent, her arms toned, her abs rock hard… fuck. It sent everything south and he didn’t know what the hell sound just came out of his mouth, but it miiiiight’ve been a whimper. The bra she wore in the selfie waswhite and lacy and the accompanying caption read:

this bra was too nice to not share

He… well, quite honestly, he stared for so long he thought hemight just be having a brain aneurysm. She had to be joking, right? Sure, this wasnothing like Jyn’s sense of humour, but it literally HAD to be a joke becauseit didn’t make sense if it wasn’t. The message felt like she had sent it (thesevere lack of punctuation kind of gave her away) but it was so far out of leftfield that he was almost certain it hadn’t been meant for him. No, some otherlucky bastard out there was supposed to be on the receiving end of thismessage, because he and Jyn weren’t like that, and who cared if maybe he kindof wanted to be likethat, because they weren’t and they couldn’t –

Zmmm.

Another message popped up. This time, it appeared that Jyn waskeyboard bashing.

Akjdskjdfjfdjdf FUCK Im so sorrycassian shit pls ignore this PLS

It didn’t help calm his racing heart at all.

He knew he had frozen foods slowly defrosting away in his grocerybags still, but they seemed like a minor detail in comparison to the battlewracking his mind. Quite honestly… he’d been on the verge of throwing allcaution to the wind and playing along. Maybe sending something a littlesuggestive back. It wasn’t an outright booty text, but it definitely wasn’tinnocent either and perhaps it was the way to start, a way to just flirt alittle, what could go wrong… but then he got that answer and he pressed hisforehead to his kitchen counter with a frustrated sigh. 

On the days he wasn’tkidding himself, he knew that he was an absolute fucking goner for Jyn Erso.She was prickly and defensive and didn’t let any minor grammatical error pasther, but once she got used to you she was hilarious to be around and her smileliterally made his heart stop these days. Sometimes, on the nights they wouldstudy together late at the library, she would linger as he packed his booksaway and he got the feeling that hopefully, MAYBE, she was a goner too.

But then she said things like that and he would squash it alldown.

Another message. He lifted his head gingerly to read it.

God cassian SAY SOMETHING DAMN IT I need to know that I haven’tjust ruined our entire friendship lmao

He stared at her words, grappling hard until eventually, hefigured fuck it.

Friendship’s overrated. I was going to say it definitely looked nice.

He hit send before he could lose his nerve and wondered if it wasa little overdramatic to turn his entire phone off for good measure. He heldhimself back from adding on ‘just kidding’ and instead, forced himself to startputting away his groceries.

Another buzz made him drop the bag of frozen vegetables.

well, good. I wouldnt wanna waste a good selfie.

Cassian bit his tongue and typed back.

Honestly selfie game is 10/10. How’d you even get that angle?

I might’ve stood on somethin to make me tall enough. also might’venearly killed myself in the process 

Ah the price we pay for a good selfie…

Gotta get these boobs lookin good somehow

They’ve been doing just fine before now, tbh 

Fuck. That might’ve been a bit much. He grimaced, distractinghimself with his shopping for the next thirty seconds and initially ignoringthe subsequent message that eventually buzzed through. Finally, though, sheer nerves took over and he pulled up the conversation once again.

Cassian Andor, are you flirting with me?

You sent me a pic of your boobs, Jyn. He felt the need to stress this point. This was on her, shestarted this! 

Touché. So wanna come over, then?

BOOM. He was dead! His head had exploded and he was definitely,100% very, very deceased. 

Do you……mean that in the way I think you mean that?

HEY. I worked hard at that selfie. If I have to go through thehumiliation of accidentally sending it to my study partner, then the least theuniverse could do is also throw some sex in there for meBut um… hey if u want to say no, its chill. Idc its totallyfine no hard feelings

Cassian thought about it for about ten seconds. Then –

I can be there in ten

It was just as he was rushing to throw whatever the hell was leftin his grocery bags into the fridge – honestly, he literally didn’t give a shithow it was organised at this point – when he got another photo. He rubbed hiseyes, groaning a little at the image of Jyn’s body, slightly zoomed out now. Her entire torso and upper legs could be seen and that was how he figured out that her underwear matched thebra.

Hurry up, mate she added. 

If you stop sending me shit like THAT I might Jesus lord